The Confederate States Of America

I was flipping channels last night and landed on a film called The C.S.A. (The Confederate States Of America). I'm a bit of a history buff and at first thought it was a real documentary about the Confederate side of the Civil War. But it soon became clear that it was a "mocumentary", answering the question, what if the South had won? The film, made by Kevin Wilmott and produced by Spike Lee, is a satirical look at what would have happened to this country had the North lost, Abraham Lincoln had been hounded to Canada, and we made slavery mandatory back in 1865.

It is a very well done slice of alternative history, filmed in the irresistible style of Ken Burns. There were the eloquent historians talking to camera, old black and white photos, "historical" documents, clips from fictional movies such as "I Married An Abolitionist!", and the now de riguer celebrities reading letters in a very moving way. In this reality, The C.S.A. conquered Mexico and most of South America, was allied with Hitler during WWII, and Canada was the home of Hollywood and rock and roll.

One of the more amusing conceits was the inclusion of "commercials" from the present day pushing products like Niggerhair Cigarettes, Darky Toothpaste, and Sambo motor oil, and urging you to visit The Coon Chicken Inn, to name but a few. Very clever, I thought to myself - until the end of the film when it was revealed that these were, in fact, all real products and places from the 19th and 20th centuries. Then it wasn't quite so funny anymore.




As a matter of fact, Darky Toothpaste was still being manufactured in Asia until 1978, when Proctor and Gamble bought it and changed the name to Darlie. And although it wasn't shown in the film, I did find that there is a condom still being sold in Japan called Power Black Color Rubber, with the tag line "Keep it real. Keep on faith. Keep it going. Piece! So cool. Respect."

Right.

I'm late to this party - the film came out in 2005, the DVD in 2006, and only now is it being shown on cable. But if you get the chance to watch it, do. I bet Aunt Jemimah and Uncle Ben would probably really appreciate it.

The Five Steps To Heaven

The waiting room of a colonoscopy clinic is just about the last place I expected to be recruited for a whites-only Jesus Army, but God does move in mysterious ways.

Yesterday, I took Mom for her fun date with the colon camera. She was a little tense, so I managed to refrain from cracking bad jokes at her expense ("Hey Mom, say cheese!" et cetera). It's a lengthy process; although the procedure itself usually lasts about forty-five minutes, they keep patients in the recovery room for a couple of hours for observation and to let the sedative wear off. Meanwhile, the person who brought you gets to hang around in the waiting room. I normally go armed with a book for those sorts of things, but this day was special. It was crowded.

I squeezed onto the end of a couch next to an elderly lady, smiled at her, and prepared myself for boredom with a sigh. The lady smiled back at me and said, "Was that your mother with you? What's she in for? I'm here with my husband, he's having a biopsy done. Tomorrow is our 37th wedding anniversary."

She was obviously in the mood to talk, so I put my book down and struck up a conversation. It turned out that she lived not too far from us; after establishing that we didn't have any mutual family or friends, which is always the first thing done when meeting new people in The South, we began to chat amiably about life in our small town.

Then the talk turned to the local school system. I told her I was pleased with The Princess' education thus far. She disagreed with my assessment and informed me that she had home-schooled her four children when she discovered that they were learning sex ed. "My husband and I felt that learning was agin' our religious beliefs" she explained. I smiled and nodded, inwardly marveling that she had actually used the word 'agin' in a non-ironic fashion.

"And then my oldest told me he had to read Black Boy. That book was just downright objectionable!" she proclaimed. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, as Richard Wright has always been a favorite of mine. A little butterfly of anxiety fluttered in my stomach, warning me to stand back from the approaching train wreck. "I understand that blacks are unhappy but there's no need for us to read that sort of thing. I loved teaching history to my kids, what really happened. You know, they got sold as slaves by their own people in Africa! I don't know why they blame us." she continued.

My mental alarm bell began to ring, and in my head was swirling the thought - 'please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't s-' She perked up and interrupted my interior monologue with, "I mean, they lived on plantations and were treated like family. Why did they complain? It just wasn't that bad!" D'oh! She said it.

I rose to flee when she stopped me. "Let me ask you this though. Do you think you're going to heaven?". Okaaay, the afore-mentioned mental alarm bell was clanging loudly now. A racist and a evangelical... definitely time to run away!

