Tag: statues

bookmark_borderChristopher Columbus in his new home

Posted on by Marissa

It had been a difficult week, with many things weighing on my mind that are hard to put into words. When I woke up in the morning, something made me decide to visit Christopher Columbus. Something told me that he would understand, even though he is not technically alive.

So I took the train to Boston. Upon getting out at Haymarket, I noticed that many things were different from the last time I was there. The Government Center garage was almost completely dismantled, with a huge yellow crane towering over the scene. A glass skyscraper emblazoned with the words “State Street” loomed nearby. There was also a new row of buildings, containing a Gordon Ramsay burger restaurant, in the area where fruit vendors set up their stands on Fridays and Saturdays.

All of these changes, combined with the constant stream of foot traffic flowing around me, caused me to start feeling overstimulated. It was hot and sunny, and I felt dizzy and tired.

I also began to get nervous about Chris himself. He had not officially been unveiled in his new location, and the finishing touches were still being put on the space, so I didn’t know what the setup would be. I didn’t know how publicly visible (if at all) he would be, or how the courtyard would be configured around him. I expected that I would have to do a bit of searching in order to find him, and I was concerned that I might attract curious stares or (God forbid) questions from passerby. I figured there was also a possibility he wouldn’t be publicly visible at all, and I would have made the trip into Boston for nothing. 

Despite this, I crossed over the Rose Kennedy Greenway and into the North End. The narrow streets were filled with people going about their business: tourists taking selfies, kids in matching t-shirts who appeared to be on some sort of field trip, businesspeople rushing to work, young people in trendy activewear returning home from their workouts, employees wheeling boxes of various food products into restaurants. While making my way through the bustling streets, I looked to my left in search of the correct side street to turn onto. To my surprise, there he was, his familiar white marble form unmistakable. 

The sight of him took my breath away. 

I was not expecting Chris to be so easy to find. 

In fact, the sighting of my beloved statue was so unexpected that instead of turning onto that side street, I continued with the flow of foot traffic, not wanting to abruptly change direction and cut people off. I decided to first check out the view of Chris from the opposite direction, and then to circle back. So I ended up on a shady, somewhat secluded street, where an old man sat on some porch steps, chatting on his cell phone. He looked up briefly when he saw me, but quickly turned his attention back to his conversation. Down a short alley and behind a black, metal fence was Chris. Only his back was visible from this view. He stood beside a brick building, presumably the new headquarters for the Knights of Columbus Ausonia Council, which also contains apartments for low-income seniors. I snapped a few shots, then headed back to see my friend from the front.

I returned to the main drag, and then turned onto the side street down which I had glimpsed Chris before. In stark contrast to the bustling streets surrounding it, the little lane was deserted, with the exception of several parked construction vehicles and a lone pedestrian who soon disappeared through the door of an apartment building.

In almost eerie silence, and beneath the baking sun, I was alone with Chris. 

His face had the same pensive look that I remembered, his arms still crossed sternly across his chest. He stood atop a simple granite pedestal, anchored to the ground with concrete. The area around him was bare and stark, the vacant asphalt expanse devoid of any flowers or landscaping. There was no noise other than a county song playing faintly in the distance. A piece of clear plastic wrap, still clinging to his torso, stirred briefly in a faint breeze. 

I was struck by the contrast between Chris’s quiet, seemingly deserted new home and the crowded, noisy streets surrounding it. I was also struck by the seeming indifference of those crowds of people: sightseeing, laughing, chatting, strolling, and working, none of them displaying any outward indication that they cared one iota whether Chris existed or not. No acknowledgement that standing tall in their midst was the marble embodiment of the pain that has tormented me for three years, changed my life completely, and on more than one occasion nearly ended it.

Thanks to a black metal fence, adorned with “no trespassing” signs, I could get no more than about 30 feet from Chris. Hopefully that fence, along with several security cameras nearby, will keep him safe. But the fence did not block him from view. I took pictures from various angles and simply stood and looked at him for a while. 

Do you remember me? I thought. I remember you. You haven’t changed at all. This city has changed, though. This city hates you. It hates me too. So we’re the same.

Are you happy here? I wondered. Are you in pain? Are you angry at what happened to you? Are you sad that you’re not in the park anymore? Do you miss it?

It was nearly noon, the sun almost directly overhead and the pavement baking beneath my feet. 

What do you think about this weather? I wondered Do you like the sun beating down like this? I thought about my Stonewall Jackson statue, and how beautifully he shines when the sun warms his bronze surface. I bet you do. Statues like the hotness. Yeah, you do.

It’s been nice to see you, I thought, as if Chris could somehow hear me (and as if it’s perfectly normal to try to telepathically send your thoughts to a statue). Stonewall Jackson sends his regards. I think you’d like him, if you could meet him.

