God Save Texas: A Journey Into the Soul of the Lone Star State(15)

I looked around at the legacy of the great oil-fueled boom of the 1970s and early 1980s that had come to such a crashing end. Where were the cultural institutions, the schools, the public art? What I saw instead were cruddy strip shopping centers, garish beach communities, the ugly sprawl of car lots and franchise chicken joints and prefab warehouses that issued out of the heart of every city and crawled along our highways like poison vines. Texas in the wake of the boom was revealed to be a civilization built on greed and impermanence, a civilization that was here to take, not to give. It was odd, because Texans were always talking about how much they loved the state, but I wondered where was the evidence of that love.

I thought about what had brought us to this point. What was the source of the greed, the blunders, the bullheaded arrogance that had led to this monumental crack-up? It was clearly a culture that confused wealth with value, where every notable personality had to be a millionaire. Even during the downturn in the eighties, Texas Monthly published an annual review, called “The Texas 100,” of the wealthiest Texans. To strike it rich is still the Texas dream, although the state has never been rich in the way that Maryland and Connecticut and other old money Eastern states are. Even Nebraska has more millionaires per capita than Texas. And yet, when people all over the world think of Texas, they still think of big money. You can tell the oil is gushing when they start selling those oversized dollars in the airport souvenir shops.

I considered leaving Texas then. I don’t know why I didn’t. But something important happened in the wake of that mighty crash. There was a stronger sense of community as people hunkered down. The national schadenfreude that greeted the downfall of the Texas economy was sobering. Our political and business leaders began to realize that the state couldn’t compete without strong institutions and educated people. We had to diversify. Tolerance and openness were not notable Texas qualities, but they were vital for creating a resilient society in the modern world.

Maybe God, in His mercy, will spare Texas another oil boom.





THREE





Houston, We Have a Problem





On Thanksgiving morning my friend Steve and I hopped on our bikes again to go see the new African American history monument at the Texas capitol grounds in Austin. There are two bronze wings on the monument, with a frieze depicting the evolution and struggle of black Texans. On the far left stands Esteban the Moor, a slave who had been a part of Cabeza de Vaca’s expedition. Esteban was the first black person in Texas and, according to Steve, likely the first Muslim in America. On top, there is a pair of freed slaves, one holding the torch of liberty and the other with a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation. On the day that the monument was unveiled, a small group calling themselves White Lives Matter protested the event, reminding everyone that the sentiments that led to civil war still resonate in some minds.

Nearby, in the gateway to the capitol grounds, stands a massive Confederate shrine, topped by a statue of Jefferson Davis, the Confederate president. There is also a monument to John Bell Hood’s Texas Brigade, one of the most valiant units in Robert E. Lee’s army. Out of 4,400 men in the brigade, only 600 were still standing at the end of the war. A Confederate flag is inscribed in the shaft. Closer to the capitol building is a monument to Terry’s Texas Rangers, who were the shock troops for the Battle of Shiloh and other significant engagements. On the building itself is a plaque, which was placed there in 1959, titled the Children of the Confederacy Creed. It pledges to honor the veterans and the ideals of the Confederacy, as well as “to study and teach the truths of history (one of the most important of which is that the war between the states was not a rebellion, nor was its underlying cause to sustain slavery).” That the state would dignify such lies by placing them on the capitol is shameful.

You can find Confederate monuments all over the state. In 2015, the University of Texas at Austin, bowing to student demands, removed a statue of Jefferson Davis from the campus, together with one of Woodrow Wilson. Then, in the middle of the night, on August 20, 2017, workers removed the remaining Confederate statues: Robert E. Lee, General Albert Sidney Johnston, and John Reagan, who served as the postmaster general for the Confederacy. James Hogg, a progressive governor, who was the son of a Confederate general, was also taken down. The empty pedestals remain.

Steve and I both have ancestors who fought for the Confederacy. Steve’s great-grandfather was a cavalry officer in Bradford’s Regiment, assigned to guard Galveston against a federal invasion. He is thought to have been in the Second Battle of Sabine Pass, when the Yankees attempted to invade Texas in 1863. It was the most lopsided victory the Confederates enjoyed during that war. My great-grandfather on my mother’s side, Robert L. Peacock, was injured at the Battle of Chancellorsville. I have the cane a fellow invalid carved for Sergeant Peacock while he was recovering, as well as his pardon, granted at Appomattox Court House. I keep his powder flask on my desk. On my bedroom wall, as a child, I had a portrait of General Lee on his revered gray mount, Traveller. The historical memory of the Confederacy, and the lingering legacy of racism and separatism, have always been a part of my consciousness. I went through my entire education in Texas public schools without a single black classmate. I still feel ashamed of the prejudices that I struggled to shed. As a young reporter, I covered the civil rights movement, which was, after the writing of the United States Constitution, the greatest triumph of democracy in our country’s history. I had hoped that my generation would be the last to deal with racial discrimination, but hatred is a potent addiction.