Arwen Adams Bicknell

So, it looks like Alexandria legislators have decided to leave a famous statue of a Confederate soldier in historic Old Town at the intersection of Prince and Washington streets, opting to keep their powder dry for other issues.

Theoretically, communities’ actions reflect their values. That being the case, it’s worth exploring why the Appomattox statue is at that intersection in the first place, along with some parties’ concerns of whether “moving” was (and still might be) simply a first step to “removing.”

Today, the statue is largely ignored as cars zoom past. It’s unlikely many people hazard the traffic to get close enough to read the inscriptions on its base. The north side reads, “They died in the consciousness of duty faithfully performed.” The south side reads, “Erected to the memory of Confederate dead of Alexandria, Va. by their Surviving Comrades, May 24th 1889.” The east and west sides bear lists of Alexandrians who died during the war.

The lists probably don’t mean much to the average passerby, even one motivated to get close enough to read them—just unfamiliar names to skim through, perhaps finding one’s own surname in coincidence or connection.  But each name represents a person, someone who—at some point—was cherished and sorely missed.

One name blends in with the others: Hayden Fewell of Company H. He wasn’t famous, even in his day. He was, in fact, a 17-year-old boy. Chances are, he wasn’t worried about holding on to his family’s slaves or particularly well versed in tariff issues. He was probably more interested in girls than politics and went to war because his contemporaries expected him to—it would have been extremely difficult to do otherwise. He and his twin, Lucien, both enlisted as privates on April 6, 1862.

If you’ve read my book, you know that Lucien made it home and Hayden didn’t. Less than three months after enlisting, before turning 18, Hayden would be dead, killed at the battle of Glendale (or Frayser’s Farm, as the Confederates called it). His family received $87.16 for his service, about $2,000 today. A tally sheet of his effects at time of death lists the boy as “17, gray eyes, brown hair, 5 feet 8 inches tall; student.”

Edgar Warfield, also a private in the 17th, likewise lost his brother in that battle—George Warfield and Hayden Fewell shared a mass grave at the site, buried by another Alexandria native, Dr. Harold Snowden, who would return home and serve as editor of the Alexandria Gazette for decades. Warfield would run a drugstore in Alexandria for 40 years after the war and become the city’s oldest living Confederate veteran.

Many, if not most, of these stories are forgotten, or they suffer for being interpreted through a modern sensibility. The community of Alexandria is not what it was in 1861, nor even in 1961, and it is fair to discuss whether the monument represents current values. But in doing so, it is also fair to bear in mind what the monument originally represented—honor for those who made the greatest sacrifice for their community and did what their families and friends expected of them. Although it may be perceived as such now, the statue was not erected as a paean to an offensive (and lost) cause, it was a marker of grief still felt for lost souls 20 years after their passing.

In April 1885, Warfield proposed to the United Confederate Veterans that a monument be erected to the Confederate dead of Alexandria. In November 1888, the group approached the City Council about placing the statue at the intersection of Washington and Prince Streets, the point from which Alexandria troops left the city, and the Council quickly granted permission. Even then, the United Confederate Veterans foresaw that controversy might arise and petitioned the Virginia House of Delegates “that such monument shall remain in its present position as a perpetual and lasting testimonial to the courage, fidelity and patriotism of the heroes in whose memory it was erected” and that “its erection shall not be repealed, revoked, altered, modified, or changed by any future Council or other municipal power or authority.”

The area around the monument at one point measured 40 feet by 60 feet, bounded by a fence. As traffic increased, the island dwindled. Attempts were made in the 1980s to remove the statue altogether for much the same reasons cited today: Its presence was an offensive reminder of slavery, its location impractical. The emotional argument then reflected a larger debate: In its efforts to move toward greater equality and understanding, is the community better served by acknowledging its history and upholding free speech—even offensive free speech? Or is it more effective to eradicate markers and memorials that are, for many, offensive and painful reminders of the worst kind of oppression?

That time, like this time, the statue remained at its location. But the ongoing fate of this monument—now and 100 years on—will speak volumes about the community and its values.

A friend sent me an article last week that said women undermine themselves by using the word “just” — that it is a “permission word” and makes one look weak. Hoo, boy.

This is one in a long series of “empowering” things women have been told to start or stop doing. Stop saying sorry. Don’t use qualifiers. Don’t ask “does that make sense.” Be sure to shoulder-check men walking toward you, because stepping aside shows weakness and they’re jerks if they don’t move.  But don’t let them open the door for you, because that means they think you’re weak and can’t do it yourself.

Let me get this straight. According to the zeitgeist or whoever is calling the shots out there, I—as a woman—am entitled to wear whatever I want, walk in any violent area I please, and drink myself into a stupor in any situation without any consequences or repercussions whatsoever, but I’m simply Asking For It if I am not hyperconscious about policing my words and actions to be more aggressive and abrasive in the workplace?