All right, I’ll be back.

I glanced back at him one more time, sending a silent farewell, before making my way down the deserted side street and rejoining the crowds teeming down the main thoroughfare.

Don’t get me wrong: I am still angry at what happened to Chris. It is an injustice, and always will be. I was upset when I first saw photos of Chris, with his head once more attached to him, at his new location. Upset because the images confirmed his eviction from his rightful place, and because others had learned the news before I did (I saw the photos on social media two days after they were posted).

But spending a few moments with Chris lifted my spirits and was good for my soul. I was glad to see him after three years of not being able to do so.

7/18/2023

bookmark_borderThree years

Posted on by Marissa

This weekend marks the three-year anniversary of what I often characterize as the destruction of everything that makes my life worth living.

The past three years have been filled with anguish, grief, rage, and excruciating pain so extreme that the pre-2020 version of myself not only had never experienced such pain before, but would never have believed such pain was even possible.

My pain is something that most people do not understand. People do not get why someone would be this upset about the fact that statues were taken down. They don’t get why metal and stone sculptures are what I focus on, rather than real people who have lost their lives. I have been called a psychopath, a terrible person, gross, disgusting, self-centered, lacking in empathy, racist. People do not understand why statues of Christopher Columbus, Confederate generals, and other controversial historical figures are so important to me that I feel that life is no longer worth living without them.

But this is exactly how I feel, as incomprehensible as it may be to others. This is who I am. If it makes me a terrible person, so be it. My love of statues and historical figures is a part of me, just as a person’s gender identity, race, religion, and sexual orientation are a part of them.

For approximately the first two and a half years, I felt essentially no happiness whatsoever. (A few possible exceptions: the 2021 Columbus Day ceremony, finding out about the possibility of getting my very own Stonewall Jackson statue, and receiving updates on the progress of the statue.) My emotional state ranged from unbearable, indescribable pain at worst, to neutral at best. In other words, in addition to being filled with horrific pain, my world was also completely devoid of beauty and joy. For this entire time, I seriously considered the possibility of committing suicide. Logically, it was the most sensible option. Why, after all, would a person choose to continue living when everything that makes their life worth living has been destroyed? When there is no reason to expect the future to consist of anything other than a mixture of excruciating pain and feeling just okay? Yet some combination of cowardice and faint hope, as irrational as it seemed, held me back from doing so.

I hesitate to write this for fear of jinxing it, but over the past six months I feel that I have very slowly begun to heal.

For example, one effect of the genocide is that I hate America, because this is the country where the genocide took place, the country whose people committed the genocide, the country that allowed the genocide to happen. American flags, patriotic songs, and red, white, and blue decorations, all of which I used to love, have turned into a source of heartbreak. But this past week, when I visited my grandma at her retirement home, the entire place was decked out in flags and star-spangled decorations, and patriotic country songs blared in the dining room. Somehow, instead of making me feel like a knife was twisting in my stomach, they made me smile.

Healing is not linear. There have certainly been instances of excruciating pain in the past six months, and I am certain there will be more in my future. But overall, they seem slightly less severe, and they seem not to last as long.

The past three years have changed me.

In addition to the anniversary of the most horrific series of events that has ever taken place, this week was also my 34th birthday. I am the same little girl who adored history and art, who never fit in, who was excluded and bullied, who loved historical figures more profoundly than any friend or family member. I am the same, but different. I will always have an imaginary world, in which historical figures live alongside completely imaginary people and creatures, talking, interacting, and having adventures. But now, in addition to that, I have brought a historical figure into the world. Or at least, a beautiful, shiny bronze body for a historical figure’s soul to reside in. A second one will be arriving either late this year, or next year. Instead of doing whatever society expected of me, and escaping to my imaginary world in my spare time, I am making changes, in various ways, to bring my real life more in line with my wishes, preferences, and needs. Although most people don’t understand my pain, and although I am not a very social person, I have made meaningful connections with people who share my views. I am taking action to bring my imaginary world into the real one.

So in addition to inflicting anguish, grief, rage, and excruciating pain, the past three years have made me into a more genuine, authentic, outspoken, courageous, wise, introspective, and self-aware person.

Our society decided to destroy everything that makes my life worth living. But I made a new thing that makes my life worth living, where one didn’t exist before. I had to use my own funds and my own land to do so, because our society decided that the things that make my life worth living aren’t allowed to receive public funds or be located on public land. But I did it anyway. And I’m kind of proud of that.

bookmark_borderStonewall in the snow

Posted on by Marissa

Snowflakes fall from the sky, landing on my hair and stinging my skin. A pristine, white blanket covers the grass as I make my way around the side of the house and up the slope to where Stonewall lives. The scene is so beautiful, quiet, and peaceful that it feels wrong to spoil it with my footprints.

