I Am the South
by Louise Weeks
I was born on April 12, 1861, in the Harbor of Charleston, South Carolina and the Constitution of the Confederate States of America is my Birth Certificate. The blood lines of the South run through my veins, for I offer freedom that each State should regulate her own affairs, according to its best interest. I am many things and many people
I Am The South. I am millions of living souls, and ghosts of thousands who died for me. I am the Farmer-made soldier who did not turn his back during Pickett’s Charge. I am the Rebel Yell that was heard across many of my rolling fields, protecting our homeland. I am Robert E. Lee and Thomas J. Stonewall Jackson: I stood at Fort Sumter and fired the shot heard through our young nation. I am Longstreet, Hood and Patrick R. Cleburne. I am General’s Johnson, Beauregard and President Jefferson Davis. I remember how we fought in Gettysburg, Cold Harbor, Vicksburg, and Atlanta. When duty called I answered and stayed until it was over. I left my heroic dead in Chickamauga, in the fields of Shiloh, on the bloody hills of Manassas and the mountains of Kennesaw.
I Am The South. I am the Mississippi River, and the cotton fields of Alabama and the piney woods of the Carolinas. I am the coal fields of Virginia and Kentucky, the Florida coast and the Louisiana bayou. I am Richmond, the Capitol of the Confederacy. I am the forest, field, mountain, and rivers. I am the quiet villages and the cities that never sleep. I am the Heritage that’s been forgotten, the dying memory of a way of life that is being still. You see me in the twilight and hear me in Dixie, as the past continues to fade away each year.
Yes, I Am The South, and these are the things I represent . I was conceived by force, and God willing, I’ll spend the rest of my days remembering my birth. May I always possess the integrity and the courage, and the strength to keep my Heritage alive, to remain a Loyal Southerner and stand tall and proud to the rest of the world. Do not forget: who we are; what we are and where we came from…. This is my goal, my hope, my prayer.
Written by 95 year old Louise Weeks of Hampton, Georgia, two weeks before her death.
We are all southerners in our hearts. The south will rise again.
Ah, the real South. Not immigrant 1848 European proto-Commies, not Anglican (BritVatican) catholic-lite, not Polish Catholics, not Balkan muslo-orthodox criminal shitbags, not Yankee industrialist carbetbagging bankers. Just folks who when left alone make wildernesses fruitful, build sleepy little towns where an old constable sleeps on duty, the locksmith survives on repairing sewing machines, and rape is but a bedroom playact or a rare necessity in the utmost of hill dwellers seeking genetic replenishment for their poplar-like family trees. The real south where blacks enthusiastically enlisted in butternut and grey to fight Yankee federalist leeches, and were glad to finally have a chance at building a civilisation of their own….where property rights and personal safety mirrored that of their melanin deprived neighbours…those that weren’t absentee landlords in the utopian North where dirty niggers surely knew their place and have never risen anywhere near as high as the darkies of the South did.
You are good! I can’t tell if you are serious or this is satire.
It’s that mental midget in you.
Too bad the South has been invaded by scallywags & carpetbaggers, again. They’ve damn near ruined Charleston.
Spot on they’re coming in droves leaving the shit holes they created
And will do the same to Dixie
Just a Son of the Brave Scots Irish lads who raised the Bonnie Blue Flag of West Florida in defiance of the Spanish Government in Havana.
Former SCV AND MOSB member. I have family that enlisted as a private in Mississippi infantry in 1861, KIA Gettysburg and family, Captain of Virginia infantry, surrendered with Lee at Appomattox (several others in between). Don’t get my blood up about those damned blue bellies.
Truer words have seldom been spoken so well to describe an identity separate from the rest of the country
Bless her heart.
All the true Southerners I grew up around, know it didn’t mean the same thing back in the day as it does now no matter what the bastards tell you.
Very moving, but the Southern perfectionist in me wishes it didn’t have that glaring mistake in it. “General’s”, indeed.
All we wanted was to be left alone. Why do they hate us so much, and for so long?