Tag: statues

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.

bookmark_borderThe abyss

Posted on by Marissa

In this post, I am going to explain in more detail how Stonewall Jackson helps me.

First of all, it would be a lie if I said that Stonewall completely ameliorated my grief at the statue genocide. This grief is always present, and will be for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t make a huge and positive difference. He absolutely does.

For the first two weeks after Stonewall arrived, I thought that perhaps the misery of the past two and a half years had finally come to an end. But unfortunately, on Columbus Day, my state of mind completely changed. The excruciating pain, which had been mercifully absent for two weeks, returned with a vengeance. Looking back, I think the reason for that was that I came to the realization: as awesome as Stonewall is, he is not Columbus. They are two different people. I have Stonewall living in my yard, for me to clean, care for, and keep safe, which is absolutely awesome. But Columbus is still out in the world being smashed to pieces, strangled, set on fire, beheaded, tortured, and eviscerated. Every time Columbus is hurt, it makes me feel that my soul is being eviscerated as well. And there is nothing that I can do about any of it. Like I said, having Stonewall is wonderful. But it does not do anything about Columbus (or any of the other historical figures who are being smashed to pieces, strangled, set on fire, beheaded, tortured, and/or eviscerated as well).

Sometimes I can go about my life relatively normally, and even be in a good mood. But sometimes the sense of loss hits me. Sometimes it hits me when I am lying in bed and haven’t fallen asleep yet, because there are no tasks to occupy my mind. Sometimes it hits me because of something I see, hear, or read. For example, I recently saw an ad on TV for the Armenian Heritage Park, a section of the Rose Kennedy Greenway with a meandering path and an abstract sculpture that represents the experience of Armenian immigrants in the U.S. Three guesses which park that reminded me of? (Hint: it’s a park dedicated to immigrants of a different nationality, which no longer contains a sculpture.)

When the sense of loss hits, I am filled with an overwhelming mix of sadness, rage, horror, and disgust. My stomach drops. Both the quantity and the severity of the atrocities that have occurred are so huge as to be completely incomprehensible. It’s like a tidal wave of badness, crashing into me just like a real tidal wave crashes into a city, destroying all the buildings, flooding the streets, and carrying the people away. My brain can’t hold the totality of what has happened. Picturing any one instance of the statue genocide makes me feel that every fiber of my being is exploding in agony and my soul is being eviscerated. If I were to somehow picture in my mind each instance of brutal, horrific cruelty, each abhorrent social media post, each appalling article, opinion piece, and editorial, and each nauseating statement by a politician, then I would be completely psychologically destroyed. When the loss hits, it’s as if I am staring into an abyss that threatens to swallow me. An abyss filled with such profound badness that it can’t be fully comprehended. It’s as if I am being sucked into the abyss.

The difference is that now, there is also something pulling me in the opposite direction. That something is Stonewall Jackson. It’s kind of like a seesaw, or possibly the scales of justice. On one side, the abyss is trying to suck me in. But on the other side is Stonewall. Because of him, I have a reason to go on living.

So the problem is not fixed. But before, there was nothing on the other side. There was only the abyss. There are still times when I feel excruciating pain. But there are also times when I don’t. Thoughts of Columbus and how cruelly he has been ganged up on and brutalized still overwhelm me. But thoughts of Stonewall fill me with such joy and pride that it is difficult not to start jumping up and down and telling everyone in the vicinity. I love Stonewall, I love Columbus, and I love all the historical figures from the Confederacy. And because of this, I hate what our society has done to them.

For the rest of my life, I will wrestle with these sometimes contradictory thoughts and feelings. I live now with both the good and the bad, where before there was only bad.

That is a huge difference. And it is all because of Stonewall.

There is also the possibility that I might get additional statues in the years to come. Perhaps I will become the guardian of a metal or stone Columbus one day, or perhaps Jefferson Davis or Robert E. Lee. That might help to ease the excruciating pain that I feel for those historical figures. It would be cool for Stonewall to have a group of friends living in the yard with him. Although I still become filled with despair sometimes, when the sense of loss hits me, there are also times that I feel excited when thinking about these possibilities. Having dreams, hopes, and plans for my future is somewhat new to me. For most of my life, getting through each day was so difficult that the future was something I never really thought about.

