Month: February 2015

Q1: Should museums be involved in current politics/movements & should they be taking a stance? If so, in what ways?

This week’s readings are difficult to respond to because they are just so easy to agree with. If I’m remembering correctly, the goal of early museums was to strengthen the community, promote deeper thought, and encourage civic engagement. As women and people of color have started to become more equal participants in our society, this early museum goal should simply extend to include them.

Additionally, I agree that museum employees should seek to create meaningful relationships in their community, not just crawl out of the woodwork whenever it becomes convenient and marketable to support minority groups. The advice that museum management should strongly encourage their employees to spend time volunteering is fantastic. The time spent building camaraderie within the community will undoubtedly pay for itself tenfold.

I wonder how much the educational requirement of working in public history (i.e. requiring advanced degrees) hinders our ability to truly become democratic institutions within the community. As it stands now, the situation is tied deeply to economic privilege and creates a top-down power dynamic.

Q2: If they want to address current politics without taking a stance what would a neutral version of interpretation look like?

A neutral interpretation would be a nearly impossible challenge. Perhaps, poising two sides of the argument against one another in the interpretation and then leaving the conclusion up in the air for each person to determine for their own selves could create a neutral position.

Critics would still find a way to find fault in the interpretation. You would have to be meticulous in making sure that one “side” of the interpretation has an equal number of words and artifacts as the other.

Q3: Find somebody who’s arguing for museum neutrality/not taking a stance in modern times? Include a link if you can find one.

I was unable to find an article or link arguing this, so I’m looking forward to seeing with other people can dig up.

However, I think museums with really niche topics can absolutely get away with not making a stance about hot topics. For example, in my hometown sits the Cowgirls of the West Museum. While they could probably manage to tie women’s history and representation to Ferguson, their lack of funding and expertise on issues of race would likely result in a very superficial interpretation. A rushed interpretation might do more harm than good. In these cases, Craig Ferguson’s advice about voicing your opinion seems apropos. [Warning: Video contains cursing.]

However, this does not excuse niche museums from working towards a more inclusive overall story. The Cowgirl museum can (and should) still work towards including a diverse collection of cowgirl stories in their exhibit, but they don’t necessarily need to be front and center when it comes to Ferguson or other trending news.

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If anyone is still interested, here’s the link to the mock border crossing I mentioned in class last week.

A few years ago, my former roommate and I were talking about our crazy college escapades.   I began reminiscing about how fun it was to have friends over every Sunday for dinner and a drive in my Volkswagen Bus to the foothills.   Turns out, those people who came over were MY friends and that, in fact, my roommate couldn’t stand them.   She was just being polite and put up with them because she did not want to cause strife. I was shocked!   I had no idea that she had a different perspective from my rosy memories. All these years, I had assumed that she had the same view.

Every rural museum seems to have the same type of exhibits – the general store, a blacksmith shop, and an early American living space, such as a kitchen or living room.   So with this week’s question of politics in museums, I was wondering what political statement bland and boring exhibits are making. Initially, my thoughts turned to the idea that stale exhibits are a critique on the lack of state funding given to historical endeavors – but then, after the readings, I thought about WHAT collections are displayed and realized what these exhibits are “saying.” Whose history is being portrayed with the lavish living room, the general store, etc.? And even though I assumed that they reflect our collective history, more than often, they reflect MY history as a white, middle-class American. And just like my roommate, I assumed that these type of collections speak to everyone’s experience.

When I was looking for political neutrality in museums, a few interesting points emerged. Museums have been using the same model for so long that the underlying messages are not considered political, even though inherently they are. For example, a museum chock full of ancient goodies usually don’t mention that many of the artifacts were looted by a 19^th century rich European man.   Or, if pieces are donated to the museum by a wealthy benefactor (with a prominent acknowledgement to said benefactor), what message does that give to the masses that live at the bottom of the hill?   My quest for an article about museum neutrality continues.

