You know, I’ve been conflicted about this subject for a while. You see, my grandfather’s great grandfather was a confederate soldier. He was injured and sent back home to Alabama where he helped people during a cholera outbreak.
He was a complicated man without whom I wouldn’t be here. Was he racist? I’m sure he was. That wasn’t unusual back then for the north or the south.
Race relations are complicated everywhere. Not just in the south. Hell, not just in the USA. We lack the proper words in the English language to explain just how fucking awful slavery is. Slavery is abhorrent. Slavery is repugnant. Yet those descriptors don’t seem to properly convey just how fucked up slavery is. But believe it or not in the eyes of history that’s kind of a new take.
I’m sure that a lot of people will not appreciate what I’ve said, and that’s ok. I decided that the racism in my family stops at me. My kids have never met my family. Instead I tell my kids about the lessons I learned from the parental figures I collected like Pokémon. Like Ronnie if any of you read that comment a while back.
But also, when I was a kid, every Memorial Day we would go to the cemetery where a lot of my family is buried. We’d put flowers on everyone’s graves including a confederate soldier. Not because he was racist, but because he was family. For better or for worse.
My extended family’s ancestors stole land from indigenous people that their descendants sold to provide a comfortable upper middle class life for their family. Fuck them for destroying the livelihood, culture and lives of those people. If people want to piss on their graves I wouldn’t stop them.
Well, cheers I guess. People are complicated. I guess that I can acknowledge that a person is flawed. While still admitting that they were probably a flawed human doing the best they could with the flawed information they had. You and I included.
I hope that one day you too will be able to see monsters for the humans they really are.
My ancestor did murder millions of innocent people. Nor did any other confederate soldier for that matter. They supported a system that murdered countless innocent people.
So, at best they would be compared to rank and file German soldiers.
I don’t believe in monsters. Monsters are just people who broke the social contract to treat all people around them with respect and dignity, so they don’t get to then demand respect and dignity in death.
People keep saying ‘it was a different time’ completely ignoring the fact there were people back then literally fighting for the rights of the oppressed.
They are dead and gone. What ever feelings the dirt and stone provoke are your own. The dead flowers too are only for yourself. Me, I despise the unempethic people who brought suffering to others. They did live in a different time and any one person alone couldn’t have done enough to change all of society. If I’m going out of my way to honor a thought in my head I would chose to honor the few that did put society on the right track.
You know, I’ve been conflicted about this subject for a while. You see, my grandfather’s great grandfather was a confederate soldier. He was injured and sent back home to Alabama where he helped people during a cholera outbreak.
He was a complicated man without whom I wouldn’t be here. Was he racist? I’m sure he was. That wasn’t unusual back then for the north or the south.
Race relations are complicated everywhere. Not just in the south. Hell, not just in the USA. We lack the proper words in the English language to explain just how fucking awful slavery is. Slavery is abhorrent. Slavery is repugnant. Yet those descriptors don’t seem to properly convey just how fucked up slavery is. But believe it or not in the eyes of history that’s kind of a new take.
I’m sure that a lot of people will not appreciate what I’ve said, and that’s ok. I decided that the racism in my family stops at me. My kids have never met my family. Instead I tell my kids about the lessons I learned from the parental figures I collected like Pokémon. Like Ronnie if any of you read that comment a while back.
But also, when I was a kid, every Memorial Day we would go to the cemetery where a lot of my family is buried. We’d put flowers on everyone’s graves including a confederate soldier. Not because he was racist, but because he was family. For better or for worse.
My extended family’s ancestors stole land from indigenous people that their descendants sold to provide a comfortable upper middle class life for their family. Fuck them for destroying the livelihood, culture and lives of those people. If people want to piss on their graves I wouldn’t stop them.
Well, cheers I guess. People are complicated. I guess that I can acknowledge that a person is flawed. While still admitting that they were probably a flawed human doing the best they could with the flawed information they had. You and I included.
I hope that one day you too will be able to see monsters for the humans they really are.
Hitler was a human. It’s okay to piss on his grave
My ancestor did murder millions of innocent people. Nor did any other confederate soldier for that matter. They supported a system that murdered countless innocent people.
So, at best they would be compared to rank and file German soldiers.
“No, no; not that one. I meant smaller monsters.”
I don’t believe in monsters. Monsters are just people who broke the social contract to treat all people around them with respect and dignity, so they don’t get to then demand respect and dignity in death.
People keep saying ‘it was a different time’ completely ignoring the fact there were people back then literally fighting for the rights of the oppressed.
They are dead and gone. What ever feelings the dirt and stone provoke are your own. The dead flowers too are only for yourself. Me, I despise the unempethic people who brought suffering to others. They did live in a different time and any one person alone couldn’t have done enough to change all of society. If I’m going out of my way to honor a thought in my head I would chose to honor the few that did put society on the right track.