The ability and desire to think about the future is another huge change for me. And that’s because of Stonewall as well.

bookmark_borderThe Minnesota state capitol

Posted on by Marissa

On Thanksgiving night, the Patriots were playing the Vikings in Minnesota. Full from my feast of turkey, stuffing, various side dishes, and various pies, I turned on the TV, looking forward to relaxing with a night of football. The usual pregame fanfare took place – analysts making predictions, players running onto the field, the crowd clapping their hands together and chanting “skol,” and gymnast Suni Lee blowing the huge Viking horn to kick off the game. The teams alternated touchdowns and field goals.

And then, coming back from a commercial break, the NBC broadcast showed a shot of a stately-looking white building topped with a gold dome. Lights shone from within and around the building, illuminating it against the night sky. Announcer Mike Tirico informed the audience that it was the state capitol building in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Immediately, my stomach dropped.

When I think of the Minnesota state capitol, the only thing I can think about is the man that I love, being murdered.

A mob of people, yelling and chanting. Tightening a noose around his neck. Pulling on the rope until his body smashes to the ground with a sickening thud. The mob surrounding him, kicking him and screaming. One member of the mob after another, standing atop the pedestal where the man that I love ought to be standing, raising their arms in sadistic triumph, posing for the news cameras. People (and I use that term loosely) posing with their knees on his neck in a perverse imitation of Officer Chauvin and George Floyd (as if recreating the very thing you are protesting against is somehow an appropriate form of protest). Police officers, at least two dozen of them, standing by in their blue uniforms with their hands behind their backs, making no attempt to intervene as the man I love, the man who sailed across the Atlantic Ocean and discovered this continent, is strangled, brutalized, and tortured. Doing nothing as everything that makes my life worth living is destroyed.

To me, these are the most disgusting and horrifying images that it is possible to imagine. The actions that took place at the Minnesota state capitol in 2020 were actions of unspeakable brutality, sadism, and cruelty. The pain that these actions have inflicted on me is the worst pain possible for a human being to experience.

Not only did the police make no attempt to stop these reprehensible actions, but they did not arrest any of the perpetrators. The ringleader was charged with vandalism, but the case was resolved by holding a “talking circle” in which he got to explain the immoral motives behind his vicious actions. He received no punishment. No jail time, no fine, no house arrest, no community service. Nothing.

The lieutenant governor of Minnesota stated that she was “not disappointed” in the actions of unspeakable brutality, sadism, and cruelty that were perpetrated against the man that I love.

The actions that took place at the Minnesota state capitol demonstrate that people like me no longer have any protection under the law. To our society, my feelings don’t matter, my thoughts don’t matter, my perspective doesn’t matter, and my happiness doesn’t matter. A mob of bullies and bigots was allowed to murder the man I love in the most brutal of ways with complete impunity. To our society, his life means nothing.

When Mike Tirico told the audience that the building being shown on the TV was the Minnesota state capitol, he didn’t mention any of this. To NBC, the life of the man I love apparently doesn’t mean anything, either.

It was difficult to care much about the outcome of the football game after that.

bookmark_borderI am thankful for Stonewall Jackson

Posted on by Marissa

I am generally not a big fan of the concept of gratitude. In my opinion, gratitude is overrated and over-emphasized in our society, both as a personal characteristic and as a practice. Some people might call me a negative, entitled, or arrogant person, but my general tendency is to focus on things that I find unjust and wrong, as opposed to finding the positives in every situation.

But this Thanksgiving, I have something very significant for which to be thankful. That thing is General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson. Or rather, Jackson in statue form. He is made of bronze, measures 4 feet tall, weighs 120 pounds, and lives in my backyard.

Stonewall Jackson in his new home

Stonewall arrived at my house on September 23, 2022. Even though he doesn’t move or speak, he has immediately made a huge and positive difference in my life. Instead of watching helplessly as everything that makes my life worth living is destroyed, I have something that makes my life worth living, right outside my door. And I am his legal owner, which means that no one (unless they trespass on my land and vandalize my property, which is illegal) can take him away. Instead of having to continue my life without the historical figures that I love, I have a historical figure right by my side. This might sound strange, but I move through the world with more self-confidence and courage now than I did before. I move through the world as the guardian of a historical figure. Whatever comes my way, Stonewall Jackson will be with me as I face it. Legally and biologically, my statue is an inanimate object. But to me, my statue contains a piece of Stonewall Jackson’s soul. 