My favorite articles this week came from the Incluseum and Museum Commons. I felt that these articles gave great concrete ideas on how to bridge racial gaps in America’s narrative within the museum paradigm.   While other articles encouraged people to show indignation via social media or by wearing a T-shirt, it seems like those ideas are a tiny and temporary Band-Aid for a gaping wound. The Museum Commons acknowledged the importance of giving people a chance to voice their concerns, but stressed the importance of having a trained discussion leader in charge of the meeting, lest the meeting makes things worse. In turn, the Incluseum actually gave people a voice to many community members, so they could work through the feelings together. Also, the Incluseum has tried to foster a long-term relationship with the community so that when a controversial event happens, they are already seen as a compassionate place in which to discuss, not an entity that is trying to seem relevant and “cash-in” on tragedy. Finally, their programs that show the various ways that Seattle is becoming more inclusive and collaborative between groups is a great way for people to learn about the many positives that are going on.

This type of collaboration is imperative in order to create a museum space that reflects all of our histories

I believe a history museum or historical site is a perfect location to discuss Ferguson and race issues in the US.   It is the history of slavery, Jim Crow, segregation and institutional racism that has created an African American underclass that is daily reminded that their place is still at the back of the bus.  They are bombarded with media images of the wealth, abundance and success that is unattainable to so many people that are marginalized through discrimination.  Is it any wonder that many young African Americans turn to anti-social behavior when the approved path to success and respect is closed to them?  What affect does it have on young African Americans to know they will be followed in stores, are unwelcome outside of their neighborhoods, will be pulled over for DWB, and are generally suspect?  How can a person not internalize at least some aspects of society’s rejection?

According to Adrianne Russell‘s writing in Cabinet of Curiosities (December 11, 2014),  every museum “should commit to identifying how they can connect to relevant contemporary issues irrespective of collection, focus or mission.”  Writing in Museum Commons (December 16, 2014), Melanie Adams concurs, because for her museums are supposed to be places of learning and therefore should provide educational opportunities for the entire community.  She addresses four points to facilitate successful community engagement: (1) Have inclusive exhibits/programs throughout the year so addressing a current event does not appear reactionary, (2) partner with organizations that have experience and expertise in fostering dialog with diverse groups, (3) communicate with stakeholders and, (4) as much as possible have museum employees at all levels active in the community.  For those who may ask why a museum, whose mission has traditionally been viewed, in a conservative mindset, to collect, preserve and present, should discourse on current events, Deborah F. Schwartz replies in Museum (January 4, 2015) with “history is a vital modality for understanding the dilemmas of contemporary life,” for the past helps us comprehend our now and our tomorrow.

But before museums jump headfirst into issues that may be controversial Rebecca Herz cautions in Museum Questions (December 5, 2014), that museums need to look at their own make up and strive for greater diversity particularly at the senior level and in terms of the museum board’s make up.  If not, communities may perceive so called public engagement as privileged people going through the motions of compassion without really caring.  Moreover, if museums tackle controversial topics they need to have “strategies for facilitating politically loaded conversations” to provide a safe space with conversation that is geared toward learning and empathy rather than one that degenerates to name calling and further misunderstanding.

I think for history museums it is reasonable to host any current event that can be linked to our country’s history.  Therefore, most hot button issues that raise the hackles or cheer the soul, depending on your outlook, are possible topics.  But if a museum does address current issues how does it ensure it isn’t unfairly favoring one point of view over another?  In August 2014 the Missouri History Museum hosted a town hall meeting concerning youth and community in the aftermath of Ferguson.  It was moderated by African American civil rights activist Kevin Powell, whose message is understanding, reconciliation and justice.  By some standards he would be called a “liberal,” so does this mean the MHM should offer a “conservative” speaker the opportunity to talk about the same topics?  If a museum gave space to a group discussing historical discrimination against women and how it relates to disparate pay today, should it have to offer space to a group whose counterpoint is that it was not, and is not discrimination, but divinely assigned gender roles that everybody should embrace?  Should a publically funded science museum have to allow an exhibit on creationism if it has one on evolution?

