Dear Tennessee:
I know what it’s like to be misunderstood.
I am from the Rust Belt, after all.
But you—I get the sense that you don’t even know who you are.
It started in 1796, when you joined the Union, as in became a state.
Your eventual capital, Nashville, was even named after a Revolutionary War hero.
But then, in 1861, you pulled a South Carolina and left to join the wannabe country with the copycat flag. You were confused, as East Tennessee wanted no part of secession.
Of course, like a little sh*t, you came crawling back.
And ever since then, say 1865, you’ve stayed confused as hell.
You and Nathan Bedford Forrest gave us the Ku Klux Klan.
You also gave us some of the best HBCUs the country has known.
Like most US states, you treated women like second-class citizens.
By being the 36th state to ratify the 19th Amendment, you also gave women the right to vote.
You prosecuted John Scopes for teaching evolution.
Then you did God’s work at Oak Ridge by helping make the first atomic bomb.
You’ve provided a safe haven for climate skeptics.
You’re also a leader in nuclear and hydroelectric power.
You became the home of the lefty Al Gore, whose wife, Tipper, tried to stifle artists and their lyrics.
You’re also the home of the right-wing nut job Marsha Blackburn, who has made a career of supporting artists.
It’s safe to say you’re into the Bible—I have firsthand knowledge.
You’ve also opened your arms to the largest Kurdish community in North America—it prefers the Quran.
Nashville has gone from a shade of blue to really damn blue.
It presides over a state that has gone from a battleground to really damn red.
You have no state income tax.
But you’re obsessed with consumption tax.
You love your hot chicken.
And you apparently like chicken vindaloo as well.
But despite it all, Tennessee, you are still a state that preserves the past.
Just ask your transplants who work at Oracle and Amazon.
Sincerely,
Khan Trae Dick Shin
