Sixty-three years after South Carolina raised the Confederate flag over its statehouse, a massacre in a black church may finally bring it down from the place it now occupies on the grounds of the state capitol (it was moved from atop the dome in 2000). Not that there won't be plenty of people still holding on to their stars 'n' bars-that flag will still fly in many official places throughout the South. And it isn't as though a new age of racial harmony is dawning. But as a political issue, the flag is on its way out. It's going to find fewer and fewer defenders, brought down by a surprising wave of empathy.
Yes, empathy. For decades now, the debate about the flag has gone like this: One side says that the flag is a symbol of a treasonous movement that found its purpose in defending a system built on human slavery; it was later embraced by those who carried out a decades-long campaign of terrorism against African Americans, then as a sign of support for Jim Crow. To have it fly anywhere, particularly over government buildings, is deeply offensive and hurtful, particularly to those who suffered because of the values it embodied. The other side says that, history aside, the flag doesn't actually represent those things; it represents heritage, pride in the unique Southern way of life, and the nobility of a genteel culture that's worth remembering.
Here's the thing about symbols, though: They're subjective. You can't say, "Your interpretation of that symbol is just wrong, and wrong for everyone." One can give an accurate reading of the history of the symbol and how it has been used-for instance, when South Carolina put the flag on the statehouse in 1962, it was most assuredly meant to signal the state's support for segregation-but if you tell me that in your mind, the flag stands only for Southern cooking, antebellum fashion, and the liberal use of slide guitar in popular songs, then I can't tell you that's not what the flag actually means to you.
But empathy, and the adoption of symbols by the government, demands something more. It requires us to at least try to incorporate other people's perspectives into our decision-making. In this case, it requires some people to say, "I wish this flag stood only for positive things, and for me it does. But I also understand that for African Americans, it symbolizes oppression and terror and hatred. And because their feelings matter to me, I'm going to have to take that into account."
Just to be clear, I'm not saying both opinions are equally valid, but they can both be sincere. And there's no doubt that the fact that the flag represents white supremacy is precisely the point for many if not most of its supporters. But if we take the flag's supporters at their word that it's just about heritage and culture, then there's no question whose perspective should determine what to do with the flag. When two people of good will meet and one says, "This flag reminds me of sweet tea," and the other says, "This flag reminds me of the time my uncle was lynched," it shouldn't be too hard to figure out who ought to yield to the power of the other's interpretation.
Ever since this became a political issue, the position of most Southern whites has been that the feelings of Southern blacks were not worthy of consideration. The people with power wanted the flag to fly, and so it did. Politicians, particularly Republican ones, have gone through a slow evolution, from supporting the flag to aggressive evasion. So South Carolina Governor Nikki Haley, running for re-election last year, could argue that it just isn't worth talking about anymore, since her election forever cast off the state's reputation for institutionalized racism. And if you're a politician from elsewhere in the country (let's say one who's running for president and thinking about that important South Carolina primary on February 20), you can just say "This is for the people of South Carolina to decide" and avoid taking a position on it. We all know who the target audience for that is, and it isn't black people.
That's still where most of the GOP presidential candidates are. Though Mitt Romney was the most prominent Republican to say publicly that the flag should come down, most of this election's contenders can't seem to bring themselves to be quite so emphatic. Even Jeb Bush seems to want to have it both ways: He pointed to the fact that when he was governor, Florida removed the Confederate flag from its state grounds, but would only say that "there will rightly be a discussion among leaders in the state about how South Carolina should move forward and I'm confident they will do the right thing." And what's the right thing? He's not saying. Scott Walker and Marco Rubio said similar things about how this is up to the people of South Carolina.
That's a ridiculous position to take, unless the question they're answering is "What is the procedure by which the fate of the flag will be decided?" It's like saying that your opinion on same-sex marriage is that it will be decided by the Supreme Court. That's true, but it's not what voters want to know.
We don't have to rack our brains trying to figure out why they've taken that position in the past; it's because they were worried about the feelings of the Confederate flag's supporters in South Carolina and elsewhere. The feelings of African Americans were not their concern, because they weren't going to get their votes.
How long is that position going to be tenable? My guess is, not for long. As they confront more pointed questions, at least some of those candidates will likely move to the position John Kasich articulated: "This is up to the people of South Carolina to decide, but if I were a citizen of South Carolina I'd be for taking it down." From there, it may even be possible to state an opinion without the obligatory note about South Carolinians deciding for themselves. The idea that the flag has to go is gaining wider currency in conservative circles; Russell Moore, a high-ranking official with the Southern Baptist Convention (which formally apologized in 1995 for its prior support of slavery and segregation), wrote in the wake of the Charleston massacre that it's time to finally put the flag away, specifically because black people's feelings are worth considering. "White Christians," Moore said, "let's listen to our African American brothers and sisters."
The politicians will eventually follow, forced by events and an evolving country to display some empathy even for people who probably won't vote for them. And who knows, before long they may finally put aside the "Southern strategy" they've used since Richard Nixon's time, using racially tinged attacks to motivate white voters in the South (and elsewhere). That'll happen when they wake up to the fact that it just won't work anymore. And they may be realizing that a little empathy won't hurt them.
