contextualizing confederate monuments: part three

what should we do with them?

Last week I discussed the origin and popularity of the myth of the Lost Cause in the Southern United States.  Confederate monuments were erected as a permanent public reminder of the Lost Cause, which revised the history of the South, making it a kind and loyal place, gently controlled by Christian men who protected their women and nurtured their slaves.  Many of the organizations that funded the monument movement were openly founded on the Christian legitimacy of the South and on the supremacy of the white race.  We now find ourselves in a battle over this contested past.  Many proponents of the Lost Cause, mostly white people who love their Southern heritage, are understandably frustrated that some non-whites, liberal whites, or Northern whites, want to remove Confederate monuments, erasing history.  They feel defensive, as if their entire legacy is being vilified and erased by people with no right to speak into Southern history.  This viewpoint makes perfect sense if the only history of the South is the Lost Cause. 

However, most Southerners—of all races—do not know the full history of the South.  They don’t know that most plantations were owned by absentee landlords, and were simply plots of land, worked by people under the lash of an overseer, with no “humanizing” white family nearby.  They don’t know that Christianity and baptism were twisted and manipulated, finally shared with slaves only when evangelism could be used as a tool of coercion against the new converts.  They don’t know that the vast majority of white people did not own slaves, and were victimized by a system that allowed huge plantations with a self-replicating work force to thrive while they struggled to get ahead.  They don’t know that the institution of slavery fueled, funded and built every economic gain America experienced, and that America itself owes a deep debt of gratitude to the people of color who made America great and possible in the first place.  They don’t know that statues of men who prioritized personal gain over loyalty to America were erected to honor a fabricated Southern legacy.  This historical ignorance must be confronted in order to think clearly about the current Confederate monument debate.

“The institution of slavery fueled, funded and built every economic gain America experienced; America itself owes a deep debt of gratitude to the people of color who made America great and possible in the first place.  ”

Here are the two sides of this debate as I understand them:

For many, the Civil War and the Confederacy are part of our history, and the men who fought in the war were valiant warriors loyal to their families, fighting for the rights of those in their states.  Honoring them has nothing to do with slavery, but instead commemorates the noble leaders who fought and died for their values in the bloodiest war America has ever known.  They are part of our history, and should be remembered.

For others, the monuments of Confederate leaders honor men who betrayed their country through legislated mutiny, and then fought for the right of their fellow statesmen to own, abuse, and control every aspect of the lives of their human chattel.  For these folks, the antebellum South, the Confederacy, the flag, and the soldiers who fought for the states who seceded are all fruit of the poisoned tree of slavery.  This past is fluid and invasive and one cannot separate part of the memory for honor when slavery was the reality that created the whole.

“The antebellum South, the Confederacy, the flag, and the soldiers who fought for the states who seceded are all fruit of the poisoned tree of slavery.”

So what are we to do with this history?  I do not think that we can praise every confederate honoree as an unblemished hero or as a despicable tyrant who should be shunned.  That said, we cannot pretend that this debate is about a choice to honor history when the statues themselves were created to erase history.  America is a mixed bag; we are brave and free and fair, while also being cowardly and abusive and greedy.  The idea that this debate has a side who want to ignore or erase history (those in favor of removing them) and a side who wants to learn from or honor history (those who want to leave them alone) is problematic.  The history memorialized by confederate statues is a history created after the Civil War to erase the evil of the history that established, paid for and built our country.  

“We cannot pretend that this debate is about a choice to honor history when the statues themselves were created to erase history. ”

As a Southern American, I agree that we cannot erase or ignore history by removing confederate statues.  We have inherited a legacy of erasing and white washing the very histories of hierarchies based on race left to us by our ancestors, and this debate gives us a chance to reckon not only with our past, but with the ways we continue to remember and disremember that past.  We are responsible, each of us, for what we do with the legacy left to us by our ancestors.  For my part, I do see a place for confederate monuments in public life, under these conditions:

1)   The monuments should be joined by other conflicted “heroes”, like slaves, slave rebellion leaders, abolitionists, and leaders who spoke truth to the power of white supremacy when it was dangerous to do so. (It still is dangerous to do so, in fact…) The commemoration of others will create a robust dialogue about the role of individuals in promoting or confronting systems of injustice.  America has a legacy of abusive oppression, but we also have a legacy of resistance and seeking justice for all.

2)   Existing monuments should be moved to museums or accurately contextualized with posted explanations.  Nathan Bedford Forrest was a brave confederate general AND a violent promoter of racial hatred as a slave trader and the Grand Wizard of the KKK.  Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence AND forced a teenage slave he owned to have sex with him and bear several of his children, whom he freed while continually writing that interracial mixing was an abomination and abhorrent to God.  Robert E. Lee was a tenacious general who believed slavery was “evil”, supported abolishing it, AND held racist views that slavery civilized Africans and that he would kill soldiers who fought to abolish it.  The question about moving statues to a museum instead of honoring them in public parks is not a question of who is willing to remember history, it is a question of who is willing to place these statues in the historical context in which the men they honor lived and died, rather than the manipulative context in which they were originally placed. 

