This week's readings, while taking on the subject of "difficult pasts" has been, in a word, difficult for me. As public historians we all hope that we are creating work that engages the public; work that speaks well to a variety of the different ethnic, socioeconomic, and intellectual backgrounds that our visitors encompass. This week's readings have left me less than hopeful that this is an accomplishable goal, or even, it might seem at some cultural institutions, the goal at all.
The essays in Slavery in Public History tell too well the story of American discomfort with troubling practices of the past. Sadly, all the smart and important work being done by public historians to try and engage the public in a critical analysis of the role of slavery and race in American history is likely lost on a public that is at times unable and other times unwilling to talk about it. Unless Americans come to terms with the "difficult" parts of history, and begin to speak candidly and openly about the complex relationship of slavery, race, class, and economics in American past, public historians might just be spinning their wheels.
Another reading for this week that gave me similar feelings of despair for the public history craft was The Lowell Experiment. The book, a case study of sorts about the cultural revitalization efforts of Lowell, Mass., was actually one of my favorite books of the semester. (Regardless of the mood it put me in.) I think my concerns can be best summed up by a passage from the book: "even when the officially sanctioned narratives are unusually critical and challenging, then, as they are in Lowell, these "communicative spaces" are highly selective about what they actually communicate. And despite the good intentions of many of the people who shaped these landscapes, they do not provide maps for actual participation in conversation about the relationships of power and modes of production in the word we live in now."(pg 67)
So, this leaves me thinking, what if, with all our good intentions we still aren't talking about the right things. Sure we can talk critically about a number of issues in a public history setting, but will we look back in 20 years and hope we told the same stories? If we are unable to get the public to discuss the "difficult stuff" of American history, then did we fail to provide those maps for participation? It would seem so.
Perhaps this post is particularly pessimistic because its the end of the semester and the large ominous cloud of unfinished school work is about to rain down on my head. I hope that is so, because I'm an eternal optimist, and this week the readings had me feeling pretty blue.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
"Preservation and National Memory" Reading Blog
This week's readings have been good food for thought for me.
Doss's Memorial Mania is an impressive book that takes a really interesting look at the culture of commemoration that has sprung up in modern America, a tradition she traces to the period after the Civil War. Doss argues that memorials, statues, and the like, are personal ways for people to express their own preferred versions of a national collective memory and disputed political narratives. This mania surrounding the commemoration of both the big and the small, the happy and the sad, has allowed for the plurality of social, cultural, and political narratives that can be seen throughout the country. In a somewhat opposite phenomenon, Mires's book Independence Hall explains how competing narratives have all been condensed, or rather covered up, with one particular way of remembering the site of Independence Hall. It appears that in our national scramble to remember, it can be just as easy to forget.
I agree with the main points of Doss's arguments, but I wish to make a broader connection here to other ideas we've talked about. Doss seems to emphasize the importance of the materiality and narrative of such memorials, and to me this speaks to the arguments I have made before, referring to Presence of the Past, that people seem most connected to (or in this case most willing to accept the interpretation of) something that is material. My reading of Rosenzweig and Thelen informed my opinion that people trust museums because museums have stuff. People connect with what they can touch (or could touch if the objects weren't housed in exhibit cases) and these memorials, huge hulking pieces of stone that many of them are, fulfill that need to touch a part of history. Even if most of these memorials aren't actually historic themselves.
The other two readings for this week: Crane's chapter on time, memory, and museums as well as Glassberg's essay on public history and memory, allow for even more discussion on the function of memory in the historical process. I think these pieces can augment our understanding of the larger claims that the books from this week are making. Crane's work seems to me, at least, to back up my idea about the importance of materiality in the contention of memory and history. And Glassberg has given us a helpful blueprint of how to work through these issues as he explores the ways public history can remedy the ills of collective memory.
Doss's Memorial Mania is an impressive book that takes a really interesting look at the culture of commemoration that has sprung up in modern America, a tradition she traces to the period after the Civil War. Doss argues that memorials, statues, and the like, are personal ways for people to express their own preferred versions of a national collective memory and disputed political narratives. This mania surrounding the commemoration of both the big and the small, the happy and the sad, has allowed for the plurality of social, cultural, and political narratives that can be seen throughout the country. In a somewhat opposite phenomenon, Mires's book Independence Hall explains how competing narratives have all been condensed, or rather covered up, with one particular way of remembering the site of Independence Hall. It appears that in our national scramble to remember, it can be just as easy to forget.
I agree with the main points of Doss's arguments, but I wish to make a broader connection here to other ideas we've talked about. Doss seems to emphasize the importance of the materiality and narrative of such memorials, and to me this speaks to the arguments I have made before, referring to Presence of the Past, that people seem most connected to (or in this case most willing to accept the interpretation of) something that is material. My reading of Rosenzweig and Thelen informed my opinion that people trust museums because museums have stuff. People connect with what they can touch (or could touch if the objects weren't housed in exhibit cases) and these memorials, huge hulking pieces of stone that many of them are, fulfill that need to touch a part of history. Even if most of these memorials aren't actually historic themselves.
The other two readings for this week: Crane's chapter on time, memory, and museums as well as Glassberg's essay on public history and memory, allow for even more discussion on the function of memory in the historical process. I think these pieces can augment our understanding of the larger claims that the books from this week are making. Crane's work seems to me, at least, to back up my idea about the importance of materiality in the contention of memory and history. And Glassberg has given us a helpful blueprint of how to work through these issues as he explores the ways public history can remedy the ills of collective memory.
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