Stonewall is a source of joy, hope, and beauty in these incredibly dark times. For two and a half years, I have experienced more grief, anger, frustration, pain, and despair than I ever thought possible. For most of this time, I have felt that I have absolutely nothing for which to be thankful. Stonewall brought me a sense of happiness and pride that had been completely missing from my life and that I thought I would never feel again. It has been so cool to choose the spot for Stonewall, make a little flat area for him to stand, and decorate his spot with flowers and a stone wall (no pun intended!) as you can see in the photo above. 

Stonewall hasn’t yet experienced snow, but he has so far survived bitter cold, drenching rain, and howling wind with no problems. Even in November, his shiny bronze surface is warm to the touch when the sun shines on him. I can always see him through the window of my house, and I like to go outside and say hello to him as often as I can. On warm days, I like to sit outside with him while I work on my laptop. You might think I am insane, but sometimes when I am upset about something or wrestling with a difficult situation, I tell Stonewall about it, and he helps me to feel better.

The best thing about Stonewall is that I don’t have to explain or justify my actions, decisions, or choices. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t pressure me to do anything I don’t want to do. He doesn’t demand my time or interrupt me when I’m in the middle of an important task. He gets what I am saying, even when I don’t explain it perfectly. Whatever is on my mind, he will listen nonjudgmentally.

Thank you, Stonewall, for making my life better.

bookmark_borderIdentity, representation, and fairness

Posted on by Marissa

“They’re just statues.”

“They’re not alive.”

“How can you get so upset about an inanimate object?”

More times than I can count, I have been asked these questions. 

To me, statues are a matter of identity. I love Christopher Columbus, and I love the generals who fought for the Confederacy. But even more importantly, I see these people as myself. When I see a statue of Columbus or someone from the Confederacy, I feel that the statue essentially is me. Not literally, of course, but symbolically and spiritually. When I see such a statue, it makes me feel represented. It makes me feel included. It makes me feel that people like me are welcome and accepted in our society.

That is why it has been so incredibly hurtful, traumatizing, and devastating to see Columbus statues and Confederate statues being violently destroyed across the country and world. The symbols of my inclusion and acceptance in society have been hacked to pieces with sledgehammers, smashed on the ground, beheaded, thrown into harbors, set on fire, and had nooses tightened around their necks. How do you think that would make someone feel?

Additionally, how do you think it would feel to see the people who are supposed to be in charge in our society – mayors, governors, senators, congresspeople, the president – react not with unequivocal condemnation but with ambivalence? How do you think it would feel to read statement after statement saying something like, “destroying property isn’t the best way to make one’s point, but the protesters’ feelings are completely understandable”?

And how do you think it makes me feel to read about analogous situations involving other cultures’ statues and monuments – the vandalism of a George Floyd sculpture in New York City, for example – and to see politicians react with exactly the harsh condemnation that they withheld when it was my statues being destroyed?

In short, it makes me feel persecuted. If there were just one or two isolated acts of vandalism targeting people like me, that would be sickening and infuriating, but tolerable. But when these acts are a consistent pattern, happening again and again all over the country and in other countries as well, the pain becomes so horrible that life is no longer worth living. These actions are just as hurtful as if these violent attacks were done to me. And our government, whose job it is to protect people’s rights and to ensure that justice is done, did nothing. In many cases, governments actually took actions that benefitted, rewarded, and/or publicly honored the perpetrators. Companies, sports teams, organizations, almost without exception did nothing. Or, worse, they chose to publicly express support not for the people who have been hurt, but for the movement that committed the hurtful actions. 

The question that occupies my mind every second of every minute of every hour of every day is this: How can I continue to exist in a world where all of the institutions that make up our society hate people like me? How can I live a happy life in a society that consistently, pervasively, and repeatedly sends the message that people like me are not welcome here?

I have been going to a therapist to try and figure out the answers to these questions. My therapist once explained to me that every person has the right to hold whatever ideas they wish in their internal world, but problems arise when people try to impose their ideas on the external world. In other words, I can enjoy my historical figures, and even consider them my friends, in my internal world, regardless of what happens to their likenesses in the external world. It is understandably upsetting, she told me, to see the statues destroyed, but it’s not the case that my rights were violated, because I don’t have a right, per se, to see the historical figures from my internal world reflected in the external one. 

