What do Confederate Memorial Day, Ketanji Brown Jackson have in common?
With the close of April 2022, it’s worth noting that it’s not only because of the unprecedented confirmation of Ketanji Brown Jackson as the first Black woman to serve on the United States Supreme Court that this has been a truly momentous month in the history of America.
That notability is amplified because on April 8, just one day after Jackson was confirmed, Mississippi Gov. Tate Reeves proclaimed the month of April as Confederate Heritage Month, and April 30 as Confederate Memorial Day, marking the third time he has done so since his election in 2020. That these two events happened in such proximity, each in its own way connected to history, is both deeply incongruous and deeply contentious.
As a Black woman, a Ketanji Brown Jackson sitting legitimately on the Supreme Court is, from a Confederate historical perspective, simply an impossibility. But being able to hold both this and the memorialization of Confederate history together is a singular opportunity for all Americans to reflect on where we have been as a nation, and where we are going.
Reeves made honoring and learning from history a crucial part of his proclamation, writing “it is important for all Americans to reflect upon our nation’s past, to gain insight from our mistakes and successes, and to come to a full understanding that the lessons learned yesterday and today will carry us through tomorrow if we carefully and earnestly strive to understand our heritage and our opportunities which lie before us.”
But given the overall GOP approach to history, as can be understood from the vigorous debates about critical race theory, this statement would seem to be full of hidden innuendo. What exactly does Reeves mean by nation? Whose nation? In what time period? Is he referring to Confederate leanings in the contemporary U.S., or the pre-Civil War Confederacy? Whose heritage does he want to honor and understand?
This ambiguity is underscored by the fact that previously, on March 14, 2022, Reeves signed into law Senate Bill 2113, whose short title is “Critical Race Theory; prohibit.” The measure itself doesn’t mention CRT, though it does express that schools must not teach or encourage students to affirm that “any sex, race, ethnicity, religion or national origin is inherently superior or inferior.”
If Reeves’ recent legislation is understood as falling in line with the CRT debate, what he means by history cannot be that of America’s — or the Confederacy’s — problematic history with race. This becomes even more evident once it is understood, as reported by Newsweek, that the April proclamation makes no mention of the word “slavery,” despite the fact that Mississippi’s 1861 Declaration of Secession asserts “Our position is thoroughly identified with the institution of slavery — the greatest material interest of the world.”
This legislation also connects directly to Sen. Ted Cruz’s interrogation of Jackson during her confirmation hearings, in which Cruz tirelessly attempted to condemn her for having committed to a stance on critical race theory that she staunchly denied having done.
Underlying Cruz’s approach is the problem of history, especially the teaching of history in the public schools, which has become an inflammatory wedge issue around which the Republican Party has sought to unite. Buried within this issue, and prominently mentioned by Cruz, is a deep-seated resistance to the potential impact of “The 1619 Project,” especially its view of the role played by race and slavery in America from its earliest beginnings.
As a Black woman, any discussion concerning race could represent a potentially volatile issue, making it a crucial requirement that Jackson project a steadfast and consistent image of judicial neutrality and independence in order to deflect any possibility that silently yet strongly held beliefs or assumptions about her own racial biases might disrupt the clearest understanding of her professional commitments, ethics and ability. The silent connection between Jackson’s race and her service as a public defender only adds to this requirement.
Ivy Harris, client advocate with the nonprofit Partners for Justice in the Compton public defender’s office, compares this problem to the implications of a moment in a 2021 Senate Judiciary meeting when Sen. John Cornyn, R-Texas, asked Jackson, then a D.C. Circuit nominee, “What role does race play, Judge Jackson, in the kind of judge you have been and the kind of judge you will be?” Harris writes, “In my life, I’ve faced every iteration of this question. Let me translate Cornyn’s real concern: How has your identity as a Black woman shaped your understanding of the legal system in the U.S.? This may seem like a fair question to white people, but to me and other nonwhite people, it’s a smoke and mirrors trick.”
This, certainly, is the underlying question that Reeves’ proclamation, signed into law so close to the confirmation of the first Black woman to the Supreme Court, pushes to the foreground — as the history of Black women in the Confederacy cannot claim anything like Jackson’s relationship to the law. And this is a painful history that her epoch-making confirmation will help all of us, as Americans, to confront.