James M. Redwine

Civil War

Join or Die

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The Haudenosaunee, the democratic confederation of the Six Nations of Native Americans, had existed for centuries before Canasatego, their spokesperson, suggested the 13 colonies should form a similar arrangement. In 1754 Benjamin Franklin adopted the idea and even designed a flag with a snake cut into several pieces with the motto “Join or Die”. Eventually Canasatego’s advice was followed and Native Americans lost their lands. “Be careful what you wish for” or “No good deed goes unpunished”; either adage might apply.

These thoughts led the first of Ken Burns’ six-part PBS documentary of the American Revolution. Gentle Reader, if you did not watch it last week, I recommend you could not find a better use of twelve hours of your valuable time than pulling it up now on the PBS streaming app. My realization was how little I knew about the unlikely birth of the United States of America. Until last week my thought was, we Americans had had only one Civil War. I was ignorant of the animus among the colonies and our revered Founders. The revelations that the people who sacrificed so much and endured such hardships were actually people, much as people of today, was difficult to incorporate with my formal education and years of social experience and hearsay analysis.

I have spent many years sanguine with the core of America’s birth being a struggle for freedom by oppressed colonists against a repressive British monarchy. It was a clean, straight forward story requiring little nuance. I liked it and was comfortable in my beliefs; honor was the hallmark of the American Revolution.

After all, what words are more American than “We mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor”? Honor was the standard and such things as speculation in Indian lands as a motivation for revolution by such speculators as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Ben Franklin were beyond the pale. However, in Ken Burns’ treatise, the historian Philip Deloria states, “I think the American Revolution was all about land”. And in support of this premise he cited the 1763 British Royal Proclamation that declared all the land west of the Appalachian Mountains off limits to white people for either settlement or speculation. This infuriated the colonists who cited Manifest Destiny and who came from a culture in which 2% of Britain’s population owned 66% of the land. Many colonists believed their only hope of ever owning land was to take it from the Native Americans west of the Appalachians.

And of course, there was that soaring marvelous language, “All men are created equal and endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights and among those are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. My formal schooling did not mention that the population “All men” did not include any women or non-white men nor did it mention the institution of slavery being practiced and jealously protected by many of the men who signed our glorious Declaration of Independence from the British crown.

So, was the American Revolution a straight forward story of good versus bad, of honor versus oppression, or was it vastly more complex? There was much to admire but, as with all human behavior, there are stains that should be acknowledged and learned from. Honor is not just a word; it is a cause. Honor encapsulates all vital human aspirations of honesty, integrity, generosity, humility, fairness, courage and self-sacrifice. The Founders certainly displayed much honorable behavior.

However, as we should know our history so we can learn from it, it should be the full story so the right lessons are applied in our country’s life in our times. Knowing our heroes were human does not denigrate their achievements. It does help us seek the harder right and eschew the easier wrong. I respectfully submit the story of the American Revolution is best celebrated with truth.

Dad’s Birthday

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Photo by Peg Redwine

 

Gentle Reader, it is possible you have heard or read some of this Civil War type story before. But Peg and I are going to spend this coming weekend at the re-enactment of the Civil War Battle of Honey Springs which was the largest Civil War battle west of the Mississippi River involving Caucasian, Black, and several Native American tribes in a desperate struggle for the control of Fort Gibson, the main installation that controlled the western supply route along the Texas Road. I do not know if my Grandfather Redwine fought in this battle which occurred July 17, 1863 near what is now Checotah, Oklahoma. If he did, it would have been as a teenager on the side of the Confederacy. However, as he eventually ended up in this particular area immediately after the Civil War, I choose to believe that scenario. Anyway, as with many families, our history wanders through numerous thickets of possibilities. In this regard I am returning to what I choose to believe may be a part of the Redwine lore. Should you have seen or read the story before, I hope you will indulge me.

My father was born in 1905 in Indian Territory, what later became Oklahoma in 1907. My grandfather Redwine was born in Georgia in 1848, 13 years before the Civil War began. After the war he moved to Indian Country, declared himself a minister and sought to save souls among non-United States citizens. At a makeshift church-camp meeting he was preaching from a wagon hitched to a team that bolted. Grandpa was thrown off the wagon, hit his head, died from the fall and was buried by his flock right where he fell. The location of his grave was slowly forgotten by all but a few of his family.

During the Viet Nam War the anti-war protestors raised so much Cain our government sought to ease the pressure by honoring deceased veterans from prior wars. As the great Woke Movement had not yet begun, sometimes “veteran” included Civil War soldiers from both sides. As my paternal grandfather was a Georgia teenager during the war years 1861-1865, he must have been counted as a war veteran. The details of his allegiance were not noted.

