User:Robert Bruce Livingston

b. 1959 Fayetteville, North Carolina. I reside in San Francisco.

M.Sc. International Studies

I am an occasional contributor and am chiefly interested in the Humanities.

Here is a story that might tell you a little bit about me:

One of the last things I did before leaving South Carolina for California was to pay a visit to the State House in Columbia. I asked to speak to the governor, and was directed instead to the office of his ombudsman hidden away in the guts of a nearby annex.

The office I entered was silent and empty save for a female black receptionist who asked me to have a seat to wait for the governor's representative. I told her my reason for being there, and she looked up from her desk surprised.

I asked her if there had been many others who had come for the same purpose as mine, and she answered me in the negative. She confirmed that indeed the office had often received angry phone calls, or there had been occasions when people protested with pickets outside-- but I was the first to ever knock on the door and come in.

Her answer relieved me. Somehow at that point I believed that I was doing the right thing.

After twenty minutes or so, a young, handsome, and well-dressed white man received me into his larger office. He told me that he was very close to the governor and would dutifully pass on my concerns.

I told him that I had come to Columbia on an errand, and that while passing the capitol building I looked up and saw the Confederate Flag flying above it just as I had since my childhood-- flying just directly below the American Flag and the South Carolina State Flag.

I told him how I was suddenly seized by the idea that it must immediately come down. "I'm leaving this state soon and I cannot leave regretting that I said nothing about how that flag makes me feel."

The Confederate flag, I told him, was intolerable. I could not pass that idolized flag without thinking of all the generations of black South Carolinians who lived, labored and suffered in its shadow. I could not pass it without thinking that South Carolina was a state frozen in time: incapable of recognizing the dignity and equality of all of its citizens, and thus incapable of receiving the blessings that a modern state deserves.

I told him that I could understand the irrational sentimentality that many white South Carolinians had for the flag, but that I could not abide its incongruent display alongside the American flag and the beautiful South Carolina flag with its indigo blue field, white palmetto and crescent moon.

I told the ombudsman how both my father and mother's family were representated by soldiers who had fought for the Confederacy.

I told him how one of these soldiers on my mother's side had fought from the first battle at Manassas, was wounded three times, and had surrendered with Lee at Appomattox.

"When they surrendered," I explained, "they agreed to go home in peace as honorable men." The prominent and thoughtless resurrection of the surrendered flag had dishonored the sanctity of the promises they made. It was therefore a betrayal of my family's word and honor.

I continued: "My father was a brave soldier who fought for the United States flag in two wars. He did not fight for a Confederate flag. The Confederate flag is an afront and insult to what he fought for and others died for."

(These were just some of the reasons I gave for detesting the sight of the Confederate flag, for I had many.)

I told the ombudsman that my desire to see the flag removed was so great that I would be willing to pull it down myself, but knew it would be to no avail. I told him I would most likely be shot, arrested, and called insane-- and most likely, the flag would be rehoisted.

"The governor, however, can do it-- and it would be simple," I declared.

"All he has to do is pick up the phone and ask that the press meet him in the rotunda in thirty minutes. Imagine! I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't make the covers of Newsweek, Time, and U.S. News And World Report."

The ombudsman steepled his fingers and leaned forward, smiling mischievously. "That's impossible," he declared. "Only the State Legislature can decide to remove the flag!"

"Are you certain?" I replied. "Though it may be true that the governor lacks the de jure power of decision, does he not have actual, ad hoc power? Ten percent of the state's population may love that flag. Another ten percent, likely more, detest it. As for the majority who do not think deeply about it-- they would rally to the governor's side when they see how the world rejoices its disposal."

I continued, "What could happen to the governor? He could conceivably be arrested, and lose his office-- but the flag would come down to stay down! Who would dare restore it? The governor would be a hero!"

The ombudsman, enthralled, looked at me incredulously. "Mark my words," I said, "If the governor doesn't do it, his name will one day be just a footnote in a dusty book! But, if he does-- he will be remembered as one of South Carolina's greatest governors."

At that point, I thanked the ombudsman for his attention and left. I knew I had made my best case, and felt justified that he had understood me well.

I don't pay much attention to the goings-on in South Carolina anymore, although I bristle when I hear people referring to it as the backward home of Ku Klux Klan, good-old-boys, and trailer trash. Sometimes I recall with an odd nostalgia the state's melancholy weather (especially its oppressive summers), and the boundless optimism of its people (although many have so long been poor). I miss the mile upon mile of scrub pine, dank forests, and lonely farmlands.

Recently, I read that the one-term Governor Beasley had not taken the Confederate flag down, although he had wished to. The next governor oversaw its removal from the dome of the State House to the State House grounds-- where it still flies.

More and more, I question the symbolism and significance of all flags.

Also I wonder: what does it matter if your name ends up just a footnote in a dusty book... or even if your name is not remembered at all?

What matters, I think, is that you live a life without shirking. You profess yourself and act in a way that is stripped of illusions or ego. You are considerate of others, nurture life, and encourage the potential of everyone you meet to do good in this world.

How interesting that we all have different ways of doing this! And how challenging!

External links

• Remarks by Governor David M. Beasley, 2003 John F. Kennedy Profile in Courage Award Recipient, John F. Kennedy Library (http://www.jfklibrary.org/pica_2003_beasley_remarks.html)