As we approach Labor Day — an annual holiday in the U.S. to honor workers — the moment gives us a chance to again enjoy irony in American history.  The first Labor Day celebration was organized by the Central Labor Union in New York and held on September 5, 1882.  The next year, it was made a regular event.  Over the next few years, legislatures in various states passed bills making Labor Day a state holiday in their jurisdictions as well.  In 1894, the U.S. Congress made the first Monday in September a federal holiday — the same year that the Department of Justice (DOJ) ended the famed Pullman strike by convincing a federal judge that the government had a right to intervene into labor unrest because it interfered with mail delivery.  The leader of the strikers, Eugene Debs, went to jail as a result.  This actually helped radicalize him and later he would run for President on the Socialist ticket four times….the last from jail (and he still got 6% of the vote).  This move by the DOJ ultimately weakened the power of the unions and placed the government on the side of employers.  Such is irony number one.
 
Today, we rarely mark the holiday with parades of workers and their families.  Civic events with speech-making, picnics, and banners are a thing of the past.  Nowadays, we just like not having to work to celebrate working.  Also, with the slow demise of many blue laws, changes in technology, and the explosion of retail since the late nineteenth century, a good number of working class people — whom the day was meant to honor — do not get to take the day off.  Wal Mart stores and distribution centers are not closed.  Linemen working for American Electric Power are still on duty (in case of emergency).  However, corporate offices are all closed — giving managers a day of rest (from the toil of oppressing workers, Mother Jones would say).  Ahh, there is irony number two.
 
As if this were not enough, there is the distinctly American flavor of the holiday to consider.  The rest of the world also honors workers with a holiday, but not on the same day we do.  Many other countries mark it on May 1st instead.  This was the doing of the Second International association of labor unions and socialist/communist parties.  It proposed the holiday at a convention in 1889 in order to commemorate the Haymarket fiasco…in the United States.  Workers in Chicago were on strike against the McCormick Harvesting Machine Company and a rally was held in Chicago (at the Haymarket Square) on May 1, 1886, as part of the push for an eight-hour workday.  Someone in the crowd threw a bomb (perhaps strikers, perhaps Pinkertons — no one knows) and gunfire erupted.  Eight cops were killed (the majority by friendly fire) and eight anarchists (one per cop) were tried for the bombing, which killed one of the officers.  Seven of the convicted were immigrants — so they were sentenced to death.  The other (a U.S. citizen) got prison time.  The four who actually made it to the gallows (one committed suicide to avoid the public execution and the sentences of two others were commuted by the governor) strangled slowly in front of the crowd, as the job was botched.  None of these men were actually involved in the bombing — which the prosecution admitted — yet they were the scapegoats meant to assuage public fears and employer anger.  Thus, the notion of bomb-throwing anarchists became part of American consciousness and support for the eight-hour workday movement subsided (because middle-class people now associated it with violence).  However, while the event undermined support for labor in the U.S., unions and lefties around the world held annual remembrances to mark the injustice and backlash against unionism.  Thus, the Second International acted to celebrate gains of the movement on that day every year.  So, while we have our Labor Day, we gave them their May Day.  In the 1950’s, the Cold War prompted active repudiation of May Day, which the communists supported.  Each year, they would honor our labor martyrs, even if we didn’t, and rejecting that publicly became a mark of loyalty for U.S. citizens.  This is the third and greatest irony of all.
 
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August 6, 1945, a day that should live forever in infamy. On this date, sixty-five years ago, the United States dropped the only nuclear weapon ever used in combat on the civilians of Hiroshima, Japan. If ever there was a greater conscious act of inhumanity, I do not know. Certainly, this is on par with the intentional slaughter of Jews, Serbs, and Tutsis. The difference is that America is much more efficient in its atrocity. It required no face-to-face contact or more than one sortie to kill at least 78,000 souls (and injure or disable another 100,000). By comparison, the attacks of September 11, 2001 killed approximately 3,000 persons.

