Slouching Towards Oblivion

Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 08, 2024

Today I Learned

I learned two things today.
  1. Ft Lewis College was where some of my peers went because either they couldn't get in anywhere else, or they just wanted to hang out and ski, and make the 450-mile drive down to Tempe once in a while to score the good weed - the place that was once a somewhat infamous "indian school" that was meant to break kids of their indian ways and turn them into good little white people.
  2. I learned that the 13 years of public school education I've always been rather proud of, didn't teach me one goddamned thing about any of this.
In my own fuckin' state. Nothing.



A small Durango college is trying to reckon with its dark legacy — and help students do the same

Fort Lewis College, which awards the most degrees to Native American students of any four-year college in the nation, was once a boarding school that used severe methods to “civilize” Indigenous children


DURANGO — On a breezy March morning, with the scent of sourdough perfuming the air, three Hozhoni Days Powwow ambassadors, one past and two present, gathered at Bread cafe for eggs and avocado toast and to talk about the year they’d just lived through, emotional and taxing.

Jordyn Begay, Selena Gonzales and Audrey Leonetti are students at Fort Lewis College, one of six Native American-serving nontribal universities in the United States and the only one in Colorado.

Begay is Diné from Teec Nos Pos, Arizona, Leonetti is Yupik from Anchorage, Alaska, and Gonzales is “Mud Clan born from the Hispanic people,” also from a small community on the Navajo Nation about 35 minutes from Begay’s home.

The women were buzzing with excitement. Today was the culmination of the 58th annual Hozhoni Days Powwow, which celebrates Indigenous arts, culture and student scholarship. The Hozhoni Days Exhibition, a competition centered on students’ knowledge of Native American customs and beliefs, is a key component of the celebration. At the powwow in a few hours, the outgoing ambassador, Begay, and the incoming ambassadors, Leonetti and Gonzales, were going to be honored.

But a sense of melancholy set in as the conversation turned to the painful research project History Colorado, under order from Gov. Jared Polis and House Bill 1327, conducted into the abuses and deaths of Native American students at Colorado boarding schools at the turn of the 20th century. Chief among them was the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School, which operated in Hesperus between 1892 and 1909, and later became Fort Lewis College.

For a year starting July 1, 2022, a team of researchers led by History Colorado’s state archeologist Holly Norton spent hundreds of hours examining thousands of archived documents trying to learn what became of children who attended Native American boarding schools across Colorado and to identify those who attended the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School.

Nine federally funded schools in Colorado at the turn of the 20th Century, along with others throughout the U.S., existed to strip Native children of their language, culture and customs “with the intent to destroy Native Americans as a legal identity — and thus incorporating them, and their resources, into American culture,” says the History Colorado report. Or, to use a phrase coined during the National Conference of Charities and Correction in Denver in 1892 by Captain Richard Henry Pratt, who founded the notoriously punishing Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania, the intent was to “kill the Indian” and “save the man.”

At Fort Lewis, the methods for attempting to assimilate Native children were severe. Their hair was cut, their traditional clothes taken and their names changed, the report released Oct. 3, 2023, found.

Students at the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School
(Center of Southwest Studies of Fort Lewis College)

Under Thomas Breen, the Fort Lewis boarding school superintendent from 1894 to 1903, the school maintained a kindergarten class for children as young as 6 despite guidance from Washington that this was too young for children to be separated from their families.

Dangerous living conditions resulted in deadly illnesses like pneumonia and tuberculosis. Physical abuse was rampant, like that inflicted on two young boys forced to sleep in a coal shed on cold winter nights. In 1903, investigative reporter Polly Pry (real name Leonel Ross Campbell) broke a story about Breen sexually abusing and impregnating Native American girls as young as 14. Academic failures kept Native youth from competing with other American children. And while it was standard practice for sick children to be returned home, this was not always possible, and deaths occurred at Fort Lewis and Grand Junction Indian Boarding Schools, the History Colorado report says.

At Fort Lewis College in Durango, around 30% of students are Native American or Alaska Native. They come from more than 110 tribes and villages and receive free tuition based on a mandate created when the federal boarding school was transferred to the state with the agreement that it would become an educational institute that wouldn’t charge tuition for Native American students. Today, the school website says, “the college awards more degrees to Native American students than any other four-year, baccalaureate-granting institution in the nation — about 26% of all degrees awarded.”

Begay and Gonzales appreciate the opportunity to attend a college both affordable and near their communities in the Four Corners region. They also love the diversity and inclusion at the school, which supports multiple Native American and Indigenous student organizations, a Native American and Indigenous studies program, academic support for Native students, and a cultural kitchen shared by members of the Native-led Diversity Collaborative.

But the History Colorado project revealed what the women and others see as gaps in the school’s interactions with Native students. Leonetti and Gonzales say it hasn’t been forthcoming enough about the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School legacy. Begay says administrative support for Indigenous students fell short once the History Colorado report came out. And Sahalee Martin, who is Hopi and Chicana from northeastern Arizona, says the school needs to allocate more funding to its Native American population for things like Indigenous counselors its Native American Center, which “isn’t adequate for the amount of Indigenous students we have,” and “to make sure Indigenous students get what they need to succeed in higher education, because reconciliation is part of their mission statement and they should follow through on that.”

