Two occurrences in recent years drew me to think about how the meaning of history influences modern conceptions widely held in the national mind. While at a funeral in Richmond I sat by an elderly, very Southern, woman. I mentioned how rich is Richmond in museums and remarked on its famous boulevard of monuments to Confederate notables. She told me she was distantly related to Kirby Smith, a lesser known Confederate general. She said it is important to revere "our Southern heritage". I thought, "what on earth does that mean?" What is to revere about a political revolt that sought to dissolve the union and whose motivating aim was preserving of slavery. What about the 100+ years of overt white supremacy with its lynchings and social and political suppression? The second occurrence was (and still is) the controversy roiling about the "Silent Sam" statue on the campus of UNC. How is it that 150+ years after the end of the Civil War this issue generates such intense hostility on both sides? Reverence of "Southern heritage" as a desirable virtue? What would we think of reverence for history in modern Germany that resulted in statues of Nazi military and political leaders placed in every village square?
History is memory. Memory is inherently a matter of interpretation, never neutral and quite often shaped powerfully by contemporaneous social, political and cultural forces. David Blight gives a masterful analysis of how memories of the Civil War were hugely influenced by its losing side and with the nearly cavalier acceptance nationally by academia and literature/journalism. His themes can be succinctly summarized as: the drive toward reconciliation, sentimentality and romanticism replacing revulsion of the horrors of the war, reaction to the perceived oppression of Reconstruction, a false portrayal in literature that in its halcyon days slavery a benign institution, the threat to white supremacy resulting from emancipation, and distortions to the point of falsehoods about the causes of the conflict and the South's defeat. All of this infused the so-called "Lost Cause" mythology. It may be legitimate to conclude that what the South in the war, it regained (to some degree) after the war.
Its defeat forcibly rejoined the southern states to the union. But, how would the hostilities and bitterness of the bloodiest war in history ever be resolved? Blight argues convincingly that within years after the end of the war the two sides drifted toward reconciliation, that bitter animus began to diminish and disappear. We see this, do we not, after every war. The opponents accept each other on new terms and even become allies. For many Southerners, however, this did not entail wiping away their beliefs in the righteousness of their cause. (Do today's Germans think that Nazi ideology is, or ever was, proper?) The South's defeat did not produce an epiphany on the errors of its ways. Rather, notions arose that the South's casus belli was and remained morally justifiable, defeat was due only to the North's overwhelming advantages in resources. What was important for memory to extol was valor, what was to be suppressed were morally and politically dubious instigating factors. The conflict, thus, became in Southern eyes the "War Between the States" or the "War of Northern Aggression".
How, then, to deal with the view that the decades-long tension over slavery was a primary cause? Southerners evoked the idea that slavery was a beneficent relationship between the races that the masters and slaves cherished, that the disruption of this natural state of relations was detrimental to both races. In this view, Negroes were helplessly child-like who benefited from the guidance and protection of the beneficent masters. Underlying this theme, of course, was the imperative to Southerners to preserve absolute supremacy over the emancipated slaves, politically, culturally and socially. This, as we know, resulted in the "Jim Crow" era of political repression in all its ugly manifestations.
If its ethos was virtuous, if its defeat was due only to a far more powerful enemy, then efforts of the victors to reorder the South politically and socially were heinously wrong. So emerged the distorted historical theses on Reconstruction. I recall from my now distant high school days the teaching on those reviled characters -- the "carpetbaggers" and "scalawags" -- who imposed corrupt regimes on the Southern states. The image of blacks as incompetent and nearly savage in their new found political voice was a prominent feature of textbooks of the day. Blight points out that a major strategy of promoters of the "redemption" of the South's was to capture the minds of the young. It is astonishing to realize that a great number of purportedly professional historians adopted this perspective. As the wag said, "History is the way by which we betray the past." Is revisionism sometimes a product of rethinking stimulated by contemporary views? Yes, of course, history should never ignore its ongoing obligation to correct its errors, to get things right.
Perhaps, then, we should not wonder why, in 21st century America, there is renewed attention to the meaning of memorials that commemorate an ideology based on racism and oppression. When our president spews forth his "dog whistle" messages on racism, when he posits the virtue of a racist-themed film like "Gone with the Wind" as a we should admire, when hostility and violence erupts over removing symbols of racism from the public square, we know that history must remain deeply responsible to fulfilling its responsibility to the its place in the public psyche.