Tonight the confederate monument was removed from the square in The City of Decatur.
We decided to drive by and watch. We all wore masks and the boys and I wore our new Let Us Breath tees.
As I stood there watching this massive phallic symbol of hatred and failure come down, I thought about my first year at The University of Georgia. Freshman year was a rude awakening. I moved from Southwest Atlanta to Athens, Georgia. In Southwest Atlanta, there were all types of black people. In Athens, most of the black adults I saw were janitorial staff. I went from having all black to teachers every year, to three black professors in four years. I went from being surrounded by people who looked like me, to having classes with hundreds of kids, none of whom looked like me.
Driving down the main drag in Athens in 1994, you’d find multiple cars with extra large confederate flags. They were flown from some of the houses on fraternity row. They were every where. Confederate flags weren’t a part of my education prior to Athens. They weren’t flown with any frequency during my childhood even though it was basically the state flag. I don’t recall seeing one outside of books though I’m sure my parents did.
Once a random frat boy struck up a conversation with me during a study group for one of my larger classes. It was polite chit chat until I noticed a the confederate flag on something in his possession. I can’t remember what. I asked him why he carried it. He told me story about heritage. About his great grand whomever who fought in the war of northern aggression. About how they were fighting for states’ rights and not to keep slavery. I asked him where he learned what he thought he knew. His family had a rich oral history and vaguely mentioned some books that documented the tales.
I recalled my words to him as I watched the crew lift the 34 foot high shaft and lower it to the truck that would cart it away. What I said in 1994 is still as true 26 years later. When you look at that flag you see your history, and I see mine too. I see a history of hatred and bigotry, glorified by white people who lost their cause. I told him that if he wanted to represent himself that way to every black person who met him, he should keep waving that flag. And despite his intentions, I would never see him any differently than I see that flag. As long as these monuments to honor the confederacy stand, I will never believe those defending them or calling for them to remain in place, are anything other than hateful bigot losers.
As much as I want many other things to happen for black lives in this country, I couldn’t help but feel hopeful tonight. Hopeful that maybe people would care more about who they are right now than constantly harkening back to a mythical past. Hopeful that finally, how we are being treated right now would be more important than a flag or a statue. We have a long way to go. This is a start.