Week Five: In Which Mickey Mouse Decides To Play Historian…

I’m going to try and keep this post short and sweet, as I haven’t the time this week to wax verbose as I generally prefer to do. This week, the reading assignment focused around two essays from Mike Wallace’s Mickey Mouse History and Other Essays on American Memory. I’m going to focus on one of them, “Disney’s America.”

As many Americans older than I am may remember, Disney was facing a financial crisis in the 1980s. For a while, it was uncertain whether the company would recover or fold. By the end of the 80s, they had succeeded in producing some new movies which were big hits, such as Who Framed Roger Rabbit? and The Little Mermaid. Their brand was bouncing back, and my generation benefitted from it greatly. But Disney was also facing increased competition from other movie companies. In order to keep up, the company decided to launch a few new projects, including a theme park just outside of Paris, which struggled greatly, and registered hefty losses the first couple years, though it eventually became a profit-maker, and is still in operation, 20 years later. 

Because the theme park in France got off to such a rocky start, Disney decided to pursue a new project: Disney's America. Originally, it was supposed to be just outside of Washington, D.C. only five miles from the Manassas Battlefield. Of course, many people were concerned about the proximity of the park to the battlefield, worried that urban sprawl would threaten the battlefield's preservation as an important place in American history. This is definitely problematic for me- of course building any kind of large theme park or resort would threaten nearby areas, and a battlefield as important as Manassas should be protected. But for me, the park itself was the most problematic issue.

Originally, Disney claimed the park would contain various areas focusing on different parts of American history, including Native American culture and history, the Civil War, WWII, and Vietnam. Yes, I said Vietnam. Disney wanted to include the debacle that was Vietnam in a theme park. With rides. And games. Ehrm, I read that and actually said aloud, "What the heck, Disney? What the heck?!" Call me unreasonable, but I do have a problem including anything that's supposed to be accurate and thought-provoking on Vietnam, only to have it set up where people are on roller coasters minutes later. 

Of course, Disney quickly amended their original claim that the park's displays would be thought-provoking and accurate, saying, "The idea is to walk out of Disney's America with a smile on your face. It is going to be fun with a capital 'F'." Um. Wait a second, hold the phone. Are these people for realz? The theme park is going to include Vietnam, slavery and the underground railroad, the Civil War, Native American history...and yet somehow, these people are supposed to have as much fun exploring the horrors involved as in Disney World? I'm sorry, people. Not possible. If you're going to do that, back off the serious topics. In fact, just back off of history. 

The goal of presenting history should always be to provoke thought and increase knowledge. Sure, some things can still be fun and do those things. But to seek out "fun" while trying to educate about Vietnam and American slavery just seems so very wrong to me. Are we so addicted to "fun" that we must make all of life fun? Clearly, Disney did not end up building this theme park, and for that, I am grateful. It would have most likely severely trivialized history. Disney is not a learning company. It is an entertainment company. They specialize in drunk pirates, pixie dust, singing mermaids, and elephants that can fly. If Disney was to truly pull off a *good* site focusing on American history, and doing it accurately, it would have to realize that their profit margins on that site would probably be significantly lower than that of their other parks. They would also have to take special care to make sure that over time, they didn't "Disnefy" history. To do so would be a true atrocity.

One last observation I want to make. In the process of battling the public over the proposed site, Disney insulted historians. Wallace writes, "Adopting a populist stance, company publicists attacked opponents as 'landed gentry' foxhunters, or genteel 'no-growth proponents' who would turn the piedmont into an economic no-man's land and deprive working people of jobs." Disney included historians in this group, being painted as elitest and bourgeois. Nevermind that they're historians and might actually care to preserve the heritage that Disney seemed so eager to trivialize.
I like Disney, I really do. But Disney should stick to what it does best: fiction, fantasy, and animation. 

Week Four: Hellfire and Brimstone...and Archie Bunker Too

This week's post actually nicely follows last week's. I was torn between two of our articles this week. Both would have made fabulous blog posts, but doing both together wouldn't have worked for what I'm wanting to say. Perhaps I'll come back and make another post on the other article later, but for now, I shall focus on the article, "The Unstifled Muse: The 'All in the Family' Exhibit and Popular Culture at the National Museum of American History," by Ellen Roney Hughes.

I'm quite used to kneejerk reactions by various people who swear that the election of a certain president is going to bring the end of America as we know it, or that God is going to visit his wrath upon us for allowing a show like NYPD Blue on television (remember that, my Evangelical friends?), or even just that focusing too much on "the arts" instead of being wholly dedicated to the three R's, history and science, will bring about a country that's run by imbeciles who can't even find a word in the dictionary. I was at once highly amused and incredulous as I read this article last night, about how the Smithsonian came to incorporate American popular history into the museum...starting with Archie Bunker's chair.

I've never seen All in the Family in my entire life, but I do remember being aware of it as a child. My mom would talk about Archie Bunker as a mean-spirited bigot who cared more about keeping everything as he liked it than he did about other people. My parents have always been very accepting of people coming from different social, racial, religious, etc. backgrounds. They have also always been very conservative about language and such. I assume it's this combination which caused them to paint All in the Family as a "bad" tv show. As a result, I wasn't entirely amazed by what I read about the resistance the Smithsonian experienced when first displaying certain items from the tv show. Add to that my awareness of the resistance many in academia have toward new interpretations or ideas showing up in their discipline, and nothing about the piece was too shocking.

Hughes, who worked for the Smithsonian, talked about how the All in the Family display was the first nod the Smithsonian gave to accepting pop culture history as a legitimate part of American history. The exhibit, which opened in 1978, drew a lot of criticism from historians who turned up their noses at the idea that television could be considered an actual part of American history. Of course, some were still struggling to accept social history at this point, so for them, extending that to include popular culture bordered on abominable.

So, what DOES American pop culture have to do with American history? It's a valid question. As Hughes points out, pop culture reflects life experiences, social and political dialogues, commonly held beliefs, and any issues considered important by a significant contingent of Americans. Of course, this is why I've been so big on incorporating music into the history classroom for so long. It's also why I made my US107 students write a history paper, using an American novel as a primary source. After all, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Wizard of Oz, and The Great Gatsby were once pop culture novels as well.They weren't always seen as classics.

All in the Family was significant in many ways. For one, it was the first sitcom to show a real family, meaning, one with problems that wasn't all happy sunshine and smiles and togetherness all the time. For another, it dealt with real issues of bigotry and liberalism; the show was one big dialogue about issues Americans were dealing with. I think about my favorite sitcoms: Who's the Boss?, Cosby, and more recently, How I Met Your Mother (HIMYM). High art? Eh, probably not. But not at all insignificant. As a kid, I identified with Rudy Huxtable, especialy as the youngest child with significantly older siblings, and parents old enough to be her grandparents. Rudy and I had similar rules we had to follow, and similar likes and dislikes. She was real. She was relatable. Now, I think about HIMYM, and how I relate to that cast of characters, especially Ted Mosby. He was this kid from Ohio who had this idea of how his life was going to unfold, and it just didn't happen. The ups and downs he experiences along the way to meeting his eventual wife and settling down are more or less relatable- at least in general...the specifics, not always! I think one reason sitcoms are so popular is not because they're inherently hilarious, nor because they're incredibly dramatic, nor because the screenwriting is the best since Shakespeare, but because sitcoms- to a very real degree- reflect real life. Don't get me wrong, I love Bones and Castle and Revolution and House and Smash, but not because they reflect real life. Sitcoms may not be as refined, but they're much more real, and as such they do absolutely deserve a place in museums and historical study.

