A refreshing point of view from Germany. The points that he makes are 100% correct.
Tag: statue genocide
bookmark_borderRobert E. Lee memorial at Antietam Battlefield
Beautiful post from Dixie Forever about the Robert E. Lee statue at Antietam Battlefield:
You can also view the post here on Facebook.
This post really brings home for me the gravity of the horrible things that have happened, and continue to happen, in our country. The images of this statue are so beautiful, but are also a punch in the gut for me. Sadly, as the post states, this is currently one of the most threatened monuments in America. It’s despicable and sickening that this is the case. How anyone could think that the battlefield would be made better by removing this beautiful statue (beautiful both aesthetically and in terms of what it represents) is incomprehensible. If the bullies, whose goal is to inflict the maximum amount of pain possible on people who are different from them, get their way then I hope at least the statue will be returned to private land as it was before 2005, when the National Park Service took ownership of it.
bookmark_border“I love breaking those things”
Dear “John Catdog”…
So you “love” destroying everything that makes life worth living?
You “love” inflicting excruciating and unbearable pain on people who’ve done nothing to deserve it?
You “love” bullying and tormenting people merely because they are different from the majority?
And if you really do love the things that I’ve listed above… why on earth would you brag about it?
Both John Catdog and the imbecile who “liked” his idiotic comment are despicable excuses for human beings who should be ashamed of themselves.
bookmark_borderNewspapers and reminders of trauma
One of numerous activities that I’ve given up since the statue genocide happened is reading the newspaper.
I used to read the Boston Globe every day, as well as two small local papers every week. But now the news is so filled with triggers, opinions that make me angry, and reminders of the horrible things that have happened, that I’ve decided to give it up. I have always valued being informed about world events, politics, and the happenings in my community, and have always found the news interesting. But these benefits are no longer worth the pain that consuming news now causes.
Last week, my dad visited my uncle at his new apartment and picked up a copy of that town’s local paper. Thinking he was being nice, he gave it to me, and against my better judgment I decided to read it.
Despite the fact that it was only a small, local weekly newspaper, I could feel my mood steadily decline while reading it.
A column about how the town was celebrating St. Patrick’s Day immediately triggered comparisons with how our society treats Columbus Day. Why is one ethnic group’s holiday embraced almost universally, with parades, the wearing of the green, playing of traditional Irish music, and consumption of traditional Irish food and drink, while another ethnic group’s holiday is either ignored, condemned, attacked, protested against, or abolished entirely?
I became angry when reading a press release from the office of Rep. Ayanna Pressley, which bragged about the “just and equitable” district she was creating by securing funding for childcare and programs to help young parents. How is it just or equitable to discriminate against people who do not have children? I found myself wondering.
Similar thoughts were brought forth by an article about a housing voucher program, which was described by the town’s mayor as particularly important because of the disproportionate impact of the housing crisis on people of color and families with young children. Again, I wondered why, in the eyes of society, do white people and people without children always seem to matter less?
The “Beacon Hill Roll Call” column reminded me of the bills to abolish Columbus Day, to force people to undergo medical procedures against their will, and to discriminate against people like me in various other ways, which have been considered by the state legislature at various points in time, some of which unfortunately are still under consideration.
An editorial about Women’s History Month brought to mind thoughts about why other heritage months, such as Confederate History Month and Italian Heritage Month, are not celebrated with equal enthusiasm.
Even an article about subway track work and station improvements caused a pang of sadness. As an autistic person, my special interest is history and statues, exactly the thing that our society over the past four years has decided to destroy. I know several fellow autistic people whose special interest is trains, and I know that they would enjoy reading about these new MBTA developments. It was bittersweet to think about how others are still able to enjoy news about their special interests, while for mine the only available news centers on condemnation and destruction.
The “On This Day In History” feature, something that had been my favorite part of every newspaper since I was 10 years old, reminded me of how much things have changed. I learned that on that particular date, Hernan Cortez had landed in what is now Mexico, and Jefferson Davis had signed a bill authorizing slaves to fight in the Confederate Army. These would simply have been interesting facts to my past self, but now I cannot hear the names of Cortez or Davis without being reminded of how our society has decided to attack, condemn, and largely obliterate from existence, these historical figures.
