In the age of erecting statues for no reason and it being completely useless, we have finally made a breakthrough with a good idea. Make one for Jabba The Hutt! Forget the endless parade of vague, interchangeable monuments to figures nobody asked for those uninspired slabs of bronze that seem to sprout like weeds in every city square, preaching “representation” while collecting pigeon droppings. No, it’s time to celebrate a true icon of intergalactic inclusivity: Jabba the Hutt, whose slimy, corpulent majesty transcends species, gender, and any semblance of moral decency.
Why Jabba? Because he’s the ultimate symbol of everyone getting a seat at the table or rather, a sprawl on the dais, surrounded by scantily clad dancers and a pet rancor. While other statues, let’s call them the “usual suspects,” are hoisted up to check a box or appease a committee. A Jabba statue would be a bold statement. He’s not just a Hutt, he’s a vibe.
Greedy? Sure.
Ruthless? Absolutely.
But discriminatory? Never.
Jabba’s palace was a melting pot of bounty hunters, smugglers, and weird frog-eating musicians. Name one of those cookie-cutter statues that could boast such a diverse guest list. Go ahead, I’ll wait.
Picture it: a 20-foot bronze Jabba, glistening under the sun, his bulbous eyes staring benevolently at the masses. His tail curls majestically around a pile of spice crates, a nod to his entrepreneurial spirit. The plaque would read, “Jabba Desilijic Tiure: Champion of Excess and Equal-Opportunity Oppression.” No bland platitudes about “strength” or “resilience” here—just pure, unfiltered Jabba. Unlike those other statues, which seem to exist only to make people nod solemnly before forgetting them, a Jabba monument would demand attention. You can’t ignore a giant slug who once chained up a princess and laughed in the face of a Jedi.
And let’s talk inclusivity. Jabba didn’t care if you were a Twi’lek, a Wookiee, or a protocol droid, he’d exploit you all the same. That’s the kind of fairness we need in 2025. While cities trip over themselves to erect yet another predictable figure to signal their virtue, a Jabba statue would cut through the noise. No focus groups, no public hearings, just a glorious, grotesque tribute to a being who lived large (very large) and didn’t pretend to be anything he wasn’t. Compare that to the assembly-line statues popping up everywhere, each one more forgettable than the last, their only purpose to fill a quota or spark a 10-minute Twitter debate.
The best part? A Jabba statue would be fun. Remember fun? Not the grim, performative kind of “celebration” that comes with unveiling another dour monument, but actual, laugh-out-loud joy. Kids would climb on Jabba’s tail. Tourists would snap selfies with his flab rolls and derpy face. Local bars would sell “Hutt Slime” cocktails. Try getting that kind of cultural impact from yet another statue of, you know, the random people no one knows about. The ones that blend into the background faster than a Jawa at a sand convention.
