Poetry Not Yet Written: Revisiting Glory Thirty Years Later
Ella Starkman-Hyne, December 10, 2019 at Muster: The Web Log of the Society of Civil War Historians
Glory begins as so many Civil War films do: the sun rises on
a vast battlefield, brave Union men march into war, and a ferocious
battle ensues, American and Confederate flags billowing in the
background. Despite its adherence to well-worn tropes, however,
Glory
tells a tale that is often obscured – even obliterated – in Civil War
narratives. Edward Zwick’s 1989 classic follows the story of the 54th
Massachusetts Infantry, one of the first African American regiments to
fight for the Union cause. Viewed within the larger canon of Civil War
films,
Glory is a triumph. Most of these narratives sidestep the issue of slavery in order to appeal to the widest possible audience;
Glory, in contrast, never lets the viewer forget that this truly was a war of emancipation. This laudable achievement aside, though,
Glory
has many significant shortcomings. And, as the film celebrates its
thirtieth anniversary this December, it is well worth asking the
question: who gets to tell this story?
Given
Glory’s subject matter, the viewer could reasonably
expect the men of the 54th Massachusetts to take center stage. Yet, mere
moments into the film, it becomes clear that
Glory is, in many
ways, the story of the regiment’s white colonel, Robert Gould Shaw
(Matthew Broderick). The powerful narration of the film is drawn from
Shaw’s real-life letters home, affording the viewer intimate access to
the colonel’s thoughts, fears, and hopes. Never mind that the men of the
54th also wrote letters home – this fact is never imagined, much less
acknowledged, and the viewer remains wholly unaware of the inner lives
of the black men at the heart of the story. This negligence has
significant consequences in
Glory, and no small amount of
unintended irony. At the beginning of the film, Shaw declares with
evident self-satisfaction: “We fight for men and women whose poetry is
not yet written.” In fact, there was a well-established tradition of
African American poetry by this time in American history, a literary
movement that included the voices of both free and enslaved black
people.
[1] The poetry of these men and women was indeed being written – Colonel Robert Gould Shaw simply wasn’t reading it.
[2]

The men of the 54th are immensely compelling characters in their own right, yet
Glory’s
depiction of the regiment’s black soldiers never quite reaches the
depth and nuance it reserves for its white protagonist. This lapse is
most painfully evident in the case of Trip (Denzel Washington), a
composite character based on several real-life soldiers who came to the
unit as former slaves. Trip is a quick-tempered and confrontational man,
who refuses to back down in the face of authority. In one of the film’s
most significant moments, he turns down the honor of carrying the
American flag into battle, defiantly telling Colonel Shaw: “I ain’t
fighting this war for you, sir.” As powerful as Trip’s character is
(Washington would win an Academy Award for his portrayal), the viewer’s
insight into his lived experience remains quite limited. The few
conversations touching on his enslavement are filled with tense
silences, and the true contours of his suffering are never fully
explored. This superficial portrayal of Trip’s life – whether a matter
of intention or oversight by
Glory’s producers – was a missed
opportunity; even in the 1980s, there was no dearth of literature on
slavery the filmmakers and screenwriters could have used for research.
Furthermore, Trip’s fury is often tempered – even invalidated – by
his colleagues in the 54th. John Rawlins (Morgan Freeman) takes issue
with Trip’s aggrieved demeanor throughout the film, chastising him for
being “full of hate” merely because he’s “been whipped and chased by
hounds.” In case Trip misses the point, Rawlins declares: “that might
not be living, but it sure as hell ain’t dying. And dying’s been what
these white boys have been doing for going on three years now, dying by
the thousands, dying for you, fool.” This statement is distressing for
two reasons: first, Rawlins denies Trip the right to be angry, asserting
that the horrors he experienced as a slave do not justify his bitter
outlook and, moreover, do not match the ultimate sacrifice made by
“these white boys.” Furthermore, the assertion that white men had been
dying for African Americans throughout the Civil War is deeply flawed,
given that many Union soldiers joined the war effort purely to fight
secession and did not, in fact, support the cause of emancipation; some
even deserted when President Lincoln issued the Emancipation
Proclamation.
[3]
Over the past thirty years, historians have generally praised
Glory
for its historical accuracy, its skillful depiction of the war’s
oft-forgotten heroes, and its refusal to adhere to Lost Cause
ideologies. Shortly after the film’s cinematic release, Pulitzer-Prize
winning Civil War historian James McPherson wrote a review of
Glory in
The New Republic, citing it as “the most powerful and historically accurate movie about that war ever made.”
[4] McPherson wrote that
Glory
would “throw a cold dash of realism over the moonlight-and-magnolias
portrayal of the Confederacy,” and might even restore the heroic image
of black soldiers which prevailed in the North for a brief time during
and after the war, before the Lost Cause became entrenched.
[5]
Nearly two decades later, the historian Gary Gallagher made similar observations about
Glory in his book,
Causes Won, Lost, & Forgotten: How Hollywood and Popular Art Shape What We Know about the Civil War. Gallagher’s analysis focuses primarily on
Glory’s
depiction of the Civil War as a battle of emancipation, noting that
Hollywood films since the late 1980s have largely dismissed preservation
of the Union as a central motivator for Northern soldiers. This
artistic license, Gallagher writes, often comes at the cost of
historical accuracy, effectively promoting a “flawed conception of the
North’s Civil War,” given that many white soldiers were ambivalent
toward the cause of emancipation.
[6] This negligence notwithstanding, Gallagher maintains that
Glory
had a positive and tangible impact. He notes that even its star, Denzel
Washington, had been unaware that black people fought in the Civil War.
