Why I Vandalized Ole Miss's Confederate Statue

On May 30, 2020, I hopped in my car with a few cans of spray paint and a boxcutter and drove a little over two hours from my then-home in Leland to Oxford, Miss. Before I even arrived at the circle on campus where an enormous Confederate statue used to stand, fear overcame me. It was now or never. 

Depending on whom you ask, I defaced, desecrated, vandalized or branded the statue with the phrase “Spiritual Genocide.” It was the culmination of an idea that had been germinating for months, if not years, and it was not entirely my own. However, I’m not sure if others would feel OK with me sharing this—some don’t even know me—and in any event, I take full responsibility for the decision and action. 

The execution was poor, selfish and inconsiderate. Many people had been working tirelessly on the removal of that statue for some time, and I did not consult with them. Arielle Hudson, who organized my bail fund, essentially saved my life. I spent about two days, maybe a little less, in jail, but it could have been much longer. 

I was initially charged with a felony, but it was eventually reduced to a misdemeanor. Ultimately, the powers-that-be decided to call what I did “malicious mischief.” I was given the opportunity to plead guilty, or even no contest, and be assured that my record would be wiped clean after a year. 

This may have just been a formality, but words matter. Jail terrifies me, as does the idea that someone might seek retribution against me personally. I am a person of privilege, both racially and economically, and it is possible, if not likely, that the justice system was kinder to me than it would have been to others. Many think I was being foolish by not taking the opportunity to face the mildest repercussions possible. 

Ultimately, though, I decided that what I did was neither malicious nor mischievous. I don’t believe in a society where everyone achieves their political goals by spray-painting words on edifices. But this line of thinking misses the point entirely. 

What I hope people may come to see is that tributes to the Confederacy are symbols of terror. This was the institution that fought to keep Black people enslaved, a system more twisted and depraved than most are capable of imagining. If white people don’t see that, I don’t think that we can fully see Black people, or even ourselves and the incredible trauma of our history that leaks into the present.