A Different Path to Stone Mountain: Faith, Heritage, and Healing
Sandego.net – On a sweltering Fourth of July, Jean Shifrin found herself pausing on a steep trail as an unusual procession emerged from behind her. Squinting against the bright morning light, the 68-year-old photographer watched as a White man and two Black men made their way up the slippery incline, carrying an eight-foot wooden cross between them. The sight was so unexpected that Shifrin couldn’t help but wonder aloud what was happening.
At the front of the group marched one of the Black men, his athletic build reminiscent of a football linebacker. He balanced the cross’s head on his left shoulder while calling out in a commanding voice, “Yessir! Yessir!” Behind him, the White man—his tattooed arms already flushed red from sun exposure—supported the cross from its center. A third man, also Black and solidly built, followed at the back of the group. They were accompanied by an enthusiastic crowd, including a young boy clutching a Bible and a middle-aged Chinese woman who repeatedly encouraged them with “Jiayou!”—Mandarin for “Keep going!”
Stone Mountain’s Complex Legacy
Shifrin, described as wiry and accustomed to peculiar sights, knew this mountain well. Stone Mountain rises 825 feet above the Atlanta area, its massive granite face dominated by the world’s largest Confederate monument. Often called the “Mount Rushmore of the Confederacy,” the carving immortalizes Robert E. Lee, Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, and Jefferson Davis riding together on horseback—a sculpture even taller than the presidential faces carved into South Dakota’s mountain.
Yet this monument carries a complicated history. Stone Mountain served as the birthplace of the modern Ku Klux Klan and remained a gathering point for White supremacist organizations throughout the decades. It has also become a frequent destination for Black Lives Matter demonstrators and others advocating for the removal of Confederate symbols across the United States, where more than 600 such monuments still stand.
For Shifrin, a Jewish woman who had personally experienced antisemitism, the mountain once represented pure prejudice. “I was revolted,” she recalled of her first encounter with the carving in the 1990s. “The more I learned about the history of it and how it was started—it just got uglier and uglier.”
More Than One Way to Tear Down a Monument
But something had changed in recent years. Stone Mountain had transformed into what Shifrin described as a “mini-United Nations,” where people of various races, religions, and cultures gathered daily to exercise, meditate, and celebrate together. During a difficult period when a debilitating genetic condition left Shifrin uncertain whether she would ever walk again, the mountain had become a place of healing.
On that July 4th, watching the cross-carrying procession, Shifrin realized there might be another way to honor this place—one that didn’t require tearing down its symbols. She had spent years photographing visitors to Stone Mountain, but she had never witnessed anything quite like these men bearing their cross up the mountain.
What Shifrin discovered went beyond simple religious devotion. While defenders of Confederate monuments often claim they are preserving heritage rather than celebrating hate, the historical record tells a different story. In his famous “Cornerstone Speech,” Alexander Stephens, the Confederate vice president, declared that the new government was “founded upon exactly the opposite idea” of equality. “Its foundations are laid; its corner stone rests upon the great truth that the Negro is not equal to the White man,” Stephens stated, describing slavery as the “natural and normal condition” for Black Americans.
The Stone Mountain carving reflected these same beliefs. Work began in the early 1900s, encouraged by a Confederate widow who also wanted to include KKK members in the design. More than half a century later, the carving was finally completed in 1972. The surrounding park had opened on April 14, 1965—exactly one century after Abraham Lincoln’s assassination.
As Shifrin continued her climb, photographing the diverse crowd gathering at the summit, she felt she was witnessing something profound. The men carrying the cross weren’t just expressing faith; they were demonstrating that reconciliation and remembrance could coexist. Stone Mountain, once a symbol of division, was becoming something new—a place where different stories could be told, different burdens could be carried, and different paths to healing could be found.
“There’s more than one way to tear down a Confederate monument,” Shifrin realized as she watched the procession make its way toward the summit.
