My thoughts on week 10 readings:

John Bodnar’s chapter struck me as an especially apt case study of some of the themes previously discussed in class. Namely, the fact that the past is immensely relevant to a vast number of people, and that because of this fact, people will always interpret the past according to personal priorities rather than outside interpretive frameworks. Bodnar argues that the US government used the Civil War Centennial of 1961-1965 and the Revolutionary War Bicentennial of 1975-1983 as opportunities to design programs of historical commemoration that would revolve around the themes of unity, heroism, and patriotism. Despite a few flops, these programs largely went forward as planned, but were joined by a host of alternative and competing commemoratory activities which varied from glorification of local identity to outright criticism of the country’s government and economic system. While Bodnar suggests that the government appointed bodies in charge of the “official” commemorations were sometimes disturbed by the proliferation of alternative commemorative activity, such as civil war reenactments, it would have been absolutely naïve to not expect such developments. Unlike the People’s Bicentennial Commission, I don’t see the government’s attempts to encourage loyalty to the existing political order as some sinister big business plot, but rather the natural outcome of government involvement in historical commemoration which is, inevitably, also historical interpretation. Governments, as such, will naturally use historic commemoration to advance what they interpret to be their own wellbeing, whether through American Revolution Bicentennial Administrations or the heroic statuary of Eastern European regimes which Levinson discussed. The difference lies in the fact that since the United States is not an autocracy, its citizens will necessarily exercise their right to dissent, in this case by commemorating the important episodes of national history according to their own priorities and agendas which may coincide with those of the government, but often does not.

My Thoughts on Week 9 Readings:

                I found Sanford Levinson’s Written In Stone to be frustrating at some times, challenging at others, and interesting throughout. I’m sure everyone shared my occasional frustration when Levinson drifts geographically from Boston to Hungary to Virginia to Texas and stylistically from historian to constitutional lawyer to public policy advisor with little explanation or justification given for these shifts. Levinson’s unannounced and unexplained segue into the role of constitutional lawyer in discussing the use of the Confederate flag is particularly challenging, because he adopts a strictly “legalese” line of reasoning to reach a conclusion—that states have the right to fly Confederate flags if they wish to do so—that he then denounces on moral grounds. This seems to be a risky path to take, given that an inattentive reader could easily misunderstand Levinson’s position. The potential for a deliberately out-of-context misquotation is also highly dangerous. Levinson might serve, therefore, as an example of how NOT to present ideas in public history where the audience might not recognize an academic thought experiment, and where interest groups of all kinds are ready to pounce on the smallest statement from an academic authority that seems to support their claims, honestly or otherwise.

                Beyond these disadvantages, Written in Stone offers fascinating analyses of the role of monuments and public art in modern society. I especially liked the way Levinson treated monuments, like historic buildings, as objects that have complex histories. Monuments are constructed to commemorate past events, but reflect also the realities of the time in which they were built, and acquire new meanings as they age and social attitudes change. A good example is the Liberty Monument in New Orleans that has at various times been seen as a tribute to courage, a bald statement of racism, and an object for historic preservation. Another interesting comparison Levinson makes is between the European context in which monuments are usually constructed by governments and demolished, almost as a matter of course, when those governments are succeeded by new ones, and the American scene in which monuments often originate from private interests and are subject to reinterpretation more often than replacement.

My thoughts on week 7 readings

Chapter 6 in Glassberg’s Sense of History highlighted the fact that historic preservation in locations which have witnessed multiple historical experiences, as most locations have, necessarily involves the preservation of one history over any others. While this issue emerged in Nolan’s article last week, Glassberg presents an even more compelling example in the McKnight neighborhood of Springfield, Massachusetts. McKnight’s recent white residents wished to restore the neighborhood houses to the architectural style of the late 19^th Century when the houses were first constructed, while the long time African American residents preferred to bring back the neighborhood as was in the 1950s and 60s. Architectural details such as aluminum siding and chain link fences separated the two styles to be preserved.

            The issue is so much more poignant in Glassberg’s example because, unlike Monticello or Montpelier, the McKnight neighborhood is a living community, not just a designated historic site. No director or team of curators can therefore make a professional decision about what interpretive framework to pursue. Also, a “post-modernist” approach such as that attempted by the Montpelier staff is impractical due to the fact that almost everyone seems to view neighborhoods as organic whole whose unique “character” depends on preserving all aspects of the community as consistently as possible, and in reconciling those aspects that are not in line with the overall atmosphere. Unfortunately, no two people, much less different social groups, seem to be able to agree on what that atmosphere should be, relying instead on a mixture of personal priorities unique to each individual. Given the complexity involved in the issue of historic neighborhood designation, it is definitely one in which authority sharing with the public should be maximized, since almost nothing is more likely to produce an emotional response than one’s own home and the environment surrounding it.

My thoughts on week 6 readings:

Before this week’s reading I had devoted very little thought to historic preservation compared to the other subfields of public history. My undergraduate university, while lacking a public history program, offered a historic preservation program through the school of architecture. This encouraged me to think of the subject as a purely technical, architectural endeavor. Nolan, by emphasizing the way in which styles of historic preservation/restoration relate to the academic theories of modernism and post-modernism, and Lindgren, by bringing out the gendered dimension of personalism versus professionalism, have made me realize the academic depth which historic preservation can have.

I have been on a number of historic building, though probably not as many as you who grew up on the East Coast, but the articles raised questions about them that I had never considered. Unless the tour guide emphasized some idiosyncratic element of the building, which was seldom, I assumed that the building’s managers followed Lindgren’s definition of restoration. This, it seemed to me, was what separated historic preservation from archeology. I now realize how easy it would be for the building to tell multiple stories from different, later owners. Viewed in this light, historic buildings are easier to appreciate as dynamic centers of ongoing history, rather than static evocations of one, earlier time period. Many of these complex and interesting elements may be impossible to see unless one, like Nolan does, explores the history of the historic site and traces the various preservationist philosophies which have been employed by different managers.

