In 2018, a new memorial opened in Montgomery, Alabama. It was not a statue of a general or a president, but a field of 800 rusted steel columns, each one representing a county where a lynching occurred. The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, as it is called, forces visitors to confront a history many Americans had long preferred to ignore. It is part of a global wave of memory-making that has transformed how nations reckon with their pasts.
This is the age of the ‘memory boom.’ Since the 1990s, memorials, museums, truth commissions, and digital archives have proliferated at an unprecedented rate. But as the past becomes a battleground, a fundamental question emerges: who gets to decide what is remembered, and what is forgotten?
The Rise of the Memory Boom
Commemoration is not new. Ancient tombs and royal monuments served to legitimize power and ensure spiritual remembrance. In the 19th century, the nation-state turned memory into a civic tool: the Arc de Triomphe, the Lincoln Memorial, and countless war memorials forged national identity out of shared sacrifice. But the Holocaust changed everything. The Nuremberg Trials and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights established ‘never again’ as a moral imperative, yet it took decades for that imperative to reshape public memory.
By the 1980s and 1990s, a new interdisciplinary field emerged—memory studies—drawing on the work of French historian Pierre Nora and German scholars Jan and Aleida Assmann. Nora introduced the concept of lieux de mémoire, or ‘sites of memory,’ arguing that modern societies, having lost the organic connection to the past, need artificial places to anchor their identities. These sites are not just physical; they include rituals, documents, and even digital archives.
The result has been a global proliferation of memorials. Since 2000, over 100 new memorials and museums dedicated to the Holocaust, slavery, genocide, and colonial violence have been built worldwide. The Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin, completed in 2005, is a stark field of 2,711 concrete slabs. The National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, which opened in 2018, uses the power of place to confront racial terror. These are not neutral monuments; they are deliberate interventions in public consciousness.
The Politics of Memory: Truth Commissions and Contested Monuments
Commemoration is not just about building statues. It is also about truth-telling. Since the 1970s, more than 40 truth commissions have operated globally, from South Africa to Peru, Canada to Colombia. These bodies investigate past abuses, often with the goal of reconciliation. They are a form of institutionalized memory, and they have had mixed results. But they have shifted the conversation: memory is no longer just about honoring the dead; it is about accountability for the living.
In the United States, the debate over Confederate monuments has become a flashpoint. Since 2015, over 200 such monuments have been removed or renamed, following grassroots movements like Black Lives Matter. To some, this is a long-overdue correction; to others, it is an erasure of heritage. The conflict is not just about the past—it is about the present. As the historian Michael Rothberg argues in his concept of ‘multidirectional memory,’ memories of different atrocities do not compete in a zero-sum game; they interact and shape each other. The struggle over one monument can open the door to other struggles.
Digital Memory: The Revolution and Its Discontents
The digital age has democratized memory production. Anyone can create an online memorial, share a story, or preserve a document. The September 11 Digital Archive, launched in 2002, now holds over 150,000 items—emails, photos, videos, and oral histories. Social media platforms have become sites of collective mourning and remembrance, as seen in the outpouring after the death of George Floyd or the attacks in Paris.
But this democratization has a dark side. Misinformation can spread as easily as truth. Algorithms curate what we see, shaping our memories in ways we may not realize. Digital archives are ephemeral; a website can disappear overnight, taking with it a piece of collective memory. The very abundance of digital data raises new questions: What should be preserved? Who decides? And how do we ensure that the digital memory of the 21st century is not more fragile than the stone monuments of the past?
Authoritarian Memory: Weaponizing the Past
While some societies are grappling with how to remember atrocity, others are actively weaponizing memory to consolidate power. In Russia, Hungary, and Poland, governments have rewritten history to suit their narratives. In Russia, the memory of World War II has been turned into a state-sponsored cult, with the ‘Immortal Regiment’ marches that mix genuine grief with official propaganda. In Hungary, the government has constructed a memorial to the German occupation that downplays Hungary’s own role in the Holocaust. These are not neutral acts of commemoration; they are acts of power.
The 21st century has seen a global ‘memory boom,’ but it has also seen a battle over who controls the past. The International Coalition of Sites of Conscience, founded in 1999, connects over 350 memorial sites worldwide that link past struggles to present human rights issues. These sites—from the District Six Museum in Cape Town to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Phnom Penh—challenge visitors to see the relevance of the past to the present. They are not just museums; they are calls to action.
Conclusion
The battle over memory is not going away. As globalization and migration pluralize our publics, as identity movements demand that marginalized voices be heard, and as authoritarian regimes seek to control the narrative, the question of who owns the past becomes ever more urgent. But memory is not a zero-sum game. As Rothberg suggests, our memories are intertwined; the struggle for one group’s recognition can open space for others. The monuments we build, the archives we preserve, and the stories we tell are not just about the past—they are about the kind of society we want to become.
The past is never dead; it is not even past. In the 21st century, memory has become a field of struggle, a site of both healing and conflict. The choices we make about what to remember and what to forget will shape the future. The question is not whether we will commemorate, but how—and whose stories we will tell.
Summary
- The 21st century has seen a global ‘memory boom,’ with over 100 new memorials and museums built since 2000.
- More than 40 truth commissions have operated worldwide since the 1970s, linking memory to accountability.
- Digital archives like the September 11 Digital Archive (over 150,000 items) have democratized memory production but also created new challenges.
- Since 2015, over 200 Confederate monuments in the U.S. have been removed or renamed, sparking intense debate.
- Authoritarian regimes in Russia, Hungary, and Poland have weaponized memory to consolidate power.
FAQ
Q: What is the ‘memory boom’?
A: It refers to the unprecedented proliferation of memorials, museums, truth commissions, and digital archives since the 1990s, reflecting a global trend toward reckoning with historical injustice.
Q: Why are Confederate monuments being removed?
A: Activists and many local governments argue that these monuments glorify a history of slavery and racial terror. Since 2015, over 200 have been removed or renamed, following movements like Black Lives Matter.
Q: How has digital technology changed commemoration?
A: It has democratized memory production, allowing anyone to create and share memorials. The September 11 Digital Archive, for example, preserves over 150,000 personal items. However, it also raises issues of misinformation and ephemerality.
Q: What is ‘multidirectional memory’?
A: Coined by Michael Rothberg, it is the idea that memories of different atrocities interact and shape each other, rather than competing in a zero-sum game. This allows for solidarity between groups.
Q: How do authoritarian regimes use memory?
A: They often rewrite history to consolidate power, constructing memorials that downplay their own crimes and promote a nationalist narrative—as seen in Russia, Hungary, and Poland.