Age and Race Clash over Netflix's Hannibal, Starring Denzel Washington

 A historical clash erupted last month when Netflix announced that it was producing a film on Hannibal Barca, staring Denzel Washington. The skirmish is over Washington being black. So why is that an issue? For me, I am less concerned with the portrayal of Hannibal's ethnicity than I am with something else, which I will get to but let's begin the race question with context. 

Image credit: Fiction Horizon

Hannibal Barca was one of history's greatest military figures. He led the first full army over the Alps and into Roman-era Italy, which freaked everybody out, especially Rome. And for the next 20 years, Hannibal wrought havoc on the Roman republic to the point that his name struck intense fear in Roman society. He was born in Carthage, a Mediterranean Sea-side city-state in northern Africa near the site of present-day Tunis. And there is a revisionist continent that insists that African means sub-Saharan African--in another word, black. This has a tendency to insert an element of racism into Carthage/Roman conflict that wasn't there. But back to Hannibal himself. Was he black? Unlikely. As a Carthaginian, he was of Phoenician decent. These were a semitic people from the eastern Mediterranean. Their home city was Tyre. But it was Carthage that put them on the map. By 218 BC (Hannibal's time) Carthage had built enormous influence and commerce spanning from present-day Spain, across Saharan Africa into Egypt, and northward to what is now Lebanon. 

There is no question that a seafaring, colonizing people would intermix with the indigenous people they came into contact with. Indeed, DNA testing of sampled remains from Carthage itself shows this. But was Hannibal black? We will never know for certain because the fate of his remains are unknown, as he committed suicide whilst evading Romans long after Carthage fell after the Third Punic War--the final war between Rome and Carthage in which Rome burned the city and sold off surviving citizens into slavery. To be clear, Rome did not enslave people based on race. They enslaved anyone. If you weren't a Roman citizen, you were considered a barbarian. Gauls from the region that now includes France, Germany, and a host of other modern European nations were slaves, as were Middle Easterners or anyone who irritated Rome. 

Attribution*

Does it matter?

In some ways no and in others yes. Netflix really fouled up with its docuseries on Cleopatra, claiming it was accurate when it was not. Why? To lead off, it portrayed Cleopatra as black--not even Egyptian. In truth, there were several Cleopatras of Egypt, but the famed Ptolemaic Cleopatra was Macedonian--a close relative of the Greeks. Egypt historians and archeologists contested the portrayal based on, well, highly documented history about her heritage. Egypt doesn't even claim her as Egyptian because she wasn't. Just deciding that Hannibal was black is lazy from a historical discipline. 

Where does this leave Hannibal?

In terms of Hannibal's heritage, we know who is father was--another great Carthaginian general named Hamilcar Barca. In Carthaginian society, he was an Phoenician aristocrat. Hannibal's mother is at present unknown to history. So let's proceed from what we do know. Hannibal was not white, certainly not western European. Likely he was darker skinned along the tones consistent with the eastern Mediterranean. Again, his blood heritage was Semitic. Additionally, Hannibal's physical appearance is not recorded in any indisputable form--either in word or images. There is no direct evidence. Consequently, it's best to go with what you know and there is one immutable fact: Hannibal was born in Africa, so that makes him fully African. However, if you want to throw a wrench into the mix, much of his young life was spent in Iberia--what is now Spain. So, in another sense, he was Spanish. 

A reason for addressing the race issue is to withdraw the racism element to the Punic Wars. They were about Rome being threatened by another economic power. And Carthage aggressively encroached on Roman frontiers. And Rome's primary defensive strategy was almost always to attack in those situations. 

What's the other issue?

Denzel Washington is, himself, an issue. Not because of race, but because of his age. He is 69 years old, which is a few years older than the age of Hannibal's death. No big deal there. I'm curious, however, to see how the story will be structured. Hannibal was 28 or 29 when he assumed command of Carthage's army. He ravaged Roman Italy until he was almost fifty. After that, he proved an exceptional, reformist civic administrator, bringing Carthage of out Roman economic oppression following the Second Punic War. Will the film be Hannibal looking back on his life as he runs from Rome--hellbent on capturing him and executing him? Does the plot pick up on his life rebuilding Carthage after his defeat at the Battle of Zama? 

This is a film I will see. First, Hannibal is one of my heroes from history. In fact, I am writing a historical fiction novel about him. Naturally that leaves me curious. But Denzel Washington is a fine actor and producer, so I trust that the film will have quality in both story and production value--and no doubt performances. In terms of controversy, obviously it is there, but then, Hollywood always takes creative license with characters and stories from history. There is almost never a pure work product based on history. And the lesson here is simple: Let films like this inspire a desire to learn more, but don't take it as gospel. 

