Disclaimer: this book elicited a very powerful feeling in me and this essay is very personal and heated.
Steven C. Dubin’s Displays of Power: Controversy in the American Museum from the Enola Gay to Sensation (1999) details six case studies (including Sensation as a part of the afterward) of museum exhibits that have elicited excitement, protest, and outrage. Dubin’s book attempts to argue that controversial museum exhibits, like Harlem on my Mind or The Last Act (more commonly known simply as the Enola Gay Exhibit), are battles over public space, history, and culture.
His first chapter, “Crossing 125th Street: Harlem on my Mind Revisited,” explores the fiasco that was Tom Hoving’s, then curator of the Met, pet project. This is perhaps Dubin’s best work as it is the most historically contextual of the other studies. By emphasizing the political culture of race, ethnicity, and ideology of the late 1960s Dubin is able to argue how contemporary battles between African Americans and Jews of the Lower Eastside shaped the understanding of the Met’s displays. Dubin also outlines how at each opportunity for community support the curators of Harlem on my Mind made the wrong decision. From failing to include African American arts of a more traditional medium to including a racially charged essay written by a teenage girl, Hoving and his staff made every wrong choice offered to them, except perhaps to have the exhibit in the first place.
Dubin has little to say about the decades between the 1960s and the 1990s. He spends the rest of his book detailing different museum displays and tries to understand why they elicited controversy. He makes great use of various interviews with museum personel which will prove to be great resource someday. However, Dubin quotes many of these respondents at such length that most of the controversies sound like catty, juvenile battles of curatorship rather than cultural space. This does little for Dubin’s work and detracts from his writing. Aside from one chapter on The West as America exhibit which uses anonymous comments from museum guests, the audiences of these exhibits are largely ignored. Their contributions would have added more to Displays of Power than those of journalists, who Dubin accuses of being out of touch or unwilling to examine the exhibits for themselves (196-197). Dubin’s chapter on the Enola Gay adds little because so many other scholars have already written on that subject.
Perhaps the most offensive part of Dubin’s book is his afterward and its emphasis on the Sensation exhibit which featured an artist’s interpretation of the Virgin Mary covered with elephant dung. New Yorkers, especially Catholics, were outraged and the mayor, Rudy Giuliani, wanted the exhibit moved to a private venue. Here Dubin calls Christians and others who might be offended by such a painting homo censorious. He accuses those that believe in absolutism as opposed to moral relativism of being the real villains of America’s free speech. He argues that religion in America is antiquated and irrelevant and that these “manifold fears” are the real reasons Christians would feel compelled to picket, not the offensive nature of the exhibit. If he finds a picture of a religious figure covered in dung so understandable, what family photo of his should the public cover in excrement and argue that it is in fact a compliment to Dubin’s work. He attempts to discredit those that picketed this painting while praising those that picketed Harlem on my Mind. What Dubin fails to understand is that taxpayer dollars fund these public exhibits and as such museums, as have been discussed in other books for this class, are accountable in multiple ways to the viewing public.
Overall this book was a waste. His best chapter was his first and any book that eclipses itself in the first fifty pages should probably be left as an article. He did little to improve the public’s perception of museums and what it is that historians actually do. If anything, he probably damaged it even more. His afterword reads like the whining of an impatient toddler who blames everyone else for not getting his way. The book fails to move readers towards a deeper understanding of cultural space and power.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Slavery and Public History
This week’s reading, Slavery and Public History: The Tough Stuff of American Memory edited by James Oliver Horton and Lois E. Horton (2006), centered itself on the legacies of slavery and how public historians and their guests exhibit and relate to those difficult memories. James Oliver Horton states that this anthology is about the contradiction of “the history of American slavery in a country dedicated to freedom (Horton, vii). All of the chapters attempt to understand the contested public memory and its relationship to history.
