The Real Reasons For Those Confederate Statues

The relatively recent (post-2015) concept that Confederate war memorials and statues were erected to symbolize White supremacy and terrorize black people is a myth. In fact, it is more than a myth – it is an outright lie – borne out of a combination of Marxist propaganda, intellectual dishonesty, historical ignorance, and mental inferiority. The fact is, the monuments were erected for the sake of both memorializing a generation which, at the time of their placement was dying of old age, and American reconciliation. The first point – memorialization of family members and friends who either passed away or were about to pass away – is proven by the very committees that raised the funds necessary to establish these statues throughout the South. The United Daughters of the Confederacy were amongst the most prolific supporters of the commemoration campaign at the turn of the 20th Century. Simply put, they sought to honor their fathers, grandfathers, and in some cases, husbands, who were growing older by the day. But what of American reconciliation?

It is hard for Americans to understand in the 21st Century environment that the United States in 1890 was a fledging empire with a relatively small military. It had fought successful North American continental wars, but it was not yet known whether or not the United States could defeat a European power. The British Empire – the most powerful fighting force of that time – could easily smack down an upstart United States seeking a place in global power politics. The decade preceding the 20th Century, however, was a critical time for American power formation, especially thanks to the works of Naval warfare strategist, Alfred Thayer Mahan. His concepts would launch the South into a critical role toward American global dominance.
Mahan, a U.S. Navy Captain (later a Rear Admiral) and President of the prestigious Naval War College, published his seminal work, The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660–1783, in 1890. It was an immediate success, especially in Great Britain. The argument of Mahan, who had a profound impact on future President Theodore Roosevelt, was that sea dominance effectively leads to world dominance. It argued for a concept called Open/Maintaining Sea Lines of Communication (SLOCs). That concept relied on a strong navy, as well as, territorial vantage points at which to support a navy. The British position at Gibraltar, for instance, is cited as an example of how the British, through their strong navy and geographic vantage point, could control the flow of goods, communications, and armaments, into and out of the Mediterranean by virtue of the Atlantic Ocean. American strategists of the time saw similar risks and opportunities to exert control over their own dependent SLOCs.

Already building an empire that was larger than every European country (and almost as large as Europe itself), the American government began building a naval fleet to manage its natural defensive features, its flanking oceans, from potentially harmful actors. With Mahan’s strategy in mind, this included the acquisition of island reaches throughout the Pacific, such as the annexation of Hawaii by 1898. But there was another European “power,” Spain, which held three critical territories to American expansion: the Philippines, Puerto Rico, and Cuba. The fact that Spain controlled American access to the Gulf passages through strategically critical Florida, was seen as a threat to American power brokers in the 1890s. Thus, the conquest of two of the three archipelagos, Cuba and Puerto Rico, would require a military and naval expedition through the American South – i.e, the former Confederate States of America.

It is not an accident that some of the oldest monuments to the Confederacy were erected with Northern funding and federal support in the Gulf states of Florida, Alabama, and Louisiana. The South in 1890 was very much aware of their defeat in 1865, and more importantly, fully cognizant of the brutality that personified Yankee Reconstruction. The South was not an area whereby American “patriots” were found. Yankee flags (rags) did not adorn Southern homes. Rather, the South was incredibly hostile toward an American Empire that used murder, rape, and theft to force them to remain in a union against their democratic will, then starved, raped, and stole from them again for a period of twelve humiliating post-war years. Reconciliation would not come easily. American strategists, aware of the hostility of the South, needed to show some form of reconciliation. Monuments and commemorations regarding “The Lost Cause” sought to amplify the war as a heroic event in American history. It was the first attempt to show deference to Southern honor while simultaneously celebrating the South’s martial past and spirit.

If the United States was going to go to war with Spain, it needed unity and Southern cooperation – especially if fighting would take place off the coast of a very hostile, anti-“American” Florida. Again, it is hard for most 21st Century readers to truly appreciate, but Florida in the 1890s was a lawless, unforgiving jungle that had never been conquered by the Yankee armies beyond some coastal points near Jacksonville and St. Augustine. It was a mix of pirate country, a home to criminal fugitives, and it enjoyed a native tribe whom, to this day, never signed a peace treaty with the United States and remains an independent nation, the Seminoles. Few Florida cattle herders (Florida Crackas) recognized the United States in 1890 and many continued to trade in Spanish bullion instead of U.S. dollars. With its own, large population of Spanish and Minorcan residents – most of whom supported the Confederacy – there was the additional risk of a potential fifth column on the American continent. Thus, it is not a surprise that one of the eldest monuments to the Confederate dead was erected in Minorcan St. Augustine, graced with many Spanish surnames, only a few years before the start of the Spanish-American War.

