Before the pandemic, I traveled to one of the largest Confederate cemeteries in the country & spent the day with the Sons of Confederate Veterans to understand how the Lost Cause lives on.
At the Blandford Cemetery in Petersburg, VA the remains of 30,000 Confederate soldiers are buried. Tombstones stretch across the nearly 200 acre land. Confederate battle flags dot the landscape to the extent that, from a distance, you might mistake them for small, red flowers.
When I was there, I listened as members of the Sons of Confederate Veterans told me a story about the Civil War and American history that was very different than the one I knew, different than the one that was grounded in reality.
What became clear was that, for many people, history isn’t the story of what actually happened, it is just the story they want to believe. It is not a public story we all share, but an intimate one, passed down, that shapes their sense of who they are.
Confederate history is family history, history as eulogy, in which loyalty takes precedence over truth. This is especially true at Blandford, where the ancestors aren’t just hovering in the background—they are literally buried underfoot.
But there are places that are pushing back against the mythology of the Lost Cause, places like the Whitney Plantation, which is the only plantation museum in Louisiana that focuses exclusively on the lives of enslaved people and one of few in the entire country that does so.
Yvonne, the Black woman who was my tour guide at the Whitney plantation, told me that the most common question she gets from white visitors is:
“I know slavery was bad … I don’t mean it this way, but … Were there any good slave owners?”
Still, what Blandford clarified for me is that for so many Americans, history is not about primary sources and evidence. It’s about a story they have been told. It’s about family. It’s about lineage. It’s about accepting that which makes you comfortable.
Many thanks to Honor Jones, @denisewills, and the other readers on the Atlantic editorial team who helped adapt my chapters on Blandford and the Whitney into something that would work for a magazine piece. They did an amazing job.
And for those who receive the print magazine, this is what the cover looks like. Incredible job from the Atlantic art department.
Some news: I’m excited to be the host of a new @TheCrashCourse series, Black American History. We’ve got 50 episodes to cover 400 years. So we can’t cover everything, but we do cover a lot. We’ll drop a new episode every week. I hope you’ll watch. We’ve been working hard on this.
I’ve been a fan of Course Course for years. I’ve learned so much from the videos they’ve made ranging from the French Revolution to Chemistry to Shakespeare. So when I was approached with the opportunity to host a new course on Black history in America, I couldn’t turn it down.
When I went to grad school, I felt transformed by everything I was learning & I thought a lot about alternative ways to bring Black history to people who may not be able to sit for hours with academic texts. This is one attempt to bring this history to folks in a different way.
When I see that photo of George and Gianna, I think about my own daughter, and of so many other little Black girls who are just children being children. Full of energy, curiosity, and innocence.
After I heard the verdict I hugged my kids, and I thought of how George Floyd would never get to do so again. The world can make someone into a symbol, but it should never forget that they were a person. A person who loved and was loved. A person who did not choose to die.
I know I keep saying it, but now that we're a full year into this thing I'm just blown away by how millions of teachers across the country have completely shifted and reimagined both their pedagogy and their role as educators to continue serving their students. It's incredible.
Teaching in person, teaching virtually, teaching in person *and* virtually at the same time, teaching virtually while managing their own children learning virtually in the next room. It's the sort of balancing act no one should've ever had to do, but so many have done it so well.
Most teachers were already egregiously underpaid, but if there was ever any doubt that they should be paid more—which is to say paid at a level commensurate with the work they do—there should no doubt left. They deserve respect, they deserve more pay, they deserve our gratitude.
Watching the debate on this relief package unfold, I've been thinking about how there are some who believe they should be able to police the financial decisions of people living in poverty. Who think they, not the actual ppl in poverty, know best how their money should be spent.
Poverty, for one, is not a homogenous phenomenon. The needs of those living in poverty vary from place to place, from family to family, from person to person. This is why something like direct cash is so important, let people make the decision that's best for them & their family.
Some people need to pay bills. Some need to buy food. Some want to take their kids out for a nice dinner. Some want to take their family on vacation. All of those things are fine! *You* go on vacation. *You* take your kids to nice dinners. Others should be able to do the same.
Between 1936 and 1938, the federal government collected the narratives of over 2,300 formerly enslaved people. I tracked down the descendants of people who were interviewed and wrote about what these stories mean to them, and what they mean to our country. theatlantic.com/magazine/archi…
I argue that we need a new Federal Writer’s Project, a large-scale iniative that would collect the stories of those who lived through Jim Crow apartheid, Japanese American internment, and other important periods of American life that are important to have first-hand testimony of.
This piece is part of @TheAtlantic’s INHERITANCE, an ongoing project committed to collecting, preserving, and unearthing the stories of Black life in America. We’ll have many more stories coming through this series in the days, weeks, and months to come.
Black History Month is a chance to remember those who have made enormous contributions to this country, but it's also an opportunity to remember that those contributions didn't just come from major figures. They also came from millions of Black folks whose names we'll never know.
It's the stories of ordinary Black people, those still living and those who have passed, that I think of most when we reflect on this country's history. It's the story of Frederick Douglass, but also the story of the millions of other enslaved people whose voices we don't hear.
It's the story of Dr. King and of Rosa Parks, but also the story of the millions of Black people across the country and across generations who fought for civil rights in their local towns, communities, and neighborhoods. The stories that didn't make the front page of the paper.