As Stonewall comes into view, I can see that his shiny, bronze surface is adorned with a dusting of snow as well, on his hat, shoulders, and chest. Next to him, a small Christmas tree still stands, its lights blinking in various colors and patterns. (I was too lazy to take it down in time for the city’s tree pickup week, so Stonewall gets to keep it for at least a little while longer.) On most nights, I bring a flashlight when visiting Stonewall, because it’s difficult to see him otherwise. Tonight, that is not necessary; the snow provides a contrast that makes him easily visible. 

I tell Stonewall that I had a good day at work, and that I trust that he had a good day as well, before bidding him goodnight. (My neighbors must think that I am insane for routinely talking to a statue.)

Back inside the house, I eat dinner and work on the computer. Plows, sand trucks, and the occasional bus pass by as the snow continues to fall. The branches of the trees cast eerie shadows on the pristine, white driveway. Several times, I go to the back window to look at Stonewall. Silent and perfectly still, he stands guard over his snowy kingdom. The dark bronze statue and his festive tree, both decorated in delicate blankets of white, make a perfect winter scene. He is so beautiful that it is difficult to take my eyes off of him. In this moment, the world is at peace, and my heart is content.

I wish that I could include a picture to show my readers what I see. But no matter how many times I try, the camera cannot capture what my eyes do. In the digital images, the contrast between Stonewall and the snow disappears, the image blurry and dark. Perhaps it’s just as well that something so magical cannot be stored on a computer, but only in my mind.

bookmark_borderPositive things for once

Posted on by Marissa

Due to the horrible things that have happened in the world, the content of this blog is so often negative. So here is some positive news for a change. Below are a few things I’ve seen around the internet lately that made me smile:

1.Candlelight service at Stonewall Jackson’s gravesite. This weekend marks Lee-Jackson Day for those of us who value Confederate history. In Lexington, Virginia, celebrations took place to honor the two legendary generals, Robert E. Lee and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson. Photographer Judy Smith captured this beautiful image. You can see more of Judy’s work on her Facebook page and Instagram page.

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Judy Smith (@judysmithphotography)

2. Lemon for Stonewall. Continuing with the theme of Lee-Jackson Day, the Virginia Museum of the Civil War at New Market Battlefield shared that their Stonewall Jackson statue received the gift of a lemon! There is debate about whether lemons were actually Stonewall’s favorite fruit, or whether it was actually peaches or some other fruit, but regardless, I found it touching that an anonymous visitor left this token for the general.

3. R.I.P. Ashli Babbitt. A Facebook friend shared this image. With all the self-righteous pontificating about “our democracy,” our society has completely lost sight of the fact that a young woman was killed by the Capitol police for participating in a protest. The image below encapsulates how January 6th should truly be remembered.

4. Happy January 6th. Also on the topic of the Capitol protest, radio host and social media personality Blake Kresses hit the nail on the head with this post. 

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Blake Kresses (@blakekresses)

5. Who are the real traitors? Possibly the most infuriating thing on earth is when people make the argument that people who fought for the Confederacy were “traitors.” This Instagram post debunks this argument better than I ever could.

 
 
 
 
 
View this post on Instagram
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A post shared by Unreconstructed Rebel (@unreconstructed1896)

 

bookmark_borderNo words will ever explain…

Posted on by Marissa

“Nothing I say about it matters. Nothing I say will ever explain how bad it hurts.”

I came across these words recently. Although they were written about a completely different topic, they encapsulate perfectly how I feel about the statue genocide. 

Nothing I say matters. Whether it be my parents, my friends, my co-workers, people on the internet, or even my therapist, no one will truly understand how bad the statue genocide hurts. No one will truly understand how bad the removal of Confederate statues, or the replacement of Columbus Day with Indigenous Peoples’ Day, hurts.

No one will understand the sense of injustice that these actions invoke in me. No one will understand how frustrating it is that I cannot make others understand why these actions are unjust. How frustrating that no amount of impassioned rhetoric, philosophical arguments, or logical reasoning can make people see and feel the injustice that I see and feel.

No one will truly understand how much a nasty comment, or a “laughing face” reaction, even if it is in response to someone else’s post, hurts me.

“He owned 32 slaves, may he rot.”

That is a comment that someone made on a drawing of Gen’l A.P. Hill that I posted, along with what I considered to be a thoughtful explanation, on Instagram. 

