Cohen and Brown review

The three articles that we were assigned for this week explored the pros and cons of digital collections and the prevalence of this type of archive within the 21st century. For both Cohen and Brown, a digital archive provide a relevant medium in which people, who already use the web as a way to express their emotions and thoughts about an event, can contribute and search through in new and exciting ways.

In his article, “History and the Second Decade of the Web,” Daniel Cohen describes the web as an immature medium but one that also possesses the ability to open up conversation among people all over the world. I was reminded of a class I am taking now, Digitizing History. In it, we learned that the main role of the archive is to facilitate and increase the access that researchers and even the general public has to primary sources within the archives. Cohen speaks directly to this by saying that the web allows interested parties to access an essay or photograph at any time, in any place and provides a way for the user to search specific keywords or phrases. This would seem to be an archivist’s dream if it is true that access is their main concern. Cohen also believes that a pro for digital collections is its ability to combine different mediums in order to obtain the full breadth of a subject. His example of the 9/11 digital archives shows that oral interviews, audio, photographs, and emails are all combined in order to a complete story of how Americans reacted to that day. A book could only provide a fraction of that information and certainly could not involve audio or video into its work. In this way, digital collections are unique and exciting.

In his other article, “The Future of Preserving the Past”, however, Cohen also brings up the cons of digital collections. Unlike the traditional ink on paper, digital mediums such as CDs, DVDs, tapes, etc can become obsolete much faster and are more likely to fail upon the first onsite of wear and tear. CDs may be able to hold much more information than a book is, but when it is scratched, all that information can be lost. Also, because of their astounding amount of storage space, digital collections lack the refinement that physical archives often have. The archives have to almost edit what they accession into the library because they know they only have so much physical space in which to keep it. This leads them to be very careful about the kinds and amount of knowledge they accept. Digital collections instead accept everything, pertinent or not and can result in false, unrelated, or scattered documents within it.

Joshua Brown, like Cohen, ultimately sees the web as a worthy medium to facilitate learning and dialogue between both historians and the general public. He claims that our understanding of the past is based on visual images rather than textual and therefore web archives, which contain a dearth of video and photographic documents, are more likely to present the past in an understandable way. In his P.T. Barnum CD-ROM, he hoped to merge entertainment with education so that people are achieving a goal and yet still learning about their history. Although this project ultimately failed, I believed it represents a new way of thinking about history and the web. It showed history, albeit specific events in history, in a visually pleasing package that attracted those who may not normally sit down and read a history book. Ultimately, if Brown could fix the CD-ROM so that it allowed for active inquiry, as he put it, I think he would have a winning combination of both history and the web.

Davis, Rose and Corley, and Toplin Review

All three of the articles we read for this week deal with the relationship history has within the cinematic world. All consider the complex issue of the validity and accuracy of history within the world of filmmaking and what role historians should play to increase this accuracy. For Davis, the answer is an accompanying book that complements the film, explaining historical detail that was not portrayed in the film. For Rose and Corley, the answer lies in historians learn and become well versed in the cinematic trade, rather than leaving it up to filmmakers such as Ken Burns. Finally, Toplin believes historians would do better to realize that scholarly history and “cinematic history” are not always the same and that that difference is not always merely a lapse of judgment on the filmmaker’s part.

After reading the three articles, I began organizing my thoughts for this blog by asking myself what I personally thought about historical accuracy in the cinematic medium. And I came to the conclusion that my beliefs for historical accuracy were dependent on the type of cinematic genre being considered. I agree with Davis’ assertion that a historical film should open discussion much like a historical book, but I do not believe that the film needs to be absolutely accurate. There is quite a difference between the documentary and the Hollywood blockbuster as far as my own standards for historical accuracy goes. Thus I found myself agreeing with Rose and Corley’s review of Ken Burns. As a documentary filmmaker, Burn holds a responsible to present history in a concise and entertaining way but one that is also accurate. Burns claims that historians’ work has become esoteric and abstruse and his mission is to save history for the general public. Why, then, does he often leave out important historical events or developments that are crucial to the particular story he is telling? Why, then, does he essentially feed lines to the historians that he interviews, cutting them off if they diverge too much from what he wants to hear? According to Rose and Corley, Burns claims “artistic license” with his work, thus explaining the discontinuities that may arise between the historical record and his documentary. I don’t believe, however, that Burns has much right to claim such if his medium is the documentary. By its very nature, documentaries are suppose to capture life as it truly was, not how Burns would like it to be.