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this and have come to the conclusion that if there were no statues and monuments at all, no holidays honoring individuals or groups, and no places named after historical figures, then I would agree with what my therapist said. But the problem is that there are statues, holidays, and place names for some historical figures and not others. Some people get to see their internal world reflected in the external world, while I do not. This disparate treatment is unfair and unjust. Therefore, I do believe that my rights have been violated. 

I will soon be getting a statue of Stonewall Jackson to put up outside my house. My therapist thinks this is a good idea, because although the statue will technically be part of the external world, he will be located on my own property, and therefore will enable me to honor a person that I love and identify with, without the dangers inherent in having a statue on public land.

Don’t get me wrong – I am very happy and excited to get my Stonewall statue. But the thing is, I shouldn’t have to. 

I shouldn’t have to pay $3,000 to erect a small statue that actually represents me, while other people get to have large statues, located on public land and paid for with government funds, of the people that they identify with. Those who identify with Abraham Lincoln, or George Washington, or Paul Revere, or Martin Luther King, Jr. do not have to pay to erect their own personal statues. While other groups get to have their internal world reflected in the external one through public art, the art that represents my identity is banished from public spaces and relegated to my own backyard. I think it is awesome that organizations such as Monuments Across Dixie and campaigns such as Lee Rides Again are raising money to build statues on privately-owned land. But when you think about it, they should not have to do this. People like me deserve to be publicly acknowledged as welcome and accepted members of society just as much as anyone else does.

In conclusion, while there is certainly something to be said for focusing on one’s internal world, I’m not sure that this is sufficient in cases where one is not merely failing to get one’s way, but actually being discriminated against and treated unjustly. Giving up on the real world, and withdrawing into the imaginary one, reflects a disturbingly bleak view of the world and its future. Unfortunately, this might be my only option given that the real world has decided to persecute and discriminate against people like me. 

One final note: You might ask why I identify so strongly with Columbus and Confederate people. Why are statues of these particular people necessary for me to feel represented and included? I am a woman, so many people might think I should feel represented by the Boston Women’s Memorial, featuring statues of various women from history. I am on the autism spectrum, so many people might think it would make me feel included when Autism Acceptance Month is celebrated every April. Many people also make the argument that Columbus Day and Columbus statues are unnecessary because there are numerous historical figures other than Christopher Columbus whom Italian Americans could choose to represent us. But although I find the Women’s Memorial beautiful and creative, I appreciate that there is a month honoring autistic people, and I wouldn’t mind the addition of more Italian American statues, none of these things move me emotionally. None of them resonate with me. None of them make me feel represented or included. I feel a spiritual and emotional connection with Columbus and with people from the Confederacy. Perhaps this is because they are considered rebels and underdogs; perhaps it is because they were quirky and different; perhaps it is because they are misunderstood and looked down upon. Just as people cannot be expected to provide a logical justification for being straight, or gay, or bisexual, my identity cannot be reduced to arguments or reasoning. The bottom line is that each individual person has the right to decide what types of statues, monuments, and holidays represent them. No one has the right to impose their ideas of representation on anyone else.

bookmark_borderStatues are not needed to remember history… so what?

Posted on by Marissa

There are numerous bad arguments for taking down historical statues and monuments. One of the dumbest, in my opinion, is the argument that statues are not necessary to remember or learn about history.

Here is an example of this argument which I recently saw on Facebook:

Another time, I saw a satirical post about building a statue of the coronavirus (think the illustration of a red virus particle that is used on the news as a generic representation of the virus) so that future generations would remember the pandemic.

I have never argued that the reason why statues are needed is because people wouldn’t be able to remember things without them, and I don’t think anyone else has argued this either. Comments like the above are, therefore, an example of the straw man fallacy.

These arguments are frustrating, because yes, it is true that statues are not necessary for people to remember history. Books, informational websites, databases, and other forms of written documentation are all adequate for this purpose. But that doesn’t mean that statues are not necessary. The importance of statues extends far beyond the fact that they help people to learn about the past.

For me personally, I have an imaginary world in which historical figures are the characters, and I spend my time picturing their interactions and adventures. Statues are a way in which the people I love are able to exist in the physical world and be a concrete part of my life. To argue that statues are unnecessary as long as there are other ways of remembering stuff, completely denies and invalidates my perspective.

