Civil War Memory

I Sense a Pattern Here

This is a perfect follow-up to my earlier post on Rickey Pittman's childrens book about Jim Limber. I've suggested numerous times that the proposed statue commemorating Jefferson Davis and Jim Limber fits into a broader push on the part of the Sons of Confederate Veterans and other heritage groups to minimize the place of slavery within the antebellum South as well as the history of the Confederacy specifically.  Of course, the view that slaveholding was benign and best understood as paternalistic has a long and disturbing history in this country. 

This morning a friend emailed an image taken from a textbook titled Virginia: History, Government, Geography (Scribners, 1966) and written by Francis Butler Simkins.  Simkins was a well-known Southern Historian who taught at Longwood College and who authored a well-received biography of Ben Tillman, which was published in 1944 by the University of South Carolina Press.  The individual who emailed the image noted that Simkins's narrative betrays a strong pro-slavery bias, but speculates that, given his scholarship, revisions were made by the Virginia Textbook Commission and that Simkins allowed his name to continue to be used for the publication.  As for the image used for the chapter on slavery, I don't think I need to explain what is problematic about it.  There is a rich history behind the Davis-Limber statue and it fits neatly into our broader assumptions concerning race relations in the South and throughout the United States at different times.  In the same way that the illustration misrepresents the realities of slaveholding, can't we also suggest that a statue depicting Davis holding hands with Limber misrepresents how blacks lived under the various Davis rooftops? 

We must be very critical when it comes to the messages that our public spaces convey about our history.  We no longer live at a time when one racial group has a monopoly on the shape of public spaces as a way to maintain control of both history and government.  Let's take advantage of that fact.

Using Ken Burns's "The Civil War" in the Classroom

This talk was presented today in Philadelphia at the 2008 Meeting of the Society of Civil War Historians.  The panel was titled, "Gearing Up For the Civil War Sesquicentennial in the High School Classroom" and included, James Percoco, Ronald Maggiano, and Andy Slap. 

When it aired in 1989 Ken Burns’s epic documentary about America’s Civil War garnered the largest audience in PBS history. Viewers who had little interest or knowledge of the Civil War were attracted to the powerful images and sounds as well as the narration by David McCullough and commentary by Shelby Foote - the combination of which served to introduce a heroic and tragic story to a national audience. While historians have spent considerable time analyzing Burns’s documentary as historical interpretation, little attention has been given to the ways in which the film can be utilized in history courses on the high school level.¹  All too often the film is used as a launching pad to other classroom activities or simply shown with little student preparation; such an approach renders students as passive observers rather than engaging them in trying to better understand the choices that went into the film’s script along with how the various elements come together to tell a coherent story.²   More importantly, students fail to see the film itself as a product of long-standing assumptions about the war that are embedded in our popular imagination and often guarded as sacred.  The beginning of the Civil War Sesquicentennial in 2011 will provide a unique opportunity to introduce questions of memory and interpretation in our high school history classes.  In the time that I have today I would like to talk briefly about how I engage my students with questions of memory and interpretation through a careful viewing of Burns’s The Civil War. 

"I Am Heritage, Not Hate"

Just in case you couldn't make the annual Gathering of Eagles event in Winchester, here is a preview with our favorite black Confederate, H.K. Edgerton.  By the way, Pickett's Gamecocks "are specifically recruiting African-Americans interested in black Confederate or civilian portrayals."  I assume by civilian, they mean slave portrayals.  This year participants will debate the legality of secession.  Here is a description of the event:

The "Civil War Gathering of Eagles" is an educational event brought to life by living historians from across the country. The Civil War personas, discuss the events of the war brought to life through their first person portrayals.  Issues discussed during this two and a half day event range from the tactics used to the causes of the War and the occasional heated discussion concerning the legality of secession based on the Constitution and other sources used by our Founding Fathers to establish the "united States of America". (1)

Why the footnote, you ask?  Well, they want to make sure you know that "united States of America is a direct quote taken from the Declaration of Independance. [sic]"   Sounds like a real whoot. 

Declension Narratives in Civil War History

I've said it before, but it bears repeating, that one of my favorite blogs is Tim Burke's Easily Distracted.  The other day he posted some interesting thoughts about declension narratives in history, their attractiveness, and potential shortcomings:

I seriously hate declension narratives. Anything that starts out with, “Once upon a time, there was a golden age, and then the barbarians came and wrecked it all…” gets me going for my guns. Even when it’s a reasonable enough story, because now and again there’s something to claims of degeneration, failure and loss. The problem is that even the reasonable arguments drift quickly into the borderlands of exaggeration and from there often just go ahead and boldly march into being a big lie.

