A monument vandalized and destroyed by people who only care about the perspectives, the rights, and the feelings of the majority; who only tolerate the existence of people like themselves; who deliberately inflict harm and pain on people who are different for no other purpose than to inflict harm and pain:
“The importance of preserving history and heritage, even in the face of controversy and loss.”
Amen to that. Every day, I strive to continue on in defiance of the people that I described above. On many days, this feels impossible. The pain reaches unbearable levels and my efforts feel pointless. Yet I keep trying to take meaningful steps to honor the historical figures that matter to me, and to find a meaningful path forward despite the horrific losses that they have inflicted. Because no matter what the people described above might think, preserving history and heritage are truly important.
Some slightly positive news out of Surry County, Virginia: the Confederate monument which was unjustly removed from its rightful location is being put up in a new home.
I recently saw this post from the Virginia Division, Sons of Confederate Veterans, showing a crane and several workers in the process of re-erecting a monument. “Surry County Monument is going back up!! Strong work Compatriots!,” the post read. I wondered about the context behind this monument, and although doing research on these kinds of topics is fraught with potential for excruciating pain to be triggered, I decided to do just that. I found out that, according to the Smithfield Times, the Surry County Confederate monument had existed outside the courthouse in Surry, Virginia for over 100 years. Unfortunately, after bullies and bigots in the Virginia state legislature wrongfully passed the disgraceful law removing legal protections for people who are different from the norm, thereby allowing the past five years of horrifying atrocities to be unleashed, the Surry County Board of Supervisors decided to join in on the campaign of state-sponsored bullying of people who are different, and wrongfully voted to remove the monument.
The one positive thing in this situation is that the county gave the monument to SCV Camp #9, who have now put it up at 384 Mount Ivy Lane, where it can be viewed by the public. A little piece of good news in what is overall a terrible situation.
There are no words that can adequately express the cruelty, nastiness, and immorality demonstrated by the despicable lump of flesh and bone that calls itself Lydia O’Connor:
“Trump Signs Order To Restore Inclusive and Diverse Monuments, Remove ‘Anti-America’ Ideology.”
Or perhaps:
“Trump Signs Order To Restore Monuments Signifying That People Who Are Different Actually Have a Right To Exist, Remove ‘Anti-America’ Ideology.”
There, Lydia. I fixed it for you.
Needless to say, I did not read the entire article, because my mind and nervous system don’t have the resilience needed to handle such a traumatizing experience. Thanks to merely glimpsing the headline, my body is shaking with rage, my stomach is sick, and my chest feels like it’s being crushed in a vice.
This headline, and the accompanying article, are enormously harmful to me as an autistic person who has grown up being excluded, bullied, and different from the norm. The monuments that O’Connor sickeningly characterizes as “racist” are the monuments to people like me. They are monuments to people who are different. They are monuments to the entire concept of being different from the majority, resisting authority, rebelling against social norms, not fitting in, thinking for oneself. They are the monuments that enable a person like me to actually be accepted and included in society. They are the monuments that signify that I have a right to exist.
But yeah, this is clearly racist.
Obviously, allowing people who are different from the norm to exist, is racist.
It’s racist to honor a diverse range of viewpoints, stories, and perspectives, rather than only honoring those that conform to the dominant ideology.
It’s racist to accept and include people who are different.
Not.
This headline and article are completely unacceptable. And this is an understatement. In fact, anything negative that could possibly be said about this headline, article, and author would be an understatement, because no language has words adequate for the task of accurately describing such complete moral bankruptcy.
Racist monuments.
Yup. Because for me to actually have a life worth living is “racist.”
Because allowing me to exist as an autistic person is “racist.”
No.
Wrong, Lydia.
Allowing people who are different form the norm to exist, is not racist.
This is obvious. It should not even need to be stated. It is, in fact, bizarre that it needs to be stated. It is bizarre that over the past five years, I have had to state this again and again, because despite how obvious it objectively is, it is clearly not obvious to a large percentage of the population. Even after five years of living through this hell, it is still both shocking and sickening beyond belief that an ideology has taken over this country which believes that allowing a person like me to exist, allowing a person like me to be accepted and included in society, is racist.
I have a right to exist. My existing is not racist. Period. Full stop. End of story.
