Illustration © Kaitlynn Copithorne
On June 3rd—a day after police in Washington, D.C. had hit the streets in riot gear, had hit peaceful protesters with tear gas, flash bangs and a show of force by military aircraft that was designed to terrify—Madeline Miller (@MillerMadeline) tweeted the following:
"The military action against citizens in DC went by the name 'Operation Themis,' after a Greek goddess. Another example in a long line of Classics being used as a weapon in service of white supremacy, and as a way to add a pedigree to abuse."
Miller is right, of course. There is a long line of classical figures that have been co-opted in this way. Last year, in an interview with Arizona State University, classicist Donna Zuckerberg said that these antiquities have been "a great topic of interest for several ... white supremacist groups throughout history, most notably the Nazis and also the slave owners of the antebellum U.S. south." More recently, for white supremacists on social media, "the classics have become like a meme for them," a shorthand to communicate their views.
Even so, this particular co-option hit me hard. Themis doesn't belong to white supremacists. She's no emblem to fly on the flags of a militarized police force, especially when that force is being used to put down a cry for justice. Let's be clear: none of the classical myths belong to that cause; just the same it's hard to find a goddess less appropriate for them to appropriate than this one.
Themis is a Titan deity who represents good governance, moral action and justice: what protesters are calling for and what police have failed to provide. She also stands for divine, enduring law: not "law and order" of pop cliché, and not rules that are simply made up, fluctuating from year to year based on this policy or that. Themis's law runs deeper than that. Call it nature. Call it human rights.
At this point, perhaps you're wondering why I speak of Themis as if she were real. Well, I'll give you the truth: because she is. Scientists call our species Homo sapiens—the wise hominid—but we would be better dubbed Homo narrans, the storyteller. According to communication scholar Walter Fisher, all meaningful communication takes place through storytelling. Whether we mean to or not, we use stories constantly to explain the world, to persuade ourselves and others, to teach and learn. Certainly some of the tales we tell are frivolous, but those we truly believe and connect with, those that move us under the skin, are in a different weight class. You may not believe in eagle-headed horses, in fates snipping string, in chthonic sisters who will punish your moral crimes, your broken oaths, your murders—but you do believe something. Those beliefs exist in a narrative context. They are your myths.
And they're powerful. In the book Sapiens, historian Yuval Noah Harari wrote, “Large numbers of strangers can cooperate successfully by believing in common myths. Any large-scale human cooperation ... is rooted in common myths that exist ... in people’s collective imagination.” This is as true for a nation or a corporation as it is for a militarized operation. When a police force co-opts the name of Themis to code their brutal crackdown on a peaceful protest, they're bringing the power of a strong and ancient story to their service. Even if no one else were to hear about it, their use of Themis's name would have an effect: it would give them misplaced courage.
Why misplaced? Because if Themis herself were to show up on the scene of that operation—if she were to hear the screams of those who gathered in D.C. that day to stand against bad governance, immoral action and injustice—you can guess for yourself whose side she would be on.
So, no, white supremacists. You don't get to have Themis. No, officers: she's not yours. Invoke her name at your own peril, because that demand for good governance, this force of justice, the courage of moral action that you see on the streets before you right now is indeed very real.
She's coming for you, officers. And when she gets here, you may find you don't like Themis as much as you thought you did.
Elisabeth Carol Harvey McCumber is a mythologist and brand strategist who lives in Corvallis, Oregon. Visit ramblersjournal.com to read the first 55 pages of her upcoming novel, The Bird and the Book, in which Medusa and Cyclops haunt a woman who married young and regrets it. It's thoughtful, funny, sexy and full of heart (with a cameo appearance by Themis herself). (Full digital version available online for purchase.)