That said, I also believe Toplin is right when he claims that cinematic history is yet one more genre of moviemaking. Movies like the Patriot, Braveheart, or Pearl Harbor are not necessarily devoted to historical accuracy from the get go. Do I believe that they should be able to run free with history? Absolutely not. I do not believe, however, that they hold the same responsibility as Ken Burns’ documentaries do. When I go to see The Patriot, I do not necessarily go to see a completely accurate portrayal of American colonial life. I do, however, expect to see an eventful, interesting story complete with all the genre stereotypes mentioned by Toplin. When I go to see a Ken Burn’s documentary, however, I do expect to get an accurate portrayal of whatever the topic is and take what he says as truth. Historical plausibility and understanding in blockbusters are, as Davis put it, the goal, but are not necessarily required for me to enjoy the movie. I am willing to overlook the fact that the red robes worn in The Return of Martin Guerre are not accurate although the public trial vs. private trial was a major misstep. Maybe Davis’ suggestion of a companion book is a good suggestion, providing history that the film was not able to address although I’m not sure that too many people (unless they are history nerds like we are) would actually go out and make an effort to read this books.

Review: Touch and Go and A Shared Authority

Before this reading assignment, I had never heard of Studs Terkel. (well, I take that back. The very first time was hearing about his death on Halloween. But, knowing I was about to read his memoir, I didn't do any research at the time, assuming I would find out more about him later) Even into Chapter 5, I was still wondering why we were reading his story and what relevance it would have to our class. Then I read Chapter 22, “Didn't Your Name Used to Be Dave Garroway?” For me, the most important words in the entire book were written in that chapter. “Oh, to be remembered – isn't that what this is all about?” (Page 216). His understanding of this simple thought is the reason why I believe Studs Terkel was such a good oral historian and just overall a unique human being. He understood that Oral History hinged on the idea that the person telling the story and explaining their actions needed to be remembered just as much as the person reading or listening to their stories needed the information that could be obtained. Terkel understood both of these needs, having experienced it himself in the back of a taxi cab, and knew that the “this” he references in his quote provides the basis for oral history as a whole: for people people to be remembered long after they are forgotten or gone.

I have to say, it really was unfair to assign Frisch's A Shared Authority the same weekend as Terkel's book. I'm afraid I had a hard time giving it a fair chance when comparing it's academic set up to Terkel's informal, often zany travels into his memories. In A Shared Authority, the relationship between pure history and public history, specifically oral history, is explored using many essays and articles that he had written that were published in other places. As mentioned earlier in the semester, this authority is shared between historians who write and examine history and everyday people who live and tell history. When does oral history become a subject of historical fact and when does it become a collection of “what might have happened?” Using Terkel's book Hard Times, he makes the distinction by adopting Terkel's believe that oral history is a collection of truths as the people telling the stories knew it, not as historians know it. They truly believe what they are saying and therefore their stories are valid within the historical framework regardless of whether it checks out to be accurate or not. Often oral historians, such as Terkel, place their importance on what the interviewees had to say rather than whether or not they are telling the unblemished truth. Overall I think Frisch's work informs us on the development of public history between the authority of that which makes up the “history” aspect of oral history and those that provide the “oral” part.

That said, I leave you with this interesting thought. In his book, Frisch asks the question “Who, really, is the author if an oral history?” (Page xx). Should it be the historian or the subject? In his memoir, Terkel mentions “I take my questions out as often as I can in order to create something of a soliloquy.” (page 177) Only when his question adds to the information given by the subject does he leave it in. Terkel allows the person himself to tell his own story, whatever it may be that he needs to get out. Thus the reason for Terkel's brilliant success as an oral historian. That and the fact that he is such a “hapless retardee in matters mechanical,” that the ordinary person feels superior to him. I will definitely be looking up Terkel's work in the future and I mostly certainly am now mourning the loss of a brilliance I have just discovered.