Heather Shotton, a Kiowa and Cheyenne descendent, citizen of the Wichita and Affiliated Tribes and the school’s vice president of diversity affairs, said Fort Lewis since 2019 has been doing “intentional work” around what it means to be a Native American-serving institution — before and after the History Colorado report came out — “with an emphasis on serving.” She said “part of that is telling our story” and “thinking about how we’re centering Indigenous culture and knowledge in the curriculum and the programming.”

But these students say the administration could have done a better job of “centering” them after the report’s release, given the gravity of the information they had just received. Martin says students deserve more in general, “especially at Fort Lewis, which has such a dark history of assimilation of our people.” The school is working to heighten its profile as a Native American-serving institution and create more support for Indigenous students even as they and their Indigenous faculty continue to grapple with a history that for decades was largely hidden and push to understand how that history informs them and the college.

Recognizing a doctored history

Another entry point for this story is the day in 2019 when Joslynn Lee, a Fort Lewis chemistry professor who is enrolled Pueblo Laguna and also of Acoma Laguna and Diné affiliation, bicycled past a panel beaming out from the clock tower in the middle of campus.

The panel showed photographs from the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School in which the students were depicted as being in good hands. Under a headline that read “Walking a New Road” the text described the school as “receiving high praise for its ‘extremely good literary instruction’ and ‘excellent work’ in all industrial departments.” It showed a boy’s baseball team, which did exist, and students in a classroom with their hands in their laps. “The children are all ‘well-clothed and happy,’” the panel read. A practical education was stressed.

Lee remembered seeing the same panels when she was a Fort Lewis student in 2002. She knew a different story, one in which forced assimilation, abuse and physical struggle were the norm. So she approached Fort Lewis College president Tom Stritikus to discuss removing the panels.

Their discussion turned into a year of talks with a “thoughtful community collective,” of Indigenous faculty, staff and student representatives, Lee said. It culminated with a public healing ceremony and removal of the panels in front of hundreds in September 2021.

Shotton said the panel removal kicked off a major effort “to reconcile the dark history of FLC” and emphasize opportunities to educate people “about the atrocities and continued impact of the boarding school era.”

But Leonetti and Gonzales, who enrolled at Fort Lewis after the panel removal, say the school could be doing a better job at relaying the history of the institution to prospective and new students.


Leonetti says she did not know when she enrolled that Fort Lewis is linked to the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School, or that historical reports indicate Native students died while in attendance and some of their remains are likely still on the original “Old Fort” campus where some classes are held. Ground-penetrating radar was used to examine the cemetery site and identified 46 graves believed to be children, more than the 31 children History Colorado’s archival research found who did not return home from Fort Lewis and are likely buried there.

Old Fort is 20 minutes from Durango in Hesperus. The 6,000 acres it sits on is owned by Colorado State Land Board and managed by Fort Lewis. A highly regarded farmer-in-training program operates there, and students from other school disciplines are often invited to visit.

Begay said as a Diné tribal member, she “traditionally isn’t allowed” to visit sites where her ancestors are buried. But during her first year, she went on a tour of the Old Fort without being told about the boarding school trauma. She says she went into one of the buildings and saw photos of the students and “was very emotional and I was, like, I don’t know why I’m so emotional. Then my first year was the worst year I’ve ever had because I was mentally, physically and emotionally not doing really well.

“So obviously I had to do a ceremony,” she said, referring to the traditional Diné healing ceremony for individuals suffering from emotional distress. During her ceremony, healers “told me where I went — I wasn’t supposed to go there.” (Other Native students, including Diné, have reported having positive experiences learning farming techniques at the 6,000-acre property.)

Leonetti said she had no idea about the boarding school when she arrived from Alaska last fall and was stunned when ​​an email from school leadership circulated that informed her, “Oh, by the way, Oct. 3, this report is gonna come out. I really, honestly didn’t know about it at all, especially being from so far away. Like, I wasn’t in the region to know that that had happened.”

Though three generations of her family attended Fort Lewis, Gonzales added that she was only “slightly aware” of the boarding school history and has been struggling with the History Colorado discoveries since they were released a few months into her freshman year.

Making Fort Lewis more inclusive



When Stritikus came on as Fort Lewis’ president in 2018, he entered a college trying to understand its history.

The school had a troubled past when it came to its dealings with minorities. From 1962 to 1994, for instance, its mascot was the Raider, a cavalry soldier wielding a flag and riding a horse into what one assumes is battle (notably, cavalry soldiers killed 160 Cheyenne and Arapaho at the Sand Creek Massacre in 1862).

The mascot then became the Skyhawk, a concept combining the hawk, a raptor known for its soaring flight and sharp vision, and sky, a nod to the 247-acre campus’ 6,872-foot-high perch on a bluff above the town of Durango.