 How do Americans treat this monumental wrongdoing? Do we attempt to rationalize it? Do we own it? Are we dismissive of the act or judgment against it? My textbook treats it this way: “[Harry] Truman was torn between his awareness that the bomb was ‘the most terrible thing ever discovered’ and his hope that using it ‘would bring the war to an end’…Considering the thousands of Americans who would surely die in any conventional invasion of Japan and, on a less humane level, influenced by a desire to end the Pacific war before the Soviet Union could intervene effectively and thus claim a role in the peacemaking, the president chose to go ahead.” Yes, you read that correctly. The decision to kill thousands of unarmed non-combatants was partly due to a desire to squeeze the U.S.S.R. out of peace negotiations. I mean, you want to keep the odds stacked in your favor and you wouldn’t want an equal like the Soviets to keep you from running rough-shod over the Japanese. If they’re going to be pawns, you want them to be your pawns. The other deciding factor — the more “humane” one — was how the deaths of thousands of little children would save you from sacrificing a lesser number of grown, male soldiers. The inherent — and appalling — assumption in that statement is that American lives are more valuable and more desirable to be saved than Japanese ones (even innocent Japanese children where were in no way culpable for the war being waged around them). Drafted or not, part of the nature of military service is that there is a real potential to lose one’s life; it’s part of the code of war. Childhood does not come with the same inherent risk by definition. Yet, the American government and military intentionally assigned a higher value on U.S. soldiers than Japanese civilians — something that has always gone against the code of war. No wonder Robert McNamara said of the war on Japan: we were war criminals and had the war gone the other way, we would’ve stood trial for the things we did.

 In an effort to sidestep any civic responsibility or remorse, history textbooks in the U.S. skirt the issue like the passage cited above. Similarly, they do not include any photographs of the atrocity that might make real what we did to the people of Japan. If there are any pictures at all, these are of the rubble of buildings or scorched earth. That is more palatable than facing the horror of what we did to the actual people of Hiroshima. We still don’t want to have to look them in the face.

 

 

 Really, the historiography is offensive. I submit that perhaps our textbooks should — rather than presenting insulting justifications — just contain photo essays of the victims and let our natural guilt do its work. There is no need for words.

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I recently read an op-ed piece by Andrew B. Lewis for the Los Angeles Times (”The Sit-ins That Changed America,” 1/31/10).  Lewis began the piece:
 
“The ‘Sixties’ were born on February 1, 1960, 50 years ago last week, when four African-American college students staged the first sit-in at a segregated lunch counter in Greensboro, N.C.”
 
Lewis went on to explain how the sit-ins sparked by the Greensboro example revitalized the civil rights movement, which had floundered after failed attempts to integrate southern schools after the Brown v. Topeka Board of Education Supreme Court decision and the successful but foregone Montgomery bus boycott.  Lewis also went on to talk about how the students involved in these sit-ins formed the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee to preserve their independence from the NAACP and the resulting rise of significant young leaders like John Lewis, Julian Bond, Bob Moses, Stokely Carmichael, and Marion Barry.  The success of the civil rights movement thereafter was largely the result of the aggressive egalitarian pattern set by these student protesters, Lewis noted.  Because of these, our country was permanently and significantly changed.
 
Only, there were sit-ins in Oklahoma City starting in August 1958 that pre-dated the events in North Carolina.  The NAACP Youth Council in Oklahoma City desegregated literally hundreds of restaurants and public spaces between 1958 and 1964.  Their primary shepherd in this was Clara Luper, an activist with the NAACP.  Interestingly, in Oklahoma, it’s the women who most often are the rebels fomenting change.  Luper never got national credit for her leadership like Bond and Carmichael, et al, and the Oklahoma City sit-ins didn’t spark a chain of similar events around the American south.  One has to wonder why.  How is it that Greensboro has become a symbol in our memories but Oklahoma City has been lost to our national consciousness?  I teach my students from a textbook that marks the beginning of the sit-in movement in North Carolina, and we in Oklahoma know better.  We know that it came here first (or, rather, second if you count the Virginia library sit-in from the 1930’s).  We also know that the rest of the country didn’t notice.  I bet most other Americans didn’t even know there was segregation in Oklahoma.  They probably also didn’t know that it was a couple of court cases from Oklahoma that desegregated public universities in the United States.  Our state was a pivotal part of the civil rights movement in the twentieth century, only the rest of the country didn’t pay any attention to it.
 
So, the question is:  if a civil rights protest happens in Oklahoma and no one else notices it, did it really happen?
 