The clash of historical ownership and debated interpretation most often takes place at sites of public history. Because memorials, museums, and other public spaces are often linked to various groups’ heritage and national identity different interpretations of history can be seen as points of power as well as pride. However, with the topic of slavery and the history of one group of people owning and oppressing another distinct group the contemporary public often expresses reluctance at hearing histories that can call into question the country’s past. Because sites of public history are often seen as locations of ancestry and family they can be places of continued debate.
The feelings that much of the white public audience, especially in the South, expresses towards discussions of slavery is predictable, even understandable. In National Parks and museums across the country white guests continue to prefer histories that minimize African American experiences and contributions to our nation’s past. Much of this is not perhaps because white audiences continue to choose nostalgia over sources or narratives of white supremacy but rather because many white Americans would like to forget the sins of their ancestors. History that forces white audiences to confront slavery can reinforce a public memory of shame that many white visitors would choose to forget rather than seek forgiveness and understanding.
Perhaps some of the most interesting work in this book is John Michael Vlach’s chapter “The Last Great Taboo Subject: Exhibiting Slavery at the Library of Congress.” This essay discusses an exhibit called “Back of the Big House” that Vlach took part in creating. The exhibit displayed a variety of pictures, testimonies, and architectural recreations so as to depict a Southern plantation from various slaves’ points of views. Within minutes of opening the African American employees of the Library of Congress protested the exhibit and before noon the museum had completely dismantled the displays and locked them in storage (Vlach, 58). This article goes on to explain that the legacies of slavery are too troubling for many black audiences who correctly continue to link slavery to contemporary racism. There are similar reactions in James Oliver Horton’s research on Colonial Williamsburg’s recreation of slave auctions. Protested by the NAACP, the auction was seen as trivializing and insulting to the African American experience. Edward T. Linenthal adds an interesting interpretation to these chapters. He argues that when African Americans boycott or protest such displays they choose to “inhabit therapeutic history that would support their … acceptable identity for themselves as well as their ancestors,” (Linenthal, 216).
The fact that both white and black Americans choose to participate in histories that minimize or quiet slave experiences is telling of just how much the past continues to shape the present. This book eloquently examines how slavery and sites of violent history struggle to fit into a national narrative of democracy, freedom, and battles legitimized by “just causes.” Slavery and Public History argues that sites of great violence and oppression must be remembered. Indeed, just as the Holocaust museum and the Enola Gay controversy emphasize, violent histories cannot be dismissed as inconvenient lest they be repeated.
The clash of historical ownership and debated interpretation most often takes place at sites of public history. Because memorials, museums, and other public spaces are often linked to various groups’ heritage and national identity different interpretations of history can be seen as points of power as well as pride. However, with the topic of slavery and the history of one group of people owning and oppressing another distinct group the contemporary public often expresses reluctance at hearing histories that can call into question the country’s past. Because sites of public history are often seen as locations of ancestry and family they can be places of continued debate.
The feelings that much of the white public audience, especially in the South, expresses towards discussions of slavery is predictable, even understandable. In National Parks and museums across the country white guests continue to prefer histories that minimize African American experiences and contributions to our nation’s past. Much of this is not perhaps because white audiences continue to choose nostalgia over sources or narratives of white supremacy but rather because many white Americans would like to forget the sins of their ancestors. History that forces white audiences to confront slavery can reinforce a public memory of shame that many white visitors would choose to forget rather than seek forgiveness and understanding.
Perhaps some of the most interesting work in this book is John Michael Vlach’s chapter “The Last Great Taboo Subject: Exhibiting Slavery at the Library of Congress.” This essay discusses an exhibit called “Back of the Big House” that Vlach took part in creating. The exhibit displayed a variety of pictures, testimonies, and architectural recreations so as to depict a Southern plantation from various slaves’ points of views. Within minutes of opening the African American employees of the Library of Congress protested the exhibit and before noon the museum had completely dismantled the displays and locked them in storage (Vlach, 58). This article goes on to explain that the legacies of slavery are too troubling for many black audiences who correctly continue to link slavery to contemporary racism. There are similar reactions in James Oliver Horton’s research on Colonial Williamsburg’s recreation of slave auctions. Protested by the NAACP, the auction was seen as trivializing and insulting to the African American experience. Edward T. Linenthal adds an interesting interpretation to these chapters. He argues that when African Americans boycott or protest such displays they choose to “inhabit therapeutic history that would support their … acceptable identity for themselves as well as their ancestors,” (Linenthal, 216).