Remaking America Review

In his book, Remaking America: Public Memory, Commemoration, and Patriotism in the Twentieth Century, John Bodnar explores America's public memory and the varied interests that seek to control this memory. For Bodnar, ultimately public memory is a reconciliation between vernacular and official cultural expressions. Vernacular expressions are the ethnic, local, and ordinary acts made by usually a small group and are often dominated by those who support official acts of expression. Official on the other hand, deal mainly with the support of the nation-state and place emphasis on that which supports American memory rather than individual ethnic memories.

One of his more interesting chapters was Bodnar's discussion of ethnic communities. He seeks to explore how ethnic communities, such as Norwegians in the Midwest and Mennonites in Kansas were able to reconcile their vernacular memories with their official memories. Before World War I, the Norwegian community chose a public memory that focused mostly on their personal pioneers, i.e. the first generation to come to America. These people were seen as contributing more to the Norwegian identity than George Washington, a leader within American public memory. After World War I however, Norwegians felt the need to emphasize their devotion to the United States and therefore placed great importance on events that tied both vernacular and official expressions together. Commemorations such as the centennial anniversary of the Restaurationen in which many Norwegians first came to the United States, showed other Americans their commitment to the official memory and legitimized their vernacular memory. For Bodnar, although ethnic memory still remained important, over time it was accepted only once patriotic memory stood above memories and objects from the “motherland.”

Overall I believe Bodnar did a good job explaining America's struggle to reconcile vernacular and official memory. The only complaint I had about the reading was that it was a bit dry and therefore hard to really get into and understand. Bodnar's writing style was not my favorite and did not seem to bring this struggle to life for me. Ultimately however, Bodnar supports his argument well and convincingly shows that public memory is much more complicated than originally thought. This memory can come at a price often paid by ordinary citizens and often results in ethnic culture being placed behind national memory.

Written in Stone Review

In Sanford Levinson's book, Written in Stone: Public Monuments in Changing Societies, the significance of public monuments are examined within the context of public and collective memory. He examines several controversial monuments, especially in the South, as a way to explore the different ways in which society deals with public space. Although he ultimately focuses on the American South, Levinson begins by looking at monuments in Eastern Europe, Nicaragua, and Zimbabwe. These global examples really bolster his historical argument that Southern monuments are much more controversial than originally thought. In addition to monuments, Levinson also sees objects such as stamps, inscriptions, and flags as symbols of a national identity and collective memory.

One of the more interesting points that Levinson makes is that often societies who suffer extreme regime changes often have an easier time deciding how to treat their public monuments than a society, such as the United States, that has, for the most part, experience a subtle culture change over decades of time. Within Germany, there are no monuments and statues dedicated to Hitler and SS members and this is understood by everyone. In the Soviet Union, statues of Lenin and other communist are removed with controversy. These acts represent a reaction to the “bad spouse” idea that Levinson mentions at the end of the book. In America, however, historical culture had changed a much more subtle rate, resulting in the graying of American culture. Monuments to Confederate heroes are still revered by many Southerners and therefore their removal or destruction would be hotly contested. I had never previously viewed this difference although I had unconsciously agreed with it my entire life. As Levinson says, the difference lies in the way collective memory is developed and how the “couple” parted ways.

I think it is also important to note that Levinson's career as a lawyer makes a difference in how he views public monuments. He is careful to make it clear that he believes in a person's right to wave the Confederate flag or believe in Confederate heroes but that it should not be within the public sphere. Although he agrees that Federal courts do not have the rights to order State governments to remove Confederate flags from State Capitols, he still believes that the public arena should not be a place of exclusion and biased towards one religion or one political viewpoint. Although I think he made very good points and made astute observations, I, as a Southerner, had to keep reminding myself that he was not explicitly attacking the South. As an anthropology major in undergraduate, I was constantly reminded about the language I used when talking about a culture and the importance of “loaded” vs. “neutral” words. I feel like Levinson's words were quite loaded and could end up causing some of his readers to be defensive and therefore not concentrate on his essential argument, that monuments and other memorial objects reflect and legitimize the public historical memory. This is just a minor concern however and has the complete possibility of being purely personal.

