Most
of the white southerners whom I have known well left their region as young men
and women, at least in part because of its political values. Several of them have talked very frankly
about the psychology of their native region, and to them I owe some of the
ideas behind this painful post. But meanwhile, other white southerners whom I
never met have loomed large on my horizon for as long as I can remember: the
barons of the House and Senate in the 1950s and 1960s, such as Senator Richard
Russell of Georgia and House Rules Committee Chairman Howard Smith; the defiant
governors, George Wallace and Ross Barnett, who rallied their white
constituents behind segregation; and perhaps the most interesting of all, those
like Senators Lister Hill and John Sparkman of Alabama, who were liberals on
virtually every issue but race. Their fellow Alabamian Hugo Black had already
been on the Supreme Court for twenty years when I became aware of him, and he
had joined the civil rights coalition.
So did Ralph Yarborough of Texas and Estes Kefauver and Al Gore, Sr., of
Tennessee. I studied race relations in
college with Thomas Pettigrew, a liberal white Virginian, and I have never lost
interest in them. And thus, although the
evidence I want to present today is primarily circumstantial, I think I do
understand why the Confederate flag is displayed even today on the grounds of
the South Carolina capitol, and why it remains a potent symbol in white
southern politics. I do not think it is
primarily a symbol of hate; rather, I see it as a sign of fear, which in turn
is fueled by a very bad conscience over what white southerners have done to
black ones for five centuries.
Because
slavery explicitly denied the full humanity of the slaves, it also forced the
masters to suppress many of their own human feelings. Holding other men and women in bondage and
forcing them to work, often with violence, is a brutal, degrading, and
frightening affair. That is why, as I learned from Pettigrew, planters
customarily delegated the dirty work to an overseer—a white without property,
not infrequently from the North, like Simon Legree in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, whom Harriet Beecher Stowe specifically
identified as a Yankee from Vermont.
When feelings between the overseer and the slaves became too intense, he
was fired and replaced. But the real
burden of slavery on the master lay in the fear it inspired, the belief,
amounting to a certainty, that the slaves would gleefully take their revenge
upon white men and women if ever given half a chance. And what is more natural, after all, than a
belief that one’s slaves would treat one’s self just as one had treated them—or
worse—if given half a chance? While some
antebellum white southerners undoubtedly felt slavery had been a mistake to
impose in the first place, nearly all agreed that to give it up would be
madness. But the more extreme, who
became more and more influential in the decades before the civil war, argued that
it was a positive good that not only had to be maintained, but expanded. That was why they defied the will of the
nation in 1860 and seceded rather than live peacefully under Abraham Lincoln,
who was elected without any plans to free the slaves.
Four years
later, when the Confederacy’s resistance finally collapsed and emancipation
took place all over the South, the nightmare appeared to have come true. In the next ten years, the radical
Republicans insisted upon black suffrage, and black governments ruled a number
of southern states. They were not, as southerners claimed for a
century, simply corrupt and inefficient: some of them were the first southern
state governments to provide what even then were regarded as basic
services. But the white power structure
re-asserted itself through a campaign of terror led by the Ku Klux Klan, and
eventually wore out the North. After federal troops left, the white elite not
only terrorized and disenfranchised the black population, but created a new
myth of “redemption,” arguing that they had saved their people from the horror
of a race dictatorship. And until the
1950s, intimidation, including lynchings, kept the black citizenry
subjugated. Then, fueled in part by the
votes of blacks who had moved north, the federal government began once again to
take an interest in the fate of black citizens.
Once again,
this meant, to white southerners, the terrifying prospect of black rage let
loose. In the 1950s reporters who went
south to report on civil rights issues heard the same line from whites again
and again: that they didn’t have any trouble with “our Negroes,” it was just
the outside agitators from the North who were causing the trouble. That
is why it was in 1962 that the Confederate flag first began flying over the
capitol in Columbia, South Carolina, and why it was then that it was revived in
other states. Once again the Yankees
were threatening to unleash black rage upon white southerners, and symbols of
resistance had to be revived. And suddenly, in the 1960s, when the civil
rights movement reached its climax, most white southerners once again forgot
every other issue, quit the Democratic Party en masse, and became the backbone
of the Republican coalition. By the
1970s, a new rhetorical trick had emerged to conceal what was happening. Since it had become impossible openly to
defend racism or the “southern way of life” (segregation), some new buzzword
was needed around which southern whites could rally. Fundamentalist Christianity provided it, and
“Christian values” became the glue that held southern whites together. It had become unfashionable to vote in favor
of racism, but who could vote against Christianity? (This morning, Charles Blow of the New York Times noted that a couple of
Fox News commentators actually tried to spin Dylan Roof’s crime as an attack on
Christianity—even though Roof is a member of a Lutheran Church.) Dylann Rooff was inspired by the website of a
neo-Confederate group that keeps lists on black-on-white crimes. When he told the parishioners that he had
to kill them because “you are raping our women and taking over our country,” he
expressed the white southern fears that have dominated southern politics for
much of the last two centuries.
What is so
painfully, dreadfully sad about all this, is how unnecessary it all has
been. Slave rebellions in the antebellum
South were extremely rare, and attacks upon whites after emancipation seem to
have been even rarer. Having been
thoroughly intimidated by slavery, new black citizens would have been more than
happy to exercise the benefits of citizenship peacefully—but this they were not
allowed to do. Black violence has always
been more directed against other blacks than against whites. Still, the election of Barack Obama still
symbolized, for many southerners, their worst nightmare, and white southerners
have become more solidly Republican than ever in the Deep South. And so respectful are Republican politicians
of white southern fears that not a single Republican presidential candidate
dared suggest that the Confederate flat come down on the state capitol grounds.
Since I first
drafted this post, however, an extraordinary wind of change has blown around
the South. Governor Nikki Haley os South
Carolina is to be commended for taking the lead. It is interesting that when the South
Carolina legislature decided to fly the flag at a Confederate memorial on the
grounds, it specified that only a 2/3 vote of both houses could overturn their
decision. That, too, looks like an
attempt to defend the views of white folks against a growing minority tide. But the South Carolina legislature has
quickly come around, and a vote to remove the flag seems certain. Similar moves to take Confederate flags off
of license plates and remove statues of prominent Confederates from state
capitols are gaining ground, and white Mississippians are talking about
removing the Confederate battle flag from their state flag.
Wednesday morning’s
New York Times describes what is
happening at length, and includes a remarkable quote from a South Carolina
state legislator with a famous name. “Our ancestors were literally fighting to
keep human beings as slaves, and to continue the unimaginable acts that occur
when someone is held against their will,” said State Senator Paul Thurmond, a
Republican, explaining that he would vote to remove the flag. “I am not proud of this heritage,” said Mr.
Thurmond, the son of Strom Thurmond, the former governor and United States
senator who was a segregationist candidate for president in 1948. To be quite frank, I had given up on ever
hearing any white southern politician say words like those. Senator Thurmond has used his family’s
prestige to try finally to move his state and his region forward. He is a great American.