It has been about a week since my wife and I returned from our visit to Charleston. My wife had been scanning deals on the internet for our little valentine get-away and when the accommodations for a place in the French Quarter of old Charleston showed up in her searches in January, she made reservations for us immediately. Of course the moment we decided on the dates for our trip to Charleston I started perusing the weather forecasts daily for the low country. As the time for our departure neared, it became increasingly likely that Charleston might be caught in the unseasonably colder weather sweeping across the southeast. If the old saw about the temperatures being more bearable in Arizona because it is a dry heat is true, the obverse applies to Charleston: it’s chillier because it is a humid cold–and it was!
Of course there is a certain enchantment about Charleston regardless of the climate, with the notable exception of hurricanes. Hugo was the most recent reminder of the potential jeopardy which threatens the port city. The ambiance and architecture of Charleston is about as near as one can get to the old world charm of European cities in the new world. While one could never confuse the antebellum mansions and abundant churches of Charleston with the antiquity of Rome’s magnificent buildings and cathedrals, the number, size, and continued interest in preserving the structures are impressive.
Charleston’s storied past is seductive, especially when it is related in the context of artifacts that have survived such as the fine mansions and houses with their peculiar application of stucco over brickwork, a technique used to enhance the status of the owner because it gave the appearance of quarried stone which, in turn was a tangible indicator of greater wealth. The restored mansions evoke a certain charm, a gentility to the curious tourist now that they are cleansed of the blood and toil of their antebellum birthright. History holds irony dear as an integral part of selective recall, memories are bland remonstrances cooled by the breezes off the Battery which whisk away the sweat of real people who labored in the tepid air of slavery. Here, too, is where we began the slaughter of 600, 000 of our own countrymen so that the dark status quo might be preserved and the stately mansions and plantations could continue to prosper from the scar of human bondage; and, those that survive today, in a less cruel irony, do so as engines of a different kind of commerce, yet commerce nonetheless.
Beyond the picturesque scenery, the horse-drawn carriages and tours, the harbor cruises, the US Park Service’s ritual of the meaning of flags at Ft. Sumter, the innumerable restaurants and variety of cuisines, the accounts of natural catastrophes, the allure of pervasive promotional timeshare schemes, remains a disquieting irony that the hundreds of churches which stand proudly as testaments to the glory of God were unable to lead their congregations to kneel with humility and compassion in their prayers to guide them to an understanding of the biblical imperatives contained in the example of Israel’s bondage to Pharaoh; their eyes and ears were staunched with sights and sounds of profit and greed, which made them conveniently blind and deaf to the suffering of their human chattel. As the world economy collapses, politicians continue to cling to ineffectual methods, and genuflect to tired, outdated ideas and philosophies; meanwhile, the innocent and not-so-innocent continue to suffer in not unsurprising proportions which history teaches us generally prevails when calamity is afoot.
How are the condition which we face today different than those in the 1860’s? There is of course the exquisite irony that the man who now holds the highest office in the land, who is saddled with the burden of reviving an inherited, imploding economy, ending a war which has depleted our resources at the rate of 10 billion dollars a month for the last six years and was commenced on the basis of lies, distortion, and the arrogant perfidy of trivial men, is the first multiracial candidate to be elected President of the United States. It is also clear that greed is alive and well among us–synonyms are added daily to our language–; that demagoguery has not perished; that inflammatory speech, hate-mongering, and hypocrisy remain the dishonorable implements of men such as Rush Limbaugh and Michael Savage; and, that the success of this administration depends ultimately on the broad shoulders of our citizens. George W Bush and his minions failed the country they pledged to protect and defend; however, we should not delude ourselves with false piety or absolve ourselves of our own complicity. We elected them to office, not I personally. I’m sorry but I must make the disclaimer that I did NOT vote for George W Bush categorical and so I offer a line from E.E. Cummings‘ poem, I Sing of Olaf Glad And Big: there is some shit I will not eat.
If we are indeed successful in weathering the ominous storm clouds which stretch far beyond any horizon the most perspicacious among us can imagine, history will record the character of our people along with the epitaphs of many may not live to see the task completed. I hope that what remains will not be sundry buildings or restorations closeting family secrets but a vital community of towns, cities, states, countries ebullient with hope, uplifted with success, and committed to a future which does not depend upon the distortion of the past.