Archive Stories review

In Archive Stories: Facts, Fictions, and the Writing of History, historians gathered together in order to describe their personal interactions with archives and to outline the ways in which archives support and detract the cultures that they exist in. Many of the historians tell tales of the archive supporting national identity and as Burton says, having “dynamic relationships” to their environment as well as the past that constantly change.

After reading this collection, I must say I was surprised at the amount of power illustrated that the archive possesses. The archive is not just a repository for documents of historical importance, but in some instances, it can determine the path that history takes. I saw this in the essay about the archives and the German Nation. During WWII, much of what was kept was seen as a way to protect “Aryan” history and genealogy. Papers that were collected in the official archives were highly slanted towards what Germany felt was its national identity. Therefore documents representing groups such as Jews and Eastern Europeans were ignored. This leads to “the Racial Archive,” as Peter Fritzsche puts it in which whole racial groups are ignored. I had never thought about an archive having this ability before. For me, an archive is a place where historical documents are placed, no matter their subject. Of course having historical significance is a criterion, but that significance should be across the board rather than dealing with merely one racial group’s history.

Another story I found compelling was that of Durba Ghosh’s story of her time researching in Britain and India. She showed that what the archive possesses is not always what the researcher is going to receive. She shows the importance the archivists and staff working there can possess. Working in India, where there is a wealth of information about British colonial rule, Ghosh met with resistance due to the perceived inappropriateness of her topic. The “gatekeepers” of the archive deemed her topic crude and therefore did not allow her access to as many of the documents as she would like. They had much more at stake culturally than the British did who welcomed her thesis with open arms despite the fact they did not contain as much information. I had never before quite realized the impact archivists can have upon researchers. Rather than merely providing the information requested, archivists instead actively engage the researchers and inadvertently shape their topics of research.

While I found many of the essays enlightening and engaging, there were a few that I did not connect with very much. Some, such as Antoinette Burton’s own introduction were heavy handed with historical theory, so much so that I found myself skimming in order to get done with it. Almost all quoted Foucault or Derrida as away to bolster their arguments, but they often lost me in their theoretical approaches to the stories. The most engaging essays for me were those that told a personal connection with the archives or changed my perspective about them. One of the ideas that greatly upset me was during the essay about the condition archivists and researchers must live in, in Uzbekistan. It spoke to my belief that archives should be for the people since the documents within were once owned by the people. Jeff Sahadeo’s essay was told in such a way that I, as hopefully a future archivist, felt connected to those he encountered during his time spent there and felt professional empathy for their struggles.

Historic Preservation- Diane Barthel

Diane Barthel's book, Historic Preservation: Collective Memory and Historical Identity, explores the different aspects of the preservation world. She looks mainly at the differences between British and American preservation in order to explain the mind frame that determines what gets preserved and how it affects different communities. Problems that one country faces is quite different than those of another country's, creating differing practices within the same field. Barthel maintains that British preservation stems from an elite voice, searching to preserve those historical places they deem worthy. In America, as we learned in class last Tuesday, preservation is run by grassroots organizations that focus on not just the elite but rather then neglected as well as the historically important.

An overarching argument that I saw in Barthel's book was the effect preservation can have upon what it is preserving. I know I personally view historic preservation generally in a positive light, believing it is saving history for future generations. Barthel effectively shows that this is not always so. In fact, over-preservation has become a major concern both in Great Britain and in America. Before even beginning this book, I thought about to something a friend had told about his time spent in London. He mentioned that many churches in England may have only 4 or 5 parishioners but is still required to remain running. This is due to the fact that all churches are seen as historic and therefore are forced to remain open. Sure enough, in the book, Barthel mentions this very issue in regards to the cons of too much preservation. Churches that may otherwise have allowed room for new architecture are being kept open, even though often there is no justification for it to remain open.