Thanks, Lydia, for completely destroying my morning. Just another attack on my very existence, one of hundreds, if not thousands, of such attacks that I’ve been subjected to for nearly five years now. I am so incredibly sick and tired of people thinking this way, speaking this way, writing this way. I am sick and tired of having to justify my existence again and again, of having to defend my very existence against claims that it is “racist.”
Lydia O’Connor is the epitome of a bigot and a bully with no mind, no soul, no capacity for independent thought, no empathy, and no tolerance for any perspectives other than her own. She and the Huffington Post have inflicted severe harm on me by writing and publishing this article and should be sued for the harm that they have caused.
I have a right to exist. Statues like these have a right to exist. We are not racist. Period. Full stop. End of story.
A very significant piece of good news took place Thursday night, when President Trump signed an executive order titled, “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History.” This order directs the Vice President and the Secretary of the Interior to restore federal parks, monuments, memorials and statues “that have been improperly removed or changed in the last five years to perpetuate a false revision of history or improperly minimize or disparage certain historical figures or events.”
This is objectively fantastic news and for me, desperately needed. I’ve had an absolutely awful few days and this lifts my spirits somewhat. Trump should have signed this order on his first day in office, but better late than never! This executive order means that thanks to President Trump, the statue genocide will indeed be partially reversed, something that my 2020-2021 self did not think was possible.
Judy Smith recently posted some photos of a drive down Monument Avenue in Richmond, Virginia. These photos are heartbreaking. The one thought that echoes in my mind when looking at images like these is: How could people possibly think that this is a good thing?
Where there once were beautiful statues, there is now nothingness. Where there once was a celebration of history, there is now meaninglessness, purposelessness, and emptiness. Where people who are different from the norm were once accepted, now we are shamed, condemned, attacked, viciously hurt, excluded. Where life was once worth living, now it is not.
“We hate you,” the city of Richmond says to me, as well as to all people who are different.
The city of Richmond, like so many other cities across the United States, was completely ruined. Deliberately. On purpose. People actually thought that this was a good thing to do. How? How could they think this? It is completely incomprehensible to me.
These images depict the sickening result of the statue genocide. Statues of Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, Stonewall Jackson, Jeb Stuart, and Matthew Fontaine Maury are supposed to stand on this street, where now there are only vacant expanses of dirt. I will feel rage and grief at what happened to these statues for the rest of my life. I will never fully heal, as long as these hideous wounds remain in the landscape of our country. What happened to these statues was wrong. These statues, these historical figures, and the fact that what happened to them was wrong, must never be forgotten.
On Wednesday, President Trump signed a truly awesome executive order.
The order establishes a task force to plan an “extraordinary celebration” in honor of America’s 250th anniversary, on July 4, 2026. If Trump’s campaign speeches are any indication, the festivities will begin on Memorial Day 2025 and will include a “Great American State Fair” in Iowa, and a “Patriot Games” for high school athletes from across the country.
Additionally, the executive order re-establishes the plan to create a National Garden of American Heroes, a statue garden filled with statues of 250 historical figures. The order goes so far as to commission artists for the first 100 statues, indicating that the statue garden isn’t just an abstract hope, but is actually on the path towards becoming reality. “The National Garden will honor American heroism after dozens of monuments to Americans, including Presidents and Founding Fathers, have toppled or destroyed and never restored,” said a press release.
Speaking of statues that have been topped or destroyed and never restored, the executive order reinstates Trump’s order from 2020 that was aimed at protecting existing statues from destruction at the hands of bigots and bullies. This policy directs the Attorney General to prosecute people and groups responsible for vandalizing and/or destroying statues to the fullest extent of the law. It also withholds federal funding from state and local law enforcement agencies that fail to do the same. The AP describes this order as “reviving efforts to harshly punish those who vandalize or destroy existing statues and monuments.” This is true, and there is absolutely nothing bad about it, because harsh punishment is exactly what such people deserve.