"I sure hope so", I replied quickly and hoofed it to the bathroom. To be honest, I was hoping she would be gone when I came back out, but no such luck. I peeked around the corner and there she was, waiting for me with an expectant smile on her face. "Do you go to church?" she asked me, when I reluctantly sat back down. "Yes, and I'm very happy with it, thanks anyway" I said, hoping to stave off the inevitable pitch.

But she was not to be denied and handed me a brochure. "Well, I just wanted to give you this pamphlet before I go. This is my church and I wanted to share the good news of Jesus-Christ-Our-Lord-and-Saviour with you, so you don't have to hope to be saved, you will be".













She then recited from memory the entire Five Steps To Heaven at me, with the requisite biblical quotes, as I read along from my copy. My personal favorite was Romans 6:23, spoken with only a tiny hint of hysteria. "And the wages of sin are DEATH!". Yikes. She stood up, patted my arm and whispered, "Just think about it for the sake of your children's souls." She bestowed one last beatific gaze on me and went on her merry.

As I carefully watched her to make sure she was really leaving, I saw the other people sitting around us grinning at me with looks that positively screamed, "Ha! Better you than me sucker!" Gee, thanks waiting room people, you've been swell.

As for Mom, she has the cleanest, healthiest colon east of the Rockies and doesn't remember a thing about it. I do believe I suffered more than she did. She says it's instant karma for posting about her poo on the internets, but I know it's because Jesus loves me.

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

I had a disturbing conversation tonight with The Princess. She tearfully informed me that she is getting picked on at school because she is half-English, which somehow makes her suspect. She was told today by a boy in her class that she wasn't really American, and that she should just go back to her "own" country. It really hurt her feelings, as she is very proud of the fact that she was born in the UK and that she has English family and friends.

I was intensely pissed off and immediately had the idea of tracking down the wretched snot who said this and wringing his scrawny little neck. I ignored that impulse and instead suggested the conventional "why don't you just ignore him" parental advice.

"I've tried that, it doesn't work", she said.

"Okay, tell him you're not going anywhere, if he doesn't like it, HE can leave", I offered.

"I SAID that already! It didn't work!" she rebutted.

"Babes, you know he's only picking on you because he likes you." I said. It's amazing the lines you trot out by habit that you can remember your own mother telling you back in the day.

She rolled her eyes at me and said, "No he DOESN'T! He doesn't like me because I'm white. He doesn't like any of the white kids at school, only the black ones because he's black! He says we're all white devils!".

Whoa Nelly! Now THAT'S a different kettle o' racism altogether. Here I was so busy trying to teach my child to be open to all cultures and ethnicities that I totally forgot to mention to her that intolerance cuts both ways. And damned if it doesn't start at a tender age; I don't know why I was so surprised, but I was really taken aback. Silly me, I forgot where I live yet again, it seems. If my white half-English child is getting so much stick, I dread to think what the Muslim and Latino kids at her school hear on a daily basis.

I'm going to be paying a visit to her classroom in the next few days; I think a swift kick of consciousness-raising is a tad overdue.

Southern Hospitality

When we bought the house we are living in now, we were on a serious real-estate high. For the price of a small one-bedroom broom closet in London, we purchased a five bedroom Edwardian manse sitting on a huge piece of land in a beautiful old Southern town. Each night before we moved in, we would excitedly discuss how lucky we were to live in the land o' plenty, to raise The Princess on good ole' American values and apple pie. The apple pie seemed mandatory.

Not an hour after the movers left on that fateful day there was a knock on the front door. Standing on the porch was a sweet looking little old lady holding a traditional Southern "Welcome Basket" full of tasty-looking baked goodies. Explaining that she was a neighbor, she came right on in. As she introduced herself as "Miss Maggie", we smiled smugly to ourselves, aglow in the knowledge that, yes, we had made the right decision to move here, to this old Southern town that obviously had lovely people living in it! Lovely people just like us!

Miss Maggie proudly presented her basket and said, "Oh, my land, we sure are glad that YOU folks moved in". We all looked at each other, puzzled as to how we already had a good reputation so soon. Sensing our confusion, Miss Maggie elucidated further: "You know, you're not a bunch of n*ggers. They getting everywhere these days. The last family that lived here even let their daughter DATE one".

Nig...wha?

I am ashamed to admit that I was absolutely speechless. As I stood there dumbfounded and witless, all of my semi-repressed memories of what it was REALLY like to live in a small Southern town came flooding back.

The apple pie sat a little heavy on my stomach that night.