In America, Barthel mentions the strain between private and public enterprises when it comes to preservation. Many historical landmarks such as churches and homes are privately owned, but seen as a member of the American heritage. Preservationists who strive to protect these buildings are sometimes accused of overstepping their boundaries when it comes to the private/public realm. The example given by Barthel is the proposed selling of a Jewish yeshiva to a developer for the building of a apartment home. Although the owners were in favor of selling, the preservation community argued against the sale due to the historic significance of the house. Eventually the house was declared a landmark and saved from being sold, but at what price? Private owners ma eventually no longer have the rights with their property that America has long been known for.

Obviously, both sides present their own problems and Barthel delves into the issue with an even hand. She expresses concern both for over-preservation and the decay that can come from the lack of it. Although lacking the personal spark that Young possesses in his essays, her topic is also more academic therefore requires a more serious approach. She explores not just her own experience with preservation but rather the experiences of of the collective memory, especially Great Britain and the United States.

Road Trips through History

Road Trips Through History was a collection of thoughts, opinions, and memories by preservationist Dwight Young. Through personal essays, Young takes the reader into the heart of what preservation is as a discipline and reflects on often surprising topics that I personally never thought of as related to historic preservation. Rather than portraying preservation in an abstract, academic way, Young seeks to make it relevant to all by encouraging people to see history and meaning in the world around us, not just in historic buildings and places.

Reading these collections, I was struck by how personable and open Young sounded. I felt as if I was reading his diary rather than essays he intentionally meant to be published. I saw this as a definite plus because I was able to gather his voice from the writing. With the pithy blurbs in parenthesis and his musings, I saw his own personal voice come through clearly and often in delightful ways. It definitely made me want to meet him and spend time traveling with him taking advantage of the pleasure for detail he possessed in places like New Orleans and Russia.

In addition to his written personal touches, I truly enjoyed his overall message of the collection. This message is that historic preservation should not be about just preserving physical buildings but about preserving history as a collective whole. It should be about preserving that which excites and interests us (in his case, Ocean Liner ephermera...who knew?). His discussion about the starry night sky seemed odd to me at first but once I finished reading the essay I understood what Young was trying to get at. He defines preservation as protecting that which is meaningful to us and to our history. For him, the night sky he saw as a little boy in Texas was the same night sky that Indians and our forefathers saw centuries ago. Certainly that makes it worthy of protection against “light trespass.”

In his essay “Seeing it, saving it,’ Young also maintains that historic preservation is so enduring because it provides people with tactile encounters with history. Homes in which people have lived for centuries, putting their mark in small indelible ways, fascinates most people because it makes the home less a historic artifact and more real, as Young put it. I can certainly relate to his love of books that have been previously owned and I too am always interested in notes, pictures, and markings made by people who I have never met before. Having those personal touches makes it more special to me and allows me to embark on that person’s history. Historic preservation works in much the same way in which houses are preserved not because of their physical structure, but because of the people who lived in it and the mark they made upon the physical structure.

Displays of Power review

In Steven C. Dubin's book, Displays of Power: Controversy in the American Museum from the Enola Gay to Sensation, museums are shown to be powerful institutions in which controversy is more likely to occur than agreement. Using examples such as the Enola Gay or the Gaelic Gotham exhibits, Dubin presents examples of how delicate museum exhibits can be to plan and how hard museum officials must work in order to achieve a success.

Like in Linenthal's book, many of Dubin's examples show the balancing act between the general public and the museum officials. The Gaelic Gotham exhibit was set to be the monument to Irish struggles in America. Instead, it became a breeding ground for misunderstanding and controversy. Most shocking to me about this exhibit was curator Robert McDonald's statement that “Gaelic Gotham is not for the Irish but about the Irish.” (103) This statement implies to me, that Irish input was not welcome by the museum even though the exhibit was expressly about the Irish experience in New York City. Although I can understand that listening to the general public that you are trying to serve can be trying and difficult at times, I do believe that it is necessary to do. The masses are going to be the people coming to see the exhibit, not professional historians and therefore should be allowed some input. Despite this, I did actually like McDonald's work strategy as presented through Dubin. This strategy stated that community input would be welcomed in the “preliminary, fact-finding stages” (239) and would have to proceed without this input during the “exhibition-building stages” (239). This would allow the museum room to design and arrange the exhibit as they saw fit. Unfortunately I don't believe McDonald followed his own advice when it came to Gaelic Gotham.