I write this as I'm preparing to travel to Albuquerque in 10 days to present a paper on African American music during the Jim Crow era at a pop culture/cultural history conference. There are entire panels on such things as Dr. Who (3 whole sessions, to be specific), Harry Potter (I think 5 sessions), The Hunger Games, Fifty Shades of Gray, Star Wars, as well as more general topics, like horror movies, music, religion, etc. Why is it legitimate to study Dr. Who and Harry Potter as topics in history? Because any time a tv show or book series, or movie, or any other piece of "pop culture" creates such a large wave that it causes an entire subculture to arise, it is worthwhile to look at those things and query, "Why?" There's a reason Harry Potter became such a huge part of Western culture. The reason is not found solely within its pages, or the movies, or solely outside of the books in society. It's a combination of the content of the stories, and whatever was going on at the time to make them such a hit, and looking at them from a historian's perspective can shed a lot of light on the matter.

Pop culture history takes social history a step beyond what the common people said and did and who they overthrew. It looks at what they liked, what they created, what made them "tick." Pop culture, like fine art, often reflects the issues of the day. Unlike fine art, it cares more about resonating with the people than  making some huge statement.

I could close there, but I'm not going to. I have to move on to the hellfire and brimstone portion of the article because, well frankly, it's too good not to pass along. We live in a nation filled with sensationalists who love to freak out because Clark Gable used the word "damn" in a movie, and declare the nation is headed to Hell in a handbasket. What I love is that every single generation says the same thing about the next generation as the generation before said about them. As a historian, I get a front row seat to all of this. It's hilarious. No, really, it is! You haven't lived until you've heard one generation diss another in 18th century English. It's fantastic. But I digress. Not only were there those who objected to a display about a tv show at the Smithsonian, but there were also those who objected to the specific show. American opinion was mixed about All in the Family. It had a longish run, so obviously, people loved it, but there were plenty of others, like my parents, who didn't look so favorably on the show. They got their knickers all up in a knot because the Smithsonian- with taxpayer money, no less- installed an exhibit glorifying Archie Bunker and his foul mouth and bigoted ways. *excuse me while I snicker to myself*

The Smithsonian received a flood of letters, mostly complaining about aforementioned glorification of "evil." Some of them are just too good not to share. I have seen so many such reactions to different things by the people I know (both in my mainstream Evangelical experience, which continues today, and my years in Christian fundamentalism), so these probably struck me as a little funnier than they'd strike the average person.

"We want to protest putting Archie Bunker's chair in the Museum. His show is vulgar, constantly using four letter words. Just things that the American people can be proud of should be put there." Which eliminates anything accurate dealing with the reality of life for women, Native Americans, Japanese, Chinese, and African Americans for, well, most of American history.

"What kind of American society raises a monument to bigotry, slobbiness, and a sneer at all decent American American values? The sad part is you are putting this alongside such memorials as the Spirit of St. Louis and other great achievements and seem to feel that it is in its proper place." I think the idea that an exhibit can display the significance of something without glorifying whatever was wrong about it is lost on most people, such as this person.

And my favorite quote, "I would never join the Smithsonian as long as you have an exhibit of Archie Bunker as part of American culture. Archie Bunker and Norman Lear are racist saboteurs and you are gullible nincompoops." I actually cannot read this one without both cracking a pretty amused smile, and marveling that somehow, this person managed to use the words "saboteurs" and "gullible" in the same sentence. No really, that takes talent! Of course, this person had just plainly misinterpreted All in the Family. Norman Lear (the show's producer) was actually not a racist. His point was to show Archie Bunker as a racist, in dialogue with his more progressive, Polish son-in-law. The idea was to help give voice to the struggles going on racially/ethnically/etc. in America at the time, not to glorify a racist.

Of course, there will always be older and more conservative generations saying our education is going to pot, or our morals are leading us all on a merry path to Hell and are going to invite the wrath of God on us all, but it is up to the younger generations to keep forging our new paths. All ideas were new at some point. There was a time when women were seen as having loose morals for exposing their ankles. Now, no one looks twice if a female exposes her knees, and no one (okay, well, no non-extremist) views that as immoral. There was a time when black people couldn't vote, and having equal rights with whites was seen as a sure way to bring about the degradation of America.

So what's my point? It's this: We shouldn't be afraid of blazing new paths because the old ones work fine or the older generations will be offended. We should move forward, because in most cases, we'll travel much further down the road of true progress than we will the road to Hell. Sure, caution is a good thing, and we should question the merits of our new exploits. But we should not hold back, for fear of certain criticism.

Week Three: Culture Wars and Revisionists

I want to start off by saying I'm writing this with a fever of over 101, and my brain is a little, well, foggy might be the best way to put it. I am therefore apologizing in advance for any typos, sentence fragments, or random words. Now that we have THAT out of the way, I shall continue.

I'm also going to say here that I know more people than just my history classmates will read this. I am fully aware that some of what I say here is going to rub some people the wrong way. It is not my intention to be inflammatory here at all. I am merely commenting, as a historian, on something I have seen a lot of.

While most of this week's readings came again from the Gardner/LaPaglia book and contained great information on working as public historians in various arenas (including sites, parks, museums, and even corporations), I want to focus on the supplemental article we also read. The reading was chapter one from Gary Nash's History on Trial: Culture Wars and the Teaching of the Past. Those of you who know my past know exactly why I chose this piece to focus on. For those of you who don't, read on.

Growing up in the mainstream conservative Evangelical world, the phrase, "culture wars" was one we heard often, and it usually pertained to loss of "family values," the emergence of gay marriage, abortion, secular pop/rock music, and many more modern tv shows and movies. It may be hard for some to imagine, but that emphasis on the culture wars increased tenfold when my family left mainstream conservative Evangelicalism and moved into fundamentalism, through our Independent Fundamentalist Baptist church and homeschooling organization. These culture wars included public school, Christian rock music, and women wearing pants, among other things, and in addition to everything the mainstream Evangelical world had declared war on.

During these years, I saw thousands of people fight these culture wars as if their very entrance to Heaven depended on it. It was also during this time I became aware of an insidious force  in the world: revisionist history. My A Beka history curriculum (published by Pensacola Christian College), church, and of course such fundamentalist groups as Wallbuilders and Vision Forum told me that the revisionists were liberals, out to change our history, and turn our country into an Atheistic Communist country. According to what I learned in high school (as a fundamentalist homeschooler) and as a young adult, almost all of our founding fathers were born-again Christians. Slavery "wasn't that bad" (and it was often just ignored). The women's suffrage movement was the beginning of the end for family values. The 1950s were perfect- everyone was happy and moral, and all was good. I even remember watching my A Beka school videos and listening to the American history teacher talk about how awesome the 1890s were.

