Reverend Healy's mother: Eliza Clark matters

 I want to start by saying that I hate the word ‘triggered.’   

I’m not sure why. Could be because it’s been: overused, used incorrectly, used to mock and minimize. Could be because it’s not exactly active. You don’t trigger. You GET triggered. Something acts upon you; triggers you. You’re not in control. The trigger is. 

Sure, the word works in some contexts, like in a school/work environment where you might need to be extra careful about word choice: “The student was triggered by. . . “ 

But in general, I’m more a fan of straight-forward terms like ticked, pissed off, totally stressed out about. Those words aren’t as polite and are certainly less suitable for work, but they get right to the point. (Plus, I’m retired so I don’t need to watch my language as much anymore.) When you say those words, you’re not couching meaning in politeness. You’re not hiding behind courtesy. For the listener, there’s no second-guessing, rationalizing, pretending.  

(This 1/22/26 article in Psychology Today does a much better job and goes into more depth on the subject: “Why It’s Time to Stop Using the Word 'Trigger'”).

 

A few days ago, my college posted this on social media: 

On April 6, 1830, Rev. James Healy was born in Georgia to an Irish immigrant and a biracial enslaved woman. James and his siblings were sent North to be educated. James attended Holy Cross, and was in the first graduating class of 1849, of which he was valedictorian. He was ordained a priest in 1854, and named bishop of Portland, Maine in 1875, making him the first African American to become a Roman Catholic bishop.

 

A benign, bland, run-of-the-mill paragraph, right?  Something you might find next to an asterisk at the bottom of a calendar page, right?  But I read that and got pissed. Had to sit with that feeling for a few days. Get to the heart of things. What was bugging me so much?   

To help me sort things out, I read. Spent many hours going down history rabbit holes. Started with the name Reverend James Healy and found Eliza Clark, someone who, like most women, deserves a heck of a lot more space in the history books than the mostly white male authors (some sites say more than 75 percent) have traditionally allotted women in general. And like everything else, women of color always get even less. Don’t believe me? Look up gaps in wages by gender and skin color. Research maternal health studies, hospital mortality rates.  

It was this phrase that nagged the heck out of me in that social media post: “born. . . to an Irish immigrant and a biracial enslaved woman.”

Smacked me right in the face, that phrase. Dragged me way back to my years in the corporate world, and before that to college, and before that to high school and grammar school and female teachers – mainly nuns, showing nothing but deference to the men in charge who made all the money, held all the power, and pulled all the strings. All the way back to those important developmental decades when good little girls were schooled in the ways of the world. We were conditioned to stay quiet, avoid drawing attention, and listen in awe while high and mighty males exerted all the control and their word was law.

Word choice matters. Words reveal everything about who we are and what we value. And those words in that phrase? They spoke volumes about who – to historians of the past and to the folks writing these posts today -- mattered most in Reverend Healy’s life, and who got forgotten. 

“Irish immigrant.” That’s how his father was described. Holy Cross prides itself on its Irish immigrant foundations. Sure, in Georgia 1830 Irish immigrants were not exactly at the top of the social ladder. (More on that another time, perhaps.) But those words used in the context of today? They reveal volumes about the college’s legacy, history, pride. At HC, Irish immigrants = tradition, courage, smarts. 

“Biracial enslaved woman.” In this passage, Healy’s mother isn't even worth a comma. Biracial, enslaved woman. Fixed it. Sort of. She was of African descent and probably of European descent too. Why bother with commas? Why even bother with any detail? She was only a woman. A black woman. An enslaved black woman.  

“Enslaved.” By whom? 

“Aah,” I initially thought. “Perhaps the Irish immigrant was her rescuer? Her knight in shining armor?” 

In truth I knew better, but I've always been a bit of a Pollyanna.

Turns out he was the one who enslaved her. But you wouldn't know that unless you researched because in the above post that fact isn't important enough to need mention. And the fact that she was enslaved is. You'd almost think he was some sort of white savior. But the truth is that he was more than twice her age when he bought her and impregnated her when she was just 16. And there’s a lot more horrible stuff too. But let's sanitize all that and wish Reverend Healy a happy birthday. . . 

Or how about instead we give Rev. Healy a polite nod and instead shower attention on his mother, Eliza Clark. April 6, 1830 was her first birth day, but not her last. She had nine more live births over the next twenty years. Her DNA via her descendants is inextricably linked to the history of my college, to other great institutions as well, and to thriving, happy families all over New England and throughout the United States. It's because of her sacrifices that so many others have had and will continue to have opportunities to live full, free lives. She deserved better. She deserves more than what life on this earth gave her, and what history has given her so far. 

More later.