Although the individual chapters were somewhat interesting, I was critical of the fact that all were negative views on controversy in the American Museum. I do wonder if there are instances in which controversy actually improved the relationship between museum professionals and the public rather than break it down. Also, each chapter was a little too repetitive for my tastes, representing the same controversies and rifts between the museum world and the public. The last thing I did not like about this book was the afterword. Throughout the rest of the book, Dubin is careful to remain, for the most part, neutral about which side he identifies with. He presents both views on the controversy in clarity and with many examples to back it up. In the afterword however, the gloves come off. Suddenly it becomes essentially a Giuliani and Donahue bashing free-for-all. Now this is not my confession that I agree with these two men in any capacity, but this chapter just did not make any sense from a literary standpoint to me. While the rest of the book was carefully neutral, this last chapter was fiery and opinionated, upsetting the balance of the book. I think Dubin should have either toned down his opinion in the last chapter or had included it more often in the middle chapters.

Chapter 4 and Conclusion of Preserving Memory

After finishing Preserving Memory, I now know the hard work and frustration that goes into building and creating a museum. Not only is there the physical building to contend with, but also the historical and social aspects that often comes under conflict with one another. This last chapter and conclusion of the book deals mostly with what memory of the Holocaust should be presented to the public and the efforts for and against expanding this memory. Arguments over how the museum should begin and end, along with the eternal argument, what should be in the permanent exhibition, provides readers with an important look into how complicated building a museum from scratch can be.

While reading, I was reminded of a discussion we had in class last week. We talked about the institutionalization of history that occurs when a museum is built and what that meant exactly. It was said that this allowed the historical event to become legitimized in the eyes of the public and deemed “worthy” of commemoration. While I do believe this is so, I also believe Linenthal's book shows the downside that can come from institutionalizing history. When memory is placed within a realm of a museum, the full story is no longer allowed to come forth. Things must be left out, stored away, or avoided in order to make the museum cohesive and not take days to go through. Things or events that may be important to groups may then be left out because they are not seen as essential to the “center” of the museum, as Linenthal puts it. This was shown to me by his discussion of the Armenian and Romani victims. Both groups were seeking (and still are) a voice among the Holocaust museum that was often denied or influenced by political issues. Linenthal mentions several times the influence the Turkish government had in keeping the Armenian genocide out of the museum even though many saw this event as a precursor to the Holocaust. Because the Romani were not Jewish, they were relegated to being “others” who, while still victims, could not compare to Jewish suffering. For me, the institutionalization of the Holocaust caused many layers of understanding and history to be weeded out in a effort to find a sense of cohesiveness that the Jewish community wanted.

Linenthal's conclusion was a very interesting look at the memory of the Holocaust. Rather than merely pointing out what good the museum has done or the reactions once it opened, he broadens its impact onto the American stage and seems to suggest that America was found wanting. Actions going on in Bosnia at the time of its openings provided what many thought a way through which America could show it had learned its lesson on indifference in the face of genocide. Instead, America took much the same course and, to survivors, exhibited that they had learned very little in the face of Holocaust memory. Linenthal does show improvement though on the individual level as shown through Billings, Montana in which a whole community, Jewish and non-Jewish, banded together as a way to show Nazi-followers what they had personally learned from the horror that was the Holocaust.

Preserving Memory, Pages 1-166 Review

Before I get into the nitty gritty review, may I just say that this book may possible be the best non-fiction book that I have read in a very long time. Maybe it's just me, but I thought it was (and still is) a total page turner with suspense, insults, history, and Elie Wiesel all thrown in together.