Then I left that all behind, and majored in history in college. I learned so many things. I learned that while a few Founding Fathers actually were born-again Christians, most were Deists. I learned that no, actually, slavery WAS that bad and should not be ignored. I learned the women's suffrage movement was not such a "radical feminist" thing as I was taught. I learned that the 1950s were by no means perfect, and were filled with manipulation and fear-mongering and Joseph McCarthy. And the 1890s? I have yet to figure out what that teacher was talking about, unless overcrowded tenaments, a depression, and urban filth and corruption are his idea of a "good time." I learned that Revisionism can come from anywhere: left or right, and occurs when people have an agenda other than ascertaining and teaching what happened. 

This chapter we read talks a lot about the culture wars and revisionism, especially in regards to right wingers, Lynn Cheney, Newt Gingrich, and Rush Limbaugh.  I will admit I thought Nash was less balanced than he could have been, though personally, I see far more revisionism coming from the right than from the left. In addition to Cheney, Gingrich, and Limbaugh, people like Glenn Beck, David Barton (of the aforementioned Wallbuilders), and Bill O'Riley, seem to work more from a predetermined conclusion than from a set of questions relevant to primary sources. (That's being generous- Nash talked about a time when Limbaugh presented a set of history education standards as a new revisionist textbook...no way that's accidental!) It also seems as though for many people, the further right they go, the less they're willing to re-examine old information through new analytical tools (such as social history, agency, etc.). This is not always the case, of course.

With this kind of revisionism, I was taught that what happened, happened. There's no mystery to interpretation. 1+1=2, that's the way it's always been, that's the way it always will be, end of story, no need to go back and revisit old facts. Now, of course, that's true about some things. William the Conqueror invaded Britain from Normandy in 1066. That happened. Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492. That absolutely happened. The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. That happened. These things are not going to change with interpretation. Other things will. It seems to me that many of the people and organizations I have mentioned are rather adverse to accepting social history, even though it has been a significant part of historical interpretation for the last 50 years now. Another thing I see many of these people do is look at history outside of its actual historical context. Simply put, it is not possible to look at the Founding Fathers outside of the context of the Enlightenment. Of course, left-wing revisionists like to take things out of their historical context as well. In fact, they seem more prone to anaylizing things too much from modern perspectives than anything else.

I remember once debating about child labor laws on Facebook with a friend of mine who is decidedly more conservative than I am. We branched off into women's suffrage, and I believe slavery and civil rights as well (you know who you are!). She and I were going about our debate quite civilly when I got a private message from someone I didn't know. He was basically imploring me to stop embarrassing myself with my lack of historical knowledge and understanding. He then said how interesting it is that Jesus or the Apostle Paul never advocated people demanding their rights and standing up for themselves against authority, as was common in these various social movements. I replied back, asking him what constitutes just authority, and how American slaves were wrong in trying to get their freedom, as many of these slaves were kidnapped, which, according to the Old Testament, is punishable by death. I also asked him how it was that slaves, children, and women were not Biblically justified in fighting for their rights, and yet the American Revolution, and the failed Southern Revolution were acceptable. Of course, he came back saying I don't know enough about history or the Bible for him to try and explain it all to me. It was more the double-standard that struck me than anything. Things that come from the study of politics and empire (such as revolutions) are acceptable, but things that come from a study of the little man (social history: slaves, children, women, and poor people, to over-simplify) were clearly taboo.

The reality is, we as historians- and as a society- must find a balance between looking at the past as a set of objective facts which are as easily interpreted accurately in 1800 as in 2013, and something that is always changing, ever fluid and fluctuating. The reality is yes, what happened happened. However, our ability to understand and interpret what happened, and why, is constantly in flux.

Does anyone actually expect to accomplish anything productive when using such terms as "culture wars," and while pointing the finger at those darn revisionists on either side of the spectrum, when in reality, both sides are often revising things to their own liking? When I grew up, and heard of two people fighting, I often heard people say, "the truth is probably somewhere in the middle." Meaning, neither account was probably correct on its own, but if we look at the facts, and take both stories, we can probably get fairly close to working out what really happened.

Why can't we do this with history as well? This is where I'll probably lose some of you. Why should it be this big deal if America was not established as a Christian nation? Why should it be some earth-shattering event to find out America was only "the land of the free" for white landowners? No, really. Can someone tell me? If that's what actually happened, why is it such a travesty to acknowledge that, and work forward from there? I can ask the same kinds questions to the extreme left as well. Why is it that we must go into our historical research with a conclusion ready to go, wanting not to find out what actually happened and why, but trying to figure out how to use facts and/or interpretation to prove our foregone conclusions?

In conclusion, I do want to say, it's very important to re-examine facts, and do it often. Who writes the history can control what it says. This is a bit light-hearted, but nonetheless true, and I wanted to leave you all with something fun. In the musical, Wicked, the wicked witch, Elphaba, has a conversation with the Wizard, in which the Wizard sings the following:
     "Elphaba, where I come from, be believe all kinds of things that are wrong. We call it "history."
      A man's called a 'traitor,' or 'liberator,'
      A rich man's a 'theif' or 'philanthropist;'
      Is one a crusader, or ruthless invader?
      It's all in which label is able to exist.
      There are precious few at ease with moral ambiguities,
      So they act as though they don't exist."
He's actually spot on here. In most of Western-written history over the last few centuries, the European crusaders have been the good guys. In most Middle Eastern history over the last few centuries, they were the bad guys. Really, what's right? Just because Columbus said he was exploring for the glory of God doesn't mean he actually was. He knew his journals were going to be read, are you kidding me? Of course, he's not necessarily the monster he's been painted as more recently, either. It is really important that we, whether historians or just responsible citizens, pay attention and educate ourselves, constantly taking into account new findings, and approaching our research without preconceived conclusions.

 Here's the video for the song I mentioned above. You should watch it- makes me smile every time.

Week Two: What's A Historian to Do?

No, really. What is a historian to do? Ever since I changed my major as an undergrad from music to history, just about any time someone asks me what I'm studying and I tell them, they end up saying, "So...you're going to teach?" This probably happens 99 times out of a hundred, and no, I'm not exaggerating. If I had a dollar for every time someone has said that to me, I could probably buy myself that new laptop I so desperately need. The general public seems to assume that if someone is going into history, the only occupation open to that individual is teaching. In fact, many history majors, and many people with history degrees mistakenly think the same thing.

As I said in my last post, when I came to Southeast Missouri State, I had no idea what Public History is. I did know that some historians work at museums and historic sites, but I really didn't know anything more than that. In the last two years here, studying in a department with an excellent public history program, and finally deciding to get a certificate in Heritage Education through said program, I have learned a lot about the opportunities open to public historians. However, I have learned more through this week's readings about specific possibilities than in the last two years combined.