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The Boy Kelsey (Henry Kelsey, English) set out in 1689 to explore part of inland Canada on behalf of the Hudson Bay Company, to whom he belonged (as an indentured servant).  He took with him an Indian youth as his aide.  Kelsey may not have been more than a teen himself at the time.  The two of them set out on a brief journey of little more than a hundred miles to ascertain the opportunities available for exploitation of the land and its resources.  They met no other Indians.  The Spanish explorers in the Southwest would never travel so lightly.  Everywhere they went in North America, they were escorted by crowds of Indians in the hundreds.  They brought extensive supplies and hordes of workers/fighters on their treks.  They did not rely on the materials at hand for their endeavors;  they brought these with them.  Accordingly, these large, heavy-laden swarms traveled slowly over the many miles.  Indeed, so slowly that often the traveling sluggish masses of exploratory encroachments sent teams on ahead to reconnoiter while the herd followed at some days’ or weeks’ distances behind.  Thus is the difference between a conquistador and an explorer.

 
One hundred and sixty years before the Boy Kelsey first stepped ashore in Canadian territory, Franciscan priest Marcos de Niza led a group north from Mexico to explore New Mexico.  At first, he traveled with Coronado’s party.  Later, he and his aide Estebanico set off on their own with their assorted Indian retinue.  As they moved deeper inland, they met many Native Americans, who entertained them and provided them shelter along the way.  These natives were fascinated with the white man enrobed in his Franciscan uniform of a grey gown and sandals — so different from their brown faces, cotton wraps, and short boots.  Fray Marcos tarried to minister to the Indians, but sent Estebanico on ahead to explore.  He was to send word back, if he were to find a great discovery.  Estebanico, with his greyhounds at his side, set off with an even smaller team of Indian companions.
 
Some time later, an Indian runner returned to Fray Marcos with a cross in hand.  It was a sign from Estebanico that he had made a great find!  The priest hurried to catch up to his aide.  Before he could do so, however, word came that Estebanico had been killed by hostile Indians — Zunis who reacted swiftly and fiercely when the Spanish representative informed them that conquerors were coming.  His brothers, Estebanico reportedly told them, were powerful and innumerable, and they were taking possession of the land.  The Zunis killed him before he could return to his many brothers and divulge the location of their pueblos.  Wisely, Fray Marcos turned back when given the news.  He planned to return again later with more reinforcements.
 
Estebanico was certainly not the first explorer to be denied possession of the New World.  In Roanoke, Virginia and the southern Mississippi Valley, English and French newcomers were also killed by Indians who did not welcome the threats and intrusions.  What makes Estebanico so unique was the fact that he was one of the first explorers to come to North America representing the Spanish crown — to claim the land for God and King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella — and he was a black man from Africa.
 
(Well, they anglicized John Cabot’s name and hispanicized Christopher Columbus’ too.)
 
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You’d like to believe our dynasty has a noble purpose. You’d like to believe that there was something respectable about the expansion of our territory beyond the mainland United States. If Plymouth Colony was a city on a hill, you want the tentacles of the American empire to be equally special. This is why we lie to ourselves and pretend that we aren’t the descendents of opportunists and garbage collectors. So, we dress up our history and give it a higher purpose. We avoid embarrassment by constructing the epic. But, the building of the empire was not noble nor grand. It didn’t start out the story of the rise of a great superpower or the conquest of other peoples. Americans pushed outside the borders of our continent solely in search of shit.
 
In the nineteenth century, guano was a valuable necessity for fertilizing the rich expansive fields of American farms and for concocting the deadly gunpowder so needed by a warlike people. American explorers — sailors in the Pacific and Caribbean — stumbled on to untapped sources of guano on the islands and keys they skipped across in their travels. What claim had they to these treasures of turd, these piles of poop? None. But, Congress would not be deterred. We must have the guano. We must find a way to have it. Yes, precious. So, in 1856, it passed the Guano Islands Act, which states:
 
“Whenever any citizen of the United States discovers a deposit of guano on any island, rock, or key, not within the lawful jurisdiction of any other Government, and not occupied by the citizens of any other Government, and takes peaceable possession thereof, and occupies the same, such island, rock, or key may, at the discretion of the President, be considered as appertaining to the United States.”
 
