In South, a statue dispute larger than life

When a statue of Abraham Lincoln and his son, Tad, is unveiled this weekend by the river in Richmond, it will set an ignominious precedent for some in the South: the first statue of the "Great Emancipator" to grace the grounds of the 13 former Confederate states.

While many Americans see Lincoln's April 4, 1865 visit to the smoldering Confederate capital as a liberation, some Virginians still consider the wartime president a tyrant who scorched the South for an unjust - even unconstitutional - cause. The most irate among them liken their newest bronze resident to installing Adolf Hitler's semblance in Tel Aviv.

But behind the vitriol, the return of Lincoln's likeness poses questions not just about the decorum of displaying a Confederate enemy where the Stars and Bars once flew, but about Lincoln's sanctity in the American pantheon. And within the controversy's prism lies an enduring split over the display of Confederate symbols - and clashing views of American history.

"The [statue controversy] is heavily tied up in modern political and social viewpoints that manifest themselves in attitudes toward the past," says William C. Davis, a Civil War historian at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg.

Some facts are uncontended: After Confederate President Jefferson Davis and his cabinet fled town under a canon barrage on April 2, 1865, Lincoln arrived in a city known for its blueblood Southern society - and its wartime councils. Confederate sympathizers surely lingered. But that didn't keep Mr. Lincoln from sauntering through the city with Tad at his side.

What happened next remains a historians' debate. And it bears directly on an argument over whether Lincoln came to try to heal the wounds of the smoldering Civil War - or take a callous victory lap.

When Lincoln finally arrived at the Confederate White House in downtown Richmond, he sat back in Jefferson Davis's chair and surveyed the scene. But did he simply ask for a glass of water? Or did he put his feet up on the desk, order the band to play Dixie, and announce, "This is our property now"?

Now, 138 years later, many here cling to the second version, especially with Confederate symbols under attack throughout the South: Last year, for instance, Virginia scrapped April as Confederate Heritage and History Month.

"Just think about it: Lincoln invaded us, he killed our people, he took our right to a free government," says Robert Hayes, state director of the prosecession League of the South in Abbeville, S.C.. "This statue is basically a second occupation."

But it's not just dyed-in-the-wool sons of Confederate vets who have a beef with Lincoln. The statue's arrival coincides with growing academic debate over the lanky president's legacy.

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