This article has been written for Easy History by Chanelle Healy.
Introduction:
Silence; ‘theorised as a form of quiet, slow, psychological violence, invisibly inflicts harm on those categories of people most in need of advocates, allies and empathy.’ Over the past decade, the past has become increasingly more present, in an uncomfortable manner. At the heart of this momentum comes the toppling of statues across Europe and the Americas, the challenging of museums, and fierce debate surrounding school curricula. Undeniably, these arguments and activism have reiterated a truth often attempted to stay hidden: the colonial past is not over. Legacies of colonialism linger in public spaces, woven into national identity and embedded beneath public memory, as these former imperial powers continue to remember, and forget, their vast exploits, the ignoble violence that defined their empires for centuries.
The empires of Britain, France, and Spain connect to their colonial histories, not identically, but in a similar formation. This engagement with a controversial past is far from a stance of neutrality. While it is undeniable that colonialism shaped the modern world we find ourselves present within today, the retelling of such atrocities is often seldom an actuality. Selectiveness infuses itself within the storytelling of such a profound movement: a simplified retelling of exploration and trade outweighing the conquest, extraction, and brutality.
Considering public memory as something shaped entirely by the past displays a high level of ignorance; public memory continues to be about the present, and the decision of who gets to shape it. Intertwined with statues from the 19th century, hung on the walls of museums, and adorning the pages of schoolbooks, the content and memorabilia surrounding our everyday lives continue to shape public memory and ideology. What is left out, or actively silenced, is what requires the most attention. Silence is violence; what does this say about what we choose to commemorate, and why?
This silence, however, is increasingly being challenged by activists, scholars, and communities demanding a more nuanced and truthful account of public history; one that no longer suppresses, but instead amplifies, voices that have long been muted.
The purpose of this article is not to condemn or provoke, but to critically explore how former empires attempt to navigate their uneasy legacies through four key elements: statues and monuments, cultural institutions, education, and present day confrontations. In doing so, it asks not only how empires are remembered, but what those memories reveal about the identities former empires remain adamant to protect.
Heritage or Harm?
Statues and monuments have long served as symbols of public remembrance. When thinking of some we may well know, the Statue of Liberty, Christ the Redeemer, and the Great Sphinx of Giza; monuments symbolising freedom, faith, and power, respectively, may all come to mind. Moreover, the psychological and complex ideations behind monuments are far greater and deeper than one might assume.
American historian and filmmaker Joseph Leo Koerner writes on iconoclasm; the act of forcefully rejecting or destroying symbols, describing it as an extreme yet revealing form of response. Reflecting on monuments, he notes, “There is no more dramatic way of shifting focus from the nature and production of things to the reception of things than to study the most decisive and final of responses: obliteration.” Few modern moments illustrate this more vividly than the fall of Edward Colston’s statue in Bristol during the Black Lives Matter protests of June 2020.
The resurgence of Black Lives Matter, following the murder of George Floyd in the United States, sparked global outrage and a level of solidarity across communities rarely witnessed before. It prompted nations worldwide to confront long-standing racial injustices. In Britain specifically, this wave of activism reignited conversations about colonial legacies that continue to shape everyday life.
June 2020, Bristol, England, brought forth one of the most pivotal points for Black Lives Matter in Britain, seeing the 8-foot 8-inch bronze statue of Edward Colston topple into the River Avon. As Colston fell, so too did his outdated and racist rhetoric, illustrating a revival of public memory being taken into the hands of the people and an enormous shift towards acknowledging heinous acts.
Following Colston’s downfall, a media frenzy erupted: was this an act of vandalism or simply justice? In the eyes of some, Colston was a philanthropist, a man whose name adorned streets, buildings, and schools. Yet for many others, his fortune, built upon the suffering of enslaved Africans, rendered any good deeds impossible to separate from their brutal source.
With the fall of Colston came a more figurative and deeply unsettling question: What do we choose to commemorate, and why?
Meanwhile, across the ocean? Commemorative statutes of Christopher Columbus have undoubtedly faced similar scrutiny across Spain, Italy, the United States and Latin America. Heightened during the BLM era?, political pressure to remove representation of Columbus stems back to 1992. Many scholars and activist label Columbus as the first exploiter and destroyer of western civilisations that had, before his arrival, flourished. For centuries, his monuments stood for far more than mere history; they offer insight into what a nation chooses to remember and, by extension, what it continues to honour.
While it may be argued that removal of such statues is a sort of attack on history itself, British-Nigerian historian David Olusoga argues that statues of public figures represent a continued public validation of individuals who committed terrible acts. As much as erecting a monument is of choice, so is its removal.