Spurred on by Lee and building on work Indigenous faculty and staff had been doing, Stritikus decided to dig into the college’s troubled past and create a new vision for Fort Lewis.

It started in 2019 with the establishment of the Committee on FLC History and a multi-year conversation about the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School and its historical impact on Indigenous students and communities. Fort Lewis also consulted with multiple tribes in the rewording of its land acknowledgement recognizing them as the original stewards of the boarding school and college lands “to give it a living perspective,” Lee said. The school’s board of trustees created a “resolution on commitment to reconciliation” that “supports and endorses a comprehensive approach focused on healing, maintaining respectful and reciprocal relationships with Tribal Nations and Indigenous communities, and caring for Indigenous students at Fort Lewis College.”

A tribal advisory council now provides opportunities to students from tribal nations and communities, explores opportunities to collaborate and partner with them, and keeps them up-to-date on the school’s reconciliation work regarding the federal boarding school history.

And there was the removal of the panels, which Lee ultimately gets credit for.

During this period “was the discovery of the mass graves in Canada,” Stritikus said. “That’s what set us on the course to really involve tribal nations more directly. To say, ‘Hey, this is not just Fort Lewis. You need to make this decision with us.’” This is why they backed House Bill 1327, which was signed by Polis at Fort Lewis, he said.

But none of these significant steps toward reconciliation prepared students for the History Colorado report.

Students, the report and Fort Lewis’ support

Begay remembers a heaviness enveloping the campus once the report came out. Students were invited to meet in the Native American Center with Shotton, Stritikus and faculty from in the Center for Indigenous Research, Culture and Language space. Faculty from the sociology department and representatives from the Sexual Assault Services Organization also came. The group went through the report in detail. It took four hours.

“It was very hard reading the report, knowing my people were the highest number to go to the boarding school,” Begay said. Navajo students outnumbered others by more than three times at the school. “That was the hardest thing because I didn’t think it was that many. It was also a very emotional day across the school and we were crying together.”

Begay texted her mother and then called her. “And I started crying because I was like, this is what they did to our relatives, Mom. This is what they done to us. And the first person I thought of was my grandma, who went to boarding school but she barely talks about it. She told me a few things that they did do to her but it wasn’t as harsh as what she was seeing her classmates getting. But I tend to see with my grandma how it definitely impacted her.”

“But I feel like the faculty were like, ‘Oh, this happened, but you guys have schoolwork,’” she continued. “And we were like, ‘We understand, we understand that.’

“But they also needed to understand that our people never came back and we are intertwined together,” she added. “Knowing we were experiencing that and knowing some professors were, like, ‘You still have a paper to do, you still have an exam to do.’ No, they did not get it.”

Leonetti said the day after the report came out, none of her teachers talked about it in class. “None of them even acknowledged it. I didn’t go to classes all day the day it was released, and I had one professor mark me as absent — even though there was a facultywide email sent out telling faculty to give students leniency. So I had to go talk to that professor and explain like, ‘Hey, I was kind of going through it that day. You’re supposed to excuse me.’”

And Gonzales said while the Native American Indigenous Studies and psychology departments gave her leniency that week, by the following week “it just, they just stopped talking about it. And then, I like to nag people a lot. I like to be very upfront. So every now and then, if we’re talking about a topic, I’ll be, like, ‘Oh, remember the boarding school? Remember when the report came out?’”

Fort Lewis College’s student-run magazine, The Independent, reported that two days after the report was released, administration established a “resilience room” where the school community could “reflect, relax and heal.” Free therapy sessions were offered through the counseling center. And in late October, Jennie Sturm, a geophysical archaeologist History Colorado hired to search the boarding school grounds for graves using ground-penetrating radar, came to Fort Lewis and held a listening session with students to go over her findings.

COVID kept Norton, from History Colorado, from attending but she said there was good turnout and the students were “very engaged.” School administrators “and Dr. Shotton, in particular” were “really concerned about the students and how they were experiencing this and what their perceptions and reactions were and to how best to care for them.”

Begay, Leonetti and Gonzales agree that Stritikus and the Indigenous faculty and staff have been available and supportive throughout the reconciliation process.

“When the president decided, when we all decided, to take the panels down, I remember a lot of my friends that are Native were, like, ‘Oh, that’s a win for us knowing that we’re slowly getting ourselves back, that Fort Lewis is finally listening to us,’” Begay said.

And with the boarding school report, Leonetti said, “I feel like Tom did a really good job. I talked to him the week that happened and he was very supportive.”

When Stritikus heard this feedback during an interview with The Colorado Sun on March 29, he seemed delighted.

“When we started this work, when I came on the campus, what I felt was that for as Indigenous as we were, in a school that had been doing Native American waivers since the beginning of time, the Native American students were not visible in the way that they should be. Thinking way back, this has always been about building an inclusive community for students, and a place where students could show up as their whole selves.”

