“Gettysburg—there were some mistakes made there, it’s a sad thing and I’m not going to go into that.”

A couple of weeks ago a heated debate arose in class over the appropriateness of Disney’s proposed plans in the mid-1990s to construct a Civil War park adjacent to the Gettysburg battlefield. My overactive imagination immediately conjured up images of Disney characters reenacting the Battle of Gettysburg, with a Confederate Mickey Mouse at the center of the carnage eviscerating Donald Duck with a bayonet. As a result, I opposed the idea, arguing that the battlefield was “sacred” ground and should not be inadvertently altered by Disney’s crass commercialized endeavors. However, I realized that I missed the entire point of that week’s readings by using the term “sacred.” Whenever historians or the general public describe a public history site as “sacred,” they imply that the site is more of a religious shrine than a secular monument open to reinterpretation and revision. When perceived outsiders, such as American Indians, attempt to revise these cherished narratives, the defenders of the traditional narrative accuse them of heresy and treason (Savage, 4, 10, 14) (Linenthal, 144-148, 154-155, 160-161).

               This opposition to revisionism, of course, is the antithesis of historical thinking. Defenders of “sacred” ground view revisionism as a naive attempt by liberals to “right social wrongs” (Linenthal, 154). What these individuals fail to understand is that historical thinking is a fluid process, requiring historians to ask new questions perennially and revise their previous interpretations of the past. This process is crucial to the survival of the nation if we hope to become a more inclusive society and heal the wounds inflicted by past generations (Savage, 10). If we fail to do this, we risk becoming like “hardcore” Civil-War re-enactors. The Civil War will never end for these individuals as they continue to piss on their clothing and recite meaningless Civil War trivia in a futile to attempt to recreate what they view as a “simpler time.” While some individuals might find it appealing to dress in piss soaked clothing, historic sites must never devolve into the blatant hero worship evidenced from these readings (Horwitz, 9-17, 36-37). As I always like to remind my cousin, we are living in 2013, not 1853. We should treat our historic sites in the same way as the public continues to redefine what it means to be an American (Yes, I realize the previous sentence sucked. As you can tell, I am not the most articulate lad).  

Week 9

               Recreating the past on celluloid is probably one of the most challenging aspects of filmmaking. Like academics, filmmakers must consult the fragmented documentary record in order to make history come alive. However, the cinema’s broad public appeal increases the potential for a director to ignite a firestorm of controversy surrounding their chosen topic. With the majority of these films, public outrage usually centers on the director’s choice to infuse the material with blood, sex and violence at the expense of historical accuracy. One only has to examine Oliver Stone’s filmography to understand why filmmakers continually rely on this formula, and why the large segments of the public usually leave these movies pissed off. For instance, my father once became disgusted after watching JFK, noting that the only thing Oliver Stone got right was that Lee Harvey Oswald shot Kennedy in the head.

               Yet even the most historically conscious directors, such as Bruce Beresford, incur the public’s wrath. Beresford’s Black Robe, the story of a 17^th century Jesuit Priest in colonial Quebec, engendered the same controversy as any of Stone’s films. Ward Churchill—yes, the same Ward Churchill who made the disgusting comments about the victims of 9/11—claims Black Robe sanitizes the past by portraying colonists as noble, spiritual men with good intentions, rather than the brutal conquers portrayed in recent films. To make matters worse, Churchill believes Beresford consciously portrays the Indians in the film as brutal savages who prefer farting and fornicating “doggie style” to the spiritual pursuits advocated by father Laforge, the title character; it is up to the colonists to Christianize the “savages” and introduce them to the proper European sexual positions.

               Unfortunately, it appears Mr. Churchill’s emotions overtook him while he wrote his critique of the film. In fact, Black Robe makes no attempt to sanitize the past. According to Kristof Haavik, Beresford uses the film to examine what happens when a man’s arrogance distorts his noblest intentions. Throughout the film, Father Laforge fails to find any value in the native’s culture, which ultimately helps bring the destruction of Indian civilization as the imposition of the Christian religion destroys the Huron’s society. As for the sex scenes Mr. Churchill complained so much about, I subjected my virgin eyes to re-watching these scenes several times in order analyze Mr. Churchill’s critique. After several hours, I was able to determine that none of these scenes portrayed the characters as hedonistic savages. Instead, the characters exchange in sexual activity to express their love to a committed partner much like Europeans.

