Family ties examined as monuments removed
Descendants of those whose statues are coming down are confronting history
Clayton Wickham, 28, said he used to think of the statue of his great-great-great-grandfather as “just a statue that had my name on it that was kind of cool to walk by every now and then.”
But as Wickham learned more about his ancestor, the statue became a source of discomfort, and then of shame.
And so when protesters in Richmond recently tore down the bronze statue of Williams Carter Wickham, a Confederate general and plantation owner, Wickham was glad to see it fall.
Not all the Wickhams were happy. But, as for Robert W. Lee IV, a great-great-great-greatnephew of the Confederate general, and Frank Rizzo Jr., the son of the former Philadelphia mayor, the toppling of monuments across the country has been a reevaluation of both the nation’s history and their family story.
The police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis last month and the protests it set off have renewed efforts to remove statues of Confederate figures and others whose presence in public parks and along city plazas has grown more controversial.
Just over half of registered voters said in one recent poll that they supported removing Confederate statues from public spaces. In 2017, only 39% supported taking them down.
Wickham’s white descendants are among those who have changed their minds in recent years. In 1995, some paid to have the statue cleaned and polished as a gift to another family member. But several descendants had more recently urged officials in Richmond to remove the monument that was established in 1891.
Their views changed after they saw the white supremacist rally in Charlottesville in 2017, and after meeting with the descendant of one of the 275 people their ancestor had enslaved.
Reggie Harris, 67, is a descendant of both Wickham and Bibanna Hewlett, a black woman who was enslaved at Wickham’s plantation. For Harris, a musician and teacher, the statue has been a painful reminder of the abuse his family suffered and of America’s refusal to fully acknowledge its past.
Harris and some of Wickham’s other descendants met for dinner in 2012, and when the statue came up as a topic of conversation, they decided to visit it together.
“We all looked at each other and we said, ‘Well, what do we do with this?’” Harris recalled of their visit to the monument. “Because we had had conversations about our relationship, and trying to put that all in some perspective, and now we had this bronze and concrete memorial to this person who, you know, complicated history.”
Clayton Wickham and his brother Will wrote a letter to Richmond’s mayor in 2017, asking that the statue be removed, but it remained in place. Then, suddenly, protesters tied a rope around the statue this month and tore it down themselves. Harris said it was satisfying to see it topple.
On Wednesday, in a video call with two Wickhams and a reporter, he was also moved by how much his white relatives’ views had changed.
“I didn’t know that you had voted to have the statue cleaned a few years back and that now you were regretting that you’d done that,” he said to Clayton Wickham and Wickham’s aunt, Wallis Raemer, during the call. “That’s real stuff, that’s real history. That’s not this idealized thing of ‘let bygones be bygones.’ That’s people struggling with all those things that people talk about — legacy and heritage and adopting new thought.”
A similar union is playing out in North Augusta, South Carolina, where a white descendant of Thomas McKie Meriwether is urging the city to remove a monument to McKie Meriwether, the lone white man killed during the Hamburg Massacre of 1876, in which a group of white men attacked and killed several members of a black militia. After publicly pushing for the removal, Brittany Meriwether Williamson, the descendant, met and teamed up with Rodney Cainston Young, a black man who is a descendant of McKie Meriwether’s family and a woman enslaved by his family, WJBF-TV in Augusta, Georgia, reported.
But many descendants of figures knocked over by protesters or local governments are angry about the decisions.
In Jacksonville, Florida, one descendant of Charles Hemming, a Confederate soldier, told WJXT that he was frustrated the city’s mayor had removed a statue of Hemming without telling his family. And a group of descendants of Confederate soldiers in Mobile, Alabama, said they wanted the city to send a statue of Raphael Semmes, a Confederate admiral, to them after it was removed this month, according to AL.com.
The effort to dismantle Confederate statues has morphed into the removal of statues honoring more recent politicians and even to historical figures with legacies of fighting slavery. Activists in San Francisco last week toppled a statue of Ulysses S. Grant, the former president who led the Union army to victory and who also owned a slave whom he later freed. And in Madison, Wisconsin, on Tuesday night, demonstrators pulled down a statue of Hans Christian Heg, who died fighting for the Union in the Civil War.
But most of the protesters’ ire has been trained on Confederate statues, and among those urging their removal is an unexpected name: Robert E. Lee IV.
Lee, 27, grew up thinking of the Confederate general he is named after as a hero. He hung a Confederate flag in his bedroom until middle school, when a mentor urged him to take it down, and he was proud of his Southern heritage, believing in its “lost cause” mythology.
The turning point came when he saw throngs of white supremacists rally around his ancestor’s statue in Charlottesville in 2017.
“You want to love your family, you want to be proud of your family, you want to be proud of your name, you want your name to mean something,” said Lee, a pastor. “So this has been quite hard for me.”
At the same time, he said, it is liberating to publicly atone for his family’s past, and to be part of correcting how Lee, a slave owner with many racist beliefs, is remembered.
Shortly after the police killing of Floyd, Gov. Ralph Northam said he would move to take down the statue of Lee, and the protests sweeping the nation have also influenced Lee’s father.
“He looked at me the other day, on Father’s Day actually, and he said, ‘You know, I’ve really thought about this a lot, and I’m seeing that it’s hurting people, the statues staying up,’” Lee recalled.
Harris said protesters’ destruction of some monuments could create animosity among those opposed to their removal, but he noted that the Wickhams had unsuccessfully tried to get the ball rolling for years.
“So often, as they say, if you don’t adapt, you kind of get run over by the change as it comes through,” Harris said.
In Raleigh, North Carolina, a statue of Josephus Daniels was pulled down this month at the request of a group of his descendants. Daniels, a former publisher and editor of The News & Observer,
championed white supremacist views and helped to incite the 1898 massacre in Wilmington, North Carolina, in which black businesses were burned and dozens of black people were killed.
Frank Daniels III said the family decided to remove the statue to show support for the racial justice movement. He said it had been difficult for some older family members who knew Josephus Daniels personally and who feel like the decision has opened the family’s history up to public criticism.
But being in control of the process, allowing the family to move the statue somewhere private, has made it easier, Frank Daniels said.
“We’ve tried to make this a rational and logical step and not an emotional step,” he said. “The whole reason to be proactive was to take public emotion out of it and make it something private to the family. We would rather be seen as contributors to the conversation than reactors.”
In Sacramento, a statue of John Sutter, who settled in California during the gold rush and was said to have enslaved Native Americans, was recently removed from Sutter Medical Center after being vandalized.
Sutter’s great-great-grandson Ron Sutter, 72, said he understood why the hospital removed the statue but did not agree with the decision.
“I’m not into revisionist history,” Sutter said. “That being said, certain statues and monuments are considered insensitive, and I understand their removal.”
Frank Rizzo Jr. said Philadelphia’s move to take down a statue of his father, Frank Rizzo — a former mayor and police chief whom many saw as abusive toward black and gay people — was the result of politicians who were too willing to cave to a vocal minority.
He said that when the statue of his father was unveiled in the late 1990s, politicians of all stripes attended the ceremony.
“I don’t see anybody trying to stop this destruction,” Rizzo said of statues being removed in Pennsylvania and elsewhere. “I understand that these are tough times in the United States recently, but it’s to the point now where I think it’s getting out of control.”
Still, he said, taking down the statue of his father waving to constituents could not erase his memories.
“The people who care about Philadelphia,” he said, “will still remember Frank Rizzo, with a statue or without a statue.”