Symbols of an Open Wound
I visited the battlefield at Gettysburg a couple of weeks ago as part of a seminar on the Civil War. While I had seen plenty of memorials before, I believe this is the first time I actually set foot on the ground where men fought and died. It is an odd experience, particularly in Gettysburg, where the town has crept right up to the edges of, and in some cases right into the middle of, the battlefield. One regimental monument was right at the corner of what I believe was an inn. On the one hand, it seemed somewhat crass; on the other, it reminded me that that the armies of the North and South fought in and near towns throughout the country. I’m not sure that was the intent, but you take your learning opportunities where they come.
Regardless of any perceptions of crassness or commercialism, I recommend a trip to Gettysburg, or Antietam, or maybe some of the battlefields out West. It amazes me to see the scale of these things, to realize how large these conflicts were. And it amazes me to realize how much the Civil War still shapes our society. Intellectually, I know it did, but I had never confronted the emotional response that people have – the closest I have come has been in reading the debates over the Confederate symbol on state flags and capitals and occasionally listening to (and admittedly screaming at) some country songs.
At Gettysburg, there is a memorial placed near the Union line, where the final Confederate assault fell short. (I was amazed by how much ground the troops had to cover, and how little ultimately separated them from their goal.) Some people consider Gettysburg to be the military climax of the war, and the Union troops that erected the monument soon after the war were certainly willing to agree; a large bronze “book” lists the regiments that fought on the Union side, underneath a legend that states that at this point was the “high water mark of the rebellion.” One of my classmates — the only southerner in the group, I believe — took one look at the inscription and said words to the effect of, “Now that’s what gets people from the South seeing purple . . . high water mark of the rebellion.” I wish I had asked her which words bothered her — the words “high water mark”, which I suppose might seem like they’re gloating, or just the use of the word “Rebellion,” which seems to annoy people who would prefer to think of the war as having been between two sovereign powers. I should have asked.
The thing is, I’m not totally sure what I would have said. I mean, quoting a dictionary definition of rebellion probably wouldn’t help matters much. It all makes sense to me. “They rebelled, this is as far as they got, OK, great, moving on.” But that’s because I’m looking at it as a monument to an event a hundred years ago, and others — like the wave after wave of men with their Confederate shirts and their Confederate bumper stickers — look at it as a front in an ongoing battle of cultures, between an industrial North and a more civilized, even genteel, agricultural South. I don’t know how to separate those two perspectives, but it’s something that needs to happen.
Part of it is probably doing a better job with the way we teach and understand the war. I’m not sure that enough of a distinction gets made between why certain Southern leaders chose to secede and why many Southerners fought in the war with great ferocity. For example, I find it hard to understand why anyone could deny that slavery was a prime motivator in the decision to secede. Southern leaders had spent much of the 1850s agitating to invade Cuba or Nicaragua or other points south of the Rio Grande, for the express purpose of adding land to the Union below the Missouri Compromise and increasing the number of slave states. Senator Albert Gallatin Brown, for example, declared: “I want Cuba, and I know that sooner or later we must have it. I want Tamalipas, Potosi, and one or two other Mexican States; and I want them all for the same reason — for the planting and spreading of slavery.” When American William Walker invaded and briefly captured Nicaragua in the late 1850s, southern newspapers urged Southerners to move into the country, expand slavery, and thus bring civilization to the era. The Kansas-Nebraska Act and Dred Scott decision were the culmination of efforts to finally overturn the Missouri Compromise and bring slavery north. When Lincoln was elected in 1860, the Richmond Examiner stated, “A party founded on the single sentiment . . . of hatred of African slavery, is now the controlling power” in country. When African-Americans argue that the Confederate flag is the symbol of an effort to keep them in slavery, it’s hard not to see the point. (The quotes in this paragraph are taken from James M. McPherson’s excellent book, Battle Cry of Freedom, which is reviewed elsewhere on the site.)
That said, not every Southerner held slaves, and many of the yeoman farmers who enlisted or were conscripted into the Confederate Army were more concerned with the fact that Union troops had invaded their territory than with the desire to broaden slavery. It was, for example, the firing of shots at Fort Sumter that prompted several of the states of the upper South to finally secede; Robert E. Lee called slavery a “moral and political evil” in 1856, but felt he had to defend his fellow Virginians and Southerners. Yes, it is certainly true that by extension, Lee was fighting for slavery — were it not for slavery, he would never have been fighting in the first place, and if he had won, slavery would have continued for some time. But I find it hard to believe that was his motive, the cause in his heart. And I am sure that there were many like him in the Confederate forces. Is there some way to respect them for their loyalty and courage in what they viewed as the defense of their homes without defending the cause for which they fought? Can I criticize their decision without attacking their character? At what point do I go from understanding their point of view to ignoring their culpability for their actions? I don’t have answers to these questions yet; I hope we can discuss them in the forums. Until we answer them, until we can really understand the meaning of the events that have brought us where we are today and discuss them with honesty, Gettysburg will only divide us.
About Dave Thomer
Born and raised in Philadelphia. Studied philosophy at Fordham University in the Bronx, where I made many great friends and met my wonderful wife. We moved back to Philadelphia, where I studied philosophy some more and became a teacher. Online and off, I'm looking for ways that we can be better citizens and build stronger communities.