Our history is neither all progress nor all degrading shame; we are and always have been mixed bags.  We would do well to take an honest look at what our “heroes” accomplished on their best and worst days, allowing that knowledge to explain the legacy we all carry, and what we are to do with it today.

Next week, a look at interracial dialogue happening at Lipscomb University this month.

let's talk about race: how did we get here?

Part II

Just as our country celebrates our Columbian heritage with a simple rhyme about 1492 instead of decrying a year which marked the beginning of mass murder and extermination, most Southerners think about slavery as a dark spot on our history, but also maintain images of sweet plantations, and proclaim there are no lasting effects from a system that ended 160 years ago.  The import of such thinking is that while the institution itself was unfortunate, everyone made the best of it and for the most part, we have no lingering impact.  This narrative, which is still roundly attested to as THE narrative of slavery in the South, conveys our collective amnesia as a nation and belies our need to rediscover our history.

“This narrative, which is still roundly attested to as THE narrative of slavery in the South, conveys our collective amnesia as a nation and belies our need to rediscover our history.”

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An honest exploration of our collective past reveals the fact that slavery explicitly endorsed the dehumanization that colonization hid under religion and empire.  Slaves, human beings, were openly referred to, moved as, insured as, sold as and used as cargo or livestock.  The myth of Tara (Gone With the Wind) and the paternalistic, believing and therefore kind, plantation owner did not mitigate the systemic abuse of slaves.

Imagine you are a slave in 1820. If you profess an independent and solid faith in Christ, you are viewed suspiciously.  Literacy, or anything approximating literacy, is illegal in most states, so you cannot learn to read or write.  If you have natural leadership skills, you might often be beaten as a budding insurrectionist.  You are allowed to marry, but your owner likely doubts you are capable of loving relationships, so your children are sold away and your wife is rented out to another plantation 10 miles away.  These scenarios are not exceptions; they were the norm by a large margin. 

I bring this up because understanding these beginnings is crucial if we hope to understand where we are as a country today.  The seeds of dehumanization, planted in the colonial era, grew into the seedlings of racial abuse during slavery.  This poisonous plant then blossomed into a racially stratified society, and now produces the fruit of systemic, insidious, racially biased laws, protocols and business practices that often prevent people of color from functioning within the privileged norms of autonomous society. 

A cursory view of our more recent past is equally revealing.   For instance, imagine you are an African American female in 1960.  You are charged a higher rent than white people for the same apartment.  Even if you find a job that pays less to you than to your white counterparts, save money, and find a house to buy, you cannot find a bank to carry your mortgage.  From trying to get lunch in town to needing to use the restroom while out and about, your kids are daily reminded that healthy, normal society views them as less than whites.  Jim Crow laws ensure that you continue to understand your exclusion from American society.  Taking the only job you can find, you ride the city bus out to a wealthy area, and become a maid and cook.  While your kids are left home alone with no one to care for them, you read stories and make treats for your employer’s children.  Your husband wants to save you from this horrible splitting of yourself, but he is powerless to change the system. 

You technically are allowed to vote, but you have family members who have been lynched for doing so.  Your husband is determined to beat the system, stay with the family, and achieve success, and because of this you are terrified he will be next.  Success is not rewarded for most minorities in America, but could instead earn you a death sentence.  In fact, more than 130,000 lynchings are recorded in the United States in the past 100 years.  Social forces remind you that you are not the equal of whites, and if you try to be then you are fired, put out of your home, beaten, lynched or killed.  The system, from top to bottom, is designed to keep him out of a job and away from your family. 

These experiences are a matter of historical record for the majority in the North and South only 60 years ago.  American laws and social policies ensured that people of color could not establish their value by providing a home, stable finances, a safe neighborhood, or a good school for their kids.  I believe this is the history that explains why so many African American men often looked for another way to justify their value as men.  This also explains why the streets in many urban settings have become the domain in which some men establish their dominance.  For centuries, the policies of our government and the practices of our businesses ensured failure for any black man who attempted to provide and protect his family in productive ways.

Since the Civil Rights Movement, we have come a very long way.  I see progress.  However, racism, racial misunderstandings, and unjust systems still abound. Indeed, one of the lasting impacts of this myth is that the white, Christian, Southern narrative of history AND our understanding of the present reality is incredibly difficult to challenge, especially by people of color.  I know that we are not past racial inequality when I see policies like stop and frisk, in the absurdly high percentages of African Americans in prison, in the demonization of mostly productive protest movements, and in the habits of parents of color teaching their sons how to perform a version of themselves that will appear non-threatening to white people in authority.  Today, in this country, a white man with a criminal record is more likely to be hired than a black man without a record.  I know there is still work to do when I hear the narratives that have emerged in the wake of Henry Louis Gates, Jr.’s arrest in Massachusetts, Trayvon Martin’s death in Florida, Ferguson, Missouri after Michael Brown, the lack of justice served in the death of Freddie Gray, the incomprehensible death of Philando Castile in Minnesota, and the police killings in Dallas and Baton Rouge. I am dismayed by our inability, especially in the church, to move beyond the “us” and “them” paradigm which served as the foundation for our country, and continues to promote the polarization and fear that leads to police who murder and are murdered.

