In a development that has left historians, theologians and anyone with a passing grasp of chronology gasping, Pope Francis has issued an apology for the Catholic Church's historical involvement in the transatlantic slave trade. Ghana, a nation that has been waiting for this apology since roughly 1526, has graciously accepted, presumably after checking the calendar to confirm it was not, in fact, a prank call from a cheeky cardinal with a time machine.
The pontiff, speaking to a delegation of Ghanaian bishops, confessed that the Church’s past actions were ‘a grave sin’ and ‘a crime against humanity’. This revelation will come as a thunderbolt to those who had previously believed the Church’s policy on slavery was merely ‘tacit endorsement with occasional papal bulls of condemnation that nobody read’.
Let us be clear: the Catholic Church did not merely ‘participate’ in the slave trade. It blessed the ships, baptised the captives, and invested in the companies that turned human misery into a lucrative import-export business. The Vatican’s own archives are a veritable treasure trove of receipts for souls, signed in holy water and sealed with the blood of the oppressed.
But let us not dwell on the past. The Pope has apologised, and Ghana has accepted. The foreign ministry in Accra, no doubt after a long and agonising committee meeting that involved several cups of tea and a heated debate about the correct response to a millennium of moral failure, decided that a ‘thank you’ was in order. Because that is what you do when someone finally admits they were wrong about owning your ancestors as chattel. You thank them for the clarity, and perhaps offer them a biscuit.
This apology, however, is not without its complexities. For one, it arrives roughly four centuries after the fact, raising the question: is an apology for slavery like a birthday card for a man who died in 1650? The gesture is nice, but the recipient has rather moved on. Secondly, the Pope’s apology does not come with a cheque. There is no mention of reparations, no offer to sell off a few Renaissance masterpieces to fund educational programmes in Ghana, no suggestion that the Vatican’s vast real estate portfolio might be liquidated to redress an historical imbalance. This is an apology in the same way that a man who breaks your window and then says ‘sorry’ is a kind neighbour. It is a start, but the glazier still needs paying.
And let us not forget the other victims of the Church’s moral flexibility. What about the indigenous populations of the Americas, who were evangelised at swordpoint? Or the children of the Magdalene Laundries, who were sold into servitude? Or the women of the Amazon, whose bodies were treated as mission stations? The Pope’s apology is admirably broad, but it is also admirably vague. It is the diplomatic equivalent of a man at a party who spills your drink and then says, ‘I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been a git.’ It covers the ground, but it does not quite catch the scent.
Still, we must give credit where it is due. To apologise for the sins of your predecessors is to acknowledge that the Church is not just an eternal, infallible institution but a human organisation that makes mistakes. It is to step out of the fortress of history and admit that the walls are built on bones. And it is to give Ghana a moment of dignity, a chance to stand on the world stage and say, ‘We accept your apology, and we appreciate the gesture.’
Perhaps, in another four hundred years, the Vatican will get around to that cheque. I suggest they post it by camel, as it seems to be their preferred method of communication with the future.