Today, I spent my entire day agonizing about how to respond to this comment. Should I delete it? Respond to it, and most likely get into a nasty back and forth discussion, in the full view of my friends, family, co-workers, and boss? Send the person a nasty message in retribution for his nasty comment? Ultimately, I opted for the both the first and third options, and also blocked the person so that he would not be able to respond to my message.

Was this petty and vindictive of me? Yes. 

Would a classy and mature person have merely deleted the comment and left it at that? Probably yes.

Apparently I am a petty, vindictive, classless, and juvenile person, but deleting this comment just did not feel sufficient. This way of thinking – that slavery is the be-all and end-all of everything – is exactly what I was debunking in the write-up accompanying my A.P. Hill drawing. This attitude – that a negative attribute of a historical figure somehow justifies completely destroying them, obliterating them, and eradicating anything having to do with them from the world – is exactly what I have dedicated my life to fighting against. I simply couldn’t let this nasty comment go without some sort of response.

I retaliated, because I believe that retaliation is what justice and morality demanded in this situation. 

After doing so, the thought hit me: how dare this person leave such a nasty comment in the first place?

I have been hurting for two and a half years, hurting so badly that nothing I say will ever be sufficient to convey the true extent of my pain. And now, on top of everything that I’ve been through, this person went out of his way to add to my pain. He went out of his way to pile on.

A.P. Hill was killed – shot through the heart – by soldiers who were invading his homeland in order to force everyone there to remain part of the U.S. against their will. After his death, the cause that A.P. Hill had given his life for, lost. The South surrendered and was forced, to this very day, to remain part of the U.S. against their will. Then, in 2022, A.P. Hill’s statue was dismantled and sent to a black history place, where it will be displayed along with signage explaining how horrible he was and how horrible his statue is. Because the statue served as his grave marker, his dead body was also dug up from the ground. And then the contractor who performed the disgraceful work made social media posts insulting and ridiculing him.

And now, on top of everything that A.P. Hill has been through, this person on Instagram went out of his way to add to the pain. He went out of his way to pile on, to add insult to injury, to further abuse this poor man who already lost his life fighting against an invading army, had his statue torn down and his grave desecrated.

Why?

Why would someone do that?

Why the hell would someone do that?

I don’t know this person personally. From what I could tell by looking at his Instagram profile, he seems to be a filmmaker of some sort. He posts pictures of himself, his girlfriend, his friends, his dog, and various random things. The captions tend to be either just emojis, or somewhat cryptic text that seems like it could be inside jokes between him and his friends. He occasionally posts short videos. 

Why couldn’t he have just continued with these things, and minded his own business? Why did he have to leave this nasty comment on my post, three weeks after I posted it?

Because of his decision to leave this nasty comment, I spent yet another day in pain. I spent yet another day agonizing over how to deal with yet another instance of someone hurting me and hurting a person I love, yet another instance of painful injustice. Because of his decision, I had a fight with my dad, who recommended that I not respond and became frustrated listening to me continue to talk about the situation.

Obviously, this person does not like A.P. Hill. But I’m not asking him to protest in the streets with a sign saying how amazing A.P. Hill is, and how unjust it was to remove his statue (although both things are true). I’m not asking him to “like” my post, to support me, or to help right the wrong of the statue genocide (although any of those things would be awesome). I’m just asking him to leave me alone. 

This person seems to have a perfectly fine life. He seems to have people that he interacts with, and stuff that he enjoys doing. 

Why couldn’t he have just continued doing his thing, living his life, and minding his own business? Obviously, he didn’t like my post. But why couldn’t he have just scrolled past it and continued on his merry way? Why did he have to go out of his way to inflict additional pain on people who’ve already suffered more than their fair share? 

Why? 

I have no answers, only questions.

bookmark_borderThe atrocity at Arlington National Cemetery

Posted on by Marissa

It was 11:25 p.m. on Saturday, January 7. My goal was to go to bed by 11:30, so naturally, I figured that I had enough time to do one more relatively small task. I chose as my final task, the job of looking up something that I had seen on social media the day before and wished to blog about, taking a screenshot of said thing, and pasting said screenshot into a draft blog post so that I could easily bang out the blog post the next day, the screenshot of the subject matter already in place.

Naturally, I was unable to quickly find the social media post that I was looking for. So I continued scrolling and scrolling, looking for it. In the process, I discovered that the U.S. government had decided to remove the Confederate monument at Arlington National Cemetery, something that pains me to have to type. I had known that this was under consideration, but hadn’t known that the decision to go ahead with this atrocity and moral abomination had already been made.

Making matters worse, this decision had taken place on December 29, ten entire days before I found out about it. 