“I am dismayed by our inability, especially in the church, to move beyond the “us” and “them” paradigm which served as the foundation for our country, and continues to promote the polarization and fear that leads to police who murder and are murdered.”

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What can we do?  What should the church do? 

We can start by reclaiming this history that has been lost or mythologized.  One of the things we can do is to understand, explain, and listen to this history, letting it affect the way we think about race now.  Just 50 years ago most African Americans knew someone who was the victim of racially motivated violence.  Productive conversations can start when we humbly recognize centuries of wrong done to American minorities, not just 200 years ago, but in our own lifetimes.  We can understand the tension that exists.  We can stand up for the dignity of ALL people.  We can resist injustice, knowing the status quo is not good enough.  We can resist classism.  We can see racism for what it is, and gently or aggressively resist it in all its subtle and explicit forms.  We can try to build relationships with people who are not like us.  We can have compassion.  We can refute stereotypes and affirm the worth of every person.  We can acknowledge our own prejudice and reform our bad habits.  We can refer to all people as “us”.  We can challenge the basis of “them”.  Then, as communities and as people of God, we should pursue vulnerable people, building relationships with them, and loving them well.  Partnering with them, we can challenge and reform broken systems, habits, non-profits, and laws that keep impoverished minorities in crisis mode.  Relationships can develop across class and race when we understand and lean into the tension that exists, slowly replacing it with trusted partnerships.  Our communities will not be healthy and whole until we are all healthy and whole.  There is no them, there’s only us.

let’s talk about race: how did we get here?

Part I

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.  We all know the rhyme; we all know the story.  I want to suggest, however, that the stories we know about how the Americas came to be, the stories we tell ourselves about how race and culture and ethnicity affected us then and continue to affect power dynamics now, are grounded in little more than nursery rhymes.  In fact, much of our collective consciousness around black and white and value and relationships are rooted in a history that is no history at all.

Long before the days of Manifest Destiny, Columbus and crew sailed with the assurance that the world was theirs for the taking.  They had conquered or co-opted much of the known world; in their eyes, they had earned their cultural dominance.  Even more importantly, they sailed with the full endorsement of the Catholic Church.  In this early Imperial Age, the church was very much in bed with the monarchies with whom they mostly shared power.  The church advanced the cause of Empire in order to expand their own power, and, crucially, they justified such expansion because it saved souls.  They were merely taking the Great Commission of Christ literally.  Or so they say.

“The church advanced the cause of Empire in order to expand their own power, and, crucially, they justified such expansion because it saved souls.”

What are the lasting impacts of the Church’s endorsement of the colonial endeavor?  Certainly Catholic, and later Protestant churches were established all over the developing world.  Perhaps they even expanded the Kingdom of God.  The greatest legacy of their work, however, in my view, is what we now call the “us” and “them” mentality.  It is all the rage to call this we and they paradigm out for what it is:

Toxic.

Divisive.

Exclusive.

Self-serving. 

The playthings of those with power.  The antithesis of the Kingdom of God that Jesus came to earth to establish and charged us with advancing. 

Here is the dirty little secret of the way America came to be: The entire Colonial system, in which European empires dominated most of every other continent on earth, was only viable because the Church endorsed an “us” and “them” mentality.

Conquering a land and controlling its people is dirty business.  For the Church and Empire to successfully invade, dominate, and colonize another land and people group, much violence is required.  Subjugating other human beings is difficult to rationalize.  Unless—and here is the genius and the devastation of colonialism, and racism during and after it—the conqueror creates distance between himself and the conquered by dehumanizing them. 

They don’t have religious rituals with which I am familiar.  In that case we can enslave them.

They don’t wear clothes like I do.  In that case we can enslave them.

They don’t communicate in ways I understand.  In that case we can enslave them.

They don’t participate in culture, government or social structure in ways that are familiar to me.  In that case we can enslave them.

The colonial endeavor demanded such differentiation.  Prosperous colonization requires invading peoples to view pre-existing peoples as, essentially and ultimately, “Other.”  These assumptions are found in nearly every recorded episode of colonization in our global history.

This type of thinking dehumanized vulnerable people groups, and allowed systems like slavery to prosper.  The raping and pillaging of another person’s land was easy once its inhabitants were contained.  This same sort of thinking, perhaps best captured by the phrase white cultural normativity, continues in 2017 to marginalize people of color whose cultures and habits fall outside what majority culture has deemed normal, and therefore safe and productive for society.  This thinking has led to widespread cultural racism, to the criminalization of brown skin, and to the undervaluing of black lives as contributing, creative, compassionate leaders in our society.