The fact that both white and black Americans choose to participate in histories that minimize or quiet slave experiences is telling of just how much the past continues to shape the present. This book eloquently examines how slavery and sites of violent history struggle to fit into a national narrative of democracy, freedom, and battles legitimized by “just causes.” Slavery and Public History argues that sites of great violence and oppression must be remembered. Indeed, just as the Holocaust museum and the Enola Gay controversy emphasize, violent histories cannot be dismissed as inconvenient lest they be repeated.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Defining Memory
This week’s reading centered around the American local history museum. As an anthology, Defining Memory: Local Museums and the Construction of History in America’s Changing Communities edited by Amy K. Levin (2007), the work discusses how local history, or “nearby history,” is practiced across the country. While some of Levin’s own contributions discusses methodology other authors focus their work on specific museums and how public history professionals make the most (or least) of their exhibits and engage (or ignore) the public.
One section, “The Rebirth of the Nation,” studies how some museums are changing their scripts in order to attempt to meet the needs of audience expectations in light of social history. While the section on Colonial Williamsburg by Eric Gable and Richard Handler says little beyond their book on the subject, the section on the Old State Capitol Museum in Baton Rouge is very interesting. While Colonial Williamsburg and the House of the Seven Gables have both shifted their tours to emphasize African American contributions to history, the Old State Capitol Museum is emphasizing their gombo history. The curators in Baton Rouge choose to focus on a melting pot mentality that many visitors might expect to find in a New York City immigrant history museum, not a Southern plantation-era museum. Another notable difference regarding the Old State Capitol Museum is its focus on children as important museum guests. Their exhibit on the electoral and voting process is innovative and should be repeated at other institutions. By forcing children to take part in mock elections and state budget meetings the curators teach kids that the political process must involve all individuals in order to work properly and that all political actions have consequences. The Old State Capitol Museum also has exhibits on Native American, African American, French, and Spanish historical contributions but their emphasis on the importance of voting is noteworthy and most appropriate in a capitol building. This museum is using social history trends to not only do the expected- emphasize the contributions of women and minorities- but argue that history is made by every individual that participates and therefore belongs to everyone as well.
The many museums sponsored by the Daughters of Utah Pioneers (DUP) teach valuable lessons as well. Their museums began as shrines to women’s unique experiences in nineteenth-century Utah. However, the future of the museums looks bleaks; an example is that of the hundreds of quilts donated to the DUP. The DUP exhibits depend on voluntary contributions and women have been generous. The DUP now houses dozens of quilts which the museums feel both proud and obligated to display. While this does pay tribute to the families who gave their quilts, to guests the sheer number of coverlets in no apparent order can be onerous. In order not to offend anyone the DUP has become a slave to their local public. Their exhibit suffers because the Daughters of Utah Pioneers want to display everything rather than design a truly creative museum that would require selectivity and elimination of many artifacts. That is their choice. However, their choices are making them undesirable to much of the public.
Defining Memory is an important work for anyone involved in public history. It allows readers to understand from those that have experience in the field as to what works and what does not. Local history is important because the public seems to find it the most accessible, interesting, and a point of regional pride. It is also necessary for young public historians to learn about local history museums because that is where the most jobs are thus potential employment rests in understanding the power of public local history.