*This image has been created during "DensityDesign Integrated Course Final Synthesis Studio" at  Politecnico di Milano, organized by DensityDesign Research Lab in 2016. Credits goes to Agata Brilli, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

The Nature of Heaven and Hell

I’ve been pondering the afterlife, motivated by a nightly prayer routine that includes the hope that my deceased family members are in Heaven. As a lifelong Catholic and the son of a woman quite literally raised by nuns, praying that loved ones are in Heaven is a thing. The question is: What is Heaven, and by contrast, what is hell?

My suspicions about the afterlife have evolved since the days of daily religion class at St, Cecilia’s Catholic School. No doubt, Sisters Maria, Patricia, and Virginia are giving me the hairy eyeball at the moment. Still, the notion of places above and below doesn’t necessarily track for me—an opinion I share with Bart Ehrman. But we’ll get to him momentarily. The idea of the afterlife seems to make less sense as a schism between good and bad people, and more of a community of souls—perhaps the analogy of a river or ocean of entities swirling together for the most intimate of relationships. Hold on, you say, because the Bible tells us about Heaven and Hell. Besides, there must be a reward for the good and punishment for those unkind, “evil” ones who sided against God. Okay, let’s look at that.

The afterlife started off in the Old Testament as a pretty bleak outcome. I believe the name of the place where the dead went was called Sheol. Jacob in Genesis 37:36 first mentions it when he is told of his son Joseph's death. "I shall go down to my son a mourner unto Sheol. [Note that in the Catholic Bible, it comes up under Genisis 37:35 and Sheol is substituted with “nether world.”] For the most part, Sheol was a place of nothingness—simply the ultimate eternal destination of those who passed. The assumption of the ancient Jews was that you die and into the “pit” you go. It’s neither Heaven nor Hell, it is just where the dead go—oblivion, really. Even later in Psalms, it’s just the grave or pit rather than a place of an afterlife.

Ultimately, though, the Bible reveals that there would eventually be a resurrection of the dead, the faithful having earned what the Book of Daniel (12:2-3, 12:13) mentions as “live forever” while the naughty would suffer in “everlasting horror.” Those are your first signs of Heaven and Hell, reward and punishment, in the Old Testament—that I know of, anyway.

Somewhere between Daniel and the coming of Jesus Christ, the notion of an afterlife evolved. Now, some of that is surely influenced by the nature of the Gentiles, of which many were Greek or heavily influenced by Greece. Consequently, there’d be some assimilation of Greek philosophy into the DNA of the New Testament. Indeed, it’s crucial to the New Testament because Paul was raised a Greek-speaking Jew. And as time wore on, some of that Greek influence—particularly the concept of Hades—worked its way into his thinking. This where we bring back Bart Erhman.

Ehrman examines the question of Heaven and Hell quite a bit and spoke about it on a recent NPR broadcast. He is a distinguished professor of religious studies at The University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Here’s the rub, however: Although a former altar boy in the Episcopal Church and later a born-again fundamentalist evangelical Christian, Ehrman is now an agnostic atheist.  He says he doesn’t really know if there is a superior being in the universe, but he doesn’t believe there is. Ehrman admits he knows nothing, really, nor does he believe in anything.  Nevertheless, he is incredibly well versed in scripture and, to be honest, brings a solid foundation of history to the discussion. His only weakness is his lack of faith, or, perhaps, disillusionment.

Nevertheless, Ehrman concurs with my statement that our assumptions about Heaven and Hell come not from the Old Testament; although he takes it a step further and says not even the actual teachings of Jesus Christ. According to Ehrman, Heaven and Hell is an afterthought by the Gospel authors and tempered heavily with an impatience with the Lord’s time frame for bringing the Kingdom of God.

Say what?

First, you have to understand that authors, be they of fiction, nonfiction, or scriptures bring their own viewpoints to the subject matter. No matter how detached one might pretend to be, a little editorial or artistic license works its way in. It’s human nature. And that’s where a little Greek mythos comes into our New Testament picture of the afterlife.

Having been raised in Turkey among a heavy Greek influence (yes, many Greeks lived in Turkey—probably much of the reason for mutual Greco-Turkish consternation), must have introduced Paul to the concept of Hades, that moment where the spirit, the soul, is separated from the body and transported or transmuted to the underworld. It’s in this afterplace where good and bad people split. But hold onto that.

Back to Ehrman who makes two important historical points: One is that there was a brand of Jews he calls the apocalypticists, to which he assigns both Paul and Jesus. Apocalypticists evolved the opinion that suffering in the world is because people sin against God, for which the sinner is punished. Essentially, evil, usually personified in the devil or as Satan, along with his followers, is aligned against God and thereby spawns global misery. This viewpoint began, according to Ehrman, 200 years before Jesus. They believed that God would soon destroy forces of evil, enabling the world to resume its utopia and for those people who were on the side of God—be they alive or dead, with the righteous dead being resurrected. God’s new kingdom would be here on Earth. However, as time went on, it was clear that the end times were, well, not on time. Or, at least, the end times weren’t on the early Christian timeline.  

