Benjamin A. Railton's Blog, page 401
November 20, 2012
November 20, 2012: AmericanThanking, Part Two
[When things are tough, it’s that much more important to remember the bestthings, thosefor whichwe should say a big thanks. So for this week’s series, I’ll highlight some American moments, figures, and texts for which I’m particularly thankful. Please add your own nominations, those things for which you’re thankful, for the weekend post—thanks!]
On one of the Americans I’m most thankful for—and the moment in his life that illustrates why.When it comes to sheer intellect and talent, Robert Penn Warren (1905-1989) takes a backseat to nobody in his candidacy for the American Hall of Inspiration. His novel All the King’s Men (1946) might well merit its own blog post someday, partly for the ways in which it forces us to take a longer look at controversial Louisiana governor Huey Long than our main narratives of the man might allow, but mostly for its incredibly rich and complex perspectives on history, historical fiction, and American identity. His Collected Poems (1998, but including poems written as early as the 1920s and as late as the late 1980s) is the kind of book where you can open to any page (and it runs over 800 pages) and be blown away. And throughout his sixty-year career he was also one of America’s most prominent and important literary critics, historians of the South and the Civil War, biographers (his first book, a biography of John Brown, was published when he was twenty-four and is one of the best works on that hugely complex American life), and public intellectuals.But Penn Warren’s most inspiring text and moment cannot, for better and for worse, be separated from what seems clear to me to be his lowest point (at least of his publications and career). During his time in college and graduate school at Vanderbilt Penn Warren became a part of a group of poets and scholars (including John Crowe Ransom, Allen Tate, and Donald Davidson) who called themselves the Fugitives; in the late 20s they shifted to a more political and social (and explicitly conservative) focus, renamed themselves the Southern Agrarians, and published a manifesto entitled I’ll Take My Stand (1930). The book’s essays touched on a variety of interconnected and overtly reactionary topics and themes; Penn Warren’s contribution, “The Briar Patch,” was to his discredit a defense of segregation as an imperfect but still the best option through which the South could address the issue of race. Issues of prejudice and racism are difficult to define in absolute ways, without keeping in mind the specific contexts of time period and community and upbringing; and yet Warren was (and, more exactly, was already at the age of twenty-five) one of the most brilliant and well-read American writers, and so I can’t find any way to explain “The Briar Patch” away through such contexts. Du Bois had published The Souls of Black Folk over twenty years before; Penn Warren could and should have known better.As I have argued about earlier focal figures here, however, the genuine sources of inspiration are not necessarily—or at least not just—found in ideals, but rather in realities, in attempts to grapple with the complexities of history and community and identity, both national and (more difficult still) our own. And to his great credit, Penn Warren revisited, very publicly and honestly, the question of segregation and his own ideas about it, and did so at a time when, if anything, Southern opinion in general had hardened even more fully against integration. His 1956 essay “Divided South Searches Its Soul” appeared in Life magazine, perhaps the most prominent national publication; in it Penn Warren examined his own prior beliefs, fully admitted their inadequacy, took stock of the nascent Civil Rights Movement and found it just as inspiring as we could hope, and became, from then on, a firm supporter of the Movement and of racial integration (culminating in his 1965 book Who Speaks for the Negro?, which featured interviews with black leaders like Malcolm X and King). It might seem from afar as if such a reversal, coming two years after Brown v. Board of Education, is a sort of social frontrunning, but I would argue that nothing could be further from the truth—this was the era of Little Rock, of the collective white South (or at the very least its most vocal and powerful leaders and representatives, virtually across the board) entrenching its heels and resisting the Court in every way and beginning the move toward George Wallace’s 1963 embrace of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” Penn Warren didn’t reexamine and radically revise his views because it was convenient or appropriate; he did so, it seems clear to me, because it was right.Nothing in life is a zero-sum game, and so the second essay does not cancel out the first; any assessment of Penn Warren’s legacy must, I believe, acknowledge and include his connection to the Agrarians in general and his work in “The Briar Patch” in particular. Yet one of the surest ways to get a good grade in a class taught by me is to demonstrate improvement, to work hard to strengthen one’s voice and ideas, to grow as a writer and thinker and analyzer and, through them, as a student and person. And In “Divided South,” Penn Warren, in the face of imperatives of his community and region and contexts, models such growth. Color me thankful. Next post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Moments, figures, and/or texts you’re thankful for?11/20 Memory Day nominees: A tie between Peregrine White, who was the first European Americanborn in Massachusetts; and Robert F. Kennedy, who I would argue represents one of the state’s and nation’s most inspiring sons.
On one of the Americans I’m most thankful for—and the moment in his life that illustrates why.When it comes to sheer intellect and talent, Robert Penn Warren (1905-1989) takes a backseat to nobody in his candidacy for the American Hall of Inspiration. His novel All the King’s Men (1946) might well merit its own blog post someday, partly for the ways in which it forces us to take a longer look at controversial Louisiana governor Huey Long than our main narratives of the man might allow, but mostly for its incredibly rich and complex perspectives on history, historical fiction, and American identity. His Collected Poems (1998, but including poems written as early as the 1920s and as late as the late 1980s) is the kind of book where you can open to any page (and it runs over 800 pages) and be blown away. And throughout his sixty-year career he was also one of America’s most prominent and important literary critics, historians of the South and the Civil War, biographers (his first book, a biography of John Brown, was published when he was twenty-four and is one of the best works on that hugely complex American life), and public intellectuals.But Penn Warren’s most inspiring text and moment cannot, for better and for worse, be separated from what seems clear to me to be his lowest point (at least of his publications and career). During his time in college and graduate school at Vanderbilt Penn Warren became a part of a group of poets and scholars (including John Crowe Ransom, Allen Tate, and Donald Davidson) who called themselves the Fugitives; in the late 20s they shifted to a more political and social (and explicitly conservative) focus, renamed themselves the Southern Agrarians, and published a manifesto entitled I’ll Take My Stand (1930). The book’s essays touched on a variety of interconnected and overtly reactionary topics and themes; Penn Warren’s contribution, “The Briar Patch,” was to his discredit a defense of segregation as an imperfect but still the best option through which the South could address the issue of race. Issues of prejudice and racism are difficult to define in absolute ways, without keeping in mind the specific contexts of time period and community and upbringing; and yet Warren was (and, more exactly, was already at the age of twenty-five) one of the most brilliant and well-read American writers, and so I can’t find any way to explain “The Briar Patch” away through such contexts. Du Bois had published The Souls of Black Folk over twenty years before; Penn Warren could and should have known better.As I have argued about earlier focal figures here, however, the genuine sources of inspiration are not necessarily—or at least not just—found in ideals, but rather in realities, in attempts to grapple with the complexities of history and community and identity, both national and (more difficult still) our own. And to his great credit, Penn Warren revisited, very publicly and honestly, the question of segregation and his own ideas about it, and did so at a time when, if anything, Southern opinion in general had hardened even more fully against integration. His 1956 essay “Divided South Searches Its Soul” appeared in Life magazine, perhaps the most prominent national publication; in it Penn Warren examined his own prior beliefs, fully admitted their inadequacy, took stock of the nascent Civil Rights Movement and found it just as inspiring as we could hope, and became, from then on, a firm supporter of the Movement and of racial integration (culminating in his 1965 book Who Speaks for the Negro?, which featured interviews with black leaders like Malcolm X and King). It might seem from afar as if such a reversal, coming two years after Brown v. Board of Education, is a sort of social frontrunning, but I would argue that nothing could be further from the truth—this was the era of Little Rock, of the collective white South (or at the very least its most vocal and powerful leaders and representatives, virtually across the board) entrenching its heels and resisting the Court in every way and beginning the move toward George Wallace’s 1963 embrace of “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever.” Penn Warren didn’t reexamine and radically revise his views because it was convenient or appropriate; he did so, it seems clear to me, because it was right.Nothing in life is a zero-sum game, and so the second essay does not cancel out the first; any assessment of Penn Warren’s legacy must, I believe, acknowledge and include his connection to the Agrarians in general and his work in “The Briar Patch” in particular. Yet one of the surest ways to get a good grade in a class taught by me is to demonstrate improvement, to work hard to strengthen one’s voice and ideas, to grow as a writer and thinker and analyzer and, through them, as a student and person. And In “Divided South,” Penn Warren, in the face of imperatives of his community and region and contexts, models such growth. Color me thankful. Next post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Moments, figures, and/or texts you’re thankful for?11/20 Memory Day nominees: A tie between Peregrine White, who was the first European Americanborn in Massachusetts; and Robert F. Kennedy, who I would argue represents one of the state’s and nation’s most inspiring sons.
