I Love the South, But We Need to Talk

Before I get into this week’s topic, I’d simply point out that my family tree has roots deeper in Southern soil than most oak trees. One branch has been in Georgia for five generations, while another has been lounging around Virginia since before we decided taxation without representation wasn’t our cup of sweet tea.

I even ate a Virginia ham sandwich before writing this column, just to make sure my Southern blood was properly flowing. So what I’m about to say comes from a place of love – the kind of love that sometimes requires an uncomfortable family meeting.

We need to talk about our cousin Earl. You know the one – he’s got the Confederate flag swim trunks and thinks “hold my beer” is a complete strategic plan.

He’s that one that insists on celebrating the absolute dumbest parts of Southern heritage. It’s like we’ve got this deep and majestic museum filled with amazing people and moments, and for some reason we’re pointing to the corner where someone spilled bourbon and said, “Look at that stain! Ain’t it purdy?”

It’s bad enough we have a governor who always looks like he’s actively chawing on tobacco (bless his heart). But why do some of y’all revel in being the living embodiment of every redneck stereotype Jeff Foxworthy ever monetized?

I’m genuinely curious why anyone would take pride in being an uneducated drunk who likes to blow stuff up. Is this really the cultural legacy we’re fighting to preserve? “Remember the Alamo” has somehow morphed into “Remember that time I shot a roman candle out of my armpit?”

I know a ton of people who drive pickup trucks and the only thing they’ve ever hauled is their basset hound and maybe a bag of mulch once in 2019. That’s not utility – that’s a personality disorder with a trailer hitch. They all drive the same way, too. You know what I mean, too.

Does the pickup truck really need a gun rack on display in the Chick-fil-A drive-thru? We get it. You own firearms. So does everyone else in Georgia. It’s like wearing a t-shirt that says “I Breathe Oxygen.”

It’s also worth remembering that even when the South is on the world stage, we can’t help ourselves. I’d like to bring to your attention the 1996 Olympic opening ceremony in Atlanta. Amid the pageantry and global spectacle, someone decided the best way to showcase our culture was to roll out a fleet of chrome-plated pickup trucks under the stadium lights. I imagine half the world was wondering if they’d accidentally tuned into a Monster Jam promo. And the thing is, we meant it. That was our moment to shine. We could have told the story of Georgia, we could have done something patriotic, we could have taken the world on a journey from James Edward Oglethorpe, through the revolutionary and civil wars, through reconstruction, and into Atlanta’s place as a hub of business. But no. We literally shined the spotlight on pickup trucks.

Of course, it’s not just about symbols and slogans. Sometimes our nostalgia-laced defiance seeps into behavior that endangers everyone—like the stubborn persistence of drinking and driving.

Georgia has an increasing DUI problem, which shouldn’t be happening. This battle was fought and won back in the ’80s, yet redneck culture keeps it alive like it’s some treasured folk dance instead of a felony. I once knew someone who insisted he drove better drunk than sober and took pride in that fact. Sir, that’s not a skill – that’s the opening paragraph of your obituary.

When you drink and drive and play “y’all watch this” behind the wheel of a car, your “culture” becomes dangerous. My dad always said of people who acted like this, “If he had a brain, he’d be dangerous,” but the truth is, stupidity is far more dangerous than intelligence will ever be.

Remember back when y’all rebelled against the seatbelt law? Why was that such a big deal? “The government can’t tell me to click a buckle!” Meanwhile, you’re stopping at red lights without complaint. Pick a lane, preferably one that doesn’t end in the emergency room. Some of y’all even go around complaining that “the gubment” is tampering with the weather. Have you listened to yourselves recently? You sound like good ‘ol Zeke when he’s had one too many and starts spittin’ and cussin’ about his ex wife.

Is this how you want to be known? As folks who drive drunk, don’t wear seatbelts, like to inhale smoke, chew on stuff that gives you mouth cancer and will believe anything as long as it isn’t from a textbook or an expert? Is this the legacy you want to leave your kids? “Here junior, I’m handing you the keys to a proud tradition of bold moves and bad ideas—drive it like its stolen and make sure the law doesn’t catch up to you – it’s a tradition that’s been in our family for generations.”

The South has so much more to offer than these tired clichés. Our food is second to none – we have the best cuisine in the world. I’m convinced God eats country fried steak and drinks Coca-Cola. The clouds of Heaven are filled with sweet tea, and there’s probably a Waffle House at the pearly gates. A few years ago, I went on a trip up the East Coast. Once you get past Pennsylvania, the food gets progressively less flavorful. If you’ve never left the South, you don’t realize what a culinary gem you have.

Beyond food, the South are the birthplace of ideas. Our freedom in this country was forged by educated and philosophical men, most of them from the South. Washington, Jefferson, Madison – all Virginians. When these men said “y’all watch this,” an empire fell. They weren’t feeding their horse liquor and trying to jump it over a lake. These were smart, well-learned men who embraced new ideas.

Some of y’all strut around like you’d have been lighting the fuse on the revolution, but let’s be honest—if you’d lived back then, you’d probably have been polishing the King’s boots and calling Jefferson a lunatic. The men who shaped this country were chasing radical change, not clinging to the past like it was granddaddy’s shotgun.

Somewhere along the line, we got so focused on making a scene that we forgot how to make a difference. But the South I grew up in? It wasn’t just loud trucks and louder opinions. It was casseroles delivered in times of trouble, front porch hellos, and folks who’d give you the shirt off their back. If we really want to carry our culture forward, maybe it’s time we revive the parts worth keeping—the kindness, the community, and the decency that once made Southern hospitality more than a passing phrase. Let’s be more like the good ‘ol boys who were the salt of the earth and less like the rednecks who holler the loudest but leave the church potluck early and never bring a dish.

Let’s not be so selfish and so crude. Let’s not embrace dumb Southern stereotypes when there is so much of a rich heritage here. We can do better than being the punchline of a joke that stopped being funny sometime around the Carter administration.

Because at the end of the day, being Southern isn’t about chrome trucks or chewing tobacco or yelling at hurricanes. It’s about caring for your neighbor, waving at strangers, and bringing something fried to every funeral. We don’t need more folks hollering, we need more folks helping.

Note: This is an opinion article as designated by the the category placement on this website. It is not news coverage. If this disclaimer is funny to you, it isn’t aimed at you — but some of your friends and neighbors honestly have trouble telling the difference.