               Film is an inherently subjective medium; film goers see what they want to see. Mr. Churchill got out of Black Robe what he wanted: a film that reinforces his worst fears about an Eurocentric nation that glorifies the near extinction of native peoples. Perhaps filmmakers in the future would be better served by articulating their intentions to the public. Beresford and the film crew appeared to focus more on promoting the film’s aesthetics than publicizing its message. While this may not prevent individuals like Mr. Churchill from seeing what they want to see, a proper defense could possibly prevent misunderstanding among the broader public.    

Week 8

Before I began my current venture at SEMO, I purchased Public History: Essays from the Field in order to familiarize myself with the issues Public Historians face professionally. I had recently graduated from Lindenwood University, so I had a lot of time on my hands (I guess you could say I was trying to fill the void in my life left by my recent graduation, considering that no sane person would read this book for pleasure).  Being a virtual tyro to the archival profession, I decided it would be best to begin with the chapter on archivists and records managers. As I began reading the chapter, I was shocked by the revelation that archivists did not save every scrap of paper in their possession. I guess I had originally envisioned an archivist as someone like my Grandma Luecke: A nasty, bitter old hag obsessively hoarding documents for no logical purpose. Thankfully, this chapter fundamentally altered my initial misconceptions.

Since then, I have had several remarkable people mentor me as I attempt to improve my knowledge-base and skills. Unfortunately, I have encountered several archivists throughout the years who have not had the same opportunities afforded to me. For instance, I was visiting an archival institution several weeks ago and noticed a stack of newspapers lying on the table. When I asked the assistant archivist about the newspapers, he informed me that he had accepted them as a donation from a patron. This struck me as an odd decision until I remembered that this was the same person who thought nothing of bringing his dirty dog into the stacks on the weekends. I decided it would be best to say nothing at all.

Based upon this experience, I sometimes wonder if the profession still has much more to do to improve standards in the field. Currently, the profession does not seem to have an established set of criteria for the education required for professionals. Although the Society of American Archivists recommends that students pursue a Master’s degree, this varies from advanced degrees in Public History to Library Science. Hopefully, as the public begins to understand the importance of what archivists do, the profession will be able to standardize educational requirements.  

      

I hate you, Lawrence Welk

As most of you may recall, I had somewhat of a knee-jerk reaction towards the topic of Disney and the convergence of entertainment and education yesterday. I guess a part of me kept thinking back to my horrifying summer vacations with my grandpa and grandma Luecke during the 1990s. My grandma’s idea of the perfect mix of education and entertainment were 19^th century German immigrant villages in Wisconsin. These “historic villages” were nothing more than glorified clip joints staffed by twenty something heifers dancing in inaccurate period costumes to the groovy sounds of Lawrence Welk (I still throw up a little in the back of my mouth whenever I think back to those dark times). This somehow satisfied my Grandma’s demented sense of historic authenticity as she rummaged for junk in the gift shop to purchase and obsessively hoard. So I guess I have some issues concerning my grandmother and historic sites that will require a combination of Jack Daniels and an expensive therapist.

Fortunately, Joyce Thierer and John Salicco provide an intriguing way to merge entertainment and education that avoids Disney’s crass commercialism; not to mention my grandma’s batshit crazy ideas regarding history. Salicco correctly notes that most families visit living history museums to entertain their children while exposing them to educational activities. Children become quickly entranced as they witness staff recreate historic manufacturing processes and battles. While this has the potential to devolve into a glorified show-and-tell session, skilled interpreters are able to transform these activities into teachable moments that are relevant to the lives of their patrons. For example, a blacksmith could take the opportunity to discuss problems including forgery (identity theft) or the proliferation of horse manure in the streets (pollution). When interpreters embrace these methods, they are essentially adopting the same strategies educators employ in their classrooms. Children—and most adults—will not participate in learning activities just for the sake of absorbing new facts. They desire activities that are relevant and applicable to their everyday experiences.

Of course, Thierer notes that some dangers exist with this method. The majority of volunteers and employees at historic sites do not have a sufficient grasp of the historic context of the period they are interpreting. While some interpreters attempt to expand their knowledge-base, many become absorbed with the accuracy of their appearance, thereby missing the purpose of historic interpretation entirely. However, Meghan was correct to point out that even these superficial interpretations have the potential to inspire patrons to research historical topics independently. Maybe academic and public historians should fully embrace these methods and avoid the extremes of Disney and Lawrence Welk inspired German immigrant Villages. One can only hope.  

Week five or six...I am beginning to lose count.