While reading through the various essays for this week's assignment (again, taken from the Gardner and LaPaglia text), I kept thinking, "How is it that I have gotten to the end of my Master's program, and am just now learning of all these possibilities!?" I mean, sure, on some level, I knew each option existed, but kind of in the same way that I know travel to the moon is possible: people do it, but not people like me. The more I read, the more I thought about what a shame it is that so few people- whether currently studying history or already possessing a degree- know about all of the options out there. In fact, I began to think that this really should somehow be fit into the college curriculum for history majors. Perhaps even just existing in booklet form with a title such as "What To Do With A Degree In History," and being handed out to graduating Seniors would suffice. But somehow, it's a small travesty that so few people with history degrees know their options. When I was a Senior at Ouachita Baptist University, as part of the CORE curriculum, every Senior had to take a "Senior Seminar" with other Seniors in their school, which for me, was social sciences. For one hour each week, Senior history, psychology, political science, and sociology majors would meet and discuss topics relating to being a professional in the social sciences. Perhaps one of those class periods could have been about specific options for each of those majors- options other than those "obvious" options everyone seems to think about. There was way too much material in this week's reading to talk about here, so I will stick to talking about the four occupations I found most surprising and interesting:

So, what are these "other" options? The first is that of "administrator." Michael J. Devine wrote this essay, entitled, "Administrators: Students of History and Practitioners of the Art of Management. Devine spends a lot of time persuasively arguing why historians, and not business people, should be placed in positions of administration at museums and historic sites. He also gives a nod to the "feud" between academic and public history by retelling a story about a historian who worked at the Smithsonian for years and then went back to the university where he got his Ph.D. to give a talk to the graduate students about his work, of which he was very proud. One of his former professors approached him afterwards, saying what a pity it was that he couldn't get a teaching job, because he would have made such a good historian- implying that working for the Smithsonian does not count as being a historian! How absolutely ridiculous this is. Devine's main point is that historical institutions absolutely must have a historian as their chief administrators, because only historians can really understand what is important. Someone with an M.B.A. and no history background will not. It's the same with many administrative roles, really- most school principals and superintendents have teaching degrees, hospitals often employ M.D.s in administrative positions, etc. For an administrator to do his or her job well, he or she must not only be a good delegator, mediator, decision maker, and budget maker, but he or she must also be very familiar with whatever it is in which the institution specializes. Otherwise, it will not work as it should.

The second was highly interesting to me: independent contractor. I guess I knew they existed, but I'd never thought of it before. Jannelle Warren-Findley discusses this option in her essay, "Contract Historians and Consultants." She talks of the ups and downs of such a career choice, and why she eventually chose another path. After reading this essay, I think perhaps this might be something I could happily do as an alternative to teaching. Of course, one of the pitfalls to this is having to figure out how to run your own business, but that is true with many career choices. Some of the benefits though include being able to use and develop different skill sets, travel (she once spent three weeks in Asia as part of her job), and work independently. While challenging, this would be a great option, and could potentially be great fun.

The occupation of documentary editor was option number three. Written by Candace Falk, "Documentary Editors: Not As Boring As It Sounds," discusses an aspect of documentary making I had never before considered. She talks about how it often takes decades of dedicated research on a single topic to create a documentary, and actually refers to it in terms of "psychosis," saying that a documentary editor has to be almost obsessed with his or her topic to do it well. One thing I didn't realize is that for many documentary editors, they spend years going through unpublished, and often uncatalogued primary sources. In Falk's case, she went through more than 20,000 letters, writings, and other documents associated with Emma Goldman (now there's a person I'd love to write a blog post about!). Of course, with something like this, much more is accomplished than simply a documentary at the end of  the project. Thanks to Falk and her team, thousands of microfilmed primary sources regarding Emma Goldman now exist which did not before. This will no doubt be a significant resource for many researchers for years to come. One of the later essays in this week's reading, "Film And Media Producers: Taking History Off The Page And Putting It On The Screen," by Nina Gilden Seavey was also about documentary filmmaking, and discussed some additional issues dealing with this (and related) chosen occupation.

Surprising occupation number four is discussed in Sylvia K. Kraemer's essay, "Policy Advisors: Historians And Making Policy." Kraemer was involved in helping the Clinton Administration develop its space policies. Of course, this kind of position is much harder to obtain than the others I have discussed, but regardless, it is an interesting place for a historian to land. She addresses the issue of "objectivity" concerning historians involved in policy-making, in that while our profession makes complete and true objectivity more or less impossible (as she put it, historians do not really approach topics with a "tabula rasa," rather we have already formed some biases and have specific-rather than general- questions in mind), historians are especially able to search out the evidence and counter-evidence concerning these questions, and then utilize the information in a way which is conducive to creating solid policy. Essentially, Kraemer argues that one of the biggest benefits to having historians as a part of a policy-making team is that we make excellent decision makers based on empirical evidence. This was something I had not considered, but is absolutely true- historians do indeed have a fantastic set of skills to help with creating policy, and not just in the government, either. There are plenty of corporate applications for this as well.

To sum it all up, there are far more career opportunities for historians than even many of us know. I do believe it would behoove us to figure out a way to educate history majors in these possibilities before they end up educated and out of work, or working a minimum-wage job that anyone without a high school diploma could do. Perhaps, it's time for a change.

Week One: The Hatfields and McCoys

In addition to my M.A., I am working on a graduate certificate in Heritage Education. While I have completed all but the thesis for my M.A., I still have one course required for my Heritage Ed. certificate, which I am taking this semester. As one of the requirements for this course, each student is required to keep a weekly reading blog, with entries pertaining to our readings. Because I already have this blog, and because the requirements for these posts are so broad, meaning I can make most of them interesting to a lot of people outside of my class, I have decided to go ahead and post them here. I'm actually looking forward to the opportunity to do more blogging this semester. I may post some entries not related to my class, as I always do, but I'll have at least one per week from my class. I suppose we shall see how this goes!

For our first class, we were assigned to read the first two essays from the book, Public History: Essays from the Field, edited by James B. Gardner and Peter S. LaPaglia.

In her essay, "Becoming a Public Historian," Constance B. Schulz spends most of her time looking at how a person becomes a public historian and how public history as a legitimate subset within the field of history has developed over the last several decades. Interestingly enough, public history has only been recognized as a legitimate field since the 1970s. Before that, very few historians who went on to graduate school ever intended to work outside of the academe. Most of the historians who found themselves working in museums or historical sites, or otherwise working outside of a university setting, only did so after they failed to find jobs within universities. Public history (which had not yet received its name) was seen as a last resort for failed academic historians. Working outside of the academe was viewed as second-best.

Finally, in the mid-1970s, a few universities began developing graduate programs (almost exclusively within history departments) specifically to train public or "applied" historians. Not only did the students in these programs study academic history and learn to study, write, and research as an academic historian, but they also received formal training in working with museums, archives, and many other public history venues. At long last, the academe was "legitimizing" public history. Well, kind of.

Patricia Mooney-Melvin focuses on the ongoing tension between academic and public historians in her essay, "Professional Historians and the Challenge of Redefinition." When I arrived at Southeast Missouri State University two years ago, I had a B.A. in history, and absolutely zero idea of what "public history" is. I'd never even heard the term. It was not long, however, that I learned that public history is simply presenting history to the public, in one way or another, whether it be through museums, archives, documentaries, newspaper articles, historic preservation, or something else. I thought, "well that's cool, but I don't want to be one." My passion is academic history. And that's where my thoughts on the matter ended. Then I had a rude awakening.