November 19, 2012
November 19, 2012: AmericanThanking, Part One
[When things are tough, it’s that much more important to remember the bestthings, thosefor whichwe should say a big thanks. So for this week’s series, I’ll highlight some American moments, figures, and texts for which I’m particularly thankful. Please add your own nominations, those things for which you’re thankful, for the weekend post—thanks!]
On one of the historical turning points for which I’m most thankful, and the man who made it happen.If I’m wary about identifying distinct literary transitions and turning points—as I’ve argued in this space, just before identifying one of course—then I’m even more wary about doing so with historical events. Of course it’s easy, and not inaccurate, to highlight singular and significantly influential events like presidential elections (or, on the bleaker side, like the Wilmington coup and massacre with which I began this blog); but to attribute sweeping historical changes or shifts to those, or any other individual events, seems to me to elide the subtleties and nuances and gradualism and multipart nature of historical movement and change. All of this might be especially true when it comes to wars, since they’re so overt and striking and can seem to hinge so much on singular moments and battles and choices. And yet—and you knew this was coming—I think it is possible to boil down the whole trajectory of the Civil War to a single moment and incredibly bold and risky choice, made by perhaps the most unlikely military leader in our nation’s history.This moment, and everything surrounding it, is a central focus of both Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer-winning historical novel The Killer Angels (1974) and the Hollywood film Gettysburg (1993), so it may be a bit better known than many of my focal points in this space. But then again, every time I’ve told it to someone—and I have done so not infrequently, as it’s one of my favorite American stories—it has been new to them; both of those things (the newness and the favorite-ness) make me feel that it’s okay to include it here. For the contexts, it’s worth noting first, as Shaara does at length, how much the future of the Civil War, and thus America as a whole, hinged on the outcome of Gettysburg—not just militarily but also and more importantly diplomatically, since Confederate General Robert E. Lee was carrying a letter given him by CSA President Jefferson Davis in which, to be brief, the English government basically promised to enter the war on the side of the Confederacy if its army could win a decisive victory on Northern territory. If the war and the American future thus hinged on this battle, the battle itself largely hinged on what happened on the hill called Little Round Top—it was at the extreme Southern end of the Union lines and was the high ground, and if the Confederate army managed to take it, it was likely that the Union army would have to retreat, thus quite possibly giving the battle to Lee. And by the most random but crucial quirk of fate, the Union officer whose regiment was charged with holding Little Round Top was Colonel Joshua Chamberlain of the 20th Maine.Whole books, including much of Shaara’s, have been written about Chamberlain, so here I’ll just highlight a couple of things: he was a college professor of rhetoric and modern languages who had volunteered for the Union army out of a sense of duty; and prior to Gettysburg his principal battlefield experience had been a horrific night (chronicled in his diary) spent huddled amongst corpses during the brutal Union defeat at Fredericksburg (an event that, among others, had led Chamberlain in that same diary to admit to some significant uncertainty about whether he was capable of adequately leading men in battle; and it’s worth adding that many of his men had come to share those doubts, and had nearly staged a mutiny against his leadership not long before Gettysburg). Throughout the second day of the fighting at Gettysburg (July 2nd, 1863), Chamberlain and the 20thMaine were assaulted again and again by Confederate troops trying to take Little Round Top; they managed to hold off those attackers by the late afternoon were virtually out of ammunition (many men were entirely out) and likely could not withstand another charge. No historian or strategist could fault Chamberlain if he had retreated under those circumstances, but instead he called for the ultimate bluff: he ordered his men to fix bayonets and charge the Southern regiment that was preparing for another charge at them. Taken by surprise, and of course unaware of how little ammo their attackers possessed, the Confederate troops surrendered to Chamberlain; Little Big Top did not fall, the Union army took the advantage into the third and final day of fighting, Lee in desperation ordered the infamous Pickett’s Charge, and the rest, of the battle and in many ways the war, was history.It’s impossible, to reiterate where I started this post, to know for sure what would have happened, in any historical moment or situation, had things gone differently. But it is certainly possible, perhaps even likely, that had Chamberlain made a different choice, the battle and war could have gone to the Confederacy, and from then on American history would have looked so different as to be unrecognizable. Chamberlain, who won the Medal of Honor for this moment, would go on to a very diverse and distinguished career, including four one-year terms as governor of Maine, a decade as president of Bowdoin College, and many other posts and accomplishments. But it doesn’t get any more meaningful than that July 2ndbluff—and we should all be thankful for it. Next post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Moments or figures you’re thankful for?11/19 Memory Day nominee: Allen Tate, whose perspective on America and race was as complex as for the rest of his fellow Agrarians, but whose poemsand novelengage with great power with key regional and national questions of history and identity.
On one of the historical turning points for which I’m most thankful, and the man who made it happen.If I’m wary about identifying distinct literary transitions and turning points—as I’ve argued in this space, just before identifying one of course—then I’m even more wary about doing so with historical events. Of course it’s easy, and not inaccurate, to highlight singular and significantly influential events like presidential elections (or, on the bleaker side, like the Wilmington coup and massacre with which I began this blog); but to attribute sweeping historical changes or shifts to those, or any other individual events, seems to me to elide the subtleties and nuances and gradualism and multipart nature of historical movement and change. All of this might be especially true when it comes to wars, since they’re so overt and striking and can seem to hinge so much on singular moments and battles and choices. And yet—and you knew this was coming—I think it is possible to boil down the whole trajectory of the Civil War to a single moment and incredibly bold and risky choice, made by perhaps the most unlikely military leader in our nation’s history.This moment, and everything surrounding it, is a central focus of both Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer-winning historical novel The Killer Angels (1974) and the Hollywood film Gettysburg (1993), so it may be a bit better known than many of my focal points in this space. But then again, every time I’ve told it to someone—and I have done so not infrequently, as it’s one of my favorite American stories—it has been new to them; both of those things (the newness and the favorite-ness) make me feel that it’s okay to include it here. For the contexts, it’s worth noting first, as Shaara does at length, how much the future of the Civil War, and thus America as a whole, hinged on the outcome of Gettysburg—not just militarily but also and more importantly diplomatically, since Confederate General Robert E. Lee was carrying a letter given him by CSA President Jefferson Davis in which, to be brief, the English government basically promised to enter the war on the side of the Confederacy if its army could win a decisive victory on Northern territory. If the war and the American future thus hinged on this battle, the battle itself largely hinged on what happened on the hill called Little Round Top—it was at the extreme Southern end of the Union lines and was the high ground, and if the Confederate army managed to take it, it was likely that the Union army would have to retreat, thus quite possibly giving the battle to Lee. And by the most random but crucial quirk of fate, the Union officer whose regiment was charged with holding Little Round Top was Colonel Joshua Chamberlain of the 20th Maine.Whole books, including much of Shaara’s, have been written about Chamberlain, so here I’ll just highlight a couple of things: he was a college professor of rhetoric and modern languages who had volunteered for the Union army out of a sense of duty; and prior to Gettysburg his principal battlefield experience had been a horrific night (chronicled in his diary) spent huddled amongst corpses during the brutal Union defeat at Fredericksburg (an event that, among others, had led Chamberlain in that same diary to admit to some significant uncertainty about whether he was capable of adequately leading men in battle; and it’s worth adding that many of his men had come to share those doubts, and had nearly staged a mutiny against his leadership not long before Gettysburg). Throughout the second day of the fighting at Gettysburg (July 2nd, 1863), Chamberlain and the 20thMaine were assaulted again and again by Confederate troops trying to take Little Round Top; they managed to hold off those attackers by the late afternoon were virtually out of ammunition (many men were entirely out) and likely could not withstand another charge. No historian or strategist could fault Chamberlain if he had retreated under those circumstances, but instead he called for the ultimate bluff: he ordered his men to fix bayonets and charge the Southern regiment that was preparing for another charge at them. Taken by surprise, and of course unaware of how little ammo their attackers possessed, the Confederate troops surrendered to Chamberlain; Little Big Top did not fall, the Union army took the advantage into the third and final day of fighting, Lee in desperation ordered the infamous Pickett’s Charge, and the rest, of the battle and in many ways the war, was history.It’s impossible, to reiterate where I started this post, to know for sure what would have happened, in any historical moment or situation, had things gone differently. But it is certainly possible, perhaps even likely, that had Chamberlain made a different choice, the battle and war could have gone to the Confederacy, and from then on American history would have looked so different as to be unrecognizable. Chamberlain, who won the Medal of Honor for this moment, would go on to a very diverse and distinguished career, including four one-year terms as governor of Maine, a decade as president of Bowdoin College, and many other posts and accomplishments. But it doesn’t get any more meaningful than that July 2ndbluff—and we should all be thankful for it. Next post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Moments or figures you’re thankful for?11/19 Memory Day nominee: Allen Tate, whose perspective on America and race was as complex as for the rest of his fellow Agrarians, but whose poemsand novelengage with great power with key regional and national questions of history and identity.