I understand that my perspective on historical figures is unusual, and few (if any) people in the world share it. But even if my perspective is incomprehensible to you, and you think that it counts for nothing, there remains the fact that statues, quite simply, are art. Statues are outdoor sculptures. And just like any form of art, statues are valuable for their own sake. Any person who does not see inherent value in art has no soul.

Would the person who made this idiotic Facebook comment advocate that the Mona Lisa be painted over so that the canvas could be re-used? After all, as long as it is written down somewhere that this particular Italian noblewoman existed, a painting is unnecessary, right? Would this person advocate that art museums be razed and the land put to more constructive uses, such as a data center, for example? After all, a database listing facts about the works of art would accomplish the same thing as looking at the works of art themselves, right?

Statues are important not merely because they are learning tools or reminders of the past, but because they are beautiful, because they are works of art, because they represent people whom I love, because they honor people and ideas that deserve to be honored, and because they enable historical figures to live on, to list just a few reasons. Arguing that statues aren’t needed because people can learn about history without them denies all of these things. Without statues, people might still remember the past, but the present world would be stripped of all beauty, joy, meaning, and purpose, and therefore would not be worth living in. I don’t know about you, but personally, I think that having a world worth living in is kind of important.

bookmark_borderStatues and the soul

Posted on by Marissa

In the approximately two years since our society collectively decided to destroy the statues honoring the historical figures that I love, it has been difficult to put the way that I feel into words. The destruction of these statues has been, by far, the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. I feel, more strongly than I have ever felt anything in my life, that this destruction is wrong. But it is hard to form a logical argument that explains why this is so. 

“They’re just statues,” people point out. “They aren’t alive. It’s not as if anyone has been killed.” I have been ridiculed for being so upset at the statue destruction. I have been called a racist and a white supremacist. Even those who agree with me that the taking down of Christopher Columbus statues and Confederate statues is wrong do not feel as strongly about this as I do. They don’t understand why these statues are so important to me that without them, I feel that the world is no longer worth living in.

I recently read an article in Psychology Today about the spirit and the soul. The article explains that what animates the soul varies from person to person: art, music, organized religion, or watching children learn and grow, to give just a few examples. The author, Bill Kavanagh, characterizes religion and spirituality as “the deepest values and meanings by which to live” or “one’s own inner dimension” or “connecting to an energy outside of oneself.” Once you discover the thing that speaks to your soul, you have found meaning and purpose.

For me, historical figures are that thing. They touch my soul. They capture my imagination. They fill me with emotion. The desire to honor them guides everything that I do. And by extension, statues of historical figures touch my soul as well. That is why their existence is so important to me, and that is why their destruction is so devastating.

Everyone’s soul is touched, or moved, by different things. If your soul isn’t moved by a statue of Christopher Columbus surrounded by flowers and a trellis near the waterfront, you probably won’t understand why I feel that the entire city is ruined with that statue gone. You won’t understand why I feel sick to my stomach and overwhelmed with grief and rage when thinking about the fact that someone intentionally ripped the statue’s head from his body and smashed it on the ground. You won’t understand why replacing the statue with a monument to a different Italian American historical figure does not even come close to being an acceptable solution. 

Because everyone’s soul is moved by different things, everyone has incredibly different ideas of which things are important in life and which things are unimportant. If the things that provide you with meaning and purpose are your children, career, pets, friends, or religion, you will find it difficult, if not impossible, to relate to my grief and rage about statues. You will find it difficult to wrap your head around why the destruction of statues is so upsetting and painful. Similarly, there are numerous situations in which a certain thing provides someone else with meaning and purpose, and I have difficulty relating to the fact that someone’s soul could be so moved by something that I consider unimportant. 

Perhaps the spirit and the soul explain why people feel so strongly that the statues that make my life worth living should be destroyed. Perhaps the statues’ existence threatens something that other people’s souls depend on for meaning and purpose, in a way that I cannot relate to because I do not share. 

But I believe that what moves my soul, what provides me with meaning and purpose, is just as important as what provides these things to other people. My viewpoint is just as valid and just as important as anyone else’s. I believe that it is never okay to destroy the thing that moves another person’s soul. Whatever problems the world faces, we must find solutions that do not crush anyone’s soul into dust, the way that the brutal war on statues has done to mine. You might not consider Christopher Columbus or people from the Confederacy to be important, but I do. Your soul might not be moved by these historical figures, but mine is. Your soul is different from mine, but that does not give you the right to ridicule me, inflict pain on me, or dismiss my perspective.