Yes, these fertile finds of guano would become territories of the United States. We will have our shit and we will protect it from all encroachment. How else could we obtain the Midway Atoll? For what other reason did we need Howland Island? These territories did not expand our citizenry. They did not bring us new trade or industry. They did, however, spread our fingers around the hemisphere, making us bigger, broader, and shittier. Yes, where once we only sought land we could steal from the Indian nations on which to farm and raise our families, now we sought an empire to fuel our firearms and fields — a great acidic dynasty spanning a rich hemisphere of which we are the masters. Poop and circumstance led our misguided nationalism to seize territories we did not need nor intend to inhabit and required that we build a navy to protect our interests. The French took Algiers and Vietnam. The British seized India and Hong Kong. And, America — that great and shining example of democracy and capitalism — we built an empire of shit.
 
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Despite my long-term commitment to the study of history, I have to say that I am often at a loss to draw any set sociological principles or truths from what I find. Each situation is so particular, and the characters so peculiar. It’s hard to make generalities. I would like to be able to answer that age old question: why is it that those who protest the most are the guiltiest, but I can’t. 

Perhaps it was the 70’s. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of unending years of civil strife in America. Perhaps it’s the nature of the beast. By the end of that decade though, ultra-conservative leaders General Edwin Walker and Billy James Hargis — two of the most famous and popular anti-Communist activists of the day — found themselves awash in shame and irrelevancy. Their pro-Christian, conservative, anti-Red barnstorming days were in the past. Walker finally managed to wrangle his pension — which he had forfeited in earlier resigning his military command — from the Army after all and could live out his days, bitter in Texas. Hargis had returned to Tulsa to run a Bible college, training the next generation of patriotic Christians to continue the war against liberalism, Marxism, and rock music (not necessarily in that order). Hargis’ plans, however, were disrupted in 1974, when a couple from his school accused him of sexual misconduct. The young newlyweds discovered on their honeymoon, apparently, that both had been sexually involved with the minister. That must have been one awkward confessional. In any case, they took their story to the school trustees and it was downhill from there for Hargis. Later, a number of other students from the school (male and female) came forward with other allegations of sexual misdeeds on the part of the minister and of threats to keep them from coming forward with the truth. Hargis was forced out and he never regained his previous place in the public eye. Meanwhile, Walker got caught up in his own sex scandal. He was arrested for fondling an undercover policeman and committing a lewd act in a public bathroom in Dallas in 1976. The following year, he was again arrested for public lewdness. The smoking man died in 1993 of lung cancer. Hargis lived on, incapacitated by strokes and dementia, until 2004. 

Both men were outspoken leaders of the conservative movement during the civil rights years, and they denounced the anti-Christian influences in American society. Behind the scenes, though, they were in on some seriously sinful shenanigans. So, why is it that those who crow the loudest are those that are awash in their own sin? I am reminded of the New Testament warning about railing against the speck in your neighbor’s eye while blinded by the mote in your own. I don’t know what it is about Communism in particular that drives the promiscuous and yet sexually repressed to public crusades, but it seems to rub homosexuals (and bisexuals) particularly the wrong way.

 Incidentally, Hargis allegedly wrote a speech for Joseph McCarthy, the old Communist hunter, once. Of course, McCarthy’s comrade in arms was Roy Cohn, a closet homosexual who threatened to out others for political gain. It’s ironic, if not just, that Cohn died of AIDS-related complications in 1986. He, Walker, and Hargis make for an interesting political triumvirate, but you know what they say about strange bedfellows…or in this case, perverts in the pod.

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General Edwin Walker — decorated war veteran and West Point graduate — sat at his desk in his private home in Dallas, Texas when a shot burst through the window behind him. The bullet grazed his arm but he was otherwise unharmed. Although it was the spring, it wouldn’t be until December of that year that the police would have a lead on his assailant. At that time, documentary evidence and testimony collected by the Warren Commission would indicate that Lee Harvey Oswald, who had recently assassinated the President of the United States, had taken the shot at Walker as well.

