Heritage.

I really struggled with whether I should publish the following post. It's overly long, rambling, and poorly thought out. It's just a stream of consciousness word vomit about things I was once taught to revere. It will probably piss some people off. Fuck it.

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I usually avoid making political or social justice statements in social media.

  

It's partly because nobody really cares what I think.

  

It's partly because, after weighing the cost/benefit ratio, I decide it's not worth it. I don't know how many posts I've deleted after debating their merits. I have family and friends on both sides of the ever-widening political divide, and their sensitivity to hot button issues has never been greater. My opinion in some stupid blog post is not worth the loss of the relationship. We can have that discussion in person, where misunderstandings and points of contention can be discussed calmly and rationally, until some sort of consensus is reached. Better that than them stewing on some perceived slight, unintentional or intentional.

  

But when I really sit down and think of it, it's in no small part due to guilt. It's not guilt because I'm white or grew up with opportunities others were not provided. I really didn't have much say in that. Rather, it's guilt for things I have said and done in the past, intentionally or unintentionally. My perspective on a lot of things has evolved over the years, and I hope it will continue to evolve until I die. That shift has led to regret for past deeds, and the best I can do now is try to ensure such behaviors do not continue (I am a stupid human, though) and try to make my children better people than I was capable of being.

   

As a product of the post-segregation south, a lot of my formative years were shaped by a culture crafted by a bunch of old, racist fuckers. The "War of Northern Aggression" and "The Noble, Yet Doomed Cause". Basically a curated mythology of Southern superiority and a white-washing of the more sordid parts of our history. It was reinforced every year in history class, where we'd more or less start with the establishment of Virginia colonies and never seemed to get past the Civil War. I bought it hook, line and sinker. When I was a little kid, I had a Confederate kepi and Battle Flag. Occasionally I'd pull out the family's calvary saber. I'd hear tales of the heroic feats of my ancestors in battle, who they fought with, and who they're buried near. It was part of my heritage, so I embraced it without a second thought. I mean, why wouldn't I?

  

Here's where the disconnect was. I had friends in school that were black. I was in bands with them, playing covers of James Brown and Aretha Franklin. We would pick out  Terence Trent D'Arby songs on the keyboard after analyzing Bach in music theory class. They sat through the same curriculum, year after year. However, it wasn't their glorious heritage that was being heralded. Their portion of the narrative was limited to a couple pages in the textbook, a few names, and fragments of the story. Yeah, slavery was bad and all, but it was really about states rights or some shit. Then it was back to the battles and dashing heroes and the eventual end of the war where everyone came together and held hands and everything.was all better. I don't know if it actively caused a knot in their stomach or they just internalized it. Just the way things were. I don't know because it never occurred to me to ask. I mean, why would I?

   

By the time I got to college, all of my indoctrination had settled firmly into the background. I lived near the end of Monument Avenue in Richmond, just off of Stuart Circle where it turns to West Franklin. If I happened to look up as I walked out of my apartment building, I would have been greeted by the statue of General J.E.B. Stuart. A little further up the road was Robert E. Lee. Jefferson Davis. Stonewall Jackson. Matthew Maury. Can't say I looked up a lot, though. Just part of the architecture that blended in. Just the way things were.

  

I guess I saw them as statues of a bunch of imperfect dead guys who fought on the losing side in defense of the indefensible. Even as indoctrinated as I was, I didn't really revel in their glory every time I passed a monument. I saw them as history, the same way I'd look at a bust of Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus (evil fuck, look him up). Being a young man in my late teens and early twenties away from home for the first time, history was the last thing on my mind. It also never occurred to me that others might view the monuments differently. I mean, why would I?

  

Decades have passed since then. I moved around, seeing how people in different parts of the country and even different parts of the world treated each other. Age and experience remolded my perspective on things I had previously accepted as fact. I hope I grew, even as I became more misanthropic. I hate the word "woke" as it's used today, and certainly nobody would ever apply it to me. I'd rather say I'm more aware of different ways of seeing the same issue, when viewed through the lens of personal experience. I don't "understand" why people think the way they do, because I'm not them. I can try to gain some measure of understanding though, even if I disagree with their position on a given issue.

  

So when Trump said there were “very fine people on both sides” of the issue in Charlottesville, I can say there likely were. Not everyone who opposed the removal of the Lee statue was a tiki-torch-carrying Nazi fucktard whose idea of fun was driving into people who didn't agree with them. There were probably a reasonable number of them that went because they viewed the statue as I once did. They were likely horrified to be associated with overt white supremacists. They weren't there to defend the institution of slavery, but rather what they had been taught was their history and heritage. To a degree, their identity. I think they were misguided, but I understand where they were coming from. I was there. Just the way things were.

  

So now when I hear some people view those monuments as a constant in-your-face reminder of oppression while others view them as a rallying cry to perpetuate and expand that oppression, I have to say they need to go away. Take them down from their prominent pedestals. Move them off to some Civil War battlefield (there's a fuck-ton of them in Virginia) where they can be placed in context, like a bust of Gaius, instead of held up as some sort of standard to live up to. Melt them down if you have to. History has its place, but it's not above the present or future. Enough of this glorification of institutionalized racism.

  

This isn't going to fix anything. There are so many racially-motivated injustices in this country, that aren't linked to a bunch of monuments in the South. Last time I checked, there aren't a whole lot of Confederate statues in Michigan or Los Angeles or New York, yet somehow there is racial strife there as well. There's fingers to be pointed in all directions, even at those who "don't see color." Pushing over a molded piece of bronze isn't going to keep a bad cop from shooting an innocent black person.

  

It is, however, a step in the right direction towards opening a dialog. Maybe that dialog leads to some measure of understanding. Maybe that understanding relieves some of the pressure that bears down on minorities every day. Maybe that understanding leads to the correction of some small piece of the inequities in our society. Maybe not. Worth a shot, though. They're just hunks of corroded bronze, partially covered in pigeon poop. Nothing glorious there.

  

That said, I think I'd rather ride my bike than think about this subject anymore. Nobody really cares what I think, and I've probably offended somebody with my ham-fisted explanations and justifications for the unexplainable and unjustifiable. At the end of the day, all I can say is all people are imperfect and are generally dumbasses. There are just varying degrees.