November 17, 2012
November 17-18, 2012: Crowd-sourcing Public Scholarship
[This week marks AmericanStudies’ two-year anniversary (I began the blog, not coincidentally, right after the 2010 elections). So I’ve celebrated that occasion by highlighting five posts in which I’ve considered some of the reasons, possibilities, and issues related to public scholarship, blogging, and related work. This crowd-sourced post is drawn from other AmericanStudiers’ responses to those questions—please add yours!]
Lito Velasco links Monday’s post on Beck University to “how many of the textbooks in America are just plain full-of-crap. I compare the books I used in high school to those used by some people I know (my wife's, for instance) and it amazes me to see the liberties, exaggerations, and really...flat out lies being espoused and taught to kids by some of those books. But...if they're being used by an educational institution, people take it as ‘truth.’ When really, it's a ‘version’ of the truth being spread to hundreds (if not more) of kids because of the agenda of one group of people who wish to partially rewrite American and even global history.”Mike Parker responds to Wednesday’s post on attitudes toward universities by writing that “Since the election, I've been viewing my college experiences with a renewed appreciation. It's interesting watching so many white newscasters and politicians expressing their surprise at the ‘new’ America that emerged out of this election, referring of course to the impact the minority vote had on the outcome. Some are dumbfounded, some are saddened, some are outright scared. And yet, thanks to the Liberal Arts education I received in Comparative Literature and Spanish, which exposed me to diverse American and international works of literature and allowed me to interact with a wide array of young American and International students, I'm free of the above-mentioned struggles others are having with this so-called ‘new’ America. The fact is my education had me prepared for this ‘new’ America even before it became a mainstream story. In attending a multicultural university, where Affirmative Action had ensured a diverse student population, and where professors were committed to teaching diverse voices and perspectives, I was able to address many of my own negative emotional reactions to diversity and shared power at a time when my mind was still open to new ideas. I guess what I'm saying is that this election, and the struggle many whites are having with it, is a vindication of higher education in the Humanities and the Liberal Arts, where professors have been way ahead of the game in preparing students for the future, and providing students with the tools to function in this world with understanding and empathy, and without fear or hatred.”Jeff Renye follows up Mike’s thoughts, adding, “I quote from the end of Chapter 8 of Diane Ravitch's book, The Death and Life of the Great American School System , the latest edition, 2011 [This quote is a mix of Ravitch and citations from a 1988 statement made by the National Academy of Education on the value of the National Assessment of Educational Progress]: "'While these competencies [reading, mathematics, and writing, which the NAEP test is meant to measure] are important prerequisites for living in our modern world and fundamental to general and continuing education, they represent only a portion of the goals of elementary and secondary schooling.' They represent neither the humanities nor the 'aesthetic and moral aims of education' that cannot be measured. The scholars warned that 'when test results become the arbiter of future choices, a subtle shift occurs in which fallible and partial indicators of academic achievement are transformed into major goals of schooling...Those personal qualities that we hold dear--resilience and courage in the face of stress, a sense of craft in our work, a commitment to justice and caring in our social relationships, a dedication to advancing the public good in our communal life--are exceedingly difficult to assess. And so, unfortunately, we are apt to measure what we can, and eventually come to value what is measured over what is left unmeasured.'" To play off of a title from a book written by the scientist and historian Stephen Jay Gould, here is the mismeasure of education. And the miscalculation of what it is and what it is worth.”11/17 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two unique, influential, and very impressive American educators and activists, Yung Wing and Grace Abbott.11/18 Memory Day nominee: Wilma Mankiller, the first female Chief of the Cherokee Nation and a lifelong activist and voice for Native American rights and communities.
Lito Velasco links Monday’s post on Beck University to “how many of the textbooks in America are just plain full-of-crap. I compare the books I used in high school to those used by some people I know (my wife's, for instance) and it amazes me to see the liberties, exaggerations, and really...flat out lies being espoused and taught to kids by some of those books. But...if they're being used by an educational institution, people take it as ‘truth.’ When really, it's a ‘version’ of the truth being spread to hundreds (if not more) of kids because of the agenda of one group of people who wish to partially rewrite American and even global history.”Mike Parker responds to Wednesday’s post on attitudes toward universities by writing that “Since the election, I've been viewing my college experiences with a renewed appreciation. It's interesting watching so many white newscasters and politicians expressing their surprise at the ‘new’ America that emerged out of this election, referring of course to the impact the minority vote had on the outcome. Some are dumbfounded, some are saddened, some are outright scared. And yet, thanks to the Liberal Arts education I received in Comparative Literature and Spanish, which exposed me to diverse American and international works of literature and allowed me to interact with a wide array of young American and International students, I'm free of the above-mentioned struggles others are having with this so-called ‘new’ America. The fact is my education had me prepared for this ‘new’ America even before it became a mainstream story. In attending a multicultural university, where Affirmative Action had ensured a diverse student population, and where professors were committed to teaching diverse voices and perspectives, I was able to address many of my own negative emotional reactions to diversity and shared power at a time when my mind was still open to new ideas. I guess what I'm saying is that this election, and the struggle many whites are having with it, is a vindication of higher education in the Humanities and the Liberal Arts, where professors have been way ahead of the game in preparing students for the future, and providing students with the tools to function in this world with understanding and empathy, and without fear or hatred.”Jeff Renye follows up Mike’s thoughts, adding, “I quote from the end of Chapter 8 of Diane Ravitch's book, The Death and Life of the Great American School System , the latest edition, 2011 [This quote is a mix of Ravitch and citations from a 1988 statement made by the National Academy of Education on the value of the National Assessment of Educational Progress]: "'While these competencies [reading, mathematics, and writing, which the NAEP test is meant to measure] are important prerequisites for living in our modern world and fundamental to general and continuing education, they represent only a portion of the goals of elementary and secondary schooling.' They represent neither the humanities nor the 'aesthetic and moral aims of education' that cannot be measured. The scholars warned that 'when test results become the arbiter of future choices, a subtle shift occurs in which fallible and partial indicators of academic achievement are transformed into major goals of schooling...Those personal qualities that we hold dear--resilience and courage in the face of stress, a sense of craft in our work, a commitment to justice and caring in our social relationships, a dedication to advancing the public good in our communal life--are exceedingly difficult to assess. And so, unfortunately, we are apt to measure what we can, and eventually come to value what is measured over what is left unmeasured.'" To play off of a title from a book written by the scientist and historian Stephen Jay Gould, here is the mismeasure of education. And the miscalculation of what it is and what it is worth.”11/17 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two unique, influential, and very impressive American educators and activists, Yung Wing and Grace Abbott.11/18 Memory Day nominee: Wilma Mankiller, the first female Chief of the Cherokee Nation and a lifelong activist and voice for Native American rights and communities.
November 16, 2012
November 16, 2012: Public Scholarship, Part Five
[This week marks AmericanStudies’ two-year anniversary (I began the blog, not coincidentally, right after the 2010 elections). So I’m going to celebrate that occasion by highlighting five posts in which I’ve considered some of the reasons, possibilities, and issues related to public scholarship, blogging, and related work. I’d love to hear your thoughts on those questions, or any other 21st century forms and conversations, for the weekend’s crowd-sourced post!]
