It appears my resignation was not well received, for I had been resigned to sit a while on the banks of complacency, resting on the creek banks, resolute in restfulness. My heart, fire hot due to the events of the last few years, had been tempered, hardened in the cold spring waters. Now in deep clear mirrored reflection, I have turned to the things that matter.
Events of more purposeful and expedient natures arrested my attention for some time, and my call to action was replaced with the call to keep the home fires burning. Many times even the most valiant of our ancestors were called away from the War to resolve those pressing familial issues, to recline and rest in preparation for the hard push of battles that would come as the days grew warmer and longer.
The last few weeks have resulted in the destruction of our monuments, the graves of our ancestors, and the lawless rampaging through the streets; all of it can make the best of us feel a little defeated. False reports and hoaxes meant to insult the people of the South with belligerent intent are constantly reported in the news, only to be slowly retracted as the foolishness of those accusations are uncovered. NASCAR, the SEC, etc., the fabric of the day-to-day for many Southerners as a cultural escape, have turned against us to appease corporations accosted by the moralistic mobs, halfwit men driving their cars, and sports athletes. But, I say this assault is good and desirable, for they are false. They are only a tiny bit of our culture, easily replaced by more important and more necessary engagements.
As I returned from church recently, and not one of my more stellar worshipful experiences, for I was a little more auditory in my engagement during the service. And, being Presbyterian, a people not known for emotional outburst during the sermon, even though mildly whispered, my disgust was notable. I am sure I am not alone among our brethren, that when racism and injustice are mentioned in the regular liturgy our ears perk up and so does our dander. Our churches are to be a place of rest from the world outside, but our enemies have so infiltrated the culture, that even good men, which I believe my elders to be, cannot escape the terminology used by the wicked. My heart was sunk into a little bit of melancholy.
My heart in a little bit of despair, thinking that all things Southern were disappearing never to be reclaimed, until as any great heroic tale, a hero comes along to give the down hearted warrior a speech so powerful that it pushes him forward into victory or to glorious destruction, without thought of personal consequence. When all was turning dark and my will to proceed was waining, my wonder, my beautiful wife reminded me. She reminded me that being “Southern” did not consist of flags, statues, nor political causes, being Southern is the deep inner part of the soul, something that could never be extracted save by God Himself by royal decree!
So, my dear brothers, it would appear the events that are now taking place before our eyes require our attentions more intensely, as our plans are recalculated, our schemes altered, and, more importantly, those that count on us for a sturdiness see us confident in our cause, and a reasonableness of some sort of success. If we have no reasonable chance of success, then put your rhetorical swords down, fold the Bonnie Blue, the Naval Jacks, and rejoin the Empire as it collapses. Yet, I expect not any of you to shrink back from keeping our people from being erased from our glorious land.
Deo Vindice!
Service to God and honor to the South.
And yet, speaking of royal decree: “Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.”
Take heart, brother; I know of no surer way to re-awaken that indomitable spirit of our forbears than for these disgusting aliens among us to tear down and desecrate our memorializations to some of the greatest men the world has ever known. They know not what they do.
BTW, it does my heart good to know that you and others among us are disgusted and angered by recent events. If the tearing down of our monuments doesn’t anger us and steel our resolve to honor those good and great men all the more, then we seriously need to reassess our convictions and priorities. But if all else fails, take refuge in the words of your namesake, to wit:
I recall what my own eyes witnessed at the last great civic pomp in which I was present. This was the installment of that statue of Jackson near our State capitol, which Virginia received as the tribute of British statesmanship and culture to her illustrious dead. At this ceremonial there were gathered almost the whole intelligence and beauty of what was left of the old commonwealth. As the long procession wound through the streets marshaled and headed by General Joseph E. Johnston, under the mild glory of our October sun, while the atmosphere was palpitating with military music and the whole city was gone upon its house-tops, it was easy to perceive that all eyes and all hearts were centering upon one sole part of the pageant, and this was not the illustrious figure that headed it, the commander in so many historical battles, bestriding his charger with his inimitable martial grace; nor was it the cluster containing the remnant of Jackson’s staff.
We might have supposed that we would receive some reflected distinction from the luminary to which we had been satellites so near, and that some romantic curiosity might direct itself to those who had habitually seen him under fire, heard, and borne those orders which had decided memorable victories, and bivouacked under the same blanket with him; but no eye sought us. Then came hobbling a company of two hundred and thirty grizzled men with empty sleeves, and wooden legs, and scarred faces, and hands twisted into every distortion which the fiery fancy of the rifle-ball could invent, clad in the rough garb of a laboring yeomanry, their faces bronzed with homely toil; this was the company for which every eye waited, and as it passed the mighty throng was moved as the trees of the forest are moved by the wind, the multitudinous white arms waved their superb welcome, and the thundering cheer rolled with the column from end to end of the great city. It was the remnant of the Stonewall Brigade! That was the explanation. This was the tribute which the sons, the daughters, the mothers of Virginia paid to sturdy heroism in defeat. And as I saw this my heart said with an exultant bound, “There is life in the old land yet!” R.L. Dabney, The New South
Always wise words from you brother, thank you.
Your wife is wise…. never forget who you are!
She is a formidable woman, thank you.
@Dabney…
If you makes you feel any better, Sir, Good-Ole Boys throughout Northeastern North Carolina are furious and, unlike normal, finding it hard to stay exclusively focused on hunting and fishing stories, except to the extent that often remark they wish to go hunting and fishing for another kind of prey.
I know your wife means well, and I am sure she is beautiful, but, we are never going to live in a Dixie where our heroes are hidden in a museum somewhere, solely to be reviled by the words on a little placart nearby that was written by someone with an alien heart.
I know my Southern Brothers and I smell trouble in the air…
“She reminded me that being ‘Southern’ did not consist of flags, statues, nor political causes, being Southern is the deep inner part of the soul, something that could never be extracted save by God Himself by royal decree!”
I needed to hear this.
@Joe…
There is wisdom in the words of Dabney’s wife, but, we had better be careful here, lest we find yet another justification for retreating and submitting yet again.
I know this from age, I being old enough to have heard the following things uttered by my White Southern Brethren…
#1. ‘What does it matter if Negroes go to school with our daughters, so long as they don’t date them?’
#2. What does it matter if we don’t pray in school to Jesus Chryst, when we can still do that in church?’
#3. What does it matter if The United States’ Government allows our entire manufacturing sector to be shipped out, whilst importing tens of millions of dark-skinned slaves, when, after all, we do believe in ‘Free Trade’, don’t we?’
#4. What does it matter if gays get married, when we are straight, right?
#5. What does it matter if our flags, statues, and causes go by the wayside, just so long as somewhere deep inside our hearts we keep our Southernerness alive.
And so, my Southern Brothers, I ask y’all : —— ‘is it holy, good, and right, to live as a society only somewhere deep down and secret inside?
Is that where we are headed to, or is the defence of our Dixie is something that The Good Lord has given us to do?
The answer, My Countrymen, belongs to you, because a few of us not be able to fight for us by ourselves. We need a community to succeed – a Southern Community.