“The public, when aroused and excited by passion and prejudice, is little better than a wild beast. I shall at all events retain my own self-respect and a clear conscience, and time will do justice to my motives at least..." – Senator William Pitt Fessenden of Maine 1

On Wednesday, March 26, 2008, many of Florida's attentive citizens were eagerly anticipating the return of the space shuttle to Cape Canaveral after 16 days in space. (2) The landing of Endeavor at Kennedy Space Center was rather symbolic to another an endeavor befitting of Kennedy's Profiles in Courage. On the other side of the state, legislators in Florida's capitol had moved forward with the presentation of Senate Resolution 2808; a bill intended to offer formal apologies for "Florida's role in slavery." 3 By measure of slavery's great history, the presentation of SR2808 was not overextended or overindulged beyond the limits of reasonable business. Yet, when the public was informed of the resolution's passing the next day, the entire body of Senators were mocked in online forums and political classrooms as though they had not been free enough to exercise their own consciences. Three men were key in pushing for this resolution, but coming elections will determine the fallout of their cooperative efforts in the mind of constituent voters.

Senator Gary Siplin of District 19 had finally issued Senate Resolution 2808 on March 3, but with the intended promise to work with two other men who had been pressing for this since early 2007. Democratic Senator Tony Hill of District 1 had joined forces with Republican President of the Senate, Ken Pruitt of District 28 more than a year before. Hill, a black senator with offices in several counties of northeast Florida, and Pruitt, a white senator with offices in southeast Florida, were pictured in a genuine embrace of accomplishment.

Prior to the backlash of public opinion, perhaps the only controversial action that had taken place that day was that Pruitt insisted on there being no discussion and no recorded vote. 4 In other words, he and his colleagues had firmly decided that the matter of a state apology was long overdue and any refutation of that apology would lead to belabored technicalities. By his own words, "It was important for the words to stand on their own." To be sure, Pruitt was not alone in his passion for seeing this resolution go through without a hitch.

As a "union organizer" from Jacksonville, Tony Hill had been inspired by the 2007 film Amazing Grace that depicted one man's voice against the rest of British Parliament regarding the inhumane practice of the slave trade. 5 Naturally, one might argue that the eighteenth and nineteenth century fight of William Wilberforce was far more pressing than a mere apology of symbolic gesture, but Senator Hill believed an apology was necessary for the furtherance of healing our nation's racial divide. His may have been one of the first voices in Florida to call for such a resolution, but it was not the first in these United States. Florida followed New Jersey, Alabama, North Carolina, Maryland, and Virginia in issuing state apologies.

Senator Siplin put into words what the Florida lawmakers would ultimately hear and echo. "That the Senate expresses its deepest sympathies and solemn regrets to those who were enslaved and to their descendants, who were deprived of life, human dignity, and the constitutional protections promised to all citizens of the United States; and encourages remembrance and teaching about the history of slavery, Jim Crow laws, and modern-day slavery in order to ensure that these tragedies will not be forgotten or repeated." 6 The latter portion is, by far, the most significant. For it is the very nature of an apology to show recognition of failure in order to ensure that those wrongs will never happen again. In theory, modern citizens would like to believe these issues of slavery and segregation are forgotten, but it is indeed difficult for many to forget what has never been acknowledged. Still, the efforts of Hill, Pruitt, and Siplin combined in what seemed like an easy moment of conciliatory remembrance only to find that many in the public were angered by such action.

Internet bloggers, given the freedom of random comments, were found in ample supply. Writers on the Miami Herald website called the resolution "absurd" and immediately sprouted fear that this was a ploy of "reverse racism" by Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton. Some went so far as to call the members of the Senate "sissies." Failing to note that the senators were making an apology on behalf of the State Legislature, rather than the citizens themselves, several respondents were quick to assert that "I have nothing to apologize for." Slavery had been largely perpetuated by Florida lawmakers who permitted its legal existence and thus, bear the weight of responsibility above those citizens who simply operated under the law. This had not been a citizen apology, but a legal apology. Hence, any ridiculous notion that senators were apologizing for their constituents would naturally be foolish and misguided.

Undaunted by any suggestions that this was a reasonable resolution, bloggers on the website of St. Petersburg Times were found with plenty of opinions to offer. Some called it a "waste of time and money" and sarcastically suggested that the Florida taxpayers have lost investments with their local government. Still others referred to the resolution as a "stupid and idiotic" document that catered to "black racism." Far beyond any technical survey, one could estimate that between both newspapers, 80% of public opinion was exclamatory and accusing.

Had these written words been the only opposition, it might have been easier to disregard them as a technological minority (not every voter will read or post online), but my unexpected defense of the state's apology in an 8am classroom was strikingly similar. At the very mention of the March 26 apology, hands were raised on both sides of the political classroom with frustrated bewilderment that this was even a topic of discussion. Within moments, students were debating the unlikelihood of reparations and the impossibility of honest resolution. And much to my surprise, I was the only one defending the apology as an act of reasonable merit.

To be sure, my own defense of this senatorial goodwill does not make me courageous. Such courage belongs to the men who pushed this apology through the Florida Senate without fearing the backlash of public disregard by those who made their political employment possible through election. The opening chapter of Senator Kennedy's Profiles in Courage referred to the challenges "which drive a Senator to abandon or subdue his conscience." He said, "I am convinced that we have criticized those who have followed the crowd—and at the same time criticized those who have defied it." 7 Indeed, there is little question that state apologies are not exactly the most popular thing among the majority of voters.

Whether we agree or disagree with the decision of Tony Hill, Ken Pruitt, and Gary Siplin to pursue this course of action is irrelevant to the credibility of their actions as courageous in their own right. Those who disagree with their efforts and wish to remove them from office can do so by the democratic form of government that we all embrace. Speaking of South Carolina's voters in the nineteenth century, John C. Calhoun coolly said, "I act to the best of my judgment and according to my conscience. If she [SC] approves, well and good. If she does not and wishes anyone to take my place, I am ready to vacate. We are even." 8 The three men most notable in Florida's apology for slavery now stand at the mercy of the local electorate, but their courage of conscience will not be forgotten.