Nathan Bedford Forrest: No Hero for Selma


Every city, town and hamlet has them: monuments commemorating pivotal events; memorials to heroes; parks, schools and public buildings named in honor of someone whose legacy is worth preserving. 

Selma, Alabama, is no different. The Edmund Pettus Bridge stands as its most famous commemorative structure. To anyone who was alive during the 1960s, it evokes memories of Bloody Sunday and the Selma-to-Montgomery March. Its namesake, Edmund Pettus, was a lawyer and military officer who served in both the Mexican-American and Civil Wars. Following Reconstruction, he served in the U.S. Senate.

If you want, you can visit Pettus’ grave in the Old Live Oak Cemetery, a city-owned, Spanish-moss-draped pocket of history that sits today among predominantly African-American neighborhoods. Most of its monuments are well over a hundred years old. They are weathered and worn.

Except for one. A gray granite stone with sharp lines and the bright red, white and blue inlay of the Confederate battle flag. This is the monument to Nathan Bedford Forrest, Confederate general and first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan. It is only 12 years old.

Opposition and outrage has been a more-or-less constant thread of the monument’s story in this small city, where 80 percent of the population is African American. Following the March disappearance of the bronze bust that sat atop the 7-foot pedestal, Friends of Forrest, the group that built the monument, hatched plans to replace the bust. The United Daughters of the Confederacy want to add a protective fence, an elevated platform and install night lighting. Opponents, who prefer that Selma be remembered for its role in the civil rights movement, have started a petition demanding that the City Council remove the monument once and for all.  

It raises the question: Just what is a memorial for, anyway? And does it really matter?

According to Sanford Levinson, professor of law at the University of Texas in Austin and author of Written in Stone: Public Monuments in Changing Societies, it matters very much.  Statues, he says, “are an effort [by regimes in power] to project legitimacy into the future.” If nothing else, he says, controversies like these call on us to ask ourselves exactly what we’re honoring, and why.

For those who don’t know much about Forrest, here are the highlights. He made a fortune as a planter, real estate investor and slave trader. Possessed of a brutal temper, he served as a lieutenant general during the Civil War and killed more than 30 men in close combat. At the Battle of Fort Pillow in Tennessee, outraged by the Union’s use of escaped slaves, he presided over the massacre of more than 250 black soldiers, woman and children who had surrendered. After the war, he became the leader of the Klan.

Looking at Forrest’s whole record—he was “a trafficker in human beings … a traitor to the United States … a war criminal —is reason enough to disqualify anybody from receiving a public memorial today,” says Hasan Jeffries, professor of African-American history at Ohio State University and on the faculty of the Kirwan Institute.

The message to today’s Selma youth is unmistakable: racism and dehumanization, even if it was in the past, is acceptable and admirable. It may be passed off as honoring heritage, but it is far from honorable.

Levinson points out that Forrest was no Robert E. Lee, a soldier who accepted the outcome of Appomattox and focused the rest of his life on reconciliation. “Forrest did not move on; he led the insurgency,” Levinson said. “He was exactly the person who, in Iraq, would have been firing bombs on American soldiers, who were an army of occupation.”

Why then, do some white Southerners today continue to celebrate men like Forrest, despite their terrible failings? Jeffries believes the answer lies in personal history and identity. “So much of the personal identity of white Southerners has historically been wrapped up in Confederate mythology and implicit notions of white supremacy that to reject the Confederacy today would mean to turn one’s back on one’s own family—to find fault not only with oneself, but with one’s parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents,” he explained. “They held these falsehoods as near and dear truths. It would mean admitting to living a lie.”

“These are some of the most difficult and uncomfortable things for people to do,” he added.

Coming to grips with our history, and thinking long and hard about the message we want to send into the future, is difficult, but necessary, work. Asked about the memorial, civil rights veteran and emeritus member of the Southern Poverty Law Center’s Board of Directors, Julian Bond said, “Distorting history is never a good idea. Celebrating a domestic terrorist like Forrest is a terrible idea. Selma has much honest history to celebrate—it ought to stick to the truth."


Selma Alabama

Submitted by Anonymous on 15 January 2015 - 12:45pm.

I often relate how much I hate anything Alabama, even though I was born in Birmingham (though thank God not raised). I never had the opportunity to meet my maternal Grandfather (who was not a criminal, but unfortunately a Black man in Alabama in the 1930s), because of the infamous Chief of police Bull Connor. My Grandmother told me so many stories about him and another Sheriff called Lummie who operated near Gees Bend, Ala. and Selma. There's nothing good I have to say about Alabama except many Black people made something of themselves despite the hostile racism, meanness, and discrimination. My father (a Doctor now) migrated from Alabama to Ohio before I was 2. But I visited enough summers to see my relatives protest for civil rights; and to have serious bias toward police who are supposed to be lawful.
My mother had an immense hatred for whites until she was able to get over it after living in Ohio for years. She often tells me stories about how she was treated as "the help" to a Birmingham family as a teenager. My grandmother took care of 2 white children from the time of their births, for this family; and they love her until this day, but that didn't stop their Dad from trying to molest my 13 year old mother when she was made to work for the family. It completely traumatized my mother as a young girl, and I believe I still carry her pain even though she's forgiven it.

I lived in Selma Alabama for

Submitted by melinda on 1 September 2012 - 12:09am.

I lived in Selma Alabama for most of the 1990s. That is absolutely the most racist cityI have ever experienced. Blacks are so blatantly racist and hostile toward whites in that town. To pretend that a monument to Nathan B. Forrest is Selmas biggest Icon to racism is the epitome of hypocrisy! That town has much bigger issues to address than a hunk of stone. As a matter of fact the whole issue is demonstrative of how one race wants to mask their own hatesnd villify someone else's.

I have spent the last ten

Submitted by Tom Trinley on 27 August 2012 - 8:42pm.

I have spent the last ten years making and marketing a documentary, Monumental Myths, on this very topic: the one-sided stories of American history etched into stone (and the minds of the public) and written in K-12 history books. Nathan Bedford Forest and Ft. Pillow are featured in the film while commentary is provided by Howard Zinn and James Loewen. Watch it here:

I loved history. My favorite

Submitted by Tobias A. Weissman on 30 August 2012 - 9:16am.

I loved history. My favorite subject when I went to school was history. I hear today from young people of forty making comments of who cares. We learn of man's mistakes thru history. Even now, WW11, people still deny the Holocaust ever happened, and because of this denial, I feel, Anti-Semetism still exists. THANK YOU MR. Trinley for making this documentary. I kept it in my bookmarks. I have an I-PAD.