April is Confederate History Month!

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NORTHERN TRADITION - DENY ANY PART IN SLAVERY

Charles Henry Smith was an American writer from Georgia who used the pen-name Bill Arp. This post is taken from his memoirs published in 1902. It appears that very early on the US Educational System DELIBERATELY failed to teach the truth about the North’s role in slavery.

“It is sad and mortifying that our young and middle-aged men and our graduates from Southern colleges know so little of our ante-bellum history. The Northern people are equally ignorant of the origin of slavery and the real causes that precipitated the civil war. Most of them have a vague idea that slavery was born and just grew up in the South - came up out of the ground like the seventeen-year-old locusts--and was our sin and our curse.

“Not one in ten thousand will believe that the South never imported a slave from Africa, but got all we had by purchase from our Northern brethren. I would wager a thousand dollars against ten that not a man under fifty nor a schoolboy who lives north of the line knows or believes that General Grant, their great military hero and idol, was a slave holder and lived off of their hire and their services while he was fighting us about ours. Lincoln's proclamation of freedom came in 1863, but General Grant paid no attention to it. He continued to use them as slaves until January, 1865. (See his biography by General James Grant Wilson in Appleton's Encyclopedia.)…

“How many of this generation, North or South, know, or will believe that as late as November, 1861, Nathaniel Gordon, master of a New England slave ship called the Erie, was convicted in New York City of carrying on the slave trade? (See Appleton.) Just think of it and wonder! In 1861 our Northern brethren made war upon us because we enslaved the negroes we had bought from them; but at the same time they kept on bringing more from Africa and begging us to buy them. How many know that England, our mother country, never emancipated her slaves until 1843, when twelve millions were set free in the East Indies and one hundred millions of dollars paid to their owners by act of Parliament?...

“I wish to impress it upon our boys and girls so that they may be ready and willing to defend their Southern ancestors from the baseless charge of suffering now for the sins of their fathers.”

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Fack I'm high, thought the thread title said Omelette history
 
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SOMETHING ABOUT JACKSON…

There was something about Jackson that always attracted his men. It must have been faith. He was the idol of his old soldiers, and they would follow him anywhere; the very sight of him was the signal for cheers. It made no difference where he was, in camp, on the battlefield, or on a march, when the men were so thoroughly used up that they could hardly put one foot before the other, or they were lying down resting on the roadside, when he came riding by each man jumped to his feet, pulled off his hat and cheered him.

This was always done with one exception. While we were marching around Pope, to get into his rear at Manassas, one evening, we came upon Gen. Jackson and his staff dismounted and standing in a field a few yards from the road, and the little sorrel lying down nibbling at the grass. As soon as the men recognized "Old Jack," hats came off and the usual cheer was about to break forth, when one of his staff standing near the road said to them, "No cheering, men; the enemy will hear you, and Gen. Jackson requests that you will not cheer." This was repeated by the men all down the marching column, and, as the men passed their beloved commander, they took off their hats, some waving them at the general, others flinging them in the air. Not one cheer was given, but some of the fellows nearly "busted" keeping it back. It was here that Gen. Jackson said, "With such soldiers, who could keep from winning battles."



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Vivien Leigh’s pictured on a break, from filming “Gone With the Wind,” in 1939.
 
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Black Confederates

In September 1863, during the battle of Chickamauga, the 4th Tennessee Cavalry had a black servant named Daniel McLemore, servant to the Colonel of the regiment, who organized a group of servants into a company of between 40-50 men. They were at first ordered to guard the horses of the soldiers; but, sitting out of the fighting long enough they asked a Captain Briggs if they could participate in the fighting.

Cpt. Briggs recalled, "After trying to dissuade them from this, I gave in and led them up to the line of battle in which was just preparing to assault Gen. Thomas's position. Thinking they would be of service in caring for the wounded, I held them close up the line, but when the advance was ordered the Negro company became enthused as well as their masters, and filled a portion of the line of advance as well as any company of the regiment. While they had no guidon or muster roll, the burial after the battle of four of their number and the care of seven wounded at the hospital, told the tale of how well they fought."

-Cpt Briggs, 4th TN Cavalry


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153 years ago today in 1865, 2nd in command of the Confederate naval vessel CSS Shenandoah, William Conway Whittle, unknown that the American Civil War was over, wrote his feelings on July 4th as their ship was still fighting.

