In the shadow of the obelisk

After the obelisk: We can do better

So the obelisk is gone. As a citizen, and as a person who makes his living writing about history, I have to deplore the way it was removed. But the deed is done, and now we must turn our attentions to what will replace it.

I always found the obelisk underwhelming, and frankly, a bit gothic and depressing. As is well known, it honored Union soldiers from New Mexico who fought against the Confederates from Texas, but also those who fought against the “savage Indians”— the word “savage” having later been chiseled out. For me, that unfortunate bit of language alone made the obelisk an unwelcome fixture, something unfit for our most conspicuous of public places.

What a forlorn message is expressed, what a dismal symbol it offered, for our great city. Why were we dedicating our most cherished space to memorializing our violent past? And how could we be so tone deaf to our Native American brothers and sisters, who must necessarily view that austere slab of stone as an affront to their ancestors? To me, it was an astonishing lapse in our civic imagination that for more that 150 years, this was simply the best we could do.

All the same, the obelisk shouldn’t have been toppled, shouldn’t have been left to the whims of vandals and mob rule. I’m emphatically in the anti-vandalism camp. If the obelisk was controversial, it was also a consequential piece of our civic furniture, and it belonged somewhere. We could have respectfully moved it to a dignified place in the National Cemetery (where many of the soldiers it memorializes lay buried). We could have placed it at the Valverde or Glorieta battlefields, where many of those men fought bravely and gave their lives. Or we could have found a home for it in the New Mexico History Museum, where it would have been preserved in perpetuity, with proper context, as a relic giving voice to the authentic sentiments of the times in which it was originally erected.

Regrettably, none of these alternatives was pursued: Instead, a rope, a chain and a mob decided the obelisk’s fate.

In truth, beyond its controversial nature, I thought the obelisk was sorely lacking in aesthetic appeal. I know it had its defenders, but to me, it was drab and dreary and tired. Most of all, it was unoriginal. How many town squares across the land have a a stone marker memorializing warriors from the past?

Obelisks are a dime a dozen — a cliché. We proudly call ourselves the City Different. But here, at the very nerve center of our community, we were the City Conventional. As far as I can tell, the obelisk was there largely out of inertia: We just couldn’t come up with something better.

So now, I say, let’s come up with something better. If there’s one good thing that can be said about the obelisk’s sudden and violent obliteration, it’s that it provides a fresh and compelling opportunity for the city to do something big and bold and beautiful.

Here’s an idea: We as a city should hold an

ambitious public competition, with a handsome prize attached to it (in much the way that Maya Lin’s design for the Vietnam Memorial on the Mall emerged from a public contest). The competition would invite artists, architects, designers and visionaries to submit their best ideas and drawings for what should replace the obelisk. The goal would be to arrive at something utterly original and arresting, something unique to our city, something forward-looking that celebrates all the cultures that make Santa Fe great.

Our Plaza is the nucleus, the literal and metaphorical focal point of our city. Why not erect something we can all be proud of ? An inviting, world-class feature, or structure, or work of art that draws in every citizen from every background. Something that puts a smile on every face. Something that attracts people, instead of driving them away.

Spain has its extraordinary plazas, full of sculpture, light and life. Rome has its majestic fountains. Oaxaca has its glorious zócalo. Our own Plaza should be just such a space — and at its center, it should be graced by something completely new and different that could become a signature of Santa Fe. We’re a city known the world over for our artists and visionaries; let us tap into that innate creative spirit and conjure up some iconic and lovely thing in place of that dingy old obelisk.

Narrative historian Hampton Sides is the author of Blood and Thunder, On Desperate Ground and other bestselling books.