Walker and Kennedy could not have been more politically different. Kennedy represented the modern liberal mainstream of politics, and he and Walker would be drawn into conflicts over the years. Ironically, Walker had run for Governor of Texas (surprisingly as a Democrat) but lost to John Connally, who later sat next to Kennedy in the open car where he died. Walker was an ultra-conservative and opponent of desegregation who had been forced under Eisenhower to provide support and protection to nine black students enrolling at Little Rock (Arkansas) Central High School in 1957. During his subsequent posting in Europe, the general was relieved of his command by Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara (who served under Kennedy) for attempting to indoctrinate the soldiers under him with right-wing literature. Walker later resigned from the military in protest of his treatment, alleging that the government was too soft on communism. Walker became a leader in the ultra/conservative movement then. He helped organize protests in Mississippi opposing James Meredith’s enrollment at Ole Miss. After riots broke out and more than sixty federal troops and U.S. Marshals were wounded, Walker was arrested for conspiracy and inciting rebellion. The Attorney General who charged him was, of course, Robert Kennedy. One of the volunteers on Walker’s gubernatorial campaign and participant in the Mississippi protests was a man named Robert Surrey. Surrey was later responsible for the printing and distribution of a flyer accusing John Kennedy of treason and declaring him “wanted” for his crimes. These flyers were circulated in Dallas two days prior to Kennedy’s assassination. Clearly, for as different as they were politically, Walker’s and Kennedy’s lives seemed intertwined in significant ways.

After the President’s death, Walker continued in his work as a conservative activist. He traveled the country speaking to various groups. In 1963, he joined forces with famed evangelist Billy James Hargis (whose ministry’s headquarters were in Tulsa, Oklahoma) on an anti-communist campaign. Their tours were dubbed “midnight rides” — meant to awaken citizens to the threat of communism and anti-Christian forces at work in America. Both were noted conservative activists in the 60’s and 70’s who later fell into relative obscurity. Today in Tulsa, you hear a good deal about Oral Roberts but they don’t talk about Hargis anymore. And, Walker is certainly not the more famous of Oswald’s victims in the public consciousness. Walker’s rival, Kennedy, was brought down by the assassin’s bullet, but Walker survived, yielding finally to lung cancer in 1993.

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Last year, in honor of Independence Day, I nominated a person to trump replace Sean Hannity as a “Great American.”  The woman worthy of that title was Alice Paul.  This year, I’d like to continue the tradition of naming my idea of a great American, but I opted to go a little edgy with my selection this time.  One of my beefs with the adoration of the Founding Farters is that they get made over into these paragons of virtue, without blemish or stain.  In real life, men are only human and they have feet of clay.  Few among us are not a contradiction of morality and injustice made flesh.  Even fewer of us are able to think outside of the ideas of our time.  I have selected, then, a man who was on the one hand a slaveholder and on the other a champion of tolerance.  I nominate him for recognition as a patriot because he was a man of convictions and mercy — something for which we rarely celebrate people in America.
 
Alexander William Doniphan was a slave owner and a lawyer.  He settled in Missouri and became an officer in the state militia, as befitting his rank.  Those were the days when male citizens served regularly in their state militias — particularly in states like Missouri which, even in the 1830’s, still experienced some conflict between whites and American Indians and general frontier-type disorder.  Doniphan rose up the ranks to Brigadier General by the time the Mormon War began in 1838.  In 1846, he led a group of Missouri volunteers west to fight for the U.S. army in the Mexican-American War.  Doniphan led attacks against the Mexicans in Santa Fe, El Paso, and even Chihuahua.  He earned the rank of Colonel along the way and gained notoriety for his leadership.  As the Civil War loomed thereafter, Doniphan embraced a moderate position, calling for the gradual emancipation of slaves (and, remember, this is a guy who would forfeit his property under that arrangement).  A decorated veteran, he refused to fight for the Confederacy and declined a commission in the Union Army also because he did not want to fight against his southern compatriots.  Doniphan, a noted state legislator in Missouri, opposed secession and worked to keep the State neutral (or as neutral as it could be).  He even served at a peace conference in Washington, D.C., attempting to resolve the crisis through diplomacy.  When war inevitably came, Doniphan returned to private life and practiced law in St. Louis before returning to Richmond (MO) for his remaining years.  He died in 1887.
 
It is not, however, these accomplishments or even his belated repudiation of slavery that prompts my nomination here.  It is his service as a soldier.  In these times, when we as Americans are ashamed by the behavior of a military that tortures prisoners and disregards the principles of human rights and international law protecting all people from abuse, I want to recognize him as a soldier of character who once refused the order to kill and defied his superiors to promote religious tolerance.
 
