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.
AGNES AUGUSTUS
(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.
JIMMY MACK’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.
RONALD BINGHAM(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.
WITH GOD AS OUR DEFENDER
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.
MALIK EL BAZ (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.
NEVER BOW DOWN
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)
The state of Israel—
it’s causing problems
all over the earth
for people of color.
We will never bow down to the
white Jewish Zionist onslaught.
I say to all Jewish people:
Stop pushing your Holocaust
down my throat.
Stop your cover-up of the worst Holocaust
humanity has ever seen
perpetrated by you against my people.
That flag?
That racist, disgusting, cracker
loser of a flag?
Burn, baby, burn.
NIKKI ROBERTS (R.H.S. Student)
(As before)
THE DAY OF THE VOTE
What happened was,
the day of the vote,
a lowlife brain-dead white boy
staged a demonstration
in front of the school
in support of the flag.
In reaction,
another group,
which unfortunately
was led by my brother Luke,
began demonstrating against them.
Which I thought was misplaced energy—
because we were going to win.
The principal
used the demonstrations
as an excuse
to cancel the vote.
He said it was “postponed.”
(she sneers and shakes her head)
It wasn’t until that day
that I really got racism.
That I truly understood:
>
The ones with the power
will do almost anything
to hold on to that power.
(she looks at me with steely resolve)
Let them underestimate me.
That’s fine.
Because I am my father’s daughter.
I will never give up.
I will never give in.
PAUL MCSORLEY
(Principal, Redford High School)
We meet in his office immediately after school. His desk is covered in papers. There are photos and awards on the wall behind him. Kids’ voices can be heard in the hallway. Mr. McSorley is a paunchy fifty-one. He has a gray crew cut and wears a plaid sport coat with an American flag pin.
WE MAY NEVER KNOW
I taught American history for fifteen years
before becoming principal.
I’ve put twenty-five years of my life
into public education.
I willingly scheduled the flag vote—
at some peril to my professional standing—
because I believed
it was the right thing to do.
What did I get for that?
Disruptive demonstrations
in front of my school
that very nearly turned into a riot.
I believe in freedom of speech,
but the safety of my students comes first—
especially in this day and age.
I perceived the situation that morning
to be potentially very dangerous.
That is why I immediately informed
the Board of Education,
and why the vote was postponed.
I’ve been accused
in print and on TV and Lord knows what-all
of canceling the vote. I postponed the vote. And I stand by my judgment. This is my school. The buck stops right here. (he jabs a forefinger on his desk for emphasis)
Never in my twenty-five years
as an educator have
I seen anything as terrible
as what happened
before that football game.
But the media barely mentioned
that of the eleven—
the people on the field
who burned
the Rebel flag that night—
Of eleven, only six were my students.
Do you know that there
are twenty-four amateur videos
of the brawl and
not a single one
shows the shot being fired?
Not a one.
Lord knows what the shooter was
really aiming at.
Certainly not your sister.
We may never know.
It was just a tragic accident.
Tragic.
It fell upon me to decide
what the consequences should be
for the Redford students
who participated in this.
The only fair thing in my book
was to mete out equal justice.
The six students
who burned the flag
as well as
the six football players
who led the charge onto the field
were all expelled.
(he stops, sighs, drums his fingers on the desk)
They were mostly starters,
so that ended our season
right there.
There are still folks
who want to run me
out of town on a rail
for that.
LUKE ROBERTS (R.H.S. Student)
(As before)
HOW THEY DO
My friend’s aunt wears a maid’s uniform.
She cooks for the Redfords
and serves their food.
She calls Sally Redford (he clears his throat), “Mrs. Redford.”
Calls Jack Redford (he clears his throat), “Mr. Jack.”
They call her “Dora.”
I said:
“Tell them to call you Mrs. Washington.”
She said:
“Go on, boy. That’s just how they do.”
She doesn’t mind
long as they pay her good
and treat her good and
she ain’t about to risk gettin’ fired.
When we burned that flag
we were saying:
“We don’t care
how you do
and we don’t care
about the risk. We refuse
to stand
in your bread line
for the crumbs of power.”
I got my nose broken.
James got thirty stitches.
My boy Malcolm got a concussion.
That boy is fierce—yo,
he plays for the Rebels—but
when some white jock
grabbed me
and some other white jock
bashed in my face
Malcolm pulled them off me.
He chose his real boys, you know what I’m saying?
We knew there’d be a fight.
The crackers who jumped us
took their hits—believe that.
But what happened after—
your sister getting shot—
(he rubs his face, obviously upset)
I have a sister, too. So I can imagine….
I’ll tell you this:
It was a white boy pulled that cop’s gun.
No doubt.
A brother might murder
for drugs or money—
which too often occurs because
he feels so put down and used up
that he commits
suicide by homicide
though he doesn’t recognize it as such.
But no brother
steals a gun from a white cop
and shoots it into a crowd
of innocent people
with other white cops
swarming all over the place.
No brother is that big a fool.
Think about it.
If a brother had actually done it
he’d already have been lynched for it.
Hell, a brother’ll
probably get lynched for it anyway.
Cuz you know
that’s just how they do.
JARED BOOSE (R.H.S. Student)
Jared is a senior at Redford High. He’s average height, very thin, with a narrow face and darting eyes. He wears a jean jacket and a backward Confederate flag baseball cap. We’re in the stadium bleachers. He points to various locations as he narrates his version of events for me. It’s a blustery afternoon, and he moves around a lot to stay warm. He has a strong Tennessee mountain twang.
TALL, COLD LADIES
Me and Sandy
had a big-ass blowout that night.
I stopped to pick up a six-pack
and she wants a brew and
I’m all:
“You know you ain’t supposed to drink when you’re pregnant, girl.”
So
she gets all pissy and pulls out her smokes.
So
I grab ′em and throw ′em out the window.
I’m all like: “You’re gonna be a momma.
You gotta be more responsible.”
So she just went off—
Went off.
How I ain’t her daddy and I don’t tell her what to do.
The girl’s slapping me and cussing me out and
I’m all: “Damn, girl, get off me!”
I seen it was still early.
So
I drop her ass off at the game
and tell her I need to go
blow off some steam,
you know what I’m saying?
So I drive around for a while—
crank up my man Travis Tritt.
Just me and my tall, cold ladies
getting me a nice buzz.
Then I head back.
I find my
girl,
we patch things up,
and shortly after that the preshow commences.
And well.
You know what happened after that.
What gets me is how
everyone gets theirs in America.
Blacks, women, Mexicans, or whatever.
But come up white and poor …
Like my daddy.
He worked over to the shower curtain factory for twenty years.
Company up and moves to Mexico
an’
just like that
my daddy’s out of a job.
Ain’t no one reaching into the goody basket for me and mine.
That flag—
That flag says F you to all y’all.
And them people set fire to it?
And what?
I’m supposed to sit there
with my thumb up my ass
and take it?
So, hell yes
I jumped that fence
to defend my flag.
And I’d do it again.
So, I’m right in it—BAM! BAM! BAM!
(he makes a fist and mimes throwing hard punches)
I seen this big black guy—
ain’t never seen him before—
I seen him pull that cop’s gun.
They hauled all of us
down to the police station
and I done told them what I just told you
and they said:
“Jared Boose, you’re drunk,”
and they book my ass!
Said I got me an agenda and
no one else collaborated [sic] my story.
They don’t do squat.
I mean
I’m just some
A Heart Divided Page 17