Zara Branigan ’22
May 8, 1945. The end of the second world war. Union jacks flying high and their spirits with it. The man everyone wants to thank is, of course, Mr Winston Churchill. He was on the front lines for the free world, a man grasping onto Western democracy, even as the Nazis yanked at his fingers. 1950 Time magazine called him the “man of the half century”. People believe he was a glorious man, a vigorous man, a harbinger of the oldest established British values: perseverance, pride and strength.
Some argue rightly so, but spray painted onto his statue are the words:
“Churchill was a racist.”
Some rhetoric he applied to people of colour was “beastly”, “barbaric hordes” and as he squashed rebels in Sudan, he declared he was proud to have killed those “savages.” He was happily imperialistic, trumpeting that “Aryan stock is bound to triumph.” We placed him on a pedestal. Now that pedestal is hidden under layers, shielded from protesters and counter-protesters alike.
The marking of his statue drove a wrench into an already gridlocked debate on what to do when we hear great men aren’t that great. The protestors are angry about the wider statues in Britain, as statues celebrate both the person and their ideas—even if they’re racist, sexist, xenophobic. As taxpayers, we pay for some of these statues. Should we, as a so-called progressive society, welcome statues that are against every value we’ve been taught?
We’ve already enacted laws to prohibit hate speech; clarifying we have understood what ideas we don’t want within our society. If we ‘topple the racists’, we’re sending a message about the society we want to live in. Critics may claim that we’re throwing the baby out with the historical bathwater; that we need these statues to teach us the lessons of our history. If we don’t have a plan, their rhetoric will become a self-fulfilled prophecy.
Human beings are complex—with complex problems, emotions and beliefs. No one is purely virtuous or evil. The same goes for history. The same goes for this debate. A common consensus with the protesters is that those who want to keep the statue of Churchill are racist with a hint of good old nationalist Britain. On the other side, all they see is a futile erasure of our history for a symbolic gesture. We shouldn’t swap one simplistic idea for another, but by refusing to engage in a discussion, we unknowingly are. There is a silver lining in this cloud of disconnected culture: there’s common ground. Both sides want to preserve history the right way. The question is, what is the right way?
In terms of the statues, I have two propositions:
1. We move all statues to museums.
Even if we eliminate statues of all problematic people, our society wouldn’t lessen in its beliefs. We can’t allow the halo-like symbolism of the moment to distract from the slow and complicated movement of real change. We should have better ambitions. We need to address the underlying problems without censoring history—good and bad. Museums are the solution. They take elements of history and give the additional context needed to interpret and understand them. They are often free and unbiased, meaning the public can still enjoy the statues and there is no argument about the legitimacy of the person.
2. We establish a council for statues.
The council can decide, review and take action on the statues. They could be a group of professors, historians and other academics engaged in preserving all sides of history. Their first action could be to provide every current statue with a plaque depicting all factions of their history. Their second action could be to consider what statues the public want—through polling, debates and votes. Beyond what the government can do, there are two things us everyday people can do to understand the full history. We can read, watch, listen and learn the history of then and the history of now. When learning, some aspects of British history may be uncomfortable or even shameful. But there is potential in discomfort. Without it, there’s no growth. We can also be aware. We’re living in a time of great division and lacklustre understanding.
Some statues I’d like to see in the UK: Jack Leslie: Leslie was the only professional Black football player in England during his time. When he about to become England’s first non-white player, the selectors realized he was Black and rejected him. With the onslaught of racism in football today, he is a trailblazer in the struggle for inclusivity in sports.
Mary Wollstonecraft: Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, she never allowed prejudice to stand in her way of becoming a historically significant author. During her era, the role of women was to satisfy her husband and bear children. Wollstonecraft, unfulfilled in this role, broke the law by rescuing her sister from an abusive husband. She later argued for women’s independence in a time where rights for women was inconceivable.
Mary Shelley: Wollstonecraft’s daughter and protégé, she quickly educated herself and engulfed the revolutionary spirit her mother perpetuated. She ran to Paris at 16 with her husband and renowned poet, Percy Shelley. Although she couldn’t vote, obtain her own money or be viewed as an equal, she wrote Frankenstein at 19. She’s now regarded as the mother of gothic fiction.
Olive Elain Morris: Part of the British Black Panthers and a grassroots campaign, she was an advocate in the fight against police brutality. In 1969, 17-year old Morris intervened in the arrest of a Nigerian diplomat for a parking offence. The police gave her a three-month suspended sentence for two years, and during that time, they threatened her with rape. With her experiences, she uncovered racism, sexism and police brutality in the UK. Much of her activism was community-focused; she created safe spaces in Brixton, including the first Black community bookshop in South London. She’s an ordinary icon for community activism, especially in the struggle against police brutality.
History itself is a collection of perspectives; it’s not just our job to understand what those perspectives are— it’s our job to understand why they’ve been recounted. Question everything. Listen deeply. Don’t allow your voices to go unheard. History survives, even if statues don’t.
the len(z) 