In the 1830’s, the Mormons had migrated to Missouri under the leadership of Joseph Smith.  Hostilities between their growing numbers and area residents escalated over time.  In 1838, violence erupted.  The non-Mormon majority in the state sought to force the Latter Day Saints out, acting on widespread religious bigotry.  Ultimately, Governor Liburn Boggs issued an order to expel or “exterminate” the Mormons.  By that time, Doniphan and his soldiers held a number of them — including Smith — at a military camp.  Orders arrived from his superior, Major General Samuel Lucas, specifically commanding Doniphan to shoot them in the morning.  Doniphan not only refused, he also sent Lucas a reply that stated that if he (Lucas) attempted to do the deed himself, he (Doniphan) would “hold you personally responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.”  The Mormons survived, although they were later driven from the state and Smith was murdered by a vigilante mob.  In various court proceedings, Doniphan — who was not a member of their sect — represented them while they remained in Missouri.
 
Doniphan didn’t rely on that age old excuse “I was just following orders,” and commit the act he knew to be immoral and illegal.  What’s more, he had the courage of his convictions to not only do what was right, but to take on his commander to assure that he also did not do the evil deed.  Does the soldier get more valiant or nobler than that?  Is there a greater example of dedication to principles?  In this day and age when religious intolerance rears its ugly head in “Morality Proclamations” and discrimination towards Muslims and others, can we do better than look to this example for inspiration?  An angel Doniphan was not.  But, a man of principle he became and thereby, also, a great American.
 
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We near again that time of year — our holiest of civic holidays — when we celebrate both our establishment as an independent nation and the principles on which we were founded.  At this time, I would like to pay tribute to one of our most intrinsic and obvious ideals:  religious intolerance.
 
From the first days when the storm-tossed Pilgrims landed, bringing the principle of Death to Quakers!, our nation has embarked on a never-ending mission to drive the religious deviants (by which we mean our neighbors) out.  To the Indian nations, white settlers said:  ”Convert or die.”  Although we like to think that the British were the greatest of these evangelists, it seems more credible to go with the Spanish on that one.  Their forced conversion of the Indians was epic — leading to the overthrow of Santa Fe by rebellious Indians the likes of which the British Colonies never saw.
 
Once our nation established itself as the child-tyrant of North America, however, the Anglos took forced conversion and religious intolerance to a whole new level.  Probably the most egregious displays of Christian bigotry were the Mormon wars of the 19th century.  In Missouri in 1838, (and ironically between two Christian sects) the Mormons and Gentiles fought a bloody and brutal campaign.  Mormons had begun to move to Missouri en masse in 1831 because it was — believe it or not — the promised land (as revealed by God to Joseph Smith).  The sudden influx of thousands of Mormons in just a few short years led to distrust and alarm among the non-Mormons.  A political struggle within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints also prompted an increased militarization and intolerance among the differing factions of Mormons.  Then, in August 1838, a group of non-Mormons attempted to prevent a group of Mormons from voting in a local election (fearing that their numbers would allow them to gain control of the regional government).  A brawl ensued and more violence followed, spreading throughout the region.  Ultimately, the Mormons were expelled from Missouri and on October 27th, Governor Liburn Boggs issued a decree calling for their extermination.  The state militia — under the control of non-Mormons — played a dominate role in the fighting, and the Mormons were forced west — settling in nearby Illinois.
 
In 1844, the good citizens of Illinois decided to second that intolerance and violence.  The Mormons who settled in Illinois dared to build planned communities, temples, and businesses.  They held parades and were active in the Masonic Lodge.  Here too, plural marriage became an open principle of the church.  As the Mormon community grew in numbers (attracting new settler/converts from Britain), local non-Mormons again began to fear Mormon dominance in local affairs.  When Joseph Smith led a militia group to attack a local paper that criticized the church, citizens began demanding the church’s ouster.  Smith and others were jailed, and a vigilante mob dragged him from his cell and killed him (while he was a candidate for Presidency of the United States no less).  Calls for expulsion grew after that and vigilante mobs went about physically forcing Mormons from their homes.  By the end of 1845, the remaining Mormons had began preparations to voluntarily migrate west — leaving their property and communities behind.  This time, to Utah!
 