I asked some conservatively minded friends about the MHM’s town hall meeting and they wanted to know if the Police Officers’ Benevolent Association wanted to use the MHM to present a talk on the difficulties and dangers of policing in an armed society if they would have been given the space to do so.  Others felt that public museums are supposed to be apolitical and any kind of current event dialog is going to engender disputes between extremes taking away from the museums learning agenda.  These were the reasonable comments.   Some, recounted how Michael Brown had robbed a convenience store and assaulted the owner, had a rap sheet as “long as your arm” and either assaulted the police officer or tried to kill him.  I asked, “regardless of the circumstances” doesn’t it seem like law enforcement is institutionalized to “protect and serve” in wealthy or middle class neighborhoods, somewhat indifferent to poor white communities, but focused on “policing” poor African American neighborhoods?  I was told the police go to where the trouble is and if people were obeying the law, they’d have nothing to worry about.  It’s always interesting to note, that poorer white Americans have, on an economic level more in common with poorer black Americans than they have with wealthy white Americans, but seem to be the demographic most stridently opposed to any empathy for African Americans (arguably my own middle class bias or condescension on display here).  Another legacy of slavery perhaps, where even if you were the “lowest of the low” in white society, at least you were not black.  More than one person thought of museums as moribund places where “old stuff” is, and they found it inconceivable that a museum would host something like the MHM had.  They saw an abuse of government funding and assumed the event was designed to inflame passions in another act by race hustlers who refuse to take responsibility for their actions.

In an AP story on January 2, Jim Salter reported that the MHM was collecting artifacts from Ferguson’s public protests after the shooting in order to document history as it occurs.  He reported the MHM Library and Collections director as saying an exhibition is not currently planned, but these are artifacts of a significant political event in our history that should be preserved.   After the AP story appeared several conservative websites, such as Before It’s News and The Black Sphere, misreported this as “creating a museum of Ferguson” and stating “If this guy believes a black guy being a thug, then being killed by the cops is history, then that better be one HUGE museum.”  And you can only imagine the comments on the site in relation to this.

According to ProPublica’s website (October 13, 2014), young black men are twenty-one times more likely to be shot by the police than are young white men.  How many white parents who have “the talk” with their teenage sons are not talking about sex, but how to deal with the police so they are not shot?  As reported in the Boston Globe on November 26 of last year, this rite of passage included one father who took away all his son’s hoodies because he was worried that they invite police attention.   White kids get the benefit of the doubt and black kids get labeled as potential threats to be responded to in a preemptive manner.

I thought this was a powerful read that was jam-packed with inspiring reflections on the links between collective memory, place, and the intricacies of presenting difficult history. I must be a glutton for punishment, because I’d love to be involved in the tricky interpretation at the types of sites explored in these essays, especially the national parks.

Blight’s piece on memory and history stood out to me as the root difficulty of interpreting sites or historical moments of shame or conscience. Particularly useful was the equating of history and memory to a contrast between reason and emotion; history stands out in its (theoretically) secular tradition of carefully crafted, painstakingly researched argument, whereas memory functions as the sacred property of an individual or group, blurring together a site and its context where history seeks to tease out the complexities between the two. The polarity of secular and sacred speaks highly to type of ownership and intense reactions people have to the stories discussed in the rest of the book.