However, Gentle Reader, my maternal great, great grandfather who was born in La Grange, Indiana served with the Iron 44th of the Union forces. My family was rather ecumenical. Regardless, Grandfather Redwine was included in the whole class and was deemed entitled to a bronze marker for his grave only 100 or so years after his service.

Therefore, the War Department sent out a representative to Oklahoma but he could not locate Grandpa’s grave. So, he contacted my first Cousin, Pal Gene Redwine in Wilburton, Oklahoma to enlist his help. Pal Gene was an accommodating and friendly guy who had been to our grandfather’s grave. He agreed to help but suggested that our Uncle Henry might be even more knowledgeable and brewed excellent moonshine besides. They proceeded to Uncle Henry’s still.

Uncle Henry was as affable as Pal Gene. He insisted his latest vintage be taste-tested before they went to find Grandpa’s grave. The federal man and Pal Gene felt it impolite to refuse such hospitality so a few hours were spent trying to get directions to Grandpa’s rural resting site. Of course, such mental exercise required chemical assistance.

Eventually, Pal Gene and the Veteran’s Affairs official left Uncle Henry’s with Grandpa’s marker and sought the mysterious grave. They never found it but did manage to lose the marker somewhere along the search. Talk about honor in the breach, or, just desserts if one is not a Rebel.

Photo by Peg Redwine

 

Uncle Tom’s Gaza

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I read Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin when I was in the Seventh Grade because my Seventh Grade Social Studies teacher told our class the book missed the true meaning of the Civil War. My teacher was also my Junior High football coach and I liked and respected him. He was a solidly built white man about thirty-five years old. He ran his Social Studies class using the same system he used to coach.

He gave clear instructions and we players and students followed them. We won football games and accepted his interpretation of America’s cultural history the same way we players absorbed extra wind-sprints for mistakes on the practice field in 90º heat in September.

Both our football team and our Social Studies class were comprised of white kids as Oklahoma had not as yet integrated its schools. I do not know if there was a Social Studies class for Junior High, what we then called Colored kids, in my small hometown. Thus, I have no knowledge if they would have been taught Uncle Tom’s Cabin was enlightened or misguided or if it was simply ignored.

I remember the firmness in my teacher/coach’s voice as he described Mrs. Stowe’s novel as a book of fiction written by a northern Yankee whose uninformed views on slavery were influenced by her family’s brand of the Christian religion. As our Christian instructor told us, “The Civil War was not about slavery but State’s Rights”. That was not what I had been told by my Osage Indian Sunday School teacher or my parents. It was confusing.

However, football was more important than whether some long-dead writer was an accurate observer or a fervent abolitionist. So, I took in the lecture and let it roll off as most of the other stuff. That is, until the day my friends, Abby and Jack, brought the issues of State’s Rights and human rights into perspective.

Abby sat near me in class and Jack sat right next to her. Jack liked Abby but was unskilled in the ways to a girl’s heart. He sought her attention but thought to get it through pre-teen means. When our teacher left the classroom to get a book, Jack saw his chance to garner Abby’s ardor by slipping a thumbtack on her chair. She sat down on it just as the disciplinarian returned. She yelled and our teacher immediately went into coach mode.

At that time I had not learned about the tender mercies of Simon Legree but I got a preview from the Coach. He had always been ready with one of the paddles he kept hanging from the chalkboard. But this time the lesson of the power structure between teacher and student was graphic. Coach chose a thin paddle and pressed two thumbtacks through it. Then he proceeded to apply maximum behavioral modification to Jack.

That next Saturday I checked out Uncle Tom’s Cabin from the public library and read about slavery from the northern viewpoint. The aphorism “Power Corrupts” became an on-the-ground example to me. Those thoughts have reoccurred now I am an adult and have observed the corruption of the Israeli Zionists immense power over their neighbors, especially the Palestinians.

As I re-read Uncle Tom’s Cabin these past two weeks, my thoughts have been, where is a Harriet Beecher Stowe’s outrage at what is the incomprehensible cruelty of babies being starved and mothers being bombed. Harriet, we need you to visit Mr. Trump as you did Mr. Lincoln. Or, perhaps, we all need to read your book again.

