THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 9 — SEE BELOW FOR PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS

THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT

           The story dealing with the presence of armed militia at the Sylvania protest drew a lot of comments on the Herald Facebook page. A woman I knew from Gnat’s Landing responded to one of my posts : “You’re sick, you need help . . . . Y’all’re just itching to kill somebody.” Many of the posts referred to the militiamen as “racists” and “rednecks.” But many of the posts were positive. One lady wrote simply, “Thank you for defending our community.”

           Posts from the local BLM page, which featured the photo taken of us behind the Statesboro library, while not positive, of course, were more simply observational: “They were there to back the police;” “They were in reserve behind the library;” “They all had assault rifles.” There were a few remarks about “rednecks” and “crackers,” but the BLM response had been oddly clinical, like an after-action report.

           However, BLM was very emotional about the upcoming election. There were many posts hinting at violence in Statesboro if Trump were re-elected. Given the poll numbers and the great economy, I was sure that Trump was going to be re-elected in a landslide.  I thought it odd that BLM was discussing the matter as if there were any doubt about the outcome. I dismissed it as more irrational Trump derangement syndrome.

          In the meantime, a resolution was coming up before the Statesboro City Council to pass a so-called “anti-discrimination” ordinance. Because of recent lawsuits in other states in which florists and bakers had been sued for refusing to service same-sex marriages, this ordinance was seen by some as an effort to force people of faith to do things against their beliefs. One of several people to speak out against the ordinance was Reverend James Byrd, a Black pastor of a Black church. He explained that he, of course, was not against civil rights, but he felt compelled to speak out “in defense of the Christian faith.” He explained, “I don’t have a problem with whether you are LBGTQ or whatever your particular lifestyle. What the Bible tells us to do is to be compassionate towards individuals who engage in lifestyles antithetical to biblical principles. Indeed we are compassionate. Nevertheless, compassion does not require agreement, approval or submission to their lifestyle.”

           “Amen!” I said when I read this. “Here is someone who gets it.” I regretted not having gone to the public meeting prior to the vote. I regretted it even more when I read the entire proposed ordinance. The bill not only prohibited discrimination against minorities and women, but gave minority businesses preference over White owned businesses in being awarded city contracts by skewing minority bids with a 6% differential.

           I was acquainted with one of the city council members. He had originally opposed the clause granting the minority preference, but had changed his mind and voted for it. He explained that it would not make any difference because the white-owned businesses would just put their wives names on the bid, thus qualifying them for the offset. “It’s all show,” he explained. “I’m playing chess, not checkers.”

           “Yeah,” I replied. “But this is not a game.”

            I signed up to speak at the next City Council meeting. I got there early, and, by chance, the only council member already there was John Riggs, the only member to vote against it. We talked for a while, and Mayor McCollar arrived, recognized me from the rally at the courthouse, and told me he was going to put me up first. After the others arrived and the Council took care of some routine business, the Mayor called me up and said, “You have three minutes.”

           As I spoke, two of the Black female councilwomen exchanged whispered comments. I can only imagine what they said in response to my remarks:

           “Council Members:

           “The so-called anti-discrimination ordinance you passed last month is nothing if not discriminatory. It is just another manifestation of the anti-White sentiment that has been inculcated in our society for some time now and has been seized upon by the radical left. By passing this ordinance, you have pandered to such radical organizations as Antifa and Black Lives Matter  and to race hustlers like Francys Johnson, and in so doing have invited rioters and looters to come to our fair city. Ostensibly, this ordinance was passed to remedy the fact that 92% of city contracts were awarded to White vendors. However, during your deliberations there was not any evidence offered to suggest that minority bidders numbered more than the remaining 8%, or that any of the contracts were awarded on a discriminatory basis. Your motive in proposing this ordinance was racist and leftist pandering, pure and simple. Councilman Riggs, I thank you for having the courage and integrity for voting against this abomination. The rest of you should be ashamed of yourselves.

           “As a White man, I am utterly weary of my race and heritage being vilified. As a patriot

who has had to bear arms to protect the Confederate monument here in Statesboro and the City of Sylvania against threatened violence, I am alarmed by the timing of your blatantly racist pandering. You have sown discord; I hope you do not reap the whirlwind.

           “Statesboro has been threatened with violence over the coming election as well as the predicted guilty verdict against Marc Wilson for killing that girl on the bypass. If violence does come, local patriots will deal with it, as well as their associates from other locales. If violence does come, a good part of the blame will be on your shoulders, council members, for your cowardice and poor judgment in passing this racist ordinance. Stop pandering, and start serving.”

           Later, when I ran into the councilman I knew, he said, “Bubba, all I can tell you is you pissed a lot of people off.”

           On the night of the election, some of us Minutemen met a local bar to watch the election returns. When I went home at about eleven, I was sure that Trump had won. But the next morning the news outlets had Biden winning. I could not figure out how that could be. Trump had been way ahead in key states at eleven. And then I remembered something Rush Limbaugh had said on the radio the day before. Someone had called him and told him that Democrat operatives in Philadelphia were blocking Republican poll watchers from coming into the polling stations, and reports of funny stuff in Atlanta and Detroit. Before anyone came right out and said it, I had no doubt what had happened. There had been a concerted effort to steal the election by rigging the results in the key cities of key states: Georgia, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. All the reports of funny stuff were coming out of heavily Democrat cities. To me, it was easy to see what was going on. Therefore, I thought that, before the election was certified, they would certainly expose the theft. I was not prepared for how wrong I was.

          The only good news to come out of November came on the very last day of the month: Jacob Thompson was granted bond. Thompson’s lawyers had pressed long and hard for a new bond hearing, and when Judge Peed granted it, they tore into the prosecution’s flimsy case. They addressed the ridiculous argument that Lewis’s car had been rendered inoperable by having its battery cable knocked loose; the theory, put forward by the defense, that Lewis had just been looking for a well-lighted place to pull over; and the claim that Thompson had killed Lewis out of racial prejudice. Witness after witness testified to Thompson’s sterling character. In the end, whatever his motives, Judge Peed could not have denied bond without seeming totally ridiculous or obviously under undue pressure.

           Predictably, Lewis’s family, Francys Johnson, Mawuli Davis, and Georgia NAACP president James Woodall cried racism. At a press conference, Johnson, in typical dramatic fashion, said of Thompson, “Before he could ask his name, he decided that Julian Lewis should die.”  He also revealed that the family had filed notice that they were going to file a $13 million wrongful death suit against the State of Georgia.

           I immediately thought of George Floyd. The officers charged in his death had not even gone to trial, yet the lawyers for Floyd’s family had negotiated a $26 million settlement with the city of Minneapolis. I posted on Facebook, along with a link to the story about the Julian Lewis wrongful death suit: “Representing Black thugs who get killed in police-involved incidents is good work if you can get it.”

           After Thompson was released on bond, the assumption was that he would be going before the grand jury in January. Under Georgia law, a defendant who is or who was a law enforcement officer can testify at his own grand jury hearing. In so doing, he subjects himself not only to questioning by the prosecution, but to the grand jurors themselves. Anything he divulges can be used against him later at trial. In spite of this, it was speculated by some that Jacob Thompson was planning to testify at his grand jury hearing. That in and of itself said a lot.

          Earlier that month, Marc Wilson had been indicted by a grand jury in Statesboro. In the wake of Jacob Thompson’s successful bond hearing, Wilson’s lawyers thought it would be an opportune time to request a new bond hearing for Marc Wilson, and one was scheduled for December 15. At that hearing, Wilson’s mother gave a tearful plea for his release, promising that she would do everything possible to make sure that he adhered to the terms of the bond, including making sure that he remained at home and wore an ankle monitor. It was also discussed that her and her husband would put up property they owned as surety for the bond.

           In the hearing Wilson’s mother testified that she had other grown children in Statesboro with whom Marc could stay when he had to come to Statesboro for court appearances. This led District Attorney Daphne Totten to ask whether Marc had gone to either of these siblings after the incident on the bypass. She answered no. Francys Johnson asked Mrs. Wilson if she and her husband supported Marc financially. She answered yes. Johnson then asked, “So, you could say he is a virtual kid, then?” When she answered yes, Judge Muldrew remarked, “If he was a virtual kid, then why did he have a gun?”

           Mrs. Wilson answered that, with all the unrest in the country, he needed a gun. She also testified that Marc was not a flight risk because he had no passport, no bank account, and the car he had driven on the night of the shooting belonged to her and her husband, not Marc.

           Under cross examination, Mrs. Wilson admitted that Marc had not told her about the incident until after he had talked to the SPD detective. She testified that he had broken down crying, saying, “Mom, I’m in trouble.”

           In her closing argument opposing bond, Totten said, “We believe that his actions immediately after and in the days following the shooting support our previous argument and our position today, that we do believe he poses a flight risk. We’re also concerned about persons and property in the community. . . . All of these people that have come today that love him, support him – some of them are in law enforcement, he’s got family in law enforcement – he made a choice not to reach out to one of these people.”

           Johnson countered with an emotional plea that Marc had never been in trouble before, that he had been in reasonable fear for his life, and that he should be allowed to go home for Christmas. Judge Muldrew responded that he would need a few days to render a decision.

           But as the weeks went by, and New Year’s passed, no decision came. Marc Wilson’s supporters on social media began to grumble at the judge’s silence. When asked by Francys Johnson what his decision was, Muldrew answered, “My silence is answer enough.” For the foreseeable future, Marc Wilson would be staying in jail. But that future turned out to be longer and more indeterminate than anyone could have imagined. It would be nine months before the defense would be ready to appear in a courtroom again.

           Several people I knew attended the pro-Trump rally in Washington on January 6, 2011. Like me – and at least seventy-five million other people – they believed that the election had been stolen. The people I knew who went did so with the wish that a large enough presence

of  American patriots would convince Vice President Pence, who, as President of the Senate, had  the Constitutional duty to certify the electoral vote, would refuse to certify the vote in light of the glaring irregularities that had been so manifest during the election. I kept hoping that President Trump would take former National Security Director Mike Flynn’s advice and declare martial law while the matter was being investigated and set right.

           I watched the rally and the storming of the Capitol on television. Only I did not think of it so much as a “storming.” Most of the people who entered the building stayed between the velvet ropes. I was disgusted by the video of the senators cowering like old women behind their desks, and enraged by the shooting of the female demonstrator by the Capitol policeman. What especially galled me was that some of the senators cowering in fear in the Senate chamber had refused to refer to the BLM and Antifa thugs in Seattle and other cities as “rioters.” To them, they were “protesters.” But after the mischief ceased at the Capitol, the senators wasted no time as labeling the intruders as “right-wing terrorists” trying to stage a “coup” against the government.

           Far from being a coup, the whole affair struck me as a mildly rowdy vent of frustration at the stolen election. If the half million people at the rally had wanted to stage a coup, they could have stormed that building, taken all the senators and Vice President Pence prisoner, and let things develop from there. I was reminded of the Boston Tea Party. The Sons of Liberty could have set every British ship in Boston harbor ablaze that night, but they had merely dumped British tea into the water. They were trying to get a point across. Obviously, the British did not listen.

           Many people disagreed with me on this point. They stressed that the breach of the Capitol

had been unlawful. “So is stealing an election,” I answered. “Besides, that building is our building, the American people’s building. Those senators work for us, and they’re not doing their jobs.”

           I fully agreed with President Trump when he called Pence a coward for certifying the votes. Pence would have been within his Constitutional powers if he had refused to do so. Therefore, Constitutional rule would have been maintained. Upon reflection, I understood why Trump did not declare martial law. To do so would have been to set a dangerous precedent for future presidents who, with less justification, could have looked to Trump’s actions as a justifying precedent to declare martial law when they felt like it. I was reminded of the presidential election of 1960, which had been stolen from Richard Nixon by Kennedy supporters in Illinois and Texas. Many people had urged Nixon to contest the election, but he felt that the process would have stained the reputation of the United States as a paragon of democracy.

           I was also reminded of Abraham Lincoln, who had not hesitated to declare martial law and to have anyone who spoke out against him imprisoned. Unlike Lincoln, Trump was taking the high road. I was disappointed at how things turned out, but I admired Trump all the more. I was sure that the truth would eventually come out, and that there would be a reckoning.

           The grand jury hearing for Jacob Thompson was scheduled for January 11 in Screven County. Thompson’s defense attorneys notified the newly elected, recently sworn-in District Attorney Daphne Totten that their client would be exercising his right under Georgia law as a former law enforcement officer to testify in his own behalf. A few days before the 11th,  Totten notified the defense that because of “a dramatic increase” in cases that had to appear before the grand jury, and pending legislation before the state legislature that required jailed defendants to be tried first, she would be postponing Thompson’s grand jury hearing indefinitely. The defense immediately called foul, and accused the District Attorney of “grand jury shopping.” Screven County jail records showed no increase at all in jailed defendants, and the pending legislation was not retroactive to existing cases. In a motion filed before the court to have the grand jury hearing go forward, Thompson’s attorneys contended that Totten had forced Thompson to “tip his hand” about whether he would testify, and then “pulled the rug out from under him” after he did so. However, the judge denied the motion.

           It was obvious what was going on. The prosecution did not have a case, and they knew it. They were stalling, hoping to get a grand jury better constituted to give them an indictment. In March, the defense filed another motion to compel the presentment of the case to the currently empaneled grand jury. District Attorney Totten argued that Thompson was free on bond and there was no urgency to present his case. She also stated that the state was not ready to go to before a grand jury. But this begged the question: Why, as acting DA in August, 2021, had she made the decision to prosecute Thompson a mere seven days after the incident in question?

           Further, an assistant district attorney made a motion that Thompson reveal where he was getting the money to pay his legal bills. This question had been raised on an earlier occasion by Francys Johnson on behalf of the widow of Julian Lewis. She claimed that she had felt “intimidated” by the fact that prominent, wealthy citizens of Screven County were contributing to Jacob Thompson’s defense. The judge, predictably, denied the assistant DA’s motion. However, he also denied the defense’s motion to present the case to the current grand jury.

           For so many of us, what was being done to Jacob Thompson was not only an outrage, but an embarrassment. We all knew that they were preparing to crucify Derek Chauvin, the officer charged with killing George Floyd, in Minnesota. But the fact that a south Georgia prosecutor was trying to do the same thing to a fine young man with such an exemplary record as a law enforcement officer as Jacob Thompson was unacceptable. We all understood that Totten was under political pressure, and was being harassed by race-hustlers like Francys Johnson and Mawuli Davis. But she had asked for this job, had stood for election for it. We wanted her to grow a backbone and do the right thing: dismiss the case. There simply was no case.

           The following month, as predicted, a Minneapolis jury found Derek Chavin guilty of  second-degree murder in spite of the fact that the evidence had shown that Floyd had died from a lethal overdose of fentanyl. Around the country, the race hustlers were exploiting other racially-charged police-involved shootings. “Defund the police” had become a popular slogan for the left, and race-pandering career politicians were jumping on the anti-law enforcement bandwagon. I continued to be amazed that such lunacy could be afoot in the United States of America. Since one of the main preconditions for all of this was the White guilt that had been programmed into so many people, I decided to do my best to do some de-programming.

          Someone I knew had started a conservative Facebook group that had swelled to over 100,000 members before Facebook had found a reason to shut it down. Therefore, I not only started a Facebook group, but a website as a backup. I called them both “White Heritage.”

Common Sense

Throwing opening our border to illegals and drug traffickers; destroying our low gas prices and energy independence by forbidding domestic drilling and closing pipelines; issuing trillions of dollars of unbacked currency into the econmy, thus creating runaway inflation; staffing the federal government with transvestites and homosexuals with no expertise in their jobs; giving away trillions of dollars to help a country in a war that could have been avoided by a display of American strength and resolve; undermining due process by keeping political prisoners detained without a trial for two years; advocating giving federal disaster aid and COVID vaccinations to people based on their color; destroying morale in our military, thus decreasing enlistment below required levels and making our country vulnerable; weaponizing the FBI against political enemies; and encouraging the teaching of Critical Race Theory and transgenderism in public schools. If this is not an affront to decency, culture, love of country, and reverence for our heritage, is it not at least an affront to common sense? When one considers that all these depredations have been committed by a president who has been bribed and compromised by communist China, and whose puppet masters stole the election for him, are they not only an affront to common sense, but to sanity as well?

If plain self-interest does not suffice to rouse a significant number of our populace to action, concern for coming generations should prove a compelling motivation. Or perhaps a simple appreciation of the profound toil and sacrifice of our forefathers in creating and sustaining this blessed republic would spur some — the best among us — to do whatever is necessary to set things right. The infestation of our house by vermin is a profound nuisance. The apathy and inaction of the householders is a sin.

Can you imagine our forefathers, those stout souls who refused to knuckle under to the British yoke, submitting themselves to the rule of low creatures like Biden and Harris, Pelosi, Schumer, and Schiff. If you cannot, then what does that say about what we have become as a country?

Seventy-five million people voted for Donald Trump. The greatest larceny in American history was committed against us when the 2020 presidential election was stolen. Let us hope Biden and his puppet masters will not commit the greatest sin in American history — the deliberate destruction of the American republic — while we sit on our hands and watch slack-jawed. Surely there is a special place in hell for ones so spineless and apathetic.

Time to stand up, go Washington, and DEMAND that the verminous Democrats step down. By stealing an elction they forfeited their legitimacy, and not only do we not owe them our alegience and obedience, common sense dictates that we reclaim what the took from us.

Awaken, friends and neighnors, awaken!

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 8 — SEE BELOW FOR EARLIER INSTALLMENTS

COUNTRY ROADS

            It was a hot, hazy night in Screven County that Friday, August 7, 2020. It was about nine o’clock, the sun had set about a half-hour before, but it was still close to ninety degrees outside. Georgia State Trooper Jacob Thompson was parked in his cruiser just off U.S. Highway 301 about seven miles south of Sylvania. The twenty mile stretch of 301 between Sylvania and Statesboro is mostly only two-lane, and, thus, the 55MPH speed limit is strictly enforced. Alert as always, and especially so because this was a Friday, Trooper Thompson had his eye out for speeders and drunk drivers.

            Twenty-seven years old, Thompson had been on the State Patrol for seven years. In 2019, he had been named Trooper of the Year. He frequently led his post in DUI arrests, and one year had won an award from Mothers Against Drunk Drivers (MADD). There were many compliments in his file from members of the public, and his reviews were generally very positive. His image was even pictured on State Patrol recruitment brochures. He was married, and had a young son.

            About nine o’clock, Thomson noticed a 1990’s model Nissan Sentra southbound on 301. One of its tail lights was burnt out. He pulled out onto the highway and fell in behind the car, which then sped up to about 65MPH. At this point, Thompson threw on his blue lights, but the driver of the Nissan did not pull over. Thompson continued pursuit, and the driver of the Nissan signaled first one direction with his turn signal, then another. About a mile into the pursuit, the man in the Nissan gestured out of his window that he was going to turn left onto Simmons Branch Road, where, just off the highway, was a church. Thompson interpreted this to mean that the driver was going to stop in front of the church. But when the Nissan pulled onto Simmons Branch Road, it did not stop.  The driver sped down the narrow dirt road surrounded by woods and pasture land for a mile, crossed a paved road, at which point the dirt road name-changed to Stony Pond Road. Thompson, realizing that the man was not going to pull over, pulled alongside him and performed a Precision Intervention Technique, or PIT maneuver. When he did, the Nissan spun around and stopped on the grassy, downward-sloped, grassy shoulder of the road, the front of the car facing the road. Thompson pulled up even to the Nissan, such that the front of the Nissan was facing the front, driver’s-side door of the cruiser. Per training and procedure, Thompson pulled his service firearm from his holster as he exited the cruiser. As he did, he heard the Nissan’s engine revving. He activated his gun light, and saw the driver frantically working the steering wheel as if to run him over. He aimed, fired one shot through the windshield, and called for the man to show his hands. However, on closer inspection, he saw that the driver, an older Black man, had been shot through the forehead. He tried to render what first aid he could, but the man was obviously dead. When the paramedics arrived, they saw that the Nissan’s headlights were still on and very bright.