As alluded to above, you might recall that both the plans for the statue garden and the policy strengthening punishments for anti-statue bullies existed previously thanks to an executive order that Trump signed during a dark time that feels simultaneously like yesterday and like a million years ago. (I blogged about it here.) Unfortunately, within his first few days of taking office, Biden mean-spiritedly and cruelly signed an executive order rescinding both of these policies, thereby cancelling plans for the statue garden and deliberately declining to punish the people in our country who are the most deserving of punishment. Although this new executive order doesn’t undo the unspeakable atrocities that were done, I am heartened that Trump has once again chosen to stand up for the statues.
I will never stop fighting for statues, I will never stop advocating on their behalf, I will never forget or forgive what happened to them, and I will never stop writing about them. This is what is truly important. This is what matters. And I’m truly glad that President Trump, to a significant extent, feels the same.
My entire body was vibrating with tension, frustration, and anger. My chest was tight, a lump was forming in my throat, and tears were forming in my eyes. I was enveloped by an omnipresent sense of time pressure. I felt as if I was being batted around like a ping pong ball, and my head was spinning. There was nowhere to pull over, to regroup, to get myself situated. Inundated with an endless stream of conflicting, contradictory instructions and demands, my brain felt like it was overflowing. “I am so stressed,” I muttered under my breath again and again, heaving one huge sigh after another, but no amount of deep breaths could reduce the level of stress that I felt.
Unfortunately, this is what both my December 23 (Christmas Eve Eve) and December 25 (Christmas) consisted of.
On the 23rd, the chaos was caused by a workday with lots of employees on duty, but not a lot of customers, causing the employees to seemingly spend the entire shift in the break room, talking loudly, causing commotion, and clustering around the free cookies that the boss had brought in for us. (Normally I would be overjoyed at the presence of free cookies, or any type of free food for that matter, but on that occasion the cookies resulted in nothing but chaos, and I didn’t even get to properly look at them and choose which kind to take, because there were so many people constantly crowding around them.)
On Christmas Day, the chaos was caused by a visit to my grandmother at her assisted living place, during which I decided to use the public bathroom down the hall, both because I prefer public bathrooms to those in people’s homes, and because I wanted a chance to get up and walk around. Upon returning, my grandmother and dad looked up expectantly at me, as if I had just beamed down from Mars, and proceeded to interrogate me about where I had gone and why. This is something that if I hadn’t been feeling tired and frustrated to begin with, may have made me only mildly annoyed, but on this occasion it made me feel self-conscious, embarrassed, and humiliated. I was, alas, tired and frustrated because the visit had already lasted longer than I was expecting, and I was well behind schedule on the various tasks I wanted to get done that day.
That being said, I had good days on December 24 (Christmas Eve) and December 26. Overall, I was able to do a variety of festive activities that I enjoyed throughout the season.
On Christmas Eve, the store where I work closed early, so my shift was moved up earlier in the day. Most of my co-workers had the day off, creating a low-key vibe that stood in sharp contrast to the day before. There were a few free snacks in the break room, and I was actually able to enjoy them because there was no chaotic commotion this time. And after work, I had dinner at an Italian restaurant nearby.
On Christmas Day, despite the bathroom snafu, I was happy with the gifts that I got. These included an American Girl doll named Summer McKinny, a tiny Napoleon and his horse Marengo, a tiny Queen Elizabeth II with her corgis, and a tiny Confederate soldier with his dog. (Can you see a theme developing here? Summer did not come with a pet, but she is an animal lover, and she has a dog-shaped purse, which you can kind of see in the picture.)
The day after Christmas, I had a relaxing day working on my hobbies. I also visited this house with a ridiculous amount of Christmas lights in Saugus, Massachusetts.
(more photos of the house and neighboring ones can be found here)
A few other things that I did over the course of the holiday season included taking advantage of Cyber Monday sales to gift my dolls with a plethora of new outfits:
Visiting Christopher Columbus, getting a coffee at Caffe Dello Sport, and strolling through the North End:
The little gnome, ornaments, teddy bear, and Gadsden flag wind sock are all from Confederate Shop. This is a wonderful, family-owned business that I highly recommend to anyone who loves Confederate stuff like I do.
