Monuments, as a form of commemoration, have a long history of evolution. From the columns of 1806 and 1808, the principle of the military leader standing on classical columns was laid as the main form, a principle embodied in the Napoleonic columns of Place Vendôme in Paris and the columns of Nelson in Dublin, although they were built in honor of old enemies.
However, the post-war monuments formed a new language, unlike it. The language of public monuments in the twentieth century has changed dramatically, which has affected not only their form, but also their subject.
The significance of the monument.
This paradigm shift coincided with a gradual change in nomenclature and, importantly, the currently controversial statues are not often called memorials: they belong to the monumentalist tradition of "great men" public sculpture.
Many of these date back decades before the First World War, a period that also coincided with the culmination of colonialism and its commemoration. Monuments exist as material objects that have an impact in a very physical way.
They take up space, while those of the monumentalist tradition are usually located in the city center, where, as large objects, they force traffic to bypass them. Not only do they symbolically express the values associated with the characters depicted, but their physical presence itself is a way of imposing those values on society, while speaking on behalf of the community as a whole.
Since access to money and power is a prerequisite for their existence, traditionally they are built by the victors rather than the losers, by the powerful rather than the unstable.
In addition, due to the high cost of building monuments, monuments are often latecomers in the dynamics of cultural memory. A large monument is rarely a pioneer of cultural and social change, but rather reinforces the work of memory that others have done by translating a particular narrative into a lasting (if not permanent) one.
Through its durable materials, the monument seeks to immortalize the memories of the future, passing them on to the future with the help of a time capsule buried in the foundation. Due to the scarcity of urban space resources, monuments are more likely to provoke competition than other forms of mediation through commemorative activities, and are more dependent on access to power and resources.
The public presence of monuments often helps people to passively forget alternative stories, and sometimes by restoring earlier structures.
In short, monuments of material existence have an impact beyond their symbolism, and, as Jane Bay Nett puts it, they constitute a "vibrant substance", not least because they are often very massive.
From a material point of view, their purpose is to inspire, to generate awe, to demonstrate strength, to provoke enthusiasm, or, as in the case of recent memorials, to reflect quietly. Understanding the vitality of monuments as material objects can help us understand why they are so offensive in the urban landscape: they are "toxic presences".
For example, the Paris Commune, when it ordered the destruction of the Vendôme column on April 12, 1871, illustrated this toxicity in an astonishing way, because it was a denial of international law, a permanent insult to the conqueror, and a permanent attack on one of the three principles of fanaticism.
There is a way of transmitting memories through monuments carved into stone, which is full of vitality and symbolism. However, some monuments may have been forgotten in the passage of time or even disappeared without a trace.
Historian Reinhardt Koselek argues that once the memory of a person or event is pinned on an object, people begin to forget them, which is actually the first step towards forgetting.
Therefore, we need to cherish those monuments that are full of vitality and symbolism, but also realize that some monuments may be forgotten.
According to a recent survey, many Parisians know little about the nearby monuments and even know nothing about having seen them. Once these monuments became a hot topic, people became interested in them.
This situation has prompted a rethinking of why the monument is being valued again at some critical moment. The monument is a material carrier of anti-memory and a witness to the destruction of the history of idols.
They are often destroyed, relocated, or ** in new environments, with little actual physical destruction despite opposition. Ways in which monuments are stripped of offensive privileges include reconstruction, reappointment, and being covered by new displays.
The value of the monument lies in the fact that it provides a kind of visibility that allows forgotten events and actors to surface. The memorial also serves as a platform for dissent, supporting the emergence of new things and minority groups.
Overall, monuments are practical resources that make history revisit and forget.
They provide a physical space to resolve disputes over shared memories and collective identity. If their durability represents a promise for the future, then that's why they often transcend the ethical statute of limitations and earn admiration.
Their enduring nature allows them to transcend the environment in which they were born and the cultural values that led to them being established. When alternative narratives emerge in other more responsive fields, the monument becomes a visible, overt, and tangible reminder of the outdated mnemonic system.
The importance of monuments is closely related to the lag in the time of their establishment, and they are often the last remnants of the old regime. Disputing these fossil-like mnemonics thus provides the culmination of a slow process of transformation of ideas about who "we" are, allowing the changes already prepared in the other ** to be cemented in a very public and dramatic way.
In this process, importance and positioning are key. As multiple incidents in recent years have shown, the Toxic Monument is an actual gathering place where activists gather to voice their dissent.
To dispel historical claims of command, people have expressed disrespect for the monument in the form of graffiti, paint, slogans, and physical attacks. This overt way of transforming memory is like the "social drama" model proposed by Victor Turner, which helps society move from one identity to another.
Even for those who resisted change and defended the old regime, the monument provides a common ground for bridging differences. As Sarah Genzberg said, the story of Edward Colston is well known.
He was a merchant in the city of Bristol, a member of the Royal African Company and was involved in the Atlantic slaves of the time**. After becoming wealthy, he became a benefactor of the city, and schools and hospitals carried his celebrity for a long time.
From the eighteenth century, his generosity was celebrated in the annual "Colston Day" with special bread for children and later a free day for workers.
More than 150 years after Colston's death, his statue is 264 meters, standing at 3On a pedestal of 2 meters, there is a great presence in a very central part of the city.
The statue not only depicts Colston, but also evokes the memory of the "citizens of Bristol" who erected it in the last years of the nineteenth century.
Today, the statue's English article first further reveals Colston's true identity – a Bristol-born merchant and major slave trader.
Despite his reputation as a "wise and virtuous man", he is now a stigmatized symbol of Bristol's complicity with slavery, and his statue is an anachronistic reminder of a history in which slave traders were seen as philanthropists.
Amazingly, over the course of a century, the meaning of the same object has changed dramatically, no longer by class, but by race.