It’s Not About Lee. It’s About Us.
The recent white supremacist rally in my hometown that culminated in a domestic terrorist attack has, among other things, brought the discussion of the nature and role of Confederate monuments to the national stage. Since then, several cities have acted swiftly to remove their own monuments and statues, apparently due to a sudden realization of what they represent and who they embolden.
Many of these monuments, streets, buildings, schools and counties are centered on the hero of the “Lost Cause” narrative of the Civil War, Robert E. Lee. His exalted position as the patron Confederate saint has prompted visceral reactions to the calls for removal of these shrines to a failed and misguided rebellion.
It seems that in order to hold Lee in high regard — I’ve heard him mentioned in the same breath as Jesus Christ — one has to commit to rounding off edges that I would assert are not worth rounding. The man himself was not as complicated as his more moderate and well-intentioned admirers insist. If we take him at his words and deeds (as these are the manifests of one’s character), he was a pro-slavery traitor to his country (postwar pardons aside) who refused to side with what his conscience allegedly told him, opting to side with and lead an unjust and “Lost” (though I prefer “False”) cause based on the geography of his birth.
Many Southern folks and “Lost Cause” sympathizers exude an image of Lee that puts him in the realm of white morality in the company of abolitionists like William Lloyd Garrison and John Brown. Not only are such conveyances misplaced and lacking in nuance, they actually stand in contradiction to the man he was. Indeed, it was Lee who led the forces to capture Brown at Harper’s Ferry. He was both ideologically and militarily opposed to abolition.
Lee is often framed as issuing vocal condemnations of slavery. In reality he deemed it “a greater evil to the white man”. These words were insufficient and stale even in his time, and when critiqued through the lens of his acts of enslaving people and leading an army to maintain his right to do so, they are unable to withstand any measure of direct pressure. At best, Lee embodies the White Moderate par excellence. He not only benefited from the unjust structures of his time while expressing no desire for change, he actively supported and participated in them while advocating for their maintenance.
I can feel the impassioned responses from Lee’s defenders and Confederate apologists. Phrases like, “a man of his time,” “military genius,” “gentleman and a scholar,” etc. come to mind. Honestly, I don’t doubt any of these contentions. I do, however, find them to be superficial, committed to stories and narratives constructed about Lee rather than allowing the man to represent himself. These appeals give him every benefit that can be summoned, and folks exhaust themselves (and others) with their earnest defenses.
But it is exactly these petitions that must be examined in order to properly frame the discourse of the man and monuments in question. When scrutinized, these de facto calls for a faux civility reveal more about those offering the objections than the man they claim to defend. Beyond that, it allows us to delude ourselves into accepting narratives of the past that downplay the suffering of enslaved people and their role in the nation’s history. People continue to wonder what life would be like today had the South won. Such questions imply ignorance of the ways in which the South actively worked (successfully) to preserve a white supremacist social hierarchy after the war.
The problem is, it’s not about Lee. It’s about us. It is not a fear of historical erasure, but of accountability. Indeed, the narrative that catechises Lee already necessitates the erasure of the brutality against enslaved African Americans while presupposing the historical acceptance of white supremacy. What is at stake is not the history that needs to be remembered, but the collective and individual identifications with Lee and what we wish he stood for. Honoring him allows us to settle comfortably into our own shortcomings without challenging us to acknowledge and grow through them. Settling for Lee as a hero allows us to indulge in complicity in our own time. It allows us to dissuade ourselves from pursuing and engaging movements for justice. Enshrining Lee allows us to strive for mediocrity.
Lee is a notable figure in American history. He will be remembered. But we must choose how to remember him. Will we let his words and deeds speak for him? Will we acknowledge his context as one that set the template for the degradation of Black lives? Or will we continue to project our highest aspirations onto him as a self-defense against action in our time?