As I read through the post it hit me that Civil War/Southern History is rife with declension narratives; in fact, it could be argued that much of our popular memory of the antebellum South and of the war itself falls within its parameters.  Arguably, one can find the most egregious examples of declension within traditional interpretations of the antebellum South whose greatest expression can be found in Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind.  Stories of peaceful southern farms and happy slaves overseen by paternalistic slaveowners continue to dominate our collective memory of the antebellum South as well as a perspective on the war itself that is celebratory rather than skeptical; we don't treat the experiences of WWI soldiers as we do our Civil War soldiers.  The Civil War is best understood, as the argument goes, as standing on the precipice of modernism with the final year of the war in Virginia set aside as an indication of what is to come in the modern era.  We can also see declension at work along the fault line of those who view Lee as part of the last generation of heroic warriors as opposed to a modern general.  In both cases there is an implicit assumption of loss and decline that is salient.  Burke concludes with the following:

I think this is a generic kind of fallacy that slips into declensionist stories, and not just conservative ones, a misrembering and compression of the details and messiness of history as we have lived it. I’m not going to be so much of a prig for accuracy as to argue that fantasies about the past don’t sometimes have a constructive, healthy relationship to transformations of the present. The general problem with delusions about decline, however, is that they mislead us into thinking that we are trying to restore some past covenant or arrangement when what we are really trying to do is create something that has yet to exist. On that confusion, both bad and good projects often run aground, but not before they do a lot of collateral damage in the process.

Burke is correct in pointing out that narratives of decline and loss tend to be based on an overly simplistic reading of the past; in short, these stories seem to be more about our own needs rather than an honest attempt at coming to some kind of historical understanding.  For example, check out Brian Lamb's interview with Thomas DiLorenzo this past Sunday on Q&A.  It is almost impossible not to emphasize DiLorenzo's own misgivings about the current size of the federal government and his contention that it is overly intrusive as factors in explaining his understanding of Lincoln and the history of the government during the course of the war.  Listening to him make claims about antebellum politics it is apparent that he has not read critical studies by Michael Holt, William Gienapp, and William Cooper.  The declensionist streak in DiLorenzo's work sets up an antebellum political world that never existed, but ultimately makes it possible to point the finger at one moment, even one individual, who pushed over the first domino and set the ball of corruption in motion. 

Although the oversimplication of the past is something to be concerned about, the declensionist pull does the most damage in its tendency to push the past further away thus rendering it more difficult to identify with.  After all, if there was indeed a fall from grace the people who lived long ago must be of a different kind altogether.  As a result, our response tends to be veneration rather than understanding and this is where, as I see it, the "collateral damage" sets in.  The worst damage is done by those who see themselves in this lost age when a careful reading of the relevant evidence suggests otherwise.  Burke may be correct that "fantasies about the past" can lead to transformation in the present.  Within the context of the Civil War, however, most of those fantasies are wrapped around myths about slavery and race and have a tendency to alienate entire groups and reinforce political fault lines rather than serve a common good.

"A Thoughtful Well-Meaning Confederate Apologist"

I recently discovered an excellent blog written by a graduate student in history who is very interested in issues related to the Lost Cause, public history, and memory.  One particular post on Michael Hardy's blog, North Carolina and the Civil War, really caught my attention.  The writer applauds Hardy for his sincere interest in researching his Confederate ancestors who fought in the war, but expresses concern over his failure to acknowledge the centrality of slavery to the war on a number of different levels.  There are very few references to race and slavery and the few that do reference it buy into the myth of loyal slaves and black Confederates.  The writer concludes with the following:

Would Robert E. Lee Welcome YOU To His Dinner Table?

I am currently reading and enjoying Susan Dunn's Dominion of Memories: Jefferson, Madison, and the Decline of Virginia (Basic Books, 2007), which explores the period between the 1820s and the Civil War.  Dunn writes well, but most importantly the book is filling in a significant gap in my understanding of the state's history.  According to Dunn, Virginia went from a national leader during the Early Republic to a declining economy whose leaders held tightly to a provincial view which provided little opportunity for a large portion of its white population.  Planters defaulted on their loans and gradually became more defensive about their northern neighbors and foreign observers who visited the region and were shocked to discover the lack of productivity on Virginia's farms and the pervasiveness of poverty.  Dunn attributes Virginia's downfall to a combination of its ruling elite adhering to a "gentlemanly" way of life, its obsession with states' rights and the retention of slavery.

Did Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson Subscribe to the Theory of Evolution?

