Fantasy vs. Reality: American History Edition

Compare and contrast the the bushwah sold to American children in the 50s and 60s (Source: VIRGINIA HISTORY, GOVERNMENT, GEOGRAPHY (1957)) vs. an actual letter from former slave Jourdan Anderson.

The textbook fantasy is what MAGA lie they mean by “Making America Great Again”.

The letter is addressing what they actually wanted:

Dayton, Ohio, August 7, 1865.

To my old Master, Colonel P. H. Anderson, Big Spring, Tennessee.
           
Sir:

I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdon, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can. I have often felt uneasy about you. I thought the Yankees would have hung you long before this, for harboring Rebs they found at your house. I suppose they never heard about your going to Colonel Martin’s to kill the Union soldier that was left by his company in their stable. Although you shot at me twice before I left you, I did not want to hear of your being hurt, and am glad you are still living. It would do me good to go back to the dear old home again, and see Miss Mary and Miss Martha and Allen, Esther, Green, and Lee. Give my love to them all, and tell them I hope we will meet in the better world, if not in this. I would have gone back to see you all when I was working in the Nashville Hospital, but one of the neighbors told me that Henry intended to shoot me if he ever got a chance.

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get $25 a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy (the folks call her Mrs. Anderson), and the children, Milly, Jane, and Grundy, go to school and are learning well. The teacher says Grundy has a head for a preacher. They go to Sunday school, and Mandy and me attend church regularly. We are kindly treated. Sometimes we overhear others saying, “Them colored people were slaves” down in Tennessee. The children feel hurt when they hear such remarks; but I tell them it was no disgrace in Tennessee to belong to Colonel Anderson. Many darkeys would have been proud, as I used to be, to call you master. Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my free papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshal-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you. This will make us forget and forgive old scores, and rely on your justice and friendship in the future. I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At $25 a month for me, and $2 a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to $11,680. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to. Please send the money by Adams Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises in the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense. Here I draw my wages every Saturday night; but in Tennessee there was never any pay-day for the negroes any more than for the horses and cows. Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire.

In answering this letter, please state if there would be any safety for my Milly and Jane, who are now grown up, and both good-looking girls. You know how it was with poor Matilda and Catherine. I would rather stay here and starve and die, if it come to that, than have my girls brought to shame by the violence and wickedness of their young masters. You will also please state if there has been any schools opened for the colored children in your neighborhood. The great desire of my life now is to give my children an education, and have them form virtuous habits.

                                                                        From your old servant,
                                                                        Jourdon Anderson

P.S.— Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

The same liars who tell you that their precious, precious Confederate Heritage must be preserved are the ones laboring to bury what they call “Critical Race Theory” but what Normals call “American History”.

Former slave Fountain Hughes sums that real history up this way:

If I thought, had any idea, that I’d ever be a slave again, I’d take a gun an’ jus’ end it all right away. Because you’re nothing but a dog. You’re not a thing but a dog.

MAGA are People of the Lie. Only a fool would trust them. They are an antichrist religion:

“Come out of her, my people,
lest you take part in her sins,
lest you share in her plagues;
for her sins are heaped high as heaven,
and God has remembered her iniquities.
Render to her as she herself has rendered,
and repay her double for her deeds;
mix a double draught for her in the cup she mixed.
 As she glorified herself and played the wanton,
so give her a like measure of torment and mourning.
Since in her heart she says, ‘A queen I sit,
I am no widow, mourning I shall never see,’
so shall her plagues come in a single day,
pestilence and mourning and famine,
and she shall be burned with fire;
for mighty is the Lord God who judges her.”

And the kings of the earth, who committed fornication and were wanton with her, will weep and wail over her when they see the smoke of her burning; they will stand far off, in fear of her torment, and say,

“Alas! alas! thou great city,
thou mighty city, Babylon!
In one hour has thy judgment come.”

And the merchants of the earth weep and mourn for her, since no one buys their cargo any more, cargo of gold, silver, jewels and pearls, fine linen, purple, silk and scarlet, all kinds of scented wood, all articles of ivory, all articles of costly wood, bronze, iron and marble, cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, frankincense, wine, oil, fine flour and wheat, cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human souls. (Revelation 18:4-13)

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10 Responses

  1. The people whose parents screamed at the Little Rock Nine are now working to make sure their children never hear about it.

    – joel

  2. Some of the other MAGA gems I’ve heard from their mouths:

    “If it wasn’t for us they’d still be living in mud huts in Africa.”

    and

    “Why are they so upset? They have all kinds of privileges that they didn’t have before.”

    and

    “Why should we give them reparations, –it didn’t happen to them!”

    and last but not least from the big TAC donor and Catholic school founder:

    “God didn’t intend for the races to mix.”

    1. “Why should your children inherit your house? They didn’t build it! Why inherit your money? They didn’t earn it!”

      It’s funny how money and debt is inherited, but nobody wants to hear of reparations. As if that debt was somehow waived long ago and needs to be forgotten.

      There probably were some slave owners who were kind to their slaves, paid all their expenses, given allowance, possibly a wage even, to whom slaves would return after the Civil War to work for a wage, but for every such landowner, there were hundreds who couldn’t care less and dozens who would take sadistic pleasure in abusing slaves.

    2. As for the last line: “God didn’t intend for the races to mix.”

      If he didn’t intend for the races to mix, why are mixed race people so beautiful?

  3. He is dead, and has a lovely wife and children.

    He said it right to my face, after morning mass, with my my baby on my hip.

    I told my parents, my confessor, who had been a chaplain at one of his schools, and of course my husband, but nobody had the will to confront him.

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