I've had the pleasure of reading William Dobak's forthcoming book, Freedom By The Sword: The U.S. Colored Troops 1862-1867. Here's an anecdote I came across just yesterday. The story is rendered by Dobak, who's quoting from the memories of Captain James S. Rogers. Some of the earliest colored regiments were formed in South Carolina out on the Sea Islands. Rogers was an officer in one of those regiments. We pick up the story in Jacksonville, in the wake of the Emancipation Proclamation:
The presence of black soldiers infuriated the city's slaveholders. Captain Rogers met one of them when a soldier in his company told him that a Jacksonville resident owned one of the soldier's daughters, "and he would like to get her if possible. I had him pilot me to the house," Rogers wrote: "The lady was at home and before I had a chance to state my mission she said: 'I know what you are after, you dirty Yank. You are after that nigger's girl. Well, she is safe beyond the lines where you can't get her. I expected you Yanks would want to steal her so I sent her off yesterday. You are too late.'"
Rogers tried to explain the effects of the Emancipation Proclamation to the woman. "'Well, you'll have to fight your way out there before you can get that wench,' she said. 'Is this your child?' I said as a flaxen haired boy came toward me. 'Yes, he is, and what of it?'" Rogers told one of his soldiers to take the boy to the guard house and keep him there until the girl returned. The soldier "looked at me with a half frightened, half questioning expression on his black face, but when he saw I was in earnest his look changed to one of triumph, and grasping the little fellow by the arm he started off for the guard house before either mother or child could recover from their surprise. Then the 'lady' gave me a volley of abuse which I will not repeat, nor did I stop to hear the end of the tirade.
Finding she could get no satisfaction from the colonel she was advised to hunt up the provost marshal and get a pass [to go beyond Union lines]. Imagine her chagrin and disgust when she found I was the man she was seeking. She asked for the pass. I did not ask her what for, nor did I pretend to know her. She got it and also an escort of four of my best looking 'nasty niggers' dressed in their best." The next day the woman returned, bringing with her the soldier's daughter. "The soldier's heart was made glad, the white child was exchanged for the black one, and with another blast at the nasty Yankees the haughty 'lady' returned to her home."
It is good of us to reflect on all of those who gave their lives for freedom and democracy and all the values we hold dear. It's also good of us to reflect on those who died for something more elemental--the right of family.
Happy Memorial Day, folks.
*Image is of William Carney, who escaped slavery through the Underground Railroad to Massachusetts. Carney returned to the South in the Union Army, as one of the 54th.During the assault on Battery Wagner, Carney charged the works with his regiment, planted the American flag on the parapet--while wounded--and then carried it back during the retreat. Carney received the Medal of Honor 40 years later.
The blunt power of the gatekeeper is the ability to enforce not just artistic, but also financial, exile.
When the Harvey Weinstein story broke, I thought of something my mother told me when I was a little girl. She said: To be a free woman, you have to be a financially independent woman. She wasn’t wrong. I studied economics in college and went to New York to become an investment banker.To be blunt, I wanted the freedom money can buy.
I had a sudden change of heart while working at Goldman Sachs as a summer analyst. I decided that if the world required me to sell the hours of my life in exchange for access to what had long ago been free—food, water, shelter—I wanted to at least be doing something that stirred my soul. This is, granted, a privileged position. But as a young woman that was the conclusion I came to.
The country’s elites are desperate to figure out what they got wrong in 2016. But can they handle the truth?
It was the hippies who drove Nancy Hale over the edge. She had spent three days listening respectfully to the real people of Middle America, and finally she couldn’t take it any longer.
She turned off the tape recorder and took several deep breaths, leaning back in the passenger seat of the rented GMC Yukon. The sun had just come out from behind a mass of clouds, casting a gleam on the rain-soaked parking lot in rural Wisconsin.
Hale, who is 65 and lives in San Francisco, is a career activist who got her start protesting nuclear plants and nuclear testing in the 1970s. In 2005, she was one of the founders of Third Way, a center-left think tank, and it was in that capacity that she and four colleagues had journeyed from both coasts to the town of Viroqua, Wisconsin, as part of a post-election listening tour. They had come on a well-meaning mission: to better understand their fellow Americans, whose political behavior in the last election had left them confused and distressed.
First came the denials. Then came the apologies. Now, the mogul is claiming “a different recollection of the events.”
“Brit Marling is a super talented actress and writer. Mr. Weinstein has a different recollection of the events.’’
That was Harvey Weinstein’s spokesperson, Sallie Hofmeister, offering a statement to The Atlantic in response to Marling’s essay that shares her experience—an invitation to shower, an offer of a massage, in a form now eerily familiar—of a 2014 encounter with Weinstein.
The president reescalated the ongoing debate over his condolences to Gold Star families by contradicting the widow of a fallen Special Forces sergeant.
“You know, when I was a kid growing up, a lot of things were sacred in our country,” White House Chief of Staff John Kelly said Thursday. Among those were Gold Star families: “I just thought—the selfless devotion that brings a man or woman to die on the battlefield, I just thought that that might be sacred.”
But Kelly acknowledged that might no longer be true: “Gold Star families, I think that left in the convention over the summer.”
Then on Monday morning, Kelly’s boss decided to prolong a feud with the widow of a fallen American soldier:
I had a very respectful conversation with the widow of Sgt. La David Johnson, and spoke his name from beginning, without hesitation!