“So the fact that students met with you and said they both appreciated what the president did but had critiques for the president, that’s awesome,” he added. “Because to me, that says no matter what, at the end of the day, we’ve created a culture where students get to share what they think, show up as who they are and voice their opinions. I’m elated that students are sharing their thoughts with people, as we’ve tried to create that culture from the beginning.”

And as for the school’s response to students in the aftermath of the release, Stritikus said, “our team, certainly on the week the report came out and the week after, did an incredible job of supporting students. So students who feel like, ‘wait a minute. We put this report on the shelf. What’s happening here?’ That’s a fair point we should listen to, but what I also always try to talk about is this is less about history. We’re not a museum. We’re not a historical society. We’re an educational institution.

“So the momentum that should be created from the report is that responsibility Dr. Shotton has so clearly laid out,” he added. “Fort Lewis has an obligation to build in the students those things that the boarding school took away — language, wellness, leadership and Indigenous ways of knowing.”

The mission will have to carry on without Stritikus. He has been hired as president of Occidental College in Los Angeles. His last act at Fort Lewis was presiding over graduation Saturday.

Lee said, “We’re still working through reconciliation as an institution and will even after Tom leaves. It’s in our board of trustees resolution and they are committed to supporting our Indigenous students even as anti-DEI measures are happening in other states.”

Moving through generational trauma into a brighter future

The History Colorado report says collectively, the “suite of negative impacts” inflicted on Native Americans through the federal government’s assimilation process “is often referred to as intergenerational trauma. This is a widely accepted concept that trauma experienced by an individual can be passed down to subsequent generations, psychologically, emotionally and even physically.”

Fort Lewis student Shenay Atene, who is Diné from Monument Valley, Utah, and a psychology major who graduated Saturday, said this trauma is sometimes expressed in drug and alcohol abuse among some Native Americans “and it can lead to everything else, and they can even pass away from it.”

One way Fort Lewis Indigenous students have coped through the reconciliation process is by creating art about their history and experiences.

Atene participated in an exhibit through the Center of Southwest Studies called As Seeds We Grow: Student Reflections on Resilience, which explored student identity and cultural resilience with consideration to the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School history.

The United States has 183 Bureau of Indian Education-funded elementary and secondary schools and residential facilities, of which 55 are bureau-operated and 128 are tribally controlled. They are nothing like the boarding schools of the past.

Atene has a complicated relationship with boarding schools. From first through eighth grade, she attended Kayenta Community School in Kayenta, Arizona. She didn’t want to go; her father made her. He said he wanted her to be independent, but the experience was difficult.

Not in the way the original Native American boarding schools were in Colorado — not even close to that, she said. But as a little girl, she went to bed at night fearing someone would hurt her or steal her. Shenay’s grandparents attended the kind of boarding schools where students were punished for speaking their language. Speaking Navajo was discouraged when her dad, now in his 50s, attended.

Learning details about the Fort Lewis Indian Boarding School and relating them to the fact that her parents sent her to a boarding school evoked emotional trauma that Atene needed therapy to process. “I didn’t necessarily need to work through it,” she said, “but to realize what I went through was hard.”

One way she healed at Fort Lewis was through facilitating a traditional sheep butchering on the Old Fort grounds. When reports of Indigenous child abuse started surfacing in Canada, she said, the kill became “much more meaningful.”

“The way the Navajo people heal is through community and that’s through food,” she said. “What better way to process the boarding school information than through traditional foods? Slaughtering a sheep on the old boarding school grounds meant so much more because they couldn’t have that. We really are our ancestors’ wildest dreams.”

In the As Seeds We Grow exhibit, she contributed the traditional Native American jingle dress she wore throughout her childhood, which went with her “from different states to different schools.”

She wore the necklace and belt she danced in starting at age 5. They among the few remaining items she has from her grandmother.

Three paintings she made recall her years in boarding school. The most powerful is called “The Nights,” about which she wrote, “There were always girls that cried through the night, but we never spoke about it with each other. It wasn’t until after a few months of being in Peewee Hall that I accepted that this was my life. This was our life.”

In March, she described the work she did for the exhibit as “healing.” But, she added, at home, where her pieces are now safely stowed, she keeps “The Nights,” which has dark swirls coming out of a door with a window through which she imagined she was being watched, covered with a sheet.

There is still healing to be done. And History Colorado has yet to fulfill its entire mission mandated by House Bill 1327. It is ordered to collect oral histories to help deepen what’s known about the boarding school experience. But Norton doesn’t know if the oral histories are needed.

In the report, she asks the state to “identify the purposes” of them, saying, “It cannot be simply a performative action.”

“Many people note that their parents and grandparents did not speak at great length about their experiences,” she said, cautioning, “oral histories must serve a greater purpose than simply recording the trauma of already victimized people, who do not owe the state their emotions or stories.”

New legislation currently under consideration requests an additional $1 million for History Colorado to continue its research through 2027.