“This is the 4th of July, who can celebrate it? Can the northern people who now are and for years have been waging an unjust cruel, relentless and inhumane war upon us? To take from us the very independence, the declaration of which 90 years ago made this day to be gloried in? Can they glory in the day? Have they the barefaced audacity when 5 of the original 13 are now battling against more grievous wrongs from the others than they could ever urge as a support to their cause? Should they not rather blush with shame at their present course and relent?

Yes they have the audacity. Their honor, honesty, Christianity, and civilization is all gone. They blush at nothing except that which may be honest and honorable and in their own acts they rarely blush for even these causes. Oh god meet out confusion and discord to their counsels.

Independence, the north has corrupted its very entitlement of the word. If any people can celebrate the day, the southerners are the ones. For they are now battling the same right aggravated by causes ten times as strong those for which in 1775 they fought. But if such a thing is possible and these wicked men be successful. I for one would regret from the depth of my heart that we ever knew a fourth of July, for tomorrow I would rather be ruled over by the president of Liberia, then by the Yankees. “

The CSS Shenandoah like much of the rebel navy was built in Liverpool, England. Although not officially commissioned as a warship, Confederate agents and English sympathizers for Southern independence made deals and cut around laws to acquire such ships and arm them. Shenandoah was commissioned in the Confederate navy on October 19th, 1864. Her objective like many of her sister ships was to be a commerce raider and target merchant vessels to cripple the Union economy rather than engage Union warships.

The Shenandoah would remain at sea for 12 months and 17 days, circumnavigating the globe. Her stops included South Africa, Australia, and numerous small islands throughout her 58,000 mile journey. While the majority of officers were Southerners, the vast majority of the crew were British subjects recruited all over the globe and mostly from Australia. She would inflict most of her damage in the Arctic Circle near Siberia and Alaska on a New England whaling fleet, two months after Robert E Lee surrendered!

The normal procedure for engaging enemy merchant ships was to peacefully bring their crew and belongings onboard as prisoners and then set fire to the captured ship. Captured crewmen from the Yankee vessels told the rebel sailors rumors that the Confederate armies had surrendered but the officers couldn’t know for sure and were diehard for their nation’s cause. Desperate for news of the war and frustrated with lack of merchant and whaling ships to intercept, Captain James Waddell made his way to San Francisco to shell military targets in the port. On August 2nd they encountered an English ship that had several newspapers confirming the war was indeed over. Rather than surrender to the U.S., the rebel ship immediately made for England to turn itself in and did so on November 6th, 1865.

The ship’s log, Captain James Waddell’s notes, and other officer’s journals are well preserved and provide details of the entire voyage. The Shenandoah’s legacy made its officers well-known and respected on their return. Its flag is the only known Confederate flag to circumnavigate the globe and was last sovereign Confederate flag to be furled. The ship is also known for having fired the last shot of the war across the bow of a whaling ship to compel it to surrender. She sank or captured 38 ships, and took over 1000 prisoners without suffering a single causality amongst the crew or prisoners. She is estimated to have caused over one million dollars of damages that the U.S. government would successfully sue the United Kingdom for.





The Shenandoah!!!! Named after the area Im from!!!!
 
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Fuck treasonous bastards. I wish Sherman had burned more. You should have been completely eliminated.

Wasnt treasonous you fat fucking cunt. Virginia had every right to secede, it was signed into the Constitution.

What needs to be eliminated, is all the fucking Little Debby cakes in your house. Maybe one day you will be able to fit through a doorway and leave your house.
 
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How the local news reported Virginia's invasion in 1861.....


