Huat

I am deeply interested in the Civil War. I consume a lot of documentaries and historical books. I portray a Union soldier as a sometime-re-enactor. I have toured six of the national battlefields so far, and one of my ancestors was wounded at Gettysburg (on the third day, my guess during the artillery barrage before Pickett’s Charge). I am interested.

It’s fantastic to find other people to discuss this important and pivotal time in American—and world—history. Stories about heroic bravery, dumb luck and masterful strategy abound; personal details and anecdotes preserved in diaries and letters connect us to the nearly three million people who fought—and the more than 500,000 who died—in the largest bloodbath our nation has ever seen.

So I was surprised as the national conversation emanated from the horrific violence in Virginia—since the white supremacists were in town to preserve a statue of Robert E. Lee, this was a teaching moment about the actual history of most Confederate monuments with national potential. It seemed like people were becoming more interested in discussing the War, and its implications regarding Reconstruction, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights Movement, and even Black Lives Matter.

Yet as it turns out, most people apparently don’t care about the actual War, or about how those monuments actually got there.

There’s a lot to be said about the denigration of the south in the years immediately following the War—Reconstruction was, in many ways, an exercise in condemnation and condescension from the north, who used militarized tactics to enforce order, not to reunify the country. Disgraced southerners used this as justification to dig in even deeper, but some were genuinely interested in preserving the historically significant areas and using structures as a testament and memorial to their loved ones’ sacrifice. In Manassas, Virginia, a separate cemetery contains reclaimed Confederate bodies, made possible by painstaking work of the Daughters of the Confederacy beginning in 1867.

Only a handful of structures went up in the decades just after the War. The great majority of the statues in parks, courthouse lawns, schoolyards and city squares arrived much later. After “Birth of a Nation” rejuvenated the inflated sense of righteousness for the ‘Lost Cause’ and twisted the narrative to justify commitment to said Cause, hundreds of statues appeared in public places with no historical significance. Membership in the KKK (created by ex-Confederates) skyrocketed after “Birth of a Nation,” and 3-4 million people were a huge block of voters, taxpayers, and undoubtedly some police forces, schools, and halls of ‘justice’. Subsequently, homage to Confederates appeared—not to remember the sacrifice of the dead, but to reaffirm their town’s commitment to white supremacy. The next trend in monument manifestation was during the 1950s, as a direct response to the Civil Rights movement when the War had been over more almost a century. (Graphs and research on this courtesy of the SPLC)

Many claim that the statues need to remain because they’re part of our history. Yet when one attempts discussion at the monuments’ true origin, the interest in history evaporates. So many of those who espouse desire to acknowledge America’s history have neither an inkling of the myriad terrifying acts of violence committed by lynch-mobs, nor any desire to understand why a symbol of oppression might be harmful to a community whose members were routinely kidnapped, tortured, and murdered with the blessing of municipal government.

The reason why the Confederacy is still on the stage is pretty simple: Robert E. Lee is much more endearing than Adolf Hitler. Lee has had centuries’ worth of rebranding—thanks to millions of people, reaffirming every day various legends and folklore meant to cast him as a virtuous hero with zero flaws—yarns that began to weave before the War was even over.

Robert E. Lee has six statues (four others have been removed) not on battlefields, 23 roads, two holidays and 19 grade schools. Emmett Till has one sign near the riverbank where he was brutally murdered, which is six years old and routinely defaced. Mary Turner, her husband Hayes, and their baby have one sign, erected in 2010. They are two of the hundreds who met unimaginable fates at the hands of white mobs, and having any memorial marker at all is an exception to the rule.

We are obliged to remember our history, so as to avoid repeating it. These negative moments in our past, of oppression and systemic denigration of black people among them, are important to never forget. But they don’t need to be propped onto literal pedestals as a paragon of virtue in order to heed the warning. When we talk about “our history,” it seems more like people are choosing which moments in history to prioritize.

Besides, it’s clear from Charlottesville that some people still don’t believe all are created equal, and it’s obvious no number of statues will teach them.

