Mea maxima culpa.

I must confess my sin: I attended Andrew Jackson Elementary School! It was only for two years, fourth and fifth grades, but that does not absolve me of my guilt for lending my presence to an educational institution forever marred by its hateful name.

Don’t be fooled by Andrew Jackson’s supposed service to the nation, as a boy-soldier in the Revolutionary War, attorney, judge, congressman, senator, governor, general, victor of the Battle of New Orleans, the Democratic Party’s first president, serving two terms, and the father of Jacksonian Democracy. No! All that matters anymore about historical figures are the answers to three questions:

1. How did he treat Blacks? (Remember to capitalize!)
2. How did he treat Indigenous people? (Remember to capitalize!)
3. How did he treat women? (If “Black” and “Indigenous” are now capitalized, why not capitalize “Women”?)

Well, in Jackson’s case, we don’t even need to get to questions 2 and 3 because he was a slave-owner (or should I write “enslaver”?), and that’s an automatic disqualifier for any otherwise reputable public figure. Regardless of any number of accomplishments and of contributions to the nation, we just can’t allow a statute of any American so-called “statesman,” “hero,” or “patriot” to remain standing if that person ever owned a “slave” (or, rather, if he ever had in his household an “enslaved” person). And if we do somehow get to question 2, we find that Jackson had a lot of Indian or Native American blood on his hands – Cherokee blood, Chickasaw blood, Choctaw blood, Creek blood, Seminole blood. With two out of three strikes against him already, there’s no need to inquire about Jackson’s relationship with women. The dude is already guilty. His name and likeness must be expunged! And I must somehow learn to accept that I spent fourth and fifth grades in a school that dare not speak its name.