I grew up with the Confederate flag, “Dixie,” shrimp and
grits, antebellum homes, Civil War artifacts, and all of the things that fuel
the sweet nostalgic sense of what it means to be Southern. My family descended
from plantation folks, so my childhood was steeped in the romance of Old South
life. I grew up on property that was once a plantation. The “Big House” and the
old cotton gin house, still occupied by family members, represent historic
monuments to our heritage. I drank deeply of rhetoric about a more
tranquil time when society was not plagued by minority issues.
Years ago, I was riding with an African-American co-worker
down Folly Road on James Island. As we approached the Wappoo Cut Bridge, we
were treated to a beautiful view of the estate of Mr. Willie Mcleod, an ancient
Southern gentleman who resided at his family’s plantation for well over 100
years. The backyard of his antique home opened to a huge field. The scene was
framed with live oaks and six tiny buildings that once functioned as slave
quarters. My friend looked as if she were going to be ill. She said, “Why do
they leave those horrible slave houses up? My stomach hurts every time I see
them.” At the time, I was truly shocked that a sight so pleasant to my eyes
could cause such a visceral adverse reaction in another.
I have memories of a perfect, Tom Sawyeresque childhood on
the sea islands of South Carolina. However, the recollections have been cherry-picked, censored, and sanitized to such a degree as to no longer resemble actual
experiences. Old fellas like myself will often reflect on the idyllic
experiences of youth. But, ask young people who are currently in the midst of
actual youthful experiences, and their descriptions of these will be anything
but idyllic. This is because the stories we tell “about” life are
different from what we experience when we are in the process of living
life. The trouble with nostalgia is that it is rooted in
fantasy. Many of my stories about getting into trouble as a kid are
hysterically funny. However, the reality of these experiences was often painful
and sometimes scarring. Nostalgia about the Old South is no
different.
My wife and I went blackberry picking last weekend. It was
humid and over 90 degrees outside. Insects feasted on us as
briers tore at our arms and legs. Sweat poured into our eyes and
soaked our clothes. After less than an hour in this oppressive environment, we
called it quits. While picking, my wife, who is biracial, commented, “Can
you imagine what it must have been like to pick cotton?" I responded,
"Like this, except someone would probably be standing over us with a whip, and we would be working as long as there was enough light to see!”
I imagine most white, Southern people don’t spend much
time thinking about such things. We rarely allow ourselves to consider the
realities of slavery. A subsection of the American populous was systematically
tortured, degraded, raped, and murdered. The modern family dog enjoys more
protection from harm under the law than did a slave prior to the Civil War.
There is nothing romantic about the atrocities inflicted on
living, non-fictitious human beings under the Southern plantation system.
Rationalizations about loyal slaves and kindly masters only work when one
imagines oneself as the master and when one denies objective reality. In a
country so grounded in the knowledge that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
are fundamental human needs, the enslavement of sentient beings was a clear and
obvious abomination. Slaves were real people whose life experiences were vivid, and valid, and relevant.
I am proud of my Southern manners, my accent, and my Lowcountry culture. I
am proud of my family’s accomplishments. But, as a moral person, the only
response I could possibly have to symbols of a regime that supported the
institution of slavery is revulsion and shame.
For Germans in the early 20th century, the swastika was
a symbol of German pride. The dialogue that captured German hearts and minds at
that time revolved around embracing German culture and heritage. The horrors
visited on Jews by the Nazi regime should overshadow any nostalgic sense a
modern German might experience from the display of a swastika. What kind of
person would be so insensitive as to suggest that the swastika be displayed
anywhere other than a museum?
Likewise, the horrors visited on African Americans by the
plantation system in the American South should overshadow any nostalgic sense a
modern Southerner might experience from displaying a Confederate
flag. What kind of person would be so insensitive as to suggest that the
Confederate flag be displayed anywhere other than a museum?
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