Immediately upon learning this information, my entire body, mind, and soul erupted in excruciating and unbearable agony. To say that I don’t get the reasoning behind this decision, and the countless others like it in all different places around the country, would be an understatement. It is difficult to imagine a future for myself in a society that has decided that it would somehow be a good idea to systematically obliterate everything that makes my life worth living. Arlington National Cemetery, like so many other places and things, has been turned into yet another instrument to hurt me, to oppress me, and to declare my feelings, thoughts, and perspective invalid. Arlington National Cemetery has been redesigned and reconfigured to send the message that everyone deserves to be honored, except for people like me. Yet another thing, which used to be (and ought to be) beautiful, magnificent, and cool, now deliberately ruined. As I’ve written before, I don’t believe there are words available in any language that are capable of fully expressing the severity of this pain. 

Thinking about the events of Saturday night, I am simultaneously mad at myself for making the decision to look at social media at such a late hour (an activity that I am trying to cut back on), and also mad at myself for not having found out about the atrocity sooner. I felt derelict and irresponsible for not keeping up with the latest developments on a topic that is so important to me and affects me so deeply. I suppose this relates to the philosophical question of whether it is better to know the truth, even though it makes one unhappy, or to remain ignorant and also happy. Would it really be beneficial for me to be shielded from these horrible things via cutting down on my social media use, given that these things are, in reality, happening? Is happiness truly valuable if it is based on an inaccurate perception of what is actually happening in the world? 

By the way, after an hour of searching, I never found the post that I was looking for.

I also, as you might imagine, got very little sleep, so my brain was in no shape for blogging on Sunday anyways.

I’m not 100% sure why I am sharing this, other than to make it clear that the systematic obliteration of statues and monuments honoring the Confederacy causes real pain and inflicts real harm on real people. I am a human being, my feelings, thoughts, and perspective are just as valid as anyone else’s, and I do not deserve to be made to feel like this. I wish that Ty Seidule, the government official who made this despicable decision, could be made to feel what I am feeling as a result of his actions. I wish that he could truly understand what I am experiencing, and truly understand the impact, the real human costs, of what he did. I am certain that if this were possible, government officials would make different decisions than the ones they are currently making.

Actions and decisions like the one regarding Arlington National Cemetery are morally wrong, and the people who make them and carry them out do not hold the moral high ground.

bookmark_borderBaltimore and abomination

Posted on by Marissa

The past two and a half years have changed me. The atrocities I’ve witnessed are impossible to forget, no matter how much time goes by. Sometimes they will hit me, seemingly out of nowhere. While walking home from work, while watching a hockey or basketball or football or baseball game, or while lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I am often assaulted by images of the people I love being brutally obliterated from existence.

Last night, as is often the case, it was Christopher Columbus. Specifically the version of Christopher Columbus who used to live in Baltimore. The version of Christopher Columbus who in July of 2020 was surrounded by a mob of vicious bullies, strangled with a noose, and pulled to the ground with a sickening thud, where his beautiful stone body was smashed into four pieces. The version of Christopher Columbus whose broken, pitiful pieces were then dragged to the harbor and heaved like garbage into its waters.

There are no words in any language that are adequate to accurately describe this series of events, although I have labored for two and a half years to find them. The pain that these actions have inflicted on me is beyond description and beyond measure. The closest that I can come to describing things accurately is to say that this is an abomination. The immorality of these actions is the most severe immorality possible. Actions like this are worse than 9/11 and worse than the Holocaust. Actions like this are worse than all the atrocities and all the injustices that have ever occurred in history, combined.

Things like 9/11, or the Holocaust, only involve people being killed. To destroy a statue is far worse than this, because to destroy a statue is to kill a person who is already dead. For a living person to be killed is both sad and unjust (assuming that the person did not do anything to deserve being killed), but because everyone is mortal, the person would eventually have died anyway, just at a later date. But statues are supposed to be permanent. They are not supposed to die at all. Historical figures are supposed to be immortal, and statues are historical figures in physical form. When one kills a statue, one kills a historical figure. And killing a historical figure is far worse than killing a living person, because not only is the person’s physical body dead, but now their existence as a historical figure is dead too, their existence in people’s minds and memory. When one kills a statue, one kills a person who already died, and no person is supposed to die a second time. This second death, effected by the destruction of a historical figure’s statue or monument, is an even more complete and final form of death than the person’s original, physical death. It is therefore an even more immoral action than killing a living person, and even more harmful to its target. It is never supposed to happen.

And that is only one statue. Think about the number of statues destroyed in recent years by the Black Lives Matter movement, and you will start to realize the magnitude of the immorality that transpired.

Things like 9/11, or the Holocaust, are events that happened in history. Sad and unjust events, but events that are part of history, nonetheless. For history includes both positive and negative, both sad and happy, both just and unjust events.