            The driver of the Nissan was identified as Julian Lewis, sixty-years old, a semi-retired construction worker. At the time of his death, Lewis was still on probation for driving while impaired. Since 2004, he had been arrested nine times for a variety of traffic violations and drug charges. Cocaine was found in a cigarette pack in his car, and a toxicology report later revealed that at the time of his death he had several drugs, including cocaine and methamphetamine, in his system.

            The next day, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation (GBI) began an investigation of the incident. By Monday, the race hustlers were circling like vultures over the sleepy little town of Sylvania. Georgia NAACP  president James Woodall characterized the Lewis shooting as just another chilling example of an innocent Black man killed by a White policeman. Francys Johnson and Mawuli Davis were hired by Lewis’s family, and the incident hit the national news outlets. On Friday, August 14, 2020, Jacob Thompson was fired from the Georgia State Patrol, arrested, charged with felony murder and aggravated assault, and ordered held without bond. The very same day, Francys Johnson addressed a crowd of 200 people that had gathered outside the Screven County Courthouse to protest the killing of Lewis. He said, “That ex-trooper was arrested and sits in a Screven County jail awaiting trial. If you want to clap for anything, clap that the system appears to have worked for us today.”

            Lewis’s family members spoke about what a great guy he was, kind and generous. One of his sisters said, “We hope the cop gets what he deserves.”

            James Woodall emoted, “We’re done dying! Enough is enough! We will not stand for this injustice. This has been going on for 400 years. Every part of this system has failed us. If we want justice, we must start from the top on down. We will continue to fight this injustice.”

            The next day, when I read about this in the Herald, I scratched my head and read it again, sure that I had missed something. Later, at Gnat’s Landing, I asked a friend who worked in law enforcement what in the world was going on. He shook his head sadly.

      “The boy is being thrown to the wolves. This is a bad time for a cop, especially a White cop, to kill a Black man. The political pressure is coming all the way down from Atlanta. That GBI investigator was ordered to make a case against Thompson. And now the DA has to play along. But he may get off yet.”

       “How so?”

         He shrugged. “The prosecution has no case, and they know it. This is all showbiz crap. The grand jury will never indict him. But in the meantime he’s still out of a job he loves.”

          “You think the feds will come after him?”

           “Not if Trump is reelected.”

           “Whew. That’s good. No way Biden can win.”

            “Yeah. Thank God for Trump. He’s pro cop all the way.”

            That reminded me of something. “I’ve been invited to meeting of a patriot group tomorrow. Evidently there have been threats against Statesboro on social media, particularly from Black Lives Matter. We’re going to make sure no stuff happens here.”

            My friend nodded. “I know the group. Unfortunately, because of my job, I can’t join. But we’re with you.”

            The group I referred to was the South Georgia Minutemen. Three men, good friends of one another, had started the group out of concern for the unrest nationwide, and the effort of some to bring it to our area. The first meeting I attended was at a local fraternal club. There were about fifty people in attendance, one of whom was the plant manager from a factory where I had worked. Most of the attendees were blue-collar, rural folk, and several of them were women. There were also two Black men in attendance who, from their dress and demeanor, I surmised were former military. The meeting opened with a prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance. One of the three founding members rose and welcomed the new members. He then explained what the group was about:

            “We are a Christian patriot group. Anyone who agrees with our aims and methods is welcome here. Race does not matter here. My friends and I decided that we had to do something to defend our community against the violence threatened by Black Lives Matter and Antifa. Just this past Friday the Screven County Police stopped a busload of out-of-town protesters who were trying to unload in Sylvania and stage a “spontaneous” demonstration related to the man killed by the state trooper. By all accounts, they were BLM.

            “We are a defensive organization. We believe that anyone has the right to free speech, but we are going to be ready when things turn ugly. There have already been threats to burn Statesboro to the ground if Marc Wilson is found guilty. And now we have this situation in Sylvania. Just this past Friday Francys Johnson spoke at a rally in front of the Screven County Courthouse.”

            Another member took the floor and explained that on that same Friday a pallet of bricks had been found on East Main Street in Statesboro near the courthouse. He explained that in many of the riots in places like Seattle, Portland, and Minneapolis in which Antifa had been involved, pallets of bricks had magically appeared on the streets conveniently available for all who felt like smashing windows. The man who found the bricks notified the Bulloch County Sheriff, who told him that, as there was no construction going on downtown and the bricks were on public property, he could remove them.

            Another of the founding members explained that we would, of course, go armed to any potential threatening situation, and explained that, for uniformity sake, we should all have AR-15’s. He also talked a lot about what was going on in the school boards, academia, and social media. Like me, and all the others there, he was concerned about the direction our country was taking.

           We all agreed to meet again in three weeks, and the meeting was adjourned. I went over and introduced myself to the three founding members. I explained to them how we SCV members had armed ourselves to protect the Confederate monument. I will never forget how I felt when one of them said, “Next time we’ll be there with you.”

           As it turned out, later that afternoon, the Minutemen leadership received a call that BLM was staging a rally for Marc Wilson at that very moment at the courthouse. Now it was obvious why someone had dropped off a pallet of bricks. The leadership called what members they could, and a dozen of them went downtown to the courthouse. There were about seventy people there, and speakers were addressing the crowd over a loud speaker. One of them pointed out the armed Minutemen across the street, calling them “White supremacists.”

           When I heard about the rally, I remembered that Marc Wilson’s preliminary hearing was scheduled for August 18, two days hence. I also reflected on the fact that both Wilson and Jacob Thompson were both being prosecuted by the same district attorney, Daphne Totten of the Ogeechee Judicial Circuit. And, of course, Francys Johnson represented both Marc Wilson and the family of the man killed by Thompson.

           The rally remained peaceful, but I wondered how peaceful it would have been had not the bricks been removed and the Minutemen had not shown up. And that was the whole point. Things will remain peaceful if the right people show up and stand up.

            At Wilson’s preliminary hearing, the prosecution called Detective Travis Kruen, who outlined the events of the case. He testified that during a phone interview Wilson had claimed that boys in the Silverado had yelled racial slurs at him, but Wilson had not specified what those slurs were. Wilson also claimed that the truck had swerved into his lane. Kruen also testified that Emma Rigdon had denied hearing any racial slurs, and had said “Marc got mad and started shooting.” However, she did tell the detective that it looked like the Silverado was swerving into their lane, and that she heard a loud noise, as if something hit their car.

           Kruen testified about the shell casings that had been recovered from the crime scene, as well as a beer can that was the same brand as that found in the Silverado. He also recounted his interview with the others in the truck, who denied making any racial slurs or hearing anyone else make any. But Kruen also testified that Luke Conley had been arrested for obstruction after making conflicting statements about his actions that night.

           Haley Hutcheson’s aunt also testified that threats had been made to her and other family members on social media.

           Francys Johnson, as his defense witnesses, called not his client nor Emma Rigdon, but the surviving passengers in the truck that night. He asked them each in turn if they had heard any racial slurs that night. They each said no. He asked Mason Glisson if he had swerved into the lane occupied by the blue Fusion. Glisson said no. He asked about the events at the convenience

store, if they had seen Mary Jane Swanson and Michaela McClain. They answered yes. He asked them about their alcohol consumption, which they readily admitted to.

          The exception to all this was Luke Conley. Facing unrelated charges in another county, he showed up to court with his own attorney and pleaded the Fifth Amendment to all Johnson’s questions.

         When the judge, Michael Muldrew, rendered his decision to send the case to the grand jury, a third member of the defense team, Martha Hall, a former assistant district attorney, made a motion that  instead of forwarding felony murder and aggravated assault charges to the grand jury, he reduce the charges to reckless conduct causing bodily harm. The judge denied the motion. At the bond hearing immediately thereafter, he denied bond, citing the seriousness of the charges and the threats made against the victim’s family. Hearing this, Wilson teared up and lowered his head.

           Just a little over two weeks later, in Sylvania, Jacob Thompson appeared before Ogeechee Circuit Judge F. Gates Peed for his bond hearing. The key witness for the prosecution was Agent Dustin Peak of the GBI. He testified that the physical evidence did not match Jacob Thompson’s version of events. Specifically, and puzzling to many, he asserted  that Lewis could not have revved his engine as Thompson was exiting his cruiser because the PIT maneuver had knocked the battery cable loose on the Sentra, rendering it inoperable. He also testified that Lewis’s drug-addled state and the high-speed chase he led Thompson on had no relevance to use of deadly force.

           In spite of a parade of character witnesses for the defense, many of them active law enforcement, Judge Peed denied bond.

           The whole charade left me scratching my head. Anyone with only a rudimentary knowledge of cars knows that a car will keep running after the battery cable is disconnected if the alternator is good. Further, the paramedic who arrived at the scene saw that the lights on the Sentra were on. If a battery on a car that is not running is disconnected, the lights will not function. The fact that an investigator for the GBI did not know that meant one of two things: he was totally unqualified for his position, or he was trying to make a case where there was no case.

          I remembered what my friend had said: a grand jury would never indict on this case. This was all show to appease the race hustlers and Black voters. But in the meantime a fine young man had lost his job and was being thrown to the wolves.

           Between the death threats received by Haley Hutcheson’s family and the persecution of Jacob Thompson, I was livid. I started making more and more posts on Facebook.

           “This cannot stand,” I told anyone who would listen. “We need to set things right.”

           I became even more incensed when Francys Johnson and Mawuli Davis, now law partners, announced plans for a big demonstration in both Statesboro and Sylvania. The plan was for a “justice caravan” of six hundred people to travel from Atlanta and other Georgia cities to Sylvania, stage a protest demanding justice for Julian Lewis, and then continue to Statesboro and protest in support of Marc Wilson. Johnson and Davis seemed to be going to pains to emphasize that this was going to be a peaceful protest, and people started to wonder why they felt the need to make such reassurances. The answer came when someone infiltrated the local Black Lives Matter website, and discovered that not only was BLM going to be involved, they were hinting at mayhem. In previous posts, some of their members had outright threatened Statesboro with violence in the event Marc Wilson were convicted.

           The demonstration was scheduled for Saturday, September 19. At the next Minuteman meeting, we decided that we would strap on our AR-15’s and take to the streets to make sure that things remained peaceful. Further, we were informed that we would have some help from other patriot groups, including the III Percenters, which was totally composed of military veterans. We informed local law enforcement of our decision, and made it very clear on social media that we would tolerate no rioting or looting in our community.

           Francys Johnson got word of our decision, and started making posts about “lies” told about the proposed demonstration. In response, I made some posts reminding everyone that Johnson had tried to incite a crowd of 400 people to tear down the Confederate monument in Statesboro. I did some research into Davis, and found out that he had strong ties to Black Lives Matter, identified himself as an “Africa-centered” attorney, advocated for “Black liberation,” and “redistribution of wealth,” and denigrated assimilated middle-class and wealthy Blacks as the “Negro bourgeoisie.” As a lawyer, his signature case and claim to fame had been his pro bono representation of a crackhead arsonist who did millions of dollars in of damages to public property by starting a fire under an interstate overpass. He kept the arsonist out of prison by pleading him out into a drug rehab program. Not exactly Johnnie Cochran-level lawyering.

           In preparation for the demonstration, some of us in the Minutemen spoke to business owners in downtown Statesboro. We advised them to be aware of possible violence. We also tried to find  property owners who would allow us to use their roofs to deploy personnel as lookouts, but no one got back to us in Statesboro. However, a few property owners in downtown Sylvania made arrangements for another militia group to use their rooftops. A business owner in Statesboro, however, called me, and asked for more details on the situation. He decided that he would come to work well armed on the 19th.

           As we had hoped, Chief Broadhead of the Statesboro PD reached out to Johnson and the rest to ask them what their intentions were. They informed him that the groups involved in organizing the protest were the Georgia Coalition, Statesboro’s Beloved Community, and Black Lives Matter, and that they had every intention of conducting a peaceful protest. They denied that Antifa would have any involvement. Chief Broadhead also reminded them that there would be armed citizens on the streets of Statesboro and Sylvania exercising their Second Amendment rights to keep their communities safe.

           On Friday, the day before the protest, Chief Broadhead issued this statement on the Statesboro PD website: “For those of you stressing out and dealing with anxiety over a scheduled assembly tomorrow,  please go about your day normally. Let me stress out about keeping the community safe in all regards . . . that’s what you pay me to do!”

           One thing that puzzled me was that the schedule of the protest events posted on the Statesboro PD website emphasized that the protesters had no intention of coming to Statesboro after protesting in Sylvania. But this directly contradicted everything that the organizers of the protest had been posting on social media. The plan all along, it was clear, had been for six hundred people to caravan to Sylvania, protest, come to Statesboro, and protest here. We all sensed that they were trying to head-fake us, and we would be ready.

           On the morning of the protest, I parked half a block down from Francys Johnson’s law office on East Main Street. About seven people joined him outside the building, and they had an impromptu meeting across the street in front of Statesboro City Hall. I recognized Greg Brock and Jane Page, and, from newspaper photos, the parents of Marc Wilson. Johnson, dressed in a suit and tie in spite of the muggy heat, was accompanied by two armed young men, one of whom had both a pistol and a semi-automatic rifle. When the group set off for Sylvania, the guards rode with Johnson in a white limousine.

           In Sylvania, about a dozen militiamen were deployed on the street and on a few downtown rooftops. The group I was with stayed in reserve in the large yard of a member a few blocks from downtown.  The different groups, including the smaller group that had stayed behind in Statesboro, communicated over smartphones with a Zello app. Not long after the protesters started marching down the street in downtown Sylvania, we were informed that, far from the 600 protesters planned for, there were only about a hundred. Seeing the armed patriots, Johnson remarked, “If there is going to be violence, it’ll be them that starts it. We are a forgiving people.”

           The loud-mouth leftist community organizer could play humble Christian when he wanted. Mawuli Davis tweeted: “Report from the Deep South. We were met with armed white militia on rooftops. In 2020 blatant attempts to intimidate #Blkppl from organizing. We are told to be “nonviolent” by ppl who threaten and use violence against us every day.”

           After their march, the protesters drove to the spot on Stony Brook Road where Julian Lewis had died for more speeches. While they were doing that, the militia groups headed to Statesboro. The Minutemen gathered in the large back parking lot of the Statesboro Library near a pedestrian trail that led to downtown. While we were there, a Black man pulled into the parking lot and took a picture of us with his phone camera that later ended up on the BLM website.  About sunset, a Statesboro police cruiser pulled in, and the officer explained that other than his original retinue of seven people, no one had accompanied Johnson back to Statesboro. They had gathered for a small mini-rally at the courthouse, and in the shadow of the granite

Confederate soldier, the wannabe Black messiah whined  “after all I’ve done for the movement, no one will help me when I need it.” Needless to say, we all got a big laugh out of that.

           The events of that day taught me a lot. Not only had we been ready for violence, we let our adversaries know that we were ready. Further, we had received help from like-minded groups from other areas – we had stuck together, we had stood united. We had reached out to law enforcement, and they had backed us – as we had been ready to back them. Later, in a podcast interview on Black Power Network, Mawuli Davis candidly admitted that it was much easier to stage a protest in a big city than it was a small Southern town. He described what had happened in Sylvania, and another man on the podcast referred to the people in small Southern towns as “dusty crackers.”

           Francys Johnson whined on social media that he had been threatened on social media prior to the event, and that lies on social media about the protest had prompted the armed White men to come to Sylvania and Statesboro. In his overdramatic fashion, he posted on his Facebook page: “I know that someday I may die on my feet, but I will never live on my knees.” To which I replied: “No one is going to kill you. You’re not important enough.”

           The more I pondered Johnson and men like him, the more I understood that they were little, insignificant men with dreams of grandeur – and riches. They had no true interest in helping their people. If they did, they would be encouraging Black women to stop having babies out of wedlock and young Black men to stay in school and stop committing crimes. Instead, they promised Black people an easy road to riches through reparations and wrongful death suits. They portrayed White people as the devilish oppressor and the source of their woes.

           I resolved that I was going to do everything I could to expose these charlatans for what

they were. At first, I had just thought that Johnson and Davis were a couple of laughable clowns. But, even though their planned invasion of my town had fizzled, they were still working to ruin the life of Jacob Thompson, and to get the murderer of a seventeen-year-old girl not only acquitted, but to make a hero out of him as well.

           Someone once said that sunshine is the best disinfectant. I resolved to be a veritable supernova.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 7 –SEE BELOW FOR PAST INSTALLMENTS

REVERNCE FOR PAST GENERATIONS, CONCERN FOR FUTURE ONES

            In the proposal submitted to the Bulloch County Commission to allow a “contextual marker” to be placed next to the Confederate monument on the courthouse grounds, Willow Hill Heritage and Renaissance Center cited as one of their reasons for submitting the proposal “the extraordinary recent events in our nation regarding race relations.”

            Several things bothered me about that clause. First, the monument had nothing to do with race. It had been erected for the sole purpose of honoring the Confederate soldiers who fought to repel an invasion of their country. Secondly, the phrase “recent events” indicated that monuments long ago erected could and should be taken down for transient and fleeting passions and political fads. After the Confederate monument had been restored in Sylvania, the Savannah Morning News printed a letter of mine regarding statues:

            The recent storm of emotions unleashed by the mere proposal to move a statue in Savannah is cause for reflection on the curious power of statuary in general. Statues, like poetry, are a means of crystallizing a fleeting moment – or an era – deemed worthy of perusal by future generations. Humans are transient creatures who dream of permanence. Statues are a way of indulging this dream.

            On October 26, 2019, the statue of the Confederate soldier replacing the one destroyed by vandalism in 2018 in Sylvania was dedicated by the Sons of Confederate Veterans. One of the charter goals of the organization is to ensure that the true history of the South is taught to future generations. As Edmund Wilson reminded us, “history is more selection than recording.”

            Too often, the victorious side in a war is not only overzealously selective in its choice of what facts it chooses to record, but downright mendacious in its historicism. A beautiful statue depicting a proud Confederate soldier will, hopefully, make a young Southerner pause and reflect on the true history that guided the sculptor’s chisel, a history that, sadly, is not taught in public schools.

            But what are we to make of those who tear down statues? Are they merely miseducated youths, or dupes manipulated by forces who fear the inconvenient truths embodied in the bronze or stone permanence of a skillfully wrought statue? Whatever their motivations, they spurred the Sons of Confederate Veterans to propose the Monument Protection Act, signed into law by Gov. Brian Kemp of Georgia in the spring of 2019. This law protects all historical monuments and statues, not just ones with Confederate themes.

