The Thing That Cannot Be Said
How secrets and silence shape the lives built around them
Alex Tizon is one of my most controversial friends. Was. He died in his home in Eugene, Oregon, on March 23, 2017. The medical examiner found that Alex had died in his sleep of natural causes. He was only 57.
The same day, The Atlantic‘s editorial staff decided to feature, on the magazine’s front cover, his article My Family’s Slave. He never got to see it, but the world did. The article went viral, provoking intense responses across Filipino, American, and global audiences. Some praised him for his honesty and craft while debating moral responsibility and cultural complicity. Others were appalled that anyone in modern-day US could own a slave, regardless of how it turned out.
When the article came out, I realized I knew of Lola. To me and the rest of the world, she was his sweet, caring grandmother. He was caring for her in her old age until she passed away in 2011. What none of us knew was that the truth was much more complicated, and that my thoughtful, educated, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist, mentor, and dear friend Alex lived with, benefited from, and participated in maintaining a dark family secret - they owned a slave.
I was someone he had trusted with other deeply personal family things. But even I didn’t know this until I read about it. Was this article his way of breaking the spell of a secret that defined three generations? How did it affect him and his life trajectory as someone who studied people deeply? He embedded himself in a Filipino gang so he could write about the complexities of survival and human interactions. He exposed hierarchical abuse in Native American tribes. He followed 911 survivors for years, tracking their lives and stories. He was a compassionate human being if I ever saw one.
Lots of families have secrets. Jack Nicholson was raised by his grandparents, believing his grandmother was his mother, until Time Magazine reported that his older sister was his mother. By then, both had passed away. Hidden adoptions or misattributed paternity were common in mid-20th century Western contexts because society didn’t take kindly to women who had children out of wedlock. Facing stigma and denied opportunities, many felt that they had no other choice.
Family members’ concealed involvement in events like the Holocaust. I remember taking a tour of Munich some years back with a tour guide my age who proudly told stories of the city’s history until she hit WWII and German society during Hitler. Her pride, replaced with facts about buildings, made me ask, “Do you know what your family was doing during that time?”
“My grandfather was a professor at the university, and my grandmother stayed at home taking care of my mom and the other kids.”
No mention of the other side of the family. She tried to change the subject, pointing at a landmark.
I noticed.
“Have your grandparents ever told you how they felt about Hitler and the rise of fascism, about what was happening in the war, and to Jewish people?”
“German families don’t like to talk about that time,” she said. “Many people had to go along to get by, to keep their jobs and feed their families, to avoid ending up in a concentration camp themselves. Everyone usually says that they were not involved in any way with the rest of it.”
If no one was involved with “the rest of it,” then who stood guard at the concentration camps? Who rounded up Jewish kids? Who processed the paperwork? Who delivered food and supplies to the concentration camps? Who built the buildings? Who approved Hitler’s budget? Who voted for his regime?
I didn’t ask. Secrets don’t come out just because people ask.
