i grew up in the small-town south
and while for me it was more
mount pilot than mayberry
it nevertheless enjoyed some of the
characteristics of a stereotypical
romanticization of better times long past
i always believed that my town
was better than most of its kind
more cultured more diverse
more peaceful and sophisticated
and of course i’m not sure whether
it’s because i’ve overestimated
my town or underestimated others
there is one thing that is quite different
however whether good or bad
my town does not have a square
and therefore no confederate monument
which is in many small towns in the region
one of the more powerful symbols
the decaying and diminishing old south
symbols have profound power
some provide warmth and comfort
while others are intensely inspirational
and still others are chilling and sinister
in early april azaleas and dogwoods are
standard symbols of spring in the deep south
just as beautiful belles in their pastels
petticoats and parasols sashaying
on the veranda that’s vuh-rayuhn-da
a still longed for south
it is a south that to the extent that
it ever existed at all only did so
in a superficial glossy realm and was
in reality experienced by only a tiny few
it was undergirded by the ugly realities
of social inequity yet it is a south
memorialized by distorted dreams of decorum
and marble monuments to the many dead
most of whom lacked the social advantages
to benefit from the institution they gave
their lives in vain to preserve
and then there is that frightful underbelly
that supported the superstructure
the product of extreme racial hatred
the dehumanizing confinement
the heartless brutality and the sacrifice
of millions of people and the dreams
of countless millions more
centuries of senseless hatred
lingering still in the discourses
as well as in the remnants and remaining
vestiges of a system unique to the south
particularly in the small concentrations
of enormous wealth juxtaposed against
enduring abject poverty among both
blacks and whites perpetuating profound
age-old divisions of race and class
and still there were the countless millions
who sacrificed with their lives and deaths
and yet it’s conspicuous there aren’t
more monuments commemorating them
and the most visible remnants
of this former way of life
are flaunted by the uneducated and
unmoneyed whites those who most
clearly resemble the soldiers who died
in vain for a cause not theirs
simply because of the symbols
and ideologies that so powerfully shaped
their own thoughts and causes
symbols are the stuff that forges
consciousnesses whether false or true
ponder the power of the american flag
especially in the aftermath of 9/11
or the sea of crosses at arlington
consider also the wrenching power
of a cross or flag on fire
or worse yet contemplate the swastika
that ancient and sacred dharmic
symbol of goodness and well-being
perhaps the oldest and most recognizable
symbol in all the world yet in modern times
it has been corrupted and transformed
incorporated into the symbol of the most
unconscionable and most unimaginable evils
it is the frightful symbol
of extreme racial hatred
of dehumanizing confinement
and of heartless brutality
of genocide and the sacrifice
of millions of people and the dreams
of countless millions more
centuries of senseless hatred
concentrated into a single decade of horror
it is a shocking reminder of the perspectival
power of symbols a reminder of how
something so simple can mean
so many things so deeply to so many people
this simple image possibly predating the pyramids
can ignite a beautiful and gifted nation
through nationalistic pride and
a carefully constructed unity of hatred
can empower employ or justify any means necessary
to build future prosperity racial superiority
and ironically national greatness
and i am reminded of the south
and specifically of the confederate flag
and how that whenever i see it
whether on a pickup or along the highway
on a state building or a fraternity t-shirt
or especially on a state or university image
i am reminded of how i always think
fucking redneck when i see it
and i wonder if i should be thinking something else
and while for me it was more
mount pilot than mayberry
it nevertheless enjoyed some of the
characteristics of a stereotypical
romanticization of better times long past
i always believed that my town
was better than most of its kind
more cultured more diverse
more peaceful and sophisticated
and of course i’m not sure whether
it’s because i’ve overestimated
my town or underestimated others
there is one thing that is quite different
however whether good or bad
my town does not have a square
and therefore no confederate monument
which is in many small towns in the region
one of the more powerful symbols
the decaying and diminishing old south
symbols have profound power
some provide warmth and comfort
while others are intensely inspirational
and still others are chilling and sinister
in early april azaleas and dogwoods are
standard symbols of spring in the deep south
just as beautiful belles in their pastels
petticoats and parasols sashaying
on the veranda that’s vuh-rayuhn-da
a still longed for south
it is a south that to the extent that
it ever existed at all only did so
in a superficial glossy realm and was
in reality experienced by only a tiny few