            Statues are powerful things. By definition solid, still, and durable, they yet embody a dynamism that stirs deep passions. They deserve our protection and reverence.

            The hearing of the Bulloch County Commission to consider the marker proposal was held on the morning of July 21, 2020. I put on a collared shirt and joined four other Sons at the Commission chambers. Mike Mull was there, of course, along with Max Scott, Dennis Wiggins, and Jimmy Hayes. Max, our camp chaplain, was a long-time camp member and very active in its activities. A former Army infantry officer, he had not only served in Vietnam, but had been an early member of the CIA-backed Phoenix Program over there. He had an incredible collection of military artifacts, and a deep knowledge of military history.

            The Commission clerk informed us that all who wanted to speak needed to sign in and would be called in order. She also emphasized that there would be a four-minute limit on each speaker. All five of us signed up, but, I noticed, the only person to sign up to speak for the other side was Dr. Alvin Jackson. I looked around the room and out in the hall, both of which were filling up with spectators. I saw Jane Page and her husband Greg Brock, but did not see Francys Johnson or any of the BLM characters who had been at the courthouse demonstration. Oddly, this irritated me a bit. It was as though they had used Dr. Jackson, a soft-spoken old gentleman when it suited their purposes, but had now left him to fend for himself. And this may have been by design. Now the media would twist it to make it look like five good ol’ boys had ganged up on an old Black gentleman.

            The meeting came to order, and I was the first speaker called. I went to the podium before the Council dais and gave my position:

            “Commission members, friends and neighbors: As a proud member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans I am, of course, opposed to the placement of the so-called ‘contextual marker’ on the courthouse grounds. According to the text of the proposed marker it is being offered to correct ‘faulty history.’ Therefore, a little history lesson is in order.

            “Abraham Lincoln made it clear in his first inaugural address that he had no intention of interfering with slavery wherever it existed. He stated explicitly that he had no legal authority to do so. However, he also made it abundantly clear that he would use force to secure the tariff revenue collected at Southern ports. It was only after his call for 75,000 volunteers to invade the cotton states that the states of the middle and upper South joined them in secession. Ladies and gentlemen, nine out of ten men who fought under the Confederate flag did not own slaves. The reason they fought is simple: their homeland was being invaded and raped by blue-clad hordes. Our forefathers fought with exceptional bravery and ferocity against the tyrannical forces of an overbearing federal government. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why the radical left hates Confederate monuments with such intensity. They wish there to be no reminder that there is a breed of men who will stand up against a federal government that has overstepped its Constitutional bounds.

            “Further, I ask you to consider the precedent you would be setting by allowing this marker. For example, should we place a contextual marker alongside the Martin Luther King monument in Atlanta explaining how he allowed the civil rights movement to be co-opted by members of the Communist party, or how, had he lived, he would have been stripped of the title ‘doctor’ when it came to light that he had plagiarized his doctoral thesis. Personally, I would be opposed to such contextualization, but once you have set the precedent – beware.

            “Finally, according to the proposed resolution, the marker is being offered in response to ‘extraordinary recent events in our country regarding race relations.’ In other words, you would be giving in to rioters and looters, and in so doing would invite them to come to our fair city. At the Black Lives Matter/Antifa rally held at the county courthouse on June 6^th,  the vulgarity and calls for violence that we heard are just a presentiment of what will come to Bulloch County if you give in now.

            “Council members, I ask you to reject this proposal. It can lead to nothing good, and may lead to bad, possibly violent, consequences.”

            Next to speak was Mike Mull. His years in radio and newspaper editing showed in his clear, concise remarks resonating throughout the chamber and the hall:

            “I rise in opposition to the adoption of his resolution. My reason is simple. The proposed wording for the marker is conjecture and opinion, and not proven or established facts.

            “The inscription on the monument reads: COMRADES: IN MEMORY OF THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER. That’s the context of the monument, and it needs no further definition. I’ve read the text of a speech given on the April day back in 1909 when the monument was unveiled and dedicated. Nowhere, I repeat, nowhere in their remarks were the words ‘slave’ or ‘slavery’ or anything referring to that institution mentioned.”

            Mike really nailed it when he reminded the Commission members that, in 2018, the SCV had asked permission to add a plaque to the monument, but the Commission had denied the request based on the 2017 ordinance that forbade any additional monuments, signs, or markers on the limited space of the courthouse grounds. Mike argued that if the Commission approved the Willow Hill marker, it would constitute discrimination against the SCV, and we would insist on equal treatment and placement of our own marker.

            After Mike, Max Scott, dapper in a suit and tie, got up to speak. He mentioned that he was our camp chaplain. He spoke about some historical pictures that hung just inside the main entrance to the county annex, and spoke about the importance of preserving history. After Max, Dennis Wiggins and Jimmy Hayes each gave their remarks emphasizing the fact that there was much more involved in the War Between the States than slavery.

            After them, Dr. Jackson, like Max also dapper in a suit and tie, went to the podium. Although she had not signed up to speak, Jane Page stood beside him as he spoke:

            “We all recognize that America is one of the greatest countries in the world, but we must also agree that the basis of the country was founded on White supremacy and White superiority. So we must at some point  have the conversation, though painful it may be, to deal with issues of our past as it relates to our future.”

            He rambled a bit, relating how the Willow Hill school had been started by former slaves whose last names were the same as their former masters. He spoke of going to medical school in Ohio, and seemed startled when the buzzer rang and the Commission chairman told him his four minutes were up. He explained that he had not heard anyone say there was a four minute time limit. I felt like standing up and asking the Commission to let him talk, given the fact that none of the windbags from the courthouse rally had seen fit to come and show him support, but the next thing I knew the Commission chairman announced that the other Commission members could now make their comments pro or con on the resolution.

            Commission member Timmy Rushing spoke, explaining that, over the years, many groups, including the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, had petitioned to have markers set up on the courthouse grounds. The reason for the 2017 ordinance forbidding any additional signs, markers, or monuments had been the simple fact of the limited space on the grounds. He made a motion for a vote, and the vote was seconded.

            There are seven members on the Bulloch County Commission, including the chairman, who votes only to break a tie. On this day, one member was absent. The vote went 3 to 2 against

the proposal. The two Blacks on the Commission made the votes in favor of the resolution. Dr. Jackson shrugged and said, “Back to the drawing board.”

            Out in the corridor, a county sheriff’s deputy working in the annex that day asked to speak with me. Having heard my remarks, he asked me to explain in greater detail why the South had seceded. I spoke of tariffs and states’ rights and other things not taught in public schools. What alarmed me was that the deputy looked to be in his forties. That a man his age who worked in law enforcement had not been taught the true history of the South at school or at home was a bad, bad sign.

            After talking to the deputy, I noticed that Mike and Max were deep in conversation with Dr. Jackson. They were explaining that the camp had been contacted by someone who had discovered that an old burial plot on their farm contained the grave of an ex-slave who had fought for the Union. Mike had suggested that this individual contact the Sons of Union Veterans, and that they could perhaps furnish a marker. Mike asked Dr. Jackson if he would be interested in being involved in obtaining the marker or perhaps having some sort of ceremony to honor the departed soldier. Dr. Jackson nodded, but quickly drifted off subject, saying, “But you know, don’t you have to admit that this country is founded on White supremacy?”

            Mike tried to get him back on topic, but Dr. Jackson repeated the same question: “But don’t you admit that America is based on White supremacy?”

            Miffed, I said, “These men are trying to help you do honor to a Black man who fought for something he believed in. Aren’t you interested in that?”

            He said something non-committal, and took his leave. Seeing the Herald reporter Al Hackle, I smiled and said jokingly, “If you don’t get our names right we’ll be coming to see you.” He laughed and assured us he would get our names right.

            In the next edition of the Herald, the story of the hearing and vote was the lead story. The photograph below the headline showed Mike and Max talking to Dr. Jackson. I thought that was fair and appropriate “contextualizing”. Hackle made mention of the fact that I had worn a gun at the courthouse rally, and editorialized a bit on my remarks to the County Commission. He denied that there had been any sign of Antifa at the rally, and stated that I had denied, “or at least minimalized” slavery as a cause of the war. But overall, I thought he was fair. Less benign was the letter from Greg Brock, Jane Page’s husband, that appeared on the op-ed page of the Herald in the paper’s next edition:

            It was sad to watch several Bulloch County Commissioners inebriated with “Lost Cause” moonshine vote earlier this week against a marker contextualizing Civil war history after Sons of Confederate Veterans (SCV) members’ phone-a-thon pressure last Saturday.

            GOP founder Abraham Lincoln’s changing views on slavery are part of his greatness, but not to the SCV who denounce him as weak with out-of-context quotes. Tariff’s on cotton, which was available only because slaves picked it, is a favorite SCV distractor to avoid discussing slavery.

            Mike Mull “mulled” everyone to sleep again with Lost Cause mythology, knowing he would not be challenged.

            SCV members even had the gall to bring up long debunked conspiracy theories about MLK and the civil rights movement, while we are mourning John Lewis. It appeared there was even a “SCV camp chaplain,” which points to the need to further explore the longstanding

support of SCV by some area churches.

            Down in Appling County, the “Appling Grays” use the local Boy Scouts chapter to infuse Lost Cause myths since the school system has frustrated their assault on secondary school U.S. history classes by basing content on “The Civil War” by Shelby Foote. Unlike SCV members, Foote is actually a historian.

            I did not know what he meant by the “phone-a-thon” reference, unless he was referring to Bulloch County residents who called their representatives on the Commission and made their wishes on the proposal known. Further, the tariffs were not on cotton, but on European imports. As an economics professor, Brock would, hopefully, have known that. Further, Mike did not mull anyone to sleep. He gave a rousing presentation of our position. I also did not understand Brock’s assertion that Mike knew he would not be challenged. Brock, his wife, Francys Johnson, or anyone could have signed up to speak in opposition to us. My assertions about “MLK” have never been debunked, and the support of “some area churches” for the SCV is news to me. Finally, the remarks about Appling County were not only obscure, but irrelevant. To me, this was a typical liberal reaction to an issue that could not be argued against rationally: sarcasm, lies, misrepresentations, irrelevancies, and emotionalism. And this man was a college professor!

            There were also the usual grumblings on social media about the “good ol’ boy network” and stale conflations of the SCV with the Klan. I laughed these off. The SCV had helped win a victory for the people of Bulloch County. I was happy and proud. However, I had a feeling that the race hustlers were not yet done trying to stir things up in the ‘Boro. Little did I know at the time just how right I was.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 6 — SEE BELOWW FOR EARLLIER INSTALLMENTS

BLACK LIVES MATTER COMES TO TOWN

            One day around the first of June, 2020 Mike Mull mentioned something about a local Black historical society wanting to put a “contextual marker” on the courthouse grounds next to the Confederate monument.

            “What’s a contextual marker?” I asked.

            “Basically a sign that puts the monument in historical context. In their case, a sign that puts it in the context of White supremacy.”

            “Don’t they need permission from the county to do that?”

            “They sure do, especially since there’s an ordinance on the books prohibiting any more signs, markers, or monuments on the courthouse grounds. The County Commission could override that, but I don’t think they will. This isn’t Atlanta.”

            “Thank God for that.”

            I did a little research and found the text of the proposed marker:

In 1909, this monument was erected at the Bulloch County Courthouse to glorify and honor the

“lost cause” of the Confederacy and the Confederate soldiers who fought for it. It was privately funded by the Statesboro Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy. Located in a prominent public space, its presence bolstered white supremacy and faulty history, suggesting that the cause of the Civil War rested on southern honor, inequitable taxation, and states’ rights rhetoric – instead of its real catalyst – African-American slavery. This monument and similar ones were created to intimidate African-Americans and limit their full participation in the social and political life of their communities. It fostered a culture of segregation by implying that public spaces and public memory belonged to Whites. Since state law prohibited local governments from removing Confederate statues and monuments, Bulloch County contextualized this monument in 2020. Bulloch County officials and citizens believe that public history can be of service when it challenges us to broaden our sense of boundaries and includes community decisions of the victories and shortcomings of our shared histories.

            Reading this, I detected something false, something ulterior. Ostensibly, this marker was being proposed by the Willow Hill Heritage and Renaissance Center, a local Black group named after a school for Blacks that had been started after emancipation. Somehow, I just did not think that the idea had originated with them. First of all, the timing seemed awfully convenient. The George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery killings were still all over the news. Further, the wording of the proposed text seemed eerily familiar. And then I remembered: five years earlier that local attorney and state director of the NAACP had pushed to have the monument removed. I had forgotten his name, but someone refreshed my memory: Francys Johnson. Somehow I suspected that he was involved in all this. A few days later I found out just how right I was.

            That following Saturday morning I was at  McDonald’s eating breakfast and taking advantage of their free wifi when I got a Facebook message from Mike Mull: There’s a rally at the courthouse at one o’clock and they’re threatening to tear the monument down. I packed up my computer, drove home, strapped on my .357 magnum, and went to Mike’s house. He said he had messaged some of the others, and would meet me at the courthouse. When I arrived, there was a crowd of at least a few hundred and growing. Loud rap music was playing over loud speakers on the courthouse steps. It was that hardcore rap that made liberal use of the f-word, the kind that made my skin crawl. There were several large placards with a clenched black fist logo emblazoned with the legend BLACK LIVES MATTER. In addition, I saw a few people with black face scarves like the Antifa rioters wore. Off toward a corner of the courthouse grounds I saw a few Statesboro police.

            Mike arrived a few minutes later, and another SCV member named Mike Sorrell and his wife a few minutes after that. Sorrell is a big, strapping man with long white hair and a beard who looks like a biker. In actuality, he is former law enforcement, a survivalist, and a cattle farmer. He also believes firmly in the Second Amendment, and ALWAYS carries. Mike Mull explained that someone had messaged him and said that the local BLM chapter had threatened to tear down the monument during the rally which had been organized to promote the Willow Hill proposal for the contextual marker. He also explained that Mayor McCollar had instructed Chief Broadhead of the Statesboro police not to interfere if they did. Pointing at the placards, I said, “BLM is very much here, it seems. So is Antifa.”

            Mike Mull pointed out a chubby little Black man wearing a dashiki. “That’s Francys Johnson. I should have known he would have something to do with this.”

            Sorrell groaned. “That’s the sumbitch who called the battle flag the Confederate swastika.”

            I studied Johnson. Having lived in Atlanta for seventeen years, I had heard many stories about Martin Luther King. One of the recurring themes had been how surprised people had been at how short King was upon seeing him for the first time. In that respect, Johnson reminded me of King. Johnson was strutting about in a quick, cocky gait, obviously the promoter of the event. Mull pointed out a petite, older White woman and explained that she was Jane Page, the pastor of the local Unitarian church. He explained that her husband, Greg Brock, an economics professor at Georgia Southern, frequently wrote letters to the Herald calling for the removal of the Confederate monument and excoriating the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Mike pointed him out as well – a bespectacled, middle-aged academic who seemed a decade or two younger than his wife.

            We watched all this from the sidewalk across East Main Street from the courthouse. In addition to the large Black Lives Matter placards, I saw one that read “REVOLUTION IS NOT A ONE TIME EVENT.” Another read “SILENT NO MORE,” and several read “KNOW JUSTICE KNOW PEACE – NO JUSTICE NO PEACE.” The local television station news reporter was interviewing several Georgia Southern athletes who were in attendance, and there were a few coaches there as well. I recognized the director of the Willow Hill center from a news story. He was an older Black gentleman named Alvin Jackson, a local physician. I also knew that Jane Page was an assistant director at the center as well. I shook my head. There was no way those two elderly folks organized this rally. A female across the street, noticing that we were studying the crowd, nudged a companion and pointed us out. Both of them had on Antifa-style face scarves. I smiled at them and put my hand on the butt of my .357.

            I counted the people in the growing crowd. By one o’clock there were almost four hundred. Many of the people in the crowd were young mothers with small children in tow. I remarked to the others that, given the presence of women and children, I was stunned that the organizers of the rally were playing loud rap music spiced with the f-word. I remember a time when one could have been arrested for playing such obscenity in public. When the music stopped and the speakers started making their way to the courthouse steps, I walked across the street and stationed myself against the wrought iron fence that enclosed the monument. I said “cheese” when Greg Brock walked over, stood about twenty feet from me, and took my picture. Soon thereafter, Jane Page walked over to me accompanied by a strapping policeman who smiled, introduced himself, and shook my hand. He was Chief Broadhead of the Statesboro PD. I explained that I was with the Sons of Confederate Veterans, the monument was our property, and we had been advised of a threat to tear it down. Chief Broadhead shook his head and said, “There’s no way we are going to let that happen.”

            I said, “There’s also a rumor that Mayor McCollar told you that if anyone tries to tear it down that you were not to use force to stop them.”

            “That is not true. We are going to protect this monument. We just ask that, because you are armed, that you go back across the street. There are people here who feel intimidated by your firearm.”

            I smiled and said, “Okay, but you have noticed that we are outnumbered 400 to 4?”

            “Yes, I see.”

            “I just ask one favor. That you come across the street and talk to my camp commander

and tell him what you just told me.”

            “I’d be glad too.”

            As I walked back across the street, I reflected on how skillfully Chief Broadhead had handled that situation. I also reflected on how fortunate I was to be living in a place that allowed open carry of firearms and respected gun rights. Chief Broadhead talked with Mike Mull for a few minutes, and a short time later Mayor McCollar came over and spoke to us. Still wearing a COVID mask, he touched elbows with us. Later, when a picture of Statesboro’s Black mayor appeared on social media talking to three members of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, there were, predictably, many sarcastic comments. like: “The mayor talking to the local Ku Klux Kl – er, Sons of Confederate Veterans?” and “I wonder how that went, LOL.” As Mike Mull would later retort on social media, it went very well. The mayor was polite and friendly, and Mike Mull invited him to come to one of our meetings.

            The rally started off peacefully enough. Jane Page and Alvin Jackson spoke about the contextual marker, and how they would soon be submitting a proposal to the county commission to have the marker placed alongside the monument. Jane page then embarked on a very lengthy discussion of what life had been like in Statesboro during segregation. She offered examples: Black people had to sit in the balcony at the Statesboro Theatre and enter it by an outside iron staircase; Black people had to come around to the back door if they had business at a White person’s house; Black people had to go to separate schools from Whites that were substandard in many ways. After every example, Dr. Page would coo plaintively, “I am soooo sorry!”

            She went on to enumerate the ways in which, as a White person, she had enjoyed advantages and privileges that had been denied Blacks. I remarked to the others that her remarks

were straight out of the “White privilege” playbook. Her remarks were met by yells of assent from many of those present. After Page, Mayor McCollar made some polite remarks, and then Francys Johnson took to the rostrum.

            In a loud, slogan-laden rant, he spoke of George Floyd, Trayvon Martin, and Michael Brown. But as loud and impassioned as he was speaking of these martyrs, he really cut loose when speaking of Ahmaud Arbery. He spoke of how the smart-phone recording of the Arbery shooting had captured Travis McMichael emoting, “You f***ing nigger!” Screaming at the top of his lungs, he repeated that phrase over and over to a wildly emotional crowd: “YOU F***ING NIGGER!  YOU F***ING NIGGER!”

            I turned to Mike Mull and said, “This guy is a preacher and talks like that?”