 

You Say You Want A Revolution

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Photo by Peg Redwine

The Beatles sang:

♪ You say you want a revolution
…
You say you’ll change the Constitution
Well, you know
We all want to change the world
You tell me it’s the institution
Well, you know
You’d better free your mind instead ♪

I do not know why those British songsters were singing about changing America’s Constitution during the Viet Nam War. Perhaps they were just selling a song or perhaps they felt it was a return to 1776. Regardless, today in the United States it seems a lot of Americans seek to remake America in their own image and the quickest way is a revolution. Of course, not much thought may have gone into what a revolution would truly mean in 2025 et. seq.

On the other hand, James Madison of the small body and the gigantic brain gave the written word to the revolution he had just participated in and the possible future ones he wanted to prevent by designing a United States Constitution based on a theory that all humans seek to expand their power as much as they are allowed. Therefore, for a democracy to continue existing, the bedrock of our country had to be a government made up of separate functions controlled by competing separate and equal powers. As a people we have had a history of teetering from side to side with only occasionally tipping completely over to any one branch gaining too much power.

The Civil War broke out because all three branches chose conflict over compromise on the issues of slavery and the human rights of African Americans. On other visceral issues, such as Native American rights, Women’s right to vote, use of alcohol or marijuana or wars such as World Wars I and II, Korea, Vietnam and Iraq, we have managed to let the struggling of the separate governmental powers find a way to come out in an acceptable equilibrium.

We have had countless opportunities to lose our democracy but have eventually stepped back from the brink. The United States Supreme Court has taken more than one foray into excessive power, such as Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857). During Chief Justice Earl Warren’s reign (1953-1969) the Court’s ultra-liberal rulings had much of the public up in arms. There were even billboards on the highways calling for Warren’s impeachment.

And the Legislative Branch has had its attempts at being the conscience of America also. For example, Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy set himself up to be the ultimate determiner of what a “true American” was. During the era of “McCarthyism” in the 1940’s and 1950’s the American public generally bought into his “Red Scare” tactics until the facts overcame his allegations.

But it has usually been the Executive Branch where the abuse of power has been the most obvious. The most salient example was Franklin Delano Roosevelt who was president from 1933 until his death during his fourth term in 1945. Even though a great majority of both Congress and the American people objected to American involvement in WWII, Roosevelt manipulated the United States into the war. Of course, he had the aggression of Japan to help his argument.

It was Roosevelt’s long-term in office and some of his unpopular policies that brought about the 22nd Amendment to the U.S. Constitution that forbids anyone from serving more than two terms as President. Although some supporters of President Donald Trump have advanced the possibility of an exception to this amendment for President Trump. Such moves on behalf of Donald Trump and the current makeup of the U.S. Supreme Court are raising concerns among anti-Trumpers. There exists the possibility that neither the Supreme Court nor the Legislature may provide a proper balance for our democracy as both may be biased in favor of President Trump, especially as about one-half of the electorate has supported him and his policies.

While a revolution may be extremely unlikely, so have been numerous other shifts in power in America throughout our history. There is no need yet to call for extraordinary action by any branch nor from the news media or the public. However, it is the fabric of our democracy that may be being tested once again. There is no harm in remaining true to the wisdom of our nation’s charter and there could be harm from failing to reference it.

Photo by Peg Redwine

A Teetering Balance

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Our federal democracy is seen as having three equal branches that keep our democracy by equally asserting restraints on one another. The Legislative Branch plays its part by having 435 representatives elected for 2-year terms by citizens throughout the country along with 100 senators elected for 6-year terms. These just over 500 individuals have many functions but they really have only one power, providing or restricting funds to themselves and to the other two branches of government, the Executive and Judicial Branches.

 The Executive Branch has thousands of functionaries but its most powerful executive is the President who directly and indirectly heads the military and countless other divisions of that diverse branch. Each of those often nameless bureaucracies has untold, often nameless, functionaries whose functions may hold the key to whether our government functions.

The Judicial Branch is easy to generally designate but much more difficult for the populace and the other two branches to corral as the Judicial Branch has generally defined itself since Marbury v. Madison in 1803. In fact, the Judicial Branch jealously and vigorously spends much of its time struggling to make sure the other two branches do not infringe on its powers, the chief of which is to define what the law allows the other two branches to do.

This theory of a three equal and separate foundation of our democracy works well as long as the powers of each branch remain truly separate and fairly balanced and each branch is composed of greatly dispersed functionaries. It is not a novel observation that our great democracy has remained democratic, mostly, because it remains diverse, dispersed and divided. When power becomes concentrated in a particular individual or individuals or branch, democracy suffers and internecine competitions may arise. Such theoretical and rhetorical battles can, as our Civil War proved, break out into real battles as one or two or even all three of the branches seek dominance.