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A true daughter of the confederacy has written what should be the last words on the monuments:
By Caroline Randall Williams
June 26, 2020


I have rape-colored skin. My light-brown-blackness is a living testament to the rules, the practices, the causes of the Old South.
If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument.
Dead Confederates are honored all over this country — with cartoonish private statues, solemn public monuments and even in the names of United States Army bases. It fortifies and heartens me to witness the protests against this practice and the growing clamor from serious, nonpartisan public servants to redress it. But there are still those — like President Trumpand the Senate majority leader,Mitch McConnell — who cannot understand the difference between rewriting and reframing the past. I say it is not a matter of “airbrushing” history, but of adding a new perspective.
I am a black, Southern woman, and of my immediate white male ancestors, all of them were rapists. My very existence is a relic of slavery and Jim Crow.
According to the rule of hypodescent (the social and legal practice of assigning a genetically mixed-race person to the race with less social power) I am the daughter of two black people, the granddaughter of four black people, the great-granddaughter of eight black people. Go back one more generation and it gets less straightforward, and more sinister. As far as family history has always told, and as modern DNA testing has allowed me to confirm, I am the descendant of black women who were domestic servants and white men who raped their help.
It is an extraordinary truth of my life that I am biologically more than half white, and yet I have no white people in my genealogy in living memory. No. Voluntary. Whiteness. I am more than half white, and none of it was consensual. White Southern men — my ancestors — took what they wanted from women they did not love, over whom they had extraordinary power, and then failed to claim their children.
What is a monument but a standing memory? An artifact to make tangible the truth of the past. My body and blood are a tangible truth of the South and its past. The black people I come from were owned by the white people I come from. The white people I come from fought and died for their Lost Cause. And I ask you now, who dares to tell me to celebrate them? Who dares to ask me to accept their mounted pedestals?
You cannot dismiss me as someone who doesn’t understand. You cannot say it wasn’t my family members who fought and died. My blackness does not put me on the other side of anything. It puts me squarely at the heart of the debate. I don’t just come from the South. I come from Confederates. I’ve got rebel-gray blue blood coursing my veins. My great-grandfather Will was raised with the knowledge that Edmund Pettus was his father. Pettus, the storied Confederate general, the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan, the man for whom Selma’s Bloody Sunday Bridge is named. So I am not an outsider who makes these demands. I am a great-great-granddaughter.
And here I’m called to say that there is much about the South that is precious to me. I do my best teaching and writing here. There is, however, a peculiar model of Southern pride that must now, at long last, be reckoned with.
This is not an ignorant pride but a defiant one. It is a pride that says, “Our history is rich, our causes are justified, our ancestors lie beyond reproach.” It is a pining for greatness, if you will, a wish again for a certain kind of American memory. A monument-worthy memory.
But here’s the thing: Our ancestors don’t deserve your unconditional pride. Yes, I am proud of every one of my black ancestors who survived slavery. They earned that pride, by any decent person’s reckoning. But I am not proud of the white ancestors whom I know, by virtue of my very existence, to be bad actors.
Among the apologists for the Southern cause and for its monuments, there are those who dismiss the hardships of the past. They imagine a world of benevolent masters, and speak with misty eyes of gentility and honor and the land. They deny plantation rape, or explain it away, or question the degree of frequency with which it occurred.
To those people it is my privilege to say, I am proof. I am proof that whatever else the South might have been, or might believe itself to be, it was and is a space whose prosperity and sense of romance and nostalgia were built upon the grievous exploitation of black life.
The dream version of the Old South never existed. Any manufactured monument to that time in that place tells half a truth at best. The ideas and ideals it purports to honor are not real. To those who have embraced these delusions: Now is the time to re-examine your position.
Either you have been blind to a truth that my body’s story forces you to see, or you really do mean to honor the oppressors at the expense of the oppressed, and you must at last acknowledge your emotional investment in a legacy of hate.
Either way, I say the monuments of stone and metal, the monuments of cloth and wood, all the man-made monuments, must come down. I defy any sentimental Southerner to defend our ancestors to me. I am quite literally made of the reasons to strip them of their laurels.


Caroline Randall Williams(@caroranwill) is the author of “Lucy Negro, Redux” and “Soul Food Love,” and a writer in residence at Vanderbilt University.
 
