The Mythology of The South: A history that will not be erased

So, over the last couple of years, I have been thinking about racism a lot, and even more so since last November. I thought about racism before, but it never felt so much like a rabid dog standing outside our door as much as it has in the last couple of years. Frankly, I know why I thought it wasn't outside my own door--it's because I'm white. 

With the exception of my childhood history, and occasional brushes with misogyny as a woman, I have led a very comfortable life. When I've been pulled over for speeding, I've never feared for my life. No one goes to lock their door when they see me walk down the street. I worry about things my child might face, because I know rape culture is real, and I know I can't protect her at every moment. But I'm not worried that she will be mistaken for a criminal just because she's walking along the sidewalk in her own skin.

A lot of people say that we fought the war over racism over 100 years ago. Some say we fought it about 50 years ago. The reality? The war has never ended, especially in the minds of those who still feel that it wasn't slavery, but their way of life that was under attack. Sadly, slavery and their "way of life" were one in the same. If you cannot let go of one, you cannot deny the other. 

Up until the last four years, the concept of "The South" was about as real to me as any other moment in history. It was in a book, in a movie, in a documentary, at a roadside van selling cheap tapestries. And even when I first moved to Northwest Arkansas, I believed I was living in "The South Lite." 

It wasn't until a night out with my husband a little over a year ago that we actually looked at the statue in the middle of a nearby town square, as we walked through, that I realized where I live. I had never been face to stone with a statue honoring the Confederacy. 

I immediately felt "out of place." I immediately heard an inner voice saying 'Oh my god, how can I live here?' And yet, I do. The discomfort and shock I felt in that moment was real. But I still don't want to believe it. I felt these things, and I am white. 

When I say that, I'm not asking for some kind of badge or reward for caring. I am acknowledging that if I felt those things, I cannot even begin to imagine what people of color feel when they see it. 

I understand that lives were lost those many years ago, and that people loved those who were lost on both sides. But that doesn't make the motives behind both sides equivalently just. It also doesn't mean there weren't wrongs on both sides. At the same time, the reality is that if these monuments had been erected immediately following the Civil War, they may not be met with the feelings that so many have about them. 

The South lost the Civil War. They lost the state's right to continue owning other human beings. But even to this day, plenty of Southerners and sympathizers believe they were in the right. The narrative of the Southern culture and tradition has been romanticized, and reworked. Two things that haven't changed are the sincere, and passionate feelings of superiority and righteousness that allow many to shun outsiders, or those who see the cracks in the narrative, and as before--people of color. 

It's easy to fall into the Antebellum trap. Growing up, I remember watching "The North and the South" miniseries. I swooned over Patrick Swayze as Orry Main. I also watched "The Blue and the Grey." I was in love with the femininity of the fashion, the gentility of the menfolk, and the deep sense of honor portrayed in these television snapshots of the South. 

Of course, these "snapshots" didn't bring the true horrors of the era to light. But they weren't intended to. And that's one thing that these romanticized versions of the Southern reality have in common with the true Southern reality. Those who perpetuate the mythology of the honorable South never seem to embrace the truth about the horrors of slavery, and racism. They never acknowledge the dehumanization that allowed millions of people to be stolen from their homelands, bought and sold away from their families, denied the right to practice their own cultures and beliefs, beaten, tortured, raped and murdered. It seems like it's just not polite Southern culture to own these horrors as surely as the victims of this culture were "owned."

And that's what makes these statues and memorials even more problematic. In most cases, they weren't erected immediately following the Civil War. They weren't erected to memorialize the losses, or to honor the valor on the Southern side. They were erected for a more malicious purpose--one far less polite. They were erected during the Jim Crow era and the Civil Rights movement. They were erected to remind the "uppity negro" who deigned to remain in the South, of their place. And they were reaffirmation to the current and future generations of Southerners that their "way of life" had been attacked, and they had been "done wrong."

For some, the war never ended. Even for generations long beyond the original surrender, there has never been any surrender. 

Two days after last week's protests in Charlottesville, Virginia, I stood in line at a children's museum with my daughter. The man in front of us was wearing a t-shirt with a woman bending over in "Daisy Dukes" on the back. And right beside her were the words 'The South will rise again.' He was also sporting a Rebel Flag hat. Because it was a children's museum, it might go without saying, he was there with his child. This man was probably half my age. 

It's not that I don't see this kind of "image" multiple times a week, but it still confuses and troubles me. This man bothered me particularly, because I know his child sees what his father believes. And I know the families of color I saw that day probably saw him as well. 

These statues, flags, and symbols are reminders to people on both sides that for some, the war over race never truly ended. For some, the outcome was unjust. For some, the mythology of superiority lives on. It may hide under the banners of Southern heritage, pride, family values, or even godliness, but there is no hiding the truth of it. 

Many argue that taking down monuments is an attempt to "erase history." Many argue that people are too easily offended, and that the arguments for taking these monuments down are due to "political correctness." Maybe I could see why people cling to these false idols if they were what they purport to be. Maybe if their symbolism was not intended to be a method of intimidation when people of color started to demand the equality and human rights promised by our constitution, I could sympathize with wanting to hold onto their history.

But you see, when ship-loads of people were stolen from their homes, to be bought, sold, enslaved, beaten, raped, and murdered, their histories were erased, too. Their cultures, beliefs, families and homes were stolen from them. And beyond that, their very humanity was ripped from them. In many cases, the descendants of these people don't know where their ancestors came from. All they have is a continent. 

Even if every monument to the Confederacy was pulled down tomorrow, it would never equivocate to the level of erasure which happened to these human beings, for the sake of a "way of life." 

It is unfathomable to me that there should be any argument over displaying on pedestals these "monuments," which so publicly honor such a true theft and erasure of heritage and humanity. These relics of the Jim Crow era and the Civil Rights Movement are on display in public places are held so dearly, because the beliefs behind them cannot be displayed so publicly--at least not without conflict. 

Slavery and racism can never be extricated from the South or the Civil War. Removing a statue, or pulling down a flag will never erase a history so painfully and tightly woven into the fabric of both our nation and the culture of those who are descended from its victims. 

There is no danger that any of this pain or history will be wiped from our memories any time soon--regardless of the fate of a bunch of stone and metal. As long as one side of history continues to keep the wounds open, the divisions of the past will live on, and we will be doomed to perpetually fight the same battles over basic humanity that have been fought over and over again. 

"A nation divided will not stand." And the attachment to a history, heritage and way of life that dehumanizes people because of their skin color will continue to to be a source of that division. 

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