In Preserving Memory: The Struggle to Create America's Holocaust Museum, Linenthal attempts to outline the trials and tribulations that occurred during the conception, planning, and building of the National Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C. Linenthal moves through the arguments and events leading up to the April 22, 1993 dedication as an omnipresent narrator allowing leading characters the chance to explain their decisions and tell their side of the story through their own words. Linenthal also explores the rejected proposals for the museum throughout its development, allowing the reader to envision on their own terms, what the museum would have turned out had other methods been adopted.

If last week's readings provided the theory and broad definition of public history, this book provides us with its application (both its triumphs and its difficulties) within a real-world setting. The Holocaust Museum, from the beginning, could not just have been another museum. It had to possess practical functionality while at the same time deal accurately with the “sacred memory” of The Holocaust. This reminded me of my comment on Katie's blog last week in which I said public historians have the unenviable task of bridging the gap between academia and the general public. Historians working on this project had to make the museum become a reality but at the same time, remain true to those who were telling the stories, be it survivors or victims. To make it even more difficult for public historians, museum planners also had keep a balance between making this a Holocaust museum, a European event, and an American monument to injustice.

After reading the first 166 pages, I am blown away (and a little frightened) by the amount of work that goes into building a museum from scratch. Linenthal does a great job of describing the somewhat tedious work of designing the building and the planning that goes into it, both historically and physically. He also goes into great detail when describing the arguments surrounding the heart of the museum; its message to the public. With such conviction on both sides, it is no wonder why this museum was 15 years in the making.

Of this book, I have only a small annoyance rather than criticism that I noticed while reading. This would be that often I found myself having to flip back in order to remember who various people were and what their jobs had been. Obviously this is not Linenthal's fault as he was merely reporting an accurate history of the museum, which seems by nature to be rather fickle. While reading, I did wonder what Linenthal's opinions are on the main impedance to the museum planning (inclusion vs. exclusion of non-Jews in the museum) were. On the surface I would have to say he is quite unbiased in his presentation but the more I read, the more I wondered what his personal thoughts are on the matter and whether or not it can be determined by “reading through the lines” of his writing. I certainly find myself liking particular people over others and thinking some arguments made more sense as opposed to others.

Presence of the Past Review

Roy Rosenzweig and David Thelen's book, entitled The Presence of the Past: Popular Uses of History in American Life was born from a need to build a bridge between professional historians and the general public. In order to do this, historians needed to figure out how exactly it was that Americans understood their past and furthermore, what this “past” contained. Before this survey, it was thought that Americans were suffering from a historical amnesia in which the public was unaware and largely ignorant of history both popular and academic.

Instead, what Rosenzweig and Thelen found was that Americans are intimately engaged in and comfortable with history, albeit on a more personal level. Activities I had not even previously thought of as involved in history, such as photography, are practiced by nearly all the respondents interviewed. The interviewers found that the history of the respondent's families are much more likely to be researched than the history of a national event or era. In The Presence of the Past, it is seen many times over that the respondents often feel no connection with national events unless it is related on a personal level. Families with soldiers in WWII, grandmothers who survived the holocaust, or fathers who fought in the civil rights movement, are much more likely to investigate these portions of history because of their personal connection rather than pure academic interest.

While reading the NCPH's “What is Public History?,” I was struck by Greg Smoak's personal definition of public history and how it fit into society. He states that “history is not just for students in a classroom or written for other historians, but for the people!” To me, this strengthened Rosenzweig and Thelen's findings that there is a big divide between the historical classroom and the general audience. This, for me, all returns back to the lack of a personal connection. I agree with Thelen's suggestions of how to build a participatory historical culture although I believe that it will take much time and effort on the part of historians in order to build such a culture. As Thelen says, historians must learn to listen to who or what Americans remember and talk about and find ways in which to integrate it into the larger picture of history. Suggestions such as reading autobiographies in the classroom would allow students to really enter the minds of history-makers. History would no longer be about learning what year great people were born or died, but rather their thoughts and justifications (or lack thereof) that were behind actions and events that occurred. Overall, I believe that Rosenzweig and Thelen show convincing proof that Americans need to feel as if they can place themselves in the moment or the situation in order to truly understand the collective and personal past. This they achieved by merely letting Americans speak for themselves and tell what they wanted and expected from history.