Which way to turn?

The intersection of N. Hackett, A. Yell

If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, perhaps it’s no surprise public recognition of historical figures involves at least an equal amount of subjectivity.

As an artist’s painting is made up of many strokes, so goes the lives of people in our national, state and local history whose time on Earth rose above the average, but still important, stories of their time. No matter how hard the artist tries, his or her painting can only capture certain qualities of the subject, not a totality. Public recognitions are limited in much the same way, leaving the observer to make personal decisions about what they mean and what they don’t.

We’ve witnessed in recent years how combative the fights over monuments and statues have become elsewhere. In that context, the Arkansas Legislature tipped its hat to the “Lost Cause” narrative of the early 1900s when it, just last year, approved the Arkansas State Capitol and Historical Monument Protection Act. As they witnessed communities of the Old South take steps to acknowledge their harmful past celebrations of the Confederacy, Arkansas’ lawmakers wanted to draw a line in the dirt as recognizable as the Mason-Dixon Line. So, they passed the monuments law that prohibits the removal, relocation, alteration or renaming of a memorial on public property, no matter whether the state had anything to do with the memorial. Forget local wishes. This is deemed too important to leave to communities who might recognize the monuments of yesteryear don’t reflect the image they wish to celebrate today.

Lawmakers, it seems, felt if a monument was good enough for the people of 1910 — long before civil rights, MLK, the end of barriers to Black people voting and the end of lynching — then it must be good enough for the Arkansas of 2022. Lawmakers stood up against those “libruls” who want to “erase” history — in other words, who support a more complete recognition of it beyond that of the majority voice from 100-plus years ago — and by law made it cumbersome, or maybe impossible, to effect 21st century change in public settings.

As far as we can tell, that law isn’t applicable to street names, so Fayetteville’s Black Heritage Preservation Committee can continue its proposal to exchange the name of Archibald Yell Boulevard — that curvy section between College Avenue downtown and School Avenue at the bottom of the hill to the south — and labeling that street Nelson Hackett Boulevard.

There’s not enough room here to tell Hackett’s full story. Readers can learn more at the website of a University of Arkansas professor’s project exploring Hackett’s life after his 1841 escape from slavery in Fayetteville and the international debate over slavery that his circumstances sparked. It can be found at https://nelsonhackettproject.uark.edu.

Yell was the second governor of Arkansas and among those considered historic founders of Fayetteville. He also played a role in convincing Canada to return Hackett from his pursuit of freedom and humanity back into the institution of slavery in Fayetteville.

The street in Fayetteville was named after Yell in the early 1950s as the town’s leaders looked for a way to recognize local history with the naming of a new street to help traffic bypass the downtown square. Chances are they’d never heard of Hackett, whose achievements in life were limited by the bondage in which he and so many others were involuntarily kept.

Admirably, the Black Heritage Preservation Commission recognized Hackett as a significant historical figure to help Fayetteville relate parts of its history insufficiently told through local recognitions, markers or monuments. As City Council member D’Andre Jones says, it’s time to tell a different kind of history. That would include the contributions of and impacts to people whose lives and achievements were artificially limited by slavery and discrimination.

As with works of art, the debate over whether and how to recognize historical figures has a tendency to lead people toward many conclusions. Every painting that hangs at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art can elicit wonder-filled exhilaration in one viewer and head-shaking dismissal by another.

Likewise, the recent days of mourning for Queen Elizabeth II have been filled with adoration and respectful recollections. But it also didn’t take long for voices of disdain for the monarchy and, specifically, her role in it to be lifted. “Lizzy’s in a box,” sang some soccer fans at a match in Dublin, not long after the queen’s death, as they recalled oppression under the British empire.

The point is there can hardly be an expectation of unanimity on matters so deeply informed by individual passions and collective knowledge that can be interpreted multiple ways. No one comes to history with complete objectivity, so perhaps it’s amazing any historic figure’s life can withstand the scrutiny involved in decisions to bestow certain honors upon them.

Let’s acknowledge there’s hardly a soul from 100, 200 or more years ago whose life can withstand modern purity tests. It’s challenging enough to find someone meritorious enough to be recognized. The task becomes even more difficult if the person’s choices are lifted out of their time and measured against the sensibilities of 2022.

Nevertheless, we humans still feel a compulsion to highlight people, places and things that, for lack of a better description, help establish what we may identify as our American, Arkansan or local culture.

It was easier decades ago to decide when and how to recognize someone with a monument or naming of some public facility, because many voices simply went unheard. The people making those decisions may or may not have been driven by active antipathy toward the history of people not like them, but they weren’t likely to be major proponents of it, either.

Telling the story of Fayetteville is incomplete without a conscious inclusion of Nelson Hackett’s fate and its impact felt round the world. If banishment of Archibald Yell’s name from a major thoroughfare achieves that, perhaps it’s time city leaders embrace the change. After 70 years, perhaps the boldest statement possible isn’t just to say “also,” but “instead of” when it comes to whose story that street celebrates.

Plus, there’s a practical reality that suggests the outcome. No matter how famous someone might have been 180 years ago, dead people don’t get a vote in modern City Council elections. Those eager to embrace a more inclusive telling of local history can vote.