"The night they drove ol' Dixie down
And the bells were ringing.
The night they drove old Dixie down
And the people were singing."
Arkansas native Levon Helm soulfully belted out the lyrics of a song hailed as a masterpiece of authentic Southern lament over the way the War for Southern Independence came to an end with Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox Court House in Virginia. The song tells the story of Virgil Caine, who fought for his way of life, but like so many of his fellow Southerners, saw so much of it slip away in the destruction of war.
"And like my brother above me, who took a rebel stand.
He was just eighteen, proud and brave,
but a Yankee laid him in his grave.
I swear by the mud below my feet
You can't raise a Caine back up when he's in defeat."
Ironically, the song was authored not by Helm, but by Robbie Robertson, a member of The Band who was, of all things, Canadian. Robertson told interviewers he had witnessed Southern men whose ancestors had been defeated still grasping to keep hold of their Southern identity. "The South is going to rise again," they told him, and it inspired him to write a ballad music critics evaluated as a poignant mix of defeat and pride.
What's the point?
Southerners who desire to honor the South and its traditions can accomplish that without embracing the Confederate battle flag and its legacy of racism.
The song respects the sense of loss felt by those who were vanquished, but does so without celebrating the millstone of the South, that awful institution of slavery.
The strange concoction of emotions is similar to that which has kept the Confederate battle flag flying first above the dome of South Carolina's state Capitol. It went up in 1961 as the state commemorated the 100th anniversary of the Civil War. Although some dispute it, the state appears to have re-adopted the flag as part of its message of defiance to the federal government and the advancements of the Civil Rights Movement. The flag was moved off the Capitol to a Confederate Memorial in the early 2000s as the very disparate emotions over its meaning continued to churn.
Pride. Shame.
Heritage. Hatred.
Remembrance. Racism.
Past. Present.
American history confirms every aspect of it is touched by the Civil War and the unresolved issues that demanded it be fought. Robert E. Lee may have surrendered, but the influences that permeated the culture before and during that war continue to waft through the United States today. They don't often boil over, but all those emotions continue to simmer.
Until an event dislodges us from our go-along-to-get-along accommodations. The deaths of nine people in a church, thankfully, is still enough to serve as a wake-up call.
Southern heritage is not synonymous with hatred. It's not synonymous with racism. But white Southerners need to be acutely aware that the one can often be a conduit of the other two. There can be no denying how the Confederate battle flag has been used in the last 70-plus years as a symbol of defiance against racial integration; as a symbol of white supremacy: as a symbol of efforts to treat black people as less than the Americans deserving of equality that they are.
Those who would have us embrace the Confederate battle flag as only symbolic of mint juleps, the Southern drawl, live oaks and gallant chivalry have lost the fight to define what the red, white and blue piece of fabric means, if that fight indeed ever could have been won.
Does this mean Americans cannot fly the battle flag? No. People are free in this country to express themselves and can do it by displaying that flag, as we not so long ago saw the driver of a pickup truck in Fayetteville doing. But someone doing so can not realistically expect anyone to interpret it as a nuanced defense of Southern heritage. The Confederate battle flag -- not the South or Southern heritage, but the flag -- is the most clear symbol of racism one can find in our country. That should make anyone think long and hard before flying it.
But the question in South Carolina is even more important. It is, or should be, a no-brainer that displaying the Confederate battle flag in any official governmental capacity sends a message that government should not be trying to send. Let's forget for a moment about the fight over whether it's hatred or heritage. What is the flag's purpose in today's context? What possible 21st century message is posting the flag on public land meant to convey, and is it so important that government officials should ignore its prevailing negative connotations?
Sadly, it has taken the deaths of nine worshippers in a Charleston, S.C., church at the hands of a young man filled with hatred to convince a lot of people of how the Confederate battle flag serves no justifiable governmental purpose. In Fort Smith, the school board has taken a great step toward civility and respect for all people by tentatively backing an end to the Rebel mascot and "Dixie" fight song at Southside High School.
As Southerners, let us not be slaves to a symbol of a version of the South no one in the 21st century should want. Southern heritage can be embraced without this flag. And doing so will go a long way toward eliminating any real or perceived connection between government and the vile beliefs of a few.
Government of, by and for the people should not hold a place of honor for the Confederate battle flag. Let it become a part of our history, not a symbol for our future. Its place is in museums.
The South doesn't need to rise again. It's here and making progress toward brighter days ahead. We can do that without waving that flag.
Commentary on 06/28/2015