Tomorrow is a big day—and not because it’s Independence Day in the United States (though I do wish my compatriots a very Happy Fourth from afar). It’s a big day because tomorrow, July 4th, marks the day that pubs are reopening in England.
Stop. Did you hear that? That’s the sound of Brits shedding tears of pure, unadulterated joy into their empty pint glasses.
It’s not just the pubs that are coming back. It’s also restaurants, hairdressers (thank god), and a myriad of other businesses that the British government has deemed safe to reopen so long as appropriate social distancing measures are put in place. Still, the return of pubs is pretty special in its own right. As I wrote last year, pubs are more than just places for Brits to drink—they are where people go to socialize, to relax, and to feel less alone. It’s no wonder “virtual pubs” became so popular during lockdown. After several long months of social isolation, I think many folks will be happy to have pubs back, even in their slightly altered state. I know I will.
What I’ve written
I only have one piece to share in this edition of the newsletter, and it’s about statues.
You’ve no doubt heard about the global debate over what should be done with monuments to figures whose reputations have aged poorly, from Confederate and racist leaders in the United States to slave traders and imperialists in Europe. You’ve also probably heard about some of the proposed solutions: Put them in a museum! Add a contextualizing plaque! Tear them down!
I propose another way: A statue of limitations, whereby towns and cities would be required to hold periodic assessments of their monuments in order to decide whether to maintain them as they are, reimagine them, or remove them from the public square for good. Such discussions would do more than simply democratize the process by which we think about statues and their purpose. They would also help dispel of the notion that statues are history (as one historian told me, “They are symbols”) and combat the simplistic view that historical figures can only ever be heroes or villains (sometimes they’re both).
Perhaps most importantly, these discussions would give communities the space to reflect on which statues they think best reflect the values of their society—a process that is as much about toppling old statues as it is about putting up new ones. I mean, when’s the last time you saw a monument to a woman? A statue of limitations could help change that.
You can read my case for a statue of limitations here. (And for the avoidance of doubt, I didn’t write this piece because of the pun … though it definitely helped.)
What I’ve read
This extraordinary piece of writing by Caroline Randall Williams really ought to be the last word on Confederate monuments:
“I have rape-colored skin. My light-brown-blackness is a living testament to the rules, the practices, the causes of the Old South. If there are those who want to remember the legacy of the Confederacy, if they want monuments, well, then, my body is a monument. My skin is a monument.”
This thoughtful essay by Marie Le Conte about what it’s like to be in the eye of a Twitter storm:
“It’s hard to describe what it feels like, being the main character on Twitter. People tweet at you, at first to criticise what you said, then insulting you for what you said, then trying to find other things you said to criticise and insult you for, then moving on to discussing your appearance, what you may be like in bed, and anything else they can think of. They also tweet about you, which is more disconcerting if you aren’t a celebrity, which I am not. They are no longer talking to you but about you to each other; it’s a book club and you’re the book.”
This superb piece by my colleague Tom McTague on America’s uniquely humiliating moment:
“As citizens of the world the United States created, we are accustomed to listening to those who loathe America, admire America, and fear America (sometimes all at the same time). But feeling pity for America? That one is new, even if the schadenfreude is painfully myopic. If it’s the aesthetic that matters, the U.S. today simply doesn’t look like the country that the rest of us should aspire to, envy, or replicate.”
What I’m thinking about
I recently learned that James Baldwin, the great American essayist, used to identify as a “transatlantic commuter.” Despite having spent most of his life abroad, he always considered himself an American writer, not an expatriate:
“I never intended to come back to this country ... [But] I am an American writer. My subject is my country. [So] I had to come back to check my impressions, and, as it turned out, to be stung again, to look at it again, bear it again, and to be reconciled to it again. Now, I imagine, I will have to spend the rest of my life as a kind of transatlantic commuter. At some point when I’m in this country, I always get to the place where I realize that I don’t see it very clearly, because it is very exhausting ... so that I suppose I’ll keep going away and coming back.”
I’m similarly drawn to this label, and not just because I dislike the term “expat” (more on that here). To tell the truth, I’ve never felt more American than after I moved away from the United States. And nearly three years on, I can’t help but keen an eye on home. As Baldwin told The New York Times, “Once I found myself on the other side of the ocean, I could see where I came from very clearly.” I too feel like I can see home more clearly from afar, even if the view isn’t a particularly great one right now.
I’ve also been thinking about the annoying accuracy of this tweet:
Until next time,
Yasmeen
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