You lost. Get over it.

It's been more than 150 years since Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia lost the Battle of Appomattox Court House and ended the Civil War, but it appears there are still Southerners who haven't figured that out. The state of South Carolina, for example, persists in flying the battle flag of the Army of Northern Virginia on the state capitol grounds. Why?

The whole obsession with the battle flag has always puzzled me. Even before I learned that Bedford Forrest and the Ku Klux Klan revived it as a symbol meant to strike fear in the hearts of former slaves during Reconstruction, I couldn't figure out why anyone would want to brag about being on the losing side of history when it came to an issue like chattel slavery. What kind of mental gymnastics does it take to convince yourself that your great great grandfather died fighting for some noble cause when that noble cause was to preserve human bondage?

Actually, I know the answer to that one: states' rights. Every time the subject of the war come up, someone waving a battle flag will start blathering on about states' rights while conveniently forgetting that the right the Confederates wanted to preserve was the right to keep slaves. The states that wrote declarations of secession all were explicit in naming the right to keep slaves as their motivation. So did the individual state constitutions. As I wrote in a post back in February, there was absolutely no doubt back in the 1860s as to what motivated the secessionists to secede.

Nonetheless, every time the subject of removing the flag comes up from public places where it's still proudly displayed, people persist in ignoring its actual history. Is it really that difficult to admit that past generations, people's parents or grandparents, were racist assholes but we're now living in more enlightened times? There's always a lot of blathering about a "glorious cause" and Southern pride. What the heck is there to be proud of in committing an act of treason because you want to keep people in chains? And then to insist on wrapping yourself in a flag that was the preferred symbol of the Ku Klux Klan? You might as well be walking around wearing a tee-shirt proclaiming "I'm racist as hell."

In short, it's long past time for South Carolina to jettison some of its more unsavory baggage. Whether they will, though, is doubtful. If anything, it's probable the nation-wide pressure on the state to remove the flag will just cause enough of the legislators to dig in their heels to prevent it from coming down. The war may have ended in April 1865, but some people still don't want to admit they lost.  

Book review: Slavery and Public History

Slavery and Public History: The Tough Stuff of American Memory is a collection of essays edited by historians James Oliver Horton and Lois Horton.  Published in 2006, the book anticipates many of the conflicts regarding the role of slavery in American history in general and the Civil War in particular that are sure to arise as the sesquicentennial of the latter draws closer. I bought this book a few months ago at the book store in the Natchez, Mississippi, visitors' center, but hadn't gotten around to reading it until this past week.  All the chatter about the governor of Virginia proving his knowledge of history would fit on a postage stamp inspired me to finally pick it up and read it. 

Public history is the field of history that deals with making history accessible to and understood by the general public;  museum docents, subject matter experts who plan exhibits and brochures, tour guides, interpretive rangers at state and national parks, living history actors, and so on are all working in the field of public history. One of the challenges of public history can be helping visitors to a museum or a historic site to recognize that knowing more about the past isn't always going to make you feel good, a notably difficult task when most visitors begin the experience by seeing their visit to a museum or historic site as potential entertainment or as a celebration of American progress so, unless they're visiting a site like Andersonville or Manzanar, are expecting tours to be upbeat. But, as one of the essays notes, "if you don't tell it like it was, it can never be as it ought to be."

When history involves the tough stuff -- slavery, civil rights, internment camps -- things can get especially messy.  Most people prefer a comforting myth over a nasty truth any day, so it's no surprise that for the general public the history of slavery in the United States comes wrapped in multiple myths, ranging from the erroneous belief slavery existed only in the Southern states to the ludicrous notion that there were thousands of black soldiers in the Confederate army.

The essays in this book examine a number of recent events for which the history of slavery either served as the initial reason for the event or became entangled in it as planning progressed, including changing the docents' scripts at the Brown house in Rhode Island, placement of a statue honoring Arthur Ashe in Richmond, Virginia, and the unexpected reaction to an exhibit on plantation life at the Library of Congress.  Rhode Island, in fact, although a state that in the public mind is not normally associated with the history of slavery, provides three of the case studies in the book:  Brown University and the issue of reparations, the Brown house and the history of the slave trade, and efforts to honor the first Continental Army regiment comprised of men of color, the First Rhode Island, which fought in the Revolutionary War. 

