The bullying of local
governments to put "In God We Trust" on public buildings has been
going on in North Carolina for years now, organized by a Christian dominionist
outfit called the U.S. Motto Action Committee.
Watauga County Board of
Commissioners Chair Jimmy Hodges lept on that bandwagon, and the Watauga County
Courthouse now bears that declaration of religion in violation of the
separation of church and state.
"In God We
Trust" was adopted by Congress as our official motto in 1956 at the height
of the Red Scare. It replaced the original motto "E Pluribus Unum," out of many, one. The new motto was a
symbol then of terror and Christian backlash in the face of communism and still
is a symbol of that terror, though now they're mainly afraid of a Kenyan-born
Muslim president who made the horrendous error of being born black. Barack
Obama is just a little too e pluribus
for many white people, along with the entire public education system, voting
rights, and amendments 13-16 of the U.S. Constitution.
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| Davidson Co. |
North Carolina county
governments have been falling like the proverbial dominoes to the current
militance behind the push for "In God We Trust." To refuse to go
along with this crowd is to risk being called "godless" or worse, a
Methodist. In Davidson County, N.C., the authorities ordered the four words on
the sides of every patrol car.
There have been a few --
very few -- bumps in this road to Christian theocracy in North Carolina. The
Jackson County chair of the board of commissioners told the religion peddlars
to not bother showing up there. But the sharpest slap in the face came from the
Cherokee Tribal Council during the first week of February.
Cherokees Say, "How Dare You?"
The Christian shill for
the U.S. Motto Action Committee got a reception at the Cherokee Tribal Council
that might have been his Little Big Horn.
"You don’t even know our people,” Councilmember Tommye
Saunooke, of Painttown, told the spokesman for the proselytizing committee.
“You don’t know what kind of beliefs we have, and it offends me to think that
you need to tell us what to do.”
“When you go to an indigenous community, you really have to put
in time to learn about who those people are,” said Becky Walker, a Wolfetown
community member. “I feel like if you had done that, you probably wouldn’t have
come here.”
It only got worse after
that. Charitably, the proselytizing committeeman was allowed to withdraw his
resolution. He quickly left the Tribal Council chambers, his sanctified tail
between his sanctified legs.
You can read the full
blow-by-blow in the Smoky Mountain News.