                 My aunt once told my mother how much she enjoyed watching Gone with the Wind as a child and hoped to one day introduce the film to her children because of “the history.” Apparently, my aunt believes Gone with Wind accurately portrays the antebellum south as a blissful, bygone era where slaves and their masters lived harmoniously before those pesky northerners had to ruin all the fun. First, let me say this: I thank God every night that my relationship with my aunt is only by law. I wish I could say the same thing about several other branches of my family tree. Having said that, I also realize the majority of Americans consume history in the same fashion as my aunt. It is not that these people are stupid; instead, they consciously seek those museums or attractions that reinforce their version of American history. For the majority of Americans, this happens to be a hyper-nationalistic commemoration of the past, rather than an honest reflection and debate. Throughout the history of the United States, museums and historic sites have responded to these “market forces” by crafting a narrative that, while not necessarily true, satisfies their customer base.   In all honesty, “Mickey Mouse history” existed long before Walt created America’s favorite rodent.

               I realize the previous paragraph contradicts statements from my earlier posts. However, this week’s readings and Marla’s cogent observations have led me to revise my earlier beliefs. For example, the majority of Wallace’s article focuses on how corporations sponsoring Disney’s EPCOT center ingeniously borrowed from the 1939 World’s Fair formula, combining the industrial exposition with the carnival, creating an attraction that celebrated consumption and the march of progress with corporate entities at the helm. In the world according to EPCOT, history is simply a gallery of prominent men and the inventions they created. One need not worry about the problems currently plaguing humankind like pollution or world hunger, these ingenious inventors and their corporate benefactors will eventually solve them. While many historians decry this top-down approach, one cannot deny that a large segment of the public craves for this narrative. Disney would be bankrupt if this were not the case.  

               While many concerned citizens and advocacy groups claim to abhor Disney’s sanitized version of history, they frequently employ the same rhetoric and strategies to defend what they consider “sacred ground.” In essence, they create their own sanitized history to compete with what they consider “Mickey Mouse” history; one need look no farther than the Republican party to understand what I am talking about. Conservatives like Newt Gingrich frequently excoriate Disney’s portrayal of American History, yet the best they can offer is their own finite narrative.  From this point, the debate frequently devolves into something akin to a competition between McDonalds and Burger King, with both sides peddling variations of the same greasy shit.

               Therefore, I have become doubtful about my earlier suggestions that public historians compromise and listen to the other side to resolve this problem. It appears the other side does not want to reach a compromise: Museums and historical sites will either provide the “product” their patrons want, or they will take their dollars elsewhere. While one can hope that providing alternatives to the standard narratives will attract the public, I am afraid America’s hubris may be too much to overcome. Wallace does provide some intriguing alternatives such as providing exhibits decoding the historical narratives disseminated by Disney. Patrons might respond positively to these exhibits, investigating how Disney and others present the past.

In the meantime, I will have to be satisfied with smaller victories. Recently, my Grandma Luecke was regurgitating the standard narrative provided by conservative historians that the 1940s and 1950s represented a time when Americans had high standards of morality. My grandpa, irritated, finally looked at me and said: “Your grandma is full of shit. There was the same amount of whoring and boozing then as there is today; people just kept it quite back then.” I guess I will take what I can get. Go Grandpa.     

My some-what rambling blog (Maybe I shouldn't post at 12:32 a.m)

My four years as an associate at Borders Books and Music provided me with an unlikely introduction to public history. Although I spent the majority of my time cleaning fecal matter and reminding my teenage cliental that it was socially unacceptable to fornicate in the young adult section, I did manage to dedicate a portion of my time to assisting customers with their purchases. Most of my customers were highly intelligent—if not entirely pleasant—individuals with a voracious appetite for history. However, I quickly realized they were only interested in monographs that reinforced their own biases. Whenever I suggested relatively innocuous titles, they rejected my suggestions, claiming they were not interested in “liberal history.” To my customers, history was simply a collection of facts that commemorated the deeds of eminent men (and sometimes) women; anything that deviated from this formula was potentially treasonous. Judging by the reactions of my customers, I realized my future career would most likely place me at the frontlines of America’s bitter culture wars.

These attitudes have become increasingly problematic for museum professionals attempting to create innovative and thought provoking exhibits. As Talboys notes, we can no longer use material objects as show pieces, depriving them, in essence, of their historical context. Instead, museum professionals must place their collections in their historic context, enabling them to “provide a unique focal point for contemplation and uniquely multifarious starting-point for exploration.” At their best, museum exhibits like All in the Family provide the impetus to reflect on an era and the values and ideas the show represented. While not everyone may approve of these iconoclastic exhibits, their benefits outweigh their potential risks. However, at their worst, these museum pieces become a fire storm of controversy, offending those with preconceived notions of the “truth.”