Frankly, all this reminds me of the convo I overheard in a ladies room a few years ago, wherein two women were laughing about a third (absent) woman who peed so loudly that it was impossible to converse over. Really? Of all the things I’m screwing up in life, now I have to worry about that, too? Jeezopete.  I’ll be too paralyzed and bewildered to speak or move at all.

I’ve read that women are culturally conditioned to be sympathetic and empathetic, like that’s a bad thing. I’ve read that women in management must worry about being perceived as a bitch or a nag if they tell employees what to do.  I’ve read that women can’t get into management because men don’t listen to them and steal their ideas.

Well, I know women make it into management.  Maybe not enough, but they are there. Every job I ever had, there was at least one woman in position as publisher, executive editor, vice president, board member. Women are CEOs, politicians, doctors, you name it. A woman is front-runner for president.

I really don’t think it’s possible that all these women got where they are because they lucked out and didn’t get their ideas stolen or because they all made conscious decisions to Stop Apologizing. I know for a fact that the women I knew in management were not considered bitches or nags because they expected people to do their jobs.

Now, they might have been considered bitches or nags because they were—surprise!—bitchy or naggy.  The same way a man would be called a dick if he pulls a dick move. There’s a difference between the woman who calls you into her office and tells you, “Look. You’re not stupid. Don’t do stupid shit, and you’ll be fine,”   and the woman who stomps out into the middle of the office and screeches at top volume, “I can’t believe this happened! WHO DID THIS?”  and stands there tapping her foot waiting for someone to step up (when nobody else even knows what “this” might be.) What would you call the person who took the latter approach?  There’s a difference between the man who takes you aside and tells you “you really fucked up,” and the guy who kicks a chair across the room demanding to know “who let this happen” (because, you know, we all LET mistakes happen.)

I have been witness to all four of those scenarios.  Guess who I thought the bitch and the dick were. Here’s a hint: It wasn’t the ones who swore. Language was not the problem.

And I think that’s really the issue, here. Language isn’t women’s problem, either. Behavior is.

Look, if you have a boss who steals your ideas, or who appears not to listen and then hijacks your comments, the problem is not that your boss is a misogynist or a woman who keeps other women down. The problem is that your boss is a jerk, gender-neutral.

And if your boss steals your idea more than once?  SORRY, but your problem is not that you’re a woman, it’s that you’re a doormat, gender-neutral. JUST to let you know, changing your vocabulary won’t fix that.

Deeds, not words. Someone who steals your idea isn’t going to care if you started that idea with “sorry” or qualified it with “just.” Working the problem is what solves the problem.

If you have ideas worth stealing, you’re obviously not stupid. Use that brain power to your advantage. Don’t do stupid shit, and you’ll be fine. Keep those ideas to yourself until you figure out how to get credit for them. Confront your boss. Confront his or her boss. Find another chain of command to advance your ideas. Go to HR. Find a new job. Start your own business.

Ever heard the phrase “talk is cheap?” That’s because it is. Being hyperconscious about trying to talk like a badass will not make you a badass. If  a badass is what you really want to be, then work on actually BEING a badass, and you will naturally talk like one. Amelia Earhart learned to fly.  Hatshepsut grabbed that crown for her own.

But why do we all have to be aggressive badasses?  I suspect Mother Teresa spent great gobs of her time saying she was sorry. Does that diminish her work? (Although now she’s being demonized for being canonized, so maybe that’s a poor example.)  Katherine Hepburn probably never yelled at anyone for opening a door for her, does that make her a sellout? How about we all start trying a little harder to operate in a way that benefits everyone?

I just don’t buy the idea that women need to “be more like men” to make it in business. Bashing into someone in the hallway because he didn’t move first doesn’t make you management material. And despite the fact that we seem to be training men to act more like women, I think that’s an equally poor choice.  I tend to agree with Almina Herbert, Countess of Carnarvon: “In the dark ages, which are not very far behind us, we used to be call the weaker sex … we are neither inferior nor superior, but only very different, and I am convinced that we shall do most good to our country and her cause if instead of imitating men we endeavour to widen and perhaps enrich the spirit of public life by simply being ourselves.”

There’s nothing wrong with saying “sorry” if you truly regret having to upset people by telling them to improve their performance.

There’s nothing wrong with saying “just” if you are merely conveying information or imparting a warning.

If the person you’re talking to has a inch-thick glaze on both eyes, PLEASE ask them “does that make sense,” —and maybe ask them to say everything back to you—because heaven knows what result you’re likely to get otherwise.

There’s nothing wrong with letting a man hold the door if your hands are full or he happened to get to the door first, and there’s nothing wrong with stepping aside and saving yourself a bruise if the guy coming toward you is more intent on his phone screen than the traffic in front of him. If he’s looking right at you and doesn’t move — again, he’s a jerk, and probably not just to women. That’s when you be a badass, chuckle, and warn him, “I’ll turn sideways if you do!”

But one can’t really control jerks, much as one might wish to; one can only control one’s self. So how about we all try being a little more human? That might even solve problems beyond one’s own personal advancement.