            Mike smiled. “He’s not the kind of preacher you’re used to.”

            Johnson went on to lead chants of,  “Know justice, know peace/ no justice, no peace!” He spoke of “sharing power,” explaining that disadvantaged groups like Blacks and Hispanics needed to “share their power” with LBGTQ people and illegal immigrants. And then he began to speak about the monument, how it was a symbol of White supremacy, oppression, slavery, and the continued disproportionate targeting of Black people by police. Building up to a climax, he pointed to the monument and screamed over and over, “TEAR IT DOWN! TEAR IT DOWN!”

            The crowd cheered wildly, and I studied them for signs that they were going to take Johnson up on his exhortation. I also looked over at Chief Broadhead. Like me, he was studying the crowd. I next looked at Francys Johnson. He was studying the crowd as well, a look of disappointment on his face when they did not rush the monument and tear it down. I grinned broadly and said, “Nice try, loud mouth.”

            After Johnson’s rant, the rally-goers marched down Main Street to Grady Street and the Statesboro Police headquarters.  In front of the headquarters building, Johnson led chants of, “Black lives matter!” He then issued a list of demands for police reform related to use of force. One of the reforms he proposed was requiring police officers to issue a verbal warning before using deadly force. I laughed out loud when I heard that. Situations requiring use of deadly force, whether they involve police or private citizens, by their very nature unfold very quickly, often in a matter of a split second. He ended with the peroration: “We need to make sure that Chief Broadhead’s leadership permeates from the top to the bottom and serves the good old boys notice, this is not the softly Southern city anymore, this is a city that is determined to soar above its history, above its racist lynching – RACIST LYNCHIN! RACIST LYNCHING! – history – It will soar to a newer day!”

            The demonstration ended when the participants, Chief Broadhead and Mayor McCollar included, knelt with Johnson beside a huge wooden cross that had been festooned with slips of paper bearing the names of Black people killed by police. Later I remarked on social media that, when the time comes, I hope Chief Broadhead will be as quick to stand up to defend his town as he was in kneeling to appease race hustlers.

            Over the next few days, I spent many hours pondering what I had witnessed at the court house and the police station. The first thing that struck me was that a large portion of the protesters had been White college students. Further, I learned that many of the Black Lives Matter protesters had not been local blacks, but had come in to town on a bus. None of this really came as a surprise. What really irked me was the way Johnson, Black Lives Matter, and the

NAACP had co-opted the Willow Hill Heritage and Renaissance Center’s event and had used it for their own ends. There had been something false about the whole affair that I could not yet quite put my finger on.

            The following Friday, another racially charged incident happened in Atlanta that, I had no doubt, would be exploited by the race hustlers. Rayshard Brooks, a twenty-seven year old Black man, fell asleep in his car in the drive-in line of a Wendy’s hamburger restaurant in a Black neighborhood in south Atlanta. An employee of the restaurant called the Atlanta PD, and officer Devin Brosnan arrived shortly thereafter and, having difficulty waking Brooks up, called for backup. When Officer Garrett Rolfe arrived, the two policemen were able to wake him and give him a breathalyzer test which determined that he was legally intoxicated. When they attempted to handcuff Brooks, he grabbed Brosnan’s taser and ran. Rolfe pursued him, and Brooks turned and fired the taser at Rolfe’s head. Rolfe fired three shots at Brooks, two of which hit him. Brooks died later in surgery.

            Video of the incident from bystanders’ smart phones and the Wendy’s security cameras went viral. The Black female Atlanta chief of police, who had been a vocal supporter of the demonstrators in the wake of the George Floyd incident, resigned. Rolfe was arrested and charged with felony murder, and protesters occupied the Wendy’s lot, ultimately burning down the building. During the occupation of the Wendy’s lot, an eight-year-old Black girl named Secoreia Turner was killed when struck by a bullet fired by one of the protesters at her mother’s car. Immediately, a local attorney named Mawuli Davis approached the little girl’s parents, and he represented them in a multi-million dollar wrongful death suit not against the protesters, but against the City of Atlanta and Wendy’s! In the not too distant future, I would hear the name Mawuli Davis again. Officer Rolfe was released on bond and ultimately cleared of all charges. Crime skyrocketed in Atlanta, and stories of Black thugs targeting people, especially White women, at stoplights and Interstate off ramps became commonplace. The crime got so bad that the upscale Buckhead community in north Atlanta began an effort to secede from the city of Atlanta and incorporate as an independent city. Having spent a lot of time in Buckhead during my years in Atlanta, I thought this move was long overdue.

            Saturday, June 13, 2020, the day after Rayshard Brooks was killed, five teenagers – three boys and two girls — from Claxton, Georgia piled into a pickup truck and headed up to Statesboro for a day of revelry. On the way there, they stopped at a convenience store where one of the teenagers, Luke Conley, used a bogus ID to buy a twelve-pack of beer for the boys, and some wine coolers for the girls. Driving the black 2005 Chevy Siverado with the extended cab, lift kit, and big off-road tires was Mason Glisson. Seated next to him was his good friend Ashton Deloach. In the back seat behind Mason Glisson was fifteen-year old Laci Neagley, next to her, in the middle, was seventeen-year old Haley Hutcheson, and in the passenger-side window seat was Luke Conley. All three of the boys in the truck were eighteen years old.

            Their first stop was actually on the outskirts of Statesboro in the farming community of Hopeulikeit, which got its name from a long-vanished dance hall from the 1920’s and ‘30s. Ashton knew a girl who lived there, and they visited with her for several hours before visiting another friend in Statesboro. At one point in the evening they ended up at gas station/convenience store so the girls could use the restroom. While there, they saw three girls they recognized from their high school. One of them was a pretty, willowy girl with long blonde hair named Mary Jane Swanson. She was with a boy who looked either Black or of mixed race

with a bushy afro-style haircut. Ashton recognized another of the girls. Her name was Michaela McClain. He surreptitiously took a picture of her with his smart phone and texted it to her with the caption: I SEE YOU.

            While waiting for the girls, the three boys were approached by a middle-aged Black man who engaged them in conversation. Ashton offered the man a beer, which he accepted. When the girls reappeared and they were all getting ready to leave, Luke jokingly said to the Black man, “Black lives matter!” Ashton, knowing Luke’s kidding, sarcastic manner, but realizing such joking could be misunderstood, told him to shut up.

            Later, after midnight, the boys decided they were hungry and went to the McDonald’s on Northside Drive, which, inexplicably, had closed early for a Saturday night. They went next door to the Waffle House, where they were told that they could not dine in, but only get take-out. Miffed, they declined. Someone suggested they stop at Taco Bell, but they ultimately decided just to go back to Claxton. They headed east on Northside a few blocks and turned right on Veterans Memorial Bypass, the Statesboro Highway 301 bypass. At the next light, at the intersection of Brannen Street and the bypass, they passed a blue, compact car. The truck was in the left lane, the blue compact car in the right. At that point on the bypass, just south of Brannen, the highway runs atop an embankment, and the shopping center to the right on the southbound lane is on a level ten feet lower than the highway, and,  thus, there is a steep, grassy drop-off there. At some point, Ashton noticed the passenger in the blue compact car. She was a pretty, willowy girl with long blonde hair, and, as he was later to tell police, he was “a thousand percent sure it was Mary Jane Swanson.” The driver looked to be the same boy they had seen her with at the convenience store. Ashton smiled and waved at the girl. Luke did likewise, and Ashton would later say that it was possible that Luke “flipped them off,” but was not sure.

            As all this was going on, Mason was singing along with the radio, which was turned up very loudly. They passed the shopping center. Starting at this point, the bypass had a blacktopped shoulder, and, for a hundred yards, a guard rail beyond that. Even after the point where the guardrail ended, the blacktopped shoulder continued. At some point after passing the shopping center, Ashton heard what he thought were gunshots. He turned and looked out the open window, and saw the blue compact car behind and to the right of the truck. A few seconds went by, he heard another shot, and felt broken glass hitting the back of his head. He yelled, “Get down! We’re being shot at!”

            Shocked, Mason slowed down and pulled over to the median. Behind him, Haley Hutcheson had slumped over into Laci Neagley’s lap. She had been hit in the back of the head with a bullet that entered through the middle of the back glass. In the meantime, the blue car had sped away. Mason pulled back onto the highway, drove up to Fair Road, turned right, and drove to the emergency room of the East Georgia Regional Hospital just down from the bypass. Haley was rushed inside, where she was pronounced dead a short time later.

            The police quickly arrived at the hospital, and two detectives also arrived a short time later. They proceeded to question the teenagers at the hospital and at the Statesboro Police headquarters. When Luke Conley was inconsistent in his stories, Detective Travis Kruen placed him under arrest and charged him with obstruction of justice. It was later determined that he had assault and trespassing charges pending against him in Evans County, of which Claxton is the county seat.

            Forensics investigators found several 9mm shell casings on the bypass where the incident

occurred, and also a beer can that matched the brand of beer – Michelob Ultra Infusion – that the boys had been drinking. The Statesboro police issued a media plea for any information regarding the incident.

            On Tuesday, June 16, the family of Haley Hutcheson gave a televised press conference at the SPD headquarters pleading for anyone with information about the shooting to come forward. Her grandfather, uncle, sister, and aunt spoke tearfully about Haley, how she had been a  “scrunchy wearing teenager with a mind of her own.”  Her uncle, echoing Christian themes, said, “There can be mercy, there can be forgiveness, but justice has to be served. . . . If Haley were here, she’d say, ‘Paps, I forgive them.”

            At the time of the news conference, Haley’s family members did not know that SPD detectives had already identified a suspect, and had spoken with him.

            That same day investigators had received a call from a young lady named Mallory who informed them that her friend Emma Rigdon, a Statesboro resident and college student, had confided in her that her boyfriend, William Marcus “Marc” Wilson, had fired the shots from his Ford Fusion after being angered by something the boys in the  truck had said. Mallory had counseled Rigdon to call police, but she had declined, saying, “No, we’re good.” Detective Travis Kruen called Rigdon, who consented to a phone interview. She informed him that they had first spotted the Chevy Silverado when it sped past Taco Bell on Northside Drive, and she had remarked that the teenagers in the car looked drunk, whereupon Wilson had asked her if her ex-boyfriend was in the car.

            During the course of the interview, Wilson called Rigdon multiple times, and finally

agreed to join the conversation on a conference call. When Detective Kruen asked Wilson to describe the events of the night of the shooting, Wilson was evasive, repeatedly asking Kruen to tell him what others had already told him. The version of events he ultimately gave was: the boys in the truck yelled racial slurs at him, a Black man, and the truck swerved toward him, as if trying to run him off the road. Feeling in fear for his life and the life of his girlfriend, he had “stood his ground” and fired warning shots under the truck. He made no mention of shooting at the back glass of the truck.

            Further investigation revealed that, after the shooting, Wilson, a twenty-one year old resident of Coweta County who had been visiting Statesboro on the night of the incident, went to a friend’s home in Statesboro and asked to use his vehicle. He said that “some people were after him”, and he did not feel safe driving his own car. He said nothing about the incident. The friend, explaining that he had to be at work in the morning, told Wilson he could not grant his request. Wilson returned to Coweta County where he lived with his parents.

            Wilson, the son of a Black father and White mother, at the time had a bushy afro style hairdo somewhat similar to the one worn by Mary Jane Swanson’s boyfriend. A tall, strapping former high school football player, he was similar in build to him as well. Wilson’s father, a fire chief in a north-Georgia town, had once been a firefighter in Statesboro, and the Wilsons had some family members living there as well.

            Wilson did not, at first, say anything to his parents about what had happened. But after the telephone interview with Detective Kruen, he broke down crying, collapsed on the kitchen floor, and told his mother, “I’m in trouble.” His father, Deron “Pat” Wilson, after hearing what had happened, reached out to some contacts on the Statesboro Police Department. On

Wednesday, June 17, Pat Wilson brought his son to the SPD headquarters where he surrendered his .9mm pistol and was arrested on charges of felony murder, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon (five counts), and possession of a firearm while committing a felony. A preliminary hearing was set for early July.

            A few days before the preliminary hearing, Francys Johnson announced in a Zoom press conference that he, Mawuli Davis of Atlanta, and others had been retained to defend Wilson. They claimed that Wilson had exercised his right to self-defense under Georgia law to “stand his ground” against an attack, and had justifiably used deadly force when the driver of the Silverado, much bigger than his Ford Fusion, had attempted to run him and his girlfriend off the road. Johnson asserted that the motive had been racism, He claimed that the males in the truck had  yelled racial slurs at him and his girlfriend, at one point yelling, “Your lives don’t matter!”

            “Make no mistake,” Johnson said. “We believe that if Marc Wilson was a White gentleman that night, accosted by a truckload of angry, belligerent, possibly drunk Black men, and he used a legally possessed firearm to defend himself and his passenger, that he would have been given a medal and not given a prosecution.”

            Georgia NAACP state president James Woodall said in the same news conference that the Wilson case was “shaping up to be a public lynching.”

            When asked to respond to Johnson’s remarks, the lead investigator on the case, Captain Jared Akins, said, “At this point in time, what the evidence points us toward is that there was an altercation that led to a shooting, and that shooting led to her death. And the shooting is an aggravated assault.”

            The day after Johnson’s press conference, the Bulloch County Superior Court judge

assigned to the case, Michael Muldrew, concerned about tainting the prospective jury pool, issued a gag order on the case:

            The Court has considered the necessity of an order considering issues of prejudicial trial publicity, the trial judge’s responsibility to control court proceedings, and the trial court’s duty to protect the Defendant’s rights to a fair trial. This case has garnered significant attention since its inception. There has been media coverage surrounding the alleged crime, the investigation, and the parties involved. The media and public interest in this case has been substantial, and remains ongoing.

            For a trial judge to predict what information may undermine the impartiality of jurors is difficult if not impossible. The difficulty of drafting an order that will effectively keep prejudicial information from prospective jurors is similarly difficult but it is within the responsibility of a trial judge.

            The Court does not take any steps which proscribe the press or media from reporting events that transpire in the Courtroom.

            The order went on to enumerate a long list of specific groups, members of which were prohibited from releasing any information about the case by “any means of public communication and news media.”

            When the day of the actual preliminary hearing arrived, Johnson asked for a continuance, explaining that one of his key witnesses had tested positive for COVID. Judge Muldrew continued the hearing until August 14.

*

            Many people I knew were downright mad about this case. How can shooting a teenaged girl in the back of the head be construed as “standing your ground?” The legal principle of standing your ground simply means that you do not have the legal obligation to retreat if attacked. One may use whatever force is appropriate to defend himself or herself under law. However, lethal force is only appropriate if used to defend against imminent danger of death or serious bodily harm to oneself or others. Shooting through the back glass of a truck moving away from a person is clearly not a stand your ground situation. In the Ahmaud Arbery case, Travis McMichael had shot Arbery when Arbery had rushed him and tried to wrest his shotgun away. However, he was still sitting in jail charged with felony murder and awaiting trial.

            Further, according to news accounts prior to the imposition of the gag order, Emma Rigdon had told investigators that she had heard no racial slurs. She described the two males on the passenger side of the truck as “hanging out the windows and waving.” There was also a rumor that security camera video from a business somewhere on the bypass showed Wilson’s vehicle speeding to catch up with the Silverado, and that a witness had heard Wilson angrily yelling, “What did you say!”

            But the thing that angered me the most was when someone who knew Haley Hutcheson’s family told me that they had been getting harassing messages on social media, including a threat to desecrate her grave. I pulled up the condolences page from the website of the funeral home that had handled her services, and saw that someone had typed “BLACK LIVES MATTER” in one of the posts. Further, someone told me that there were threats on social media to burn Statesboro to the ground if Marc Wilson was found guilty. It was clear to me that we were

dealing with some very sick people. It was also clear to me that Francys Johnson was playing the race card, and, in so doing, was inviting the racial violence plaguing other cities to come to Statesboro.

            A friend of mine told me about a group of concerned citizens who were getting together to discuss ways to defend our fair city should the need arise. I told him, by all means, to keep me posted.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 5 — SEE BELOW FOR PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS

RACE IN THE TIME OF THE COVID

            To use a well-worn but very apt cliché, the year 2020 was a perfect storm. The COVID outbreak and subsequent lockdowns, the anti-Trump madness heightened by anticipation of the coming election, the George Floyd and other racially-charged killings and the widespread violence they inspired came together like colliding atmospheric fronts at a time when conditions were just right for the social hurricane of the century.

            In April, 2020, partially as a result of the world-wide COVID outbreak, the company I worked for severely cut back production and I was laid off. This was fine with me. I was sixty-three years old, and I decided to start drawing my Social Security. By law, until I turned sixty-six and a half, I could only earn a limited amount of money a year and still draw Social Security, so I got a part-time job. I spent my new-found free time making more social media posts and following the social and political trends that, I was sure, would ultimately result in a clash between those who believed in old-fashioned Americanism and those who did not.

            The following month, on Memorial Day, George Floyd died while being restrained by police in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The video of his arrest and restraint which occurred prior to his death went viral, the officers involved were arrested, and rioting and looting broke out in Minneapolis and many other cities besides. Increasingly, two organizations were mentioned in connection to the violence: Black Lives Matter and Antifa. I had heard of them before, but now I did a little deeper research into them.

            Black Lives Matter was started in 2013 by three Marxist Black women in reaction to the not-guilty verdict of George Zimmerman, who had been tried for killing Trayvon Martin. It started with a post by one of them on Facebook accentuated with a hashtag — #BLACKLIVES MATTER. As it happens, one of the women had experience in nonprofit organizations and fund raising. The three women, who now branded themselves as an organization called Black Lives Matter, started showing up at grass roots demonstrations in various locales. One of these locales was Ferguson, Missouri, where, in 2014, a young black man named Michael Brown had been killed in an altercation with a policeman. The only problem was that the organizers of the Ferguson demonstration had no clue as to why the three women were even there. The people in Ferguson, like organizers of demonstrations in other cities, began to suspect that the Black Lives Matter organization business model was simply to take credit for other peoples’ work and exploit other people’s tragedies in order to attract donations.

            In 2020 alone, Black Lives Matter, now branded as the Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation, took in $90 million in tax free donations, incurred $8.4 million in operating expenses, distributed $21.7 million to thirty different organizations, and kept over $60 million for itself. At a Black Lives Matter rally in Los Angeles, the mother of a man killed in a police related shooting who had been promised money by BLM to bury her son but never received it, showed up to protest BLM, shouting, “Black Lives Matter is crooks!”

The most recent scandal involving the organization involved the three founders using BLM funds to buy $6 million worth of luxury homes . When BLM came under fire for corruption, a BLM operative in Los Angeles named Melina Abdullah, predictably, blamed the White man: “We are all part of a movement that is having an effect, that is toppling the evil that is white supremacy. And we are winning. And so when they come for us, when they try to criminalize us, when they try to threaten our safety, and when they try to discredit us, that’s because we’re winning.” This was her response to a Black woman who just wanted a decent burial for her son.

            One of the biggest donors to BLM is the Ford Foundation. The organization attracts funds from other large corporate donors as well. Less clear is where Antifa gets its funding from. Many people have suggested that George Soros is a big backer of that radical left, violence- prone organization, but this has never been proven and Soros denies it. Just the very mystery of Antifa’s funding is alarming.