Because I have always found news interesting and have always valued being informed, my goal has been to one day add the news back into my life. But I have found that right now, the best way of building a life that is worth living is to turn towards my inner world and away from the outer one. Drawing, writing stories about my imaginary world, organizing my toy soldiers, figurines, and dolls, and spending time with my Stonewall statue… these are the activities that bring comfort, joy, peace, and a sense of control. The news, on the other hand, is filled with nothing but oppression, meanness, and injustice.
Perhaps this will change one day, but perhaps not. Maybe my healing will progress, my resilience will increase, my mental state will stabilize, and the world will change for the better, to the point where I will be able to add the news back into my life. But for now, it’s best that I stay away from it.
bookmark_borderPain and perspective
It’s difficult to live in a world that has decided to destroy everything that makes my life worth living. My existence over the past four years has been filled with pain so excruciating that prior to spring 2020, not only had I never before experienced such pain, but it hadn’t occurred to me that such pain was even possible. Over the past four years, I’ve worked to find some way of continuing on, some way of building a life of meaning and purpose in a society that believes I shouldn’t be allowed to exist.
Living this way is laborious, exhausting, and often demoralizing. But to some extent my efforts have been successful. I have dedicated my life to honoring the historical figures that I love. I advocate for them through my writing, which takes the form of this blog, emails to public officials, and hopefully one day a book. I keep them alive through my artwork, which I sell on my art website and at local craft fairs and festivals, through my Historical Heroes Blog, through collecting dolls and figurines depicting them, and through bringing new statues into the world. Additionally, I have tried to make my day-to-day life as rewarding as possible by eliminating unpleasant obligations and incorporating activities that bring me joy. Particularly over the past two years, these efforts have begun to pay off. Often, I do experience a sense of meaning and purpose. Often, I do feel that my life is worth living.
But not always. Sometimes the excruciating pain attacks. This might happen if a new atrocity is committed, or perhaps if I merely have a bad day. And when the excruciating pain attacks, it takes over my entire soul, so that nothing other than the pain exists. The thing about the excruciating pain is that it creates something of a catch-22. There are three theoretical ways of abating the misery, of making the situation just a tiny bit better. But the nature of the excruciating pain makes every option impossible, inappropriate, ineffective, or all of the above.
The three options are as follows:
- Expressing my anger and grief about the terrible thing that happened. This is certainly right, because anger and grief are the appropriate responses when a terrible thing happens. But when the agony is attacking, this can feel pointless. No words are adequate to express the full magnitude of what happened. Ranting wildly, in the strongest language imaginable, would be 100% justified but would also accomplish nothing other than making me look unhinged, which would be counterproductive with respect to my goal of advocating for the historical figures.
- Finding some positive aspect of the situation, or of historical figures in general. This might entail focusing on the statues that still remain, making new art depicting the historical figures, or reading about their lives. But when the agony is attacking, it feels as if everything with regards to historical figures is going badly, even if my logical brain knows that this is not 100% true. Focusing on the positive seems hollow and empty, a failure to acknowledge the full magnitude of the bad thing that happened.
- Ignoring the situation, and the historical figure topic entirely, and focusing on something else. This seems to be the worst of the three options. When something horrible happens to a historical figure, everything else in the world is like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. Thinking about, talking about, making a post about, or even caring about pets, food, sports, friends, or family, to give just a few examples, would represent a complete failure to acknowledge the badness of what has happened. Doing so would be petty, superficial, and callous.
When the excruciating pain strikes, it’s as if I am at the bottom of a pit, with no way to climb out. The walls of the pit are perfectly smooth, with no handholds, nothing to grab onto, no protruding pieces of rock on which I might be able to step. I cannot gain purchase, cannot hoist myself out. All possible ways of climbing out of the pit are closed off to me.
But over the past years, I’ve discovered that there is a fourth way out of the excruciating pain, albeit a way that I have no control over: time.
In time, the excruciating pain always subsides. Not permanently, alas, because it keeps recurring. But every time that the pain has attacked, it has eventually gone away. The agony that was nearly omnipresent from spring 2020 to summer 2022 has, since then, alternated with stretches of relatively okay days, days on which I experience a sense of meaning and purpose, and a sense that life is worth living.
I’ve gained a sense of perspective that I didn’t have when the statue genocide began. Although the excruciating pain, when it attacks, is all-consuming, I am now able to recognize, intellectually if not emotionally, that it is temporary.