One section, “The Rebirth of the Nation,” studies how some museums are changing their scripts in order to attempt to meet the needs of audience expectations in light of social history. While the section on Colonial Williamsburg by Eric Gable and Richard Handler says little beyond their book on the subject, the section on the Old State Capitol Museum in Baton Rouge is very interesting. While Colonial Williamsburg and the House of the Seven Gables have both shifted their tours to emphasize African American contributions to history, the Old State Capitol Museum is emphasizing their gombo history. The curators in Baton Rouge choose to focus on a melting pot mentality that many visitors might expect to find in a New York City immigrant history museum, not a Southern plantation-era museum. Another notable difference regarding the Old State Capitol Museum is its focus on children as important museum guests. Their exhibit on the electoral and voting process is innovative and should be repeated at other institutions. By forcing children to take part in mock elections and state budget meetings the curators teach kids that the political process must involve all individuals in order to work properly and that all political actions have consequences. The Old State Capitol Museum also has exhibits on Native American, African American, French, and Spanish historical contributions but their emphasis on the importance of voting is noteworthy and most appropriate in a capitol building. This museum is using social history trends to not only do the expected- emphasize the contributions of women and minorities- but argue that history is made by every individual that participates and therefore belongs to everyone as well.
The many museums sponsored by the Daughters of Utah Pioneers (DUP) teach valuable lessons as well. Their museums began as shrines to women’s unique experiences in nineteenth-century Utah. However, the future of the museums looks bleaks; an example is that of the hundreds of quilts donated to the DUP. The DUP exhibits depend on voluntary contributions and women have been generous. The DUP now houses dozens of quilts which the museums feel both proud and obligated to display. While this does pay tribute to the families who gave their quilts, to guests the sheer number of coverlets in no apparent order can be onerous. In order not to offend anyone the DUP has become a slave to their local public. Their exhibit suffers because the Daughters of Utah Pioneers want to display everything rather than design a truly creative museum that would require selectivity and elimination of many artifacts. That is their choice. However, their choices are making them undesirable to much of the public.
Defining Memory is an important work for anyone involved in public history. It allows readers to understand from those that have experience in the field as to what works and what does not. Local history is important because the public seems to find it the most accessible, interesting, and a point of regional pride. It is also necessary for young public historians to learn about local history museums because that is where the most jobs are thus potential employment rests in understanding the power of public local history.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Week One
The great divide between academia and the rest of the world is lamentable. It is the joke of many history departments that historians write for each other and that David McCullough and Stephen Ambrose write for everyone else. This week’s readings centered on the midline between the professional historian and the public and how many public historians are actively trying to bridge the gap.
According to the public, what are the purposes of history? Roy Rosenzweig and David Thelen’s The Presence of the Past: Popular Uses of History in American Life ask that question and others to over 2,000 interviewees. Their methodology resembles that of an anthropologist and their conclusions are very interesting. Overwhelmingly the respondents seemed to separate what they termed as “history” and “the past”. “History” was a subject taught in schools, most often about the formation of nation-states. “The past”, however, was intrinsically connected to the present and thusly linked to much of the public. The authors reported that interviewees did not see the past as “distant, abstract, or insignificant” and that they “pursue the past actively and make it a part of their everyday life,” (Rosenzweig and Thelen, 18). According to Rosenzweig and Thelen, the past is always involved in the shaping of the present and never really separate at all.
The authors also reported that the public did purposefully seek a connection to their past, or heritage, through artifacts, museums, elderly relatives, and other forms of media. The respondents emphasized family as their greatest connection to the past. They also argued that they considered family members to be among the most trustworthy keepers of historic knowledge.
Cathy Stanton’s article began as various responses on H-Net to the definition of “public history” as provided by the National Council on Public History. Their definition is “public history is a movement, methodology, and approach that promotes the collaborative study and practice of history; its practitioners embrace a mission to make their special insights accessible and useful to the public." It is easy to see why this definition would create a firestorm among public historians. Firstly, can there be an official methodology for all public history? Other historians argued that calling public history a “movement” was too political. However, the most problematic portion of the definition is that historians may “make their special insights accessible and useful to the public.” This kind of elitist statement argues that professional academics have the keys to deciphering history and that they must dutifully make the past available to the public. Public history should be an exchange between professional historians and their audiences.