Destruction of statues is not merely an event in history. Destruction of statues is the destruction of history.

Therefore, destruction of statues is not merely sad, not merely unjust.

It is an abomination.

It is not supposed to happen.

It is wrong.

When a living person is killed, one can always have an imaginary world, in which the person survives, is healed, is comforted. One can always picture the person in happier circumstances, the wrong righted, or the perpetrators punished. But when a historical figure is killed, one cannot do that. I know, because for almost my entire life, I have had an imaginary world inhabited by historical figures. Thanks to the abominations of 2020 to the present, my imaginary world has been destroyed. Many nights, I try to think about Christopher, to bring him to life in my imaginary world. I try to picture him somehow overcoming the vicious attacks, being pieced back together, being healed, being comforted, regaining his strength, and eventually triumphing over the brutal bullies who fought to stamp out his existence. But my attempts are futile. There can be no overcoming, no triumph, because what the Baltimore people did was just so vicious, so cruel, and so brutal, the destruction of Christopher so final and so complete. A positive resolution would be possible in the imaginary world if Christopher had merely been killed, but that’s not what happened. Christopher was killed after having already died. And not just once, in Baltimore, but dozens of times, in dozens of cities all over the world. Christopher was killed in the most vicious, cruel, and brutal ways, again and again and again, when he could do absolutely nothing to defend himself. Killing a historical figure in statue form is simply the meanest action imaginable, because it completely destroys the person, not just in the real world, but also in the imaginary one.

That is the nature of an abomination. It doesn’t only wreak destruction in the real world. It reaches into the imaginary world and destroys that, too.

Police did nothing to stop the bullies from murdering Christopher. Nor did they do anything to arrest them, or charge them with any crimes. The mayor neglected to condemn the bullies, or even to criticize them in any way. Leaders of the Italian American community in Baltimore, those who should have been fighting most fiercely on Christopher’s behalf, stated that they did not wish the perpetrators to be punished. Instead, they agreed to reward the perpetrators, and to inflict yet further harm on Christopher, by removing his name from the piazza where he was murdered and renaming it the “Piazza Little Italy.”

The reaction, or lack thereof, from those who are supposed to enforce justice and protect people’s rights, only adds to the magnitude of the abomination.

The nature of an abomination is that it contaminates everything around it. Obviously, I hate the perpetrators of this abomination. I hate them as fiercely as it is possibly to hate anyone or anything. I also hate the city of Baltimore itself. Hearing or seeing the city’s name is enough to fill me with a sinking feeling of revulsion and disgust. I hate the state of Maryland. I hate the Baltimore Orioles and the Baltimore Ravens. I hate the Preakness Stakes, and I hate Pimlico race course. On bad days, I hate the Triple Crown, because the Preakness is part of it, and even horse racing in its entirety. On really bad days, I hate every person who is from Maryland or who has ever lived there. For example, I might think of the fact that Katie Ledecky is from Bethesda, Maryland, which causes me to hate swimming, and by extension, to hate the Olympics.

Because of the abomination that happened in Baltimore, it is difficult for me to sleep, it is difficult for me to be awake, and it is difficult for me to continue existing in this world. I am filled with shame and revulsion at the thought that I am a citizen of the same country where such an abomination happened. The same country in which a mayor, a police force, a governor, a president, a congress, the Italian American community, and the population as a whole have decided that this abomination is perfectly fine, that it does not merit any type of condemnation or criticism. That Christopher’s life, apparently, does not matter, because he is not black.

My hatred for the perpetrators of this abomination is so strong that I yearn to rip them limb from limb, to strangle them, to drown them. I wish for them to experience what Christopher did, when they so brutally murdered him. I wish for them to be tortured to death, and I would gladly be the one to carry it out. Failing that, I wish myself to die. Because I cannot live if doing so means living on the same planet, and being part of the same species, as the people who did this. Because one planet does not seem big enough for both me and the Baltimore people to coexist.

I cannot live in a society that has decided that the appropriate response to an abomination is to rename the very piazza where it occurred in order to better accommodate the preferences of its perpetrators.

I will never, ever forget, and I will never, ever forgive what the people (and I use that term loosely) in Baltimore did to Christopher Columbus. What they did is despicable. It destroyed my entire world and created an abomination in the universe that contaminates everything in its vicinity.

They do not hold the moral high ground.

bookmark_borderChristmas 2022

Posted on by Marissa

If the past few years have taught me anything, it is that things can always get worse. For that reason, I hesitate to use the term “rock bottom” for fear that I might jinx things. 

