Wednesday, April 9, 2008

The Myth of Lincoln, Part 1


As the Republican Party celebrates and esteems Abraham Lincoln with various gala dinners and fund raising events, I contest the aggrandizements of a man who tried to destroy our beloved "Republic", and join the South's month long celebration of Confederate History. I do this in commemoration of Washington, Jefferson, Madison and with special observance to the supreme law of this land, the Constitution of the United States of America that guarantees every citizen, no matter their race, gender, or station in life, individual liberty.

As a young girl I always wondered why Lincoln was pushed to the forefront during patriotic ceremonies while Washington and Jefferson were largely ignored. Answers were often vague, then finally, I was told at school that because Lincoln freed the slaves he was given this special place of honor. Raised to respect honorable and noble acts, and disdain only for persons of low integrity, I accepted this answer for many years, with ever growing regard for "Honest" Abe. I'm afraid I have to admit to a great deal of ignorance through my lifetime.

Growing up in rural farm country, "lot" sizes in our neighborhood, were several hundred down to a half acre, the larger bearing fields of corn, tomatoes, peaches, or dairy livestock. House sizes accomodated the families proportinately. Our closest neighbors, with adjoining property, was an older couple who lived in a deteriorating, two story stick house on the half acre lot. They both had outside jobs but summer evenings and weekends Mr. Wallace was usually outside mowing the lawn or making repairs on their house or car. In those days, people were independent and largely did things for themselves, if a job was bigger than we could handle alone, there was usually someone in the neighborhood who was willing and able to lend a hand. If Mr. Wallace needed help, daddy or another neighbor, never tarried to assist. No one complained despite their own full schedule of evening or weekend chores. In the summer time, there was always plenty of work for everyone to do, lawns, gardens and fields to be tended, canning, freezing, home and roof repairs, etc.

My mother worked at home and my two young brothers in diapers at the same time, who were often said to be "all boy's" didn't impede sparling windows, freshly polished and shined floors, or dinner on the table when daddy came home from work. Sometimes she and Mrs. Laura would visit over the clothes line or while gathering crops out of the garden for dinner. But it seemed the later always had lots of ironing to do. In the evenings you could see her carrying in large baskets of clothes, then the next morning fresh, crisply starched white shirts and other items donned their arms on the way back out to work. Getting time to visit with this kind but witty woman was a bonus. One of the greatest treats in my young life was when I could occasionally convince her to take a short break and share a little time and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with me. Their only son was grown and did not live with them. But on rare occasions he would visit weekends, these were the only times there seemed to be disruption or dissension in our neighborhood. It was whispered that he was an alcoholic and likely a drug addict. My father and Mrs. Laura both advised me to stay on my side of the property when he would visit and after the first weekend of hearing his agonizing screams, I was happy to obey. Wallace and Laura were our friends and neighbors and they happened to be Negro. Everyone in the neighborhood referred to everyone else by their names. I was completely unaware racial prejudices existed, there was none in my home life and if there were any in my neighborhood or elementary school I was oblivious to it.

The year I stared junior high school was exciting but chaotic while learning the physical layout and rules of the new school, lockers with combinations, making sure I had the right books with homework for the right classes all in the few minutes allotted. I didn't have classes with any of my old friends, but soon started making new ones. Our school combined both junior and senior high school students. After the first few days, my confusion was replaced with a solid routine, but hallways remained filled with noticable tension and unrest.

One day, running a little late, I came upon a group of obviously angry and frustrated students who were having a very heated, loud and emotional conversation with one of the senior teachers, the conversation was inaudible, but you could hear an objective tone. The traffic in halls had already thinned but I asked one other lone straggler what the problem was, with a look I can only describe as compassion he said "bussing". Just then the bell sounded signalling time for class to begin and before I had time to respond, he dashed off for class. I quickly ducked into my own and took a seat. Inside, students were abuzz with curiosity, some seemed angry, yet despite the questions and protests, class was called to order and whatever had transpired along with the commotion going on outside the door, it was completely dismissed. Later I tried to find out what the problem had been, but no matter who I asked, students and faculty alike, my questions met silence. Soon I began to notice clusters of negro students grouping off to themselves in the hallways between classes, as they had the day of the mysterious conflict, the frequency increased as did the angry tone of their conversations. Sometimes recognizing classmates, I would stop to see what was going on, but each time, even when my best friend Cindy was in the group, the subject was quickly and obviously changed as soon as I joined them. The unrest continued and the atmosphere grew thicker with tension. Only later did I realize and understand the historical significance of that time in America, perhaps no one really knew how to appropriately address the issues as they were happening, because not one person in my school was willing to talk about it above a whisper.

TV in the days of rabbit ear and roof top antenna's was not a staple in our lifestyle, but one day I heard a man giving a powerful speech about equal rights for all Americans. I was captivated as he explained what was going on in our country and mesmerized by the reports that followed. Until hearing Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I had been completely oblivious to these elements of life.

Soon the school hallways were alive with great excitement and enthusiasm as students talked about going to Washington, DC. Some made it clear they would not be attending school on that day but would be marching with Dr. King in demonstration for their rights. When the day arrived, my school, only two hours outside Washington, was like a ghost town. The lonely few who were in school that day had a difficult time focussing on classes and were looking forward to reports. But when the students returned, instead of a triumphant victory celebration, there was subdued frustration. Very soon, Cindy told me we couldn't be friends anymore, we couldn't walk to class, have lunch, team up in hockey or soccer, or do any of the regular things we did together. Without any explanation when I asked her why, she simply said; "I just can't hang around with you anymore". It was a trying, confusing year for everyone, but nobody would talk about it openly.

"If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or your arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that you were our countrymen." -- Samuel Adams

"None are so hopelessly enslaved as those who falsely believe they are free." ~VonGoeth

American"s must chose: Truth, Fear, or Righteous Indignation?

American"s must chose: Truth, Fear, or Righteous Indignation?
"...it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the numbers of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, to know the worst, and to provide for it." ~Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775

Today, there is still hope. Join the Revolution.