But Jesus said...

Christ taught us that the Kingdom of God is coming. We tend to read that as the end of all time, Judgement Day, the Heavenly Kingdom. Ehrman makes a compelling case that Jesus didn’t so much believe in Heaven as an apocalypticist Jew, not in the separation of soul and body. God will destroy the forces of evil, raise the dead, and those who have been on God's side, especially those who follow Jesus' teachings, will enter the new kingdom here on Earth.

Ehrman says, “They'll be physical. They'll be in bodies. And they will live here on Earth—where the paradise will be. So Jesus taught that the kingdom of God, this new physical place, was coming soon, and those who did not get into the kingdom were going to be annihilated.”

“Please hold.”

When this didn’t happen when everyone, as in early Christians, thought, well, it must be that Jesus was talking a longer calendar. Consequently, Jesus must have meant that the coming of the Kingdom of God is in the afterlife. Thus, Paul concepted that the good would have residence with Christ in Heaven until the end of creation. This launches our idea of Heaven and Hell—continued existence without physical remains. If you’re good—you live in Heaven; if not so good, Hell. Gentiles bought into it because so many were converts were from Greek influences. These were people already accepting of life after death.

What about Revelations? My personal view is that Revelations is an allegory of the battle been early Christianity and the Roman Empire. Although, Revelations tracks with the apocalypticst viewpoint while being wholly counter to a forgiving God. Still, Ehrman makes a compelling point that screwing up for 70 years earning you an eternity or even trillions of years in agony seems pretty extreme.

Then, if Heaven and Hell as we’ve come to know them are seemingly constructs, then what is the afterlife and how does it relate to Heaven and Hell?

Here’s my thinking: If we are indeed imbued with an inherent spirit, intelligence, energy—all comprising the soul, then it is not something snuffed out by physical death. A star explodes and yet its remnants give birth to other stars. In other words, energy is infinite. I genuinely believe we exist beyond the body. Of course, Neil DeGrasse Tyson dismisses this because he asks, “Can you remember before you were born?” No, stupid, because I had not been created prior to conception. My soul had not existed prior to my conception. God may have known me before my creation, but that is only because God is infinite and not bound by linear time.

A sidebar, by the way, God is a very small word trying to encompass something way beyond our understanding. Keep that in mind.

River of dreams

Back to the soul and what happens after death. Imagine the afterlife is a community of souls. Earlier I used the analogy of a river or ocean of entities swirling together for the most intimate of relationships. This began from a film I saw as a boy that really resonated with me—to this day. Houseboat starred Cary Grant playing a character whose estranged wife died, and with whom his three children came to live. In a very cool scene where Grant explains the afterlife to his youngest son struggling to understand death and the loss of his mother, they’re sitting on the side of the houseboat floating on a river. Grant holds up a pitcher of water and says it’s like the boy's Mom, the pitcher is her body, and the water her spirit. He pours the water into the river. The pitcher is empty but where did the water go? That’s like death, Grant explains. Her spirit goes into the universe and a great river. She’s not gone.

It makes sense that all we are and know go into that great ocean of the universe—a community of souls. How intimate is it that our consciousness all intertwine and we genuinely experience communion. That’s not to say there isn’t some degree of punishment. After all, that community could know all that you’ve ever done or thought—know your sins. There would be some separation or rejection from those whom you’ve harmed over time, but then there would be infinite wisdom and forgiveness. Imagine that. Both Heaven and Hell as one, and within that—ultimate forgiveness.

The Last Gunfight at the Rice Hotel [Repost]

Editor's note: This article appeared in the Houston Heights Tribune twenty years ago. It was one of the last few articles I wrote for that paper––one that gave me wonderful opportunities to write interesting pieces and explore and develop my skills. Thank you, Sharon and Amy!

I once chanced to hear a tale about a great, great uncle who was killed in a gunfight. I don't remember how or why it came up, but it did. And the story came to me through my aunt, which she heard from her cousin Bernie. So, she had no details other than the duel took place in front of the Rice Hotel sometime in the early 1900s. There were no specific dates or any other forms of substantiation –– but that didn't matter.

The minute the words left her lips, the images and sounds began forming in my mind. The first thing I heard was the "ching" of spurs striking the cobblestone on Texas Avenue to announce each man's footsteps. Coming into imaginary focus was the mental movie of two men squaring-off, the theme from "The Good, The Bad, And the Ugly" steadily playing in my mind. The hands of a nearby clock approach high noon while the men's palms quiver above their holstered pistols. When the music climaxes on the hour-strike of a clock chime, one of the two men flinch. At that moment a deadly race is on to see who draws faster. Only a 100th of a second separates victor and victim.