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A true daughter of the confederacy has written what should be the last words on the monuments:
By Caroline Randall Williams
June 26, 2020


I have rape-colored skin. My light-brown-blackness is a living testament to the rules, the practices, the causes of the Old South.
If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument.
Dead Confederates are honored all over this country — with cartoonish private statues, solemn public monuments and even in the names of United States Army bases. It fortifies and heartens me to witness the protests against this practice and the growing clamor from serious, nonpartisan public servants to redress it. But there are still those — like President Trumpand the Senate majority leader,Mitch McConnell — who cannot understand the difference between rewriting and reframing the past. I say it is not a matter of “airbrushing” history, but of adding a new perspective.
I am a black, Southern woman, and of my immediate white male ancestors, all of them were rapists. My very existence is a relic of slavery and Jim Crow.
According to the rule of hypodescent (the social and legal practice of assigning a genetically mixed-race person to the race with less social power) I am the daughter of two black people, the granddaughter of four black people, the great-granddaughter of eight black people. Go back one more generation and it gets less straightforward, and more sinister. As far as family history has always told, and as modern DNA testing has allowed me to confirm, I am the descendant of black women who were domestic servants and white men who raped their help.
It is an extraordinary truth of my life that I am biologically more than half white, and yet I have no white people in my genealogy in living memory. No. Voluntary. Whiteness. I am more than half white, and none of it was consensual. White Southern men — my ancestors — took what they wanted from women they did not love, over whom they had extraordinary power, and then failed to claim their children.
What is a monument but a standing memory? An artifact to make tangible the truth of the past. My body and blood are a tangible truth of the South and its past. The black people I come from were owned by the white people I come from. The white people I come from fought and died for their Lost Cause. And I ask you now, who dares to tell me to celebrate them? Who dares to ask me to accept their mounted pedestals?
You cannot dismiss me as someone who doesn’t understand. You cannot say it wasn’t my family members who fought and died. My blackness does not put me on the other side of anything. It puts me squarely at the heart of the debate. I don’t just come from the South. I come from Confederates. I’ve got rebel-gray blue blood coursing my veins. My great-grandfather Will was raised with the knowledge that Edmund Pettus was his father. Pettus, the storied Confederate general, the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan, the man for whom Selma’s Bloody Sunday Bridge is named. So I am not an outsider who makes these demands. I am a great-great-granddaughter.
And here I’m called to say that there is much about the South that is precious to me. I do my best teaching and writing here. There is, however, a peculiar model of Southern pride that must now, at long last, be reckoned with.
This is not an ignorant pride but a defiant one. It is a pride that says, “Our history is rich, our causes are justified, our ancestors lie beyond reproach.” It is a pining for greatness, if you will, a wish again for a certain kind of American memory. A monument-worthy memory.
But here’s the thing: Our ancestors don’t deserve your unconditional pride. Yes, I am proud of every one of my black ancestors who survived slavery. They earned that pride, by any decent person’s reckoning. But I am not proud of the white ancestors whom I know, by virtue of my very existence, to be bad actors.
Among the apologists for the Southern cause and for its monuments, there are those who dismiss the hardships of the past. They imagine a world of benevolent masters, and speak with misty eyes of gentility and honor and the land. They deny plantation rape, or explain it away, or question the degree of frequency with which it occurred.
To those people it is my privilege to say, I am proof. I am proof that whatever else the South might have been, or might believe itself to be, it was and is a space whose prosperity and sense of romance and nostalgia were built upon the grievous exploitation of black life.
The dream version of the Old South never existed. Any manufactured monument to that time in that place tells half a truth at best. The ideas and ideals it purports to honor are not real. To those who have embraced these delusions: Now is the time to re-examine your position.
Either you have been blind to a truth that my body’s story forces you to see, or you really do mean to honor the oppressors at the expense of the oppressed, and you must at last acknowledge your emotional investment in a legacy of hate.
Either way, I say the monuments of stone and metal, the monuments of cloth and wood, all the man-made monuments, must come down. I defy any sentimental Southerner to defend our ancestors to me. I am quite literally made of the reasons to strip them of their laurels.


Caroline Randall Williams(@caroranwill) is the author of “Lucy Negro, Redux” and “Soul Food Love,” and a writer in residence at Vanderbilt University.

What a stupid attention seeking cunt lol.
 