Unfortunately,  exhibits garner more controversy than praise. The Enola Gay controversy, for instance, has become emblematic of the corrosive culture wars that have divided the United States. The exhibition’s detractors excoriated the exhibit’s creators for presenting an anti-American narrative of the events surrounding the nuclear attack on Hiroshima. In the minds of these detractors, the exhibit needed to be thoroughly revised to avoid dishonoring the military and veterans. The staff at the National Air and Space Museum—the exhibit’s sponsor—vehemently protested to the contrary, noting they relied on the latest scholarship and sought (although rarely acted upon) the advice of veterans groups to create an accurate portrayal of the past. The removal of the exhibit from the National Air and Space Museum represented nothing less than a capitulation to government and private censorship.  

As always, the truth lies somewhere in the middle. While the Smithsonian’s curators were cognizant of the sensitivities surrounding the Enola Gay, they created a narrative that was, in fact, biased. For example, while the section entitled “Delivering the Bomb” praised the patriotic service and dedication of the Enola Gay’s crew, the next section, “A Deadly New Threat: Radioactivity,” essentially erased the previous exhibit’s celebratory nature, focusing on the suffering of the victims of the nuclear attack. While the Smithsonian’s opposite position raised some salient concerns regarding the exhibits emotional impact, the staff of the Smithsonian did attempt to reach a compromise, revising the exhibit several times; however, veterans organization would not rest until the Smithsonian agreed to scuttle the exhibit in favor of a decontextualized—and essentially meaningless—museum piece.

The question remains: How do public historians create engaging and thought provoking exhibits while avoiding debilitating controversies like Enola Gay? One potential solution lies in museum staff having empathy for potential patrons. While this is no easy task, Talboys notes that it is crucial for the success of museums. While exhibits designed to provoke patrons is commendable, it has the tendency to overwhelm patrons who have never been exposed to historic thinking. Acquiring the skills associated with historical thinking is no easy task; it requires years of hard work and dedication, and not everyone will be successful. For many, it can be quite painful to confront and study narratives that fundamentally disagree with their worldview. As suggested by last week’s readings, it may be more advisable to focus on the big picture, leaving patrons with burning questions they will want to research on their own time. While this will not solve all of the problems public historians must face in the front lines of the culture wars, it is far better than resigning oneself to defeat. While fans of Rush Limbaugh—and some of my former Borders customers—might be unreachable—the majority of patrons are open to new narratives and ideas; the challenge rests in public historians and patrons finding common ground to disseminate these ideas while still commemorating the deeds of our ancestors. It will most likely require actually responding to concerns, rather than simply consulting and listening.           

Week 2 Readings!!!

Several years ago I had the opportunity to visit an old friend I had not seen in years. During the course of our conversation, he told me how relieved he was that he had chosen a career in the sciences. According to my friend, his course work at college involved a series of concrete facts that remained constant throughout human history. I found this puzzling considering that, throughout human history, the scientific community has revised and expanded their original conception of natural phenomenon. At the time, it was easy for me to disparage my friend; he obviously lacked my intellectual sophistication. However, I quickly came to realize that I held a similar view during my undergraduate years, so maybe I was not as intellectually superior as I had originally thought. This left me with a puzzling question: Why do intelligent people have such a narrow view of the world around them?

One cogent explanation is that humans absorb and process information that conforms to their biases, discarding conflicting evidence that does not conform to their worldview. Public historians must be cognizant of these inherent biases as they interact with a diverse public. Many visitors view history as a collection of facts celebrating their perception of a shared identity; they vociferously protest new interpretations that threaten their identity. For example, in the last few years conservatives have excoriated public historians who diverge from the traditional interpretation of the United States as a nation comprised of illustrious men who fought for liberty and justice for all. Recent scholarship has demolished this caricature of the past, but many conservatives remained bitterly opposed to these new interpretations, fearing they may destroy the fabric of the nation.

The question remains: How do public historians navigate this contested terrain while, at the same time, presenting diverse narratives and new evidence. Unfortunately, I do not have a satisfactory answer to this question. It is almost impossible to predict who will be offended by an exhibit. Of course, this might be the core of the problem. Instead of encouraging debate, public historians have resigned themselves to making history boring at the expense of creating dynamic new museums and historic sites. It might be advisable for public historians to become vocal themselves like Mr. Limbaugh (excluding the hyperbole and idiocy that comes with the Limbaugh brand) and aggressively promote and defend their institutions. As docents begin tours, they could briefly lecture about the historiography of a theme or topic, acknowledging conflicting views. While this has the potential to irritate visitors who simply want a neat and concise story, it seems to be the most advisable solution.