There is an ongoing, decades-old, cold war raging between many public historians and academic historians. Um. Why? That's an excellent question. But I suppose that asking such a question about this issue will do little more good than asking what exactly it was that began the famous feud between the Hatfields and McCoys. I'm not sure anyone really has a good answer to that.

Mooney-Melvin's essay got me thinking though. She argues that the term "historian" should be redefined (though I'm not sure it was ever really defined well to begin with), in an effort to help include both public and academic history, which would then help bridge the gap between the two, and foster a more cooperative relationship between public and academic historians. This is not a bad idea, by any means. However, I can't figure out why there would be any tension between academic and public historians. In my opinion, the two are highly inter-dependent, and the two disciplines should be mutually inclusive, not mutually exclusive, as some would like to make them.

In her essay, Mooney-Melvin talked about many academic historians who would love nothing more than for their work to be used solely by other academics. What a waste. Yes, I said it. To me, that's  no different than a brilliant research doctor saying he only wants his discoveries used by other research doctors. They may cure cancer, but never make it available to the public. How is it any different for a historian's life work to be used only by other historians? Sure, the application of history may be less life-saving than the application of cancer research, but it is no less important to the future of society.

I don't want to make my living full-time as a public historian, but I do want my research and work to allow me to be of some use in making this world a better place. I study African-American history, and right now, my main focus has been slavery and abolition, but I've also studied many other topics within African-American history. It is impossible for me to count the number of times people I know have asked for my help, as a historian of African-American history, on things ranging from how to raise their kids to be truly colorblind in terms of race, to asking me to step in and help mediate a raging online fight having to do with a racial issue. It has been my privilege to be able to do a lot of practical good as an individual historian in these matters. No, doing things like mediating an argument about race, or trying to get through to someone who has been raised in a culture of racial prejudice, are not by any means fun. I often feel as though I'm being handed a ticking bomb and told to deactivate it. Um, no thanks. But I also do know that this kind of work is important- vital even- if we are to improve as a society at all. As a historian, I realize that we rarely do more than trade one set of evils for another, but as humans, our goal should be to always better ourselves, and better society, whether we end up succeeding or not. We have made great strides as far as racial equality goes, but we have a very long way to go, and if I was to spend my life studying African-American history and never use any of what I learned to make a practical difference in this area, that would be a profound waste.

Not only do I personally want to make a difference, but I'm glad to know there are public historians out there who can take my research and writings, and interpret them for the public. They can take my work and make it practically accessible and understandable to non-historians. Conversely, I am able to spend time researching certain topics on a level that a public historian simply cannot do, because they're too busy doing other tasks.

I realize, as these two essays point out, that there is definitely a rift between the public and academic history communities, but there absolutely should not be. Both subsets are vitally important to society, and absolutely inter-dependent. Without public historians, academic historians would be useless. Without academic historians, public historians wouldn't have enough information to present to the public. Both sides are desperately needed.

To put it bluntly, both sides need to get over themselves and realize they can happily work together, rather than constantly bickering and demeaning the other side. Really, how is this any better than the Hatfields and McCoys?

Les Miserables: The Struggle Between Legalism and Grace

You know those moments when you look at something you've seen your whole life, and suddenly, you see something you have never seen before, but as you look at it, you wonder how the heck you never saw it before, because it's just so obvious?! Yeah, me too. In fact, I just experienced one of those today.

My cousin Andrea and I have a Christmas Break tradition, wherein we go out to eat, and see a new movie. In the past, we have enjoyed such movies as Enchanted and both Sherlock Holmes movies. Today, we went to see Les Miserables. We both love musicals, and were dying to see it. We were not disappointed. The movie was spectacular. Aside from Russel Crowe's lack of vocal training, and the fact that his vocal coach failed to tell him that his vocal "scooping" served only to heighten the audience's awareness of his lack of training, the movie and music were absolutely breathtaking. Each actor chosen (yes, even Crowe) was perfect for his or her role. But the quality of the movie was not the only thing which took my breath away.

Before you go on, massive spoiler alert. I basically go through the *entire* story, as it is impossible to talk about my point without essentially retelling the whole thing beginning to end. If you don't know anything about the story, read at your own risk. If you're familiar with it, I doubt you'll find anything from the story surprising.

I have long loved the story of Jean Valjean's redemption. I grew up watching a little-known movie version of the story, and read the book when I was 12 or 13. The fact that Valjean served 19 years hard labor for stealing a single loaf of bread, became bitter and cynical, and then found redemption through the kindness of a priest, has always intrigued me. Of course, the historical setting of early 19th century France has always been fascinating to me as well. (As a side note, even though France is the butt of many military jokes- and rightly so- I never cease to be amazed that France didn't totally self-destruct in the 18th and 19th centuries, but that's another blog post for another time.) But this time, I saw something I had never seen before, in spite of my multiple viewings of the many movie versions, my reading of the book, my countless listenings to the musical soundtrack, and my previous stage viewing. About 10 minutes in, I realized something:

Les Mis is the story of two men, Jean Valjean, and Inspector Javert, and these two men embody the constant struggle between grace and legalism.

This realization shocked me, and I literally gasped. It was suddenly clear before me, and I was thrilled by my new discovery, and amazed I'd never caught onto it before. But there it was, before my eyes and ears, on the big screen.

I'll start with Valjean. He began as an ordinary man, who, like many during this time in France, was poor and starving. He stole a single loaf of bread to keep his sister's son from dying, was caught, and through a series of events, wound up serving 19 years of hard labor for the one loaf of bread. Valjean lived in less-than-human conditions, and was treated like a hardened criminal. When he finally got out on parole, he was given papers which branded him a dangerous man, meaning he couldn't find a job or make a living. (If my memory serves me correctly, he'd killed a prison guard who was unjustly beating a fellow prisoner, which is why his papers stated he was dangerous, but that wasn't in the movie.) Right before he left, Valjean had an exchange with Javert, where Javert tells him he will starve unless he learns the meaning of the law, to which Valjean replies that he had spent the last 19 years "a slave to the law."  At this point, Valjean did not understand grace, because he had yet to experience it.