Finally, in 1857, the U.S. government decided to get in on the action.  National leaders sought to socialize the Mormons into acceptable behavior — by force if necessary (incidentally, these were the same people who sought the forced assimilation of Hispanics in the parts of the U.S. that formerly belonged to Spain and who were engaged in a program of exterminating the Indian nations).  A third of the U.S. army (which was then admittedly smaller than, say, today) marched into Utah.  Suspicious Mormons began attacking settlers traveling west, for fear that they were coming to take over the final refuge the Mormons had found.  After years of persecution, the Mormons were mistrustful and embraced vigilante tactics themselves.  Ultimately, diplomacy won the day, but the Mormons had to accept the supremacy of a civil government.  In particular, the men in Washington — who seem to be always and incessantly harping on family values — took exception to the practice of plural marriages, and Utah was not granted statehood until the church leadership publicly renounced the practice.
 
So, while we celebrate this Fourth of July and puff up our chests about our enlightened democracy — built on the bedrocks of the separation of church and state and faith in a Christian God, it is good to remember that ideals are something we never tire of selling to the rest of the world, while at home we like to practice good, old fashioned, American-style religious intolerance.  Our country always seems to need a religious crusade, for the evangelical horde is always with us.  God bless America!
 
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There’s been a lot of talk about sexism lately, and it seemed to me a good time to consider how far we’ve come. Many disparities remain, but, on the face of it, the law, at least, is now (supposed to be) neutral in its regard to the sex of the parties before it. This was not always the case. There was a time when the law was intentionally biased against women – and judges added insult to injury in applying it. I’d like to offer an example from a divorce case from North Carolina in the mid-nineteenth century. The wife filed for divorce on the grounds that her husband beat her twice (with a horsewhip once and a switch the other time), and the matter went to the state Supreme Court. I will quote at length, because I think the court’s decision speaks for itself:

“The wife must be subject to the husband. Every man must govern his household, and if by reason of an unruly temper, or an unbridled tongue, the wife persistently treats her husband with disrespect, and he submits to it, he not only loses all sense of self-respect, but loses the respect of the other members of his family, without which he cannot to expect to govern them, and forfeits the respect of his neighbors. Such have been the incidents of the marriage relation from the beginning of the human race. Unto the woman it is said: ‘Thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee’: Gen. iii. 16. It follows that the law gives the husband power to use such a degree of force as is necessary to make the wife behave herself and know her place.”

“It is sufficient for our purpose to state that there may be circumstances which will mitigate, excuse, and so far justify the husband in striking the wife ‘with a horse-whip on one occasion and with a switch on another, leaving several bruises on the person,’ so as not to give her a right to abandon him, and claim to be divorced. For instance, suppose a husband comes home, and his wife abuses him in the strongest terms – calls him a scoundrel, and repeatedly expresses a wish that he was dead and in torment; and being thus provoked in the furor brevis, he strikes her with the horse-whip, which he happens to have in his hands, but is afterwards willing to apologize, and expresses regret for having struck her; or suppose a man and his wife get into a discussion and have a difference of opinion as to a matter of fact, she becomes furious and gives way to her temper, so far as to tell him he lies, and upon being admonished not to repeat the word, nevertheless does so, and the husband taking up a switch, tells her if she repeats it again he will strike her, and after this notice she again repeats the insulting words, and he thereupon strikes her several blows, — these are cases in which, in our opinion, the circumstances attending the act, and giving rise to it, so far justify the conduct of the husband as to take from the wife any ground of divorce for that cause, and authorize the court to dismiss her petition, with the admonition, ‘If you will amend your manners, you may expect better treatment”…So that there are circumstances under which a husband may strike his wife with a horse-whip, or may strike her several times with a switch, so hard as to leave marks on her person, and these acts do not furnish sufficient ground for a divorce.” (Joyner v. Joyner, 59 N.C. 322 [1862])

This was the court’s finding despite the fact that there was no evidence that the wife in this case had done anything “to induce such violence on the part of the husband.” The mere fact that such justifying circumstances existed was enough for the judges (male) to dismiss the wife’s divorce petition. As long as there was the possibility that unruly, disobedient, and disrespectful wives existed, all men were excused for beating their own wives (“deserving” or not). My own ex-husband only tried to strike me once, and I guess you know who swung first.

m[-_-]