My guess is that the good people at Exploration Films Television probably don't think so.  They make films and documentaries for a Christian audience:

EFT believes that life is a wonderful discovery and they serve those who are willing to embrace life to the fullest... those who are curious, risky and insightful... people who love truth: true thinking, true ideas and true facts. EFT's powerful, high-quality stories are some of the most unique around. Some of its titles include Incredible Creatures That Defy Evolution, a three-volume series that exposes the lies and assumptions of evolutionary theory; Warriors of Honor, a look at the life and faith of two of America's legendary generals Robert E Lee and Stonewall Jackson; First Love, an historic reunion of Jesus-Music pioneers; and Rebellion of Thought, a chronicle of two brothers and their heart-rending struggle for authentic faith in a post-modern culture.

I assume that Lee and Jackson are two of the "Incredible Creatures" that we can watch in the documentary challenging the theory of evolution.  After all, Lee and Jackson are the paradigm examples in favor of Intelligent Design since it is impossible to imagine that they were both simply the result of some kind of accident within the primordial soup.  More telling, however, is the listing of the Lee and Jackson film smack in the middle of two films that point to the dangers of a secular world. It gets us right back to my previous post which pointed out that we are wedded to an image of the Confederacy as defying the modern tendencies of the North during the war.  It's the standard ahistorical distinction that we've grown accustomed to and which provides the moral framework for understanding the war that a large number of people continue to utilize.  This is a wonderful example of the ways in which history can get sucked into the culture wars: on the one side we have Lee, Jackson, God, and morality and on the other we find Grant, Sherman, atheism, and pragmatism.  For a sense of just how pervasive these assumptions surrounding Lee and Jackson are, keep in mind that EFT is based in Colorado and not in the South. 

Demobilization, Reconciliation, and Johnny Yuma

About two weeks ago I shared my very rough introduction to my essay on the demobilization of the Army of Northern Virginia. I took on this project with few prior assumptions about what I would find.  Problems abound in trying to track down sources from the period immediately following Appomattox.  Few soldiers had the time or the interest in cataloging their journeys home.  Most surprising of all was the level of violence that pervaded sections of Virginia, specifically along the Blue Ridge Mountains where those Confederates who deserted during the war continued to hide.  Others headed for the hills in hopes that elements of the ANV would regroup and continue the struggle.  The sudden surrender and dispersement of the ANV taxed an already depleted landscape and placed those civilians living in close proximity to roads in a precarious situation.  Competition for limited resources inevitably led to clashes between soldiers, civilians, and the newly-freed slaves.  Couple that with the humiliation of defeat and a sense of uncertainty regarding the future and you've got yourself a potentially explosive situation.  Many of the soldiers learned of Lincoln's assassination during their travels and this only added to that uncertainty.  I was surprised by how many Confederates viewed the president's death as a loss for the South.  A farmer in Nelson County anticipated much harsher punishment for former Confederates under the new president, Andrew Johnson, while others could only speculate as to how they would be treated.

What Would An Obama Presidency Mean To Civil War Memory?

This post originally ran in April 2007.  Given last night's primary results in Indiana and North Carolina I thought it might be an opportune moment to share it once again.

One of my readers recently pointed out that the Civil War Sesquicentennial observances may coincide with the election of our first black president.  How will that shape the national narrative that will arise out of political speeches, state sesquicentennial commission plans, and other observances?  My friendly emailer asks:

As the bellowing over the Confederate battle flag seems to be nearing crescendo, how relevant will Confederate heritage appear four years from now?  And with, perhaps, a black president, how empty will any Confederate legacy be revealed to be?

The more I think about it the more it becomes apparent that an Obama presidency could reshape our understanding of the Civil War, Reconstruction and the rest of American history right down to the Civil Rights Movement.  We've already seen how a push for black civil rights in the 1950s and 60s served to challenge the work of various centennial commissions.  This led to a noticeable waning in enthusiasm among white Americans for centennial celebrations by 1963.  The difference this time around could be that with Obama potentially elected in 2008 that this will leave plenty of time for the nation to begin to rethink its history and the place of slavery and emancipation within the overall narrative.  Think about it: We will hear about how far the nation has come since before the Civil War.  Part of that narrative will highlight the Civil War as leading to emancipation through the sacrifice and bravery of black soldiers themselves along with the actions of countless others.   It is reasonable to expect that the work of various organizations involved in setting up events for the sesquicentennial would be influenced to some extent by this natural curiosity as to how the nation has come to elect its first black president.  In short, the "emancipationist legacy" of the Civil War would return to center stage. It does have the potential of becoming overly celebratory and I would resist this urge for the sake of maintaining the focus on better understanding the relevant history.

