Just to prevent an immediate negative reaction: I want the confederate flag to come down in South Carolina. I want it to come down from everywhere that is not a museum. Now, on to my problem with removing it.
For weeks the media have been consumed with this debate over whether the confederate flag should be removed from the capitol building in South Carolina. We've heard politicians, pastors, and passersby tell us their feelings about the flag. It's been called a symbol of southern heritage. It's been called a symbol of hatred and oppression. (I would note that those two are not mutually exclusive.)
All of a sudden, we are consumed with this other version of the red, white, and blue. Even the name of it has changed. It's no longer just the confederate flag. Now it's the confederate battle flag. Maybe they're hoping that by naming it for a specific purpose, instead of making it all-confederacy-inclusive, it will somehow become more acceptable?
Anyway, it's been a large part of our national discussion. And that's where my problem starts. The flag has started a discussion. It's the wrong discussion, to be sure, but it's something. We've been talking about it on TV, online, and in person. It has sparked conversations, whether they be genuine debates or folks on one the same side commiserating over why their point of view is not universally accepted.
When the flag comes down, the conversations will end. We won't talk about it anymore, and that's a real problem. Because this was a point when we could have turned the conversation to what really matters - the multiple and ongoing legacies of hatred and oppression that mar and make up the history of the United States.
The conversation about the flag was never really about the flag. The flag was the thing we could talk about instead of talking about race. Make no mistake, the United States has a racism problem. The United States also has homophobia, sexism, classism, and any other number of ism problems (the writer in me doesn't like that homophobia doesn't end in -ism. See? It's even a literary problem). The United States is all about isms.
The conversations we need to have about those issues are scary. They're downright terrifying. Because talking about the United States means talking about us. It's talking about you and me. We are the United States. A country is nothing but paper and ink without its citizens. The U.S. is us. That means the history of the United States is the history of you and me. And then comes the conclusion that we don't want to say: I have a history of racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, and any other number of isms. Even with as progressive and egalitarian as I try to be, I know that there are still ideas and preconceptions that I have, some unconsciously and some not, that are based on those ongoing legacies of hatred and oppression.
The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have it. As an individual, I can and do admit that I have these problems. As a country, we are still far too willing to look the other way and pretend it's not an issue.
So while I'm glad the flag is coming down, I'm also very disappointed that the conversation will be over before it began.