Meanwhile, Atene graduated Saturday and now is off on a journey to become an Indigenous geriatric psychologist, a career she’s inventing to help the elders in her community. She said her experience at Fort Lewis was “amazing because of all the supportive staff and faculty. They helped me learn how to become a leader, embrace my past, and make it a useful tool when helping others.”

When she thought about the momentous occasion, she was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “We’re Native in a Western educational institution. Who would have thought 200 years ago this would have happened? We’re our ancestors’ prayers coming through.”

Tuesday, April 16, 2024

Today I Learned


The whole story is far more gruesome than what's related on the historical marker. This joint has been pretty fucked up for as long as we've been here.


Sunday, March 17, 2024

55 Years

It's getting to be a very long time ago.

On Danish TV, March 17, 1969.

Monday, November 13, 2023

Nancy MacLean

We pay attention to things so we're less likely to be fooled.
  • We pay attention to our health so pharmaceutical ads are less deceiving
  • We pay attention to economics so we're not as likely to be deceived by "Financial Reporters" telling us about indicators - leading or trailing or Market Basket or Durable Goods or interest rates or whatever
  • We pay attention to politics so we won't be fooled so often by demagogues and dog-assed Republicans




GOP megadonor pours millions into effort to hinder Ohio abortion amendment

New campaign finance records show Illinois Republican megadonor Richard Uihlein is funding the bulk of the campaign aimed at thwarting a constitutional amendment on abortion in Ohio.

Ohio is likely the only state this year to have a measure on the ballot to enshrine abortion access into the state constitution, setting up a test case for how the issue may drive voters ahead of the 2024 presidential election. A USA TODAY Network/Suffolk University poll released this week found 58% of Ohioans support a constitutional amendment.

That support may not be enough to pass. Currently, such amendments require support from a simple majority — 50% + 1 vote. But the GOP-led state legislature set up a special election for Aug. 8 to raise the threshold to 60%. That measure is known as Ohio Issue 1.

Uihlein, an Illinois shipping supplies magnate with a history of donations to anti-abortion groups, was the top funder of Protect our Constitution, the main group supporting Issue 1. Uihlein gave $4 million to the group, the bulk of the $4.85 million raised.

Last month, a CBS News investigation found Uihlein had an outsized role in getting Issue 1 on the ballot. In April, he gave $1.1 million to a political committee pressuring Republican lawmakers to approve the August special election. Financial disclosures show a foundation controlled by Uihlein has given nearly $18 million to a Florida-based organization pushing similar changes to the constitutional amendment process in states across the country.

Uihlein didn't immediately respond to a request for comment.

Ohio Republicans pushing to change the rules over constitutional amendments originally billed the effort as one that would prevent outside interests from influencing the state constitution. But supporters, including Secretary of State Frank LaRose, have since acknowledged the change would make it harder for a constitutional amendment on abortion to pass.

Last year, voters in Kansas and Michigan chose to preserve abortion access in their state constitutions with just under 60% approval.

Once the August special election was approved, money began to flow in on both sides. The central group opposed to raising the threshold for passing an amendment to 60%, One Person One Vote, raised a total of $14.4 million. The Sixteen Thirty Fund gave $2.5 million to the effort, campaign finance records show. The group, based in Washington D.C., has spent millions on left-leaning causes, including the campaign against the confirmation of then-Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh.

Thursday, October 26, 2023

Bye Bye Uncle Bob




Charlottesville’s Lee statue meets its end, in a 2,250-degree furnace

Melted down in secret, the divisive Confederate monument will be turned into a new piece of public art


SOMEWHERE IN THE U.S. SOUTH — It was a choice to melt down Robert E. Lee. But it would have been a choice to keep him intact, too.

So the statue of the Confederate general that once stood in Charlottesville — the one that prompted the deadly “Unite the Right” rally in 2017 — was now being cut into fragments and dropped into a furnace, dissolving into a sludge of glowing bronze.

Six years ago, groups with ties to the Confederacy had sued to stop the monument from being taken down. Torch-bearing white nationalists descended on the Virginia college town to protest its removal, and one man drove his car through a crowd of counterprotesters, killing 32-year-old Heather Heyer and injuring 35 others.

The statue’s defenders more recently sought to block the city from handing Lee over to Charlottesville’s Black history museum, which proposed a plan to repurpose the metal. In a lawsuit, those plaintiffs suggested the monument should remain intact or be turned into Civil War-style cannons. But on Saturday the museum went ahead with its plan in secret at this small Southern foundry, in a town and state The Washington Post agreed not to name because of participants’ fears of violence.

“Well, they can’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again,” said Andrea Douglas, the museum’s executive director, as she watched pieces of oxidized metal descend into the furnace. “There will be no tape for that.”

“No cannons,” added Jalane Schmidt, a University of Virginia religious studies professor standing beside her.

Swords Into Plowshares, a project led by the two women, will turn bronze ingots made from molten Lee into a new piece of public artwork to be displayed in Charlottesville. They made arrangements for Lee to be melted down while they started collecting ideas from city residents for that new sculpture.