it was undergirded by the ugly realities
of social inequity yet it is a south
memorialized by distorted dreams of decorum
and marble monuments to the many dead
most of whom lacked the social advantages
to benefit from the institution they gave
their lives in vain to preserve
and then there is that frightful underbelly
that supported the superstructure
the product of extreme racial hatred
the dehumanizing confinement
the heartless brutality and the sacrifice
of millions of people and the dreams
of countless millions more
centuries of senseless hatred
lingering still in the discourses
as well as in the remnants and remaining
vestiges of a system unique to the south
particularly in the small concentrations
of enormous wealth juxtaposed against
enduring abject poverty among both
blacks and whites perpetuating profound
age-old divisions of race and class
and still there were the countless millions
who sacrificed with their lives and deaths
and yet it’s conspicuous there aren’t
more monuments commemorating them
and the most visible remnants
of this former way of life
are flaunted by the uneducated and
unmoneyed whites those who most
clearly resemble the soldiers who died
in vain for a cause not theirs
simply because of the symbols
and ideologies that so powerfully shaped
their own thoughts and causes
symbols are the stuff that forges
consciousnesses whether false or true
ponder the power of the american flag
especially in the aftermath of 9/11
or the sea of crosses at arlington
consider also the wrenching power
of a cross or flag on fire
or worse yet contemplate the swastika
that ancient and sacred dharmic
symbol of goodness and well-being
perhaps the oldest and most recognizable
symbol in all the world yet in modern times
it has been corrupted and transformed
incorporated into the symbol of the most
unconscionable and most unimaginable evils
it is the frightful symbol
of extreme racial hatred
of dehumanizing confinement
and of heartless brutality
of genocide and the sacrifice
of millions of people and the dreams
of countless millions more
centuries of senseless hatred
concentrated into a single decade of horror
it is a shocking reminder of the perspectival
power of symbols a reminder of how
something so simple can mean
so many things so deeply to so many people
this simple image possibly predating the pyramids
can ignite a beautiful and gifted nation
through nationalistic pride and
a carefully constructed unity of hatred
can empower employ or justify any means necessary
to build future prosperity racial superiority
and ironically national greatness
and i am reminded of the south
and specifically of the confederate flag
and how that whenever i see it
whether on a pickup or along the highway
on a state building or a fraternity t-shirt
or especially on a state or university image
i am reminded of how i always think
fucking redneck when i see it
and i wonder if i should be thinking something else
posted by Rob Gray at 4:53 PM
2 Comments:
The Confederate flag used to make me wince, but it doesn't anymore. Maybe I've just gone a little too native. I've been watching the Civil War, the TV show, all over again on PBS this month, which portrays gallantry, generosity, wit, etc., on both sides at all levels. Passing that huge Confederate flag flapping in the wind along the interstate to Montgomery, I read the sign under it for the Sons of Confederate Veterans and I came damn close to wanting to salute the thing. That's when I realized I've got to watch less TV. But still, that flag fills in very generously where other symbols are stingy, even if they might be more in tune with the interests of a poor Southern white. Take a peace sign. What self-respecting redneck would stick that on the back of his truck? That stands for a whole class of people that might improve his economic lot, but not without ridiculing everything about him, his tastes, his language, his sensibilities, even his God for chrisake. The Confederate flag would never do that. It may reek with a peculiar stench, but one learns to live with it, even acquire a taste for it, like a farmboy who loves the overpowering smell of excrement. So while the Confederate flag might be smearing this poor bastard with poop, it's standing up for him like no other symbol will do, and it'll keep doing so until something more useful comes along. (I may not even be poor anymore, but I'll be damned to admit it had anything to do with you.) There's the U.S. flag, which logically should stand in direct contradiction to the Confederate flag, but signifiers aren't required to be logical. The U.S. flag works, even alongside the Conferedate flag, but its meaning a little too broad. After all, even people that wave the peace sign might could wave a U.S. flag. There are Klan symbols that would work, but their stench a little too toxic. No, the Confederate flag works pretty well for me to tell you that I don't care how much you look down on me, I am somebody. I come from strong, noble people, good people who suffer in dignity your vile aspersions. And if you don't understand that, then you've got a nice big fat problem.
--Tim Cook
This is a very interesting poem. I read it a couple of time to try and get the full meaning of it.
Post a Comment
<< Home