Silent Sam at the University of North Carolina is no more a symbol of white supremacy than is a statue of pilot Charles Lindbergh or philosopher Martin Heidegger. Moreover, motives of the people who commissioned the statue are irrelevant to its significance, in the same way an author’s purpose in writing a piece of literature is entirely irrelevant to its meaning for current readers. In their claim that statues erected during the first few decades of the twentieth century stand for racist attitudes, because the people who commissioned them had racist aims in view, the left has cooked up a factitious argument disguised as history.

What counts is the mix of symbolic meanings Confederate monuments hold for the people who view them now. Positive, negative, or mixed memories of the Ku Klux Klan may affect some people, but have small significance for others. The same goes for all the other threads of history that lead communities across the south to commemorate the Lost Cause, or those who fought for it. As in most wars, young men went off to join bands of brothers, and they died for loyalty to them. To commemorate their loyalty is not a horrible thing to do. It is a good thing.

The other side of the argument is that every generation decides which public monuments to preserve, and which monuments to store away. If members of a family dislike a portrait of a patriarch because he murdered his brother in a feud, they can discuss the matter, and remove the painting from above the fireplace. The same goes for a public square. People ascribe meaning to symbols in different ways, and they weigh those meanings differently. People generally try to respect these variations in judgment, too.

Apparently respect does not apply in the movement to remove Confederate monuments. The people active in this movement use persuasion only as an afterthought. Instead, they use force, vandalism, threats, intimidation, and every kind of aggressive behavior they can devise to have their way. Perhaps that is just the way we practice politics and exercise power these days. The same thuggish behavior evident on so many campuses spills over to the campaign to remove monuments.

As efforts to make these monuments anathema gather strength, others who want to preserve memories of the Confederate struggle object. Then you hear arguments about hundred-year-old motives, when those arguments could have been developed at any point during the last century. The arguments become useful only when removers need some history at hand to defend the indefensible.

Critical arguments about why monuments to the Confederacy do not belong in our public spaces are not a problem. No argument intended to persuade is ever out of bounds, no matter how weak or mistaken it might be. What is out of bounds? Taking statues down by force in the middle of the night, because your arguments fail to persuade: that is out of bounds. The University of North Carolina’s board of trustees decides which monuments appear on campus. If you cannot persuade the board of trustees to remove Silent Sam, you have to figure out non-coercive ways to advance your argument. You cannot form a band of vigilantes to do what you like. That is not how we operate in a republic.

If I am the UNC chancellor, I set Silent Sam back on his pedestal, alarm the base with an alert that goes to campus security, and expel students who try to damage it or take it down. I seek approval for these actions from the board of trustees, and explain them to students. Let vandals explain to their parents why, instead of a tuition payment, they need money to bail them out, because the university has filed a complaint against them for destruction of public property. Now your son or daughter, who went to school to learn something about civility and clear thought, needs an attorney, who can help your student explain to a judge why criminal behavior is justified in this case.

Instead, reports are that the trustees plan to put Silent Sam in storage somewhere. Mark another victory for the anti-fascist goons. No trustee wants a so-called student who insinuated his way into the university, then destroyed a monument because it seemed like a good thing to do, to accuse him of racism. That is the everlasting whip modern guardians of morality hold in every contest of this type: we accuse you as a white supremacist if you do not give your ground, and do as we demand. Try to resist us, and we will ruin you. So far, the campaign to remove Confederate monuments has thrived on this kind of implicit threat.

The common charge against the vandals is that they want to erase history. That is not the problem. As indicated above, if each generation has authority to select monuments they want to view, each generation can also interpret history to suit its own self-conception. The problem is that with its reliance on coercion and intimidation, vandals have brought primitive barbarism to public spaces. In that way, they collaborate with Neo-Nazi white nationalists, who stand ready with torches and clubs to protect the monuments.

Silent Sam at the University of North Carolina is no more a symbol of white supremacy than is a statue of pilot Charles Lindbergh or philosopher Martin Heidegger. Moreover, motives of the people who commissioned the statue are irrelevant to its significance, in the same way an author’s purpose in writing a piece of literature is entirely irrelevant to its meaning for current readers. In their claim that statues erected during the first few decades of the twentieth century stand for racist attitudes, because the people who commissioned them had racist aims in view, the left has cooked up a factitious argument disguised as history.

What counts is the mix of symbolic meanings Confederate monuments hold for the people who view them now. Memories of the Ku Klux Klan may affect some people, but have small significance for others. The same goes for all the other threads of history that lead communities across the south to commemorate the Lost Cause, or those who fought for it. As in most wars, young men went off to join bands of brothers, and they died for loyalty to them. To commemorate their loyalty is not a horrible thing to do. It is a good thing.

The other side of the argument is that every generation decides which public monuments to preserve, and which monuments to store away. If members of a family dislike a portrait of a patriarch because he murdered his brother in a feud, they can discuss the matter, and remove the painting from above the fireplace. The same goes for a public square. People ascribe meaning to symbols in different ways, and they weigh those meanings differently. People generally try to respect these variations in judgment, too.

Apparently respect does not apply in the movement to remove Confederate monuments. The people active in this movement use persuasion only as an afterthought. Instead, they use force, vandalism, threats, intimidation, and every kind of aggressive behavior they can devise to have their way. The same thuggish behavior evident on so many campuses spills over to the monument removal campaign. As efforts to make these monuments anathema gather strength, others who want to preserve memories of the Confederate struggle object. Then you hear arguments about hundred-year-old motives, when those arguments could have been developed at any point during the last century. The arguments become useful only when removers need some history at hand to defend the indefensible.

Critical arguments about why monuments to the Confederacy do not belong in our public spaces are not a problem. No argument intended to persuade is ever out of bounds, no matter how weak or mistaken it might be. What is out of bounds? Taking statues down by force in the middle of the night, because your arguments fail to persuade: that is out of bounds. The University of North Carolina’s board of trustees decides which monuments appear on campus. If you cannot persuade the board of trustees to remove Silent Sam, you have to figure out non-coercive ways to advance your argument. You cannot form a band of vigilantes to do what you like. That is not how we operate in a republic.

If I’m the board of trustees, I set Silent Sam back on his pedestal, alarm the base with an alert that goes to campus security, and expel students who try to damage it or take it down. Let them explain to their parents why, instead of a tuition payment, they need money to bail them out, because the university has filed a complaint against them for destruction of public property. Now junior needs an attorney, who costs far more than textbooks.

Instead, reports are that the trustees plan to put Silent Sam in storage somewhere. Mark another victory for the anti-fascist goons. No trustee wants a so-called student who insinuated his way into the university, then destroyed a monument because it seemed like a good thing to do, to accuse him of racism. That is the everlasting whip modern guardians of morality hold in every contest of this type: we accuse you as a white supremacist if you do not give your ground, and do as we demand. Try to resist us, and we will ruin you. So far, the campaign to remove Confederate monuments has thrived on this kind of implicit threat.

The common charge against the vandals is that they want to erase history. That is not the problem. As indicated above, if each generation has authority to select monuments they want to view, each generation can also interpret history to suit its own self-conception. The problem is that with its reliance on coercion and intimidation, vandals have brought primitive barbarism to public spaces. In that way, they collaborate with Neo-Nazi white nationalists, who stand ready with torches and clubs to protect the monuments.

Confederate soldiers and their families are not villains, either now or in history. Vandals who pull down monuments to their memory are.