While waiting for the agony to go away, I have found that the best thing to do is something productive. If the floor needs to be swept, I sweep the floor; if I haven’t exercised yet that day, I exercise; if it is nighttime, I go to bed. These things aren’t exactly fun, but they are useful. When I am in excruciating pain, I am going to be miserable no matter what I do, so I might as well do something that, once the pain subsides, I will be glad that I did.
This pain is probably something that I will need to deal with, to struggle with, to manage, for the rest of my life. It is only logical to experience agonizing and excruciating pain when people have done appallingly awful things. So I continue to fight for both myself and the historical figures. Despite the frequent setbacks and obstacles that I face, I continue to build bit by bit a life of meaning and purpose, a life that is worth living.
bookmark_borderSilent Sam, gone but not forgotten
Source: Facebook post from Judy Smith Photography
He won’t be forgotten by me, and neither will any of the statues that have been unjustly torn down. There is nothing more important than statues and the historical figures that they represent, and I have dedicated my life to keeping their memory alive.
bookmark_borderDavid Trone believes that people like me shouldn’t be allowed to exist
Horrific, agonizing pain. My limbs feel like lead, my stomach feels sick, my lungs feel like they’re filled with rocks. I am crushed beneath an avalanche of grief, sadness, and anger. The agony is like a knife that stabs me in the heart. The entire world is dark, horrifying, disgusting. It feels as if my soul is being eviscerated, as if I will never experience happiness again.
This is something I’ve experienced hundreds of times over the past four years.
In this most recent instance, this pain was directly caused by Rep. David Trone, who despicably sponsored a bill * – known as HR 7474, the Robert E. Lee Monument Removal Act – which would turn the Antietam (Sharpsburg) Battlefield into yet another thing whose entire purpose is to send the message that people like me shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Yet another place in which I am not welcome, yet another area of society in which I cannot participate, yet another part of our physical world that would be altered in order to ensure that I cannot feel represented or included.
Despicably, Trone said of his act of vicious cruelty and aggression: “I thank my colleagues for joining me in this effort to ensure Antietam honors our nation’s victory over the Confederacy rather than memorializes historical figures who fought to break up the Union and restrict fundamental human rights.”
As if forcing people to remain part of the same country against their will somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights. As if inflicting on another human the type of pain that I described in the first paragraph of this blog post somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights. As if decreeing that only one side in a war deserves to be honored, only one perspective acknowledged, only one story told, only one viewpoint reflected, somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights.
To “ensure Antietam honors our nation’s victory over the Confederacy” completely defeats the purpose of even preserving the battlefield as a historical site, both because the entire concept of a battle requires that there be two opposing sides, and also because there is no benefit in something existing when the very attribute that made it beautiful, distinctive, and remarkable has been destroyed.
David Trone would like Antietam to be transformed from a historical site honoring a battle and the soldiers who fought there, into yet another monument to authoritarianism, compliance, and mindless conformity, into yet another piece of propaganda designed to send the message that any person who differs from the mainstream, from the norm, from the majority in any way, has no right to exist.
As if sending this message somehow doesn’t restrict fundamental human rights.
David Trone’s decision to introduce this bill is an attack on me as a human being. It is an attack on me because I am different, because I do not fit in, because I see the world differently from most people, because I have different interests and passions and values and ways of thinking than the majority. Because I am different, the Robert E. Lee Monument represents me. It makes me feel included. It makes me feel that people like me are allowed to exist. By attempting to remove it, David Trone is attempting to turn the Antietam Battlefield into yet another instrument in society’s war against people like me. Yet another thing that used to make me feel represented and included, now turned into a cudgel to beat me with. Yet another tool for society to use to hammer home the brutal and intolerant message that I do not deserve to exist because I am different.
Tell me again, why does America need another monument to authoritarianism, compliance, and mindless conformity? Why does America need yet another memorial honoring the same bland, mundane, and meaningless values that people are already bombarded with every day, in every facet of life?
Tell me again, what is the point of the Antietam battlefield even existing, if its existence does nothing other than to stab my heart, punch me in the gut, stomp on my face, and inflict horrific and agonizing pain?
