Symbols
Matter
Sometime around one o’clock eastern
daylight savings time this morning the South Carolina House of Representatives
voted to remove the Confederate battle flag from Capitol grounds. It is action
long overdue. It is tragic that it took political pressure from the tragic
shooting at Mother Emanuel AME in Charleston and the death of a friend and
colleague in the Senate chamber to move the legislature and governor to do what
has been so sorely needed to unite the black and white communities in the
state.
As a student at the University of
South Carolina I was witness to the occasional protest on the steps of the
Capitol building as organizations such as the NAACP tried to get the government
to remove the battle flag from atop the capitol dome. In my psychology, social
work, and sociology classes I listened to the pain expressed by my fellow
classmates, who were every bit the “native” South Carolinian I was but were
descended from slaves, when discussing what the flag meant to them. No matter
what I thought about the battle flag whether it be history and heritage or hate
for a large number of South Carolinians it would always be a symbol of oppression
and degradation. While progress was made when the flag was moved from the dome
to the Confederate memorial on the Capitol grounds, it would never be a
rallying point to unite all South Carolinians; therefore, it needed to be
catalogued with other mementos of a confusing past in the Confederate Relic
Room and War Museum. What is displayed on the Capitol grounds as official
symbols of the state’s communal life should unite not divide. The symbols we
choose to tell our story should evoke a sense of community not communities with
one or some being dominant over others. Symbols matter, especially symbols
which have various and divisive interpretations.
An obituary from the June 26, 1930
edition of the Dillon (SC) Herald states, “Rev. J. M. Gasque, who had reached
his 88th milestone in life’s journey, died at the home of his
daughter, Mrs. Annie G. Bethea, at 2:15 o’clock Sunday morning… Mr. Gasque was
born in Marion county on October 20th, 1842, and was the last member
of a large family. He was also the last surviving member of Co. L. 82nd
division of the confederate army. He volunteered for service at the beginning
of the war and was taken prisoner at the fall of Fort Fisher in 1864. From
there he was transferred to Elmira, N.Y., and was held for some time after the surrender
because he refused to sign the oath of allegiance.”
J. M. Gasque was my great-great
grandfather. He and the rest of my family suffered mightily because of the
Civil War. Several sons from many different branches of the family died in
battle. Honor, prestige, and social standing was lost when much of the family’s
accumulated wealth got up and walked away after the ratification of the13th, 14th,
and 15th amendments to the Constitution. (How much is a matter of
debate since the oral history came from a grandmother who liked to refer to the
Civil War as the “Recent Unpleasantness.”) According to my grandmother J. M.
Gasque experienced aches and pains in cold weather because of frostbite from
his incarceration in Elmira. He had refused to sign the oath of allegiance
which would have sent him home. In spite of the personal cost of the Civil War
he apparently was proud of the Confederacy and his service in the Confederate
Army, and yet I never experienced a Confederate battle flag in my home or my
grandmother’s. It simply was not part of who we were and are as a family.
There
were other reminders and symbols of that time not so long ago. My great-great
grandmother’s hope chest sat on the floor at the foot of the hand carved sleigh
bed that came out of the Gasques’ house. The gouges around the lock were a constant
reminder of the pillaging Union soldiers did during Sherman’s march to the sea.
The picture of an old “Mamie” hanging on the wall beside the bed was there
because it reminded Annie Louise Gasque Montgomery of the woman born into
slavery who spent the latter years of her life raising my grandmother. Most
importantly for me as a Protestant Christian and pastor there is the well worn leather
pocket American Standard Version of the New Testament which belonged to the Rev.
J. M. Gasque. My grandmother and my uncle presented it to me on the occasion of
my ordination in 2002. The sight of it brought back a flood of memories and
stories about how my great-great grandfather in a time when Protestants in the
South discriminated against Catholics would often say, “I have nothing against
the Catholics. If it weren’t for the nuns at Elmira I wouldn’t be alive today.”
That is the heritage passed down from generation to generation in my family not
one of hatred and bigotry. The hope chest and the pocket New Testament are
symbols not just of what we as a family lost but also what we gained, a love and
respect for our neighbor no matter who they might be.
Symbols
matter. They are visual representations of our traditions and beliefs. Symbols
work best when they unite instead of divide. Symbols have power when they call
us to tell our stories and discuss that which unites and divides us. In the
Christian tradition our symbols are simple; bread, wine, and water. They speak
of grace, humility, and love. They are symbols that draw together instead of
spreading apart. What does the Confederate battle flag do? If it does not unite
then put it where it belongs in a museum. Thanks to you South Carolina elected
officials who have done the right thing and started the process of uniting
those whom you serve.
Soli
Deo gloria