Part 1: A Moveable Mason-Dixon Line
Where is the South? Which South?
Where isn’t the South?
Chapter 1: Southern Distinctiveness, Yet Again, or, Why America Still Needs the South
Larry J. Griffin
Juxtaposing America and the South in a way that focused attention almost exclusively on the region’s racial crimes quite possibly stunted the rest of the nation’s willingness to confront its own racism. Rally at the state capitol, Little Rock, Arkansas, courtesy of the Collections of the Library of Congress.
In 1976 the Democratic Party nominated a true blue son of the South—Jimmy Carter—to be its presidential candidate. During that campaign, and especially after Carter’s election, things southern—from rednecks and bornagain Protestantism to potlikker and red-eye gravy—were the journalistic rage. Southerners did things differentially, they—we—spoke differently, we ate different kinds of food, we believed and acted differently, and, during those early Carter years, the national media seemed entranced by the “southernness” of it all, believing themselves, I suppose, called first to understand the South and then to help the American people—or at least the nonsoutherners among us—understand it too. I was finishing graduate school in Baltimore at the time, and I remember my Yankee friends asking me an inordinate number of questions about the South, about being southern. Of course, I was neither the first nor the last southerner to have enjoyed that particular pleasure: southerners have been explaining, telling about, the South for generations.1
We saw some of the same curiosity—this attention to southernness—in the 1992 presidential election, but by then the novelty of a southerner sitting in the White House had worn off, and, anyway, Arkansan Bill Clinton gave the country other things to talk about. And if sometimes-southerner Al Gore wins the 2000 election, I doubt very much that the region will again be scrutinized and stared at as it was in the late 1970s. Still, Gore’s “real but delicate” Tennessee roots, as the Los Angeles Times puts it, have motivated some media attention already, and I suspect more is to come. “The past is never dead. It’s not even past,” William Faulkner once said, and I think he’s right.2 In the South, to be sure, the past is not past, but even in America, the past is not even past, if the topic is the South.
The reasons for this are easy enough to understand. All know that until quite recently—say, the 1970s—the relationship between the South and America was strained, to say the very least, and it had been so for two centuries or more: from the antebellum slavery debates through the Civil War and Reconstruction to the modern civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s, region and nation were at odds. Indeed, the South and America fought—politically, legally, culturally, and even militarily—and that conflicted, sorrowful past is not easily forgotten. As the title of a 1998 New York Times article has it, “The South’s History Rises, Again and Again.” No culture, of course, exists only in the present: all draw on, hark back to, a past significant precisely because of its continued moral, identity, and emotional utility. In this the South is no different, but what is unusual is how explicitly, how routinely, and how pervasively the region’s history, that very particular southern past, is evoked in the present: the South of then is recreated and oddly memorialized, concretized in a sense, in the South of now.3
Images abound of the South’s past continuing to rise again and again, and some of those most sharply etched—in particular, those that portray in one way or another the conflict between nation and region, or the South’s outcast nature—are found in today’s newspaper. A special section of the very first issue of the New York Times to appear in the new century, titled “Reflections on the Century Past and the Decades Ahead,” included interviews with individuals for whom the twentieth century’s “signal moments” remain “vivid memories” and with those who, according to the Times, “inherit this history.” Not surprisingly, the people interviewed were from places with histories heavy with drama and death, shame and struggle, pain and possibility: India, Cambodia, and Germany, Russia and China, South Africa and the Middle East, and Detroit and the American South. Two southerners were interviewed about the past and future of race and rights in the region, and, perhaps paradoxically suggesting continuity amidst change, were from localities about as opposite in cultural trajectory as one could imagine, that New South symbol (or perhaps the “No-South” symbol), Atlanta, and what historian James Cobb has called “the most Southern place on earth,” the Mississippi Delta.4
A cursory Lexis-Nexis search of selected newspapers published in the last few years revealed a very large number of similar articles. A handful of such titles appear here, roughly grouped by whether the article is largely about the past itself (“Old Times Are Not Forgotten”), reports significant current events by evoking, or linking them to, the region’s past (“The Past in South’s Present”), or makes analogies between the history of the South (in this case, just Mississippi) and happenings, past or present, in other localities. Where the meaning of the story’s title is not self-evident, I have included brief excerpts and emphasized particular passages from the article to suggest its flavor.
When the cumulative weight of these titles and articles is tallied, one very much has the sense that the South’s past, especially its racial past, is, to quote Faulkner again, “not even past.” Indeed, that past—a past of racial injustice and brutality, of freedom rides and anti-desegregation riots by white university students—is recycled, and then recycled again. Perhaps the best illustration of this is the Irish Times article “Trying to Understand Racial Tension” (#4), which is a 1999 commentary on a 1988 movie, Mississippi Burning, about Mississippi’s 1964 Freedom Summer. Because the South’s past is seemingly ever renewed in the present, that past becomes an important lens, possibly one of the most important lenses, through which particular contemporary moments or events are cognitively and emotionally apprehended, thereby framing how readers make moral and intellectual sense of current happenings both in the South and elsewhere. The headlines of a London newspaper, for example, compared the infamous 1998 murder by dragging of James Byrd Jr. in Texas to Mississippi Burning (#20), and articles (#’s 21 and 22) situate recent racial incidents in Oakland, California, and in New York City in the context of Mississippi’s troubled racial past, possibly as a moral compass to orient readers or perhaps simply to make the stories more dramatic.
The region’s past, too, is sometimes linked, historically or metaphorically, to deliberately inhumane circumstances elsewhere, thereby both projecting onto the South a particular (and, obviously, near-barbaric) meaning and, by that very process, enabling readers to evaluate morally those nonsouthern situations. The “January 1, 2000” issue of the New York Times mentioned earlier does this subtly by grouping the South with other horrific twentieth-century hotspots across the globe (Germany, Cambodia, South Africa, etc.). Less nuanced are the pieces explicitly likening racism in New Jersey (#23) and in southern England (#2) to that in Mississippi. But much more pointed examples include the article in which a Mexican political scientist, commenting on the murders of forty-five Tzotzil Indians in the southern Mexican state of Chiapas, stated that “it would be a fair comparison to say this is like the Old South, and Chiapas is Alabama or Mississippi” (#18), and the one titled “Secret Files Unlocked” (#19), in which the London Guardian equated (probably accurately) Mississippi in the 1950s and 1960s to East Germany during the Communist era because both regimes established elaborate state structures to spy on their own citizens and to punish those deemed insufficiently loyal.5
These stories represent only a fraction of the hundreds of functionally equivalent articles I turned up for just the last few years using only two keywords to guide the Lexis-Nexis search: “race” and “Mississippi.” With more diligent searching, using, say, the names of all ex-Confederate states and going back a decade or two, I suspect I could have found literally thousands of such articles. Add to all this the wide geographic scope of these newspapers—from London and Dublin to New York, Chicago, Kansas City, and San Francisco—and the extraordinarily high prestige of many of them, and one has a clearer sense still that the South’s past must retain profound moral significance, for the region, the nation, and beyond. In a very special and important way, then, that past can’t die, can’t become fossilized, can’t be relegated to history books or museums; it can’t become simply “past.”
One thing most of these titles suggest is how seriously aberrant the South (or at least Mississippi) was from “American” public life, and they thus signal, yet again, the conflict between region and nation. At root, this conflict revolved around differences in definitions and practices, around what it meant to be southern, and how southerners acted, and what it meant to be American, and how Americans acted, or were supposed to act. So significant, in fact, were these differences that the search for the ...