Equal Justice Initiative, which among many projects is working toward a lynching memorial: https://eji.org/national-lynching-memorial

American Experience episode on Emmitt Till (graphic):  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-X4is9jMYk

Memorial Day is a unique moment to honor a very specific type of Americans: those who have died, either in the service of our nation or after a career of military duty. Abraham Lincoln would characterize them, three years before the concept of Memorial Day came about, on a battlefield in northern Pennsylvania where sixty thousand Americans had been killed, as “these honored dead,” emphasizing that we must double our commitment to the “cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion.”

The Day was first formally recognized in 1866, when Waterloo NY started a national trend of lowering flags to half staff, draping the village in black to represent mourning, and decorating the graves of soldiers lost during the War. This energy was propelled both by living veterans and loved ones of the dead.

Originally in the first week of May, the day was pushed back to later in the month as more communities began to acknowledge a day to memorialize their dead, likely to allow for more flowers to bloom before they were plucked by loved ones to place upon graves.

It’s unfair to stratify the impact of American military engagements by the number of deaths; each time the American military is involved in combat, lives of service members are in danger and, hopefully, the purpose is worthy of placing those lives in danger. However, the emphasis on the number of Americans killed in each war reminds us that although the Civil War is a far distant moment in history and no longer in living memory, it was, by far, the most quantifiable carnage in American history.

Tabulating data of wartime casualties will yield different figures depending on certain factors: the number of people killed during battle, weighing the inclusion of those who died from wounds or infections in post-war years, etc. As a result, official figures hover anywhere from 493,000 to 750,000 American deaths. Either way, the number of fatalities from the Civil War surpasses that of any other American war in history, and—accepting WWII—surpasses the combined sum of casualties from every other American conflict.

The United States population in 1860 was about 31 million people—a tenth of today’s population. Using the often-cited figure of 620,000 fatalities, about two percent of the American population died in the war. It’s fair to assume that literally everyone knew someone who either was killed in battle or died from disease in camp. Often, since regiments would be mustered out of a certain community or region, entire towns would be robbed of all military-aged men. Today, that ratio would equate to six million deaths.

It is doubtless that every war is a horrific and tragic experience for everyone it touches. Yet as Americans there exists a patriotic dedication bred in the bone, in which we honor and remember the fallen by redoubling our loyalty to the purpose for which they died. The difference of the Civil War is that while all others can feel resolute (or perhaps bereft) in lives taken combating some foreign enemy, in this conflict every death was an American death.

As President Lincoln acknowledged the blood-soaked soil beneath his feet at Gettysburg, he said it was the responsibility of the living to carry the torch of the dead, “that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

If you know me, you know what I do for a living. If you don’t know me: I do outreach and education for the regional rape crisis program.

This time of year is our Superbowl, Oscars, and New Year’s Eve put together. The often-thankless field of victim advocacy has an annual moment to take the spotlight, along with the real reason we all do this job: not for applause, but the survivors and families that we support, and for the paradigm shift we can impress upon the community.

That paradigm shift is important: to prevent sexual assault—actually stop it from happening, not make sure someone else is victimized—society needs to acknowledge the unhealthy norms that provide a foundation that can green-light assaults. Comments like “you can grab ‘em by the pussy” being sidelined as “harmless, locker-room talk” sends a message that, because of the situation or the speaker’s level of fame/authority/POWER, attitudes like that are okay. As I’ve already discussed, behaviors and attitudes are indicative of beliefs and values, and an attitude like that speaks volumes about that person’s values.

What also speaks volumes are the multitude of other people that excuse, justify or otherwise explain why it’s okay—or the larger audience of people who say nothing at all. Over time, a culture is created wherein these attitudes are accepted—which quickly sets the scene for certain behaviors to escalate. As we’ve already learned, it’s quite likely that the man sitting in the White House has done way more than talk about pussy grabbing.

So I had a pretty visceral reaction on March 31 when the President proclaimed April as “Sexual Assault Awareness Month.” This year’s national theme is “Engaging New Voices,” which focuses on the multiple ways someone can stand up for survivors and challenge rape culture, calling attention to the negative behavior that is so often passed off as ‘just the way things are.’ It’s true that the coaches of sports teams, members of clergy, and officials in government all have a voice to contribute, yet so far the President’s voice has focused on the denigration of sexual assault survivors and women in general. He’s been too busy critiquing whether or not someone is attractive enough to be assaulted to remember to say “I’m sorry, that should not have happened to you.”