            During the intense rioting in 2020, when many Antifa members were arrested and sentenced to long prison sentences, many of them whined that they had been promised that they would receive legal aid in the event they were arrested. Instead, most of them young White men, found out that life in predominantly Black prison is hell, and the fact that they had rioted in the name of a Black man killed by police meant nothing to these Black inmates salivating over the arrival of these young punks to their bailiwick.

            Further, BLM and Antifa rioters found out that their mischief did not play everywhere. In some towns, locals strapped on their AR-15s and took to the streets to make sure that things remained peaceful. In some instances the would-be rioters were run out of town as quickly as they had arrived.

            The more I pondered the demographic makeup of the rioters, the more disgusted I became. Many of them were college educated White men and women. None of them had probably ever known a hungry day in their lives, had never known deprivation of any kind. Yet here they were, advocating the destruction of the capitalist system and American Constitutional government. But I was not surprised, After all, this generation had been taught from first grade that America was evil, White people were oppressors, capitalists were greedy, and policemen were racists and sadists.  The infection festering for so long in our society was coming to a head.

            In May, hundreds of protesters in Atlanta marched to the CNN center and vandalized the building. Many of us could not help but laugh at the irony of left-wing protesters vandalizing what we called the Communist News Network. However, in Brunswick, just a little over a hundred miles from Statesboro, something was going on that threatened to bring the big city violence to south Georgia.

            In February, a young Black man named Ahmaud Arbery had been shot and killed by a White man named Travis McMichael while jogging through the upscale, predominantly White neighborhood of Saltilla Shores. McMichael, accompanied by his father Greg McMichael, believing Arbery to be the perpetrator of several recent thefts and break-ins in the neighborhood, pursued Arbery in his pickup truck with the intention of detaining him until the police got there to investigate. A neighbor, Roddy Bryan, seeing what was happening, got into his car and followed them, using his smart phone to make a video recording of the pursuit. At one point, he also used his car to help box Arbery in when he tried to flee. Travis McMichael, having confronted Arbery before and observed him reach into his shirt as if going for a gun, had brought along a shotgun.  Standing outside his truck, he ordered Arbery to halt. Arbery attacked him, tried to wrest his gun away, and hit McMichael in the face at least twice. McMichael then fired his shotgun, hitting Arbery in the abdomen. Arbery died at the scene.

            After an investigation, the Glynn County prosecutor declined to press charges, finding that McMichael had acted in self-defense. However, the video of the incident made by Roddy Bryan went viral, and national public pressure morphed into state and local political pressure for the county prosecutor to recuse herself and for a special prosecutor to take her place. The new prosecutor brought charges of felony murder not only against Travis Michael, but against Greg McMichael and Roddy Bryan as well.

            The rush to judgment was immediate. People White and Black condemned the three White men for the “vigilante” killing. I was not so sure. First of all, at the time of the incident, citizen’s arrests were legal in Georgia. Secondly, Arbery had tried to take Travis’s shotgun, a fact that would have induced anyone to defend himself. Third, I discovered that Arbery had a criminal record, and may very well have been up to no good in that neighborhood. A lady who owned a convenience store came forward to tell how Arbery, while jogging, would come into the store, grab items, and then run away before she could do anything. A man came forward who, after witnessing one of these thefts, had been assaulted by Arbery after trying to stop him. Further, a police bodycam video surfaced of Arbery, then twenty-one but with underage accomplices, trying to shoplift a big-screen television from a Walmart.

            I was gratified when a gun rights advocate on the Armed America Radio program opined, as I did, that the three White men in the Arbery case were being railroaded by a prosecutor

giving in to political pressure. Further, I had my doubts about the prosecution of the police officers involved in the George Floyd incident. I learned that Floyd had served five years in a Texas prison for robbing a pregnant woman – a Black woman – at gunpoint, holding a gun to her belly so he could get money to buy drugs.  Further, I learned that his autopsy had revealed that he had died from a lethal dose of Fentanyl, not from anything the police had done.

            It became obvious that racially charged incidents were being used by race hustlers and radical leftists to serve their own ends. In some cases, these ends were lucrative paydays. The family of George Floyd and the lawyers representing them received a huge windfall when the city of Minneapolis settled a wrongful death suit for a whopping $26 million.

            Our culture was sick. Generations of easy living had made too many people soft and complacent, forgetful of the great toil and sacrifices of their forebearers who had created this great nation and all the bounty thereof. In their softness and complacency, too many people had succumbed to false doctrines, and were thus being manipulated by charlatans.  

            On one of my Facebook posts, I discussed Black charlatans who had enriched themselves by manipulating their fellow Black people. Kwame Kirkpatrick of Detroit, Ray Nagin of New Orleans, Bill Campbell of Atlanta, and Catherin Pugh of Baltimore were all Black mayors who had landed in federal prison for corruption. Black Congressmen Jesse Jackson Jr. of Illinois and William Jefferson of Louisiana had suffered the same fate. Race hustler Al Sharpton still owed millions of dollars in back taxes, and Jesse Jackson Sr. was being sued for child support.. Why, I asked, did Black people continue to fall for con artists? One person responded to my post, “That’s a lot of words just to say that you hate Black people.”

            Consider that. I delineate people who betrayed not only the public trust in general, but

the faith and trust of their own people, thus bringing shame upon them, and that makes me a hater of Black people. Such is the confidence of some people in the power of White guilt that they believe that all they have to do is make the allegation of racism and their opponent will fold. But lost in these non sequitur responses was an answer to my question: why did Black people keep falling for political and racial con artists?

            I thought back on the O.J. Simpson trial. One of Simpson’s defense attorneys had been Johnnie Cochrane, a flamboyant, theatrical, glib Black attorney who, among other cases, had made a fortune representing Black people in wrongful death suits against the police. The second-chair prosecutor was another Black man named Chris Darden. Soft-spoken, meticulous, and highly principled, Darden took a lot of heat from other Black people for helping to prosecute Simpson, a high-profile Black sports hero. The jury was composed of nine Blacks, one Hispanic, and two White females. The evidence against Simpson was overwhelming, yet after a six-month long trial, the jury took less than four hours to find Simpson not guilty. On the way out of the courtroom after the reading of the verdict, a Black man on the jury gave Simpson the raised fist Black power salute.

            Too often, for reasons I could not fathom, Black people fell for the Johnnie Cochranes and rejected the Chris Dardens of the world. And then I delved deeper into perhaps the greatest racial con man in history: Barack Hussein Obama.

            Obama was born to radical left politics. His father was a Communist  student from Kenya who married Obama’s White radical-left mother, and later abandoned both of them, whereupon the mother remarried, this time to a Muslim Indonesian named Sotero. For most of his childhood and adolescence, Obama was known as Barry Sotero. Growing up in Hawaii, he was mentored by a Black communist poet named Frank Marshall Davis. When he got old enough to go to college, he got part-time work in an ice cream parlor and a souvenir shop in Hawaii, and later, after he moved to New York to attend Columbia, he worked for a time cleaning up on a construction site. Until he became an attorney, these are the only known instances of Obama working for a living.

            Obama’s presence at Columbia is puzzling. First of all, his academic record up to that time did not warrant his acceptance there. Further, no one, professors or students, remembers seeing him there. Obama has consistently refused to release his Columbia transcripts. There is evidence to suggest that he lied on his application, claiming to have been born in Kenya in order to get minority preference. However, this would not explain why no one remembers him being at that university.

            Part of the answer lies in Obama’s association with one Khalid Abdullah Tariq al-Mansour, a wealthy, influential Black nationalist and radical Islamist with strong Saudi connections. Khalid pulled some strings to get Obama into Harvard Law School, and there is evidence that he helped pay for his tuition there. There is also documentation from Obama’s time at Harvard that he was claiming to have been born in Kenya. Later in his career, while running for president, this false claim came back to haunt him when many people, including Donald Trump, demanded that Obama produce his birth certificate to prove whether or not he constitutionally qualified to be president. Trump and the others were derisively labeled “birthers” and branded racists for daring to question Obama’s American birth. Inexplicably, Obama stalled for a long time before producing his birth certificate.

            After graduating Harvard Law, Obama moved to Chicago, where he became a “community organizer” for a leftist organization called Association of Community Organizations for Reform Now – ACORN. He also became friends with former radical left terrorist Bill Ayers, who would later ghost write Obama’s autobiography. He forged another radical connection when he became a member of the church presided over by Rev. Jeremiah Wright, a proponent of  “liberation theology.”

            Obama developed a political world view that was a fusion of Black identity politics and Marxism. He did not believe that Blacks should assimilate into mainstream American society. For him, integration only favored upper-class Blacks who moved “up and out” of the Black community. He believed in a socialistic restructuring of society and a redistribution of wealth. As he advanced in the Chicago social activism community and got involved politically by getting elected to the state legislature, he caught the attention of the Democrat Party establishment, and perhaps more importantly, the attention of super-rich, super-influential patrons George Soros and David Geffen.  It did not matter that ACORN went bankrupt after being caught up in a voter-fraud scheme and the discovery that its founder’s brother had embezzled almost a million dollars from the organization’s coffers. It did not matter that, after 9/11, Jeremiah Wright came to national attention for screaming from the pulpit “Goddamn, America!” None of this seemed to rub off on Obama.

            In retrospect, the fusion of race with political ideology which led to the radical left takeover of the Democrat Party occurred with the advent of Barack Obama. It was just assumed by many that Hillary Clinton, Obama’s torchbearer, would be elected with a comfortable margin. But when Donald Trump beat her handily, it led to a psychological disconnect for committed Democrats. The result was the venomous, sometimes insane rantings of the Trump haters. The psychological disorder which animated – and still animates — the Trump haters is very similar to the one which induces an otherwise intelligent, educated young Muslim to fly a jet liner into a skyscraper. From his earliest formative years, the Muslim has been taught that Islam is the only true way, and that the West is corrupt, evil, and decadent. It does not matter that Westerners are happy, prosperous, creative, and tolerant. That does not jibe with what he has been brainwashed to believe. So it is with the so called “liberal progressive.” His ideology is emotion based, and deeply indoctrinated since childhood. Obama was seen as the harbinger of a new progressive order. When Trump came along and destroyed this delusion by getting elected president, hard-core liberals were at first in denial, and then in a sputtering rage.

            I sensed that America was in the opening stages of a cultural civil war that could possibly become a real war. The Confederate monument that had been desecrated in Sylvania had been re-erected, and that made me very proud. I lived in a region where we did not tolerate desecration of our heritage, and if a real civil war came, we would be ready.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 4 — SEE BELOW FOR PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS

THE SONS

            Years ago, a policeman friend of mine who also happened to be a distant cousin, investigated an incident where a White teenager who liked to play basketball had been stabbed on a public basketball court by a Black boy whom he had bested in some way during a game. The boy who was stabbed was the only White boy there. He went to that court often, and by all accounts, had always gotten along with the Blacks there. But on the day he was stabbed, not one of them stepped in to help him. When interviewed by my policeman friend, the dismayed victim, still in critical condition, said, “I don’t get it. I thought we were all friends.”

            My friend explained, “They hate you ‘cause they ain’t you.”

            “What does that mean?” the boy asked.

            “I’ll explain it when you’re feeling better.”

            My friend was an old-school Southern cop. From the victim’s description, he had a pretty good idea who the knife-wielder was, but was not a hundred percent sure. He found him walking in his neighborhood and told him he was taking him in for questioning. Only he did not take him to the police station. He took him behind an abandoned mill, opened the trunk of his cruiser, and showed the boy a scuba diver’s wet suit. When he told the boy to put on the suit, the boy, not appreciating the gravity of the situation, laughed and said, “What, am I going swimming?”

            My friend shook his head. “When you have this suit on, I can beat you to within an inch of your life and you won’t have a mark on you.”

            The boy literally, and very messily, soiled his pants. A bit later, after he had changed his underwear, he signed a confession, explaining that he had felt “disrespected” when the White teenager had laughed after putting a fancy move on him and scoring.

            My friend, who here will be known as Tommy, was liked and respected by solid, hardworking Black folks.  If they had a problem with young hoodlums, Tommy would solve that problem expeditiously. He was also sick of his job. “I feel like a baby-sitter for coloreds,” he explained. “Things don’t get better with them. If anything, they’re getting worse. Most of them are born out of wedlock to some welfare queen who lets them grow up like wild animals. They stay poor and ignorant, but people keep telling them it’s not their fault. It’s Whitey’s fault. They can’t wait for an excuse to take it out on somebody – like they did on that White boy over at the basketball court.” He shook his head. “I give up. We led the horse to water. He’s too dumb to know he’s thirsty.”

            Later, he explained to the victim what he had met when he had said, “they hate you ‘cause they ain’t you”: “Back in the day, when I was younger than you are now, when they passed the Civil Rights bill and such, a lot of coloreds thought, ‘Oh boy, now we’s going to have all that good stuff that the White folks is got, a nice house with a white picket fence and nice car.’ What some of them didn’t realize, and what Martin Luther King didn’t tell ‘em, is that you have to work for those things. It doesn’t happen overnight. The sensible ones, of course, put their nose to the grindstone and got that nice house and nice car, and saw to it that their kids stayed in school and acted right. But too many of them didn’t do that. And when the nice house and nice car didn’t drop down out of the sky, Martin Luther King and the rest of ‘em started talking about ‘redistribution of wealth’ and ‘a guaranteed national income, a guaranteed this, a guaranteed that.’ So, instead of getting off their asses and going to work, a lot of them started living off welfare, committing crimes, and waiting for the day that they would get a nice fat reparations check. And every time a good excuse came along, like some colored thug getting killed by a cop, the rioting and looting broke out, and they just went down to the local shopping center and got a new stereo, color TV, and a new set of threads.

            “So, when they look at you, they see that nice house, nice car, and nice job that’s waiting for you when you get out of college or the military. Then they look at themselves and their situation and know it is never going to change because they are too stupid and too lazy to make it change.”

            Years later, when Obama was elected president, some of the television news channels sent reporters out to get reactions from people on the street. I remember Black people saying things like: “Now I don’t have to worry about making my car payment or paying my rent.” Shocked, I thought, they actually believe that. But after eight years of sky-high gas prices and record unemployment, especially among Black people, I wondered if reality had set in for some people. Given the margin by which Trump beat Hillary Clinton, I assumed that it had. Alright, I thought, the insanity has passed. Even considering the anti-Trump hysteria, I thought we had turned the corner as a nation. Even a Democrat could understand a rip-roaring economy, I thought.

            However, the anti-Confederate monument hysteria hit close to home. In August, 2018, someone tore down the Confederate monument in an old cemetery on the outskirts of Sylvania, a town twenty miles north of Statesboro. Almost identical to the one in Statesboro, the Sylvania monument had stood over a section of the cemetery where many Confederate veterans were buried. A Confederate flag flew there as well. Judging from the tire tracks, someone had driven a truck into the cemetery late at night, tied a chain around the statue portion of the monument, and used the truck to topple it. Immediately thereafter, the Sylvania police began locking the gates to the cemetery every evening at sunset. There were no leads, and, to date, the perpetrator remains unknown.

            Enraged, I resolved to join the local Sons of Confederate Veterans. But as it turned out, that would have to wait. I fell at work while trying to adjust a machine, and severely fractured my left tibia. After surgery, I was in the hospital for a month, and it was another six weeks before the doctor cleared me to drive. Returning to work would still be several months away at best.

            One Saturday morning in November, after eating breakfast at the Waffle House, I lingered a while at the low counter, sipping iced tea and reading the Statesboro Herald. An older gentleman came in and sat at the corner seat of the low counter, and another man in work clothes sat next to him. They began talking politics, and the man in work clothes, who had a Northern accent, said something very inaccurate about Thomas Jefferson. I corrected the man, essentially giving him a precis of Jefferson’s political philosophy. Next to George Washington, Jefferson is my favorite Founding Father, and I probably came off as a little impassioned. I have a naturally loud voice, and when I get excited people complain that I am yelling at them. Further, I have trouble hearing over background noise, and this makes me talk all the louder.

            Somehow, the subject of the conversation turned to Lincoln, and I probably got even louder. I gave the Northerner the long version of my anti-Lincoln tirade. Smiling, the older gentleman looked at me and said, “I noticed you said ‘War Between the States’ instead of ‘Civil War.’”

            I shook my head. “There was nothing civil about that war. Lincoln needed our tariff revenue, and he was fool enough to think he could whip us with just 75,000 volunteers.”

            He pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “You should come join us.”

            I read the card, grinned with surprise at the coincidence, and said, “You’re Mike Mull from the Sons of Confederate Veterans.”

            “Yes. I’m the camp commander.”

            “I remember how you stood up to that NAACP lawyer.”

            “Francys Johnson. The statue is his latest cause.”

            “Probably now more so than ever. He lost his congressional race.”

            “That was all just a publicity stunt anyway. That man will do anything for a headline.”

            “I’ve been meaning to join up anyway. Tearing down that monument in Sylvania really bent me out of shape.”

            “The Sylvania camp is raising money to get a new monument. The camp commander up there is a guest speaker at our meetings sometimes. You’ll get to meet him.”

            “What do I need to join?”

            “Seventy-five dollars for your first year dues and proof of at least one Confederate ancestor.”

            “Will a printout from Ancestry.com work?”

            “Sure.”

            We talked for a long time that morning. It was utterly refreshing to speak with someone who, like me, not only had solid Confederate ancestry, but knew the true history of the South and the War Between the States. We talked about Dylan Roof, and how unfortunate it was that people like him could co-opt Confederate symbolism just by putting it on their social media sites. I told Mike how glad I had been in 2015 when so many people from Statesboro had stood up to support the flag and the monument at the county commission hearing.

            Mike explained that his chapter, Ogeechee Rifles Camp 941, Sons of Confederate Veterans, met every third Thursday of the month in the banquet room of a restaurant further down Northside. I told him I would be there.

            I will never forget that first meeting. A guest speaker from the Savannah camp gave a talk on the Confederate evacuation of Savannah ahead of Sherman’s invading army. Somehow, during the question and answer period, the conversation drifted to some of the military blunders made by certain Confederate generals in the war overall. I will never forget when that guest speaker said something that was almost word for word something I have said many times: “If not for those basic mistakes, we could have won our independence.”

            Our independence. At that moment, I knew I was where I belonged.

            I became an avid, active member, and never missed a meeting. I often ran into Mike Mull at the Waffle House, and we had some long discussions about the Confederacy, Donald Trump,  the monument haters, and conservative politics in general.  A former radio announcer and news editor for the Statesboro Herald, Mike had some great stories to tell: he had once seen Johnny Cash passed out drunk in a north Georgia sheriff’s office; interviewed John Wayne, Dolly Parton, and Bob Hope; found himself standing at an adjacent urinal next to President Lyndon Baines Johnson at a convention center in Macon, whereupon Johnson had said, “This is the only time of day I really know what I’m doing.” He also had some deep insights into state and local politics, and told me things about Herman Talmadge, Lester Maddox, and Jimmy Carter that I had never heard before. As a news reporter, Mike had gotten to know the political functionaries behind the scenes, the ones you never hear about but who know the real deal. He also knew a lot about the NAACP, its former state director Francys Johnson, and its current director James Woodall, who, while a student at Georgia Southern University four years earlier, had circulated the petition to have the Confederate monument removed from the courthouse grounds. Having spent years covering criminal trials, Mike also knew many of the local judges and career law enforcement figures as well.