This exchange between historians and the public is addressed by Corbett and Miller’s article on shared authority. This article seems to be a more in touch with reality that the opinion shared by the NCPH. Corbett and Miller describe the interplay between historians and audiences and argue that the public has quite a bit of power over public historians. An example of this is oral history: historians can initiate and interview but what is revealed and to whom are entirely in the hands of the respondent. Historians and audiences share agency in the creation of public history (Corbett and Miller, 20). Because of this shared authority and agency historians must be willing to tweak presentations of the past. In fact, historians and the public most often butt heads when the professional wants to display a person or group’s past in a way that is unfamiliar or controversial. The Smithsonian’s Enola Gay debacle is a great example of this.
What Corbett, Miller, Rosezweig, Thelen, and Stanton all want professional historians to understand is that a public historian’s responsibility is to engage the public. This commitment to a public audience should shape the historian’s methodology. Corbett and Miller propose that the public historian is the mediator between the truth they want to present and the truth the public wants to hear (38). However, this balance is easy to discuss but difficult to put into practice. If public historians always catered to the public this way then sites of history would most likely be shrines or temples rather than forums of discussion. This does not help anyone, historian or other, to come to terms with their past.
According to the public, what are the purposes of history? Roy Rosenzweig and David Thelen’s The Presence of the Past: Popular Uses of History in American Life ask that question and others to over 2,000 interviewees. Their methodology resembles that of an anthropologist and their conclusions are very interesting. Overwhelmingly the respondents seemed to separate what they termed as “history” and “the past”. “History” was a subject taught in schools, most often about the formation of nation-states. “The past”, however, was intrinsically connected to the present and thusly linked to much of the public. The authors reported that interviewees did not see the past as “distant, abstract, or insignificant” and that they “pursue the past actively and make it a part of their everyday life,” (Rosenzweig and Thelen, 18). According to Rosenzweig and Thelen, the past is always involved in the shaping of the present and never really separate at all.
The authors also reported that the public did purposefully seek a connection to their past, or heritage, through artifacts, museums, elderly relatives, and other forms of media. The respondents emphasized family as their greatest connection to the past. They also argued that they considered family members to be among the most trustworthy keepers of historic knowledge.
Cathy Stanton’s article began as various responses on H-Net to the definition of “public history” as provided by the National Council on Public History. Their definition is “public history is a movement, methodology, and approach that promotes the collaborative study and practice of history; its practitioners embrace a mission to make their special insights accessible and useful to the public." It is easy to see why this definition would create a firestorm among public historians. Firstly, can there be an official methodology for all public history? Other historians argued that calling public history a “movement” was too political. However, the most problematic portion of the definition is that historians may “make their special insights accessible and useful to the public.” This kind of elitist statement argues that professional academics have the keys to deciphering history and that they must dutifully make the past available to the public. Public history should be an exchange between professional historians and their audiences.
This exchange between historians and the public is addressed by Corbett and Miller’s article on shared authority. This article seems to be a more in touch with reality that the opinion shared by the NCPH. Corbett and Miller describe the interplay between historians and audiences and argue that the public has quite a bit of power over public historians. An example of this is oral history: historians can initiate and interview but what is revealed and to whom are entirely in the hands of the respondent. Historians and audiences share agency in the creation of public history (Corbett and Miller, 20). Because of this shared authority and agency historians must be willing to tweak presentations of the past. In fact, historians and the public most often butt heads when the professional wants to display a person or group’s past in a way that is unfamiliar or controversial. The Smithsonian’s Enola Gay debacle is a great example of this.
What Corbett, Miller, Rosezweig, Thelen, and Stanton all want professional historians to understand is that a public historian’s responsibility is to engage the public. This commitment to a public audience should shape the historian’s methodology. Corbett and Miller propose that the public historian is the mediator between the truth they want to present and the truth the public wants to hear (38). However, this balance is easy to discuss but difficult to put into practice. If public historians always catered to the public this way then sites of history would most likely be shrines or temples rather than forums of discussion. This does not help anyone, historian or other, to come to terms with their past.
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