Column: A reflection on the Pylons at War Memorial
Devin Stone, CT Regular Columnist
April 24, 2007
I've always argued that the best way to understand this university is through a firm understanding of the Pylons on the top of War Memorial Chapel. At a superficial level, it embodies the values Virginia Tech has rhetorically claimed to be built upon, but for myself, when I look at these Pylons from a critical standpoint it places the university into a larger social and political framework. Artistically, it reinforces historically grounded power relations and taps into a deep-seated narrative that is strongly interwoven with imperialism.
Like any piece of art, there is no "correct" interpretation and what interests me are my own personal views, particularly how they have changed over the last week. Not only have my own views changed, but I would argue that the feelings and aesthetic experience others have has changed as well. The question is in what ways these changes have been both beneficial and problematic and how long these changes will last.
For a while, I've felt that the Pylons were a glorification of war. With the nine tall white men as statues embodying traditional conceptions of strength and masculinity, those statues represent the ideal of what our society used to believe to be the "perfect" man. It too easily lends itself to criticism along lines of race, gender and sexuality. It is also a lesson in irony as these statues dedicated to war are built upon a church. It creates this contradiction where God becomes the foundation for a "useful and full life" (according to the literature the War Memorial Chapel hands out) but within the context of the Pylons, God becomes the foundation for not only all past wars, but for all future wars in which names become added to the Pylons.
This makes it a tribute that is both comforting and dehumanizing. The Pylons are a listing of names of fallen soldiers without any context in regards to their specific lives, the reasons they fought or any other hint of how these men wanted to be remembered. In this regard, the Memorial Court becomes dehumanizing as the names become lumped together without any suggestion of the unique and rewarding lives these men had lived. They are remembered not for who they were but for the fact that they had died in some distant land.
These statues though also stand as a representation of hope and ambition. Like most things in the world (both good and bad) they owe their origin to men and women who had good intentions. The difficulties that arise are not from a lack of compassion but because of the larger social, cultural and institutional restraints that force individuals down particular paths. Despite any criticism, I can construct the Pylons will always be an artistic expression created by men and women who were simply trying to express meaning and purpose in life in the way they thought best honored those who had given their lives.
As an observer, the question I've always asked myself and others, is how can one reclaim the Pylons in the name of peace?
For the first time I've found a partial answer. Ever since the massacre I've walked to those Pylons at least once every day. Near the cenotaph lays dozens and dozens of flowers, with candles to illuminate the night, and pictures of those Hokies we wish to remember. Less than 24 hours after the massacre, the Pylons quickly transformed into an expression of flower power.
The lives of those 33 victims (one of whom was a victim of his own troubled mental state) are remembered not for how they died, but are remembered for how they lived and for how they have influenced others. This is done in a decentralized way where anyone is free to contribute their own form of expression by adding their own collages, wreaths, poetry or any other symbol of love near the cenotaph. The Pylons no longer act as something independent and given in the world around us, but now exist as a structure that can be freely decorated in a democratic fashion until the art conveys what we each personally want the Pylons to be.
When I now walk to the Pylons I see a form of resistance against senseless violence as the sharp, concrete statues become diluted by the call for non-violence and more community. It is a statement not only of the suffering as families grieve but as the hope of those who know deep down that Blacksburg will prevail.
With these thoughts whirling in my head, I always choose to walk towards the statue that represents duty. Near the foot of that statue is small, cuddly teddy bear peering out into Torgersen Bridge. Knowing that something so small can pacify an entire monument dedicated to war, I kiss the teddy bear on the nose and walk away.
If a teddy bear along with flowers, pictures and poetry can reclaim the Pylons, then we can "Invent the Future" in a way just as democratic. We need to understand how our university contributes to the violence in the larger world around us (in Darfur, in Iraq, in prisons in Virginia), to the role of how more common forms of violence create similar tragedies that are just as painful but taboo to talk about. Life will eventually return to normal, but the battle for peace must always continue.