On the perils and benefits of complexity and nuance for public scholars.I once had a pretty unpleasant Facebook-thread argument—in the immediate context of the summer 2011 debt ceiling nonsense and President Obama’s responses to it—with a leftist political activist (not someone I know personally, but such are the promise and peril of Facebook and the internet) who feels that “academic liberals” are “the lamest, most clueless, most useless motherfuckers in the world.” Since he said this to me directly, after I had offered him what he admitted was “unreciprocated civility,” the line certainly reflects most centrally the guy’s particular and unattractive online voice and personality. But leaving the insults aside, his broader points, which focused on how academic liberals (and perhaps liberals more generally) don’t have the will or tenacity to do whatever it takes to “win” political arguments and thus are ultimately powerless in the face of win-at-all-costs conservatives like those currently running the show in DC, are ones I have myself considered often, including in and in regard to this space.For example, much of my yesterday’s post focused explicitly on the question (in response to a few prompts, including William Hazlitt’s still relevant 1820 essay “On the Spirit of Partisanship” and the work of Reconstruction-era activist and writer Albion Tourgée) of whether liberals should fight conservative fire with fire or with complexity, should (at least at times and when necessary) abandon the high roads of historical awareness and knowledge and context (among many others) and play dirty in order to take on conservative movements that seem often to rely heavily, even depend, upon propaganda and misrepresentations and bald-faced lies. Since this blog began I have, I will admit, included more contemporary and political topics among my focal points here than I had initially planned; but I have not, I devoutly hope, abandoned even a fraction of my desire for nuance and context, for awareness and knowledge, for connecting such issues thoroughly to the long and multi-part threads that can be traced from them to so much of our national history and identity and narratives. As I wrote in yesterday’s post, and as I certainly believe, trying to provide all of those layers is the right thing to do; but what my Facebook interlocutor might ask (if with more vulgarity), and what I certainly ask myself frequently as well, is whether it’s the best thing to do, at least for those of us seeking to enter into and even ideally influence broader national conversations.I’d be lying if I said I had the answer to that question. But I think another 2011 news story illustrates, if I do say so myself, the real and urgent need in our national conversations not only for the voices of public AmericanStudies scholars in general, but in this particular case for the argument at the heart of my second book specifically. In this story, the despicable anti-Muslim bigot Pamela Geller, about whom I wrote in my July 25th and July 26th, 2011 posts, comes out in support of Norwegian terrorist Anders Breivik; Geller makes that disgusting case in a variety of ways, but in one particularly telling comment (later scrubbed from her site but caught in a screen capture) she captions a photo of the kids at the Norwegian youth camp (taken the day before the shooting) by asking her readers to “note the faces which are more Middle Eastern or mixed than pure Norwegian.” Geller may think that she’s making a point there about Norway specifically or European societies more generally—and certainly she, like Breivik and the rest of their anti-Muslim ilk, are indeed intertwined with social changes and concurrent hate movements throughout the continent—but to my AmericanStudier’s mind the loudest echoes are of deeply American narratives about who is and is not a “pure” or “real” American, narratives which have been and continue to be constructed in direct response both to immigration and to racial and cultural mixture. And narratives, yes, that represent precisely a crucial inspiration for much of my own attempt to define American identity precisely through the concept of such mixtures, to make them the most “pure” version of who and what we have been and are.If I had to guess, I’d say that my Facebook conversant would argue that the best, and perhaps the only, way to respond to somebody like Geller is to publicly attack and shame her, to put her bigotry and vitriol on display for all to see—and to make clear at the same time how deeply interconnected she and they are to the current Republican party (note the photo of her with House Majority Whip Eric Cantor in that linked news story). Again, he might well have a point. But to me, responding by first noting the deep-seated national narratives to which her bigotry and vitriol connect, and then positing some alternative and more genuinely communal narratives in their place, can and, I still believe, will ultimately allow us to move into a future where we all stand a better shot of winning, maybe not immediate prizes of power or influence but fundamental and more meaningful ones of equality and hope. At the end of the day, I’m going to keep making that point, here and everywhere else.Crowd-sourced post tomorrow,BenPS. So what do you think? Responses to any of the week’s posts and questions, or any related issues, for that weekend post?11/16 Memory Day nominee: W.C. Handy, the factory worker and son of ex-slaves who became one of America’s most pioneering and significant ragtimeand blues musicians and composers.
On the perils and benefits of complexity and nuance for public scholars.I once had a pretty unpleasant Facebook-thread argument—in the immediate context of the summer 2011 debt ceiling nonsense and President Obama’s responses to it—with a leftist political activist (not someone I know personally, but such are the promise and peril of Facebook and the internet) who feels that “academic liberals” are “the lamest, most clueless, most useless motherfuckers in the world.” Since he said this to me directly, after I had offered him what he admitted was “unreciprocated civility,” the line certainly reflects most centrally the guy’s particular and unattractive online voice and personality. But leaving the insults aside, his broader points, which focused on how academic liberals (and perhaps liberals more generally) don’t have the will or tenacity to do whatever it takes to “win” political arguments and thus are ultimately powerless in the face of win-at-all-costs conservatives like those currently running the show in DC, are ones I have myself considered often, including in and in regard to this space.For example, much of my yesterday’s post focused explicitly on the question (in response to a few prompts, including William Hazlitt’s still relevant 1820 essay “On the Spirit of Partisanship” and the work of Reconstruction-era activist and writer Albion Tourgée) of whether liberals should fight conservative fire with fire or with complexity, should (at least at times and when necessary) abandon the high roads of historical awareness and knowledge and context (among many others) and play dirty in order to take on conservative movements that seem often to rely heavily, even depend, upon propaganda and misrepresentations and bald-faced lies. Since this blog began I have, I will admit, included more contemporary and political topics among my focal points here than I had initially planned; but I have not, I devoutly hope, abandoned even a fraction of my desire for nuance and context, for awareness and knowledge, for connecting such issues thoroughly to the long and multi-part threads that can be traced from them to so much of our national history and identity and narratives. As I wrote in yesterday’s post, and as I certainly believe, trying to provide all of those layers is the right thing to do; but what my Facebook interlocutor might ask (if with more vulgarity), and what I certainly ask myself frequently as well, is whether it’s the best thing to do, at least for those of us seeking to enter into and even ideally influence broader national conversations.I’d be lying if I said I had the answer to that question. But I think another 2011 news story illustrates, if I do say so myself, the real and urgent need in our national conversations not only for the voices of public AmericanStudies scholars in general, but in this particular case for the argument at the heart of my second book specifically. In this story, the despicable anti-Muslim bigot Pamela Geller, about whom I wrote in my July 25th and July 26th, 2011 posts, comes out in support of Norwegian terrorist Anders Breivik; Geller makes that disgusting case in a variety of ways, but in one particularly telling comment (later scrubbed from her site but caught in a screen capture) she captions a photo of the kids at the Norwegian youth camp (taken the day before the shooting) by asking her readers to “note the faces which are more Middle Eastern or mixed than pure Norwegian.” Geller may think that she’s making a point there about Norway specifically or European societies more generally—and certainly she, like Breivik and the rest of their anti-Muslim ilk, are indeed intertwined with social changes and concurrent hate movements throughout the continent—but to my AmericanStudier’s mind the loudest echoes are of deeply American narratives about who is and is not a “pure” or “real” American, narratives which have been and continue to be constructed in direct response both to immigration and to racial and cultural mixture. And narratives, yes, that represent precisely a crucial inspiration for much of my own attempt to define American identity precisely through the concept of such mixtures, to make them the most “pure” version of who and what we have been and are.If I had to guess, I’d say that my Facebook conversant would argue that the best, and perhaps the only, way to respond to somebody like Geller is to publicly attack and shame her, to put her bigotry and vitriol on display for all to see—and to make clear at the same time how deeply interconnected she and they are to the current Republican party (note the photo of her with House Majority Whip Eric Cantor in that linked news story). Again, he might well have a point. But to me, responding by first noting the deep-seated national narratives to which her bigotry and vitriol connect, and then positing some alternative and more genuinely communal narratives in their place, can and, I still believe, will ultimately allow us to move into a future where we all stand a better shot of winning, maybe not immediate prizes of power or influence but fundamental and more meaningful ones of equality and hope. At the end of the day, I’m going to keep making that point, here and everywhere else.Crowd-sourced post tomorrow,BenPS. So what do you think? Responses to any of the week’s posts and questions, or any related issues, for that weekend post?11/16 Memory Day nominee: W.C. Handy, the factory worker and son of ex-slaves who became one of America’s most pioneering and significant ragtimeand blues musicians and composers.
