A Heart Divided (23 page)

C
HOOSE

My family and friends
have very strong feelings
about the Confederate flag.
For them, it’s a symbol
of history,
honor,
tradition.
But I know that other people
look at that same symbol and see
prejudice,
racism,
slavery.
And, I mean,
it’s exactly the same symbol.
I guess if one side is right
then the other side must be wrong.
I don’t think that,
but that’s what people think.
So they invest all this energy
into fighting over it
and to me it just seems—I always thought—
what does it accomplish?

Once—I was little—
I asked my mother why there was evil.
I have no idea where that came from.
Darth Vader maybe.
(he laughs self-consciously)
And my father walked into the kitchen—
I can see him there with the coffeepot in his hand—
my father said:
“So there can be good.”
(a long pause)
Don’t know how I got off on that
or what it has to do with—
(he pauses and runs his hand through his hair)
There are kids
right here in Redford
that go to bed hungry every night.
White kids.
Black kids.
Every other color kids.
We have homelessness here.
We have poverty.

And you know, that’s evil.
And I feel like if—
if half the energy
that went into fighting over that flag
went into doing something—
doing good—
(he pauses again)
A hungry kid
doesn’t care about that flag.
He just cares that he’s hungry.

R
EVEREND
L
UCAS
R
OBERTS
(
Pastor, Columbia Pike Baptist Church
)

Reverend Roberts is fifty-nine but looks younger. He’s not a large man, but his presence and voice are powerful. He was an army chaplain in Vietnam and was very involved in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. We’re in the rear pew of his church in the late afternoon. He’s wearing a dark suit and tie. Sunlight streams through a window and dances across his crisp white shirt.

1961

My father was a preacher man right here in Redford, so you could say I went into the family business.

An incident that stays in my mind
occurred in the summer
of 1954.
Blacks—they called us Negroes then—
weren’t allowed
in the municipal swimming pool.
One night—one of those steamy ones—
my friends and I decided to sneak into that pool.
That cool water felt so
good.
We got caught, but
we managed to get away.
The next day,
they drained the entire pool.
(
his hands are clasped; he shakes his head at the memory)
Nn-nn-nn.
Can you imagine such a thing?
They thought three black children had
contaminated
the water.

In 1961 I was a freshman at Fisk University.
I looked up to the older students
who were fighting segregation.
Wanted to roll with the big dogs.
So I joined
the sit-ins
at Woolworth’s in Nashville.
Blacks were not allowed to sit at the lunch counter.
The segregationists fought us mightily.
A group of white teenagers attacked us.
Our morality of nonviolence
dictated that we would not fight back and
we did not.
Yet we were arrested and
the white boys went free.

In court the judge turned his back
on our attorney, Z. Alexander Looby.
That judge
literally
turned to the wall
during our defense.
Then Mr. Looby’s home was dynamited.

Momma wanted to drag me home after that
but Daddy said: “Leave the boy be.”

The next day
we held a silent protest march
more than two thousand strong—
black
and
white—to city hall.
And my father marched by my side.

When we arrived
Mayor Ben West
told the marchers and
the city of Nashville and
the South and
the United States of America
that it was immoral
to discriminate against a person
on the basis of race or color.
Six weeks later
those lunch counters
were integrated.

I guess I had proved myself, and after that
some of the older students said to me:
“What’s the name of that restaurant
in Redford you told us about?”
And I said:
“Jimmy Mack’s.”
And they said:
“Lucas, it should be next.”
And that is how the fight for equality
came to Redford.

(
he pauses, his brow furrows)

Good people. Righteous people—
black
and
white—
shed their blood
for the rights of the black man
to be served like any other customer
at places like Jimmy Mack’s.
And now,
all these years later,
my own son hates that place.
He and his friends
go to Taco Bell.

C
HRISTOPHER
S
ULLIVAN
(
Editor
, Southern Partisan
magazine
)

I speak by phone to Mr. Sullivan in his office in South Carolina, but saw him in a videotape about the Confederate flag created by the First Amendment Center in Nashville, so I know he is in his mid-forties, of medium build, with a trim beard and glasses. When I ask what he’s wearing, his answer is precise: a tweed jacket, white shirt, blue-and-yellow striped tie, navy pants, brown shoes recently polished. He speaks passionately. On the tape I saw, he often karate-chopped the air to emphasize a point.

A
LL
T
HINGS
C
ONFEDERATE

The key to understanding
the argument over the battle flag
is really an argument
over what the flag means.
If you say that the flag is
bad
or
evil
or
there is something
wrong
with it
because of its meaning—
whatever bad meaning is attached to it—
well then,
logically,
there’s something
bad
or
evil
about the monuments, too.
Something
bad
or
evil
about those
who served under that flag.

And so
if you agree with those premises
and you say the logical result
of that argument is that the battle flag
has to be removed from public places,
then those monuments
should be removed from public places.
It’s inescapable.

To say: “We’ve got to get rid of the battle flag”
is to say:
“We’ve got to get rid of all things Confederate.”
And that’s something that most Southerners—
and a lot of Northerners—
are not prepared to accept.

R
EVEREND
F
REDERICK
D
OUGLASS
T
AYLOR
(
Political Organizer, Southern Christian Leadership Conference
)

Fred Taylor is the coordinator of direct action for the SCLC, the Atlanta-based civil rights organization founded by activists including the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in 1957. I interviewed him by telephone. He spoke slowly, his words gaining passion as the interview continued until they achieved a sermon-like cadence. From what he told me, I know that Mr. Taylor is in his sixties, bearded, bespectacled, and balding. From a photo I saw of him, I know that he has a huge smile.

