On Confederate Memorial Day: Regional Memory & Knowledge Production

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Monday was a state holiday in Alabama and several other southern states: Confederate Memorial Day. State employees had a paid day off, and in a city where there are many state employees, the downtown district was eerily quiet. Confederate Memorial Day has a murky beginning. Following the American Civil War, towns throughout the North and South began to honor the memory of the war on Decoration Day. They would hold ceremonies, honor surviving veterans, and decorate the graves of those who died during the war. By some accounts, it was a healing day, a chance for Americans from all sides to pause and reflect on the terrible rift that had been the Civil War. Eventually, Decoration Day became Memorial Day, a federal holiday to honor the dead from all of America’s wars. Confederate Memorial Day continued in the South, along with other holidays like Lee-Jackson Day and Jefferson Davis’ birthday.

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As I have recently joined the ranks of state employees, I had Monday off. It was strange to be out and about on a Monday that the rest of the world — and yes, most of the state — thought was just a regular Monday. I was much more cognizant of the day’s meaning than I am on other holiday Mondays. But, I do not relate to the history of the Confederacy. I spent the day pondering the Civil War, the very existence of anything called Confederate Memorial Day, the production of historical knowledge, and, well… a lot of stuff, some of which is here.

When I tell people about Confederate Memorial Day, the reaction is usually one of shock and disgust. I’d like to step back from the content of the day and think more broadly around the regional production of knowledge in the United States and the way the North and South think about the Civil War. I think that the way we frame Civil War and slavery history in the US is hampering our ability to discuss modern-day inequality in this country.

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I am currently learning Alabama history so I can interpret it for the visitors to the museum where I work. It’s been interesting, because I am Northern-bred, Northern-born, and Northern-grown. I am from Connecticut, and have only otherwise lived in Massachusetts and New York prior to Alabama. I am also a white woman, most of whose family immigrated to the US in the years after slavery was abolished here. (Though, that does not mean my family was not complicit in the evils of our country’s complicated racial history.) In school, we spent a disproportionate amount of time learning about Colonial America and the Revolutionary War, because that is the history that feels most important to the soil on which Northerners stand.

Visitors to Boston often walk the Freedom Trail, a literal red line painted on the sidewalk connecting sites of colonial-era importance in the city. But Boston’s didn’t freeze in time once the Revolutionary War was won. It has a rich history full of fascinating events spanning across the decades. The Molasses Flood. The Great Fire. Southie’s Busing Riots. Just a few things off the top of my head. And yet, tourists in Boston today flock to its colonial-era sites, walking a path that was established in the 1950s, one of America’s great eras of reframing history.

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Montgomery, Alabama, has a complicated history, and it is one that is worn on its sleeve. Historical markers are all over town, noting the locations of things as mundane as a house Helen Keller visited often (her sister lived there) to sites with such gravitas as the location of some of the city’s several slave markets. The minor league baseball stadium downtown is on the site of barracks that held prisoners of war during the Civil War. The state capitol building was used as the capitol building of the Confederate States of America following their incorporation right here in this city, and Jefferson Davis took the oath of office as President of the CSA on the front steps. A hundred years later, following decades of codified injustice (all following more than a century of slavery), African-Americans and their allies marched these streets, boycotted the city bus system, and rallied on the steps of the very same capitol during the civil rights era.

My US history classes spent a lot — a LOT — of time on North America’s 17th- and 18th-century history. We learned and relearned the events leading up to and following our declaration of independence from King George III. And then, with the few months left in the school year, we hurtled through 19th- and 20th-century history at warp speed, lucky to even get to World War II before finals were upon us. I am confident that this was not the curriculum intended for us impressionable youngsters, but I left school with little knowledge of American events after we became the good ol’ US of A, and that includes the Civil War. But why?

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History is written by the victors. By those in power. The critique of history as the epic tale of the struggle of rich old white men is so well-known as to feel trite. But I would argue that this power dynamic is also inherent in the preference of certain histories in certain regions. We in the North have this idea that we were the good guys in the Civil War. This is, at its core, an oversimplified idea that does not take into account the North’s then-recent direct participation in slavery, and that ignores the fact that industry in the North relied on the free labor of slaves in the South. Those now-dead mill towns I knew growing up in New England grew in the 19th century on the backs of slaves who were growing cotton down here in the South. Shipping and ship-building, other major New England trades, supported the Triangular Trade. And, don’t forget, there were slaves in the North, though not on the scale of the great plantations of the South. There were also Southerners who fought for the Union, or opposed the secession and eventual war altogether. It is far easier to not deal with these complexities and instead perpetuate — either by actually saying so or through omission — the idea of a black-and-white, good-vs.-evil Civil War.

When we run out of time to cover the Civil War properly in school in favor of glorifying another period of history of which we are more proud, we deprive students of the chance to think critically about a hugely important moment in our nation’s history. I think the lack of serious thought about the Civil War, its causes, and its outcomes in the North leads to a misguided belief that the North is morally superior to the South, even today. It leads to a belief that racial and other bigotry is only a problem faced by Southerners, that we in the North are in a post-racism era, that racism encountered in the North today is an incidental accident rather than the product of systemic discrimination. It perpetuates an ahistorical approach to solving systemic problems. And, it creates a whole lot of bad blood in the South, some of which gets repurposed as pride.

