Every rung

Here in the Old Dominion, we’re winding down the gubernatorial term of Glenn Youngkin. Thanks be to God.

(One good thing about the former Capital of the Confederacy is the restriction on the executive branch: a governor cannot serve two consecutive terms.)

Youngkin’s done his best to be a fleece-vested Kleptocrat, starting out his term with a report-a-teacher-who’s-mentioning-[anything “woke] snitchline. That shut down after thousands of people trolled the technology, reporting, well, anything that came to mind; Republicans, the weather, bad poetry, fleas.

He’s also been hampered by Democratic majorities in both houses of the Virginia legislature. The crowning achievement of his reign was supposed to be a deal for a sports arena in Alexandria, to lure the Wizards and Capitals away from DC (giving enormous “incentives” to the teams’ owner Ted Leonsis). He presented it suddenly as a near fait accompli at the end of 2023, but the lege, spearheaded by a Black woman delegate from Hampton Roads, stopped it. To the great relief of everyone in Northern Virginia.

He has made inroads in DEI programs throughout the state, and this will have to be unpicked once he’s gone. Which cannot come soon enough for my liking. His smug, condescending White male face just begs for bitchslapping, and I was sick of seeing it long before the 2021 campaign was over.

So my entry for National Poetry Month today is something to remind me and all of us about playing the long game. As Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

 Using the term Jacob’s ladder to refer to the connection between heaven and earth goes back to…Jacob, in the Bible. Jacob dreamt of a ladder that went all the way to heaven, with angels and everything. In Christianity, Jacob’s ladder is a metaphor for Christ, who bridges humanity and the godhead.

The spiritual “Jacob’s Ladder” dates to at least 1825, and was sung by slaves, who for generations could only dream of an escape from bondage. It’s in the form of call and response, which is useful for participation by unlettered congregations, as well as for ad libbing new sentiments. Truly—as the spirit moves you, you bring your brothers and sisters along.

American race-based human chattel slavery began right here in the Old Dominion in 1619. When the Lost Causers these days wave the Confederate flag around and bellow “states’ rights”, keep in mind that the “right” they were concerned about 160 years ago was the one to extend slavery into the new territories and thus maintain political power in Congress. Consider all those rebel armies the 1860s version of lobbyists, if you like. Southerners were afraid that if new states were admitted to the Union as free states, they’d be outvoted in Congress, as indeed they would be. So it was all about power—keeping it, and wielding it over other humans based on skin color.

For nearly 250 years, until the Thirteenth Amendment was ratified in 1865, slaves sang “Jacob’s Ladder” as an expression of faith and hope, and to draw the kind of strength it takes to persevere for that length of time. It’s served that purpose ever since, through Reconstruction, through the KKK, through the Depression, through Jim Crow, through the Civil Rights movement… And it still has value now, in the Gauleiter era.

One of my favorite versions is the one by Sweet Honey in the Rock that was used in Ken Burns’ seminal documentary The Civil War more than 25 years ago. Crank up the volume.

 

©2025 Bas Bleu