November 15, 2012
November 15, 2012: Public Scholarship, Part Four
[This week marks AmericanStudies’ two-year anniversary (I began the blog, not coincidentally, right after the 2010 elections). So I’m going to celebrate that occasion by highlighting five posts in which I’ve considered some of the reasons, possibilities, and issues related to public scholarship, blogging, and related work. I’d love to hear your thoughts on those questions, or any other 21st century forms and conversations, for the weekend’s crowd-sourced post!]
On what public scholars can and should do, these days and all days.Over the last couple of years I’ve found myself, in thinking about my goals for a wide variety of my pursuits—from this blog to my future book projects, from certain aspects of my classroom work to other public commitments like those with the New England ASA—somewhat torn between a couple of distinct emphases, both answers to King Theoden’s question, “What can men do against such reckless hate?” Which is to say, in a moment when upward of 60% of Republicans consistently buy into Birtherism, when a significant number of our national conversations and narratives seem to have entirely unhinged from any discernible or even debatable reality, what is the role of a public scholar?At times I find myself agreeing with the constant refrain of one of my favorite bloggers, Digby, who believes that far too often writers and thinkers on the left attempt to take such a high road that they cede the most traveled paths to those voices on the right who are willing to shout their arguments as loudly and as passionately (and often, yes, as falsely) as possible. In a recent post she linked to an 1820 essay by William Hazlitt, entitled “On the Spirit of Partisanship,” which illustrates just how much the two sides have long (and perhaps always) been unfairly matched in this sense: “Their object is to destroy you,” Hazlitt writes to his fellow liberals about their conservative opponents, “your object is to spare them.” Yet as tempting, and at times certainly as necessary, as it can be to fight fire with fire, at the end of the day I still believe that the most central goal of any liberal writer—and doubly so of any public scholar—should be to push back against oversimplifying narratives, to argue for more complex and dense and genuine understandings of American culture and history and identity and even politics. It’s a long arc for sure, but if enough such voices make themselves part of the conversation, it can still bend to justice.It’s important to add, though, that providing such a measured and complex perspective is not mutually exclusive to fighting for an era’s most significant causes, a fact that is exemplified by today’s nominee for the American Hall of Inspiration, Albion W. Tourgée(1838-1905). Tourgée managed to be, for many decades, both one of America’s most thoughtful public scholars and commentators and a passionate advocate for the issue (racial equality) about which he felt most strongly: a Civil War veteran who was struggling with his wounds in the climate of his native Ohio, he moved with his wife to North Carolina and became a Radical Republican supporter of Reconstruction and freedmen’s rights there; he wrote a pair of profoundly complex and self-reflective and at times ironic and cynical novels about that experience, A Fool’s Errand, by One of the Fools (1879) and Bricks Without Straw (1880), and continued to publish works of fiction for the rest of his career; but even after moving back north in 1881 he published a syndicated newspaper column (“A Bystander’s Notes) in which he argued passionately for racial equality on a variety of fronts (and against racial violence and discrimination on at least as many). His opposition in that space to Louisiana’s segregated railways led to his selection to argue Homer Plessy’s 1896 case before the Supreme Court; in those arguments Tourgée advanced his belief that justice should be “color-blind,” a phrase which Justice John Harlan borrowed for his passionate dissenting opinion from the Court’s pro-segregation (“separate but equal”) decision.Tourgée was always, I believe, able to view himself and his writing with the kind of distance that keeps one from becoming a caricature, a windbag so fond of one’s own voice and arguments that no one not already convinced will even listen. Yet he most certainly did not fear to tread into some of his era’s most divisive and difficult questions, and in fact advanced the same kind of measured and reasoned and profoundly impressive ideas there that his Reconstruction novels force an audience to confront. Inspiring on every level for sure. Final post in the series tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? What are the roles of public scholars, and what aren’t? Why?11/15 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two pioneering, talented, and inspiring modernistartists, Marianne Moore and Georgia O’Keeffe.
On what public scholars can and should do, these days and all days.Over the last couple of years I’ve found myself, in thinking about my goals for a wide variety of my pursuits—from this blog to my future book projects, from certain aspects of my classroom work to other public commitments like those with the New England ASA—somewhat torn between a couple of distinct emphases, both answers to King Theoden’s question, “What can men do against such reckless hate?” Which is to say, in a moment when upward of 60% of Republicans consistently buy into Birtherism, when a significant number of our national conversations and narratives seem to have entirely unhinged from any discernible or even debatable reality, what is the role of a public scholar?At times I find myself agreeing with the constant refrain of one of my favorite bloggers, Digby, who believes that far too often writers and thinkers on the left attempt to take such a high road that they cede the most traveled paths to those voices on the right who are willing to shout their arguments as loudly and as passionately (and often, yes, as falsely) as possible. In a recent post she linked to an 1820 essay by William Hazlitt, entitled “On the Spirit of Partisanship,” which illustrates just how much the two sides have long (and perhaps always) been unfairly matched in this sense: “Their object is to destroy you,” Hazlitt writes to his fellow liberals about their conservative opponents, “your object is to spare them.” Yet as tempting, and at times certainly as necessary, as it can be to fight fire with fire, at the end of the day I still believe that the most central goal of any liberal writer—and doubly so of any public scholar—should be to push back against oversimplifying narratives, to argue for more complex and dense and genuine understandings of American culture and history and identity and even politics. It’s a long arc for sure, but if enough such voices make themselves part of the conversation, it can still bend to justice.It’s important to add, though, that providing such a measured and complex perspective is not mutually exclusive to fighting for an era’s most significant causes, a fact that is exemplified by today’s nominee for the American Hall of Inspiration, Albion W. Tourgée(1838-1905). Tourgée managed to be, for many decades, both one of America’s most thoughtful public scholars and commentators and a passionate advocate for the issue (racial equality) about which he felt most strongly: a Civil War veteran who was struggling with his wounds in the climate of his native Ohio, he moved with his wife to North Carolina and became a Radical Republican supporter of Reconstruction and freedmen’s rights there; he wrote a pair of profoundly complex and self-reflective and at times ironic and cynical novels about that experience, A Fool’s Errand, by One of the Fools (1879) and Bricks Without Straw (1880), and continued to publish works of fiction for the rest of his career; but even after moving back north in 1881 he published a syndicated newspaper column (“A Bystander’s Notes) in which he argued passionately for racial equality on a variety of fronts (and against racial violence and discrimination on at least as many). His opposition in that space to Louisiana’s segregated railways led to his selection to argue Homer Plessy’s 1896 case before the Supreme Court; in those arguments Tourgée advanced his belief that justice should be “color-blind,” a phrase which Justice John Harlan borrowed for his passionate dissenting opinion from the Court’s pro-segregation (“separate but equal”) decision.Tourgée was always, I believe, able to view himself and his writing with the kind of distance that keeps one from becoming a caricature, a windbag so fond of one’s own voice and arguments that no one not already convinced will even listen. Yet he most certainly did not fear to tread into some of his era’s most divisive and difficult questions, and in fact advanced the same kind of measured and reasoned and profoundly impressive ideas there that his Reconstruction novels force an audience to confront. Inspiring on every level for sure. Final post in the series tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? What are the roles of public scholars, and what aren’t? Why?11/15 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two pioneering, talented, and inspiring modernistartists, Marianne Moore and Georgia O’Keeffe.
November 14, 2012
November 14, 2012: Public Scholarship, Part Three
[This week marks AmericanStudies’ two-year anniversary (I began the blog, not coincidentally, right after the 2010 elections). So I’m going to celebrate that occasion by highlighting five posts in which I’ve considered some of the reasons, possibilities, and issues related to public scholarship, blogging, and related work. I’d love to hear your thoughts on those questions, or any other 21st century forms and conversations, for the weekend’s crowd-sourced post!]
