Look Closer — Red Trucks and Rebel Retreats
History does not repeat itself, but it sometimes rhymes. Unknown
I’ve been thinking of some local history of late, one thing recent and personal, the other from Richmond’s darkest days.
’Twas a picture-perfect day in May 2017 when the parade went by. I have lived a life short on parades, but with my wife marching I was all set and ready to view, sitting in my camp chair on the lawn of a local church. I live in a near suburb that was once a getaway along the train line out of town: Bon Air, good air away from the city. Fittingly, the Victorian Days Parade goes right down the road with all the colorful Victorian houses with their sharp angles and broad lawns.
Early in the parade, in a prominent position, came a bright red truck with a bunch of smiling faces in the back. A banner on the side proclaimed The Republican Party of Chesterfield County. Walking behind the truck was the political power of my community, at that time.
First came our congressman, waving and smiling widely, boomer country club chic the whole way. He was a Tea Party darling and nationally notorious, having unseated a longtime member of Congressional Republican leadership to earn his seat. I stared at him, but did not smile or wave back. His eyes moved over and right on past me.
Close behind, almost beside the congressman but not quite, came our state senator — younger, fitter, but an early and distinguished grey. He was waving and smiling too, more a sturdy gym friend than grinning pol. He made eye contact with me as well and even offered a direct greeting — “How are you doing? You ok?” — and then he walked on.
Further behind, clearly a part of the team but willfully moving on the outer edge, came our state delegate. He was walking and smiling but hanging back a bit. I paid close attention to his body language, wondering if my moderate delegate who was known as a man of his word was willfully putting some space between him and my increasingly infamous congressman.
I stared at the red truck and my elected representatives as they moved past and the parade continued onward.
Much farther back in the parade, after many antique cars shined to their best, came two groups of mostly women, counted in the tens and carrying their own banners. The first, the Liberal Women of Chesterfield County. The second, and the main attraction for me because my wife was right there in the middle, Neighbors for an Inclusive Bon Air. Five months into our Trumpian national nightmare at that point and the women were starting to fight their good fight and proclaim their point of view, even in my idyllic Victorian community where the big red truck was given parade prominence.
Fast forward to November 2017. Mr. Republican Delegate, hanging back, trying to maintain his own political and community-focused space, was the first to get voted out, defeated by a first-time, female politician. He blamed his defeat on anti-Trump sentiment that ignored his years of largely bi-partisan service to his district. He had a valid point, but he still chose to march with Mr. Tea Party. And thus my Mr. Suburban Republican Delegate was replaced by Ms. Suburban Democratic Delegate.
Next we step forward to November 2018 and Mr. Tea Party Hero Republican Congressman goes down, defeated by a mom and first time politician. He notoriously claimed that “the women are all up in my grill” during the campaign. Professor All Opposition All the Time Congressman was replaced by Mrs. Pragmatic Mom Democratic Congresswoman.
Finally, 2019, and Mr. Sturdy Lawyer Gym Fit State Senator is defeated on Election Day. He loses a district that had been held by white males since formation to a mom, first-generation American, and academic who is now the first Muslim-American woman to ever serve in the Virginia State Senate.
I don’t know who would have walked behind the big red truck in the 2020 parade. The parade was cancelled due to the pandemic. I do know suburban women took over the political power of my districts, and it is good.
The other thing I’ve been thinking about goes much further back. On the first Sunday in April 1865, President of the Confederacy Jefferson Davis got word from General Lee that Grant’s army had broken through and Lee was abandoning the lines in Petersburg, and thus giving up the capital of the Confederacy, Richmond. Davis was sitting in a pew at St. Paul’s Church when he got the ill news that he must have known was coming eventually, and yet he had not yet let the possibility in. St. Paul’s Church that still stands downtown, that I attended many a time as a youth.
Davis and the Confederate government abandoned the city forthwith and post-haste, as the saying goes. Yet even with Grant’s clear numerical and material superiority, even with months of privation throughout the South and right here in Richmond, even after the strategic cruelty and brutal force of Sherman’s campaign, Davis still wanted to fight for his cause. He got on a train and fled south and west, seeking to set up a government in exile and bring his two remaining armies together to continue the fight, as guerillas if need be.
Yet abandoning Richmond was not enough. If the Confederacy could not hold Richmond, then they would leave as little behind for Lincoln as possible, even then approaching up the James River. Richmond was set aflame by its own residents, by its former protectors, because leaving charred ruins behind for President Lincoln to find was viewed as a better alternative than simply laying down the guns and greeting Lincoln with hands up, “ok, you won.”
One of my favorite restaurants used be inside of the oldest standing commercial building in Richmond. It dated to the 1840s, I believe. Pre-Civil War structures are exceedingly rare in Richmond, even though the town dates to the 1600s. This building stands in the oldest part of town; a marketplace dating back to pre-Revolutionary times was only a block away. Yet all the other buildings in that part of town burned that night in April 1865, simply so Lincoln could only capture ruins. I guess even at the bitter end, prompted to war when the popular will of the nation had swung against them, defeated in war when the superior human and material resources of the United States were fully brought to bear against them, the Confederacy thought better to burn it all down than admit they were wrong and defeated.
And even after burning it all down, the South proceeded to slowly win the peace and convince enough of the nation that not only were they not wrong, but their cause was noble.
Yet here we are, 155 years later, and the women can run for office, and the women can vote, and all three of my white male legislators have been voted out. Hopefully this time around, caring, moderate, and progressive-minded women will save us from ourselves, and save us from the many people who would still rather burn it all down than admit they were wrong. Hopefully the voices of violence and division will be minimized and drowned out. Drowned out by the Moms, reminding us that our mothers and grandmothers raised us to be better than this.
“In the winter of ’65, we were hungry, just barely alive
By May the tenth, Richmond had fell
It’s a time I remember, oh so well”
The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, by The Band, written by Robbie Robertson