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A true daughter of the confederacy has written what should be the last words on the monuments:
By Caroline Randall Williams
June 26, 2020


I have rape-colored skin. My light-brown-blackness is a living testament to the rules, the practices, the causes of the Old South.
If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument.
Dead Confederates are honored all over this country — with cartoonish private statues, solemn public monuments and even in the names of United States Army bases. It fortifies and heartens me to witness the protests against this practice and the growing clamor from serious, nonpartisan public servants to redress it. But there are still those — like President Trumpand the Senate majority leader,Mitch McConnell — who cannot understand the difference between rewriting and reframing the past. I say it is not a matter of “airbrushing” history, but of adding a new perspective.
I am a black, Southern woman, and of my immediate white male ancestors, all of them were rapists. My very existence is a relic of slavery and Jim Crow.
According to the rule of hypodescent (the social and legal practice of assigning a genetically mixed-race person to the race with less social power) I am the daughter of two black people, the granddaughter of four black people, the great-granddaughter of eight black people. Go back one more generation and it gets less straightforward, and more sinister. As far as family history has always told, and as modern DNA testing has allowed me to confirm, I am the descendant of black women who were domestic servants and white men who raped their help.
It is an extraordinary truth of my life that I am biologically more than half white, and yet I have no white people in my genealogy in living memory. No. Voluntary. Whiteness. I am more than half white, and none of it was consensual. White Southern men — my ancestors — took what they wanted from women they did not love, over whom they had extraordinary power, and then failed to claim their children.
What is a monument but a standing memory? An artifact to make tangible the truth of the past. My body and blood are a tangible truth of the South and its past. The black people I come from were owned by the white people I come from. The white people I come from fought and died for their Lost Cause. And I ask you now, who dares to tell me to celebrate them? Who dares to ask me to accept their mounted pedestals?
You cannot dismiss me as someone who doesn’t understand. You cannot say it wasn’t my family members who fought and died. My blackness does not put me on the other side of anything. It puts me squarely at the heart of the debate. I don’t just come from the South. I come from Confederates. I’ve got rebel-gray blue blood coursing my veins. My great-grandfather Will was raised with the knowledge that Edmund Pettus was his father. Pettus, the storied Confederate general, the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan, the man for whom Selma’s Bloody Sunday Bridge is named. So I am not an outsider who makes these demands. I am a great-great-granddaughter.
And here I’m called to say that there is much about the South that is precious to me. I do my best teaching and writing here. There is, however, a peculiar model of Southern pride that must now, at long last, be reckoned with.
This is not an ignorant pride but a defiant one. It is a pride that says, “Our history is rich, our causes are justified, our ancestors lie beyond reproach.” It is a pining for greatness, if you will, a wish again for a certain kind of American memory. A monument-worthy memory.
But here’s the thing: Our ancestors don’t deserve your unconditional pride. Yes, I am proud of every one of my black ancestors who survived slavery. They earned that pride, by any decent person’s reckoning. But I am not proud of the white ancestors whom I know, by virtue of my very existence, to be bad actors.
Among the apologists for the Southern cause and for its monuments, there are those who dismiss the hardships of the past. They imagine a world of benevolent masters, and speak with misty eyes of gentility and honor and the land. They deny plantation rape, or explain it away, or question the degree of frequency with which it occurred.
To those people it is my privilege to say, I am proof. I am proof that whatever else the South might have been, or might believe itself to be, it was and is a space whose prosperity and sense of romance and nostalgia were built upon the grievous exploitation of black life.
The dream version of the Old South never existed. Any manufactured monument to that time in that place tells half a truth at best. The ideas and ideals it purports to honor are not real. To those who have embraced these delusions: Now is the time to re-examine your position.
Either you have been blind to a truth that my body’s story forces you to see, or you really do mean to honor the oppressors at the expense of the oppressed, and you must at last acknowledge your emotional investment in a legacy of hate.
Either way, I say the monuments of stone and metal, the monuments of cloth and wood, all the man-made monuments, must come down. I defy any sentimental Southerner to defend our ancestors to me. I am quite literally made of the reasons to strip them of their laurels.


Caroline Randall Williams(@caroranwill) is the author of “Lucy Negro, Redux” and “Soul Food Love,” and a writer in residence at Vanderbilt University.
LOL! She should have a civil war with herself and let us know who wins!
 