In the wink of an eye, both barrels clear leather and let loose clouds of smoke and booms of thunder. When the smoke lifts and the echoes fade, one man falls to the street as scarlet billows over the stones and into the spaces between.

My imagination stampeded with this one, which was exactly what my aunt feared. Not that I wished a violent demise on anyone, but if the story were true, wow! What was it that lured this uncle to his fate? All the usual cliches came to mind––gambling, a woman, or simply stupid bravado.

The next morning I was on fire. I needed to know the who, what, when, where, and how. For years, my older brother and I (mostly my brother) had researched family history. But that was primarily on my father's side and, certainly, nothing as exciting as a gunfight had ever surfaced. So my pursuit of this truth began with scant information and the name of a relative with whom I've never spoken.

I found Cousin Bernie listed in the phone book—yes phone book. I dialed the number and waited with anticipation. After a few rings cousin Bernie answered. I introduced myself and explained that I was kin and how we were related.

The Rice Hotel in 1910.

A minute or two into the call I mentioned the story and asked if he knew much more about it. He perked up and explained that his Aunt Maude had only briefly mentioned it to him. What's more, it seemed to Cousin Bernie that it was something she was reluctant to talk about in detail. But, according to Maude, her brother died in the last gunfight at the Rice Hotel around 1905 or 1906. He went on to say that his uncle's name was Jack and that he was buried at the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery in Dickinson. That seemed to fit because my grandfather was Catholic.

Cousin Bernie and I chatted a bit longer, then he asked me to let him know if I found more. I said I would. My next call was to the cemetery where a nice woman named Lucille answered the phone. Since I had a name and about when he died, Lucille said she should be able to confirm if Uncle Jack was there. She took my phone number and said she would call when she had something.

An hour or so later, Lucille called. She located Uncle Jack within a family plot near the entrance of the cemetery. Along with a map pinpointing the gravesite, she faxed a copy of a ledger showing the precise date of death for Uncle Jack was 2/19/1906.

Here were the first critical pieces of evidence. I had a name, a grave, and an exact date of death. But all they told me was when Uncle Jack died, not how. The Holy Cross file had no death certificate. But Lucille did say Earthman's had prepared other family members for interment. Perhaps they might have done so for Uncle Jack and, if so, they might have a death certificate citing a cause of death.

On the other end of the phone at Earthman Funeral Directors was Peggy. She said it was possible such an old file still existed and that it might contain a copy of the death certificate. However, I’d have to submit a written request for such information. So, I did. I sent a similar request to the state bureau of Vital Statistics as back-up. In either case, it could be weeks before I get results.

With the phone-work done, the next logical step was the library. Surely a gunfight would make the local papers. At the turn of the 20th century, Houston was an exploding metropolis where two newspapers battled for circulation. Somewhere in their pages had to be the story of Uncle Jack and the gunfight at the Rice Hotel.

The first microfiche reel contained the editions I needed for the then Houston Chronicle and Herald. I immediately scanned to February 19th to find an obituary. There it was on page 5—Uncle Jack, or JD as the paper referred to him, was aged 22. He died in the early morning hours at his family residence on Main Street. Services were held that afternoon at 3:00 at Sacred Heart church. It also mentioned interment to be made at the Holy Cross Cemetery. Parents, as well as several brothers and sisters, survived him—one was Aunt Maude.

Now I was really curious. What could have cut short the life of such a young man? With no answer as to cause, I figured if Uncle Jack had been shot, it must have taken place pretty close to February 19th. So, I reviewed all the previous week’s issues.

An editorial on February 17th caught my attention. It called for increasing the punishment for unlawfully carrying weapons, especially pistols. What prompted the argument? Was it a rash of events or a single, isolated incident of gunplay in front of a fine Houston hotel? A detailed search revealed the reporting of only one shooting during the week before February 19. Uncle Jack was not involved. The Chronicle was now a dead end.

The Houston Daily Post was the morning edition, so Uncle Jack's obituary appeared on February 20th. It was nearly identical to the Chronicle's text. It, too, lacked any clue as to cause of death. Still, I decided to scan the previous week's editions.

The Post had a story about the same shooting as The Chronicle—no other shootings were reported. But The Post did have something new—a Mortuary Report. Each Sunday the paper listed how many died during the previous week. The list was by name and, and it featured causes of death. I'd found the report in the Sunday edition the week before Uncle Jack's death. So, I quickly rolled forward to February 25th.

Twice I looked through the issue before I found it. The small report was buried deep in the inside column just right of the gutter and near the bottom of the page. But the report was there and so was Uncle Jack. His name, his age, where he lay, and, now, how he died were no longer questions to which I sought answers.

By diving into family lore I’d tasted a bit of history while learning a bit about my heritage. More importantly, I was fortunate to have visited with a family member I'd never met before. I am now convinced of one other thing, the next conversation with my aunt should be very, very interesting.