According to one definition, a symbol can “transcend words.” Some can effortlessly pluck our heartstrings with an indescribable mixture of memory, imagination, and impression. For example, a personal symbol may carry a unique and emotional meaning that only we recognize: your late grandfather’s hat still hanging on a peg; a child’s drawing with its outlandish heart and misspelled “luv;” a sea shell from that timeless moment on the beach. They can be powerful enough to trigger intense sensory reactions, especially smells, like hot dogs at a baseball game or cookies at grandma’s house.
On a broader level, cultural, religious, and political symbols can act as “a foundation for identity, unity, and communication.” The American flag is probably the ultimate symbol of America, but has occasionally been used to divide people rather than unite them. During the Vietnam War, it became a prop in “America: Love It or Leave It” rallies, while others used it to protest government policies by flying it upside down (a distress signal) or burning it.
In Washington, D.C., I consider the Lincoln Memorial a fitting symbol of our nation’s identity and dedication to our aspirations of equality and justice, even at enormous costs. For me, the White House is also a comforting symbol of our commitment to a peaceful transfer of power, housing presidents representing the incredibly diverse political philosophies “we, the people” have elected over 200 years, with each understanding their role as a temporary leader.
But in 1824, just 24 years after its completion, the White House became a symbol of backroom politics and shady dealings for Andrew Jackson and his supporters. None of four presidential candidates won a majority of popular or electoral votes that year, although Jackson won far more than anyone else. But, following the Constitution, the president was chosen by the House of Representatives, and they voted to make the 2nd place finisher, John Quincy Adams, president. The House was led and influenced by the 3rd place finisher, Henry Clay who was promptly appointed Secretary of State, a very powerful position at the time.
Jackson was furious, and charged that Adams and Clay had made a “corrupt bargain” that denied the will of the voters. When Jackson won in a landslide four years later, his supporters, many of them soldiers and hunters, made a point of taking back the White House for “the people.” The political elite were pushed from the seat of power both literally and figuratively, as Jackson’s rough crowd swarmed into the building to enjoy free food and drink. Some left muddy bootprints on the carpets and others broke a bit of furniture in the scrum around the punchbowl. But all ended benignly, with some suggesting it was a symbolic return of government to the people, rescuing it from an upper class of politicians willing to make backroom deals to stay in power.
Donald Trump has taken the White House in the opposite direction, and the image of a backhoe destroying the entire East Wing almost made me physically ill. It is a perfect symbol for his reign, with destruction and vengeance at every hand, and oligarchs symbolically invited to kiss his ring before enjoying the perks of outlandish wealth and unchecked power.
What will replace the physical structure and the government he is intent on destroying? In another bit of perfect symbolism, the White House will soon house a near-imperial, gilded ballroom, reminiscent of kings and queens who flaunted their wealth and power at the expense of the poor they ruled by fiat and decree.
In searching for symbols of creation rather than destruction, I continue to marvel at the resilience and creativity of young people. During the COVID pandemic, the imperative “Be Kind” often popped up as graffiti. It was a direct and powerful response to the harsh actions so many displayed at the time.
And now, I treasure the simple two-hand gesture of forming a heart, a message of love to one person or thousands. I see it as a symbol of the power that will overcome the cruel and vicious behavior of this administration. MLK Jr. preached that “Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” And that love — of country, democracy, and people of all backgrounds and beliefs — is what I believe will triumph in the end. It communicates creation rather than destruction, and seven million people recently took to the streets to show their love for America, backed by an iron will to resist dictators and kings.
Allen Woods is a freelance writer, author of the Revolutionary-era historical fiction novel “The Sword and Scabbard,” and Greenfield resident. His column appears regularly on a Saturday. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com.