On some of the most threatening and most inspiring sides to 21stcentury public scholarship.Just after I wrote yesterday’s Severson and Gingrich post, a couple more developments had me continuing to think in more self-reflective ways about what I’m doing, here and in general. First, I read a New York Times article that documents how what was done to Professor William Cronon (on which see this brief post) was just the tip of the iceberg; Republican groups in Michigan had now begun making sweeping public records requests involving the emails of numerous labor studies professors at three (so far) public universities in the state. I’ve long felt that the various kinds of anti-intellectual and anti-academic hostilities present in our national narratives are by far the worst—and perhaps even the only bad—aspect of this profession, and I can honestly say that in my fifteen or so years of genuine awareness of the profession (although I was certainly aware to at least a degree through my Dad for years before that as well) this is certainly the worst that things have gotten. I would, I hope, feel that way even if I were not myself employed by a public university; but the fact that I am only amplifies my sense of the profoundly un-American qualities of these invasions of privacy and attacks.It’s true that many academics, at least in the humanities, are politically liberal; there are plenty of possible reasons for that preponderance, and while I have my own theories they’re not the point here. It’s also absolutely and profoundly true, in my significant experiences across multiple institutions and disciplines and classrooms, that the vast majority of academics, whatever their personal views on politics (or anything else), do not bring those views into the classroom; moreover, of the small minority who do make such views clear at times, I am even more certain that virtually (if not literally) none of them require of their students that they adhere to such views in order to receive high grades or the like. And above and beyond such specifics, it seems to me that what college classes most fully offer is the opportunity for students to learn how to think and analyze and argue and read and write and be a part of their world in stronger and more successful ways, skills that prepare them for not only any political conversation (from any perspective) but every other arena of life and identity. To attack college professors for (the only possible charge behind these kinds of document requests) indoctrinating their students or the like is thus, to my mind, not only false on the specifics but even more false, directly backwards even, on the broader work that we do and ask of our students.I came home that day, disheartened by having read that article, to find the advance copies of my second book waiting for me. The book is, like this blog, certainly not a-political; its concluding chapter analyzes Barack Obama’s first book and his identity more broadly as profoundly representative of all early 21stcentury Americans’ identities and relationships to our shared national heritage. But my sincere and most ideal hope for the book, as for this blog, is that it contributes to our communal understandings and conversations and knowledge and narratives in ways that transcend any particular partisan or contemporary debates, that in fact remind us of how much we share and how much stronger and better we are as a nation when our focus is there. Holding in my hands the book, the result of at least five years of thinking and writing, and of innumerable conversations in classrooms, in colloquiums and conferences, in faculty reading groups, with family and friends, and, yes, online, is one of the very best times that this profession has to offer. But even better, I have to admit, is allowing myself to contemplate those ideal contributions it and I could make to our national conversations and narratives.I don’t imagine that the worst of times vibe is going to go away any time soon. But when I’m posting here, as when I hold the book, as when I step into my classes, I can remember some of the best of times, within my profession and within our nation. And I have to believe that they’re stronger and more lasting than even the very worst of where we can go as a nation. More tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think, of the worst sides of public scholarship, the best ones, or anything in between?11/14 Memory Day nominee: Aaron Copland, perhaps one of the first genuinely American classical composers and one whose best compositionscontinue to define our national landscape.
On some of the most threatening and most inspiring sides to 21stcentury public scholarship.Just after I wrote yesterday’s Severson and Gingrich post, a couple more developments had me continuing to think in more self-reflective ways about what I’m doing, here and in general. First, I read a New York Times article that documents how what was done to Professor William Cronon (on which see this brief post) was just the tip of the iceberg; Republican groups in Michigan had now begun making sweeping public records requests involving the emails of numerous labor studies professors at three (so far) public universities in the state. I’ve long felt that the various kinds of anti-intellectual and anti-academic hostilities present in our national narratives are by far the worst—and perhaps even the only bad—aspect of this profession, and I can honestly say that in my fifteen or so years of genuine awareness of the profession (although I was certainly aware to at least a degree through my Dad for years before that as well) this is certainly the worst that things have gotten. I would, I hope, feel that way even if I were not myself employed by a public university; but the fact that I am only amplifies my sense of the profoundly un-American qualities of these invasions of privacy and attacks.It’s true that many academics, at least in the humanities, are politically liberal; there are plenty of possible reasons for that preponderance, and while I have my own theories they’re not the point here. It’s also absolutely and profoundly true, in my significant experiences across multiple institutions and disciplines and classrooms, that the vast majority of academics, whatever their personal views on politics (or anything else), do not bring those views into the classroom; moreover, of the small minority who do make such views clear at times, I am even more certain that virtually (if not literally) none of them require of their students that they adhere to such views in order to receive high grades or the like. And above and beyond such specifics, it seems to me that what college classes most fully offer is the opportunity for students to learn how to think and analyze and argue and read and write and be a part of their world in stronger and more successful ways, skills that prepare them for not only any political conversation (from any perspective) but every other arena of life and identity. To attack college professors for (the only possible charge behind these kinds of document requests) indoctrinating their students or the like is thus, to my mind, not only false on the specifics but even more false, directly backwards even, on the broader work that we do and ask of our students.I came home that day, disheartened by having read that article, to find the advance copies of my second book waiting for me. The book is, like this blog, certainly not a-political; its concluding chapter analyzes Barack Obama’s first book and his identity more broadly as profoundly representative of all early 21stcentury Americans’ identities and relationships to our shared national heritage. But my sincere and most ideal hope for the book, as for this blog, is that it contributes to our communal understandings and conversations and knowledge and narratives in ways that transcend any particular partisan or contemporary debates, that in fact remind us of how much we share and how much stronger and better we are as a nation when our focus is there. Holding in my hands the book, the result of at least five years of thinking and writing, and of innumerable conversations in classrooms, in colloquiums and conferences, in faculty reading groups, with family and friends, and, yes, online, is one of the very best times that this profession has to offer. But even better, I have to admit, is allowing myself to contemplate those ideal contributions it and I could make to our national conversations and narratives.I don’t imagine that the worst of times vibe is going to go away any time soon. But when I’m posting here, as when I hold the book, as when I step into my classes, I can remember some of the best of times, within my profession and within our nation. And I have to believe that they’re stronger and more lasting than even the very worst of where we can go as a nation. More tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think, of the worst sides of public scholarship, the best ones, or anything in between?11/14 Memory Day nominee: Aaron Copland, perhaps one of the first genuinely American classical composers and one whose best compositionscontinue to define our national landscape.
November 13, 2012
November 13, 2012: Public Scholarship, Part Two
[This week marks AmericanStudies’ two-year anniversary (I began the blog, not coincidentally, right after the 2010 elections). So I’m going to celebrate that occasion by highlighting five posts in which I’ve considered some of the reasons, possibilities, and issues related to public scholarship, blogging, and related work. I’d love to hear your thoughts on those questions, or any other 21st century forms and conversations, for the weekend’s crowd-sourced post!]
On what we think about our past and identity, and why it matters so much.Today I focus on two very political stories that feel too relevant to what I’m trying to do here—as well as my ideal goals for my second book—not to engage with them. The first is a somewhat old story and one in response to which (so to speak) I’ve already written, but one that bears repeating nonetheless: Dan Severson, a candidate for Minnesota Secretary of State in the 2010 election (I can’t bring myself to find out whether he won, although I fear the worst), said in October that “There is no such thing” as the separation of church and state, that “it just does not exist, and it does not exist in America for a purpose, because we are a Christian nation.” I can’t say that Mr. Severson needs to read my earlier post on the Treaty of Tripoli, because I have a feeling he’s a lost cause; but certainly the need to counter a position like his with historical details about (for example) that Treaty, to add some AmericanStudies knowledge to the conversations in contrast to that kind of rank fiction or ignorance, makes a compelling argument that a blog like this has a role to play in our contemporary conversations.Even more meaningful than his nonsense about the separation of church and state, however, is Severson’s final and more sweeping assertion that “we are a Christian nation.” I argue explicitly in the conclusion to that second book that what was at stake in the 2008 election, and what remains most significantly at stake in (for example) debates over President Obama’s American-ness, is a set of debates over America’s core, founding, fundamental identity; more specifically and centrally, in relation to Severson’s quote, I believe that the great majority of positions held by the contemporary right can be boiled down to corollaries of such a belief about America’s Christian (and Anglo, English-speaking, etc) origins. Along those lines, former Speaker of the House, current pundit, and failed presidential candidate Newt Gingrich argued in a March 2011 speech delivered at an evangelical Texas mega-church that “I have two grandchildren — Maggie is 11, Robert is 9, [and] I am convinced that if we do not decisively win the struggle over the nature of America, by the time they're my age they will be in a secular atheist country, potentially one dominated by radical Islamists and with no understanding of what it once meant to be an American.” The responses to Gingrich’s quote that I’ve read have understandably focused on the tortured logic by which a secular atheist country could be dominated by radical Islamists. But to my mind, the more significant argumentative ideas here are the last and the first—Gingrich’s explicitly Christian vision of “what it once meant to be an American,” and his desire to pass down that fictitious heritage to a future generation of young Americans. On the latter general idea Newt and I agree—there’s a reason why I put pictures of my boys on each version of this blog, and a reason why the cover of my book features a photograph of young American schoolchildren (of a variety of ethnic and cultural backgrounds); the stakes of these debates over what we are and have always been are most definitely tied to the future, and especially to what future Americans recognize as our shared and communal and core identities. And I would add the vitally important idea, also at the heart of my book, that America has always beendefined not only by multiple cultures and peoples and languages and religions—the emphasis of the multicultural historical narrative which often counters the Christian one, and with which I agree in many ways but which still defines cultures as individual and static and at least somewhat separate—but also by the cross-cultural intersections and combinations and hybrid transformations of that community.What’s the difference between those two narratives, the multicultural one and my cross-cultural idea? I would answer that by pointing to another recent story, the census results in which Hispanic Americans constitute roughly a sixth of the nation’s population. In the Christian narrative, this is a dire trend, a sign that things are indeed changing and for the worse; in the multicultural narrative, it would I believe likewise be seen as a change, just a much more positive one (toward increasing diversity, for example). Yet in my cross-cultural vision of America, one that includes Spanish American arrivals and settlers (in Florida, in Texas, in the Southwest and California) as first and founding Americans alongside, in fact in cross-cultural mixture with, the Puritans in Massachusetts and the French in the upper Midwest and the Catholics in Maryland and the Dutch in New Amsterdam and African slaves in Virginia and Native Americans everywhere and many others besides, those census results merely highlight how much 21st century America stands, like our President, as a descendent of what we have always been, of what has always defined our most unique and significant community and identity. More tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think?11/13 Memory Day nominee: Buck O’Neil, the Negro Leagues baseball star, Civil Rights activist, and all-around amazing American legend.