I'm reasonably well-read in U.S. history, so Slavery and Public History didn't contain any major surprises.  There were issues I hadn't heard about before -- the controversy over the "Behind the Big House" exhibit at the Library of Congress, for example -- but overall the essays served more to provide additional insights into topics I'd heard discussed in other venues.  I knew that there's been quite a bit of debate within the National Park Service over resource education at battlefield sites.  For many years, interpretation at sites such as Shiloh focused almost exclusively on what happened on the day of the battle (e.g., troop movements, casualty counts) while remaining essentially silent on the larger social and political context that led to that battle being fought. (This was true not only of Civil War sites, but also sites associated with the Indian wars, like Little Big Horn.)  When NPS began to change interpretive programs to do more than rhapodize about the heroic actions of our glorious dead, the gallant lads in blue or gray, howls of protest were heard, primarily from members of organizations like the Sons of the Confederacy.  Understandable, of course, because it's not much fun to be reminded that the Lost Cause your ancestors died for was a morally repugnant one.

Although I found all of the book to be interesting as well as thoroughly researched, the chapter debunking the myth of African-Americans being a sizable presence in the Confederate army was particularly interesting.  It's been common practice for a number of years for Confederate heritage organizations, e.g., United Daughters of the Confederacy, to claim that thousands and thousands of blacks willingly served in the Confederate army.  This is, as I stated above, ludicrous.  It's been debunked many times, and in his essay "In Search of a Usable Past" Bruce Levine does a nice job of debunking it again.  Levine shows how the supporters of the theory have resorted to tactics like deciding that slaves used as camp cooks or for doing other support work (collecting firewood, taking care of the horses, digging latrines) were actually serving in the Army.  The fact slaves had no choice in the matter is, from the viewpoint of neo-Confederates, irrelevant.  Documents from the time period, of course, tell the real story.  Confederate officials, from Jefferson Davis on down, made it clear they had no interest in allowing any blacks into the army, with Davis in 1861 bluntly calling the idea "stark madness."  By March 1865, as the CSA ran out of eligible white bodies to use as cannon fodder, the idea was revived, but the Confederates never managed to muster much more than the equivalent of one small platoon.

Cane River Creole National Historical Park: Magnolia Plantation

A few posts ago I mentioned visiting Cane River Creole National Historical Park, one of the newer units in the National Park system. Cane River Creole is located in northwest Lousiana south of Natchitoches. The park itself consists of two plantations, Oakland and Magnolia. The Oakland unit includes all the surviving buildings, including the main house, associated with the plantation; Magnolia includes numerous ancillary structures -- slave quarters, plantation store, blacksmith's barn, overseer's house (shown above), slave hospital -- but does not include the main house and the grounds immediately surrounding the main house. The main house is still owned by the family that operated the plantation beginning in the early 19th century. It's located to the left of this line of live oaks shown below that marks the boundary of the park and is so thoroughly surrounded by oaks and other vegetation that it was impossible to determine something as simple as architectural style, let alone photograph. The little house in the distance was the cook's quarters -- it's located about midway between the overseer's house and the main house.
The photo below is a view of the overseer's house as seen from the general area of the slave quarters.
One of the more interesting aspects of the history of the Cane River area is the role that free men and women of color played in the local economy. I'd read Barbara Hambly's historical novels set in early 19th century Louisiana, but had never really thought about the legal basis for the existence of hommes de couleur libre until visiting Cane River. The park has an excellent fact sheet on the "black codes," the French laws that dictated the responsibilities of owners and the rights of slaves -- and slaves did have rights under the French.

Probably key to the hommes de couleur libre was the fact that it was illegal for a French citizen to have sexual intercourse with a slave. If a white man wanted a colored woman as a mistress (or even a one night stand) she had to be free. He could keep a mistress; he could not keep a slave for purposes of concubinage. As a result, if a free man was attracted to a woman who was a slave he had to buy her freedom. Once the woman was free, any children she bore after receiving her freedom would also be free.

Not surprisingly, many of the women who attained their freedom proved to be quite entrepreneurial, as did their descendants. A number of historic plantations in the Mississippi delta region can trace their ownership back to hommes de couleur libre, including several in the Cane River area. Melrose Plantation, located close to the park but not part of it, began as 68 acres given to an African woman in the 18th century. By the time she died in 1817 the 68 acres had grown to thousands, her children were rich, and the ones who inherited from her owned quite a few slaves themselves.