With that caveat in mind, I believe that the winter of 2020/2021 was the rock bottom of the agony, torment, and misery that I’ve experienced. The statue genocide of 2020 – the worst event ever to occur in human history – began in late May of that year and was at its peak intensity in June and July. To say that these events were horrific is an understatement. The people I love being surrounded by vicious mobs, attacked, town down, ripped to pieces, set on fire, kicked again and again, strangled, lynched in displays of intentional humiliation, and abused in every imaginable way… these images will haunt me forever. The horrifying scenes of deliberate, self-righteous cruelty are permanently etched into my brain. But during those hideous first few months of the genocide, the full force of the awfulness hadn’t actually hit me yet. At least not emotionally. Day in and day out, month after month, I was assaulted by one horrific news story, video, and social media post after another. What had happened was so incomprehensibly atrocious that it took until approximately December for it to fully register, for the anger, frustration, hopelessness, and despair to finally become commensurate with the appalling events that had taken place.

It didn’t help that new atrocities, new instances of statue genocide, continued to occur from time to time.

It also didn’t help that in November, when Biden defeated Trump in the presidential election, I was assaulted by a tsunami of bigots and bullies crowing about their “victory” and pompously asserting that they had somehow been victimized by Trump supporters over the preceding four years, and that we had somehow “done harm,” when the reverse was actually the case.

Plus, it didn’t help that the totalitarianism enacted by governments in response to Covid became even worse during the winter of 2020/2021 than it had been in the spring. With Covid testing, and later vaccines, becoming widely available, policies requiring people to undergo these medical procedures in order to be allowed to do various activities began to proliferate. As bad as the stay-at-home orders were, which were prevalent during the spring and early summer, requiring people to undergo medical procedures is more invasive and therefore an even more severe violation of rights than taking away freedom of movement.

Christmas of 2021 may not have been the absolute rock bottom that the previous Christmas was, but I would call it a close second. Not only did new instances of statue genocide continue, inexorably, to trickle in, but Joe Biden decided to issue an executive order directing OSHA to force all businesses employing 100 or more people to force their employees to undergo medical procedures against their will. This was, in my opinion, the most oppressive policy enacted by any government in history, and I can still vividly remember the excruciating pain, horror, and nausea that gripped my body and soul when I heard the news that Biden had enacted it. I will forever be disgusted by my country and by my fellow citizens for having elected a person who would do something like that as president.

The end result of everything I have described is that during Christmas of 2020 and Christmas of 2021, I did not feel that there was anything at all to celebrate. How could I celebrate, after all, when everything that made my life worth living had been destroyed, because people deliberately chose to destroy it? How could I participate in the holiday rituals of a society that had chosen to take away my freedom of movement, my right to decline medical intervention, and the existence of all of the people that I love? The sight of houses decked out in lights, the sound of Christmas music in stores and on the radio, chatter about holiday parties and gift exchanges, all of this filled me with bitterness. The entire idea of Christmas was vapid, hollow, insipid, and meaningless given everything that had transpired. It was incomprehensible to me that anyone could feel like celebrating while living in a world devoid of everything that makes life worth living.

The same cannot be said of this Christmas, however. 

This Christmas, I have Stonewall Jackson. And that is something to celebrate. 

The past two years, I had no desire to put up lights, decorations, or a tree. But this Christmas, I thought it would be cool to splurge on a Santa hat for Stonewall (if a $2 purchase can be considered a splurge) and to put up a Christmas tree and lights near him. So I did exactly that. I also added a ribbon and a couple of bells to complete his festive look, as you can see in the picture below.

This Christmas, I celebrate with Stonewall by my side. 

Merry Christmas, from Stonewall and me.

bookmark_borderPatrick Lindsay is a pathetic little bitch

Posted on by Marissa

If it weren’t bad enough that the city of Richmond decided to desecrate the grave of General A.P. Hill, the contractor who carried out the hideous work decided to make things even worse with a series of flippant and sometimes profane Facebook posts insulting and ridiculing General Hill.

Patrick Lindsay, the Director of Operations of the contracting company in question, made an extensive series of posts showing the once magnificent monument being hideously dismantled and the grave site being turned into a pathetic pile of rubble. Lindsay brags about his role in the despicable act of desecration and proudly poses for a selfie in front of his horrific handiwork.

“AP Hill caved like a pathetic little bitch,” Lindsay wrote in one caption.

In another post, he wrote: “As far as I can tell the inventory was a few buttons, the brass hardware from the oaken box, two femurs, a skull, some assorted ribs, and a pelvis… No partridges. No pear trees.”