Enter the priest. Valjean, upon discovering he could not get a job, and knowing he would be on parole his entire life because the courts had deemed him dangerous, decided to steal a living. One night, he was given dinner and a place to sleep by a priest in his rectory, and Valjean saw the vast amount of silver the priest had. While everyone else was sleeping, Valjean stole the silver, and ran off. The next morning, he was brought back to the priest by the police, who had accused him of stealing. Though Valjean had indeed stolen the silver, the priest said he had given the silver to Valjean, and even gave him two silver candlesticks he hadn't taken. The police left, and Valjean was speechless. The priest said Valjean's soul now belonged to God, and he should take the silver and use it to turn his life around, and be of service to others. Then Valjean has a moment in the chapel, where he sees that all that was left in his heart was hate, but he then sings,
              "And why did I allow that man
               To touch my soul and teach me love?
               He treated me like any other,
               He gave me his trust; he called me 'brother.'
               My life he claims for God above,
               Can such things be?
               Though I had come to hate the world,
               And this man who was hate to me.
               Take an eye for an eye!
               Turn your heart into stone!
               This is all I have lived for! |
               This is all I have known!
               One word from him and I'd be back,
               Beneath the lash upon the rack;
               Instead he offers me my freedom;
               I feel my shame inside me like a knife.
               He told me that I had a soul,
               How does he know?
               What spirit comes to move my life?
               Is there another way to go?"
After this, Valjean decides that the old him is dead, and determines to create a new identity and a new life, recognizing now that his life belongs to God. Of course, the priest could not actually claim Valjean's soul- Valjean had to give it to God himself. But this was Valjean's first real encounter with grace, and he decided to accept it, and dedicate his life to serving God, and extending grace to others.

Eight years later, Inspector Javert, who had been a guard at Valjean's prison for most of Valjean's time there, arrived in a smallish town, where he reported to the mayor, and proclaimed himself to be at the mayor's service. By this time, Valjean had disappeared, having failed to report for parole for the last eight years. Javert felt as though he recognized the mayor, but couldn't place him until he accompanied the mayor on an emergency call. A man from the town had been pinned under a very heavy cart, and no one could move it. When Javert saw the mayor manage to lift the cart high enough for the man to be saved (which no one else could do), he realized where he had met the mayor before. The mayor was Jean Valjean, who had demonstrated his incredible strength in prison. Now of course, Valjean had recognized Javert immediately, and had become alert to the danger. At this point, Javert had a choice. He could see that Valjean had built a successful business which was the lifeblood of his town, and was a much beloved, revered, and successful mayor, and he could have left it at that. Javert had even witnessed Valjean extend grace to a prostitute, Fantine, who was being charged with assault. Valjean took the time to listen to Fantine's story, and not only apologized when she told him she had been dismissed from his factory unjustly, but also took her in, cared for her as she died, and promised to get her daughter from the people who were keeping her, and look after her. Even so, as becomes clear later, Javert is a slave to the law. He lives only to see justice served, and the concept of grace is entirely foreign to him. Because of this, he chooses to bait Valjean. A few days later, Javert comes to Valjean and apologizes for making a false judgment; he had thought the mayor was a former criminal who skipped parole, but he was wrong, as the real Valjean had been apprehended.

Thus begins much turmoil for Valjean. He is torn between turning himself in, to save an innocent man, and allowing that man to be his insurance; if another man was imprisoned as Valjean, he'd never have to worry about being found out again. He knew the people of his town depended on him, and if he admittend his guilt and was arrested, many of them would likely be out of jobs. He also couldn't live with the guilt of knowing an innocent man was in prison in his place. He finally went and appeared at the sentencing of the "other" Valjean, and admitted to his true identity. The judge didn't believe him, but Javert saw, and finally knew for sure, this man was Jean Valjean, which of course does nothing but strengthen Javert's resolve to apprehend him. It is interesting that Javert counted on Valjean to appear and take responsibility, and yet he still thought Valjean was pure evil.

The scene cuts to the hospital, where Fantine lies dying, and this is where Valjean promises to get her daughter, Cosette, and raise her as his own daughter. This is where we again see Valjean extend Christ-like grace. He had no prior acquaintence with Fantine or Cosette, but he sees what is right, and does not hesitate to do it, regardless of Fantine's status as a prostitute. But before he can leave, Javert confronts him. Valjean begs Javert to allow him three days to find Cosette and take her to a safe place, but of course, Javert refuses. His reply to Valjean is telling:
              "You must think me mad-
                I've hunted you across the years.
               Men like you can never change;
               A man such as you.
               Men like you can never change,
               Men like me can never change,
               No, 24601.
               My duty's to the law, you have no rights,
               Come with me, 24601,
               Now the wheel has turned around,
               Jean Val Jean is nothing now.
               Dare you talk to me of crime,
               And the price you had to pay.
               Every man is born in sin,
               Every man must choose his way.
               You know nothing of Javert,
               I was born inside a jail;
               I was born with scum like you,
               I am from the gutter too!
               There is no place for you to hide,
               Wherever you may hide away,
               I swear to you, I will be there too!"
Javert's words are filled with loathing- both for Valjean and for himself, for being born inside a jail. Of course, he's not entirely wrong, in that every man is born in sin, and every man must choose his way. However, he misses what true grace is, and that men indeed can change, and in fact, Valjean had changed. He even begins to call Valjean by his prison number, rather than his name- further proof of his utter lack of regard for Valjean as a person. He also had some warped idea of righteousness (as we'll see again later), as he said men like himself couldn't change. It's as though, in Javert's head, once each person has chosen his or her path, they're locked in and can't change their minds. This of course then puts Javert in a position where he thinks he can't fall from righteousness. Less obvious here is also the idea that a person can earn righteousness, whereas Valjean clearly realizes this is pure gift. Because Javert feels he must earn his righteousness, he is relentless in bringing those he sees as criminals to "justice." How else could he earn favor with God, and erase the shame of his birth? Valjean manages to get away, and find Cosette, with whom he flees as Javert is again pursuing him. Valjean again manages to escape.

Because Javert was so bent on seeing justice served, he was disturbed by Valjean's successful escape. He then sang what is known as Javert's big song in the musical, "Stars." It is an absolutely gorgeous piece- majestic and determined. I still remember the very first time I heard it. I was struck by the words even then, but they did not hold the meaning they eventually grew to hold for me, as I traveled on in my own journey to understand grace, and break free of my nearly decade-long detour through the land of legalism. Today, they hit me again, this time in full force (I'm going to edit out some things here):
                              "There, out in the darkness,
                                A fugitive running,
                                Fallen from God,
                                Fallen from grace.
                                God be my witness,
                                I never shall yield,
                                Till we come face to face.
                                He knows his way in the dark,
                                Mine is the way of the Lord,
                                And those who follow the path of the righteous
                                Shall have their reward.
                               And if they fall as Lucifer fell,
                               The flame, the sword!"
Here, he has completely missed the true meaning of grace. He mentions it, for sure, but he clearly has zero understanding of what grace actually is. Not only that, he somehow has come to the conclusion that it is his job do dole out justice to those who fall. He has clearly stated that it is his path that is righteous. That it is he who is following God, not Valjean. He continues:
                               "And so it has been, and so it is written,
                                On the doorway to paradise,
                                That those who falter, and those who fall,
                                Must pay the price!
                                Lord let me find him, that I may see him,
                                Safe behind bars- I will never rest till then!
                                This I swear- this I swear by the stars!"
It amazes me here that Javert seems to see righteousness as something one chooses at the very beginning of one's life, and after making such a decision, one can never stray from the path, and once one does, one is damned forever. He has completely missed the entire point of the Gospels. It's as though Jesus's death was almost irrelevant. The odd thing is that he recognizes men are born sinful which, taking the logic a bit further, indicates that Jesus's death was necessary, but it only allowed for one chance, and that chance could be blown. True grace is nowhere to be found in this. I realize this was a creation of Victor Hugo's imagination, but nonetheless, I have known people whose thought processes are not so far off from Javert's. This lack of understanding on Javert's part ends up bringing him to the breaking point later on.