My thoughts on week 5 readings:

The Enola Gay controversy highlighted an aspect of public history that we have not previously been discussed in length: the role of government and government institutions in the sphere of public history. I was amazed that, after his organization had waged a furious campaign to destroy the objectionable segments of the Smithsonian exhibit, an American Legion spokesperson could praise an exhibit put on by the American University with the same material on the grounds that “AU is a private institution. The Smithsonian is a public institution, where the impression is that anything it says is official history” (222). The phrase “official history” evokes a totalitarian mandate for historical interpretation in the style of the Soviet or Nazi regimes, a concept totally inappropriate to a liberal democracy such as the US. The idea that US government funding for cultural institutions necessarily implies that the government exercises content control in these institutions is ridiculous, especially considering the long history of conservative politicians’ complaints about the “immoral” uses of public funding for the arts. The Enola Gay exhibit itself, in fact, drew similar condemnation, though certainly no concrete censorship, from the Republican controlled Congress. 

            The question remains, then, why anyone would believe that a Smithsonian exhibit would leave the “impression” that it is “official history.” Perhaps the Smithsonian might benefit from emphasizing that, while closely associated with the federal government, their museums are still directed and curated by professional staff, rather than government boards.  If the mystique of a “public institution” were diminished by emphasizing the roles of individuals, perhaps the passion of some future censorious campaigns could be diminished. In the end, though, interest groups will probably always attempt to push their agendas on museums as small as the John Dillinger or as large as the Smithsonian. The best defense seems to be the mix of negotiation and defense, together with the support of the professional community, outlined in chapter 7’s discussion of the National Museum of American History’s tangling with the business community.    

My thoughts on week 4 readings.

            Slavery and Public History rung true to me in its description of a widespread lack of public knowledge about slavery and/or acceptance of discredited historical myths on the topic. Ira Berlin’s observation that few Americans acknowledge the central role that slavery played in the nation’s history from its very beginning, and James Horton’s article on the way in which Northerners and Southerners alike have sanitized the memory of slavery by denial or mischaracterization immediately reminded me of an episode of Hardball with Chris Matthews that aired on June 19^th, 2009. Matthews’ guest, Tennessee Representative Steve Cohen discussed the recent Congressional apology for slavery, to which Matthews belligerently responded that the North should not have to apologize for slavery since it fought the Civil War to end slavery. After first denying that Pennsylvania, New York, and Vermont even had slaves, Matthews then lamely conceded that “they had some of it,” but still demanded to know “why should anybody apologize for your [Southern] sins?”[1] While less obnoxious than the perennial, loud protesting of Neo-Confederate organizations discussed by Marie Tyler-McGraw and Dwight Pitcaithley among others, the exchange still exemplified many of the myths discussed in the book, such as the instant association of slavery with the Civil War, and the belief that slavery was not important to Northern history.

            Given the prevalence of myths relating to slavery, as well as the strong emotions which so many Americans feel towards the issue, slavery seems to be an excellent test case of the constructive role which public historians can play, or fail to play, in society. Joanne Melish and Louis Horton both describe situations in which the incorporation of a discussion of slavery into a historical presentation resulted in conflicting misconceptions and mythologies which did not seem to be resolved in the end. John Vlach, on the other hand, presents a powerful counter-example in which a spirited debate over the exhibition of slavery resolved in an overwhelmingly positive outcome for all involved. What factors caused such different outcomes? What can public historians do, if they can do anything, to guide such emotional conflicts to an educative and perhaps edifying conclusion? While ignoring painful history is never the answer to mitigating its effects on society, merely providing forums for myths and counter-myths to combat each other seems ineffective to me aswell. 

1: http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/31488466

My thoughts on week 3 readings.

Although Defining Memory covers a wide variety of subjects, one theme which stood out to me across many of the articles was the vulnerability of local museums to financial and political pressures. Vulnerability came up in one form or another in most chapters. Wichita’s Cowtown park was forced to exchange an accurate depiction of Wichita’s early days for a cookie-cutter Old West Small Town appearance both because site managers did not have sufficient money to depict a more complex urban scene, and because city leaders preferred the inaccurate depiction for its resemblance to Hollywood Westerns. The powerful opposition of law enforcement and other community interests to the John Dillinger Museum forced the institution to stick to a narrow interpretation of Dillinger. The Daughters of Utah Pioneers Museums had limited opportunities for improvement thanks to their reliance on elderly volunteer staff members. Levin summarizes a long history of the sometimes undue pressure which donors can have on the creative autonomy of museums strapped for cash. By the end of the book, I felt that vulnerability could almost be added to the definition of local museums.




While most authors acknowledged that political and financial vulnerability were often the root causes of the interpretive choices they were now criticizing, none seemed interested in suggesting creative solutions to the problems. Dona Langford’s success story of the Dickson Mound Museum overcoming the challenge created by the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, for example, focused on the Museum’s efforts to creatively move from conflict to cooperation with the Native American community as the Museum reinvented itself in the mid 1990s. As laudable as these efforts were, Langford mentions only passing the fact that the Museum’s reinvention was made possible only by the appropriation of $4 million from the state of Illinois, government largess that the vast majority of museums could only dream of. While I understand that Defining Memory is primarily a work of scholarly critique, the deep vulnerability that so many authors uncovered in local museums made me wonder if a more detailed study of how local museums survive financial and political crises exists in the literature.