            Like me, indeed, like most Southerners, Mike had a great deal of Scots-Irish ancestry, and that was a frequent topic of conversation. I have always lamented the fact that so many people are not aware of their Scots-Irish heritage, indeed, do not even realize what the term Scots-Irish means. The Scots-Irish were the descendants of lowland Protestant Scots that King James I had encouraged to settle in northern Ireland after he had dispossessed the Irish Catholic noblemen there. Thus, these transplants were also known as Ulster Scots. They thrived greatly in Ulster, especially in the wool- and flax-based textile trade. So greatly did they thrive that the textile merchants in England lobbied for a tariff against Ulster goods. Incensed, the Scots-Irish began a massive migration to America in the early 1700s. They originally landed in New England and Pennsylvania, but soon migrated down the Alleghenies into the South.

            Scots-Irish dialect, customs, folk-ways, and music are still very much in evidence in the rural South, particularly in Appalachia. During the Revolution, the Scots-Irish were only too willing to take up arms against the hated English. The pivotal American victory at Kings Mountain in North Carolina was won by Scots-Irish troops. A future president, Andrew Jackson, whose parents had emigrated from Ulster to the Scots-Irish settlement of Waxhaw on the border between North and South Carolina, carried a scar for the rest of his from a sword wound inflicted by a British soldier after the twelve-year-old Jackson had refused to polish the soldier’s boots. During the War Between the States, Robert E. Lee once remarked that no soldiers were more bold or tenacious than Scots-Irish mountain men. Because of the deep Scottish roots in the South, the Confederate battle flag was modeled after the Scottish x-shaped cross of Saint Andrew.

            Like my grandfather, Mike’s paternal grandfather had been in the Klan. Mike told the story of how, when he died, his grandfather had been laid out in his coffin dressed in his Klan robe. In those days the deceased were laid out in the parlors of their homes. The night before the funeral, a carload of men, each bearing a suitcase, had arrived at Mr. Mull’s house and asked his widow could they be alone with the departed. She agreed, and young Mike watched through the keyhole of the parlor door as the men donned their Klan robes and performed a farewell ritual for their comrade.

            The very few people nowadays who self-identify as Klansmen are ignorant misfits who are not to be conflated with the Klansmen of yore. The real Klan died a natural death. Born of the bitter oppression of White Southerners during Reconstruction, the Klan of our grandfathers’ day is no more. However, I would discover that many people thought that the Sons of Confederate Veterans is a front-group for a resurrected version of the Klan. In way I found this amusing, but in another way saddening. It was just another example of people brainwashed by false history. Sadly, many Southerners did not know their true history. Indeed, the main reason the Sons of Confederate Veterans had been founded in 1896 was, according to the founder General Stephen Dill Lee, “to see that the true history of the South is presented to future generations.”

            As a member of the Sons, I had my work cut out for me. In addition to anti-Confederate monument vitriol, I began to hear more and more about flat-out, undisguised anti-White sentiment. I had heard about Critical Race Theory in a general way, but had not gone into depth about its origins and doctrines. One night down at Gnat’s Landing while I was talking to my friend Jeff Crowther, I mentioned Critical Race Theory. Jeff was, by this point, retired from teaching, but two of his younger friends, sociology professors, were seated at the bar with us. One of them, a young lady, hearing me mention Critical Race Theory, interrupted me, saying, “Can you even tell me what Critical Race Theory is?” Stunned by the interruption, I said nothing for a moment, then she s smugly added, “See, you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

            After reminding her that I had not been talking to her, I told her to butt the hell out of my conversation and learn a little respect. Later, though, I got on my computer and did a little research. In essence, Critical Race Theory is a sociological discipline which asserts that Western civilization is systemically and inescapably racist in favor of White people.  It has its roots in Marxism, which asserts that the culture of any society is shaped by the dominant economic class of that society, a phenomenon that Marx called “economic determinism.” In this view, nothing in a given culture – its literature, law, customs, mores, art, even its architecture and hard sciences – is without the taint of class bias. The Marxist theorist Herbert Marcuse taught that, because of

this taint, one had to approach any given field of intellectual endeavor with an awareness of the taint. He called this hypothesis “critical theory.” The term “Critical Race Theory” was coined by a Black law professor named Derrick Bell, who, instead of economic class dominance, saw White racial dominance as the systematic and inescapable reality tainting every aspect of Western civilization. For Bell, the answer to this state of affairs was not more rights for Black people, but “resources,” i.e., monetary reparations.

            The “white privilege” theory which inspired Jenine Capo Crucet is a spinoff of CRT. The basic premise of white privilege theory is that White people have been unjustly enriched and culturally benefited by systemic racism, and, therefore, owe a collective debt to people of color. Another spinoff is the “white fragility” theory of Robin D’Angelo, which asserts that White people need to be reeducated, indeed, reprogrammed concerning race and their unconscious micro-aggressions toward people of color.

            Another academic who chimed in on what White people “need to realize” is Ibram Kendi, whose book How To Be An Antiracist advanced the notion that it is not enough for White people not to be racist, they have to be an “antiracist,” they have to go to pains to understand all the little things that offend Blacks and hold them back. Yet another Black academic with similar notions is Ta’Neshi Coates. Books by D’Angelo, Kendi, and Coates are on prominent display in the bookstores.

             Reading about all these related theories, I was reminded of Leonard Pitts’ assertion that “racism is a White problem.” I was also reminded of my friend Tommy’s theory that people of color “hate us ‘cause they ain’t us.”  But what really struck me about all these “whiteness” theories was just that – the very fact that they had made my race an abstraction, a sociological category. And amazingly, some of the main originators and purveyors of these theories were White. And alarmingly, these theories were being subtly inculcated in public schools, and overtly in colleges and universities. More and more, my letters to the editor and Facebook posts had to do with race and White history. The gist of my argument was very simple: White people have not had a perfect history, but unlike other races, we have bent over backwards to right historical wrongs; considering that over twenty trillion dollars in social welfare programs aimed at Blacks has been spent in the last sixty years, Blacks would not be entitled to reparations even if, in principle, they were entitled to such, which they are not; there are enough civil rights and anti-discrimination laws on the books that give Blacks more than an equal chance to succeed in school, the workplace, and in society in general; the continuing problems of poverty, crime, and poor academic achievement disproportionate to Blacks stems from failures within their culture, not from White oppression; White people have as much right to take pride in and celebrate our heritage as anyone, we owe nothing to anyone on account of our race, we have nothing to apologize for, and we need to push back against any political, legal, or social pressure that seeks to demonize us or make any monetary claim upon us; and, of course, we have every right in the world to self-defense when we, our families, our property, our businesses, and our communities are attacked.

            In my posts, I explored the ancient historical roots of White people. As far back as we can be traced archeologically is about 4,500 years B.C., when our progenitors, known to historians as Proto-Indo-Europeans, lived in the area around the Black Sea. At that time they had a common language, but with the domestication of the horse, they spread far and wide, and developed different languages and cultures. The Greeks, the Romans, the Germanic

peoples, the Celts, and the Slavs forged nations, traded with one another, fought with one another, appropriated ideas and inventions from one another, and, in the process, created that wonderful overarching culture we call Western Civilization.

            Because of America’s Britannic roots, I made many posts about the Celts and Anglo-Saxons. In particular, I concentrated on the slow evolution of British liberty which spread to America and formed the bedrock of our ethos as a people. Needless to say, I also made many posts about the War Between the States, especially ones designed to dispel lies and misconceptions about the South. My posts got a lot of “likes” and “shares,” and I started getting many Facebook friend requests. It was as though people had been waiting for someone to express openly what they had been thinking, but keeping to themselves.

            I also made many posts about Black-on-White crime. I did so for the simple reason that the mainstream media ignored such stories. If a White policeman killed a Black person in the line of duty, the media were all over the story and the race-hustlers clamored for an investigation. But if the crime involved a White victim and a Black perpetrator, the story was either ignored, the race of the perpetrator was not mentioned, and his mug shot was not attached. Ridiculously, the race of the suspect was not mentioned by the news outlets even if the suspect was at large and the police were warning people to be on the lookout for him.

             In spite of its liberal bias on its editorial page, the Statesboro Herald, unlike the Savannah Morning News, the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and the local television stations, was good about reporting crime fairly, and did not shy away from including a picture of a suspect, Black or otherwise, with a crime story. Many of the victims of the crimes were college students robbed at gunpoint. It seemed one never heard about a local good ol’ boy being robbed. Given

the preponderance of handguns in the  ‘Boro, this was not surprising. This one fact said a lot. Even the most unintelligent of people will not try to do anything unless they think they can get away with it. Black faces glaring out from mug shots were a regular sight on the front page of the Herald. What always puzzled me was the lack of outrage on the part of decent, hardworking Black people toward the hoodlums, the welfare queens, and the vagrants. As tired as I am of Black crime, nothing makes me madder than low behavior among White people. When I see or hear about White people selling drugs, not taking care of their kids, or just being generally disrespectful, I remember that story Pop told me about the Klan members who took that White man into the woods and beat bloody. If a White man did something heinous, I was always the first to call for the death penalty. But, in spite of all the Black crime, I rarely heard of Black people calling out the bad actors who gave them all a bad name, in spite of the fact that well over ninety percent of violent crimes committed against Black people were committed by other Blacks. A notable exception to this was a young Black man named Shawntray “Puff” Grant, a community activist in Savannah who implored young Black people to stop the violence and crime. One night, after returning from a gambling cruise off the coast of Georgia, Grant was murdered and robbed outside his apartment building by another Black man. There were no cries of outrage from any of the local race hustlers, or from Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, or former president Barack Obama or former attorney general Eric Holder, but all of these people had been strident in their condemnation of the killings of thugs like Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown. Black Lives Matter, Antifa, and the NAACP had no comment. It was amazing.

            So that was the way it was going to be. Everything was about condemning the White man. I shrugged. We White people have fought much tougher battles. I kept making my

posts, writing my letters, and attending meetings and functions of the SCV.

            It is hard to convey, especially to people who are not of Confederate ancestry, the feeling one gets at the SCV meetings, the parades, and the ceremonies at the monument.  It is more than just a Southern thing. Our Confederate ancestors fought against the invasion of their country by the forces of a tyrannical federal government. Therefore, given the overbearing nature of the federal government as it still exists, we feel we are still, in a way, fighting that same war. More than anything, the greatest enemy the SCV faces is government that has overstepped its lawful bounds, be it federal, state, or local.

            With the advent of Donald Trump, we breathed a little easier. But when we saw the desperation and the dirty tricks on the part of Democrats to get rid of him, we knew somehow that we still had work to do. And then came the year 2020, and the whole world seemed to go insane. When that insanity tried to spill over into the “Boro, the Sons, and a few other people besides, stood up and said no.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

INSTALLMENT 3 — SEE PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS BELOW

MAKING AMERICA GREAT AGAIN

            In 2015, the year of the Charleston church massacre, four Confederate monuments were taken down. But in 2017, the year Donald Trump was inaugurated, thirty-six were taken down. In 2020, after the death of George Floyd, sixty-seven Confederate monuments were removed, and many more vandalized or destroyed. It was clear that the radical left had managed to conflate Trump and racism, and Confederate monuments had become a convenient target for anti-Trump rage. Considering that President Trump’s economic policies reduced Black unemployment to historic lows, I was very puzzled that so many people accused him of being a racist.

            More confusing still was the ire many Republicans had for Trump. Conservative pundit George Will, whom I thought would have been delighted by Trump’s victory over Hillary Clinton, devoted many of his columns to excoriating Trump and his policies. Prominent Republicans like John McCain, Mitt Romney, and the entire Bush clan jumped on the never-Trumper bandwagon. Given the fact that Trump had so much popular support among ordinary Americans, as demonstrated by the massive turnout at his rallies, I found the hostility toward him by establishment Republicans incredibly stupid and self-defeating. And then it dawned on me that it was not so much Trump they hated, but his supporters – good old blue collar, patriotic, flag-waving, freedom-loving, gun-toting, God-fearing, hard-working Americans, the people Hillary Clinton  referred to as “deploreables,” that Barack Obama  dismissed as “bitter clingers to their guns and Bibles.”  These Rinos had the same condescending view of us as the Democrats. The two-party system was a sham. The Washington establishment transcended parties, and Donald Trump was not part of that establishment. Indeed, his promise to “drain the swamp” had been interpreted, correctly, by the establishment as a threat. Trump was dangerous because he said what he meant and meant what he said.

            The social elite, or rather, the people who considered themselves the social elite, hated Trump as much as the political establishment. The mainstream media, social media, academia, the teachers’ unions, and Hollywood seethed with rage over this upstart populist who wanted to make America free, strong, and prosperous again. Puzzled and frustrated by this, many people began to wonder at the source of this rage. They found the answer in their children’s school books.

            Left-wing notions about America, Western civilization, race, and gender identity had been seeping into public schools for several generations. Colleges and universities had long since stopped trying to hide their leftward tilt. With the advent of Trump and his America-first ideology, people began to notice the Marxist bilge in their children’s school books. Critical Race Theory and White privilege doctrine taught that America was systemically racist, and White people bore a collective guilt for past injustices to Blacks. Multiculturalism scoffed at American exceptionalism and denigrated Western civilization. Gender studies taught young children that homosexuality should be celebrated, and one’s biological sex is overridden by what one “self identifies” as.  It is significant that much of the pushback against liberalism in recent years has taken place at school board meetings.

            Once I understood the source of the extreme vitriol directed at Trump, I was no longer surprised by the anti-White sentiment that was expressed with ever-increasing frequency. Even before he was inaugurated, people began to grumble that his cabinet was made up of “old White guys.” Books about “White privilege,” “White fragility,” “anti-racism,” and “Critical Race Theory” began to appear in libraries and bookstores. In Statesboro, at Georgia Southern University, a Latina author named Jennine Capo Crucet gave a talk about her novel Make Your Home Among Strangers, which deals with the theme of White privilege. During her talk, she challenged White students to think about their “whiteness,” and how it makes them unduly privileged. However, some of the students were not having it.

            During the question and answer period, one young man stood and asked Miss Crucet what gave her the right to make generalizations about White people, and to tell them that they are privileged. This led to some angry shouting back and forth between students in the lecture hall, and some students walking out. Later, Miss Crucet tweeted  that the student who had questioned her right to assert that White people are inherently privileged made “aggressive and ignorant comments.” Later that evening, some students burned copies of her books on the quad. Miss Crucet later claimed that some students had harassed her at her hotel. The university changed her accommodations, investigated her complaint, and found that there had indeed been no harassment. At Miss Crucet’s request, a second speaking event was cancelled.

            The incident made national news. The implication was that a bunch of bigoted White university students in the deep South had harassed a Latina novelist. The local reaction was mostly negative as well.  But I have to give credit to The Statesboro Herald for publishing my letter in support of the students:

             Editor:

            The Georgia Southern students who took umbrage with the guest speaker who played the worn-out race card deserve our praise, support, and respect.

            For too long, our young people have been indoctrinated with anti-White drivel throughout the education system. For too long, the mainstream media and political establishment has inculcated political correctness in young minds. Because of this brainwashing, this country suffered under the presidency of an inept con man whose only qualifications were his black skin and empty rhetoric.

            The wheel of generational dynamics is starting to turn ‘round, and college students – the future leaders – are starting to question the cultural norms. They are beginning to rankle at the vehemence thrown their way because of their White heritage. The left sees this pushback, hence their strident, often silly, sometimes insane accusations of racism thrown about so recklessly.

            Anti-White sentiment is an insidious mainstay of leftist ideology. Leftists equate Whiteness with Western civilization, and all the products thereof – rationalism, liberty, capitalism, and constitutionally based limited government. All these things are anathema to the left, and, thus, are lumped together under the nebulous rubric “White privilege.” However, as we saw at Georgia Southern, telling students that they are unduly privileged because of their white skin is not as effective ploy as it used to be.

            Anti-White sentiment has the same psychological base as anti-Americanism or antisemitism, what Ayn Rand called “the hatred of the good for being good.” One wonders if liberalism is not so much a political persuasion, but something deeply Freudian, a manifestation of insecure, self-hating souls.

            The courageous pushback of the Georgia Southern students against the speaker who tried to peddle the White privilege hoax was very heartening. To quote Dryden: “Tis good an old age is out/And time to begin a new.”

            The more I thought about it, I understood that race had become the tip of the leftist spear. I remembered how Obama, while president, had chimed in on every racially charged incident that hit the news. Before getting all the facts, he had condemned the police of Cambridge, Massachusetts for “acting stupidly” by detaining a Black Harvard professor for disorderly conduct. Before George Zimmerman even went to trial for killing Trayvon Martin, Obama tainted the jury pool by proclaiming, “If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon.” When Ferguson, Missouri erupted into rioting and looting in the wake of a police-involved killing of a young Black man, both Obama and Attorney General Eric Holder commented on it publically, and the latter launched a federal investigation. It did not matter that the Harvard professor had acted like a lunatic, that George Zimmerman was found innocent, and the officer in the Ferguson case was cleared of any wrongdoing by a grand jury. Obama and Holder offered no apologies, no retractions, and were not held to account. There were three main plays in the leftist playbook: class envy, the environment, and race. And more and more often, they were using the race play.

            A year and a half after the Charleston church massacre, Francys Johnson popped up again when  Tommy Benton, a member of the state legislature, introduced a resolution to make April Confederate Memorial Month, and April 26 Confederate Memorial Day. The text of the resolution referenced “states’ rights, individual freedom, and local governmental control.” In a column published in the Savannah Morning News, Johnson asserted that “Benton’s ahistorical right wing extremism is emboldened by the crass rhetoric of President Donald Trump and a fear of a shrinking white majority. Benton’s resolution is the latest pitiful effort to win a war that was lost 150 years ago. These same so-called lovers of history will have a major problem when we begin to request an equivalent space on the courthouse square to erect monuments to the millions of people maimed, murdered, and marred by chattel slavery, America’s original sin.”

            I scratched my head. States’ rights, individual freedom, and local governmental control are right-wing extremism? And where was any example of President Trump’s crass rhetoric concerning a shrinking White majority? Johnson’s column was just one more example of wild, unsubstantiated charges of racism thrown about with utter carelessness. I was reminded of the syndicated columns of Leonard Pitts, a Black pundit whose outrageous, unfounded allegations of racism against President Trump were so irresponsible as to make one wonder how any newspaper could print them.

            In 2007, after a White couple was carjacked, raped, and brutally murdered in Knoxville, Tennessee by five black men, Pitts’ response had been “cry me a river.” He bemoaned the fact that “white supremacists and conservative bloggers” asserted that the mainstream media underreported black-on-white crime, claiming that “study after study and expert after expert tell a completely different story.” However, he did not reference a single one of these studies or experts. In 2012, not long after Trayvon Martin was killed, a White school boy in Kansas City, Missouri attending a predominantly Black school was doused in gasoline and set on fire by three Black schoolmates. Neither Pitts, Obama, nor Eric Holder mentioned that incident.