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A true daughter of the confederacy has written what should be the last words on the monuments:
By Caroline Randall Williams
June 26, 2020


I have rape-colored skin. My light-brown-blackness is a living testament to the rules, the practices, the causes of the Old South.
If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument.
Dead Confederates are honored all over this country — with cartoonish private statues, solemn public monuments and even in the names of United States Army bases. It fortifies and heartens me to witness the protests against this practice and the growing clamor from serious, nonpartisan public servants to redress it. But there are still those — like President Trumpand the Senate majority leader,Mitch McConnell — who cannot understand the difference between rewriting and reframing the past. I say it is not a matter of “airbrushing” history, but of adding a new perspective.
I am a black, Southern woman, and of my immediate white male ancestors, all of them were rapists. My very existence is a relic of slavery and Jim Crow.
According to the rule of hypodescent (the social and legal practice of assigning a genetically mixed-race person to the race with less social power) I am the daughter of two black people, the granddaughter of four black people, the great-granddaughter of eight black people. Go back one more generation and it gets less straightforward, and more sinister. As far as family history has always told, and as modern DNA testing has allowed me to confirm, I am the descendant of black women who were domestic servants and white men who raped their help.
It is an extraordinary truth of my life that I am biologically more than half white, and yet I have no white people in my genealogy in living memory. No. Voluntary. Whiteness. I am more than half white, and none of it was consensual. White Southern men — my ancestors — took what they wanted from women they did not love, over whom they had extraordinary power, and then failed to claim their children.
What is a monument but a standing memory? An artifact to make tangible the truth of the past. My body and blood are a tangible truth of the South and its past. The black people I come from were owned by the white people I come from. The white people I come from fought and died for their Lost Cause. And I ask you now, who dares to tell me to celebrate them? Who dares to ask me to accept their mounted pedestals?
You cannot dismiss me as someone who doesn’t understand. You cannot say it wasn’t my family members who fought and died. My blackness does not put me on the other side of anything. It puts me squarely at the heart of the debate. I don’t just come from the South. I come from Confederates. I’ve got rebel-gray blue blood coursing my veins. My great-grandfather Will was raised with the knowledge that Edmund Pettus was his father. Pettus, the storied Confederate general, the grand dragon of the Ku Klux Klan, the man for whom Selma’s Bloody Sunday Bridge is named. So I am not an outsider who makes these demands. I am a great-great-granddaughter.
And here I’m called to say that there is much about the South that is precious to me. I do my best teaching and writing here. There is, however, a peculiar model of Southern pride that must now, at long last, be reckoned with.
This is not an ignorant pride but a defiant one. It is a pride that says, “Our history is rich, our causes are justified, our ancestors lie beyond reproach.” It is a pining for greatness, if you will, a wish again for a certain kind of American memory. A monument-worthy memory.
But here’s the thing: Our ancestors don’t deserve your unconditional pride. Yes, I am proud of every one of my black ancestors who survived slavery. They earned that pride, by any decent person’s reckoning. But I am not proud of the white ancestors whom I know, by virtue of my very existence, to be bad actors.
Among the apologists for the Southern cause and for its monuments, there are those who dismiss the hardships of the past. They imagine a world of benevolent masters, and speak with misty eyes of gentility and honor and the land. They deny plantation rape, or explain it away, or question the degree of frequency with which it occurred.
To those people it is my privilege to say, I am proof. I am proof that whatever else the South might have been, or might believe itself to be, it was and is a space whose prosperity and sense of romance and nostalgia were built upon the grievous exploitation of black life.
The dream version of the Old South never existed. Any manufactured monument to that time in that place tells half a truth at best. The ideas and ideals it purports to honor are not real. To those who have embraced these delusions: Now is the time to re-examine your position.
Either you have been blind to a truth that my body’s story forces you to see, or you really do mean to honor the oppressors at the expense of the oppressed, and you must at last acknowledge your emotional investment in a legacy of hate.
Either way, I say the monuments of stone and metal, the monuments of cloth and wood, all the man-made monuments, must come down. I defy any sentimental Southerner to defend our ancestors to me. I am quite literally made of the reasons to strip them of their laurels.


Caroline Randall Williams(@caroranwill) is the author of “Lucy Negro, Redux” and “Soul Food Love,” and a writer in residence at Vanderbilt University.
LOL! She should have a civil war with herself and let us know who wins!