Returning to the passage quoted above it is necessary to point out that the "emptiness" referred to in connection with "Confederate heritage" is not meant to denigrate the very strong desire on the part of Southern whites to remember and acknowledge the service of ancestors.  I've said before that there is nothing necessarily wrong or even strange about this personal need to remember.  It is meant, however, to point out that this view reduces both the war years, Reconstruction, and the history of race and slavery in a way that fails to acknowledge salient factors and relevant perspectives as part of the overall historical narrative.  It tends to reduce Southern history and the Civil War to the perspective of white Southerners and equates the Confederacy with the South.  More importantly, Southern history is equated or understood along the overly narrow lines of the four years of the Confederacy.  In short, the narratives coming out of Confederate Heritage groups would be inadequate to explain a black president.

More to the point, the attention among professional historians in recent years to better understanding the ways in which slavery shaped the Confederate experience will potentially occupy a central place in future narratives that purport to explain the historical background of a black president.  We will be forced to acknowledge secession and the Confederacy as an attempt to maintain slavery and a racial hierarchy and not simply as a constitutional right or a defense of hearth and home; both points figure prominently in our collective memory while race and slavery linger on the fringes.  Of course, understanding the Civil War years does not in any way come close to defining the black experience in America nor does an emphasis on the American South.  What it does do, however, is highlight the importance that was attached to emancipation both during the war and in the decades to follow before it was overshadowed by reunion, reconciliation and Jim Crow at the turn of the twentieth century.

This post is not meant in any way as a justification for a vote for Barak Obama.  The election of a black president would be an important milestone for this country, but in our attempt to understand how we as a nation arrived at this point it also has the potential of radically shifting the way we think about our collective past.

One of my readers recently pointed out that the Civil War Sesquicentennial observances may coincide with the election of our first black president.  How will that shape the national narrative that will arise out of political speeches, state sesquicentennial commission plans, and other observances?  My friendly emailer asks:

As the bellowing over the Confederate battle flag seems to be nearing crescendo, how relevant will Confederate heritage appear four years from now?  And with, perhaps, a black president, how empty will any Confederate legacy be revealed to be?

The more I think about it the more it becomes apparent that an Obama presidency could reshape our understanding of the Civil War, Reconstruction and the rest of American history right down to the Civil Rights Movement.  We've already seen how a push for black civil rights in the 1950s and 60s served to challenge the work of various centennial commissions.  This led to a noticeable waning in enthusiasm among white Americans for centennial celebrations by 1963.  The difference this time around could be that with Obama potentially elected in 2008 that this will leave plenty of time for the nation to begin to rethink its history and the place of slavery and emancipation within the overall narrative.  Think about it: We will hear about how far the nation has come since before the Civil War.  Part of that narrative will highlight the Civil War as leading to emancipation through the sacrifice and bravery of black soldiers themselves along with the actions of countless others.   It is reasonable to expect that the work of various organizations involved in setting up events for the sesquicentennial would be influenced to some extent by this natural curiosity as to how the nation has come to elect its first black president.  In short, the "emancipationist legacy" of the Civil War would return to center stage. It does have the potential of becoming overly celebratory and I would resist this urge for the sake of maintaining the focus on better understanding the relevant history.

Returning to the passage quoted above it is necessary to point out that the "emptiness" referred to in connection with "Confederate heritage" is not meant to denigrate the very strong desire on the part of Southern whites to remember and acknowledge the service of ancestors.  I've said before that there is nothing necessarily wrong or even strange about this personal need to remember.  It is meant, however, to point out that this view reduces both the war years, Reconstruction, and the history of race and slavery in a way that fails to acknowledge salient factors and relevant perspectives as part of the overall historical narrative.  It tends to reduce Southern history and the Civil War to the perspective of white Southerners and equates the Confederacy with the South.  More importantly, Southern history is equated or understood along the overly narrow lines of the four years of the Confederacy.  In short, the narratives coming out of Confederate Heritage groups would be inadequate to explain a black president.

More to the point, the attention among professional historians in recent years to better understanding the ways in which slavery shaped the Confederate experience will potentially occupy a central place in future narratives that purport to explain the historical background of a black president.  We will be forced to acknowledge secession and the Confederacy as an attempt to maintain slavery and a racial hierarchy and not simply as a constitutional right or a defense of hearth and home; both points figure prominently in our collective memory while race and slavery linger on the fringes.  Of course, understanding the Civil War years does not in any way come close to defining the black experience in America nor does an emphasis on the American South.  What it does do, however, is highlight the importance that was attached to emancipation both during the war and in the decades to follow before it was overshadowed by reunion, reconciliation and Jim Crow at the turn of the twentieth century.

This post is not meant in any way as a justification for a vote for Barak Obama.  The election of a black president would be an important milestone for this country, but in our attempt to understand how we as a nation arrived at this point it also has the potential of radically shifting the way we think about our collective past.

April 9, 1865

The surrender of Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia on April 9, 1865 effectively ended the Civil War and  slavery in the United States.  Why are we no longer "expected to join in singing Patriotic songs" to mark the occasion?