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| The Lee Monument pedestal June 5, 2020 |
In
June of 2020, whether they realized it, or not, Richmond's Fan District
residents found themselves living at the epicenter of a cultural
earthquake. Quite unexpectedly, the demonstrations
in my neighborhood that followed the murder of George Floyd in
Minneapolis gathered a national sense of outrage and directed its energy at an already-simmering local
brouhaha about old statues.
Once focused, that fresh sense of common purpose chased the city's Confederate statues from their pedestals. It all happened faster than anyone in Richmond could possibly have imagined.
Having grown up in the shadows of those Confederate memorials, for a long time I
had been hoping that I would live to see the conclusion of
the era for tolerating the dishonesty propping up the "Lost Cause" mindset. Now it's
evident that era ended abruptly during 2020's summer.
When that moment's self-appointed statue-removers pulled down the
Jefferson
F. Davis statue, that nighttime guerrilla act was seen specifically as an overdue anti-Confederate
statement. That, as well as a denouncement of racism, in general.
However,
upon
reflection, now
it seems to me another factor was in the mix. After all, that statue of
the Confederacy's only president had been standing atop its imposing Monument Avenue perch since 1907 ... then suddenly, it was gone!
The
next day folks all over town began to marvel at how easily the relic
came down. With Jeff Davis exorcised from the Fan, the spell was broken.
Then the City
Hall seized the moment and began removing Confederate statues in the
light of day. Mayor Levar Stoney's key role in that bold move will be
both praised and deplored for years to come.
Now that those statues are gone and their pedestals have been removed, too, it's easy to imagine that
future generations of Richmonders will be puzzled by an obvious
question: What took so long for Richmond to be rid of what clearly
amounted to Lost Cause propaganda that had served to facilitate the Jim Crow Era?
Indeed, it's worth remembering that the Confederate memorials on Monument Avenue were installed in the late-1800s and early-1900s. Under the cover of celebrating war heroes, those shrines also served to shore up the
repressive system of Jim Crow laws and customs that endured for decades. Maybe some readers never noticed, but some of the
laudatory inscriptions on
the plaques affixed to the grandiose pedestals were laughable ... in a sick way.
*
However,
as it happened, the night
before the Davis bronze kissed the pavement, a partying mob
yanked the Christopher Columbus statue from its
pedestal in William Byrd Park, a few blocks outside the Fan. The statue was then dragged down a
hill, and to the delight of a cheering crowd, it was dumped into the park's Fountain
Lake.
Still
photos and videos of the rude ceremony showed up on
Facebook, documenting the good times tone of the occasion. That was how I first found out about it; so I watched in realtime. Whatever the
cops were doing, reportedly gathered a few blocks away, well, let's just say they
weren't interfering.
Nonetheless,
in
my view, that act of defiance in Byrd Park was not merely spotlighting
Columbus' now somewhat tarnished image as a heroic explorer. To me, a
portion of what prompted those two unauthorized statue-removals, on
back-to-back nights, was a sense of rejection that was in the air.
Put simply, it was a rejection of
the concept of forced reverence.
A good part of the energy for that rejection seemed to be
coming
from
16-to-35-year-olds. Young adults who appeared to have developed the modern version of a William Tell attitude.
Perhaps somewhat like Tell, the 14th century
legendary Swiss archer,
when they found themselves confronted by what amounted to the equivalent of Gessler's hat,
they couldn't stand the feeling of being required to show respect for symbols of evil power. Instead, they felt moved
to act out their rejection by uprooting those two statues.
Fast-fowarding from Tell's era to more recent times, pro quarterback Colin Kaepernick, with his taking-a-knee resistance gesture, was spot on. Isn't the forced reverence of symbols always meant to be a dignity-crushing tool. So, in my book, it should be challenged.
In March of 2021, Gov. Ralph Northam signed the
law (which passed overwhelmingly in the General Assembly) to banish the statue of Harry F. Byrd from the grounds of
Capitol Square. That's the same Harry F. Byrd, who, for decades, ran
Virginia's statewide political organization that ruled
-- the ultra conservative, anti-trade union, pro-segregation Byrd Machine.
*
In case you missed it, that Byrd statue was hauled off three months later. Thus, it should be noted that with both Columbus and Byrd, the statue-removal process that swept
through Richmond that summer wasn't confined to Confederate memorials.
With the removal of the statues cited above, and the others, it says here Richmond took steps toward a
brighter future. Plus, in what was a charged
atmosphere, many bad things that could have
happened, didn't happen. Remember,
what violence and property damage that erupted Downtown during the
first couple of nights of marches didn't continue. Over the course of Richmond's tense summer of 2020, wise heads usually prevailed to prevent worst case scenarios from developing.
Moreover, the true story of what happened at the grassy circle that surrounded the Lee Monument's graffiti-adorned pedestal is one that deserves telling. That
site's integral role in the way Richmond drove off those old haunts should be celebrated.
Hopefully, some good documentary films about this episode are being put together. Don't forget that rather than continuing to be a magnet for attracting trouble, what came to be known as the "Marcus-David
Peters Circle" morphed into a busy People's Park, complete with
gardens, cookout
grills and basketball backboards with rims. It lasted a few months
before the city fenced off access to the area ... until the start of its
makeover.
And, yes, the huge Lee statue's pedestal was not only decorated with layers
of painted messages, at times it was also bathed with remarkable light
shows. Going
there was a relatively safe adventure during that first tense COVID
summer. Naturally, the unfolding scene attracted many a photographer ... me included.
Going
forward, the circle at Allen and Monument could eventually become another of the
Fan's
distinctive little parks -- a peaceful green space offering travelers on
foot a spot to rest. In any event, let's try to avoid installing more public art on Monument Avenue that will inspire our descendants to topple it and haul it away.
Today, I
have no doubt that most Richmond parents are glad their children will
no longer ask why those statues are still there, demanding respect for
men who chose to take part in an organized insurrection hell bent on
preserving the institution of slavery in Virginia.
On my regular quiet neighborhood walks, I, for one, don't miss the looming propaganda in bronze that once stood for forced reverence. And, that goes double for the eyesore that Davis memorial was -- with
its haughty pedestal and surrounding whatnot.
-- 30 --
-- Words and photos by F.T. Rea