Pardon my French, but fuck David Trone. He doesn’t care a whit about fundamental human rights. If he did, he would campaign passionately against vaccine mandates, gun control, the Durham-Humphrey Amendment, and the use of full-body scanners at airports, to give just a few examples. Each of these policies restrict fundamental human rights vastly more severely than anyone from the Confederacy ever did.
How dare David Trone pontificate about fundamental human rights while simultaneously going out of his way to violate them?
How dare he go about his life as if nothing is wrong, while his actions inflict horrific and agonizing pain on other people?
It is mentally exhausting and demoralizing that acts of vicious cruelty and aggression, such as this one perpetrated by David Trone and his 6 co-sponsors, continue to happen. I am tired, I am angry, and I am exhausted. I don’t deserve for this pain to be inflicted on me, and David Trone has no right to inflict it. Despicably, he pontificates about “fundamental human rights” while actively violating mine.
I learned from a quick Google search that David Trone has a wife and several children. How would he like it if his wife and children were beaten, strangled, dismembered, burned, and had their limbs sawed off and their bodies cut to pieces as he was forced to watch? That might sound sadistic, outlandish, excessive, ridiculous… but it has been my reality for the past four years. Perhaps if this happened, David Trone would experience a tiny fraction of the pain that I’ve experienced. Maybe then he’d have a shred of empathy for the people he’s harmed. Maybe then he’d work towards enacting policies that would compensate me for the pain I’ve suffered, rather than actively inflicting even more of it.
* as well as 6 other members of Congress who co-sponsored this bill
bookmark_borderMy thoughts on Virginia bills HB812 and SB517: Hurting other people is the opposite of moral righteousness
For the past four years, our society has carried out action after action with no purpose other than to hurt me. And not just to hurt me, but to hurt me as badly as possible. There is nothing positive about any of these actions, no reason for them, no way in which they make the world better, no way in which any person benefits from them, other than people who value, for its own sake, the suffering of those who are different from them. Of course, the people who take these actions do not know me personally, and therefore their intention is not to hurt me specifically, by name. But their intention is to hurt people like me: people who are different from them and different from the majority.
A self-righteous post about Black History Month that I recently saw on social media pompously characterized such actions as “changes that benefit us all.” But nothing could be further from the truth. These changes do not benefit me; they harm me. They have caused, and continue to cause, pain that is so excruciating and so unbearable that it cannot be put into words. These changes have involved the destruction of everything that makes my life worth living. To characterize the destruction of what makes my life worth living as “benefitting us all” is to characterize me as somehow not a person.
Virginia bills HB812 and SB517, filed recently, are yet additional examples of this demoralizing trend.
It is incomprehensible to me that anyone would think that it is a good thing to inflict as much pain as possible on other people. But clearly, our society as a whole thinks exactly this, because individuals, groups, organizations, companies, and governments at every level continue to do this, and continue to be praised for doing so. For reasons that are utterly incomprehensible, people who have already inflicted excruciating and unbearable pain on me, and who advocate for even more pain to be inflicted, hold the moral high ground in the eyes of society.
What does it say about me, that hurting me as badly as possible is considered the measure of moral righteousness in our society?
Do I really deserve a life of repeated and endless torment because I dress differently from most people, talk differently, move differently, do my hair differently, think differently, perceive the world differently, experience emotions differently, have different interests?
Do I really deserve to be morally condemned because I liked to organize and rank my toys, as opposed to engaging in role-playing and imaginative play? Because I wasn’t able to learn how to ride a bike, or hit a baseball with a bat, or keep a conversation going? Because I enjoy writing and drawing and reading and making paper dolls, as opposed to socializing?
For the “crime” of loving historical figures as opposed to the human beings that I know in real life, do I really deserve the death penalty?
It seems that our society has decided precisely that.
For as long as I can remember, I have been criticized by others. I’ve been criticized for the way that I talk, the words that I use, my tone of voice, the way that I stand, the way that I sit, the way that I play, the clothes that I wear, the shoes that I wear, the way I wear my socks, the hairstyles that I wear, the way I wash my hair, the way I wash my face, the way I put sunscreen on, the fact that I don’t socialize enough, the fact that I told a friend I had plans when she invited me to her pool, the fact that I brought a stuffed animal with me to a school assembly… the list is endless.