Seeing the photos of this vicious and intentional destruction makes me feel as if my soul is being crushed, and as if a knife is being twisted in my heart. Yet again, everything that makes my life worth living, dismantled piece by excruciating piece, deliberately reduced to a pitiful pile of rocks. The fact that anyone could witness (let alone participate in) such a thing and post about it in such a casual, flippant, and joking manner… is incomprehensible. Disgusting. Appalling. Abhorrent. No words are quite sufficient to express the pain that these actions have caused me.

So I’d like to correct Mr. Lindsay.

In reality, A.P. Hill was a brave and skilled general who fought for what he believed in.

And in reality, Patrick Lindsay is a pathetic little bitch.

Patrick Lindsay has never in his life demonstrated even a shred of courage, integrity, or moral character. In fact, he chose to do the most cowardly thing a human being could ever do. He chose to attack, insult, and ridicule someone who is completely helpless, someone who cannot do anything whatsoever to defend himself. Someone who is dead.

Hopefully Patrick Lindsay dies painfully one day, like A.P. Hill did, and hopefully, years later, someone desecrates his grave, digs up his remains, and profanely insults and ridicules him. Then maybe his soul (if it even exists, which is doubtful, now that I think about it) will look upon what is happening and gain a tiny shred of understanding of what A.P. Hill has gone through.

Far too many people have lost sight of the fact that every historical figure was a human being. And no human being deserves to be treated the way A.P. Hill has been treated.

A.P. Hill didn’t deserve to be murdered by an invading army that was waging a war to force people to remain part of the United States against their will. (That was what the Union side in the Civil War was doing.)

A.P. Hill didn’t deserve to be murdered again, over 150 years after his physical death, by having his statue obliterated and his remains desecrated.

A.P. Hill didn’t deserve to be insulted and ridiculed by a coward who has never suffered any hardships, never taken a stand for any principles, and never contributed anything positive to the world.

I stand with A.P. Hill.

Pardon my French, but…

Fuck Patrick Lindsay, and fuck every miserable excuse for a person who thinks that murdering historical figures is even remotely acceptable.

bookmark_borderSomething good happened to a Columbus statue for once!

Posted on by Marissa

On Sunday night, an amazing thing happened. The statue of Christopher Columbus in Philadelphia, which had been imprisoned in a plywood box for two and a half years, was finally liberated. Starting at approximately 8:00 p.m., work crews took apart the box and returned the statue to public view! A crowd of people gathered and cheered as his face, and eventually of him, was revealed.

Video of the unboxing can be seen here.

Mayor Jim Kenney had attempted to remove the statue, but local Italian Americans sued to stop this from happening. And miraculously, they won. Kenney appealed the court’s decision, but the original ruling was upheld, and the judge ordered Columbus to be freed from the box in which he had been imprisoned while the lawsuit was pending.

Seeing something good happen to Christopher Columbus for once is truly beautiful.

The only negative aspect of this situation was the statement issued by Kenney in response to the ruling:

“We are very disappointed in the Court’s ruling. We continue to believe that the Christopher Columbus statue, which has been a source of controversy in Philadelphia, should be removed from its current position at Marconi Plaza… While we will respect this decision, we will also continue to explore our options for a way forward that allows Philadelphians to celebrate their heritage and culture while respecting the histories and circumstances of everyone’s different backgrounds.”

The fact that someone could be disappointed with a ruling sparing a magnificent historical figure from death is incomprehensible. I literally don’t understand how someone could be disappointed with a Columbus statue not being removed. It simply makes no sense. I don’t get how anyone could feel that way.

There is never any legitimate reason to remove a statue, nor is there any possible benefit in removing a statue. 

The reason cited by Kenney – the fact that the statue has been a source of controversy – is not a legitimate reason for the statue to be removed. If people want a statue to be removed, then those people are wrong, and their feelings and opinions regarding the statue should carry no weight, because the feelings and opinions are wrong.

Kenney is wrong to believe that the statue of Columbus should be removed. No statue should be removed. Ever. 

Contrary to what Kenney seems to be implying, having a Christopher Columbus statue in public view is a way – actually the only way – for Philadelphians to celebrate their heritage and culture while respecting the histories and circumstances of everyone’s different backgrounds. Removing Columbus statues makes it impossible for people to celebrate their heritage and culture, because Columbus is an integral part of some people’s heritage and culture. Additionally, removing Columbus statues actively disrespects the histories and circumstances of everyone’s different backgrounds, because it inflicts enormous pain on people who like Columbus and completely disregards our perspectives and our reasons for admiring him. So, any “way forward” that involves removing a Columbus statue would actually do the opposite of what Kenney claims it does.

The unboxing of the Columbus statue is a wonderful and awesome development. It is excellent that Jim Kenney – and in a more general sense, the cruel and intolerant way of thinking that he represents – was dealt a defeat. Now he just needs to stop issuing hurtful and illogical statements.