Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Yes, Let's Lay the Confederate Flag to Rest

Some conclusions bring no emotional satisfaction.


My father, John Carroll, was a masterful story-teller.  As a child, I loved hearing his true-life tales of what is was like to grow up in the Depression-Era South. (I will always regret not having the foresight to tape-record my dad’s recollections before he passed away.) While I can still remember the gist of his stories, most of the details that made his words so vivid are lost to me. Part of a one saga that I can remember, however, was actually handed down to my father from his grandfather, Stephen Carroll.

It goes like this: My great-grandfather, a private in the Confederate Army, along with a wounded comrade, had become separated from their company. With the Yankees closing in, the two soldiers managed to escape detection by climbing a tree. How they did this, with one of them being shot, I don’t know. But I do recall my dad conveying his grandfather’s fear of being discovered as the Union soldiers set up camp right below their hiding place.  Holding his comrade in his arms, Stephen Carroll had to remain quiet and motionless as the sun set and then throughout the night—afraid the entire time that the wounded man would moan or cry out in pain. I can imagine his relief as the enemy army moved out the next day.  I recall nothing of the narrative about how he got back to his unit or what became of the injured man. Whatever else happened, it remains that Stephen Carroll came home from the war and fathered many children.

This family story is one that long personalized the Civil War for me. Most of my life, I have been able to see this bequeathed memory in the fabric of the Confederate battle flag.  But is that still possible? Though the recent murder of nine people in Charleston had little (or nothing) to do with the flag, honest horror has instigated controversy over the pre-eminent symbol of the Old South. Prompted by the debate, I have re-examined my own regard for the Stars & Bars.

Stephen Carroll, like most of the men who fought for the Confederacy, was too poor to own slaves. “Rich man’s war, poor man’s fight,” supposedly was the saying.  Was he a dupe? Perhaps. It’s hard enough to put a positive spin on fighting to preserve an institution as evil as slavery, but what can you say about fighting for such a way of life … and not even gaining benefit from it?  Then again, I doubt if my great-grandfather would have agreed that he was fighting for the right to own slaves.  He probably saw it as a matter of protecting his home from an invading army.  Regardless of individual motivations, one fact stands: If the Confederacy had survived, slavery would have continued in Dixie.  If one can romanticize the South’s war effort, it’s only because the rebels were defeated.

If you can romanticize … that brings me to a vital point. For many people, romanticizing is quite impossible to do. Seeing a Confederate flag might cause me to think of my ancestor fighting bravely (if misguidedly), but what can African-American citizens see other than their ancestors’ degradation?  Not asking this question has been my ongoing failure. And now I must also wonder why those whose ancestors fought for the United States, or were oppressed by slavery, should acquiesce to honoring my forebears’ treasonous insurrection. Maybe there’s a place for memorializing family stories such as mine, or enjoying pretty fictions like Gone with the Wind, but it is a very small place … and certainly not at state capitols.

Once, it may have been possible to rehabilitate the Stars & Bars into something innocuous. For example, think of it painted atop the General Lee on The Dukes of Hazzard—symbolizing fun-loving resistance to authority.  Unfortunately, the window for transformation was small and closed well before that silly TV program aired.  The Battle flag had already been re-enlisted by the likes of Ku Klux Klan, segregationist politicians and also countless petty racists in resistance to the Civil Rights struggle. Today, those of us with an inclination to appreciate the Confederate flag, find ourselves among vile companions.

The most painful question though, is whether bad people (even creatures like Dylan Roof) wrongfully appropriated the flag … or was it really theirs all along? Bravery in defense of hearth and home aside, I’ve reluctantly concluded that any nobility in the Stars & Bars was ultimately obliterated by the inherent corruption among the causes it served. Now, like the aging portrait of Dorian Gray, the ugliness can no longer be denied.  Sadly, I must accept that the Confederate battle flag is not what I wanted it to be.


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