Currently, we have members of each branch asserting efforts to imprint upon our whole country the vision of a few executives, followed by a few judges, both entities being subject to the status of financial hostages from a powerful few in the Legislative Branch. Now, some may analyze our current imbroglio as evidence our three-branch theory is simply working itself out in practice. That could be true. However, I hypothesize our Founding Fathers may have neglected the Fourth Branch of our social/governmental structure, the citizenry. Normally we have an electorate that, while unhappy perhaps, still finds a way to “soldier on”.

Our current social intercourse pits about one-half of America against the other half, sort of like the times of theDred Scott v. Sandford case of 1857 that led to the Civil War. Much as when a large portion of the United States agreed with the U.S. Supreme Court that African Americans were not citizens while another large portion disagreed. Many Americans today either agree or disagree with Birthright Citizenship and several other issues. One President and at least one federal judge come down on opposite sides of this citizenship issue and probably several others.

Such matters being seen diametrically opposite by each of two of our branches and both branches awaiting input from the Legislative and more importantly the public, creates a situation where our national soul may be at war with itself. What is called for is much more equal and reasonable input from each branch, especially that Fourth Branch, the populace.

The Briar Patch

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Photo by Peg Redwine

Joel Chandler Harris, AKA Joe Harris (1848-1908), was born in the state of Georgia before the Civil War and worked on a slave-holding plantation as a teenager. After the war he became an associate editor at The Atlanta Constitution newspaper. Harris had lived and worked around the evils of slavery and he had absorbed the folk wisdom of slaves who were prohibited by law from formal education. Harris created his fictional writings using Uncle Remus as a wise and shrewd observer of human nature hidden within animal behavior.

Harris intended his writings as compliments to the ability of Uncle Remus to explain human foibles by giving animals human failings such as arrogance. In the story of Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Fox contained in Harris’ Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings, the meanness of the Fox is used by the Rabbit to escape by getting the Fox to “punish” the Rabbit by throwing him into a briar patch. Of course, that is exactly what the Rabbit really wanted.

Unfortunately, due to our current misguided wokeness in many areas, the slave dialect used by Harris now interferes with the appreciation of the literature of The Song of the South and a great number of those pro-African American folk tales are no longer read. However, for those of us whose time of birth helped us escape the ravages of the current misguided ignorance in the area of children’s literature, Uncle Remus is still imparting wisdom, such as enjoying a proverbial briar patch. Or in my case, Peg’s banishment of me to the solitude of our bunkhouse when I got COVID and Peg did not.

At first, I was offended when Peg handed me my toothbrush and a set of clean underwear and locked our cabin door behind me after she forcefully shut it. It was not that I wanted Peg to share in my experience of a sore throat, lethargy and endless amounts of crud being expelled from my body. It was more the feeling that a one-person leper colony was a rather lonely possibility, plus I really missed my favorite recliner and ready access to the refrigerator. Oh, and Peg too, of course.

Be that as it may, Peg sentenced me to two weeks of quarantine with the same lack of ceremony she would have exhibited if a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman had appeared with a sample case. You remember encyclopedias don’t you, Gentle Reader? You know, those things with pages, tables of contents and indexes that went the way of the dodo bird after Google came along. Well, that may call for a different column.

Anyway, here I am alone with the piles of books I never read, the piano I used to play and old photographs of friends and relatives I barely recognize. I have been rummaging through boxes and drawers filled with the most interesting stuff not seen by me since high school. What a strange looking dude I was with dark colored hair and a discernible jaw line. Who was that and who are those undecipherable young people around him wearing weird clothes?

Say, Peg, what is this thing that says Maytag on it? Is this where my clean clothes came from? It must be a miracle machine. How does it operate? By the way, there is no stove out here and after several days of eating the leftovers you sent with me, I am ready for some real food.

By the way, I have done my Paxlovid and am pretty sure I am not Typhoid Mary anymore. On the other hand, the bunkhouse refrigerator is stocked with leftover beer from our Fourth of July Family Reunion and the TV is constantly tuned to Gunsmoke reruns. The bunkhouse is the answer to every boy’s escape from his mother and every husband’s escape from constant inspection by his wife.

Clothes are in a pile where I take them off. The bed never has to be made to drill sergeant standards and every door knob and chair back is a hanger. But the most serendipitous of all? Peg is afraid to step foot in my little slice of heaven. I may claim to be eternally toxic. Bring on that Briar Patch!