Even after the Spanish-American War, which received some support from the South, the South remained hostile to a Yankee dominated United States. Southerners did not volunteer for World War I at nearly the same rates as their Northern counterparts. The average Southern state yielded about a 1.5% participation rate in that war, whereas Yankee states nearly doubled that figure, with almost 4% of Pennsylvania volunteering to fight their German kin. Recognizing this continued animosity, the American military began building training and command installations throughout the South using Southern hero names. Fort Lee in Virginia (1917) and Fort Bragg in North Carolina (1918) are two examples. In the lead up to World War II, the United States expanded the reconciliation program, with installations such as Fort A.P. Hill in Virginia (1941), Fort Stewart in Georgia (1941), and Fort Hood in Texas (1942). It is hard to envision such a time, given that the nearly half of all enlisted military personnel derive from the states that formerly comprised the Confederacy, and if you add those from the CSA territories, more than 51%.

Today, of course, all of that historical perspective has been washed away. The American populace has been taught that such monuments to “racist traitors,” despite the fact that most parties entering 1860 believed states had the right to secede through the vote, including then President James Buchanan. More galling is the mythical fairytales that have emerged as to “why” the statues were erected in the first place. The idea that they were symbols of codified White supremacy is among the most ludicrous of all.

First, the idea that Confederate monuments were intended to establish White supremacy is laughable for the very reason that, again, is ignored by modern historians: simple context. Southern cities were segregated. Black residents had their sections within which they maintained their own shops, barbers, churches, etc.; White residents had their sections within which they maintained their own shops, barbers, churches, etc. Since Whites were both the majority in most late-19th Century and early-20th Century cities, and Whites filled the positions of power in Southern cities, monuments were erected in front of city halls or in the center of town greens, where Whites were most likely to see them. If the objective was to terrify blacks with symbols of White supremacy, they would have erected these monuments in the center of black communities.

Second, in 1900, and probably well into the 1960s, White supremacy was a considered a given. No one in the North nor the South really thought about “White supremacy.” White supremacy was assumed by Whites. A White person in the South in 1910 needed no such monument to remind him or others that he was superior. He just was superior. This was not unique to Dixie. The entirety of the post-Civil War American military hierarchy believed in the eradication of Indians who stood in their way in the Plains. The British, French, and the rest of continental Europeans felt Whites were superior to both blacks and Asians. Entire colonial empires still stood around the world in which Whites dominated. With the exception of some radical Marxist extremists at the time, the White race was considered superior to all others. In fact, within the White race were stratified levels of superiority – with Anglo Saxons and Germans claiming elevated status over inferior Gaelic peoples. The Irish, for their part, were very vocal about trying to prove they were White enough to enjoy independence. Thus, monuments to the Confederate war dead had nothing to do with White supremacy, because no one at the time of their establishment needed a reminder of White supremacy.

Finally, it is important to remember who was commemorated. Certainly, the war dead were honored, and thus removing their memorials is akin to desecrating a grave. Others who were memorialized were those who did a lot to work toward post-war reconciliation. Manse Jolly, for instance, has no memorial (although I believe he deserves one). Most of the statues that were raised served the purpose of reinforcing the reconciliation narrative of the late 19th Century. Kirby Smith, Joseph Wheeler, and Robert E. Lee all enjoyed statues in prominent locations, not simply because of the martial capacity on the field for the Confederacy, but also because of their post-war work to guide the South back into the American Empire. For the Empire, they were appreciated for their assistance in this regard; for the Southerner, their battlefield exploits were not only inspiring, but so was their work toward cooling the most radical post-war Yankee agendas for the South during Reconstruction. It is no wonder that leftist lion, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, called Robert E. Lee “one of the greatest American Christians and one of our greatest American gentlemen.”

In sum, modern narratives regarding Confederate monuments and statues are deeply dishonest. That leads me to conclude the real reason for their desecration and removal has nothing to do with removing “racist traitors from the public square,” or as one buffoonish Yankee Republican claimed, “removing reminders of the Democrats’ racist past.” Memorials to Southern heroism remind the South of her storied, heroic lineage. They stand as a testament to the last time the South bravely stood up to the American Empire and a reminder that it can be done again. Secession is only a few generations away and the American technocrats who seek to replace Heritage Americans and lead the United States toward a Marxist conclusion need to eliminate such reminders.

The one group they fear the most are Southerners – especially, Southerners who remember.