Opinion

Monumental Errors

Since this year marks the 200th anniversary of Napoléon Bonaparte’s demise, I idly wondered how many statues of the former Emperor exist in this country. An amble around Google threw up a response to precisely this question from former French UN ambassador Gérard Araud. “Actually, Napoléon is rarely statufied in France”, he wrote, “because neither the monarchy nor the Republic wanted to celebrate him.” (Incidentally, I had no idea “to statufy” was a verb). Monsieur Araud’s remarks underline the inherent conflict in honouring historical figures in this way. For all his undoubted achievements, Napoléon clearly divides opinion still. Great leader or overreaching tyrant? Possibly both? For the curious, historian Andrew Roberts’ superb 2014 biography explores the conundrum. I’ve mentioned before my ambivalence concerning flags, anthems and all the paraphernalia of national identity. To that I would add most - although by no means all - statues. I’m emphatically not talking here about the memorials to those lost in innumerable wars, which never fail to choke me. Whether it’s the gut-wrenching RAF Bomber Command Memorial in London’s Green Park or the war cemeteries and small roadside tributes to local Resistance fighters found all across France, I still struggle to comprehend the carnage. Maybe that’s the point – these dedications acknowledge a shared agony, society reeling from its loss. It’s those other commemorations, the ‘great’ men of the past astride giant horses, or (inexplicably) portrayed in Roman robes, which leave me cold. These individuals’ success were frequently propelled by ambition and self-interest; it’s harder to see them as fellow citizens, striving for the common good. In any event, statues are not history, they’re mostly propaganda. The toppling of philanthropist and slave trader Edward Colston last year thrust Bristol into the news headlines. Yet the statue wasn’t erected until 175 years after Colston’s death, when wealthy Victorians wanted to remind the city of the generous endowments made in the past by successful men such as themselves. In 2011 the north Wales market town of Denbigh, (where Mrs W and I lived before moving to France), unveiled a statue of Victorian explorer Henry Morton Stanley, of “Dr Livingstone, I presume” fame. Stanley was born locally as John Rowlands and much about him was dodgy, including his famous greeting, which was almost certainly made up long after the event. He was also a virulent racist. Stanley had died more than a century earlier and the new tribute was simply the result of an EU grant to boost tourism. However, in 2020 the global revulsion at the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis reached even Denbigh and a petition carrying 7000 names called for the statue’s removal. To be clear, I’m not a total statuephobe. There are many tributes to humanitarians, scientists, civil rights campaigners and even entertainers, which I find compelling. This very month of August marks 120 years since the birth of Louis Armstrong, the single most influential musician of the twentieth century, (your regular reminder his name is pronounced ‘Lewis’). Two statues in – where else? – New Orleans, pay suitable homage. There are smileinducing effigies of Ken Dodd, Victoria Wood and Eric Morecombe, and that’s just in Lancashire. I also recall my glee one morning at encountering Desperate Dan (and his dog) on the streets of Dundee. Public statues, if they exist at all, should surely celebrate our shared humanity and perhaps less so those who subjugated or sold other people. Still, if we must persist with the “Solemn Men of Destiny on Big Horses” tributes, I’m inclined to think Glasgow has the right approach. If you have ever visited, you’ll know the Duke of Wellington monument in Royal Exchange Square. Every city has its must-see landmarks and here it’s a statue with a traffic cone on its head. Plonked there around 30 years ago as a late-night prank, the cone encapsulates Glasgow’s anti-establishment sense of humour. Originally, official attempts to remove it saw the cone immediately replaced. Further deterrent measures resulted in Wellington’s horse wearing one too. Officialdom finally gave up. When Glasgow hosted the 2014 Commonwealth Games the Duke’s headgear was switched temporarily for a gold cone. No statue is immune from being shamed by new revelations concerning its subject. But lionizing men for their wealth and influence while overlooking their character tends to set them on a collision course with ever-evolving public attitudes. Bristol’s Colston statue now lies in a museum, its life-cycle an important chapter in the city’s story. On its original site stands a plaque featuring the words of local poet Vanessa Kisuule on the toppling: “But as you landed, a piece of you fell off, broke away, And inside, nothing but air. This whole time, you were hollow.”

These individuals’ success were frequently propelled by ambition and self-interest

Brian White lives in south Indre with his wife, too many moles and not enough guitars