I am a native South Carolinian. Charleston is my maternal ancestral home. My great grandmother was born during slavery. My great grandfather I have been told was a plantation overseer. Never have I been more proud and more ashamed of my dueling ancestral heritages than right now.
State Senator Paul Thurmond, the youngest son of former U.S. Senator Strom Thurmond, once the standard-bearer of the Old South, recently stood on the floor of the South Carolina Senate and delivered a speech calling for the Confederate flag to be removed from the State Capitol.
There is no magic formula to annihilate racism. Acknowledging we may have regurgitated hateful, flimsy terms that don't necessarily reflect what's in our true hearts is a start.
For literally decades, calls have gone out by civil and human rights advocates to remove of the battle flag of the Confederacy from public sites like state capitol grounds and other government buildings.
The controversy surrounding the prominent display of the confederate flag and other relics of the confederacy has accelerated enormously in the wake of the mass murder of nine members of the Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, South Carolina by a racially motivated terrorist.
Capital punishment, says the European Union, is both immoral and ineffective. They are right; it's been proven. So the question: can we talk, within the field of race and beyond it about our tendency to reward our hatred and not to work it harder.
A collection of brutally cynical thoughts intruded upon my encounters with this piece of Charleston's beauty. The deaths of nine people served as prerequisites to the moving displays of humanity that I witnessed. Yes, tragedy often produces unequivocal generosity of spirit.
We need an American identity built on a foundation of that shared history--not a whitewashed version of it, but one that can, as President Obama declared in Selma, "look upon our imperfections and decide that it is in our power to remake this nation to more closely align with our highest ideals."
When the disillusioned 21-year-old Dylann Roof shot and killed nine black worshipers at the Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC, the tragedy quickly focused on the legacy of the Confederate flag and its tacit endorsement of racism. For presidential candidates courting southern conservatives, this called for high-wire political acts.
Newsome's action was a reminder to abandon the comfort and relative safety of insipid discontent. If we want more, we have to demand more.
We, the South, are not just Confederate flags and racist gunmen. We're not just BBQ and cornbread. We're not a collection of dunces because we drive slower than you do or choose to greet someone in a store rather than glare at them in silence. We smile and we don't take ourselves too seriously.
This week, in the words of President Obama, our union became "a little more perfect." On Thursday, the Supreme Court ruled 6-3 in favor of Obamacare, preserving health insurance for at least 8 million people...
This week, in the words of President Obama, our union became "a little more perfect." On Thursday, the Supreme Court ruled 6-3 in favor of Obamacare, preserving health insurance for at least 8 million people. In dissent, Justice Scalia -- whose opinions increasingly read like he's shouting them from the Court's front porch at passersby -- accused the majority of "jiggery-pokery." The next day, the Court ruled 5-4 to make marriage legal nationwide for same sex couples. As cheers rang out across the country, the president hailed the courage of those who "slowly made an entire country realize that love is love." But amid the celebration there was also sadness, as Rev. Clementa Pinckney was laid to rest in Charleston... Read More.
Novelist Patti Callahan Henry knows how to brew up a good story. She picks a great setting, such as a small coastal town in South Carolina. She adds in a bright and inventive heroine. She matches her with a worthy, but flawed hero.
We ought to question those symbols and names that lie atop the schools that constitute the very building blocks of our society. To otherwise remain silent, means we hand a victory both to those Confederate soldiers and to those like Dylann Storm Roof who remain influenced by them today.
We all have unfinished projects. One of mine is the documentation of the churches and music of people of color in Charleston. I grew up in what was then a virtually unknown town on the South Carolina coast. The racial divide was so omniscient that it was invisible to someone growing up in it.