Every time that I am criticized, it hurts. It inflicts pain on me. Growing up, every time that I was criticized, I hid the fact that it hurt. I smiled, nodded, apologized when I hadn’t done anything wrong, and pretended that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Other people had all of the power, and I had none, so I felt that I had no choice.
But I didn’t deserve to be hurt. I didn’t deserve to be criticized. And I don’t deserve to be hurt or criticized now, either. My body and mind work differently from other people’s, and there is nothing wrong with that. I am just as good as other people, my wishes and preferences and happiness just as important, my perspective just as valid.
I don’t fit in with other people. I am a rebel, a non-conformist, an underdog. That’s why I identify with the Confederacy. That’s why historical figures are so important to me. I am the Confederacy, and the Confederacy is me.
When someone hurts the Confederacy, that person hurts me. Every time that a statue is vandalized, torn down, or removed. Every time that a historical artifact is destroyed or damaged. Every time that a holiday is canceled. Every time that a building, street, or cemetery is renamed. Every time that a license plate featuring a historical figure is recalled, or a historical organization stripped of its tax-exempt status, as the despicable bills known as HB812 and SB517 would do. Every time that a person even suggests doing any of these things, or introduces a piece of legislation that would do any of these things, or insinuates that doing any of these things is even remotely good.
All of these things hurt me. All of these things inflict harm and pain.
Upon hearing about Virginia bills HB812 and SB517, my stomach feels sick. My chest feels tight. My limbs feel heavy, as if they are made of lead. My very soul feels as if it’s being eviscerated. My entire being is torn apart, my mind inundated with a mixture of horror, grief, and rage so excruciating that it cannot be put into words. I’ve experienced this pain again and again over the past four years, every time that someone hurts the Confederacy and therefore me. I’ve experienced this pain again and again as a direct result of other people’s actions.
For reasons that I cannot comprehend, our society considers it morally good for people to cause this suffering.
I’m exhausted and my heart hurts. Why do people think that it is good to do this to another human being? I’m tired of having to explain myself, tired of being called a racist, tired of being called ignorant, disgusting, gross, privileged, entitled. I’m tired of being ridiculed, my words and my perspective and my very existence being treated as a joke.
Most of all, I’m tired of society treating the people who are hurting me as holding the moral high ground, and me as the one deserving of condemnation.
It is the ultimate in moral bankruptcy to view hurting another person as morally righteous, while viewing the person being hurt as lacking in character and in need of change, education, and correction.
People who have families, intimacy, friendships, belonging, and social status have decided to take actions, again and again, that serve no purpose other than to beat up on those who have none of those things. Unable to relate to, or be accepted by, other human beings, I’ve treasured historical figures and statues as the only things that make my life worth living. Only to be forced to watch as people who have no idea what it’s like to struggle in the way that I have, systematically obliterate these historical figures from the world, bit by excruciating bit, in the most vicious and brutal manner imaginable, all while portraying themselves as “oppressed” and their victims as “privileged.” All while portraying themselves as fighting for justice, for freedom, for equality. All while claiming that their despicable actions are being done in the name of diversity, equity, and inclusion. And all while being looked upon as morally righteous in the eyes of society.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
I am the one who is truly disadvantaged, and the destroyers of everything that makes life worth living are the ones who are truly privileged, benefitting from unearned advantages that I don’t have access to.
Hurting people who have done nothing wrong is the opposite of justice, the opposite of freedom, the opposite of equality.
Hurting people who are different from the majority, merely by virtue of being different from the majority, is the opposite of diversity, the opposite of equity, and the opposite of inclusion.
Inflicting harm and pain, to the maximum extent that you possibly can, is the opposite of moral righteousness.
All of this is so obvious that it shouldn’t need to be stated, but apparently it does.
Our society has given the moral high ground to cowardly, sadistic bullies merely because they have the numbers, the influence, and the power. Their cruelty is treated as understandable at best, and noble at worst, when in reality it is none of these things. Society has decided to condemn me to a life of torment for the “crime” of being different.
People mindlessly repeat hackneyed platitudes such as the claim that I am “on the wrong side of history” or that “the arc of history bends towards justice.” As if how old or new an idea is, or how many people support it, has anything to do with whether it is right or wrong. (News flash: it doesn’t.)
