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As long as they live in Bristol, the three men and a woman cleared this week of toppling the statue of Edward Colston may never have to buy their own drinks again.

Jake Skuse, 33, Rhian Graham, 30, Milo Ponsford, 26, and Sage Willoughby, 22, played key roles in tearing the statue of the 17th-century slave trader from its city centre plinth, dragging it to Bristol harbour and throwing it in the River Avon.

On the first day of their trial last month, hundreds of supporters applauded the Colston 4, as they have come to be known, as they arrived at Bristol crown court.

On Wednesday they were found not guilty of damaging the statue, bringing their chapter in the saga to a close. But their actions, considered to be one of the most significant and symbolic acts of public dissent in Britain this century, sent shock waves that are still being felt nationally and globally.

The toppling of Colston which came just two weeks after the murder of George Floyd by Derek Chauvin, a Minneapolis police officer, sparked antiracist protests around the world exploded like a cultural hand grenade.

It catalysed a nationwide reassessment of the symbols of Britains imperialist past. Within six months nearly 70 tributes to slave traders, colonialists and racists were removed across the UK, a Guardian tally found, as conversations intensified over which historical figures were appropriate for public veneration.

Reverberations were felt as far away as the US where, at the funeral of Floyd himself, Rev Al Sharpton referenced the protest as symbolic of changing attitudes to race, saying: Ive seen grandchildren of slave masters tearing down slave masters statue; over in England they put it in the river.

And it triggered outrage on the right. Dozens of so-called statue defender protests across the UK culminated in a chaotic rally by football fans around the statue of Winston Churchill in Trafalgar Square. Impassioned commentators compared protesters to a woke Taliban and warned of efforts to erase British history.

We cannot now try to edit or censor our past, the prime minister tweeted.

But as much as it was a trigger for a broader debate, the toppling of Colstons statue was also the culmination of a uniquely Bristolian story. Erected in 1895, 174 years after Colstons death, the bronze likeness celebrated a man regarded by some as the citys philanthropic patron saint.

He had given his name to three schools in the city and half a dozen roads, and a number of Bristols most ancient institutions owed their existence to his largesse.

Every year celebrations were held in Bristol cathedral in Colstons name. Leading pupils from the schools that bore his name were taken on pilgrimages to see a clump of his hair and his nails preserved like relics in the citys Merchants Hall.

A plaque attached to the plinth on which Colstons statue stood celebrated him as one of the most virtuous and wise sons of Bristol.

But concerns had long been raised over his presence. Looming over the heart of south-west Englands most multicultural city, Colston had served as a potent reminder that its wealth was raised off the backs of enslaved people.

Giving expert evidence in the trial, the historian David Olusoga described how Colston had made his fortune as shareholder, and eventual head, of Britains most-important slave-owning enterprise, the Royal African Company. During his tenure, it kidnapped and enslaved an estimated 85,000 Africans, including 12,000 children.

For me, it was symbolic of power and lack of respect, and the position of black people as a community, Ros Martin, a playwright and activist for many years with the Countering Colston campaign, told the Guardian.

She said she felt the trial was an appalling injustice but that she felt buoyed up by the fact that [the defendants] are four young white people feeling empathy and showing empathy and getting people to think.

Its moving beyond being a bystander, which is required from all of us, Martin said.

Throughout the 10-day trial, the public gallery was packed with locals, many of whom cheered videos shown in court of the moment Colston fell. Martin was there, and other supporters and friends of the defendants.

But others, such as Douglas Peden, a local lawyer, and his two daughters, had come to watch history play out in the courtroom. Its the symbolism of it, Peden said, admitting he also supported the defendants. Its property and ownership up against freedom of expression.

The feeling was reflected elsewhere in Bristol. Outside a pub in Bristol city centre after court one evening Jodie Lily, from Exeter, told the Guardian she knew at least 10 people who were present when the statue was toppled. Its only those four because they got their faces, she said. That piece of shit should have been taken down.

The bare facts of the case were not in question. Giving evidence, the defendants proudly recounted the roles they played. But they denied criminal damage, arguing their acts were justified by the offence caused in Bristol by the statue.

It was a high-risk legal strategy, given that support for the toppling of Colston was not universal, even in Bristol. A week after the statue was felled, a counter protest by the empty plinth drew a 300-strong crowd, including a banner reading all lives matter.

Concerns were felt across the UK. Polling by Policy Exchange found nearly half of people opposed the way the statue was toppled, compared with a quarter in support, while YouGov found that although a slim majority supported Colstons removal, just more than one in 10 thought it was done in the right way.

Nevertheless, change has since come in the wake of Colstons toppling. Colston Hall, Bristols major events venue, changed its name finally fulfilling an undertaking first made in 2017 to the Bristol Beacon.

Colstons name was removed from pubs, buildings and roads. The 275-year-old Colston society was disbanded and his image was removed from stained glass windows.

But at the same time, culture war battle lines were drawn, and the government sensed a populist win. Skuse, Graham, Ponsford and Milo have been cleared but new measures in the governments police and crime bill will allow courts to send people found guilty of damaging a memorial to prison for 10 years.

As critics have pointed out, someone caught defacing a statue could, under the proposals, be jailed for longer than someone found guilty of rape.

As for Colston himself, since being fished out of the River Avon by Bristol council, his statue has found his way to the citys M Shed museum, where it has been transformed, according to Olusoga, into the most important artefact of the story of Britains relationship with its brutal slave history.

There, the statue of the old slave trader lies supine, with red paint daubed on its eyes, mouth and hands. Its coattail and staff are missing. It is surrounded by placards from the day it was pulled down and across its 17th-century robes is scrawled BLM.

Excerpt from:
How Bristol came out in support of the Colston 4 - The Guardian