A L
ONG
H
AUL

I was thirteen years old
living in Montgomery, Alabama,
at the time of the Montgomery bus boycott.
I have a Movement history.
When I came here in ′69,
I mean, I was full of optimism.
I thought I had joined in a process—
or Movement—
that was going to change—
we were going to change the world.

But as time moved on
I discovered that has not happened.
The struggle now, it is, it is,
it is insidious,
it is computerized,
it is not as obvious as it once was.
We are in for a long haul.

What has surprised me most
in the struggle over the battle flag
is that the sons and daughters of the Confederacy
believe in maintaining those symbols
to the degree that they have
invoked a theological undergirding
for their position.
They really believe that
their position
is ordained by some
Divine Power.
They are so
entrenched
and so
fixed
in their position
that there is no reason for compromise.
It is either
their way
or no way
at all.

But by taking down,
taking away these symbols,
it would take away
divisiveness
and usher in an era of
inclusion
and coming toward the day
when, as Dr. King often talked about—
when people
would be judged by the
content of their character
rather than of the
color of their skin.

The proper place
for the battle flag in twenty-first-century America,
in my opinion,
is in some museum of the South,
for persons who have the need to preserve that.

I don’t think the battle flag
ought to fly over any public facility.
But if there are
private
facilities,
or in a Confederate cemetery,
or a war memorial,
I don’t have any problem
or strong feeling about that.

I am an eternal optimist—
that’s why I’m still here,
doing interviews with you,
and speaking in schools,
and participating in demonstrations,
and going to jail every now and then,
and making my witness.
But in terms of bringing about
the kind of
beloved community
that Dr. King talked about
we are still in for a long haul.

A
GNES
A
UGUSTUS
(
Librarian, Redford Public Library
)

Mrs. Augustus, eighty-four, has a halo of white hair, a peaches-and-cream complexion, and piercing blue eyes. Wearing a flowery dress and sensible shoes, she is slender and has excellent posture. Her manner is both forthright and feminine. We meet at the Pink Teacup over fruit tea and chocolate-chip cookies. The drawl in Mrs. Augustus’s voice is soothing. Soft classical music plays in the background.

J
IMMY
M
ACK’S

When I was your parents’ age
there were signs posted everywhere:
Whites Only.
Colored Drinking Fountain.
Blacks couldn’t stay at most hotels
or eat at most restaurants.
There were laws about it.
It was a way to make blacks second-class
citizens. And not just in the South.

You know Jimmy Mack’s restaurant?
It was whites only till 1961.
Back then, Lucas Roberts was a student at Fisk.
He and nine other students
walked right through the front door of Jimmy
Mack’s.
The boys wore jackets and ties.
The girls wore lovely dresses.
They took seats at two tables
and waited.

All the white people were served.
But these ten young people were ignored.
So they sat there all day
in silence.

At the end of the day
these young students came outside to find
white folks
lined up on the sidewalk.
Cursing them
and
waving the Confederate battle flag.
I tried to get them to stop.
So did Birdie’s mother.
But they wouldn’t listen.
(
she looks sad and sips her tea)

I know this will be difficult for you to understand.
I still love that flag.
I used to fly that flag from my front porch
with great pride.
It was the banner of the soldiers, not the Confederacy.
My grandfather died in battle under that flag.
So did Birdie’s ancestor—
The one who freed his own slave.
But after that day at Jimmy Mack’s
I brought it inside.
I haven’t flown it since.

R
ONALD
B
INGHAM
(
Plumber
)

Mr. Bingham is forty-four, medium height with a slight build, just starting to bald. We’re at his small frame home in Pulaski, Tennessee. He’s just come from a plumbing job and still wears work clothes, boots, and a UT Volunteers baseball cap. From the next room I can hear the voices of his two small children, as well as the voices of the cartoons they’re watching, throughout the interview.

W
ITH
G
OD
A
S
O
UR
D
EFENDER

They try to say that
the Confederate Flag
is a flag of racists.
You know.
The Mud People,
Queer Nation,
Communists,
The Children of Satan Jews
who control the media.
The godless.
The mongrelized.
There’s a lot of them out there.

We dare say aloud what
others only think. We say:
“Rebels! Be proud. Stand tall! We are the South!”
Do you understand what these people want?
They say they want to
take down our flag.
But what they really want
is an end to their own white race,
and you can take that to the bank.
Do you know what was
the motto
of the Confederate States of America?
Deo Vindice.
With God as our Defender.
This was the Confederate motto.
This is the motto we live by today.
Make no mistake about it.
The white Anglo-Saxons
are the
true
Israelites.
We will smite the enemies
of God’s chosen people and
then the world shall be returned
to our righteous hands.

M
ALIK
E
L
B
AZ
(
Attorney, Political Activist
)

We speak in his office in north Nashville, where he has a criminal law practice. Mr. El Baz appears to be in his thirties. He’s tall, with sinewy arms visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt. A loosened tie dangles from his collar. Behind him on the wall are photographs of Malcolm X and the deceased Kenyan leader Jomo Kenyatta. He speaks emphatically but at the same time seems in complete control.

N
EVER
B
OW
D
OWN

If any racist
straw-chewin’
tobacco-chewin’
racist redneck
lays their hands on any righteous
black man or black woman
who is the flower of humanity—
my people should
crush
that devil
who is trying to do them
harm and evil.
In the Name of God
and in accordance
with their legal rights.
(
he stops and folds his arms)