Given past threats to the project and worries about legal action, Douglas, Schmidt and other organizers who traveled to this foundry in the American South took great pains to keep this part of the process under wraps. Only a few dozen people, including some who had housed or transported the dismembered figure of Lee, were invited to watch alongside them in secret. They plan to announce the feat at a news conference Thursday afternoon in Charlottesville.

As dozens of Confederate monuments have been toppled around the country, most others have been left to sit in storage or put up on Civil War battlefields that venerate the Lost Cause. A few have been exhibited in museums, where historians can add necessary context. But this might be the first Confederate monument to be melted, and each person witnessing the scene on Saturday had a different view of what it meant.

Some said the statue was being destroyed. Others called it a restoration. Depending on whom you asked, the bronze was being reclaimed, disrupted, or redeemed to a higher purpose. It was a grim act of justice and a celebration all in one.

Schmidt, who directs the Memory Project at U-Va.’s Karsh Institute of Democracy, said she felt like she was preparing for an execution of sorts — “like if there’s a rabid dog in the neighborhood that’s been hurting people, and it needs to be euthanized,” she said.

Still, that dark feeling was better than carting Charlottesville’s “white supremacist toxic waste” away to some other community.

“We are taking the moral risk associated with melting it down,” she added, “in the hope of creating something new.”

After the city took the statue down in July 2021, officials left it in a bus depot until voting to hand it over to the Jefferson School African American Heritage Center. In the two years since, the museum was forced to relocate Lee “on more than one occasion” because of safety concerns, Douglas said.

That happened under sometimes-urgent deadlines, amid security concerns and the logistical challenges of handling about 6,000 pounds of bronze. The metal requires a forklift to be moved even just a few yards, much less out of Virginia.

After the museum received the statue from the city but before it reached the foundry, Lee was cut down into nine pieces — although museum leaders declined to say where or when. The general’s head was removed from his body and his horse, Traveller, but it needed to be broken down further to fit into the small furnace here.

With a flash of bluish-white light and orange sparks, a trio of foundry workers carved seven long gashes into Lee’s severed head.

“It’s a better sculpture right now than it’s ever been,” one of the metal-casters said. “We’re taking away what it meant for some people and transforming it.”

All of this could have happened as early as January 2022. But once the lawsuit was filed to block the meltdown, the museum waited until a judge agreed to dismiss the case. A 30-day window for plaintiffs to appeal that decision expires Thursday afternoon.

The general’s head was hollow, save for a few traces of wax mold and some dirt and rust buildup inside. “I hope it doesn’t convey a message of hate on hate. It’s not that,” one of the foundrymen said. Below his face shield, he wore a black “Don’t Tread on Me” cap.

The foundry workers put the statue fragments into a metal cage, covered them in a blanket and then used a forklift to move them from the indoor workshop to the yard outside, where the small crowd started filling in to watch the action.

Douglas paid tribute to the nearly 15,000 enslaved people who lived in Charlottesville at the start of the Civil War and made up a majority of the town’s population. Schmidt spoke about the “moral risk” of keeping Confederate statues intact.

The Rev. Isaac Collins, a United Methodist minister who at one point helped transport the broken-apart statue, followed with a sermon over the jet-engine whir of the furnace. He and Schmidt had organized Bible studies suggesting that celebrating the Lost Cause through public statues was a sin, and he made a similar case as he cited Bible verses and told of Charlottesville’s history of cross-burnings and Jim Crow.

“There’s a different story about the South to be told, and to do that, we have to get rid of all these myths,” he told the group.

A tank of propane gas mixed with forced air from a blower to reach a scalding 2,250 degrees Fahrenheit in the furnace. Working in batches, the foundry workers put fragments of the Lee statue on top of the equipment to preheat them and remove any moisture.

One of them compared the process of melting bronze to cooking: Any water can cause a small explosion, and you don’t want hot metal bursting out of the machine. But the preheating was not a bad excuse to add some dramatic flair, as they set up the glow of the fire to reflect off the inside of Lee’s cracked, severed face.

In the five-year debate over whether it could be toppled, the monument had been “patrolled” by armed vigilante groups and vandalized with paint and graffiti by protesters. Residents fought over whether it should be shrouded in black cloth, and politicians on the campaign trail cited the statue as a symbol of either heritage or hatred.

In some ways, organizers said, that history only made this haunted spectacle feel more real. “Oh, my gosh. It’s like a Halloween movie back here,” Schmidt said as she walked around to view the face from the back. “That is creepy.”

Finding a foundry to take on a project like this one was hardly an easy task. Plenty of people said no. But the owner of this foundry, a Black man, said he didn’t feel like he had a choice.

“The risk is being targeted by people of hate, having my business damaged, having threats to family and friends,” he said, speaking on the condition of anonymity out of fear for his safety. Yet, “when you are approached with such an honor, especially to destroy hate, you have to do it.”

