Planting a new flag

We speak of “planting a flag” in the same way that we speak of gardening. A flag is planted on the moon. Flags are ritually raised over Mt. Everest. A Russian sub plants a flag on the seabed under the North Pole. A US flag is planted over Iwo Jima. Territory. Accomplishment. Claims of ownership. Courage. Pride. Ego. Challenge.

It is difficult to believe that just under a year ago, the Mississippi State flag still incorporated elements of the Confederate flag. Almost 150 years after a civil war in which, yes, one side fought for the right to enslave and degrade fellow human beings, the symbols of such degradations were still being revered.

This Radiolab story chronicles the fitful and emotional last gasps of a symbol – a state flag. It contains the perspective of a former colleague of mine, Kiese Laymon. A piece of cloth colored in a particular pattern. And yet, listen to the story of John Hawkins, the first Black cheerleader at Ol Miss. In 1982 John Hawkins refused the “tradition” of running out on to football fields carrying a Confederate flag. Innocuous. Reasonable. As John said in 1982:

While I’m an Ole Miss cheerleader, I’m still a black man. In my household, I wasn’t told to hate the flag, but I did have history classes and know what my ancestors went through and what the Rebel flag represents. It is my choice that I prefer not to wave one.

For this he received death threats. His college room was set on fire. He was kept at safe houses before football games where he was booed. The Klu Klux Kan staged a march, and a mob marched to and surrounded his fraternity.

A piece of cloth waved before the start of a game.

Or listen to the screaming of an adolescent white girl – who would go on to be a high school valedictorian — during a public referendum in 2001. Such forums were being held all around Mississippi as they “discussed” a referendum to remove confederate symbolism from the state flag.

Where would the slaves in America be today if it weren’t for slavery?” They’d probably still be in Africa enslaved. Or other European nations. Another person asked me to point out most — not all — of the African American race living in America today got their last name from their masters. Are you prepared to give up your name? I don’t think you are. Because if you get my flag I will get your name.

A piece of cloth.

And in its defense a young woman threatens a group in her community with an erasure of identity, as if that is not exactly what slavery entailed. Note the ownership and exclusion. “My flag.” “The African American race” who just happen to be “living in America today.”

For me, though, one of the most heartbreaking aspects of the Radiolab story is the contrast. As the reporters point out, the John Hawkins and Black attendees of the public referendums “dressed in their Sunday best” and spoke calmly and respectfully. In the end approximately 2/3 of those that voted on the referendum voted to keep flying symbols of enslavement over their fellow community members.

In 2014 Tamir Rice was shot by a white police officer – a Black boy with a toy gun in a park in Cleveland, and Eric Garner died after being choked by a white police officer for selling cigarettes in New York City. In 2015 nine Black worshipers were murdered in a church in Charleston by a white supremacist with a real gun. And on May 25, 2020, George Floyd was murdered by a white police officer whose knee pressed down on George Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. This is some of what it took for Mississippi to eventually change patterns on a piece of cloth. 

Well, that and football. On June 20, 2020 the Southeast Conference announced that it would consider banning post-season athletic events from Mississippi if the flat was not changed. On June 22 Conference USA did the same, and on June 28 the Mississippi legislature finally voted to change the state flag, i.e., remove symbolism that pointed to the degradation and enslavement of fellow Mississippians. 

It’s easy to roll our eyes at the passion plays happening somewhere else. Of course, that “somewhere else” implies a privilege – the privilege of ignoring another’s history and choosing who counts and who doesn’t. “Somewhere else,” after all means “someone else.” Sure, there are sound reasons for choosing what to care about. Time is limited. Our resources are limited. We are all bounded, and such boundaries define our agency. And yet, history matters. It informs identity. It creates the social and environmental contingencies through which each of us navigates in the present. It is memory, and it is detritus, and it is a lens of  perception – something that we cannot escape, however much we might wish to, and something which must be listened to and acknowledged in order to understand one another. To some extent Sophocles was right. We aren’t born free, and the furies are out there. 

But so is grace.

After the Charleston church shootings, then President Obama gave a eulogy in front of the congregation. He spoke of grief. He spoke of courage. He sang. And he spoke, I would suggest, of new flags that needed planting.