From Aspiration to Action: SIP and the Work of Cultural Shifting

In this tumultuous time marked by climate disturbances, culture wars, social pandemics and the dismantling of systems that support underrepresented communities, Zen Master Norma Wong, in her book When No Thing Works, urges those of us committed to social justice and community not to inhabit a perceived apocalyptic space. Instead, she encourages us to think beyond this moment and plan for a broader horizon, one in which the equitable values claimed to be at the core of Charlottesville’s public policies have finally come to fruition.

In developing this plan, several questions naturally arise: In this imagined horizon, who are the residents for whom your efforts will have value? And what is your why—do you believe this why has the capacity to retain its significance in that new horizon? Equally important question is the question: What are you doing today to engage those who would participate in this imagined future?

The importance of this last question became clear during a conversation I had recently with an older gentleman who came to the Heritage Center inquiring about Swords into Plowshare (SIP). As we spoke, it became clear that he understood SIP to be an established institution. I explained that SIP was not an institution, but an aspiration, a call to action, and a journey culminating in a cultural shift defined by a collective understanding of our destination in relation to our past and our present. He looked at me, seemingly perplexed, and then thanked me for my time.

In reflecting on this imagined future, SIP is driven by the desire to create representation with cultural significance and therefore enduring. I imagine this aspiration is not unlike that of those at the turn of the 20th century who placed the bronze statuary in our public spaces. Through the concomitant construction of iconic public buildings such as schools, they sought to make tangible their white supremacist ideals and carry them forward into the future. The critical difference between then and now lies in how we define “collective,” “communal,” and—most importantly—“community.”

Our process redefines the idea of community by centering voices that would not have been included in the 1920s and beyond. It embodies a sense of the communal by tracing the social history of local parks to build a shared understanding of place. We have focused on parks because, throughout their histories, they have held the capacity to be both inclusive and exclusive. Our efforts to study these sites are driven by a desire to determine the most meaningful placement for a symbolic representation of our collective values. This enduring form, crafted from the reclaimed bronze of the Robert E. Lee statue, aims to speak both locally and globally, to those who reside in and visit Charlottesville.