To him, melting the statue down meant the trauma will be gone when Black people pass squares where Confederate statues once stood. “It is time to dismantle this hate, this infection that has plagued our beautiful country,” he said. “It is time to rid these icons of hate.”

Hours later into the night, he and another metal-caster used a set of lifting tongs to pick up the crucible, a ceramic container that holds the bronze inside the furnace. They used a new one to avoid contaminating the metal with other materials. The crowd gathered to watch, oohing and aahing at the glowing barrel as it was lifted up.

If you took away the off-duty police officers brought on to guard the property, or the plastic tarp hiding it all from the street, it all started to feel something like a backyard bonfire.

There were toddlers eating pizza, parents in “Swords Into Plowshares” shirts sitting on lawn chairs, and old friends sipping from paper cups filled with champagne and bourbon. Some were reuniting after helping with the project at some point in the past two years, and many brought their families along to witness this small moment in history.

All of them, though, had been instructed to disable the location on their phones. Charlottesville activists have faced online attacks and had tiki torches planted in their front yards, and the organizers didn’t want a repeat incident here.

The furnace was hot enough that it should have easily turned the bronze into liquid. But the molten metal got thick and clumpy unusually fast, and the workers wondered whether there was something else — maybe some tin or lead? — corrupting the century-old material.

The metal had been cast while Charlottesville and the South were ruled by segregation and dedicated days after the Ku Klux Klan marched through town. Philanthropist Paul G. McIntire, whose prosperous enslaver father had been financially crippled by the Civil War, commissioned and donated the monument to the city.

“This metal has a lot of bad juju stuck in it,” the foundry owner said, studying the lumpy bronze. “It’s cursed.”

After the molds cooled, the foundry workers flipped them onto a pool of sand and banged on them so the ingots would fall out. They were streaked in different shades of brown, some of the engravings a little hard to see.

To Schmidt, it did not seem to particularly matter. The ingots were something to work with — something that took up a different kind of space in the world — and could allow them to imagine what form the metal might take on next.

This was merely the “end of the middle.” They had already faced lawsuits and protests, fought neo-Nazis and monument defenders, fended off attacks and worked in secret to get the bronze to this state. Now came the very public process of taking something ugly and making something beautiful.

“This is a relief,” she sighed. “This feels good to have material created. … It’s got to go forward.”

Monday, September 25, 2023

Today's Nerd Thing

The first permanent tools - the ones that were more than strictly ad hoc and disposable - probably predate our human ancestors.

"It is a testament to how difficult it is for intelligent life to emerge on a planet of tooth and claw."


Thursday, July 27, 2023

The Past Is Not Past


A coal miner lies dying of Black Lung Disease while his miner sons keep watch. West Virginia,1976.

The disease was most common in the 60s and 70s, but then incidence plummeted with the passage of mine safety laws.

Now it’s on the rise again.

Fuck Joe Manchin, and his dark money paymasters in the Dirty Fuels Cartel.

Thursday, July 20, 2023

Today's Today

With a special shout-out to Stanley Kubrick for making it all look so real.

Monday, May 01, 2023

It's May

This is the time of year when the hopeful dream of springtime awakens to the pleasant abundance of summer. When we think of renewal, and promise - and Nazis.

To Be Shot, as Dangerous Enemies of the Third Reich.
Arthur Szyk New York, 1943. 

Fuckin' Nazis.

The 8th day of May will mark 78 years since the end of The War In Europe. Hitler finally did us all a solid by painting the wall of Der Führerbunker with his brains yesterday (Apr 30), and the German generals got their shit together about a week later, managing to put an end to the shooting war.

We can also mark this as the end of the world plague known as The Nazi Party - although it should be obvious that there seems never to be an end to some seriously stoopid shit that infects people with the urge to conquer, and to dominate - and if we're honest - the desire to be conquered and dominated.

Shitty leaders of shitty cults don't get very far without shitty followers.

Humans are just kinda fucked up that way.

Anyway - here's a partial answer to the question, "What the fuck is up with them Nazi guys?"



Thursday, March 16, 2023

Odd Quotes




Google "this day in history" = 9.4 billion hits
Google "this day in black history" = 5.6 billion hits

So now all I need is a bot that will look to see how many "black history" events are included in the "history" results.


A cursory, randomly-clicking sampling is not encouraging.
  • White people living today are not to blame for the shitty things black people have had done to them - since even before 1619 - by WASPy white people in the past.
  • That doesn't mean we have no responsibility for what's going on now, and it has to be obvious that some shitty things are still happening to black people.

Saturday, March 04, 2023

The Lion Man


About 40,000 years ago, somebody carved a figure - a fetish - from a piece of mammoth ivory.

The thinking is that of course it's a religious thing. Cuz people back then were stupid and gullible. They couldn't possibly be trying to make sense of their own identities and the place in nature they occupy - contemplating the beginnings of life itself by thinking logically. It just had to be religion, because - well, it just had to be religion.