Horton’s piece raised an interesting question to me, especially in light of my fond reaction to the previous piece we read on dialogic history. I think dialogue-minded site interpretation is a venerable task, working to inspire action as a result of visiting a site of conscience. Horton’s piece raises the question of what a nationwide dialogue on these difficult subjects might look like, and if it is even possible. Time and time again the book mentioned the overarching uncomfortableness of visitors, both black and white, to antebellum sites that introduced the interpretation of slavery. Much of this was tied to context, such as the taboo discussion of slavery inside a plantation home of a powerful or historically important figure, but the ready attention of visitors to the culture of the enslaved in an area equated with servitude or separate quarters. I think a big barrier to productive national dialogue is the astonishing lack of knowledge of the American public of contentious history, or in some cases very basic history. I was in disbelief at the public history education statistics and ignorance of slavery in curriculums, though perhaps this shouldn’t be surprising considering similar treatment of Japanese incarceration, a much more recent historical blemish. Public historians are tasked then, not to dive right in to these juicy thought-provoking dialogic interpretations, but first with the responsibility of basic education of the bare facts. I have a hard time reconciling the idea that a costumed Williamsburg interpreter can still be barraged with anachronistic ideas and insults that they are trying to educate the public away from with one author’s cautioning against underestimating the public’s ability to discuss complex and sensitive issues in the appropriate context. I guess a main takeaway from this book then, is a survey of the current national landscape for public historians. We are tasked with a complicated goal of confronting difficult history and the equally difficult current issues that are legacies of these histories, in a way that both educates the public on the basic facts and teases out complex and layered interpretations.

I highly enjoyed the piece on Philadelphia’s Independence NHS, perhaps because it was a lesson in how not to act as an NPS interpretive planner: in support of the grand narrative of American exceptionalism, in ignorance of academic history, and without collaboration with experts on the subject or in the local arena. It made me ponder on Kaci’s objections that academic and public historians have the same goals – I think that broadly they do have the same goals, but their missions are made complex considering audience and context. This piece was inspiring in the public’s desire to receive the entire history, blemishes and all, at a place so susceptible to ignoring the painful past to glorify an honored national myth. The international dialogue that the Library of Congress incident sparked was surprising, as I wondered how Mining the Museum received such a contrasting reaction, as both could be viewed as an insulting version history to any of the institution’s workers. Perhaps it is entirely dependent on which set of workers is insulted and what is viewed as politically correct. I loved the combined interactivity and dialogic nature of the feedback comments in the MLK Library’s exhibition, and again the public outpouring of support to confront a difficult history. An interesting idea in these examples is the role of dissonance in aiding historical understanding, and the role of the site to serve as a forum for this confrontation. It seems like something public historians would generally try to avoid, when in fact it seems to signify a sort of point of no return for visitors, who have no choice but to confront their understanding of a difficult history and question the motives behind its past interpretations and its current relevance.

I thought the discussions of Rhode Island’s examples of confronting slavery in cultural institutions could also prove to be instructional to our class. It seems the letter-writing and collaborative campaigns to introduce more critical, informed interpretations of historic sites really are effective, and I was reminded of the possibility of our doing something similar to improve the state of historic interpretation of state history here in Idaho…

“American history cannot be understood without slavery” (Ira Berlin, 2).

In “Coming to terms with Slavery,” Ira Berlin shows how slavery became associated with black or dark skin, and how that dark skin accrued all the negative associations of slavery. From there, justifications were manufactured or found to justify keeping a person as property through racial theories of congenital inferiority ascribed to Africans by elites who had an economic and institutional stake in maintaining a system of human bondage. And as Berlin illustrates, these elites were the ones who created, interpreted and molded a system of government to ensure their privilege and liberty while denying it to others.

Because slavery is an unpleasant story, an accusatory story, a shameful story, it is a difficult historical conversation for both black and white people to have. Most white people refuse to acknowledge the accrued benefits of slavery to the nation’s development. Nor do we wish to see “white privilege” in society, another legacy of slavery that associated color with a dehumanized being, because it is unsettling, an unnerving dissonance inducing state of mind that demands an apology, a plea for forgiveness and atonement. Many Americans want to believe that slavery’s affects ended on a certain date, 1863, or 1964 or 2008 for sure. They believe it is ridiculous, deceptive, even race-hustling and excuse-mongering to insist that slavery casts a shadow over the US today.

