Reasons why confederacy lost

Needing to build an army quickly, Congress enacted the first federal draft since the Civil War. On June 5, , every American man from the ages of 21 to 3 1 was legally obliged to register for conscription, with the expectation that 2 million of them would be imminently called to serve.

Increasing the size of the Army tenfold created a massive logistical problem. Where could so many men train before shipping off to Europe? The solution was to quickly build 32 new encampments—now called bases—distributed over 14 states. Sixteen were to be located in the South, a decision justified on the grounds that the warmer climate would allow for year-round training outdoors.

Only 40 years earlier, President Rutherford B. Hayes had withdrawn the Army from the former Confederate states, marking the end of Reconstruction and the return of white supremacy under the guise of Redemption. In , Congress passed the Posse Comitatus Act to forbid the deployment of the Army to assist in law enforcement, which really meant federal civil-rights-law enforcement. Ever since, the Army had maintained a light footprint below the Mason-Dixon line.

Adam Serwer: Civility is overrated. Reestablishing a large Army presence in the former Confederate states risked touching a still-raw historical nerve. But Wilson was the Lost Cause president, and he put that mythology to full use to bolster support for the war effort.

Nearly Confederate soldiers were welcomed into the Capitol building, where they held a mock session of the Senate. Wilson sat as the guest of honor on a dais flanked by American and Confederate battle flags. Ken outlined the aesthetic history of each window in meticulous detail, giving each color and engraving his thorough and intimate attention.

But he said almost nothing about why the windows were there—that the soldiers memorialized in stained glass had fought a war to keep my ancestors in chains. Almost all of the people who come to Blandford Cemetery are white. I looked around the church again. How many of the visitors to the cemetery today, I asked Ken, are Confederate sympathizers? We left the church, and a breeze slid across my face.

Many people go to places like Blandford to see a piece of history, but history is not what is reflected in that glass. I went to plantations, prisons, cemeteries, museums, memorials, houses, and historical landmarks. As I traveled, I was moved by the people who have committed their lives to telling the story of slavery in all its fullness and humanity.

And I was struck by the many people I met who believe a version of history that rests on well-documented falsehoods. It is not a public story we all share, but an intimate one, passed down like an heirloom, that shapes their sense of who they are. Confederate history is family history, history as eulogy, in which loyalty takes precedence over truth. Check out the full table of contents and find your next story to read. I asked her whether Blandford was concerned that, by presenting itself in such a positive light, it might be distorting its connection to a racist and treasonous cause.

She told me that a lot of people ask why the war was fought. But I think from the perspective of my ancestors, it was not slavery. My ancestors were not slaveholders. But my great-great-grandfather fought. He had federal troops coming into Norfolk. As we spoke, I looked down at the counter and reached for one of the flyers stacked there. Her face turned red and she thrust her hand down to flip the paper over, attempting to cover the rest of the leaflets. I looked at the flyer again, trying to read between her fingers.

Paul C. Gramling Jr. It was May , and the event was just a few weeks away. Then she collected herself and took a deep breath. We shook hands, and I made my way out the door.

Before getting back in my car, I walked across the street, to another burial ground, this one much smaller. There are far fewer tombstones than at Blandford. There are no flags on the graves.

And there are no hourly tours for people to remember the dead. There is history, but also silence. After my visit to Blandford, I kept thinking about the way Martha had flipped over the Memorial Day flyer, the way her face had turned red.

But my interest had been piqued. I wanted to find out what Martha was so ashamed of. I was wary of going to the celebration alone, so I asked my friend William, who is white, to come with me. The entrance to the cemetery was marked by a large stone archway with the words our confederate heroes on it. Maybe a couple hundred people were sitting in folding chairs around a large white gazebo.

Children played tag among the trees; people hugged and slapped one another on the back. Dixie flags bloomed from the soil like milkweeds. There were baseball caps emblazoned with the Confederate battle flag, biker vests ornamented with the seals of seceding states, and lawn chairs bearing the letters UDC , for the United Daughters of the Confederacy.

William and I stood in the back and watched. The event began with an honor guard—a dozen men dressed in Confederate regalia, carrying rifles with long bayonets. Their uniforms were the color of smoke; their caps looked as if they had been bathed in ash.

Everyone in the crowd stood up as they marched by. Look away! Dixie Land. I glanced around as everyone sang in tribute to a fallen ancestral home. A home never meant for me. Speakers came to the podium, each praising the soldiers buried under our feet.

More than a few people turned around in their seat and looked with puzzlement, and likely suspicion, at the Black man they had never seen before standing in the back of a Sons of Confederate Veterans crowd. A man to my right took out his phone and began recording me. The stares began to crawl over my skin. I had been taking notes; now I slowly closed my notebook and stuck it under my arm, doing my best to act unfazed.

Without moving my head, I scanned the crowd again. The man in front of me had a gun in a holster. A man in a tan suit and a straw boater approached the podium. His dark-blond hair fell to his shoulders, and a thick mustache and goatee covered his lips. I recognized him as Paul C. He began by sharing a story about the origins of Memorial Day.

We should embrace our heritage as Americans, North and South, Black and white, rich and poor. Our American heritage is the one thing we have in common. I thought about friends of mine who have spent years fighting to have Confederate monuments removed.

And many are veterans of the civil-rights movement who laid their bodies on the line, fighting against what these statues represented. Indeed it could be suggested that by the Confederacy had no other justification for its existence other than to maintain armed forces in the field. Please email digital historytoday. Why the Confederacy Lost. To continue reading this article you will need to purchase access to the online archive.