Not my comrades

At the corner of Main and Main in Statesboro, Georgia, stands the Bulloch County court house. I try to avoid going to downtown Statesboro because standing on the court house lawn is this statue that perturbs me greatly. You can't see the top of the statue in this picture or read the inscription (sorry), but I know what it is--and worse, I know what it says.

The statue is of a confederate soldier. Now, I can (sort of) understand southerners wanting to remember the "late unpleasantness" (as it was once euphemistically termed) during the "War of Northern Agression" (yes, I've spent years in the deep south and, believe me, there's nothing "new" about the New South, unfortunately).

What bothers me about this particular inscription, however, is that it says "Comrades."

Now, of course, southerners are anti-communist (almost laughably so, sometimes)--so they don't mean it in that way, I'm sure. But, I'm sorry, get real. Confederate Soldiers were never MY comrades. I may live in the south--I have always lived in the south--but I don't identify with southerners. (OK, by "south" I mean Miami-Tampa-Atlanta, except for the last 10 years here in Statesboro). At any rate, I think this monument to those who declared war on my country is ridiculous.

It's almost as ridiculous as those who still fly their confederate flags next to the United States flag. I'm not sure how they justify this--being a rebel (traitor?) AND a patriot at the same time--but then logic seems to have little to do with it.

Okay, venting done. Well, for now anyway.