A number of people whom I admire have advocated powerfully for non-judgement. It really is a sensible thing. In allowing people and situations to be as they are, not forcing solutions, and practicing non-judgement, I think I can more effectively deal with what comes my way, and, perhaps, make a positive difference. Which makes my reaction to something I witnessed recently more puzzling.

I was visiting Stone Mountain, a beautiful exfoliating igneous and metamorphic outcrop landmark near Atlanta. About 250 million years ago, the North American and African continents collided, resulting in re-melting of some of the previously-existing sedimentary rocks. The subsequent magma migrated upward and cooled, forming a mass about 6 miles below the surface. This mass was exposed during the ensuing milennia of erosion of the surrounding, softer rock. It now stands 825 feet above the surrounding landscape. It has mistakenly been referred to as the largest exposed piece of granite in the world. In fact, there are apparently other, larger exposed granite features in the world, including the Sierra Nevada mountains in the western U.S. In addition, Stone Mountain is lithologically a "quartz monzonite", and therefore, technically, not granite. It is known otherwise for an enormous bas-relief carving of Confederate War dudes Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, and Jefferson Davis on the north face.

I was in the area for meetings, and a bunch of us went to Stone Mountain one evening for a pizza picnic, followed by an vigorous hike up the flanking trail before sunset (note to readers: don't try to wolf down a lot of pizza before undertaking a relative race up an outcrop, whether or not it is the "largest exposed piece of granite in the world", unless you relish the possibility that your exercise-induced regurgitation will have been wasted on just another piece of quartz monzonite). The view approaching the top was appropriately impressive, with the skyline of Atlanta silhouetted in the western sky by the setting sun, and towering cumulus approaching from the northwest. Despite my overly humidified condition, I found the view (and the refreshing breeze) to be quite inspiring.

After sunset, the adjoining park is well-known for a laser light show, with triple decibel musical accompaniment. After a more relaxing hike down the rock, I settled on a lawn area with what must have been a thousand or more other Stone Mountain pilgrims, and the show got underway. As I recall, it started with a long salute to all of the local sports institutions, including not only the obligatory professional and college teams, but, of course (and especially in this area), NASCAR. Next, I believe there followed a fairly long bit about farm equipment, fishing and hunting, and, in the one part I honestly found to be pretty entertaining, a tribute to Georgia music.

Then they mysteriously featured Lynyrd Skynyrd (who formed in Jacksonville, FL) playing "Sweet Home Alabama" (which, so far as I can tell, would be akin to Missouri claiming credit for the group Kansas, in turn singing a song about Nebraska, if they had done such a thing). It was during this part of the performance that I could feel my eyes wanting to roll, a self-righteous smirk forming on my lips as more images of NASCAR, an intrepid monster mudder truck, and, for some reason, sailors on the U.S.S. Alabama entertained us. If anyone had looked (it was dark, and I'm pretty sure all eyes were on the show), they might have actually seen a smart-allecky reaction cross my face when Elvis' rendition of "Battle Hymn Of The Republic" played, and Lee, Jackson and Davis came to life in cartoonish outlines, heroically throwing down their swords in a symbolic display of armistice. I kind of lost track after that, though I do recall lots of images playing up Georgia's (and, by extension, this culture's) fetishization of warfare.

Most of the crowd lustily cheered along, and fireworks added to the effect. I was (as is usual when I ponder this culture) bewildered. But as much as I was disaffected by my lack of meshing with this culture, I was troubled by the self-congratulatory nature of my own reaction.

It is my place to view what I see as a screwed-up society latching onto ridiculous images (the same monster mudder truck, trying to run down a chastened, defeated-by-a-fiddle-toting-child Satan during the Charlie Daniels Band's "The Devil Went Down To Georgia") while glorifying a belligerent but tradition-worshiping southern culture (which really echoes nationally, after all). That's the nature of being an observer. It is, however, quite another thing to sit there, forming judgements about the people who dig this stuff. I might just keep doing that, but, hopefully, I'll notice myself doing it, and not feel too superior as I smirk.