Last month, my friend Sanka, a South African who studies anthropology at a local university in her home country, sent me a voice memo asking whether southern hospitality was “a real thing” or if it was simply behavior exhibited in media. See, she is writing a novel about a young mixed-race woman like herself moving to the American South, so she wanted to hear my perspective as someone who was born in the region so that she could depict her characters in ways that felt more accurate.
I cautioned her that my frame of reference is that of a cis, straight white man and that she may want to connect with other southerners who have had different lived experiences. But I decided to relay my understanding of southern hospitality as I knew it, incorporating secondhand insights that I gleaned from stories my friends who are queer and/or people of color have relayed to me over my 30 years as a native Mississippian.
My stance was that southern hospitality is indeed real but that it is often conditional, depending on the person with whom you’re interacting.
When Mississippians lock eyes with acquaintances they have not seen in a while at the grocery store, we flash a smile, wave or sometimes even hug before engaging in a little small talk. Many of us have been trained since birth to enter a headspace for social interactions that, in ways, mirrors mannerisms used in customer service. Etiquette dictates that we make time to let a person feel welcome, even in short spurts of time spent together.
Even with strangers, politeness is often the default. We’ll hold a door open for someone and say, “After you.” If cashiers don’t beat us to the punch, we’ll cheerily say, “Have a nice day,” as we walk out the door. Some folks, when meeting a friend of a friend or a family member’s significant other for the first time, will go straight for the hug, instantly jumping to a level of physical contact that typically signals familiarity despite having just met.
Flipping the Switch
These behaviors create an inviting atmosphere that can put both parties at ease, as we become accustomed to the song-and-dance by the time we’re adults, if not sooner. Some of us learned this particular brand of social skills in churches, others at family gatherings or other functions.
Honestly, I believe that a considerable portion of people who embody southern hospitality in their day-to-day lives do so from a sincere place. They want to be polite. They want people to walk away after speaking to them, thinking they just had a pleasant exchange. However, despite our default settings of kindness and smiles, some southerners can pull 180s and make someone feel wholly unwelcome at the drop of a hat.
From my point of view, southern hospitality, for some, only applies for as long as Person B meets Person A’s metrics for “deserving” politeness. If Person B deviates from Person A’s rubric, the mask slips, and politeness devolves into indifference or, at times, hostility.
Granted, sometimes rude behavior results in rude behavior. While not ideal, that’s normal. Mississippians cannot be polite at all times, or else we’d be letting bullies take advantage of our kindness. What I’m speaking of has more to do with intolerance or discrimination. Simply falling under the wrong demographic—in terms of ethnicity, gender, sexuality, or political persuasion—can leave someone feeling greatly unwelcome, even in the “hospitable” South.
I’ve had encounters with Mississippians who were speaking to me cordially, only for them to turn on me when I expressed my views on, say, healthcare or police reform. Suddenly, their demeanors change, and their words are curt, if not visceral, depending on the intensity of their rage when faced with opposing ideas. I can only imagine what my fellow Mississippians who are not cis, straight white men may have experienced in their lifetimes.
But this is what I mean when I say that southern hospitality can be fragile: You receive it until you lose it. It’s not that the outward kindness is necessarily fake—it’s that it can be conditional. The same people sitting in pews on Sundays, talking about loving one another, will vex residents or out-of-towners alike the moment you fall “out of line,” triggering an “us v. them” response.
Aspirational Hospitality
Now, I am not trying to discourage non-Mississippians from visiting our state. If anything, I think that people benefit from meeting folks from different areas or walks of life. Broadening our worldviews increases our capacity for empathy as people, I believe. So please, come—just come prepared. No one should have to hide themselves or act a certain way just to peacefully coexist, but know that this world has its fair share of two-faced people.
Much like how love and hate are supposedly two sides of the same coin, with one sometimes switching to the other in what seems like an instant, kindness and hostility are two sides of the same coin we call southern hospitality.
For now, I suppose the best I can do is be the example of what I want to permeate throughout my home state. When I interact with acquaintances or strangers alike, I plan to act with courtesy and consideration. If I hear someone spewing disinformation, I’ll offer a rebuttal. If someone grows aggressive, I’ll walk away.
Wishing for a more peaceful world makes me sound as if I were participating in a pageant of some kind, perhaps, but the older I become, the more tired I become of conflict. It’s such a waste of energy.
My hope is that by the time I’m an old man, our differences won’t create as much tension. Rather than being a pageantry of pleasantness as I describe it, I want southern hospitality to be the “real thing” my friend Sanka wanted to believe it to be.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
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