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I come from a dead New England industrial town, one known for its poverty, its recent immigrants, its crime, its nothingness. I am lucky to have been born white and middle class, to have become educated, to have left. Even still, I, like most of my hometown friends, have a fierce pride for the scrappy, terrible town where I was raised. The alternative would be to be ashamed of it, which is what outsiders have been telling me I should be for as long as I can remember. I am not saying the former Confederate states shouldn’t reflect on their history and try to right the wrongs of the past. I am saying we all should. I am saying that simplifying history to fit into a primitive good-guys/bad-guys narrative is harmful to our ability to discuss race, economics, inequality, and justice in any way productive way. It damages our ability to administer any sort of reparations. It reduces Southerners to a monolithic population that feels they need to take a defensive stance when it comes to their history, and, therefore, when it comes to the present.

It is very important to be consciously critical of all historic information, because the past is contested territory that is always being co-opted for the present. That is true of Civil War history, too. So, in place of Confederate Memorial Day, I would suggest something different. A Civil War Remembrance Day, perhaps, to be celebrated across our nation, so that we can mourn those who died as a result of the horrific institution of slavery, heal the persistent wounds of the institution and the war, remember those who died in the war even as we think carefully about their reasons for fighting, and try to begin a better, more complete dialogue about our past, present, and future.


 

Photos: 1) E and me with a giant Abraham Lincoln head in the visible storage at the New York Historical Society. 2) Alabama’s state capitol building. 3) A “Rosa Parks” civil rights era city bus. 4) the plaque embedded at the spot where Jefferson Davis took the oath of office when he became President of the CSA. 5) the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, where Martin Luther King, Jr., was pastor and where the Montgomery Bus Boycott was organized. 6) The one-room schoolhouse used by African-American schoolchildren at Old Cahawba, Alabama’s first capital city. 

New Beginnings: Alabama the Beautiful

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 As I write this, I am sitting on the couch with my cat draped across my shoulders, with the window open and sunshine filtering in. It is 11:30 am on a Monday, and I don’t have anywhere to be. I am unemployed for the first time since the dark months immediately following my college graduation 7 years ago, and I’m not quite sure what to do with that.

On January 26, three men showed up and carted off 95% of my worldly belongings. On January 30, I said goodbye to my wonderful coworkers over one last round of drinks at the office. On January 31, I boarded a plane bound for Montgomery, Alabama with the other 5% of my worldly belongings. And here I sit.

Seven months ago, my husband took a job that brought him here. We loaded the car with about 50% of his worldly belongings, including 2 cats, and drove him down here over the course of two days. Then, after a week of getting him settled, I boarded a plane back to New York City.

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 I had an intoxicating Summer and Fall in New York, meeting people, sharing ideas, enjoying exhibitions and cultural events. In the dizzying pace I set for myself, things like writing fell off my to-do list, because reflection was too complicated, because I had too many thoughts and feelings and experiences to convey. And then, the cold and grey of Winter set in, and E came up to visit for two weeks over the holidays, and we rung in the new year without ever really talking about what I think we both knew to be true: I had to choose my personal life over my professional life and move to Alabama while E finished out his fellowship.

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 It was a decision I had been avoiding, because quitting my job and upending my life meant relying on someone outside myself, trusting that I would be able to figure it out at some point. It felt like I was betraying a part of myself, and my place in the sisterhood. I was paralyzed by the knowledge that I could get hurt in the process. But, hey, eventually (hopefully not for a while yet) I’ll just be dust in the ground and all my potential for hurt and for joy and for experience itself will be spent, so let’s go live somewhere where the seafood looks different from what I’m used to.

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So, I’m in Alabama full-time, with an emphasis on exploring a new place (as always) and investing in things and activities that will enable me make good choices once we’re back on the move in June 2015 (this is a new one for me). My furniture is scheduled to arrive this week, after which I’ll finish settling in and get back to writing and sharing and trudging through the backlog of REALLY AWESOME STUFF that I’ve been up to in the last seventh months. In fact, just yesterday I stumbled on an everyday object here in Montgomery that led me on a path right back to my beloved New York world’s fairs of the 20th century. The world is a strange and mysterious place. And I am, truth be told, pretty stoked to get to know a new-to-me part of it.

The Digital Stereogram

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I just discovered the New York Public Library’s Labs initiative, an “experimental design and technology unit creating interactive experiences around research library collections and data.” They have some SERIOUSLY COOL tools available on their website, and many of them ask the public to contribute to the content.

I was immediately taken by the “Stereogranimator,” a website where you can create 3D GIFs out of old stereogram images. The first time I ever encountered an old-fashioned stereoscope (aside from the classic View-Master, of course) was my grandfather’s collection, which, if I recall correctly, included some photos of belly dancers in the vein of “Little Egypt,” the famous gal from the 1893 Chicago world’s fair. At the time, I thought they were pret-ty scandalous, let me tell you.

