Exorcising Forced Reverence

The Lee Monument pedestal June 5, 2020

In June of 2020, 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 boiling outrage and directed it at an already-simmering local brouhaha about old statues. 

Once focused, that new sense of common purpose chased the city's Confederate statues from their pedestals. It all happened faster than most Richmonders 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 during 2020's summer.

When the moment's self-appointed statue-removers pulled down the Jefferson F. Davis statue, that unauthorized act was naturally seen as an anti-Confederate statement. That, as well as an anti-racism statement. 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 poof! The next day folks all over town began to marvel at how easily the relic came down. 

With Jeff Davis exorcised from the Fan, suddenly, the spell was broken. Then the City of Richmod, itself, began removing Confederate statues. 

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 in bronze? 

It's worth noting that the Confederate memorials on Monument Avenue were installed in the late-1800s and early-1900s. Under the cover of celebrating war heroes, those monuments also served to shore up a repressive system of Jim Crow laws and customs that endured for decades after being unveiled. Maybe some readers never noticed, but some of the laudatory inscriptions on the plaques affixed to the grandiose pedestals were laughable. 

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However, as it happened, the night before the Davis bronze hit the pavement, a partying mob yanked the Christopher Columbus statue from its plinth in William Byrd Park. The Columbus statue was then dragged down a hill and dumped into the park's Fountain Lake. 

Still photos and videos of the rude ceremony showed up in realtime on Facebook, documenting the good times tone of the occasion. Whatever the cops were doing, reportedly gathered a few blocks away, 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, a rejection of the concept of forced reverence. 

Moreover, a good part of the energy for that rejection seemed then to be coming from 16-to-35-year-olds who appeared to have developed the modern equivalent 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 modern equivalent of Gessler's hat, they couldn't stand feeling required to show respect for symbols of 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. The forced reverence of symbols is always meant to be a dignity-crushing tool. So, as a rule, 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. 

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In case you missed it, that Byrd statue was hauled off three months later. Thus, it should be noted that the stature-removal process that swept through Richmond wasn't confined to Confederate memorials, only. Ultimately, what should be done with all the removed statues, currently in storage, is being studied. And it should be.  

With the removal of the statues cited, and 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 is well worth commemorating. 

Hopefully, there are some good story-telling documentary films 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 new gardens, cookout grills and basketball backboards and rims ... at least for a few months.

And, yes, the huge 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. Maybe with a nice fountain in the center, surrounded by benches? Flowers would be nice.

In any event, please let's try to avoid installing more public art on Monument Avenue that will call out to our descendants, asking to be toppled and hauled away in the night. It's also worthwhile to remember that public art doesn't always have to be a larger-than-life depiction of yesterday's celebrity striking a corny pose. 

In closing, I have to say that when I'm walking in the neighborhood, it's especially nice to see that the eyesore the Davis memorial was -- with its haughty plinth and whatnot -- is completely gone. Therefore, from here on, the children growing up in the Fan District will no longer be commanded by its looming presence to revere a man who led an insurrection hell bent on preserving the institution of slavery. 

Note: The death toll of the American Civil War (1861-65) is said to have been 360,222 Union and 258,000 Confederate. The number of executions of Black Americans, by mobs or the authorities, during the Jim Crow Era is unknown.

-- Words and photos by F.T. Rea

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