Opinion | Canceling Canceled
Image generated by DALL•E; conceived by Armon Owlia
To think something is normal means engaging in practices that, on the surface, we may not agree with but accept because, due to groupthink, they have become ordinary. This phenomenon is not unfamiliar to us, particularly at a time when societal norms are rapidly shifting under the influence of new, global perspectives.
But then, you leave the vacuum — thinking your lungs will explode from the new atmosphere, the stark differences. You wonder how you'll manage to exist outside your previously calm, tranquil, and familiar environment. Then, you take your first breath... and then the next. Suddenly, you realize: you can't live without this new air, these new ideas that starkly contrast and critically evaluate the old ones.
Through my travels, I’ve been fortunate to experience such paradigm shifts many times, and a recent incident at an art museum, of all places, made me particularly contemplative about the mentality that currently grips the U.S.
At the Kunsthaus Art Museum in Zurich, a vast collection of works by Monet, Seurat, Picasso, and Van Gogh, among other master artists, was displayed. This, in itself, is not unusual for European art museums, or any contemporary art museum around the world. However, what caught my attention was the narrative accompanying these pieces — the transparency about their origins.
Kunsthaus openly acknowledged that one of its major patrons, Emil Bührle, who donated these 600 pieces from his private collection, amassed much of his fortune through arms dealings during World War II, primarily with the Nazi government. The art lining the walls was acquired under duress — purchased cheaply from Jewish families fleeing persecution or confiscated by the Nazis before their victims were sent to the camps.
This level of controversy and the ethical implications of such collections are not new and certainly not limited to any region of the world. Museums globally are facing their moments of reckoning regarding how their collections were acquired, be it through colonization, slave labor, or economic exploitation. This reckoning reflects a broader societal shift toward recognizing and rectifying historical wrongs, acknowledging that these collections often came at the expense of immense human suffering.
What struck me was not only Kunsthaus's transparency but also their willingness to confront the darker aspects of their history, not merely by contextualizing the art but by actively engaging visitors in dialogue. They posed a significant question: Knowing the tainted origins of these pieces, should they still be exhibited? Interestingly, about 77% of those who voted felt they should, but with contextualization that acknowledges their problematic histories.
Back in the U.S., confronting uncomfortable truths to address the roots of issues and find lasting solutions seems to have become something of a foreign concept.
Confronting uncomfortable historical truths often incites protests, boycotts, and a media frenzy that could overshadow the educational value of such exhibits. Rather than engaging with the complex legacies of figures associated with racism, misogyny, and other forms of misconduct, there is a troubling inclination to simply erase them from our collective memory — seemingly deciding that their negatives irredeemably outweigh any positives.
While it is an understandable reaction and comes from a good place of setting higher standards for how we operate, it is important to note that all of these historical figures, for all their faults, were just like us: imperfect and human. Everyone is going to make mistakes in life, ranging from the benign to the downright awful.
However, we are not the ones who should judge people throughout history based on how they acted according to the norms of their time period. As much as we glorify these figures, they were, for better or worse, products of their times — just as we are products of ours.
Look at someone like Ruth Bader Ginsburg, for example. Lauded as a pioneer for women's rights and a liberal icon, her decision to not retire during Obama’s presidency was seen by some as an act of ego. Staying on in her advanced years and ill health, she passed away during Trump's tenure, inadvertently allowing a conservative shift in the Supreme Court that contributed to the overturning of Roe v. Wade.
Her legacy, therefore, is a complex interplay of groundbreaking advancements for women juxtaposed with a decision that arguably set back her own causes. But most people choose not to remember her that way because of how we have framed her in our minds in the many years before her death.
Think about this: not even 100 years ago, it was acceptable to smack women around, be homophobic and racist, punish the disabled just for being disabled, and so much more. Today, we might be judged by future generations for our meat consumption, our tolerance of privacy invasions, or our fascination with reality TV, which often exploits its subjects and glorifies aggressive behavior for entertainment. With how rapidly this so-called enlightenment is growing, it might not even take 100 years for these norms to be questioned — perhaps just 20, 10, or even five years.
It's ironic, then, that in the future, your descendants might cancel you for enjoying the Kardashians. Yet, this is precisely what we are doing to historical figures now. I do acknowledge there may be deep trauma associated with these figures by certain communities, and the best way to, at least in the minds of those affected, is to deglorify them by removing their monuments. But think about what’s being lost. We’re losing history, life lessons, monuments that show us at our best, and yes, at our worst.
And sometimes, the people who are the namesake and built the foundations are often overshadowed by those who follow because of what they started.
When you think of UC Hastings, now UC Law, most people wouldn’t know, casually, who Serranus Clinton Hastings was, let alone the fact that he led a genocide against Indigenous Californians, more specifically, the Yuki, in the 1850s, at a time when such genocides across America were commonplace. However, many notable people benefited from the inaugural chief justice of California's decision in 1878 to give $100,000 to create a law school, including Jerome Farris, Willie Brown, and America’s first female vice president, Kamala Harris, among many others.
The Equestrian Statue of Teddy Roosevelt, formerly located outside the New York Museum of Natural History, before it was removed in January 2022, was meant to be, in the eyes of Roosevelt and his sculptor, James Earle Fraser, a statue of Roosevelt leading Indigenous and African Americans forward into civil rights, a sentiment famously echoed by Booker T. Washington.
However, the reason why it was removed was because of the interpretation that the statue promoted racial hierarchy, when Roosevelt was clearly the focus of the statue. Additionally, Roosevelt has been celebrated as a civil rights champion, having famously decreed that, per the Constitution, every person had the same unalienable rights. Instead of removing it, just place a placard that keeps that context in mind and let the audience decide for themselves. Who knows, it could easily be a teaching moment.
Even statues of Confederate military members, notably the statue of Robert E. Lee, formerly in Richmond, Virginia, could stand as a reminder of not just how far we have come as a country from the days of slavery but how much farther we all have to go. Something we can point to for our children and future generations to remind them just how deep and troubling the Civil War was, but what conversations were brought to the surface.
Am I saying that every single monument taken down should be brought back up and that every building whose name has been changed should be changed back? No. Absolutely not, because what’s done is done. However, what needs to happen down the line is we need to be more careful and weigh what would be lost with what is gained. Despite our trying, there will never be such a thing as a perfect society. We will have our great moments balanced with our darkest. That’s inescapable.
What isn’t, however, is how we approach it. Are we going to approach it in a manner that fosters understanding and learning from the past, or are we doomed to cycle through past errors, perpetually erasing any trace of discomfort in the hope of creating a sanitized and ultimately shallow representation of history?
Time for us to shape the future. Let’s ensure it’s one we can all be proud of.