            Long before Trump, long before Obama, even long before Rodney King, I was utterly weary of hearing about race. Over the years I have heard the phrase repeated over and over: “We need to have a national dialogue about race.” No we do not. I was born in 1957, and I have been hearing about race my whole life. I was six when Martin Luther King gave his “I Have A Dream” speech; I was seven when President Lyndon Johnson signed the Civil Rights Bill, and turned and handed King the signing pen; I was nine when schools were integrated in my district,  assigning one Black boy to my fourth grade class, and that was fine with all of us kids; I was eleven when Martin Luther King was assassinated, and so many cities were rocked by rioting and looting. I remember asking my paternal grandfather, “Pop, LBJ gave them all that stuff in the Civil Rights law and the welfare programs, what more do they want?”

            Pop shook his head and said, “You’ll never see the end of this.”

            My grandfather, Marshall Webster – Pop – had been born on a tobacco farm in Stokes County, North Carolina in 1893. His father, John Wesley Webster, my great grandfather, had been born in 1844. At least one of John Wesley’s brothers fought in the Confederate army. According to census records, John Wesley’s father owned at least one slave. Like my maternal grandfather, Quentin R. Hurdle, Pop left school after the seventh grade to work on the farm. His father died when he was eighteen, and Pop struck out his own, eventually meeting my grandmother and raising a family.

            My aunt Joyce, my father’s younger sister, once mentioned that at one time Pop had been in the Ku Klux Klan. When I asked Pop about this, he was at first reticent. In a general sort of way, he explained that a lot of the things said about the Klan were lies and distortions. He told a story about a certain White man who did not take care of his children and beat his wife. One night, the Klan paid him a visit, tied him face-first to sapling, dropped his overalls, and beat his hindparts bloody with a stout switch. Not long after that, the man left the county. Like most men of his time and upbringing, Pop had a dismissive view of Blacks, but I never saw him be mean to one. When my aunt Joyce was married, Pop invited the family maid and her husband to the wedding. Pop seemed delighted by the fact that they actually managed to have a good time around all us White folks. To him, Black people just “had their own way about them,” and, in his view, that way was never going to change.

            Years later, when I was fifteen, I hitch-hiked down US Highway 17 to Charleston, South Carolina to visit my big brother who was stationed on a ship at the naval base there. One of the rides I got was with two older teenagers from New York City. Long-haired and hippie-looking, they were on their way to Florida. Although White, it seemed all they wanted to talk about was race: “Why do people from the South hate Blacks so much? Do you know anybody in the Klan? Do you have a problem with White chicks dating Black dudes?”

            I sensed immediately that I would not be able to explain almost four hundred years of history to these sons of the North, and simply replied, “I get along with everybody.” Conversely, when I got a ride with a Black person, it seems we talked about everything but race. That always stuck with me. Years later, I read about an interview with the actor Morgan Freeman who, when asked about race, said, “If you want race to stop being an issue, stop talking about it.” I immediately thought of that hitch-hiking trip to Charleston years before.

            When I got into the workplace after high school, I noticed that race was only an issue when someone wanted to make it so. At the company where I worked, one occasionally heard about a Black person who had been fired filing, or threatening to file, a discrimination complaint against the company with the federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. The company fought all these complaints and, as far as I know, never lost one. This lesson stuck with me, and, in later years when I was in management positions, when threatened with EEOC complaints, I would tell the disgruntled employee to by all means file their complaint, and I would see them at the hearing with their personnel file in hand. To date, I have not had to attend a single EEOC hearing.

            Years later, after I moved to Atlanta, a friend of mine told me about the rioting and looting that had rocked that city in the wake of the 1992 not-guilty verdict in the trial of the Los Angeles police officers involved in the Rodney King case. My friend, stopped at a traffic light downtown, saw some looters crossing the street with televisions and other electronics in shopping carts. He rolled down the window and called, “Rodney King has really been good to y’all.”

            They stopped briefly, and one of them asked, “Rodney who?”

            As amusing as that story was, I was not amused at all when, in 1995, many of the Black people at work stood up and cheered when O.J. Simpson was found not guilty of murdering his wife and Ron Goldman. I asked one of the women who had cheered if she honestly believed that Simpson was not guilty. She just shrugged. Something about that bothered me.

            In Atlanta, there were other stories as well. Local talk show host Neil Boortz told his audience about why he sold his Atlanta home and moved out of the city. He explained that, thinking his property tax assessment was too high, he appealed the assessment to the city board that handled such matters. A Black board member told him, “You White folks in north Atlanta don’t pay enough property taxes anyhow.” As I write these words, the Buckhead section of north Atlanta, tired of the high property taxes and out-of-control crime, is working to secede from the City of Atlanta and incorporate as an independent city. The City of Atlanta, desperate for north Atlanta tax revenue, is fighting this secession movement fiercely.

            With the advent of Donald Trump, and the accusations of racism thrown at him so recklessly and inexplicably, I began to delve into the reasons why White people were so intimidated by race. Samuel Johnson once famously opined that “patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.” I disagreed. Race was now that last refuge, and the scoundrels were using it without let up.

            I asked my friend Jeff Crowther, who had lived for a time in New York City, if he thought Trump was a racist. Jeff, being a typical liberal academic, loathed Trump, but did not believe he was a racist. I asked him why he did not like Trump, and never really got a straight answer that had anything to do with political or economic policy. It was the same with a lot of people I asked. Their dislike of Trump was visceral, even aesthetic: “He’s an egotist, a know-it-all”; “He was born into money, he didn’t earn all that”; “He’s crude, he doesn’t respect women”;

            Conversely, even though Trump was as New York as one could get, blue-collar, rural Southern folk loved him. A friend of mine who went to a Trump rally in Macon told me, “Bubba, I don’t think Billy Graham in his prime could have inspired a crowd of people the way Trump did.”

            I added a few Trump t-shirts to my collection of conservative and Confederate-themed t-shirts. I love t-shirts. I must confess that I relish the dirty looks elicited by some of my more bolder shirts. In Atlanta, after 9/11, I was asked to leave Lenox Mall when someone complained about my anti-Muslim t-shirt. Later, I was barred from the same mall for wearing an anti-Democrat t-shirt. When the anti-Confederate monument craze started, I started wearing Confederate-themed t-shirts more often. I was puzzled by the fact that so many people who came up to me to tell me they liked my shirts did so sotto voce after a cautious backwards glance. “What are you afraid of?” I would ask. I never got a straight answer.

            I started hearing more and more about race in the mainstream media. Leonard Pitts wrote a column titled “America’s Racism is a White Problem.” In this column, Pitts reasserted the Critical Race Theory premise that “racism is more than prejudice. It is, rather, the system by which prejudice is encoded into the laws and customs of society . . . .” Reasoning from this premise, Pitts arrived at the conclusion that “the system was built by and for white people; it’s up to them to dismantle it.”

           In answer to this column, I wrote a letter to the Savannah Morning News, which had a wide readership in southeast Georgia. To my surprise, they printed it:

            If a disgruntled black employee is denied a certain vacation slot and threatens his white supervisor with an EEOC complaint if he does not get his way, is that racism? If a black community organizer shakes down a business by threatening to report them to the Civil Rights Commission if they do not donate to his organization, is that racism? If the president of the United States criticizes a person of color for making outlandish anti-American statements, is that racism? If a white person expresses pride in his heritage and refuses to give lip service to political correctness and multiculturalism, is that racism?

            Charges of racism have been thrown about so recklessly for so long now that people are

starting to see the charges for what they are – a last-ditch desperation tactic. However, it is also indicative of the one-sided way in which the way the word is understood. As Lenard Pitts wrote in one of his columns, “racism is a white problem.” Apparently, only white people are capable of racism.

            Does this mean that there is something inherently different about white people in relation to people of color? If a white person believes that, he is a white supremacist. If a person of color believes that, is that not an affirmation of the same special status claimed by the white supremacist?

            A close examination of government regulations, crime statistics, academic curricula, and political discourse reveals that there is a great deal of racism in America – the great majority of which is directed at white people.

            So please, those of you who play the race card continue to do so. More and more people are starting to see it for the empty blather it is.

            Although the Savannah Morning News is not a conservative paper, they printed almost every letter I sent them, and I continue to admire their fairness on the op-ed page. In my letters and Facebook posts, I continued to rail against Trump derangement syndrome, anti-Confederate statue hysteria, exploitation of the race card, anti-White blather, and Marxist-tinged liberalism in general. People noticed my letters and posts, regularly commented on them on the Savannah Morning News website and on Facebook, and frequently approached me in public to discuss my ideas. I wished more people would speak out. After all, that is what the First Amendment is all about.

            Frequently, in response to some of my pro-Confederate letters and posts, people who disagreed with me would retort that the Confederates were “traitors”. This particular characterization irked me more than any other. First of all, it betrayed a gross ignorance of the history not only of the War Between the States, but of the American Revolution and its aftermath. In the Revolution, the American colonies seceded from Great Britain. In the Declaration of Independence, Jefferson asserted that when any government becomes destructive of the ends for which it is established, it is the right of the people to cast off such government. When Virginia, New York, and Rhode Island ratified the Constitution, they explicitly reserved in their instruments of ratification the right to leave the union should they see fit. Jefferson reiterated the right of secession in both the Virginia and Kentucky Resolutions.

            While it is true that slavery was a motivation for many Southern secessionists, it was not out of a fear that Lincoln had any desire to abolish slavery. In his first inaugural address, he had stated explicitly that he had no desire to end slavery, and had no legal authority to do so. Before being elected, Lincoln had backed the Corwin Amendment, which, if ratified, would have guaranteed the continuation of slavery in perpetuity. Lincoln’s thoughts on Negro inferiority were well known, North and South. What concerned some Southerners was that Lincoln’s election would embolden radical abolitionists in the mold of John Brown to incite slave revolts. These fears, in combination with resentment of the high tariffs imposed by Congress that were all cost and no benefit to the agrarian South, are what led to the secession of the seven states of the deep South. Because the federal government at that time was funded by tariff revenue, the bulk of which came through Southern ports, Lincoln found himself in a desperate situation. He called for 75,000 volunteers to put down “the rebellion,” as he called it, of the seceded states. He justified this action by the convoluted argument that the union somehow preexisted the sovereign states, and, thus, states had no legal right to leave the union. However, he informed the seceded states that they would not be invaded if they turned over the tariff revenue collected at their ports. Predictably, they told Lincoln to go to hell. In the meantime, Lincoln’s threatened invasion of the deep South spurred the states of the middle and upper South to join their sister states in secession. Thus, Lincoln, who had foolishly thought he could put down the Southern “rebellion” in a few months, dragged America into the bloodiest war by far of our history.

            By any interpretation of natural law and American history, states have a right to leave the union. The Confederates fought bravely and fiercely when their homeland was invaded and ravaged by Northern troops at the behest of a tyrannical federal government that had overstepped its Constitutional bounds. They were not traitors any more than their forefathers who had fought for independence from Great Britain. Further, that war, as it has been disingenuously labeled, was not a “civil war.” By definition, a civil war is a conflict between two or more factions for control of a nation and its government. The Confederates had no desire to control either the northern states or the federal government. They were fighting for their independence. Period.

            The ignorance of history on the part of so many otherwise intelligent people not only rankled me, it scared me. More and more, I heard about people like Bernie Sanders who openly advocated for socialism. Even with all the living examples still extant in the world that socialism is a gross failure as an economic system, a member of the United States Congress openly identified himself as a socialist. It occurred to me that the absolute worst problem in our country was that so many people were downright ignorant of history, economics, and civics, and there were plenty of weasels about who were salivating at the prospect of exploiting this ignorance.

            But there was hope. Old-fashioned Americanism was alive in Dixie, and, I had no doubt, in small towns and farming communities in other regions of the country from sea to shining sea. I decided that the best thing I could do was to speak my mind in every forum I could find. All my life, people had been telling me that I have a big mouth. I resolved to use it.

            One of my letters published in the Savannah Morning News that hit a nerve had to do with President Trump’s immigration policies:

            President Trump is, once again, being attacked for his colorful expression of sentiments many of us hold. To paraphrase, he queried certain Democrat senators as to why the United States should allow immigration from Third World countries, particularly Haiti and African nations. Lost in all the indignant folderol elicited by his choice of language is the absence of an answer to his question. Indeed, why would we allow such immigration? How does it benefit us?

            The Constitution enumerates eighteen powers that Congress may exercise. One of these is the creation of uniform laws of immigration and naturalization. The Founding Fathers saw fit to empower our lawmakers to regulate immigration because they realized that wholesale, indiscriminate immigration is not in the national interest. They understood that it is the culture of a nation that makes it great, and culture can only be preserved by a carefully considered, unapologetic selectivity of those allowed within the nation’s borders. Our nation practiced such wise selectivity until 1965 when the Immigration Reform Act, sponsored by Senator Edward Kennedy, was passed. Kennedy’s purpose was the same as present-day Democrats’: to inundate America with a permanent underclass of Third World refugees who will vote for Democrats in exchange for government largesse.

            Immigration to America is not a right upon which anyone can insist, but a privilege we grant to worthy individuals who have demonstrable contributions to make to America and the perpetuation of her singular greatness. Without apology, we must restrict immigration to our country for the very reasons our Founding Fathers saw fit to give government the power to do so in the first place. Immigration from Third World countries is not in our national interest. Therefore, it should not be allowed. Period.

            A young lady who read the letter described it as “racist.” I asked her to explain what she meant. She replied that the assertion that some cultures are superior to others is inherently racist. I asked her if cultures differed from one another in certain respects. “Of course,” she answered. I then asked is there something wrong with people of a certain culture wishing to preserve their culture. “No,” she replied. I asked,  “Are border restrictions not justifiable as a means of preserving culture?” She smirked and said, “Yeah, but that’s not why you and Trump want to restrict immigration. You just want to keep America White.”

            I thought a moment, then asked, “Is there something wrong with being White?”

            She looked puzzled. “No, I mean, but people just want to come here to get a better life. Why not let them in?”

            “How many should we let in?”

            “I don’t know, I’m no expert. Economics, you know, the work force . . . .’

            “Yes?”

            “Dammit, Bubba, I don’t know!”

            “But you think I’m a racist?”

            “Did I say that? I said the letter was racist. And they say Trump is a racist.”

            “Who is ‘they’?”

            “Dammit, Bubba, who do you think you are? Socrates? Let’s talk about something else.”

            This, and many other similar conversations, convinced me that one of the great problems

in America was the apologetic stance White people took in relation to Blacks and other so-called “people of color.”  More and more, I made Facebook posts like the following:

     “History is a bloody struggle. No group of people on this earth has had an idyllic past. When our forefathers won their independence from Britain, did they demand reparations from the British crown? Did those of Scottish and Irish descent demand compensation from the English for centuries of invasion and oppression? Prior to that, did Englishmen of Anglo-Saxon descent sue Denmark and Sweden for the Danish and Viking invasions of England in the ninth century? Did Englishmen of Celtic descent sue the Italians for reparations for the Roman conquest of Britain in the first century? America has bent over backwards to compensate the blacks for slavery and discrimination. It is not only time for blacks to stop whining for reparations and special treatment, it is high time for us White people to make it very clear to them that we owe them NOTHING. Israel has bent over backwards to appease the Palestinians, and look what they have gotten in return — continued terror attacks fueled by insane, incandescent hatred. Israel, you owe the Palestinians NOTHING. During the War Between the States, no one suffered greater atrocities than White Southern civilians. Yet we White Southerners are the most ardent American patriots in the land. What does that tell you? White people, read your history, celebrate your heritage, wake up, stand up, and take your country back.”

            Needless to say, such posts drew some hostile comments. But more often they drew positive comments. One of my recurring themes was that White people had as much right to take pride in and celebrate our heritage as any other race. One letter that the Savannah Morning News refused to print was one in which I wrote that if the White race had never appeared on earth, civilization would, at best, still be in the Bronze Age.

            One thing I noticed about the negative reactions to my letters and Facebook posts was that they were emotionally driven. Profanity-laced name-calling was the most common response. Periodically I would answer these comments pleading for someone to refute my assertions with facts and logic. To date, not one person has taken me up on that challenge. This reinforced my observation made long before that liberalism is based on emotion, and, therefore, is defended and supported by emotionalism. But I also understood that the emotions which liberal hucksters sought to manipulate were in a narrow range: greed, self-loathing, and envy. They promised free stuff to people whom they had already convinced had been exploited and persecuted by the wealthy, the White man, or both. Conversely, in addition to being based on facts and logic, my letters and posts had emotional appeal as well, but stimulated positive emotions: patriotism, self-esteem, and ethnic pride.

            The increasingly emotional denunciations of Trump in the mainstream media and the Washington establishment began to sound more and more like desperation. In a few years we would find out just how desperate they were.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

Installment Two — see below for prior installments

GOING HOME AGAIN

            I ended up in Statesboro because the district supervisor of the Atlanta loan company where I worked, a sanctimonious religious zealot who would not allow us to have alcohol at the company Christmas party, nevertheless thought it was alright to cheat on his wife with a young woman whom he had promoted to branch manager, thus making her my boss. When I objected to him letting her have special privileges and slack off on the job, he fired me for coming in late on a snow day. When his boss, the corporate vice president over Georgia, heard what had happened, he rehired me and demoted the district supervisor back to branch manager. There was only one catch: I had to relocate. But that was fine with me. Atlanta was too big, too crowded, and too urban for me.

            “You’re going to like Statesboro, Bubba,” the VP told me. “They’re your kind of people down there.” A down-to-earth, hands-on boss, he knew me for what I was: a pickup truck-driving good ol’ boy who loved country music, honkytonks, working out in the gym, conservative radio, and military history. He also knew that one year, at a company Christmas party where alcohol had been allowed, I had made the colossal blunder of bringing an alcoholic waitress as my date. She had embarrassed me so badly that I left her stranded at the party, where she proceeded to make quite a scene. The VP never let me forget that.

            Thus, on a sunny Monday in April, 2011, I loaded all my possessions in the back of my Ford F-150, tied a tarp over the bed, and headed south. After a three-hour drive, I exited off the interstate onto US Highway 301, driving nine miles through vast, open farm land before getting to Statesboro. Small, but not too small, busy, but not hurried, and certainly not congested, with a lot of trees along the streets and thoroughfares, the town had a tidy, pleasant look. Highway 301 morphed into South Main Street, and I continued on until I reached the center of town, where South Main crossed yet another Main Street running east and west, and became North Main. Thus, there were actually four Main Streets: North, South, East, and West Main. On the northeast block of this confluence of Mains was the Bulloch County Courthouse, a two-story brick edifice built in the late 1800’s. Many Southern towns have courthouses similar, if not identical, to the one in Statesboro. Further, many Southern towns have Confederate monuments identical to the one that stands on the northeast corner of the courthouse grounds: a life-size statue of a Confederate soldier holding a musket atop a ten-foot pedestal. What really caught my eye and brought a smile to my face was the number of Confederate flags that flew around the monument. Confederate Memorial Day falls in April, and someone had taken the trouble to decorate the monument with flags and a wreath. Seeing this, I thought, “I’m home.”