Visiting my town’s Christmas tree at the pond near my house:
Baking a chocolate peppermint loaf cake:
By far the best part of my holiday season was decorating the statues – Robert E. Lee, Nathan Bedford Forrest, and Stonewall Jackson. I got a Christmas tree for them, put it up, and strung it with lights. I put festive bells around their necks (a bow for Nathan, because he’s the only one whose neck is skinny enough to tie the bow around) and Santa hats on their heads! My dad had the idea of piling pine boughs at their feet for an added festive touch. There are no words that can capture the warm and fuzzy feeling that filled my soul upon seeing them.
Visiting the little generals every night upon getting home from work brought joy to my heart. Seeing them with their adorable Santa hats, smelling the piney scent of the tree and boughs, and watching the colorful lights twinkle, truly made me feel the spirit of Christmas.
Being a statue, he can’t exactly change his facial expression to reflect what he’s feeling. And I’m well aware that most people would say that he isn’t capable of feeling anything at all. But as someone who loves statues more than anything else in the world, and statues of Columbus in particular, I believe in the idea that a statue can feel happiness. Call me crazy, but I believe that on some level, Christopher Columbus knows about the election result and is pleased with it.
As mentioned above, I decided to visit Christopher today. I had been in a dark and negative headspace regarding his situation, as detailed in this blog post. But with the hope and lightness that the election result brought, I was in the mood to make another trip into the North End to see my favorite statue.
And I’m glad that I did so.
Before even boarding the train, I was beginning to regret my decision. It was one of those days that is relatively warm, but extremely windy. As an autistic person, this severely bothers my sensory sensitivities. Within the first few minutes of waiting on the train platform, I was frozen to the bone and in agony. I was wearing a light sweater due to the fact that the temperature (according to the weather app, at least) was 67 degrees, but I was soon wishing that I had worn a down parka and ski mask. After what felt like an eternity, the train arrived, but it apparently didn’t pull into the station correctly and had to back up a couple of feet, costing additional minutes. Finally, I was able to board the train and therefore to get a reprieve from the ice-cold wind.
Once in Boston, my way was blocked numerous times: by people plodding along the narrow sidewalk, by a chaotic intersection at which a truck was trying to turn but none of the cars would allow it to, and by a gaggle of tourists hanging out near the entrance to the Peace Garden of St. Leonard’s Church.
But once I stepped through the gate of Chris’s new home, the Peace Garden lived up to its name. Gentle music wafted through the air. The biting cold wind ceased. A wide brick path led through the garden, with a delicate-looking fence and elegant lanterns on either side, toward the entrance of the church. To my left were two statues: one of Jesus on the cross and the other of Mother Mary with children gathered around her. To my right were four statues: one of a saint with his arms raised in the air, one of a kindly-looking man surrounded by children, a gold-colored fellow with outstretched arms, and Chris. He stood tall with arms crossed over his chest, as always. Beautiful rosebushes had been planted around his pedestal. The trees cast shadows across his marble face, and their golden leaves drifted softly down to blanket the grass. The sun’s rays cast a warm glow over the peaceful scene.
A few people trickled into the church for a mass that was starting soon, but for the most part, the garden was deserted, allowing me to spend a few minutes with Chris undisturbed. I didn’t actually talk to him, because that would’ve made me look completely insane, but I admired him, took some photos, and sent my thoughts to him telepathically. (I guess that sounds kind of insane too, now that I think about it.)
Hi Chris, I greeted him. It’s me, Marissa. Do you remember me? I came back, like I promised I would. No matter where you go, I will always find you. I will always come back. I will never forget about you. Are you happy in this place? You look nice here. It is peaceful and beautiful. Did you hear the news? Do you feel happy about it?
As crazy as it sounds, I knew that he did remember me, and that he was happy, about both his home and the election results.
Once I had assured myself of this, I took a closer look at the church building itself, a mosaic displaying the names of its benefactors, and a new sculpture called the Noble Journey, which shows footprints of various sizes representing immigrants coming to America. And then I turned and walked slowly back down the brick path and into the bustling, congested streets of the North End.
Bye Chris, I thought as I looked back over my shoulder. I’ll be back. Until next time…
Here are some pictures that I took of Chris, his friends, some other things in the Peace Garden, and a couple of other miscellaneous pieces of public art in Boston:
You can view all of my pictures of Chris at St. Leonard’s here. This album also includes the pictures that I took when I visited him for the first time there in September, which I wasn’t in the right headspace to post about at the time.
