Family. Traditions. Roots. Pride. Heritage. These are simple, yet powerful words. Tribes, villages, clans, family… have meant survival since before homo Sapiens eventually beat out homo Erectus for survival of the fittest. Children grow up respecting their grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles and whomever else made up the Tribe of Elders. In the presence of these are where most of the formative years are spent. Often the tribe provides us with our values and views of the world. As the beloved members of our family begin to pass away, we become very protective of our memories of them and the views they gave. While not true, to some to discredit those views means to discredit the people that held them, that fought for them, that may have even died for them.
Regaling stories of generations past increases with age. Telling stories allow people that have died to live again. Not only in the stories that are told, but in the memories of the younger generations where these memories are being preserved. The good time memories provide a blanket of security and warmth against the outside world. No matter how far we travel, how much we learn or what circumstances we are exposed, the values of our tribe remain. It gives us a sense of belonging. We defend this security fiercely.
However, as we grow and are exposed to people and ideals that are different than what we have been taught all our lives, our security becomes threatened. We see or read something that may be in direct conflict with the teachings of “the Tribe.” Evolution has taught us to fear the unknown. If unfamiliar is equivalent to DANGER then surely familiar must be SAFE, right? Often, the first reaction of questioning of a long held belief is anger. THIS is not what I’ve heard from every person I have ever loved my entire life. It is almost an attack on your very identity, isn’t it?
Is it?
Genealogy has given me an avenue to research my own tribe. Granted I had a vague idea of my history. Except for the 3% spike of Ashkenazi Jew on my mother’s side of the family, mostly all the pasty white countries in Europe are present in my makeup. No measurable Native American DNA was detected, so most assuredly we were all immigrants to this country. With exception of my paternal grandmother’s family, I have yet to find the specific person or persons responsible for our arrival in the states. The south has been my family’s home for centuries. The American story for both my mother and father’s families start in Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi.
Being so deeply rooted in the south, obviously I have ancestors that fought for what was considered, for lack of a better term, the “American Cause.” Documentation exist for direct ancestors fighting in the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and, of course, the Civil War. I am fortunate. I get to sit in my comfortable home, and read about these wars and seemingly pass judgement on those who fought for survival. Am I arrogant enough to continually speak out against the south? The south in which I have family that risk their lives to protect?
Science is my profession. History is an almost obsessive interest. Reading the “nice” version of history piques my science brain into asking “why”? I will readily admit most of my historical interest revolves around the Civil War. Most of my interest in the Civil War has revolved around the racial and socio-economical classes of society. Then, as now, there was a hierarchy. Slaves were at the bottom, poor whites, middle class, and the plantation owners at the top. Granted there are subcategories, but I am slowly making my way toward a point. I promise. Hang in there.
Through my genealogical research I verified information of what I already knew. Most of my ancestors were poor farmers. Poor… Ouch. Some will disagree and others will be realist. Many lived off the land and survived by farming and hunting. They used the resources they had and survived. Who would not be proud of that? The part that I do not understand in regards to the Civil War is why on earth would the poor whites fight in a war that had no vested interest for them? Honor? Because everyone was enlisting? Because of “Northern Aggression?” State’s Rights? Were they drafted? The inhumanity of slavery notwithstanding, to continue that practice would have been detrimental to their livelihood. There was no logical reason for the poor white south to fight in this war. Yet this very act is regarded with almost reverence. I have no idea why.
Unfortunately I cannot ask as they are long gone and all that remains are memories and headstones. If I could wave a magic wand and somehow gain an opportunity to ask deceased relatives, I would love to ask…why? Did you fight willingly? Did you know that a consequence of a southern victory would have meant the institution of slavery continuing? Do you care? What would you gain with a Southern victory? Did you believe your station in life was higher than the man being held in bondage because you are white?
These are answers I cannot know. I do not believe I am dishonoring my veteran ancestors by saying the Civil War was a travesty. I do not believe I am disowning my heritage by unequivocally saying there is no comparison between growing up poor white versus being black in the US. Yes, we may have picked cotton. Yes, we may have gone to school with holes in our clothes, and yes we may have done without many things. BUT at no point were we ever in danger of being murdered for speaking to someone. At no point were we ever not considered an entire person. At no point did we have to “recognize” our place or risk being beaten, ridiculed or hung.
Granted, I have never been black (shocker) but I have been poor. For a few years in elementary school my dad worked as essentially a share cropper. He earned a meager salary and his housing and utilities provided. The children of the farm owners went to private school and the children of the workers went to public school. Those few years have shaped the majority of my viewpoints of racial and economical class I hold today. Those of us in that very small, very rural, public school were considered “less” by the kids that went to private. I will save how I know for another post. I will just ask you take my word on this. In this rural town I was not as “less” because I was white. What that meant to me was not that I was considered better, but more how dare you consider my friends “less” because they are black.
We can debate may things. Intellectual conversation about differing ideals is a way of learning. We can discuss the civil war. We can talk about freedom of speech and what it means. However, all of these discussion must have a common starting point of there is not racial equality. If your speech or even your thought revolves around black people need to get over “it” or themselves, we cannot have a reasonable discussion. Anyone in the south cannot honestly say their is not still a divide. If you do, you are either clueless of lying to yourself.
I am not stepping on any heritage I have yet discovered for espousing my belief for a more fair, and more diverse country. In fact I am hoping that perhaps my ancestors would be in favor of innocent people NOT being shot. I would only hope by now they would look at people as people and not “us” and “them”. I am hoping I am learning from my ancestors just as I hope my children and their children will learn from us and continue to evolve. There is nothing to be gained by continually divisiveness. History is a powerful learning tool.
Heritage. Roots. Family. Tradition. We all come from somebody. Some of ancestors may have fought against mounting odds for what they believed and some probably did some pretty terrible things that we do not want to know about. The entire point of this entire, long winded, occasional rambling piece is stop using your dead ancestors as an excuse to continue hatred and racism. Stop using someone else’s service in a war to justify your hate. Try empathy. Try understanding. Try to imagine someone else’s plight. Try to imagine you yelling at the top of your lungs, everyday that there is a systemic problem in our society and people either ignore you, mock you, or compare your reality to some trivial meme. Try to understand why the image of Colin Kaepernick kneeling sends you to Facebook and Twitter trying to discredit his protest, but not the images of people dying senselessly over and over again?
JUST DO IT.