Senator John McCain and White House Chief of Staff John Kelly offered starkly different visions of service—and of America.
It was a week of powerful speeches. The least memorable, oddly, was delivered by the most naturally gifted speaker, former President Barack Obama, at a campaign rally in Virginia. “Our democracy is at stake,” he said, before harking back to the trope of his 2008 campaign: “Yes, we can.” Compelling in the setting, but not special.
Far more powerful was former President George W. Bush’s indictment of Donald Trump that didn’t mention the 45th president by name. It was a cry for freedom as a theme in American policy, a denunciation of “casual cruelty” in American discourse, of “nationalism distorted into nativism,” of isolationism, of attempts to turn American identity away from American ideals and into something darker, driven by “geography or ethnicity, by soil or blood.” In itself it would have been noteworthy.
More comfortable online than out partying, post-Millennials are safer, physically, than adolescents have ever been. But they’re on the brink of a mental-health crisis.
One day last summer, around noon, I called Athena, a 13-year-old who lives in Houston, Texas. She answered her phone—she’s had an iPhone since she was 11—sounding as if she’d just woken up. We chatted about her favorite songs and TV shows, and I asked her what she likes to do with her friends. “We go to the mall,” she said. “Do your parents drop you off?,” I asked, recalling my own middle-school days, in the 1980s, when I’d enjoy a few parent-free hours shopping with my friends. “No—I go with my family,” she replied. “We’ll go with my mom and brothers and walk a little behind them. I just have to tell my mom where we’re going. I have to check in every hour or every 30 minutes.”
Those mall trips are infrequent—about once a month. More often, Athena and her friends spend time together on their phones, unchaperoned. Unlike the teens of my generation, who might have spent an evening tying up the family landline with gossip, they talk on Snapchat, the smartphone app that allows users to send pictures and videos that quickly disappear. They make sure to keep up their Snapstreaks, which show how many days in a row they have Snapchatted with each other. Sometimes they save screenshots of particularly ridiculous pictures of friends. “It’s good blackmail,” Athena said. (Because she’s a minor, I’m not using her real name.) She told me she’d spent most of the summer hanging out alone in her room with her phone. That’s just the way her generation is, she said. “We didn’t have a choice to know any life without iPads or iPhones. I think we like our phones more than we like actual people.”
Find the right environment, and very little effort is necessary.
Happiness is an active process, not something you get by sitting back and waiting. It’s something to be grabbed by the horns or more vulnerable areas and then conquered. At least, this is the gist of the message from Tony Robbins and gurus of his ilk.
Many also say happiness is not something we can buy, or steal, or work too hard to acquire. If you work too hard at it, you end up obsessing over your own state of mind—Am I happy? ... Really though? And like love, if you have to ask, the answer is no.
So what’s the right way to think about effort and happiness? Should I be trying for “happiness” per se—or something more magnanimous, like purpose or meaning?
Or money? Is happiness actually all about money? That would be a real twist.
Emma Perrier was deceived by an older man on the internet—a hoax that turned into an unbelievable love story.
Emma Perrier spent the summer of 2015 mending a broken heart, after a recent breakup. By September, the restaurant manager had grown tired of watching The Notebook alone in her apartment in Twickenham, a leafy suburb southwest of London, and decided it was time to get back out there. Despite the horror stories she’d heard about online dating, Emma, 33, downloaded a matchmaking app called Zoosk. The second “o” in the Zoosk logo looks like a diamond engagement ring, which suggested that its 38 million members were seeking more than the one-night stands offered by apps like Tinder.
She snapped the three selfies the app required to “verify her identity.” Emma, who is from a volcanic city near the French Alps, not far from the source of Perrier mineral water, is petite, and brunette. She found it difficult to meet men, especially as she avoided pubs and nightclubs, and worked such long hours at a coffee shop in the city’s financial district that she met only stockbrokers, who were mostly looking for cappuccinos, not love.
Four families of fallen servicemembers received next-day UPS letters from President Trump after a turbulent week in which Trump falsely claimed he had called “virtually all” of the families.
Updated on October 22, 2017.
The Trump administration is scrambling to defend the president’s characterization of his communications with grieving military families, including rush-delivering letters from the president to the families of servicemembers killed months ago. Donald Trump falsely claimed this week that he had called “virtually” all fallen servicemembers’ families since his time in office.
Timothy Eckels Sr. hadn’t heard anything from President Trump since his son Timothy Eckels Jr. was killed after a collision involving the USS John S. McCain on August 21. But then, on October 20, two days into the controversy over the president’s handling of a condolence call with an American soldier’s widow, Eckels Sr. received a United Parcel Service package dated October 18 with a letter from the White House.
Despite controlling all three branches of government, Republican voters are still angry with their representation in Congress.
Alabama is usually such a happy place for Republicans. The state is not merely blood red; its conservatives thrill to the culture-war revanchism that the GOP has been peddling for decades. (I know plenty of Alabamans—family, mostly—who have felt sneered at and let down since George Wallace failed to become president.)
But then came this year’s special Senate primary, and things turned ass-over-teacup for the party. After all the money and effort spent on boosting Luther Strange (the guy appointed to Jeff Sessions’s seat when he decamped for the Cabinet), the prize ultimately went to the flagrantly batty Roy Moore. This despite Donald Trump’s taking his carnival barker act down South to sing Big Luther’s praises in person.