Somebody else will tell our story

He was a shrewd businessman, a pioneer and a plantation owner. History remembers him as one of the main founders of Sacramento. I’m talking about John Sutter, whose statue used to tower in front of Sutter’s Fort in remembrance of his adventures in California’s City of Trees. 

The recent anti-racism campaigns, however, did not leave him unscathed. And so he was forced off his pedestal on Monday 15th, “out of respect for the viewpoints of our community members” who’d brought up the role he played in enslaving the Native American tribes and claiming their land as his.

This piece of news, forwarded to me by a first-hand observer, got me thinking more than any other of the many recent disquieting events. For several reasons, I’ve always pictured ye olde pioneer as a jolly good fellow, a brave blacksmith of his own destiny. 

In western Switzerland, Sutter is portrayed like a hero. He owes this positive image to Blaise Cendrars, a writer whose name haunts many high school students. In widely-known novel “Gold”, Cendrars paints a highly romanticized picture of the Basel-native adventurer.

And now, this courageous character whose exploits used to keep me at the edge of my seat is forced to take an indefinite leave of absence, cast as yet another slave driver. He’s in for a long, arguably necessary moral post-mortem.

In the current context of coming to grips with the trope of the White Man’s burden and its inhumane consequences – a struggle in which I, as a white person, should naturally participate – the removal of John Sutter’s statue reminds me of how every person’s life story varies depending on the authors of the narrative.

Let me underscore here that the story only “varies” and not “depends”, because the facts themselves don’t change. What’s done is done. No interpretation can minimize the pain inflicted or the crime committed. I’m no historian, but I suppose that the number of human rights violations that can be linked to Sutter’s plantations is not a difficult estimation.

In the current context of coming to grips with the trope of the White Man’s burden and its inhumane consequences – a struggle in which I, as a white person, should naturally participate – the removal of John Sutter’s statue reminds me of how every person’s life story varies depending on the authors of the narrative.

Forever lost to our judgment, though, are Sutter’s motivations and his own perception of morality in a world in which slavery was practiced on a wide scale. Similarly lost is the way he felt about his actions and his treatment of the local population. Social and political activists can speculate – and with pleasure will do so – and give their version of this part of the story. 

John Sutter, a founding father or a bloodthirsty tyrant? There are no exhibits at hand. Our tendency when faced with this kind of gap is to lean towards whatever satisfies our need for thrill – or suits our selfish interest. When it comes to the main person concerned, well– I dare say it’s all the same for him now.

I aim neither to condemn nor to justify Sutter. I don’t have the authority to do so anyway. I’d like to point out, however, that each and every one of us will someday share Sutter’s plight. 

We’re all in the same uncomfortable boat. Since we’re all part of a society, our actions will inevitably come under scrutiny, sooner or later – a grand, highly publicized reckoning or more of a mundane water cooler tongue-lashing. Whether we like it or not, other people’s opinions will always be limited. When it comes to real intentions, reasons and motivations of our acts, we’re the only witnesses to the whole story.

The greatest trial, perhaps, will take place sight unseen, as we strive to come to terms with our deeds in the court of our own conscience, sans jury and sans judge to fall back on. That experience is what counts. The rest is noise.

This art of finding my way in the labyrinth of different codes, standards, and values has been one of my biggest challenges up to date, maybe because of – or better said, thanks to – my cultural background. Although if you think about it, no cultural background is plain and simple, especially in a country like Switzerland, where individuals of foreign descent form 25% of the society.

The greatest trial, perhaps, will take place sight unseen, as we strive to come to terms with our deeds in the court of our own conscience, sans jury and sans judge to fall back on. That experience is what counts. The rest is noise.

Being an immigrant, brought up at a crossroads of Polish and German history, coming out as gay in a strictly Protestant family, the question of doing good and living in peace with my identity has been a battle on many different levels. The outcome I still don’t take for granted.

The tribunal of our own conscience could be the most scathing and the most severe one. This could be the true Judgment Day that no sinner man can run from, regardless of religion. Maybe even the only one we can be sure of. We even get to live the verdict – and die with its finality.

The tribunal of our own conscience could be the true Judgment Day that no sinner man can run from, regardless of religion. Maybe even the only one we can be sure of. We even get to live the verdict – and die with its finality.

Of course, the art of this deadly honest analysis of our victories and failures, deeds good and bad, hasn’t been the most popular these days. I must admit that I myself try to mute it more often than not. 

Hell, I even distract myself from it every now and then by giving my opinion where nobody’s asked for it. After all, you can’t publish the conscience wrap-up on your Insta story. And even if you could, mine wouldn’t be glamour.

But what if – in a world of snap judgments, self-righteous apologies and shock-value media revelations – the inner truth about ourselves is the only news we should care for, the only one we can trust and probe for?

I wrote the original text in French. A huge thanks to Charlotte for proof-reading.