I mean really, she goes digging, wondering "how did I get white", and dug and dug, and low and behold, way way back she linked to a slave master. THEN, fucking THEN, the cunt wants to ASSUME it was rape. She didnt know shit before, she damn sure dont know shit now. Who knows, maybe her white grandaddy just knew how to please a lady better than her negroid kinfolk, and now she got the jelly. Bitch aint had good dick in eons, she got the lesbo pics going on on the netz. Man hater too evidently. Fucking cunt, needs to get some dick and quit all that hate.
 

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Yeah, one white dude seven or eight generations back in her tree and she's got over fifty per cent caucasian DNA? Did you fuck your biology teacher in high school just to pass the course?
 
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Yeah, one white dude seven or eight generations back in her tree and she's got over fifty per cent caucasian DNA? Did you fuck your biology teacher in high school just to pass the course?

I remember discussing that bitch a couple years ago at SG. I couldnt find any info on her dad, or any males in her family. Only her, her mom, and her gf.

She is a straight up male hater, specifically, a white male hater.

Fuck racist cunts like her.
 
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Blazor

Blazor

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She sure got mine. :FuckYEAH:

It's hard to deny the truth of the white rape culture during slavery when on average American blacks have a fair amount of white blood.

You do know, blacks raped too right? Black slave masters, raped their slaves to make more slaves, since the importation of slaves had become illegal. Also, blacks raped white women too back then.
 
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Blazor

Blazor

Put your glasses on!
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She sure got mine. :FuckYEAH:

It's hard to deny the truth of the white rape culture during slavery when on average American blacks have a fair amount of white blood.
Who deny's massa bangin his property?

Its funny, the first guy, to go to court in the US in the 1600's, to claim his slaves were his property, was a black man.



Johnson was sold as an
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to a white planter named Bennet to work on his Virginia tobacco farm. (Slave laws were not passed until 1661 in Virginia; prior to that date, Africans were not officially considered to be slaves).
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Such workers typically worked under a limited indenture contract for four to seven years to pay off their passage, room, board, lodging, and freedom dues. In the early colonial years, most Africans in the
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were held under such contracts of limited
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. With the exception of those indentured for life, they were released after a contracted period. Those who managed to survive their period of indenture would receive land and equipment after their contracts expired or were bought out.
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Most white laborers in this period also came to the colony as indentured servants.


When Anthony Johnson was released from servitude, he was legally recognized as a "free Negro." He became a successful farmer. In 1651, he owned 250 acres (100 ha), and the services of five indentured servants (four white and one black). In 1653, John Casor, a black indentured servant whose contract Johnson appeared to have bought in the early 1640s, approached Captain Goldsmith, claiming his indenture had expired seven years earlier and that he was being held illegally by Johnson. A neighbor, Robert Parker, intervened and persuaded Johnson to free Casor.

Parker offered Casor work, and he signed a term of indenture to the planter. Johnson sued Parker in the Northampton Court in 1654 for the return of Casor. The court initially found in favor of Parker, but Johnson appealed. In 1655, the court reversed its ruling.
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Finding that Anthony Johnson still "owned" John Casor, the court ordered that he be returned with the court dues paid by Robert Parker.
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This was the first instance of a judicial determination in the
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holding that a person who had committed no crime could be held in servitude for life. Though Casor was the first person who was declared a slave in a civil case, there were both black and white indentured servants sentenced to lifetime servitude before him.
 

Lokmar

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Lily of Denial

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De donde me da la gana.
She sure got mine. :FuckYEAH:

It's hard to deny the truth of the white rape culture during slavery when on average American blacks have a fair amount of white blood.
Who deny's massa bangin his property?

Others, rapist apologist.
I'd apologize to myself if I raped you. I'd never live down the shame, especially if I licked your dirty used up cooter! :facepalm: FOR SHAME!

Why are you even thinking those thoughts, ya filthy fuck? The topic was rape during slavery.
 

Lokmar

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She sure got mine. :FuckYEAH:

It's hard to deny the truth of the white rape culture during slavery when on average American blacks have a fair amount of white blood.
Who deny's massa bangin his property?

Others, rapist apologist.
I'd apologize to myself if I raped you. I'd never live down the shame, especially if I licked your dirty used up cooter! :facepalm: FOR SHAME!

Why are you even thinking those thoughts, ya filthy fuck? The topic was rape during slavery.
Oh, my bad. Now I'm shamed for NOT raping you. Whitey just cant win!