After Valjean's escape, he spent the next nine years raising Cosette as his daughter. By this time, trouble is brewing in France. Again. (Remember how I said earlier I'm amazed France somehow managed to avoid self-destructing in the 18th and 19th centuries? Yeah, this is just one small example of why.) The Paris Rebellion of 1832 is the backdrop for several of the last scenes of this story. I shall briefly put on my historian's hat to give some background for anyone who may be unfamiliar with this particular rebellion. It was an unsuccessful, two day, anti-monarchist rebellion, mostly by university students (as shown in Les Mis) and working class people who were unhappy with the current monarchy, which had been established two years before. The occasion for this rebellion was the death of General Jean Maximilian Lamarque, who was much revered by many Parisians for his open criticism of the current monarchy. Large numbers of Parisians crowded the streets as Lamarque's body made its final round of the city's streets. (This is the hearse that is shown in the movie.) It is from this crowd that the rebels emerge, but I'll stop my historical rabbit trail here.

The night before this rebellion breaks out, Cosette and Marius (the dashing young revolutionary/university student she eventually marries) see each other across a crowded room- er, city square- and fall instantly and hopelessly in love. (Cue string quartet.) Or so the story goes. Call me a bitter skeptic, but I don't believe in love at first sight.(Cancel string quartet.) But again I digress. While Cosette and Valjean are in the square, Javert discovers them. Valjean finds out about this later that night, and takes Cosette and is ready to flee to England. Cosette is distrauhgt that they are leaving France, because she and Marius had spoken that same evening through the garden gate, and pledged their deep and enduring love forever and always. She leaves a message for Marius at the gate, and through a series of events which are completely irrelevant to my purposes here, he gets the message, and sends one back to her, from behind the barricades.

This is where my story picks up. Valjean gets the message, and reads it. When he discovers how much Marius means to Cosette, he goes to the barricades himself (following the messenger), to find him. When he gets to the barricade, he does not tell Marius who he is, but offers his services. He helps fend off some rooftop enemies, and then discovers Javert, tied up in a room next to the barricade. (Javert had posed as a revolutionary, been discovered as a double agent, then restrained while shouting all traitors must die.) Valjean asks for permission to deal with Javert, and it is granted. He takes Javert out back, where he proceeds to let Javert go. Javert warns Valjean that if he is released, he will not give up his pursuit of seeing Valjean punished as he should be. Even though  he knows he is releasing his worst enemy, Valjean extends grace to Javert, releasing him. Valjean did not take Javert's life, though he was given a great opportunity to do so. I'm reading into this a little, but I would conjecture that Valjean not only knew Javert's life was not his to take, but also intentionally took advantage of an opportunity to turn the other cheek, and show love and grace to a man who hated him, and wanted to see him back in prison.

Javert leaves, and Valjean returns to the barricade. Marius is shot, and Valjean picks him up, takes him away from the shooting, and discovers his only way out is through the sewers. Marius is severely wounded, and a complete deadweight, and yet Marius travels a significant distance through sometimes chin-deep refuse, even fighting off robbers who were hiding in the sewer, determined to get Marius to safety for Cosette, which he does. Cosette and Valjean nurse Marius back to health. Shortly before Marius and Cosette are to be married (the exact timeline is vague in the movie, and I don't remember from the book), Valjean sits Marius down and tells him the truth of who he really is. He tells Marius he's going away so that if he is ever caught, Cosette's honor will not be tarnished. Valjean leaves without telling Cosette goodbye. While at their wedding reception, through an encounter with one of the men who tried to rob them in the sewer (long story), Marius finds out it was Valjean who had risked his life to save him. Marius grabs Cosette's hand, and they go together to the same abbey which had provided a refuge for her and Valjean years before. They find Valjean dying there. Cosette and Marius express their gratitude to and love for Valjean, and are with him when he dies.

They were all unaware of what had already happened with Javert. I don't remember the exact chronology, but between Valjean saving Marius's life, and Marius's recovery, Javert has one final scene. I don't think these lyrics will ever stop amazing me:
                  "Who is this man? What sort of devil is he,
                    To have me caught in a trap and choose to let me go free?
                    It was his hour at last to put a seal on my fate;
                    Wipe out the past and wash me clean off the slate!
                    All it would take was a flick of his knife.
                    Vengeance was his, he gave me back my life!"
This is astonishing to me. Valjean said something similar when the priest introduced him to grace, and he accepted it. Javert was extended the same kind of grace by Valjean, and yet he could not accept it. Not only could he not accept it, he couldn't understand it at all. He referred to Valjean as a "devil," indicating that he thought this grace was something twisted; not from God. Javert could not conceive of what true grace was, even though he had referred to it earlier. True grace had stared him straight in the eye, and he could not recognize it. He goes on:
                    "Damned if I'll live in the debt of a thief!
                      Damned if I'll yield at the end of the chase.
                      I am the Law, and the Law is not mocked,
                      I'll spit his pity back in his face.
                      There is nothing on earth that we share,
                      It is either Valjean or Javert!
                      How can I now allow this man to hold dominion over me?
                      This desperate man whom I have hunted,
                      He gave me my life. He gave me freedom.
                      I should have perished by his hand, it was his right.
                      It was my right to die as well, instead I live...and live in Hell."
I find it fascinating here that Javert is unable to see grace as anything but pity. And he is so convinced that Valjean and Javert are so diametrically opposed, one is good, the other is evil, and one or the other has to "win." They can't both be free. It's the old legalistic idea that someone has to pay, and that if A is good, then B is bad, and there's no other way to see it. This concept is so ingrained in Javert's mind, that to live in this world of grace, which he cannot recognize as such, is actually Hell to him. Again, he continues (and I'm posting this whole thing because it is all so significant):
                           "And my thoughts fly apart,
                            Can this man be believed?
                            Shall his sins be forgiven?
                            Shall his crimes be reprieved?
                            And must I now begin to doubt,
                            Who never doubted all these years?
                            My heart is stone and still it trembles,
                            The world I have known is lost in shadow.
                            Is he from Heaven, or from Hell?
                            And does he know that granting me my life today
                            This man has killed me even so?"
At this point, he realizes maybe he's been wrong. Maybe grace does exist. Maybe sins can be forgiven. He concludes:
                            "I am reaching, but I fall,
                             And the stars are black and cold
                             As I stare into the void
                             Of a world that cannot hold...
                             I'll escape now from the world,
                             From the world of Jean Valjean.
                            There is nowhere I can turn,
                            There is no way to go on."
Javert has lived his entire life thinking grace and justice were mutually exclusive. That grace meant the triumph of evil. That justice was the most important thing in life, and God can only be pleased if justice is served. He had used the word "grace" earlier, but his version was so far removed from true grace, he couldn't even recognize the real thing when he saw it. The idea that true grace could be greater than justice was a concept he simply could not handle. He was so entrenched in his legalism and the belief that he was absolutely right and absolutely on God's side, he literally could not handle this sudden paradigm shift, and he hurled his body off the bridge he had been standing on, into the rushing river.

