Past Is Prologue
More Than Dixie
Working-class white people in the South have better stories to tell than the Lost Cause
I think she is trying to stare me down. Her eyes are leveled right at me.
In another space, at another time, we might be friendly. We might chat. I might say, “Excuse me, ma’am, my apologies,” as I bumped into her on my way to pay my bill at the diner. And she might smile at me and say, “No problem, hon.” She might comment on my tattoo, and I might tell her I like hers. Maybe she has a butterfly that makes her think of her mother or a bit of script reminding her to be strong. She might show me the pictures of her grandchildren, the ones she keeps in her billfold, and I might tell her that I love children too. I might tell her to have a nice day, and I might mean it when I say it.
But, for now, we have both arrived here, on a street corner in downtown Graham, North Carolina, under the shadow of yet another Confederate statue, a mostly unremarkable statue, one like many in our small Southern towns, a statue that has never been right, and now we are here in the heat of the long days of 2020’s summer, breathing in the stale air, breathing out change.
The woman and I are being kept apart by a line of cops. She is standing in what can only be…