That claim is so ridiculous I almost fell out of my chair laughing. Cotton has no opinion abut anything. My grandfather was a cotton farmer. He was not a slave owner but he was a drunk. I suppose he was a white man as grandma is white and my dad is white as well as all his brothers and sisters although I wouldn't swear to it as I never met the man. or even seen a picture of him. I'm sure I would not have liked him as he was a mean man. I know this because I have seen the permanent injuries he inflicted of several of his children. My dad picked cotton. I suppose he picked some on his daddy's farm but he also worked for other people. He made a $1.00 a day plus meals
My father also planted cotton. No, he wasn't a cotton farmer. He planted cotton in his front yard along with rose bushes and Iris and daffodils, and dozens of other flowering plants. Why cotton? It is my understanding that cotton blooms are pretty. They must have been because people would line the streets to drive by Dad's house when things began to bloom in spring. To tell the truth I've never seen a cotton bloom; not even a picture of one. I did, when I was a kid, go out into grand dads cotton field a pick a few balls of cotton just to see what it was like. The cotton plants were brown but did not give up cotton fluff easily.
Before I would pick cotton I would have had to be held at gun point. It is not fun nor pleasant. I cannot imagine working in the hot fields under a blazing sun picking cotton from a plant that was so reluctant to turn over its prize to me. When I looked at the cotton fields I never did think of slaves and plantations but images of cotton shirts and underwear filled my mind. I sometimes think of my dad. If I had grown up like he did I would have a great disdain for the cotton plant but he saw the beauty in it. I suppose his ability to see and appreciate beauty where others see none is what made him a special human being.
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