            My Confederate roots run all the way to bedrock. At least five of my eight second-great grandfathers served in the Confederate army, as well as scores of my collateral ancestors – North Carolina tarheels every last one of them. When I was a boy, my maternal grandfather, born in 1898, used to tell me stories that his grandfather used to tell him about his experiences in the War Between the States. I learned things about that war that were vastly different from what they were teaching in school. I learned that Lincoln originally had no desire to free the slaves, but was desperate to hold on to the seceded states because the federal government was funded by tariff revenue, most of which came through Southern ports. It was only after Lincoln’s call for 75,000 volunteers to invade the cotton states that the states of the middle and upper South joined them in secession. I heard about the atrocities committed by federal troops against Southern civilians, about plunder and rape. Later, studying old census records, I discovered that my grandfather’s grandfather had owned nine slaves, and that they had continued to work on his farm after emancipation. I also discovered that this ancestor, like at least two other of my second-great grandfathers, had mustered out of the Confederate army at Appomattox, and, like them, had walked all the way back to his home in North Carolina.

            Probing deeper into the history of that war when I was older, I discovered that, far from being the kindly soul depicted in hagiographic lore, Lincoln had been a tyrant who had jailed hundreds of Northern newspaper editors who disagreed with his policies, encouraged the atrocities committed by federal troops against Southern civilians, thought Blacks were inferior and should be resettled in Africa and the Caribbean, and had even pulled some shady deals as a lawyer for the railroads prior to being elected president. His war got 700,000 good men killed, and countless more maimed, crippled, and dispossessed, yet he is remembered for his eloquent oratory praising their sacrifices while making sure that his own son remained safe behind the lines as a staff officer for General Grant. I wondered at the power of false history to transform such a hypocrite, a tyrant, and a butcher into a veritable saint. I learned that if one wants to know the truth one has to dig for it.

            Thus, contemplating the Confederate monument at the Bulloch County courthouse, I had the feeling that, after years of knocking about, I was finally home. It was not so much a feeling of déjà vu, but rather of eureka! Somehow, I knew immediately that Statesboro was where I belonged.

            Because of the nature of my work, I came to know Statesboro better than some people who had been born there. In those days, before Obama’s Consumer Protection Agency put in place strong legal sanctions against consumer loan companies, it was common practice for the accounts managers of loan companies to go out into the field and knock on the doors of delinquent debtors. We called this “chasing.” I can still hear my branch manager saying, “Get your route together, Bubba. You’re going chasing.” There is not a street in Statesboro that I have not been on, and very few dirt roads out in the county that I have not driven down. Some of the places I went to were so remote my cell phone did not work. I have had to calm mean dogs, and spent time playing fetch with friendly ones. I have repossessed cars from behind single-wide trailers, and jump started cars for customers. Behind in their payments or not, customers were customers, and I treated them like neighbors.

            After work, I usually stopped by the Waffle House on Northside Drive, in the commercial district. I had discovered years before that a Waffle House is the best place there is for a newcomer to get information about a town. My first question at the Statesboro Waffle House had been: “Are there any good country music bars in town?” The waitress suggested a bar over by the university. When I went there the following weekend, the manager, a Pakistani-born man named Mohammed, cheerfully gave me a few more suggestions. Thus, I soon had a social life.

            After a few months, I started frequenting a bar on South Main called Gnat’s Landing. On Tuesday nights they had team trivia there hosted by a local musician named Jake Hallman. After playing solo and winning a few times against teams comprised not only of university students but university professors, I was hooked. The winners got a gift card redeemable at the bar, and many were the nights I drank for free. While obviously delighted by my trivia prowess, I was also a little puzzled by the things that the other teams, especially the ones made up of professors, did not know. I met a political science professor who had never heard of H. L. Mencken, an economics professor who had never read Milton Friedman, an American history professor who could not name the presidents in order, and an English professor who did not know that Erskine Caldwell was a native Georgian. It seemed to me that something was wrong in higher education.

            I made a few friends at the end of the bar where the middle-aged and older guys congregated. One of them was John Struchen, a customer of mine at the loan company. “John Boy,” as everyone called him, managed the waste water facility at a huge poultry plant. A big, strapping, hard-drinking, motorcycle riding Floridian, John Boy, although of northern parentage, had strong Southern sympathies. “I’ve been rebelcized, “ he explained. 

            Bubba Prosser was another friend. Former farmer and shrimper, he now owned a family seafood store in the neighboring town of Brooklet. Bubba seemed to know everyone in Statesboro, and his knowledge of fishing was prodigious. Because we were both named Bubba, John Boy got a kick out of walking by us and saying, “Hey, Bubbas.”

            Another friend was Jeff Crowther, a political science professor from upstate New York. A Vietnam vet, former college baseball pitcher, and lover of good writing, Jeff always had a book with him, very often by some obscure foreign writer. He also had an encyclopedic knowledge of baseball, and a huge collection of baseball cards.

            Thus, there was never a dearth of conversation at the “old bastards” end of the bar. Sports, literature, fishing, hunting, farming, history, politics, auto mechanics, women young and old — just some of the broader topics.  And sometimes on the weekend a good country band would play. Gnat’s became – and remains – my bar.

            Statesboro was a perfect fit. But after a few years went by, I ran into another scrape at work and had to leave town for my new job. But homesickness soon brought me back in the summer of 2015. John Boy got me a job at the poultry plant supervising workers on the “live hang” line. When the live chickens came in on the trucks, they were dumped onto a conveyor belt that brought them past a line of men who grabbed them and hung them by their feet in shackles connected to a conveyor chain which moved them to other areas where they were beheaded, plucked, gutted, and sanitized.  The hangers were expected to hang a minimum of  twenty-seven chickens a minute. It was hard, nasty work, and the hangers, knowing that it was hard to replace them, could be a sassy bunch. Some of them were convicts from the nearby Evans County jail. Ninety percent of them were black, and I quickly discerned that several of them did not like me a bit. They deliberately slowed down production, which caused my boss to step to me. I remedied the situation by getting two of them suspended from work for a few days, and one of them fired. After that, the production numbers went up.

            Once in a while, when I told a hanger to speed up his production, he would say something like, “You’re just a racist,” or, “You’re just picking on me because I’m Black.” My immediate retort would be: “If you really believe that let’s go to HR and you can make a formal complaint that I’m a racist.” By their puzzled looks, I could tell that they had not anticipated that response, and they never took me up on it. What they had hoped for was to put me on the defensive and get me to say something like, “No, I’m not prejudice. Some of my best friends are Black.” Some White people never learn that going on the defensive is exactly what a race hustler wants, be he a chicken hanger or a NAACP operative. By not going on the defensive, I not only squelched the few bad apples who tried that gambit with me, I won the respect of the good guys on the line. I used to tell them, “Y’all are not getting rid of me. I’m staying here out of spite.” And, overall, we got along.

            Then, in June, 2015, something happened up in Charleston, South Carolina that would come to affect me indirectly yet profoundly. A troubled young White man named Dylan Roof went into a historically Black church one Wednesday evening during a prayer meeting. Twelve Black parishioners were there, and they invited him to join them. While they lowered their heads in prayer, Roof pulled out his Glock .45 pistol and opened fire, killing nine of them. Arrested the next day in North Carolina, Roof explained that his motive had been to start a race war. Social media posts spouting his racist beliefs included pictures of him posing with a Confederate flag. Needless to say, this tidbit was reported ad nauseum in the mainstream media. Other posts showed him spitting on and burning an American flag. For some reason this fact was virtually ignored.

            Reading this, I thought “Here we go again.” Some psycho misappropriates the Confederate flag, and the media, the liberals, and the race hustlers jump all over it. All over the country there were calls for Confederate monuments to be taken down. The South Carolina legislature passed a bill to remove the Confederate flag from the grounds of the state capitol, and Governor Nikki Haley signed it into law in July. In an interview a few years later, Haley explained that it had not been an easy decision for her. She recognized that, although the Confederate emblem was too often “hijacked” by bad actors, it was a symbol of  “service, sacrifice, and heritage.” Because of that statement Mrs. Haley was roundly pilloried in the press and social media, but received my admiration and respect even though I disagreed with her decision to take down the flag.

            In Statesboro, a Black student at Georgia Southern University named James Woodall circulated a petition to remove the Confederate monument at the county courthouse. Francys Johnson, a local attorney who was also president of the Georgia branch of the NAACP, represented Woodall in submitting a proposal to the Bulloch County Commission to remove the statue. The day of the hearing to consider the proposal, a caravan of trucks and motorcycles bearing the Confederate flag gathered in the K-Mart parking lot on Northside Drive and drove through town to the county annex that housed the council chamber. Many of these flag-bearers took their flags into the chamber, some of them standing behind Francys Johnson while he made ready to speak at the podium. Over a hundred spectators crammed into the chamber, and another thirty or so watched from the hallway.

            Johnson complained to the commissioners about the presence of the “Confederate swastika,” in the process eliciting some angry groans and comments. In the end the commissioners voted to ask the flag-bearers to go outside, reasoning that, if they stayed, they would set a precedent for any group of whatever persuasion to bring their standards into the commission chamber. Mike Mull, camp commander of the local Sons of Confederate Veterans, went over and spoke with the flag bearers and convinced them to take their flags outside into the hallway.

            Johnson spoke about slavery and Jim Crow, asserting that Confederate monuments glorify these institutions and are intended to intimidate Blacks. Mike Mull countered that  nowhere on the monument’s rubric or in the 1909 dedicatory documents are there any references to race or slavery. Further, he adduced a state law which forbids the removal of any historical monument from public property save in matters of emergency. In the end, the commission voted unanimously not to remove the monument.

            However, Johnson popped up again in neighboring Effingham County at a Board of Education meeting in an effort to have Effingham County High School change its sports team nickname from “Rebels.” He complained that the sports and band uniforms sported a caricature of a Confederate soldier, this caricature appeared on signs inside the school, and the band played “Dixie” at sporting events. Using the rebel nickname issue as a segue, Johnson went on to complain that, although the Effingham school district is 26% Black, only 6% of the faculty and staff were Black as well. Johnson, to the puzzlement of many in attendance, spoke of “the failure of the school system to engage parents, listen to the community and to put the common good over allegiance to heritage and hate.” Although Effingham County High has a graduation rate ten percentage points higher than the state average, Johnson claimed falsely that twenty percent of White students and forty percent of black students did not graduate high school in Effingham County. In the end, the school board voted to keep the Rebel nickname, but change the uniform logo to an E instead of the rebel caricature.

            My curiosity piqued, I did a little research into Johnson. Born in 1979 in Screven County, he had become, in 2007, the youngest man to head the Georgia NAACP. He described himself as a civil rights attorney specializing in police-involved shootings of Black offenders. His signature case had involved getting the charges against a young man accused of child molestation reduced. Given to histrionic statements, he was fond of saying things like, “I may die on my feet, but I’ll never live on my knees.” In addition to being a lawyer, he was also an ordained minister and pastor at two local churches. It was obvious that he liked to talk and get his name in the newspapers. A Black acquaintance of mine had a very unfavorable view of Johnson. “He’s not a very good lawyer,” the man explained. “He’ll promise folks that he’ll get them off of some charge or another, take their money, and the next thing you know they’re doing five to ten in Reidsville Prison.” Someone else, a local politician, explained that Johnson was trying to get as much publicity as possible for an upcoming bid for a congressional race. I nodded. That explained everything.

            I do not like race hustlers. My attitude toward con men like Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton, and Louis Farakhan can be summed up in a quote from Eric Hoffer’s seminal book on mass movements The True Believer: “Mass movements start out as holy crusades, become businesses, and then rackets.” I had always believed that the civil rights movement as waged by Thurgood Marshall was just and admirable. Marshall sought redress for racial injustices in the courts, and in so doing was masterful. Martin Luther King, with his Montgomery bus boycott, started out in grand fashion. But King’s success in Montgomery attracted the attention of Bayard Rustin and Stanley Levison, members of the American Communist Party. They wooed him, sent him to a training school for “community organizers”, and became executive members of King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Under their guidance, King adopted a strategy of nonviolence that, somehow, always seemed to incite violence and, thus, attract TV cameras. After being instrumental in getting President Lyndon Johnson to push forward the 1964 Civil Rights Act, King started to speak openly about such socialistic schemes as “a guaranteed national income” and “a poor peoples’ march on Washington.” As phony and duplicitous as King was ideologically, he was not a shameless money-grubber like many who came after him. He and his family lived in a modest home near the Atlanta airport, and were always short of money. I have often wondered what would have become of him and his movement had he lived.

            After a while, the furor over Confederate monuments and flags died down, at least temporarily. I forgot about Dylan Roof and Francys Johnson. I stayed busy with my job and some side work, had some fun on the weekends, and in general was just loving life. And then something else happened to stir things up: Donald Trump.

THE ‘BORO: HERITAGE, RACE, AND MURDER IN A SOUTHERN TOWN

First installment of my serialized book:

INTRODUCTION

            This is a story about what happened, but just as much a story about what did not happen, in Statesboro, Georgia during the turmoil that afflicted the nation during the time of the COVID epidemic, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, January 6, and beyond. Our Confederate monument was not removed, and violence never profaned our streets — but not for lack of trying on the part of self-styled civil rights activists who tried their best to exploit two local racially charged incidents. White and Black, people saw these race hustlers for what they were and did not give in to their calls for mayhem.

            For my humble efforts in standing up against these Al Sharpton wannabes, I have been called a racist, an ignorant redneck, a hick, and a Klansman. I will leave it up to the reader to decide if any of these labels fit. An attorney involved in both aforementioned incidents  asked three different judges to bar me from the courtroom while he plied his racially tinged jurisprudence. He claimed that I threatened him and his client on social media, and reported me to the FBI. It is untrue that I threatened him or his client, unless one considers an expressed wish to “look that race hustler and that murdering bastard in the eye” a threat. Perhaps some people just do not like to be looked in the eye.

            When that same attorney, backed up by Antifa and Black Lives Matter activists, tried to incite a crowd of four hundred people to tear down the Confederate monument in front of our county courthouse, I, a .357 strapped to my hip, stood by with other members of the Sons of Confederate Veterans to make sure that did not happen. A few months later, when that same attorney, his law partner, and other activists threatened to bring a “justice caravan” of 600 people to Statesboro and the neighboring town of Sylvania, I joined armed patriot groups on the streets to make sure that things remained peaceful. When these two attorneys, in violation of a gag order, tried to use social media to taint the jury pool in favor of their client, I mounted a social media blitz of my own, starting a Facebook group that, to date, has 3,500 members.

            The events of this story are tinged with irony and spiced with coincidence. In one of the two underlying incidents, a young Black man, in a fit of road rage, fired his 9mm pistol at a truckload of White teenagers, striking a seventeen-year-old girl in the back of the head, killing her. In the other incident, a White Georgia state trooper, after a high speed chase, shot and killed a Black man in self-defense. Both the young Black man and the White state trooper were charged with the same crimes: felony murder and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon. The two lawyers mentioned above quickly glommed onto both cases, defending the young Black man and representing the family of the dead Black man in a push for an indictment of the state trooper as well as a $13 million wrongful death suit against the State of Georgia. In so doing, these two Peach State Johnny Cochranes put themselves in the position of simultaneously both condemning and embracing the same self-defense laws of Georgia, and, thus, found themselves in a logical and moral conundrum and a public relations dilemma. There were courtroom moments that, through the underlying tragedy, were nevertheless outright laughable.

            This is also a story about a town and some of the more colorful characters in it. Statesboro is a small town in southeastern Georgia surrounded by cotton fields. Home to Georgia Southern University and several large manufacturing concerns, Statesboro – affectionately called “the ‘Boro” by many – is a prosperous, busy, happy place where people wave to passing vehicles, young folks still sir and ma’am their elders, and farmers and workingmen on lunch break at Waffle House or McDonald’s remove their caps to say grace before eating. It has been claimed that Statesboro has more churches per capita than any other city in Georgia, and Bulloch County, of which Statesboro is the county seat, has more miles of dirt roads than any other county in the state. People get along here, and race rarely becomes an issue unless someone chooses to make it so in order to serve some personal agenda.

            The rioting and looting that rocked Minneapolis, Portland, Seattle, Chicago and other cities seemed as remote to Statesboro as civil unrest in some Third World country. When it was hinted in some circles that the same mayhem could be visited upon our fair city, most people dismissed such a possibility. But when these hints became a threat, certain people came together and said emphatically, “It WON’T happen here.”

            Heritage runs deep in Statesboro. The Confederate flag is visible on many a bumper sticker, personalized license plate, and front-yard flagpole. Ask anyone who displays the flag what it means, and you will not hear about race and slavery, but about a breed of men who stood up to a tyrannical federal government that had overstepped its Constitutional bounds. Statesboro, fifty miles from Savannah, was in the path of Sherman’s march to the sea during the War Between the States, and that man’s name still evokes a scowl from many a Confederate descendant.

            Georgia is an open carry state for firearms, and, as of April, 2022, a Constitutional carry state as well, where law-abiding adults do not need a permit to carry a handgun concealed or open.  People with a pistol strapped to their waist is a common sight around town. What violent crime one occasionally hears about is usually drug related in one way or another. People feel safe in the ‘Boro. When that seventeen-year-old girl, Haley Hutcheson, was killed in the road-rage incident, there were those who, although having never met her, took it personally.

            There is a large veteran presence in Statesboro too. When Chester McBride, a Black man and a former  football player for Georgia Southern, was killed serving his country in Afghanistan, the hearse bearing his coffin was escorted from Hunter Air Base in Savannah to Statesboro by a long procession of White motor-cycle riding former servicemen. Veteran discounts are par normal in local businesses, veteran status is proudly displayed on bumper stickers and billed caps, and on patriotic holidays the courthouse lawn is lined with little white wooden crosses, each bearing the name of a Bulloch County native who died in a war.

            Between the Statesboro Police Department, the Bulloch County Sheriff’s Department, the Georgia State Patrol, and the Georgia Southern University police, there is no shortage of law enforcement in the ‘Boro. Overall, people feel well served by the law enforcement community, and were dismayed and resentful at the anti-police sentiment that swept other parts of the nation in the wake of the George Floyd incident. When local prosecutors turned on the state trooper involved in the killing of the man who led him on a high-speed chase, many people were peeved, feeling it was done out of racial pandering and political expediency. Several of the trooper’s fellow officers resigned in protest.

            Local government is diverse. In 2017, Statesboro elected its first Black mayor, and reelected him in 2021. In addition to the mayor, two black women serve on the six-member city council. Two members of the seven-member county commission are Black. Although the great majority of Black voters are, of course, Democrats, it is not all that unusual to see an older Black man wearing a MAGA hat. Many younger Blacks will confide that they voted for Trump, but do it sotto voce.

            Being a university town, Statesboro is not without its liberal voices. The op-ed page of the Statesboro Herald, the local newspaper, regularly features letters from university professors of the liberal persuasion, while eschewing more conservative perspectives. Even though the camp commander of the local Sons of Confederate Veterans was once news director of the paper, the Herald refuses to print recruitment ads for that organization. As one would expect, the reportage of the paper has a noticeable leftward slant. But on the other hand, reduced circulation has recently forced the publishers to go from printing six editions a week to three.

            Al Hackle, a senior reporter for the Herald, once featured me in a story after I spoke before the Bulloch County Commission advocating one of my pet causes. Now, every time I run into him at venues where, one way or another, I make my presence known, I ask him, “Are you going to put me in your story, Hackle?”  His stock response is to chuckle and shake his head.

            So let me tell this story about my town and how it reacted to certain events, certain outside forces and trends. My involvement was only peripheral, but sometimes the periphery offers the best perspective. Looking back, I see that my story properly begins in 2015, the year a madman went into a church in Charleston, South Carolina and killed nine people.