Also not surprisingly, given Southern history in general and the tendency of local historical societies everywhere to engage in revisionism and hagiography, the spin the local bluehairs put on the history of Melrose Plantation is that the woman's owner freed her out of the generosity of his heart and not because it was the law. As usual, the popular mythology also includes the line "he would have married her if society had allowed him to."

And, speaking of slavery, the buildings below are the surviving slave quarters at Magnolia. They're brick, and were built by an owner who moved to Louisiana from Virginia in the early 1800s. They're one of the best examples I've ever seen of someone imposing an architectural style totally unsuited to a climate. No doubt the man took great pride in them, and they would have been totally appropriate in the Shenandoah Valley -- but in Louisiana? The windows are small, circulation is poor, and for half the year the folks stuck living in them must have felt like they were being baked alive.

Nonetheless, the historical record indicates the brick quarters were considered the high status quarters. The slaves who lived in them were the skilled craftsmen (blacksmith, for example) or worked in the main house. Magnolia was a large plantation, and at one time had over 70 buildings for slave quarters. About one tenth that number survive today. According to the park guide, quite a few of the quarters buildings were torn down and the brick used to reconstruct the main house following a fire in the 1890s.

The quarters built as duplex units were converted to single family following the Civil War and the introduction of share cropping and tenant farming.

Cane River Creole National Historical Park: Oakland Plantation

It was a rather gray day when we visited the park last month, but here are a few photos from Cane River Creole National Historical Park, starting with a side view of the main house at Oakland Plantation, one of the two plantations that comprise the park. The modern structure to the side of the stairs is an elevator that allows the structure to be accessible to all park visitors. The house is a wonderful example of Creole architecture. There is a ground floor to the building, but it's the equivalent of a basement and was used for primarily for storage, with the exception of living quarters for the cook. There is an attic, but, although there are dormer windows, it also was primarily for storage.

The main house as viewed by visitors from the walkway from the plantation general store to the house. I thought the plastic walkway was a great idea for a wet climate. Water goes right through it, but no one ends up walking in mud. The garden in front of the house is known as The Bottle Garden -- the flowerbeds are outlined with wine bottles embedded neck down. It was kind of a neat effect, and I'm wishing now I'd gotten a better photo of it. The interpretive ranger wasn't able to provide much information (it was only his tenth day on the job so he was still learning the park; however, if we'd been at all curious about Natchez NHP he would have been a fount of information because that was his last duty station) but said he thought the Bottle Garden had been established in the late 19th century. Oakland was owned by the same family, the Prudhommes, for multiple generations, which is one reason it retained remarkable integrity and made it a good candidate for consideration as a historical park. They also drank a lot of wine so had lots of empties to work with.

View from the veranda looking down the live oak allee toward the main road and the historic approach to the house. I'm always fascinated by the resurrection ferns covering the oak limbs.

Outbuildings behind the main house include a laundry shed, chicken coops, and a carpenter's shop. The plantation also included a general store, slave quarters, mule barns, equipment sheds, a smaller house known as the Doctor's House which now houses administrative offices for the park and an overseer's house.

The overseer's house:

Having worked in NPS cultural resources, I still mentally do condition assessment for structures and landscapes when I visit parks. Cane River's had a fair amount of money and work poured into since its establishment in the 1990s. There are before and after photos on display in the store for a number of structures, and there are obvious stabilization and preservation efforts in place. There's plastic netting over the remnant wallpaper in the overseer's house to prevent what's left from being peeled off by vandals, and the exteriors of several buildings have rolled roofing sheathing the walls. According to our guide, the management plan calls for the house to reflect an early 1960s appearance, which struck me as a nicely pragmatic decision: the same family lived there for multiple generations; the 1960s is the last time any major changes were made to the interior (the kitchen was updated); it makes perfect sense to use that as a marker for telling the entire story of the property. In short, no major restoration headaches, just stabilization and routine maintenance.

Although the front of the overseer's house is wood siding, the side and rear elevations had apparently been sheathed with faux masonry asphalt siding in the past. That was apparently the last siding put on the house, so I'm kind of wondering if they plan to do a restoration on that.

Oakland's cash crop in the 19th century was cotton so the property at one time included numerous slave cabins. Following the Civil War the owners switched to a share cropping system that included (of course) debt peonage through the Prudhomme-owned general store. Only two cabins remain extant; both had been quite derelict when the park was created in 1994, but have since been stablized. This is one of them.

The exteriors are sheathed with rolled roofing; my assumption is that's a stabilization measure.

The park also includes Magnolia Plantation, but I think I'll do that as a separate post.