Of course, for sure, and then some.
The Confederate army was full of young men fighting for and with their friends, families and neighbors.
Yes, they were white, and likely sympathetic to slavery.
But they were just young men, even boys.
They died in war like all soldiers do.
Broken, bloody and full of hurt.
Maybe slowly laying in the dirt.
In a hospital full of germs.
Or suddenly, in the blink of an eye
Gone.
And gathered up and buried.
Laid to rest, as they say.
Like all soldiers in any army.
Too young to know the difference.
Some fled and defected.
But most didn't.
Most couldn't.
Or wouldn't.
And many died.
And they were buried by moms and dads.
Uncles and aunts, sisters and brothers.
Tears were shed.
Tombstones sunk into the ground.
Trees planted.
Remember them?
Of course.
Honor them?
Yes.
But let's not fly the Confederate Flag.
That's a piece of rebellion and steeped in horror.
It's all about slavery.
That's what it was.
That's what it is.
Slavery.
White supremacy.
Jim Crow.
States' Rights.
Nullification.
The end of the Union.
Shackles and chains.
Whips and ropes.
Yes, that's the truth.
There should never be a Confederate Flag associated with the young men moldering away in the ground across the southern stretches of this nation ... but only the Star and Stripes ... one nation, indivisible ...
Remember them, of course.
But let Old Glory rise above their graves.
In some form or fashion, they died for that flag.
They challenged it.
Tested and tried that flag.
And that flag endured.
And it was, in part, their blood, that made it so.
So, over their graves.
The glorious flag of a nation.
With plenty of struggles.
But still united.
Still held together by the Constitution.
And fragile dreams of democracy.
God bless them.
And God bless us all.
As we struggle to be:
The United States of America.