Preserving Empire or Reckoning with It?
While statues serve as the public face of memory, museums, under quiet lighting and behind glass cases, represent the curated interior of public memory. Vast collections of artefacts and objects obtained during the colonial period adorn the cabinets and walls of many prominent institutions, with the British Museum being among the most visited but alas, controversial cultural institution. Information about these artefacts typically appears in brief textual descriptions beside the displays, indicating what the object is and where it originates.
However, what these descriptions often fail to explain is how the object came to be there. The glass cabinet in which it is enclosed becomes symbolic, a visual representation of ongoing colonial possession that still resonates today. By downplaying the role of coercion or conquest in acquiring these items, museums risk reinforcing the very imperial ideologies they claim to interrogate.
As previously mentioned, the British Museum is among the world’s most renowned institutions. The rise of 19th-century Western museums and the expansion of their collections were made possible through the confiscation and appropriation of cultural artefacts from territories conquered by Western powers. The Benin Bronzes, housed within the British Museum, are a striking example, a collection of intricate plaques and sculptures looted by British troops during the 1897 invasion of the Kingdom of Benin (present-day Nigeria).
Pressure for the return of such antiquities dates back to 1979, when Saburi Oladeni Biobaku, then Chairman of Nigerian Antiquities, reiterated in an interview with Willy Bozimo for The Daily Times the various strategies available for reclaiming what had been taken. These included, but were not limited to, diplomatic measures involving government-to-government negotiations. Another option discussed was buying back the artefacts; however, as many are part of private collections abroad, this approach presents significant challenges and potential diplomatic complications.
Ongoing pressure from Nigerian officials, scholars, and activists continues to call for the long-awaited repatriation of these cultural treasures, citing legal obstacles as well as a moral responsibility to preserve global heritage.
As anthropologist Dan Hicks argues in The Brutish Museums, these showrooms served, and arguably continue to serve, as “engines of empire,” displaying artefacts as symbols of conquest and control. Reluctancy to return looted objects highlights the ideological implications it carries. The very possession of these pieces perpetuates a statement of
dominance; holding on to the cultural objects of another nation becomes a means of retelling their history through an imperial lens and asserting continued authority.
In France, the Musée du quai Branly in Paris presents a striking example. Since opening its doors in 2006, this museum has housed over 300,000 objects originating from Africa, Asia,
Oceania, and the Americas; 90,000 being from Africa alone. While it offers a rich and immersive experience, critics have raised concerns about its isolation of these objects from their historical contexts; namely colonisation and violence. In 2017, French President Emmanuel Macron sent shockwaves through the museum world, both in France and internationally, by announcing a commitment to return art and cultural objects to Africa.
Although some items have since been returned, it appears that this promise has largely stalled.
The growing movement to decolonise the museum reflects a changing world that increasingly demands critical reflection on what museums choose to display, and what they omit. The fundamental purpose of a museum is to inspire curiosity and a thirst for knowledge in its visitors. Yet, when museums showcase looted artefacts without acknowledging the violent histories behind them, they risk leading visitors to uncover a truth that institutions have long attempted to suppress. Decolonising museums is not merely about returning stolen items; it is about transformation. It presents an opportunity to rewrite institutional narratives, turning museums into hubs of justice; spaces that encourage dialogue around histories that have for so long been buried.
Despite this, critics have warned against the potential loss of knowledge and have accused repatriation campaigns of promoting cultural nationalism. Moreover, it is ultimately easier to shift blame than to confront past wrongdoings, particularly when it comes to dismantling the idea that European institutions hold the exclusive right to house global culture.
The debate surrounding museums is one that demands attention. Ultimately, however, it is about much more than artefacts. It engages with questions of ownership, memory, and moral responsibility. As former empires reckon with their colonial legacies, museums stand at a crossroads: to continue defending the past, or to confront its atrocities directly and honestly.
The Battle Over the Curriculum:
‘Children are the future.’ This idiom dates back to ancient civilisations, an era where there was a clear emphasis on children as the continuation of family lineage and societal values; a concept that remains true to this day. In Plato’s work, The Republic, he amplifies the importance of shaping future leaders, highlighting the belief that youth are essential for the state’s future. Aristotle is also thought to have stated that the fate of the empire depended on the education of youth. While this slogan carries many connotations, the next scholar or the next teacher, and so forth, it ultimately reinforces the importance of transparency during an impressionable age.
