Tribute to an Unknown Soldier

We often use the word “hate” in our narrations of partisan politics. I think I like the word “disparage” also a verb, which more clearly conveys our feelings of political distancing. I frequently see the label “Liberal Democrat” written to “speak in a slighting way, or to belittle. It is the counterpart of the label “Conservative Republican.”

On many political or social issues we expect disparate positions by our affirmation of label. Seemingly, all over the South we are defacing or removing statues to Confederate heroes. I probably have a better relationship with “Chip” than most Liberal Democrats would have. Chip is an affectionate nickname for the statue on our town square. His hat is missing a small chip, broken in the erection of the monument donated by the Daughters of the Confederacy. I spent 52 years of my life within the tall, often intimidating, shadow of his image.

The wording on the monument and the design of his uniform indicate that he was a soldier in the Confederate Army. His skin tone and uniform are a monochromatic shade of concrete gray. He probably did not own slaves. I don’t know if he fought to perpetuate an ignoble inhumane practice, or if he was driven by the imperative of defending the rights of individual states. I don’t know if he felt any allegiance to his former homeland, or if he saw his homeland being invaded. Did he feel the contradiction of fighting to defend his own freedom? He did not live to read the historical narrative of the bloody punishment for a treasonous secession. I don’t know if he was conscripted or if he joined. His having been a lesser rank than General gives him a more generic and nameless identity than Lee or Forrest, or the five, or six, who were killed in the Battle of Franklin. Generals Cleburne, Granbury, Carter, Gist, Adams, and Strahl are remembered in our naming of streets and on the concrete posts at random intersections.

Chip’s last breath was in November of 1864. He was once a heroic image for persons not far removed from the Confederacy. Today his image stands as a silent but eloquent historian, visited daily by tourists and walking history tours.

Chip lived in a time when slavery was part of our population and our culture. There were no signs reading “Black Lives Matter.” This was long before George Floyd. His images of injustice and cruelty are more likely the torn flesh from a master’s whip, or a lifeless body suspended on a rope.

His image graces the pages of magazines and travel guides. Chip and I have a long friendship. We were part of the design during the historic restoration of Main Street. Chip is an important part of the skyline and landscape of a town that does not speak disparagingly of him, and a Liberal Democrat’s legacy on seven brick pavers one block away.

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