Maybe - just maybe - they were thinking about evolution instead of some bullshit religious fantasy. And maybe one of the really smart ones came up with the idea of visual aids in an attempt to explain how one life form leads to another life form.

It's just a guess. It's just my own ego telling me that as stupidly as we behave sometimes, humans are really pretty smart, and if we can figure out how to side-step the religious mumbo jumbo and the political fog that always accompanies religion, then maybe we can move this thing along a little better that what we've done so far.

Just sayin'.


Friday, January 27, 2023

Today's Today


On January 27, 1945, Auschwitz concentration camp—a Nazi extermination camp in occupied Poland where more than a million people were murdered as part of the Nazi's "final solution" to the Jewish question—was liberated by the Red Army during the Vistula–Oder Offensive.

Although most of the prisoners had been forced onto a death march, about 7,000 had been left behind. The Soviet soldiers attempted to help the survivors and were shocked at the scale of Nazi crimes.




Liberators and Survivors

Wednesday, November 30, 2022

A Long Time Ago


Ah, sweet bird of youth. Those halcyon days (and evenings of extensive inebriation) at The Bear's Den in Greeley Colorado.

50 years ago today. Atari Pong.

Thursday, September 15, 2022

Today's Today


September 15 to October 15 is National Hispanic American Heritage Month

The Library of Congress, National Archives and Records Administration, National Endowment for the Humanities, National Gallery of Art, National Park Service, Smithsonian Institution and United States Holocaust Memorial Museum join in paying tribute to the generations of Hispanic Americans who have positively influenced and enriched our nation and society.

Interconnecting Worlds: Weaving Community Narratives, Andean Histories & the Library's Collections

¡Haykuykamuy! The Hispanic Reading Room at the Library of Congress welcomes you to Interconnecting Worlds: Weaving Community Narratives, Andean Histories & the Library's Collections. In this guide, with resources in English, Spanish and Quechua, we seek to facilitate research about Andean peoples, cultures, and knowledges through the themes of language, storytelling and literature, visual arts, and music.

Explore the Research Guide

Sunday, September 04, 2022

History Redux

Why do we study History?

Tim Wise, at UC Santa Barbara 5 years ago.

Monday, July 11, 2022

Today's History Lesson

Teach it like this and you'd get more people who give a fuck about where they live.

Of course, it's not so much their fault. They've been told for 40 years that they don't need to know anything.

And now they're being "taught" all the wrong shit, and that they shouldn't think at all if they know what's good 'em - which of course they don't because nobody will teach them anything anyway.

We gotta figure how to unfuck this joint.

The American Revolution Oversimplified - Part 1


Part 2

Monday, May 16, 2022

On Walls

Aside from the fact that I love listening to anyone with a Scots accent, this guy makes some great points - especially right at the end.

We may be sold the idea that the wall is to keep "those people" out, but one unintended consequence - sometimes a consequence which is absolutely intended - is keeping people in.

Bruce Fummey - Scotland History Tours

Thursday, May 12, 2022

Today's Today

Were you born OK?

Were you properly tended to thru your childhood - immunizations, growth charts, nutrition, etc?

Look up a few nurses and buy them some flowers and some candy and a sports car and a condo.

We go 50 or 60 or 80 years being looked after and comforted and cared for mostly by nurses, and it's the doctors who make all the money and get the fond remembrances written up in the local newspapers when they croak.

Don't get me wrong - docs are in there pullin' hard, and they deserve recognition and reward.

But it's the nurses who carry the heavy end of the boat. Without them, modern healthcare doesn't work for shit. The payoff for them is always more than a little short.


Florence Nightingale May 12, 1820 - August 12, 1910

Simon Whistler with a biography: 

Thursday, January 13, 2022

Big History


They knew the history, and so they knew something like COVID was coming 15 years ago.

Bush didn't do enough - IMO because he was too busy fuckin' around with the Cheney/Rumsfeld project to conquer the oil world.

Obama took it more seriously, and managed to do more, but still not enough - IMO because of little public interest in it, and (largely) Republican fuckery, ie: "sequestration" as a means to hamstring progressive policies.

45* comes along and shit-cans the whole structure - on purpose - in order to destabilize the government and open the way to authoritarian plutocratic rule.

And now we're on our way to a million dead Americans, as our system of democratic self-governance is teetering on the brink.

The last 3 chapters plus the afterword go a long way towards explaining how stupidly we've been acting.

Thursday, December 23, 2021

The Fantasy Industrial Complex

Kurt Anderson - How America Went Haywire


Safe to say - there is no "Real America". This whole enterprise is built on a nebulous phrase in the preamble of our constitution.

"...in order to form a more perfect union..."

It's our great strength - we understand that while perfection is unattainable, we can always make it a little better "for ourselves and our posterity" if we can deal straight with each other, and just keep the thing moving forward.

At the same time, it can be our great weakness. Because evil men will always be looking for opportunities to pervert and twist the meaning of words, in order to take good people's desire simply to be treated fairly and to live in peace - and use it as a weapon against them.