Relics of an inconvenient past

In Baltimore, a mayoral task force recently voted to evict monuments honoring confederate leaders Robert E. Lee and Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson and former Chief Justice Roger B. Taney, architect of the infamous Dred Scott decision, from public parks.

The task force’s decision is the latest manifestation of a growing desire in some quarters to purge evidence of the more unseemly aspects of American history from the landscape.

{mosads}Last summer, activists proposed eliminating the Stone Mountain Confederate Memorial Carving in Georgia.  In Memphis, protesters literally took a shovel to the tomb of Confederate General Nathan Bedford Forrest, founder of the Ku Klux Klan.  

The philosopher George Satayana famously said, “Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it.” A monument installed long ago in a town square or park no longer necessarily celebrates the actions of the individuals it was intended to honor. These tarnished artifacts can also demonstrate our journey as a people.

Relics of the past can remind us that who we were may no longer be representative of who we are.

Nonetheless, if we have reached the point that eradicating unfortunate aspects of our past is now a thing, perhaps we should do something about an unfortunately named structure in the heart of Capitol Hill.

Unlike a forgotten monument relegated to a sleepy urban nook, this building plays a key daily role in American politics and governance.

The Russell Senate Office Building is the oldest of the three Senate offices. Completed in 1909, the Beaux Arts style structure hosted hearings into the sinking of the Titanic, allegations of Communist infiltration of the U. S. Army by Senator Joe McCarthy, conduct of the Vietnam War, and Watergate. The building’s ornate caucus room is named after John, Robert, and Edward Kennedy.

The building itself was renamed in 1972 after Senator Richard Brevard Russell, Jr. (D-Ga.). Russell, who served from 1933 until his death in 1971, was a wily legislative tactician who ran the conservative coalition of southern Democrats and Republicans that controlled the Senate for much of the 20^th century. He was a key legislative mentor to Lyndon Baines Johnson.

He is also one of the most effective, resourceful, and stealthy segregationists to have ever served in Congress.

During a time when many southern senators railed against blacks using racist language and archetypes, Russell adopted a far more cerebral approach. Russell joined the more virulent senators in opposing legislation intended to benefit black Americans, but couched his opposition in more measured terms, often citing constitutional objections.

As one of Russell’s biographers wrote, the senator “did not deliver racist diatribes. His tone was moderate, and he never said anything malicious about blacks. He aimed to educate and convince northern (senators) that the South should be left alone to handle racial problems.”

Russell’s understated approach worked. He played a key role in efforts to kill anti-lynching proposals, legislation to kill the poll tax, and other civil rights measures. He effectively blocked President Truman’s efforts in Congress to integrate the armed forces, forcing him to do it by executive order instead.

Russell remained an avowed segregationist throughout his life. According to LBJ biographer Robert Caro, the senator opined in a confidential letter that, “Any southern white man worth a pinch of salt would give his all to maintain white supremacy.”

From the perspective of today’s enlightened sensibilities, Russell does not deserve the honor Congress bestowed upon him in 1972. So how should we remedy this matter today?

One obvious solution would be to rechristen it the “Kennedy Senate Office Building,” and to rename the caucus room after another senator whose record has better withstood the test of time.

Or, we can make this a teachable moment.

Russell’s statue stands vigil in the building’s rotunda. Perhaps this should be a stop for the many schoolchildren visiting the U. S. Capitol complex from Maryland and elsewhere. Staring into this long-dead segregationist’s bronze visage, students could be told who he was, what he did, and why it was wrong.

Perhaps those assessing the future of past monuments should adopt a similar view. Hiding from history will never be as empowering as embracing and learning from it.

And, for those who got the past wrong, perhaps this transparency approach translates into a helping of karmic justice.

Cross, a former Capitol Hill and Annapolis press secretary and speechwriter, resides in Baltimore, and can be reached at rcrossiii@comcast.net.