What nations choose not to teach its children reveals not only the narrative it is consistently attempting to push, but also what it fears. Education and school curricula have long stood as tools for shaping national identity. This is particularly true in former empires such as Britain, France, and Spain where selective storyretelling; emphasis on trade and romantisiation of exploration often minimise reality of slavery and resistance. In the United Kingdom specifically, debates surrounding education and the teaching of imperial history have intensified in recent years. While the National Curriculum for History includes some references to Britain’s imperial past, the emphasis often falls on topics such as the Industrial Revolution, the expansion of trade, and the abolition of slavery, thereby undermining the racial violence and economic extraction that underpinned the empire. As a result, students frequently leave school with little understanding of how much of Britain’s wealth and global status was built upon exploitation, or how, often unknowingly, the legacies of the nation’s colonial past continue to shape present-day inequalities.
Historian David Olusoga, as aforementioned, has been especially vocal on this topic. Diagnosing Britain with ‘historical amnesia’, his breakthrough book Black and British: A Forgotten History, traces Britain’s long and complex relationship with Africa and the Caribbean. He highlights the fomer empires refusal to engage with the full scope of its imperial skeletons. Empire is frequently presented as a source of national pride, rather than a subject of critical inquiry. Students learning about the British Empire, do so primarily through the rose tinted glasses of explorers, inventors and naval victories, side-lined is the human cost of colonisation.
Not unique to Britain, France has also found its national curriculum at the centre of public tension. Until recently, France largely avoided detailed discussions about its violent colonial history. In 2005, a controversial law was introduced that mandated schools to teach the
positive aspects of French colonialism. This, naturally, was met with outrage and widespread protest from historians and civil rights groups. In Spain, colonisation legacies are often romanticising in textbooks, coined the golden age of expansion rather than an era of forced conversions, cultural destruction and mass exploitation. Control over school systems and the approach taken towards school curriculum reflect the attitudes of what was the colonial powers.
Debates surrounding the curriculum are undoubtedly deeply political, despite attempts to frame them as neutral or purely academic discussions. Critics of a more critical and inclusive approach often portray it as promoting a guilt-based narrative or dismiss it under the label of so-called “woke” ideology. The term “woke” is frequently weaponised to undermine calls for progress, used pejoratively when proposed changes challenge established norms or demand accountability.
However, as previously mentioned, children and young people today are increasingly politically engaged and attuned to issues of justice and representation, showing a level of empathy and awareness that has arguably not been seen in recent decades. In the wake of the Black Lives Matter protests, students across the UK and beyond launched petitions demanding more inclusive history education. Initiatives such as The Black Curriculum in
Britain advocate for the teaching of colonialism, migration, and Black British history as essential components of the national narrative, not as optional footnotes.
Education shapes values, perspectives, and our sense of belonging. When former empires weaponise education, it becomes yet another reflection of dominance—much like the looted artefacts locked in glass cabinets, thousands of miles from their place of origin. Confronting the full complexity of imperial history is not about assigning blame to the present, but about fostering understanding. It is a preparation—equipping future generations to comprehend the world their country helped shape, often through deeply unequal and violent means.
Challenging Silence, Reclaiming Memory:
Often, the past is regarded simply as that- the past. As the world rapidly shifts and advances across countless sectors, history is frequently treated as something distant, no longer relevant to our present reality. However, it cannot be left behind when it continues to linger and confront us through monuments and statues, artefacts in museums, or the stark pages of our Year 9 history books. Streets named after 17th-century slave traders, exclusionary immigration policies, and persistent economic disparities all demand a reckoning with the actions of those who came before us. The past is never truly past when it lives among us.
As activism gains momentum and younger generations become increasingly politically engaged, more people refuse to turn a blind eye. The focus, then, shifts to former empires and their choice: to continue forgetting, or to finally begin remembering.
Rhodes Must Fall became one of the most visible movements in recent times, beginning at the University of Cape Town in 2015, before outrage spread to Oxford and beyond. The simple yet radical demand, that universities and institutions acknowledge their complicity in colonialism and racism, ignited a widespread media frenzy, echoing that of the Colston controversy. In Cape Town, the call centred around the removal of Cecil Rhodes’ statue, a man widely regarded as one of the most committed imperialists of the 19th century. However, this movement transcended the symbolism of statues, turning its attention to the broader project of decolonising higher education by interrogating the colonial foundations of entire academic disciplines.
Museums often find themselves at the centre of protest and transformation. Activists have consistently staged “guerrilla tours” within institutions, offering unofficial interpretations of objects and directly challenging dominant curatorial narratives. Groups such as BP or Not BP? and Culture Unstained link decolonisation with climate justice and corporate accountability, arguing that the extractive logic which fuelled empire continues to shape today’s global inequalities. These interventions shift the museum from a place of quiet reflection to a contested site of political confrontation.
