In parks, and city squares, monuments stand as silent witnesses to the passage of time. They represent a moment in which they didn’t yet live, and in most cases they embody memories of the past. Yet, in recent years, these statues have become anything but silent, sparking protests, debates, and even violence. From the Confederate generals of the United States to the towering statues of Vladimir the Great in Russia, these monuments embody more than stone and bronze—they are battlegrounds for competing narratives – different visions of history and identity.
In the United States, the debate over Confederate statues reached a fever pitch in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017. A rally defending a statue of Robert E. Lee erupted into violence, underscoring the deep divisions over how we remember the US Civil War. Critics argue that these statues glorify a Confederate cause rooted in the defence of slavery, and they point out that most were erected not immediately after the Civil War but during the Jim Crow era. Their purpose, many contend, was clear: to intimidate those fighting for civil rights and reassert white supremacy.
Proponents of preserving the statues, however, often frame them as heritage, not hate. For them, the monuments honour history, not ideology. But history, as many a historian will tell you, is never neutral, especially when the past is framed in a political movement. It is shaped by those who wield power, and the statues in question often represent a selective and sanitised version of the past.
Across the globe in Russia, another set of statues stirs its own controversies. The 17-meter statue of Vladimir the Great, unveiled with great fanfare, celebrates the 10th-century ruler who brought Orthodox Christianity to Kievan Rus. Russian President Vladimir Putin hailed Vladimir as a foundational figure of Russian identity, describing the monument as a reminder of “solidarity and unity”.
But the politics of this statue loom large. Vladimir’s legacy is also claimed by Ukraine, and the monument’s prominence feels less like an apolitical celebration of history and more like a symbolic assertion of Russia’s dominance over its neighbour. In this context, the statue is not merely a historical homage but a statement of geopolitical ambition.
Similarly, the unveiling of a monument to Tsar Alexander III in Crimea—territory annexed by Russia in 2014—has been criticised for historical inaccuracies. Social media erupted over mistakes in the monument’s design, overshadowing even Putin’s speech. Here, as in Charlottesville, the controversy reveals how monuments can serve as lightning rods for larger disputes over national identity and historical truth.
These examples remind us that monuments are in some ways arguments cast in stone; symbols of who we were, who we are, and who we aspire to be. They tell us which figures we choose to revere, and whose stories we erase. This of course is nothing new, and since Roman times, statues have been erected and torn down in response to a particular historical event or moment. Monuments may be carved in stone, but the narratives they represent are anything but fixed. And that, perhaps, is their greatest lesson.
Your War Diarists,
Tony & Max
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