Opinion | Thursday, 11th June 2020

Statues under scrutiny: Why we are not obliged to keep monuments tied to our tragic past

Dr Sam Edwards on our democratic right to reject Victorian elites’ commemoration of those complicit in slavery

Statue of Edward Colston in Bristol before its removal, one of many, argues Dr Sam Edwards that is inextricably connected to painful and problematic pasts
Statue of Edward Colston in Bristol before its removal, one of many, argues Dr Sam Edwards that is inextricably connected to painful and problematic pasts

By Dr Sam Edwards, Senior Lecturer in History at Manchester Metropolitan University. Dr Edwards researches historical commemoration and memorialisation.

The dramatic events in Bristol over the weekend have re-ignited the long-simmering debate in Britain over what to do with those monuments that commemorate individuals complicit in the violence, trauma and tragedy of the transatlantic slave trade.

Many of our communities have such objects somewhere on their landscape, often the work of Victorian elites possessed of a ‘memorial mania’ which saw countless bronze and marble statues erected to political leaders, military officers, monarchs, philanthropists, scientists, and ‘heroes’ of Empire. 

Whilst some of these statues might now have drifted into benign oblivion, ignored by all save for the pigeons, others linger on the landscape in more provocative and at times disturbing ways.

The pressing question of our age has thus become what to do with the latter, that is, what to do with those statues inextricably connected to painful and problematic past(s) and which also retain a visibility, if not indeed a ‘power’, on our landscape and in our communities.

Removing a statue doesn’t mean history is obliterated

One common refrain from some of those uncomfortable with the removal of old statues is that it represents an attack on ‘history’.

This has certainly been the line often trotted out across the Atlantic as communities in the south of the United States debate what to do with the many monuments dedicated to the slave-owning Confederacy and its leaders. None other than President Trump himself has even offered this criticism. But does it actually stack up?

The key problem concerns the conflation of a statue with ‘history’, for if accepted it implies that the removal of the former results in the disappearance of the latter.

But this is to mis-understand the nature and origins of the object itself. Statues are not in themselves ‘history’, rather they are works of commemoration. As such, they do not emerge in a politically neutral or value free environment.

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People make monuments, and success in such endeavours comes down to those ever-present practicalities of power and money. To make a monument, and to secure it a visible or prestigious place on our landscape, is thus ultimately an expression of power.

Little wonder that the landscape of so many of our towns and cities are chock full of memorials, monuments and statues of that much criticised group – dead white guys. The Victorians – or rather the white, male wealthy elite that so often held the reins of power at both local and national level – loved to commemorate, and when they did they frequently produced structures that were in effect reflections of themselves.

Put differently, white male elites in the 19th century tended to erect monuments celebrating white male elites. This is a crucial issue, as it forces us to reconsider the relationship between statue and history. At root, it reminds us that statues and memorials venerate the values of the people who made them as much as they also celebrate the ostensible ‘subject’.

The architectural signature of the dead

Knowing this invites us to look critically at the commemorative legacy of the 19th century, when so many of those statues currently the subject of attention were erected.

For these statues were of course built in an era which lacked social mobility, racial and ethnic diversity and gender equality (our society itself still has much work to do on all these fronts).

The Victorians – or rather the white, male wealthy elite that so often held the reins of power at both local and national level – loved to commemorate, and when they did they frequently produced structures that were in effect reflections of themselves.

Indeed, many were dedicated before most people had the franchise, and thus before the democracy of today even existed. And they were often funded and built by representatives of the very segment in society most frequently hostile to ideas like ‘democracy’, that is, the people in power.

The memorials and statues of the Victorians might reasonably be seen then as the very visible architectural signature of a group of people whose ideas and ideals differ in marked ways from ours.

Seen like this, the desire of a council or a community today to ask hard questions about the continued presence of such statues, their purpose, point and politics, is entirely reasonable.

To do so is not to threaten history but, rather, to ask whether our society should be beholden to the politics (and symbols) of theirs.

If this is so in the general, then clearly there are also specific circumstances in which such questions become still more pressing and urgent.

Statues dedicated to those complicit in the violence, depredations and inhumanity of transatlantic slavery, many of which were erected in the 19th century, are the pre-eminent case in point.

These statues are the result of choices made long ago, by people long since gone, and they are ultimately expressive of racial politics and values profoundly at odds with ours. To preserve these statues unthinkingly, or to deny the right of groups and individuals to contest their continued presence and meaning, is effectively to disenfranchise contemporary communities from having a say about who and what gets venerated on their doorstep.

For this, ultimately, is the original point of all such statues. Placed on pedestals, and thereby forcing us literally to ‘look up’, they are Victorian statements to posterity saying ‘this man is worthy of your attention, and your veneration’.

Our right

We are not obliged to agree. We are not obliged to preserve Victorian statues in situ simply because they have long been there.

To preserve these statues unthinkingly, or to deny the right of groups and individuals to contest their continued presence and meaning, is effectively to disenfranchise contemporary communities from having a say about who and what gets venerated on their doorstep.

We are not obliged to venerate those white male elites frequently singled out for commemoration by groups of similarly white male elites.

And we are absolutely not obliged to acquiesce before the continued presence on our landscape of symbols which ignore, deny, or misrepresent the horrors of transatlantic slavery, and which in doing so actively marginalise, if not insult, individuals and communities in this – their own – country.

In the 19th century, small, exclusive, and influential segments of society had the power to put statues up. In this historically-conscious twenty-first century, we all have the democratic right to say whether it’s time they came down. 

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