Stereograms work because each image is just slightly off from the other, so when you view them next to each other through a set of binoculars, your brain stitches them together and creates a 3D image for your viewing pleasure. It’s basically applying the same cues your eyes and brain use every day to perceive depth in three-dimensional space to a pair of closely matched two-dimensional photos. I admit that I have trouble seeing them, but when it works, it’s super awesome.

For my first stereogranimation, I decided to use an image from the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair. I’m nothing if not consistent in my interests, let me tell you. I think this image is fabulous — bustling and exciting and in color! — and seeing it in almost-3D, right there on my computer screen, is pretty fantastic.

The St. Louis World’s Fair was apparently a big moment for stereograph images. The one up top is of the “biggest wheel on Earth (240 m.) with the heaviest axle ever forged (56 tons)” from the fair. And this one here has quite the poetic caption:

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“As if chalked with fire against the lucky sky.”

Rugs and Life and Stuff

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I spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating rugs this past weekend. Arguing about rugs, looking for inspiration on how to style different rugs, shopping for rugs, vacuuming rugs, straightening rugs, rolling up rugs. The fact that I could spend that much time on rugs tells me that my life must be pretty cushy, overall. But the arguments about rugs are also about other things: money, and how to spend it; aesthetics, and how other people judge you based on your living space; mobility, both in terms of class and in terms of whether we’ll be in this apartment (or this city) 6 months from now. So, this weekend was about rugs, and about all of that other stuff.

I guess maybe it means that we’re growing up, too, and that we’re coming to think of our crappy little apartment as home, which is kind of nice. A couple of years ago, our furniture was all hand-me-downs cobbled together as best we could. Now, we actually invest in pieces to make our home our own.

In the end, most of our work was rearranging, reconfiguring, readjusting, renewing. The apartment feels a little more like us, and we get to show off a bit more of the one nice thing about this apartment: the hardwood. Insert innuendo there.

Pesky-tarianism

E is a pescatarian. After nearly 25 years of meat and dairy and basically everything else making him sick, and 4 years of me nagging him to try going vegetarian for a little while to see if it helped, he broke after one particularly awful car ride from New York to Massachusetts, and hasn’t eaten meat since. The dairy avoidance comes and goes, but he’s definitely better off when he’s not eating dairy. For some reason, seafood doesn’t really bother him, so he still eats fish and their water-going friends for a quick protein fix.

I still eat meat. I don’t eat a lot of meat, but I still eat it. However, we don’t prepare meat at home. Neither of us in interested in making multiple meals to please individual diners, and I’m okay with not having meat for dinner, anyway. Most of the time. I find that, generally, our meatless meals are more thoughtful, healthier, cheaper and easier to prepare, especially since I never really got comfortable with cooking meat and was always convinced we were one meal away from lethal food poisoning.

Sometimes, though, meals without meat feel like a great betrayal to the elaborate meat-centric family dinners that my parents put on the table growing up. Meat, starch, vegetable — I admit that creating a dining experience where the various components complement each other was easier and more fun when you had more discrete elements. Occasionally I find myself wanting to just have a simple 3-item meal rather than concoct some elaborate vegetarian dish to satisfy us. It can begin to feel like every night we’re just throwing a bunch of vegetables and a grain in a pot and mindlessly eating whatever comes out – since we avoid fake meat, it seems like most vegetarian cooking blogs offer these one-dish meals as our only other option. And who can blame them? It’s easy otherwise to end up with a diet that feels like it’s composed entirely of side dishes.

So, I am always a little bit extra pleased when a dinner comes together easily and makes us feel like we got something tasty and satisfying out of the deal. Last night, we had salmon tacos full of the veggies pictured at left and some black beans, cheese, and, of course, salmon. It was a great way to begin to say goodbye to summer (I walk through the Union Square Greenmarket on my way to work, and every time I am overwhelmed by a desire to BUY ALL THE PRODUCE before they are gone!), and the leftovers made an awesome salad which, admittedly, felt a bit like making a meal out of a side dish. Can’t win ’em all, I guess.

A Work of Love

Disneyland is a work of love. We didn’t go into Disneyland just with the idea of making money.

-Walt Disney

I am lucky enough to have good people in my life, to be a notch or two above poverty, to not be a total misanthrope. And yet, sometimes (more often than I’d like), a lot of my day-to-day activities feel like a total chore, and exhausting ritual to get through in between getting out of and into bed. So, I’m trying to work on that. I’m trying to be positive, to enjoy what’s around me, and to develop habits that will make it easier to do both of those things. At the core of it, I love my life. I just need to work on it. I want the unfurling tapestry of my lifetime to be a work of love, woven in good times and bad times with care and thought.

That sounds lovely, but the reality will likely be hairier. I’m okay with that. Just the way that Walt Disney, quoted above, weathered his share of controversy, my world will not remain unshaken by my own woes. But, like Disneyland, hopefully I’ll get better at making people around me — and myself — happy. We’ll see.