On what we think about our past and identity, and why it matters so much.Today I focus on two very political stories that feel too relevant to what I’m trying to do here—as well as my ideal goals for my second book—not to engage with them. The first is a somewhat old story and one in response to which (so to speak) I’ve already written, but one that bears repeating nonetheless: Dan Severson, a candidate for Minnesota Secretary of State in the 2010 election (I can’t bring myself to find out whether he won, although I fear the worst), said in October that “There is no such thing” as the separation of church and state, that “it just does not exist, and it does not exist in America for a purpose, because we are a Christian nation.” I can’t say that Mr. Severson needs to read my earlier post on the Treaty of Tripoli, because I have a feeling he’s a lost cause; but certainly the need to counter a position like his with historical details about (for example) that Treaty, to add some AmericanStudies knowledge to the conversations in contrast to that kind of rank fiction or ignorance, makes a compelling argument that a blog like this has a role to play in our contemporary conversations.Even more meaningful than his nonsense about the separation of church and state, however, is Severson’s final and more sweeping assertion that “we are a Christian nation.” I argue explicitly in the conclusion to that second book that what was at stake in the 2008 election, and what remains most significantly at stake in (for example) debates over President Obama’s American-ness, is a set of debates over America’s core, founding, fundamental identity; more specifically and centrally, in relation to Severson’s quote, I believe that the great majority of positions held by the contemporary right can be boiled down to corollaries of such a belief about America’s Christian (and Anglo, English-speaking, etc) origins. Along those lines, former Speaker of the House, current pundit, and failed presidential candidate Newt Gingrich argued in a March 2011 speech delivered at an evangelical Texas mega-church that “I have two grandchildren — Maggie is 11, Robert is 9, [and] I am convinced that if we do not decisively win the struggle over the nature of America, by the time they're my age they will be in a secular atheist country, potentially one dominated by radical Islamists and with no understanding of what it once meant to be an American.” The responses to Gingrich’s quote that I’ve read have understandably focused on the tortured logic by which a secular atheist country could be dominated by radical Islamists. But to my mind, the more significant argumentative ideas here are the last and the first—Gingrich’s explicitly Christian vision of “what it once meant to be an American,” and his desire to pass down that fictitious heritage to a future generation of young Americans. On the latter general idea Newt and I agree—there’s a reason why I put pictures of my boys on each version of this blog, and a reason why the cover of my book features a photograph of young American schoolchildren (of a variety of ethnic and cultural backgrounds); the stakes of these debates over what we are and have always been are most definitely tied to the future, and especially to what future Americans recognize as our shared and communal and core identities. And I would add the vitally important idea, also at the heart of my book, that America has always beendefined not only by multiple cultures and peoples and languages and religions—the emphasis of the multicultural historical narrative which often counters the Christian one, and with which I agree in many ways but which still defines cultures as individual and static and at least somewhat separate—but also by the cross-cultural intersections and combinations and hybrid transformations of that community.What’s the difference between those two narratives, the multicultural one and my cross-cultural idea? I would answer that by pointing to another recent story, the census results in which Hispanic Americans constitute roughly a sixth of the nation’s population. In the Christian narrative, this is a dire trend, a sign that things are indeed changing and for the worse; in the multicultural narrative, it would I believe likewise be seen as a change, just a much more positive one (toward increasing diversity, for example). Yet in my cross-cultural vision of America, one that includes Spanish American arrivals and settlers (in Florida, in Texas, in the Southwest and California) as first and founding Americans alongside, in fact in cross-cultural mixture with, the Puritans in Massachusetts and the French in the upper Midwest and the Catholics in Maryland and the Dutch in New Amsterdam and African slaves in Virginia and Native Americans everywhere and many others besides, those census results merely highlight how much 21st century America stands, like our President, as a descendent of what we have always been, of what has always defined our most unique and significant community and identity. More tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think?11/13 Memory Day nominee: Buck O’Neil, the Negro Leagues baseball star, Civil Rights activist, and all-around amazing American legend.
November 12, 2012
November 12, 2012: Public Scholarship, Part One
[This week marks AmericanStudies’ two-year anniversary (I began the blog, not coincidentally, right after the 2010 elections). So I’m going to celebrate that occasion by highlighting five posts in which I’ve considered some of the reasons, possibilities, and issues related to public scholarship, blogging, and related work. I’d love to hear your thoughts on those questions, or any other 21st century forms and conversations, for the weekend’s crowd-sourced post!]
