Selective morality: The West, the legacy of slavery, and the crisis of global conscience

By Vidya Bhushan Rawat* 

The United Nations General Assembly’s recent resolution, moved by Ghana, condemning the trans-Atlantic slave trade as the “gravest crime against humanity” has once again exposed the deep fault lines in global moral politics. While the resolution received wide support, the opposition by the United States, Israel, and Argentina—and the abstention of 52 countries, largely from Europe—raises uncomfortable questions about the sincerity of global commitments to justice, human rights, and historical accountability.

Slavery was not an aberration in the making of the modern world; it was central to the rise of global capitalism. The wealth of colonial powers in Europe and North America was built on the systematic exploitation of enslaved Africans and colonised peoples. The so-called “free market” and the ideals of liberty and merit that are often celebrated in the West cannot be divorced from this brutal history. Those who champion these values must also reckon with the immense human cost paid by exploited societies across the world.

The voting pattern at the General Assembly is revealing. While countries such as India, China, and Russia supported the resolution, much of Europe chose to abstain. These are nations that once dominated the colonial order and today position themselves as champions of human rights, anti-racism, and social justice. Yet, their reluctance to confront uncomfortable truths—especially when it involves challenging the United States—suggests a troubling inconsistency. Moral posturing appears to falter when it risks geopolitical alliances.

This is not an isolated instance. The failure of the 2001 World Conference Against Racism in Durban remains a telling example. The United States withdrew from the conference, opposing any reference to Israel’s policies in Palestine. Such actions reflect a broader pattern where powerful nations resist scrutiny, particularly when it touches upon their own histories or their strategic allies.

Equally troubling is the dominance of Western narratives in global discourse. Political rhetoric often paints countries like Iran, Venezuela, and Cuba in simplistic and derogatory terms, obscuring the complex realities shaped in part by external interventions and sanctions. For instance, economic hardships in Cuba are frequently highlighted without adequate attention to the long-standing embargo and restrictions that have severely constrained its economy.

Reports of selective resource flows—where fuel supplies are permitted for private enterprises like hotels but restricted for public institutions such as hospitals—underscore the human cost of such policies. In situations of acute shortages, it is ordinary citizens, particularly the most vulnerable, who bear the brunt. Healthcare systems suffer, and basic services collapse, raising serious ethical concerns about the use of economic pressure as a political tool.

A closer look at global conflicts involving the United States reveals a recurring link to strategic and economic interests, particularly access to resources. At the same time, there is a persistent tendency to block or dilute international efforts aimed at addressing historical injustices, including those related to slavery and racism. This contradiction—between professed values and actual policies—undermines the credibility of claims to moral leadership.

The historical record further complicates the narrative. Several early leaders of the United States, including George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, were slave owners. Between 1789 and 1877, a significant number of American presidents owned slaves, reflecting how deeply entrenched the institution was within the political and economic system. While figures like John Adams and Abraham Lincoln stood apart in this regard, the broader reality remains that slavery was foundational to the nation’s early development.

The legacy of slavery did not end with its formal abolition. It evolved into new systems of exploitation, such as indentured labour, which brought thousands of Indians—many from marginalised communities—to work in plantations across the Caribbean and other colonies. Similarly, the dispossession of indigenous peoples in the Americas formed another pillar of colonial expansion.

Given this history, the question of reparations cannot be dismissed. The scale of the trans-Atlantic slave trade and colonial exploitation demands not just acknowledgment but meaningful redress. However, resistance to even symbolic gestures—such as UN resolutions—suggests a lack of political will among former colonial powers to engage with this issue seriously.

Acknowledging historical wrongs is not merely an academic exercise; it is a moral imperative. Yet, the discomfort it generates among powerful nations often leads to evasion, deflection, or outright opposition. Selective criticism and the suppression of inconvenient truths only deepen global inequalities and mistrust.

It is time for countries and communities that have borne the brunt of slavery, colonialism, and racial exploitation to assert their demands more forcefully. Building independent institutions, fostering research, and strengthening solidarities—such as between anti-caste movements in South Asia and global struggles against racism—are crucial steps in this direction.

The credibility of global human rights discourse depends on consistency. Without an honest reckoning with the past and a genuine commitment to justice, claims of moral leadership will continue to ring hollow.

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*Human rights defender