Jefferson Davis gravesite, Hollywood Cemetery, Richmond, Virginia – © Brian Rose

I was born and raised in Virginia, and my family lived two years in Richmond. We moved to Williamsburg down the peninsula after that. I attended the University of Virginia before departing for New York where I have lived for most of my life.

Some of my ancestors were slave owners. One or more of my ancestors were Creek Indians. Some of my ancestors fought in the American Revolution. My great, great, great grandfather on my mother’s side was a corporal in the Confederate army – he died in the Battle of Vicksburg. My uncle had a hog trucking business located in Courtland, Virginia, where Nat Turner led his bloody slave uprising in 1831. My father told me that he once woke in the middle of the night to a cross burning in their front yard. They were targeted by the KKK. I do not know why. The mysteries of my family history haunt me to this day. At times I have confronted my southern heritage directly – at other times I have run from it. Tomorrow I confront.

I am driving to Richmond with my son to photograph the final days of the Confederate statues on Monument Avenue. Protesters pulled down Jefferson Davis last night. The plinth of Robert E. Lee is covered in graffiti. J.E.B. Stuart and Stonewall Jackson’s days are numbered. I don’t know what to expect but am prepared for anything.