False Flag

My childhood was woven, in part, with thread from the Confederate flag, the rebel flag, the battle flag of the Army of Northern Virginia, the flag of General Robert Edward Lee, the flag that symbolizes the Confederacy and its ideals, the flag of cotton plantations and cotton picking, the flag of white masters and black slaves and unacknowledged children, the flag of those who fought for slavery, the flag of those who still fight for it.

The flag I once loved as a five year old child, laying on the floor in front of the TV, watching them Duke boys evade the sheriff in epic car chases, their orange Charger sailing through the air, General Lee’s flag emblazoned across the roof. They were just some good ole boys, never meaning no harm. Enough good intentions to pave a road.

The flag many white southerners think of as simply the flag of stubborn rebelliousness, a highly respected trait in the south. We call it being ornery, sometimes pronounced as expected, but often contracted to “onree”, emphasis on the first syllable. For example, “Took a lot of orneriness to cling to our racist ways all these centuries, but by gum we did it!”

The flag up on the wall, or on a keychain, or a belt buckle, or a tattoo, or a mug, or a beer koozie, as the grownups sat around solemnly expounding upon the differences between a black man and a… a tired collection of discredited stereotypes.

The rebel flag. Rebelling against what? Against the US Army. Against the people who took away their slaves. Against the truth that black people have just as much right to be here as they do. Against justice and equality, the unrealized ideals upon which our nation claims to have been founded.

The flag of my school team, the Rebels, wielded by our mascot, Johnny Reb, dressed in his gray Confederate soldier’s uniform, a mascot everyone can get behind, assuming everyone is white, or more precisely, assuming everyone who matters is white. Thankfully the school replaced that mascot and flag years ago.

The flag etched into my class ring, by my own choosing, by my own ignorance of its true history, by my southern orneriness. After all, who were They to tell us what to do? — a common reaction… among self absorbed children. That ring is deep in a landfill now, where all these flags should be, unless in a museum or maybe printed on a urinal cake.

Farewell, false flag, anti-American flag, flag of slavery, flag of abduction, flag of rape, flag of greed, flag of cruelty, flag of lies, flag of evil. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out of American culture. We don’t like your kind around here.

No dogs or Confederates.

Just kidding. Dogs are welcome.

Originally published at gaiaburns.com on September 30, 2020.