Now I am 34, and I have been hurt far more than I ever deserved. I have done more than a lifetime’s worth of pretending that it was fine for other people to hurt me, and that people’s unacceptable words and actions were acceptable. I am not going to do this anymore.
Every time someone hurts the Confederacy, thereby hurting me, I am going to speak out.
I am going to state, forcefully and unequivocally, that their actions are unacceptable, even if I am the only person stating it.
I am going to speak the objective moral truth, even if I am the only one speaking it.
I am going to stand up for myself and for the Confederacy, even if I stand alone. That is the purpose of this blog.
bookmark_borderNo, Tolstoy was not saying that making statues is wrong
Take a look at this great post, with a very true and meaningful quote, and then the obnoxious comment below it:
Um, what? He was talking about you? Really?
First of all, we are not the majority. People like those at Monuments Across Dixie and myself are the minority, as evidenced by the fact that our statues and monuments have been subjected to an almost entirely unopposed and unchallenged campaign of brutal and violent destruction across the entire country.
Second of all, Tolstoy was talking about people who design and commission statues? Really? Tolstoy was saying that making statues is wrong, even though the majority shares in it? Somehow, I doubt that very much.
What an infuriating and idiotic comment. Continuing to see people expressing sentiments such as these is exasperating and mentally exhausting.
Good for Monuments Across Dixie for posting this Tolstoy quote. Contrary to what Richard Binns claims, this quote is much more applicable to the brave minority fighting to defend what makes life worth living (Confederate statues), than it is to the cowardly majority who are cruelly destroying it.
bookmark_borderThe statues weren’t hurting anyone, and neither was I
Everyone else wore jeans and t-shirts. I wore jumpers, plaid skirts, cardigans, Mary Janes.
Everyone else got their hair highlighted and wore makeup. I wore hair ribbons and pigtails.
Everyone else spoke in the latest slang in order to sound “cool.” I used big words and spoke formally.
Everyone else IM’d with their friends after school. I went online to read about historical figures. I made drawings and paper dolls of them.
Everyone played the same computer games, listened to the same music, watched the same TV shows and movies. Everyone except for me.
I collected dolls, toy soldiers, Beanie Babies, and model horses. Everyone called me babyish and weird.
I picked my nose, and the other kids whispered to each other about how gross I was. I picked at my face and scalp instead, but the other kids still whispered to each other about me, and how weird I was. So instead I went through my hair and took out the strands that had become detached, tidying and cleaning up my hair, but the other kids commented on how gross and weird that was as well. So I forced myself to sit, uncomfortable and bored out of my mind, with nothing to occupy my hands.
I was not hurting anyone. I was not hurting anyone by dressing the way that looked good to me, moving and organizing my body in the way that felt good to me, spending my time and energy pursuing the things that I was interested in. I was not hurting anyone by existing in the world as my authentic self, in a way that was different from other people.
The statues are the same as me. They dressed differently from people today, looked differently, spoke differently, thought differently.
Therefore, the statues weren’t hurting anyone either.
The statues symbolized people like me, people who are different. The statues symbolized the idea that people like me have a right to be included in society. When people tore down the statues, that is what they attacked.
Seeing those statues standing, in public parks and city squares, told me that I had the right to exist, even though I am different from others. Because those statues were different from other people, and they had the right to exist.
When people tore down the statues, they took that away from me.
When mayors and city councils ordered the statues removed, they were literally redesigning public spaces in order to communicate that people like me do not have the right to exist there, in order to ensure that people like me would feel excluded.
This is not being inclusive, or ensuring that everyone feels welcome. It is the exact opposite.
When people tore down the statues, they did so because they believe that a person who dresses differently, looks differently, moves differently, speaks differently, and thinks differently should not be allowed to exist.
When people tore down the statues, they did so because they believe, through some perverse logic that is incomprehensible to me, that their right to be surrounded entirely and exclusively by people who dress like them, look like them, move like them, speak like them, and think like them, outweighs my right to exist.
This is not diversity. It is the exact opposite.
This is why Confederate statues and Christopher Columbus statues are so important.
This is why the issue of statues is personal to me.
This is why I will never forget what people did to the statues, why I will never move on, why I will never stop writing and posting about the statues, why I will never focus on other, more important issues.
Because there are no issues more important than this.
I wasn’t hurting anyone by existing, and neither were the statues.