It made me sick to hear the espousal of commitment his administration had—along with the cooperation of the Department of Justice and the Department of Health & Human Services. Jeff Sessions and Tom Price head these departments respectively—and both of them voted against the re-authorization of the Violence Against Women Act in 2013. ‘VAWA’ funds the federal Office of Violence against Women through the Justice Department, and is responsible for dispensing millions of dollars in grant money to fund state and regional programs—including domestic violence shelters and rape crisis programs. As I wondered what Sexual Assault Awareness Month 2018 might look like, seeing as VAWA comes up for reauthorization, I felt literal nausea.

Six days later, our President rushed to the defense, for seemingly no reason, of Bill O’Reilly. After a disclosure of a handful of multi-million dollar sexual harassment settlements, the majority of the FOX pundit’s sponsors had backed out. Yet without a public request or check, the President provided NYT with an affirmation that O’Reilly was “a good person,” and made point to mention “I don’t think he did anything wrong.”

Perpetuating that sexual harassment is normal, or the belief that “when you’re a star, they let you do it,” is what provides the context for sexually assaultive behavior to escalate. When we defend the alleged perpetrator yet are quick to condemn the survivor, we create a milieu for other survivors to feel blame and doubt. I don’t think that’s what anyone meant by “engaging new voices.”

Most of me feels indignant and disgusted. But another, much smaller part can see the silver lining, however macabre: Sexual Assault Awareness Month never had so much air time. If there’s an upside, it’s that maybe the resources for survivors are that much more accessible. But I’ll be real: taking that as an upside is a stretch.

For 24/7 confidential information and assistance nationwide, visit RAINN.

People—individually or in a group—have a tendency to gravitate toward certain routines. They navigate a pattern of choices throughout days, months, and generations, each time reaffirming their routines and solidifying their own sense of normalcy. This is done both for survival and to plot a course through the complex hierarchies that embody our world.

We create structures, societies and rules of decorum—whether spelled out like laws or tacitly accepted like social cues and rules of etiquette. And within that spectrum people choose to behave in certain ways.

Behavior toward social situations, popular media and marginalized cultures are, in large part, determined by attitudes. Perceptions—whether fictitious, encouraged by media or informed by experiences—teach our brains to have attitudes about certain situations or sources. Our minds anticipate, as they revert to the familiar comfort of establishing a pattern, to reaffirm the outcome we have already determined when our attitude first formed about that situation, group or event.

Such a distorted expectation (apart from creating a stereotyped, prejudiced assurance of one’s worldview) allows the new evidence either to support what attitudes we already have, or creates cognitive dissonance (when we feel a loss of equilibrium because of the disconnect from what we believe is true contrasted against the information we were just given). At that point, we either discard the evidence (“fake news!”) or are tasked with the criticism of our own attitudes, and what led us to this worldview.

Attitudes are determined by someone’s beliefs. We form our beliefs through experiences, anecdotal understanding from popular media and our own life-driven influences like friends, family, and teachers. These give us a formation of our own sense of justice, power, morality, right, and wrong—and create a foundation from which our attitudes are allowed to form. Our beliefs develop earlier in life than we realize, most of the time, and hone those beliefs as we age, through the validation of our attitudes and behaviors. Only when we are critical of our own worldview, and open to alternate possibilities, can we attempt to adapt these beliefs to change our attitudes and behaviors.

Beliefs are determined by someone’s values. Just as attitudes are shaped and birthed from the foundation of one’s beliefs, the fundamental truths that one believes emanate from what someone values. These are simple, deep issues that we prioritize in our own minds: honesty, wealth, kindness, winning, intelligence, beauty. Often, values are shaped very early in our lives in very subtle ways, principally informed by the people who influence us as young children. This is why it is evident that young, naïve children are not imbued with the racism, homophobia, Islamophobia or transphobia that pervades older children and adults. Through active examination of what we value, and the willingness to understand that one’s own conception of the world might not be the only option, we can widen our paradigms to adapt values that, as we age and grow, we might identify less with.