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October 14 - November 13, 2020
Kill a Mockingbird (1962), a classic portrait of the legacy of slavery and racial segregation in the South.
Throughout its history, the United States has always had a class system. It is not only directed by the top 1 percent and supported by a contented middle class. We can no longer ignore the stagnant, expendable bottom layers of society in explaining the national identity.
For much of American history, the worst classes were seen as extrusions of the worst land: scrubby, barren, and swampy wasteland. Home ownership remains today the measure of social mobility.
British colonists promoted a dual agenda: one involved reducing poverty back in England, and the other called for transporting the idle and unproductive to the New World.
How does a culture that prizes equality of opportunity explain, or indeed accommodate, its persistently marginalized people?
Historical mythmaking is made possible only by forgetting. We have to begin, then, with the first refusal to face reality: most colonizing schemes that took root in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century British America were built on privilege and subordination, not any kind of proto-democracy.
And so the great American saga, as taught, excludes the very pertinent fact that after the 1630s, less than half came to Massachusetts for religious reasons.
Land was the principal source of wealth, and those without any had little chance to escape servitude. It was the stigma of landlessness that would leave its mark on white trash from this day forward.
The leaders of Jamestown had borrowed directly from the Roman model of slavery: abandoned children and debtors were made slaves.
North Carolina forged a lasting legacy as what we might call the first white trash colony.