Washington was hardly alone; Gallagher writes that “moviegoers across
the United States left screenings with a similar realization that the
military struggle between 1861 and 1865 had not been a lily-white
affair. In that respect,
Glory worked a sea change in popular perceptions about the conflict.”
[7]

McPherson and Gallagher have certainly made valuable contributions to the conversation about
Glory.
However, their respective analyses overlook a vital aspect of the
film’s legacy: the framing of the 54th’s story though Colonel Shaw’s
perspective. For decades, sociologists and black theorists have explored
the implications of black stories being told by white storytellers,
often referred to as “racial ventriloquism.”
[8] Claire Oberon Garcia, Vershawn Ashanti Young, and Charise Pimentel examine this topic in their book,
From Uncle Tom’s Cabin to The Help: Critical Perspectives on White-Authored Narratives of Black Life.
These scholars note that white-authored narratives are frequently “used
to structure perceptions of American race relations, particularly black
racial experiences,” while the work of black writers rarely achieves
such dominance.
[9]
The authors assert that this cultural hegemony persists despite the
continuing efforts of black storytellers. Although black writers,
filmmakers, television producers, and scriptwriters have depicted both
black and white stories through mainstream media, their works seldom
achieve the level of financial success granted to white-authored
narratives, “and thus do not figure greatly in Americans’ understanding
of race in general and black experiences in particular.”
[10]
These white writers – no matter how well-intentioned – are thus
culpable in a “long history of constructing ‘blackness’ to serve
hegemonic concerns,” a tradition which effectively denies black people
the agency to tell their own stories.
[11]
In cinema, such narratives are often referred to as “white savior
films.” Sociologist Matthew Hughey investigates this phenomenon in his
book,
The White Savior Film: Content, Critics, and Consumption.
He writes that these stories are “often guided by a logic that
racializes and separates people into those who are redeemers (whites)
and those who are redeemed or in need of redemption (nonwhites).”
[12]
White savior films can have profound societal consequences. Hughey
cites studies on the lack of interracial communication in many
predominantly white areas in the United States, noting that 86 percent
of suburban whites live in communities where black people make up fewer
than 1 percent of the population.
[13] In this context, he asserts, popular films become a kind of proxy for real-life interracial interactions.
[14] This framework is certainly at work in
Glory.
Although the film depicts the 54th Massachusetts as a regiment of
former slaves, the majority of the soldiers were, in fact, born free in
the North.
[15]
Such a depiction paves the way for a falsified journey from slavery to
freedom, a journey not possible without the fearless leadership of their
white colonel (and white savior), Robert Gould Shaw.
The makers of
Glory were certainly telling a story that needs to be told – but it is not their story to tell. Indeed, as
Glory
celebrates its thirtieth anniversary this December, it is worth taking a
closer look at whose voices are being heard, both onscreen and behind
the scenes (
Glory having been written, directed, and produced
by white men). In accepting the premise that the poetry of black
Americans had “not yet been written,”
Glory ensures that whatever poetry it
does
present is that of its white hero and savior. Viewers must question
why, in a film specifically about black soldiers, the perspectives of
African Americans are so conspicuously absent. In recent years, many
historians have begun to call for a new Civil War documentary, one in
which Shelby Foote’s romanticized view of the Old South is not the
dominant voice. Perhaps it is also time for a new
Glory, a
version devoid of “racial ventriloquism,” in which the men of the
Massachusetts 54th are not only free from slavery, but free to tell
their own stories.
[1] Erika DeSimone and Fidel Louis,
Voices beyond Bondage: an Anthology of Verse by African Americans of the 19th Century (Montgomery: NewSouth Books, 2014).
[2]
Katie O’Halloran Brown, “Letters of Black Soldiers from Ohio Who Served
in the 54th and 55th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantries during the
Civil War,”
Ohio Valley History 16, no. 3 (2016): 72-79.
[3] James M. McPherson,
For Cause and Comrades: Why Men Fought in the Civil War (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 123.
[4] James M. McPherson, “TNR Film Classic: ‘Glory’ (1990),”
The New Republic, January 15, 1990,
https://newrepublic.com/article/91210/tnr-film-classics-glory-january-15-1990.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Gary W. Gallagher,
Causes Won, Lost, and Forgotten: How Hollywood and Popular Art Shape What We Know about the Civil War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 92.
[7] Ibid., 95.
[8] Claire Oberon Garcia, Vershawn Ashanti Young, and Charise Pimentel,
From Uncle Tom’s Cabin to the Help: Critical Perspectives on White-Authored Narratives of Black Life (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015), 1.
[9] Ibid., 1-2.
[10] Ibid., 2.
[11] Ibid., 4.
[12] Matthew W. Hughey,
The White Savior Film: Content, Critics, and Consumption (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2014), 2.
[13] Ibid., 15.
[14] Ibid.
[15] Joseph T. Glatthaar, “‘Glory,’ the 54th Massachusetts Infantry, and Black Soldiers in the Civil War,”
The History Teacher 24, no. 4 (1991): 475-85, 478.
Images: Denzel Washington in
Glory. Courtesy of Tristar Pictures.; Matthew Broderick, who portrayed Robert Gould Shaw in
Glory. Courtesy of Tristar Pictures; Promotional poster for
Glory. Courtesy of Tristar Pictures.
Ella
Starkman-Hynes is an independent author and graduate of McGill
University. She is currently applying to graduate school for U.S.
history and intends to specialize in Civil War memory. Her research
focuses primarily on the depiction of the Civil War in popular culture,
and she is currently working on a project examining northern memory of
the war through twentieth-century literature.