Some of us who claim European origins can declaim the injustices, including ones that predate African slavery in the Americas, bitterly attributing the misery of our ancestors to a particular people, or country, that we still hold liable today for that suffering. That “ancient history” is still alive, still influences us, still informs our worldview yet we cannot accept that slavery still has an impact today. We look at our immigrant ancestors, attributing their and subsequent generations success to their (undoubted) hard work without admitting that by not being African they automatically had an advantage over people of color. As David Blight writes in “If You Don’t Tell it Like it Was,” modern nation states have “built or imagined” a past designed to strengthen and promote the nation by emphasizing commonalties through disinheriting inconvenient truths (24-5). He goes on to say that you cannot build a better, more just world, by forgetting the past.

I found it interesting to discover that many African-Americans are more reluctant to talk about slavery than white people. I assumed, as a white person, that it is easier for black people because the wrong was patently done to them. The moral high ground belongs to those who were enslaved and their descendants. Perhaps because slavery is such an intense, emotional, disturbing and painful concept for African-Americans many avoid it. I tried to imagine how I would feel if my grandfather’s grandfather had been owned. Would I be angry at white people or my ancestors or both, feel inferior or maybe superior to others, would I want to disassociate myself from my ancestors embarrassed by their servility, shamed and saddened by their condition? Or would I recognize their tenacious struggle to survive and create vibrant communities where they exercised as much agency as the situation allowed. In all, I found my thoughts complex, conflicted and even incoherent.   I can only imagine that many African-Americans must experience the gamut of emotions and thoughts about slavery.

In “The Last Great Taboo Subject,” John Michael Vlach’s experience with the Library of Congress illustrates the complexity of an exhibit about slavery. Some African-American staff complained that the display seemed to “celebrate” slavery while other’s projected their own disenchantment with their working conditions onto the images of white overseers driving slaves (62). The Library’s decision to cancel the exhibit also attests to the tensions between institutions of state and their problematic relationship to African-Americans. Perhaps the Library’s administration should have informed staff about the exhibit, and its author’s intentions to highlight the resilience of black people in the face of the evils of slavery, so they understood the exhibit’s objectives.

The crack in the Liberty Bell symbolizes the fault line between the American promise and what many people actually encounter. Maybe the crack is eponymous to what you must ingest in order to write “All men are created equal” while concurrently owning people. I learned in high school that Washington freed his slaves after his death. I didn’t hear about his efforts to chase down runaway slaves, which of course as a slave-owner you would do because of their value, it makes sense in a system where people are property. When visiting Washington’s Mount Vernon home I don’t remember hearing much about slavery just as Joanne Melish tells us was the case at My Old Kentucky Home historical site. Guides were told to refer to ‘servants’ and when a courageous guide lobbied to include information on the lives of slaves, his boss told him not to present an entirely negative view, but to say “something ‘positive’ about slavery” (117). For Melish this represents a “containment strategy,” a form of “denial,’ where slavery is ignored and divorced from sites where it was a central factor of history (115).

In “Southern Comfort Levels,” Marie Tyler-McGraw presents the impediments encountered when the history of marginalized groups clashes with the false narrative of the “Mint Julep” historians who rewrote the history of slavery and the Civil War. Likewise, Dwight Pitcaithley talks about the difficulties of interpretation on Civil War battlefields. How do you give slavery its place at these sites when generations of white Southerners, maybe all Americans, have been raised on lies? And why are some so opposed to even listening to a different version of events? Oral historian Anthony Buckley provides this explanation: “to dispel the ‘myths’ of history is to “attack the people who gain comfort and self-worth from these narratives.” As long as the truth about slavery, and its part in making the nation is denied or ignored there will always be generations of Americans who subscribe to the theory that slavery was a peculiar institution of the past, with no effects in the present.

The examples in the text show that if public historians are honest enough, and in many cases courageous enough, to engage the topic of slavery and discrimination in public spaces, that previously ignored people can find a voice for their story. It also makes the history of such places a more accurate depiction of what occurred and how we got to where we are today.