In February 2011, as Sierra Leone prepared to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of its independence, a new national monument was opened to the public at the very center of Freetown. Actually, this was the second formal opening of the monument: the first had taken place twelve months earlier, on a newly instituted annual “Armed Forces Day,” when President Ernest Bai Koroma officially unveiled it before members of the Republic of Sierra Leone Armed Forces (RSLAF). In the period between these two unveilings, the banner over its entrance gates, which originally bore the name “Monument in Remembrance of Our Fallen Heroes and Heroines,” was replaced with another that reads “Sierra Leone Peace and Cultural Monument.” In this way—enunciatively at least—a military war memorial was transformed into a civilian monument promoting peaceful coexistence through a shared national culture and history (Fig. 1). A year in the making, and then another year “under wraps” while it was transferred to civilian management, the monument had attracted a great deal of attention from passers-by, who marvelled at the gigantic cement sculptures that took form (and then seemed to languish) behind guarded fences. Photographing the monument, even through the iron railings around its perimeter, was strictly prohibited. Alas, now that it has finally been opened to the public, the passers-by appear to have lost interest, no doubt put off by the advertised entrance fees: between Le500 and Le2,000 for children, Le5,000 for adults, and Le10,000 for non-nationals. Impressive though this colorful cement fantasia may be, with over 75% of Sierra Leone’s population currently surviving on less than $2 a day (currently about Le9,000) (United Nations 2009), it is hardly surprising that few would consider spending what little cash they have on something so ... “symbolic”? Already the paint is peeling from the cement statues and basrelief sculptures that visually narrate this particular iteration of Sierra Leone’s national history. And yet, despite its seemingly questionable value to many Freetownians, the monument represents a fascinating assemblage through which to reflect upon how public art—and public space—is being used (or at least sanctioned) by the State to promote political agendas and forge a shared national consciousness in this West African society still coming to terms with the profound divisiveness of its recent civil war.