As I hinted earlier, though I realize this is something Hugo made up, I know many people who live much like Javert: thinking they understand God and grace, but tied to the law, and essentially clueless. I used to be one of them. Thinking I had it right. That the more closely I followed the law, the more I loved God. That God wanted me to make sure others followed His law too, by "encouraging" and "exhorting." That I could only please God if I didn't ever screw up. That God's blessings in my life were directly proportional to the degree to which I followed His law. I used to be much like Javert. I thought that if others weren't following the law, they weren't pleasing God.

In reality, Valjean was the one who got it right. Both Valjean and Javert came face-to-face with true grace, multiple times. Both were given the chance to accept it, and thereby be set free from their slavery to the law (which makes me think over and over of Romans 6, which is ALL about slavery to sin and the law, and grace), but only Valjean accepted it. Javert clung to legalism until the day he killed himself. The theme of this war between grace and legalism is so vivid and obvious, now that I see it. I almost have to wonder if Hugo was intentionally trying to point out the difference between the two choices. Regardless, my mind has been blown  by the very accurate portrayal of the freedom that comes with grace, and the bondage that comes with legalism. 

Excuses, Excuses

While I realize I actually should be working on my never-ending marathon of homework, grading, and Ph.D. applications, I have learned to recognize when I've been beaten and need to go do something else so I can later concentrate on my work better. This is one of those times.

It amazes me how many people go through life with no ambition. Or those who have ambitions, but a list of reasons (or sometimes, even just one) why they can't accomplish it, so they move through life somewhat sadly, saying, "Well, I really wanted to do _____ but I can't because _____ so I'll just do ______ because it pays the bills,"  or some variation of that. I hear a lot of excuses that are somewhat akin to "I wanted to be a painter, but I can't because I have asthma."

I sincerely feel sorry for these people. I have come to believe such statements are actually code for, "I'm terrified of putting myself out there, and because I don't want to fail, I won't even try." All I can say is, what an incredible waste.

It amazes me that an otherwise physically perfect young man can have a toe amputated due to frostbite, and then say, "Well, I guess I can't train to be in the military now, so I'll just get a job that'll pay the bills." Or a really smart young woman can say, "Well, I really wanted to major in piano performance, but I crushed one of my fingers in an accident, and now I can't play, so I guess I'll go back to retail.

Some of you know I spent a number of years in an IFB (independent fundamentalist Baptist) church and a larger fundamentalist organization, where legalism and patriarchy ruled supreme. As such, I know a lot of people who came out of that background as well, or are still there. One of my friends told me a number of months ago about someone she knows who is a mid-twenties stay-at-home-daughter, and the only of her siblings still at home. This is a trend among some of the more strict followers of fundamentalist patriarchy. This girl spends her days reading at the beach, making herself new outfits, going out to visit friends, and generally doing anything that strikes her as 'fun.' I remember hearing that story and being absolutely taken aback by her attitude. The idea that God made her a woman, and therefore her purpose in life is to live at home until she gets married and becomes a quiverfull homeschool mom, is one thing. But to then take it so far as to justify a life of  spending days doing as she pleases, so long as her father approves is quite another.

I was once a stay-at-home daughter myself, with no younger siblings. I hated it, but I was 22 before I found a way out. Even so, I found ways to be productive. I did chores around the house, taught a few piano students a week (in the home, of course), was involved in church (and other) ministry, spent 4 hours a day practicing the piano, etc. I know many other SAH daughters who took online college courses and got degrees, spent one or two days a week helping out an overwhelmed homeschooling mom, or built home businesses. Anything to remain busy and productive. I can't imagine doing whatever I please all day simply because I can. I would despise myself.

I look at all of these people, and then I look at myself. I'm doing things I shouldn't be able to do. Most people who know me, know my health history and personal history, freely say they really couldn't blame me if I didn't function as I do. They couldn't blame me if I still lived at home, or just kind of subsisted, in "survival" mode. I've lost track of how many doctors have looked at my level of illness, pain, etc., and said, "How do you even get out of bed in the morning?" Or how many friends have said, "How are you even still functioning as an emotionally healthy person?" I'll also never forget the woman who did my LD (learning disability) testing and said, "I've been doing this testing for almost 30 years, and you are only the second person I have ever met with your level of disability who has made it past the age of 10 without a diagnosis." I was 21, and her point was that most people with my level of disability can't function the way I do. She also said very few make it through a B.A.

And yet even with all of the issues I have to deal with, I still have ambitions, and better yet, I'm still working towards them. I got my B.A. In May, I'll graduate with my M.A. In August (assuming all goes well), I'll start my Ph.D. Has any of this been easy? Have I gotten through all of this with even the normal level of difficulty? No. I wake up every morning in pain, and I go to bed every night in pain. The people around me have just learned to ignore when I show up on crutches, or in various braces. I still do my work. I taught one day this semester with a dislocated rib. I often just work through my pain, sometimes close to excruciating. Do I want to? No! I can't tell you how many days I get up and want to cry just thinking about everything I have to do, and doing it through all of my pain and mental fog. And you know what? I'm managing to do these things at a better-than-average level.

"But Kathleen, you're obviously just more intelligent than most." No, really, I'm not. My IQ is fairly average.
"But obviously, you've always wanted to be a history professor, and there's nothing else you'd rather do." Again, not really. Don't get me wrong. I love history, and I know I'm good at it. I absolutely love discovering new things and finding out all history has to offer, and helping other people understand the relevance of history to the present day. But music was my first love. If I hadn't hurt my hand in an accident, and it hadn't been permanently damaged, I would be working on a doctorate in music. My second choice was medical school. But I can't do the math required for it. History was my third choice. It is true that there is nothing else I can be doing that I would rather do. But it is not true that there is nothing else I'd rather be doing. I did not let one crushed dream snuff out my ambition. I found a new dream, and I absolutely love working towards it. I look forward to spending the next several decades in the field of history.

I have been given a brain, and opportunities to use it to its fullest capacity abound. I can't imagine letting my health, or my unfortunate personal history, or my learning disabilities, or my injuries keep me from finding something I love, can do, and am good at. I have friends who were full of life and ideas and ambition, and died before they could fulfill their dreams. My friend Greg, pursued the woman he loved in spite of having cancer. He and Melody didn't get to get married, but he didn't let his cancer get in the way of finding love. My friend Aaron has a similar story to mine when it comes to health, but he still worked his way through an M.A. while working full-time. He couldn't find a teaching job, but he never stopped trying to apply, and figure out his options. Even after he got cancer. He applied for a new teaching job just a couple of months before he died.

I could go on, but I'm not going to. I'll simply close with this: Don't let one hiccup, or dashed dream, or set of convictions keep you from being a productive human being, and making significant contributions to those around you. Find a way to work through all of that.

Find a passion and pursue it, and in the process, find a way to help your fellow man. Otherwise, really, what's the point?