With rapid technological expansion and advancement, it has become easier than ever to share outrage and opinion on a global scale. Social media campaigns generate momentum, with hashtags acting as powerful tools, both to challenge oppressive narratives and to connect with like-minded individuals, validating the act of speaking out. Campaigns such as #DecoloniseThisPlace and #ReturnTheBronzes have hundreds of thousands of posts linked on social media platform Twitter (now X), added pictures or videos or descriptive captions to expose colonial legacies and demand change.
An example of digital projects include the Colonial Countryside, a UK-based collaboration involving 100 primary school students, 16 historians, and 10 commissioned writers. The project explores how British country houses were funded by slavery and empire. According to the National Trust, the initiative was undertaken to ensure that robustly researched stories of empire are communicated accurately and sensitively to visitors, making colonial connections an integral part of the narratives shared at the 11 participating historic houses.
As previously mentioned, although progress has since stalled, France has returned some looted artefacts to Benin and Senegal. Similarly, Germany issued a formal apology for the genocide of the Herero and Nama peoples in Namibia, accompanied by financial aid packages. In 2022, the Netherlands formally acknowledged its role in the transatlantic slave trade, recognising it as a crime against humanity. While these actions are undeniably symbolic, they underscore a growing recognition that former empires are not merely a matter of the past, but rather a question of ongoing justice. However significant, these gestures merely scratch the surface.
As the historian Paul Gilroy expresses, reckoning with empire is not an attack on national identity, but rather an opportunity to build a better, more inclusive one. It offers a path toward reform and revitalisation, an honest confrontation with the past, and a commitment to ensuring that such atrocities are neither repeated nor allowed to persist in present-day society. In truth, facing these legacies provides a gateway to letting go of comforting myths and confronting difficult truths. This is a long and often uncomfortable process, but one that must begin if meaningful progress is to be made. It demands humility, imagination, and a willingness to engage with histories that may challenge cherished narratives. The alternative, silence, denial, and oversimplification, only serves to deepen existing divisions.
Unlike the often sanitised or selective retellings found in the national curriculum, Colonial Countryside empowers children to be active participants in historical inquiry. In doing so, it reinforces the idea that young people are not only the future; they are also crucial in shaping how the past is remembered.
Sources/Further Reading:
- Bash, Leslie. 2018. “Changing Patterns of Imperialism and Education: The United Kingdom.” Revista Española de Estudios Clásicos 31.
- Bodenstein, Felicity. 2022. “Chapter 11. Getting the Benin Bronzes Back to Nigeria: The Art Market and the Formation of National Collections and Concepts of Heritage in Benin City and Lagos.” In Contested Holdings: Museum Collections in Political, Epistemic and Artistic Processes of Return, edited by Felicity Bodenstein, Damiana Otoiu, and Eva-Maria Troelenberg, 220–41. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books.
- Hicks, Dan. 2020. The Brutish Museums: The Benin Bronzes, Colonial Violence and Cultural Restitution. London: Pluto Press.
- Koerner, Joseph Leo. 2017. “On Monuments.” Res: Anthropology and Aesthetics. https://doi.org/10.1086/693701.
- Nasar, S. (in press). “Remembering Edward Colston: Histories of Slavery, Memory, and Black Globality.” Women’s History Review. https://doi.org/10.1080/09612025.2020.1812815.
- Olusoga, David. 2016. Black and British: A Forgotten History. United Kingdom: Pan Macmillan.
- Pillay, S. R. 2016. “Silence is Violence: (Critical) Psychology in an Era of Rhodes Must Fall and Fees Must Fall.” South African Journal of Psychology 46 (2): 155–59.
- https://doi.org/10.1177/0081246316636766. Plato. 1943. The Republic. New York: Books, Inc.
- Sandler, Ross. 2022. “Toppling Christopher Columbus; Public Statues and Monuments.” Other Publications, no. 849.
- Virdee, Satnam. 2014. “Challenging the Empire.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 37 (10): 1823–29. https://doi.org/10.1080/01419870.2014.932408.
- Watson, Keith. 2012. “Colonialism and Educational Development.” In Education in the Third World, 1–46. Routledge.
Websites:
- National Trust. Colonial Countryside. National Trust. Colonial Countryside | National Trust | National Trust
About the Author:
Chanelle is a postgraduate graduate of the University of Glasgow, where she specialised in War Studies. With an undergraduate background in Classics, English and History, her academic journey has allowed her to explore a wide range of complex and intersecting topics, including settler colonialism and its enduring legacies. She is particularly interested in themes of historical remembrance and forgetfulness and her work seeks to illuminate these narratives and challenges the silences within them.
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