On one of the most frustrating but fundamental reasons why we’re here.As much as it pains me to do so, I have to focus here largely on Glenn Beck, and particularly on his Beck University. I’ll be damned if I’m going to provide a hyperlink to Glenn Beck’s online, not-for-credit but definitely for-profit (for him) university, so you’ll either have to trust my basic description here or to find the website on your own (no AmericanStudier lifeguard will be on duty, so swim at your own risk, there be monsters). In July 2010 Beck founded this online university, which (for a fee) offers weekly “courses” in topics such as Faith, Hope, and Charity. Despite those broad themes, the courses have focused very specifically on American history and identity (particularly in but not limited to the founding era), and Beck has brought in a series of “scholars” (pardon my air quotes, but I can’t write the word with a straight face) to provide seemingly objective (but most definitely partisan in every sense) perspectives on those national topics. The most famous and certainly most telling of those scholars is David Barton (he teaches the Faith courses), an Evangelical minister who has made his career with a series of books arguing that the Founding Fathers not only did not believe in the separation of church and state, but in fact intended for the United States (and its Constitution, government, and so on) to be deeply and centrally Christian. (Not coincidentally, the Latin motto on Beck U’s coat of arms translates to “Revolution against tyrants, submission to God.”)For a long time, I had felt as if scholarly perspectives on America (and its history, identity, community, etc) were largely distinct from contemporary political debates; certainly talk radio and Fox News types have long articulated certain visions of those national topics, but it didn’t seem to me as if their goal was to teach their audiences about those topics so much as reinforce existing ideas in service of much more overtly political agendas. But from its name to every aspect of its existence, Beck University does purport to teach, and by at least one measure it seems that he has been perceived as doing exactly that: in a pretty comprehensive April 2010 poll of self-affiliated Tea Party members, over 50% of those polled identified Beck as the person from whom they have “learned the most about America.” And while deciding between which of Beck’s nonsensical fairy tales and conspiracy theories is the most dangerous or destructive is a very tall order, I would argue that it is precisely the ones within this University frame, the ones that Beck and his cohorts define as the most scholarly, the most objective, the most grounded in historical facts and details, that have the greatest potential to do long-term harm. If his audience believes (for example) that FEMA is building concentration camps in which to quarantine conservatives, they will, it seems to me, have to recognize at a certain point that they have not been taken to such camps, nor has anyone else. But if they believe (for example) that the Constitution was created and intended to enshrine Christianity at the core of America’s national identity and government and community—and, more exactly, believe that Beck and his scholars have taught them the historical and factual and inarguable groundings for that idea—then no contemporary trends or events could revise that perspective.Perhaps nothing can; certainly the thought that I might have any ability to counter Beck University is, I know, an extreme and far from humble one. But I have increasingly come to feel as if I have to try, as if part of my life’s work should be working to articulate narratives and analyses of American histories and identities that can, in their own small way, become part—and, I hope, a more complex and accurate part than those of Beck and his ilk—of our larger conversations about these core and crucial topics. But I can’t do that alone, of course. Ideally it requires many of us to do the same, so that the diversity and depth of scholarly perspectives can contribute to those conversations (see the Scholarly Reviews category for many of the other voices I’ve tried to highlight here). And more immediately and practically, it requires an engaged and active audience, requires you—not only to read, but to respond, to help create conversations here that can both model the best such national dialogues and carry these ideas and analyses and stories forward. So thanks, for the first two years and I hope for many more to come. Next post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Thoughts on public scholarship, national conversations, blogging, or any other related issues for the weekend’s post?11/12 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two very different but equally impressive and inspiring, and I would argue equally American, women, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz and Elizabeth Cady Stanton.[image error]
On one of the most frustrating but fundamental reasons why we’re here.As much as it pains me to do so, I have to focus here largely on Glenn Beck, and particularly on his Beck University. I’ll be damned if I’m going to provide a hyperlink to Glenn Beck’s online, not-for-credit but definitely for-profit (for him) university, so you’ll either have to trust my basic description here or to find the website on your own (no AmericanStudier lifeguard will be on duty, so swim at your own risk, there be monsters). In July 2010 Beck founded this online university, which (for a fee) offers weekly “courses” in topics such as Faith, Hope, and Charity. Despite those broad themes, the courses have focused very specifically on American history and identity (particularly in but not limited to the founding era), and Beck has brought in a series of “scholars” (pardon my air quotes, but I can’t write the word with a straight face) to provide seemingly objective (but most definitely partisan in every sense) perspectives on those national topics. The most famous and certainly most telling of those scholars is David Barton (he teaches the Faith courses), an Evangelical minister who has made his career with a series of books arguing that the Founding Fathers not only did not believe in the separation of church and state, but in fact intended for the United States (and its Constitution, government, and so on) to be deeply and centrally Christian. (Not coincidentally, the Latin motto on Beck U’s coat of arms translates to “Revolution against tyrants, submission to God.”)For a long time, I had felt as if scholarly perspectives on America (and its history, identity, community, etc) were largely distinct from contemporary political debates; certainly talk radio and Fox News types have long articulated certain visions of those national topics, but it didn’t seem to me as if their goal was to teach their audiences about those topics so much as reinforce existing ideas in service of much more overtly political agendas. But from its name to every aspect of its existence, Beck University does purport to teach, and by at least one measure it seems that he has been perceived as doing exactly that: in a pretty comprehensive April 2010 poll of self-affiliated Tea Party members, over 50% of those polled identified Beck as the person from whom they have “learned the most about America.” And while deciding between which of Beck’s nonsensical fairy tales and conspiracy theories is the most dangerous or destructive is a very tall order, I would argue that it is precisely the ones within this University frame, the ones that Beck and his cohorts define as the most scholarly, the most objective, the most grounded in historical facts and details, that have the greatest potential to do long-term harm. If his audience believes (for example) that FEMA is building concentration camps in which to quarantine conservatives, they will, it seems to me, have to recognize at a certain point that they have not been taken to such camps, nor has anyone else. But if they believe (for example) that the Constitution was created and intended to enshrine Christianity at the core of America’s national identity and government and community—and, more exactly, believe that Beck and his scholars have taught them the historical and factual and inarguable groundings for that idea—then no contemporary trends or events could revise that perspective.Perhaps nothing can; certainly the thought that I might have any ability to counter Beck University is, I know, an extreme and far from humble one. But I have increasingly come to feel as if I have to try, as if part of my life’s work should be working to articulate narratives and analyses of American histories and identities that can, in their own small way, become part—and, I hope, a more complex and accurate part than those of Beck and his ilk—of our larger conversations about these core and crucial topics. But I can’t do that alone, of course. Ideally it requires many of us to do the same, so that the diversity and depth of scholarly perspectives can contribute to those conversations (see the Scholarly Reviews category for many of the other voices I’ve tried to highlight here). And more immediately and practically, it requires an engaged and active audience, requires you—not only to read, but to respond, to help create conversations here that can both model the best such national dialogues and carry these ideas and analyses and stories forward. So thanks, for the first two years and I hope for many more to come. Next post tomorrow,BenPS. What do you think? Thoughts on public scholarship, national conversations, blogging, or any other related issues for the weekend’s post?11/12 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two very different but equally impressive and inspiring, and I would argue equally American, women, Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz and Elizabeth Cady Stanton.[image error]
November 10, 2012
November 10-11, 2012: A Very American Election
On what I would call the most American—in the worst and best senses—aspect of the 2012 election.
There’s a lot that could be called distinctly and definingly American about Tuesday’s election. The resemblance of the electoral map to past American schisms, as Amara comments below. The slow and hesitant but still impressive and inspiring march of progress and arc of justice, as witnessed in the four marriage equality victories, the number of new female Senators and Reps and their stories and identities, and so on. The contests between nostalgic and forward-looking worldviews, particularly when it comes to women and sexuality. The amazingly American, and just plain American, victory speech delivered by President Obama in the middle of the night. And much more.But for me, the election’s most American aspect was also its most contested and crucial: voting. I’ve written before in this space about the many efforts to disenfranchise voters and suppress votes ahead of this election, and they only intensified as the election neared. As I wrote in that post, such efforts have a frustratingly long history in America, could in fact be said to be among the most consistently present of our national horrors and tragedies. But so too, as I wrote, do the inspiring and hopeful responses, both by activists who fight to extend the franchise and by voters themselves, Americans who brave the most difficult and even violent conditions to exercise their right to vote. So when I say that I could not be prouder of the turnout in this election, of the millions of Americans who did everything they had to do—and then some—to participate, I mean it in the most AmericanStudies way I can. That’s what I wanted to say! Now a few thoughts from my fellow AmericanStudiers:In response to Wednesday’s Birtherism post, Toni Osier argues, “I agree with you that his multiculturalism makes him American. Even though the Birthers and tea partiers don't want to see it. That is American now! There are very few just white people left. My issue with the Birthers is I don't really understand why if Obama was not born in America that the people in charge of making sure he was when he first started running for office would be working so hard to cover it up. How does that benefit them? There were plenty of other candidates if he was not legitimately born a US citizen then we would not be here today! I have a friend whose step mother was born in MA and grew up in Saudi Arabia but if she were to run for office no one would question her status as an American because she is white. She does not look Middle Eastern so no one would think differently. Honestly I think that they never even thought there would be a possibility of their white bread America having a black president and now for two terms!”Responding to the same post, Lito Velasco writes: "First, to your definition and idea of "American"... I couldn't agree more. That idea is part of what makes me so proud of my marriage. My wife is about as "Caucasian" as one could get: a true Anglo-Saxon mix of English, French, Irish, etc. And during our courtship and engagement, we battled against some pretty divisive and cruel attitudes towards our union both from inside and outside our family (granted, most of the "attitude" came from people in her extended family...mine was pretty open-armed and accepting of us). But Jennifer didn't bat an eye. She knew who she loved and WHY she loved. She didn't care that my skin wasn't "white", or that we might have children who weren't "blonde haired and blue eyed" (to quote a letter she received from a loved one...one that warned her of the impending doom she was walking into). She cared that she loved a man who was Mexican, Arabic, and Italian...and yet, she never "sees" those things. She only sees me: a man. The man she loves.And isn't that what we're SUPPOSED to do? Not just as citizens of this potentially-great country...but as human beings? Aren't we supposed to look at someone and define them not based on their ethnicity and appearance, but on who they are on the INSIDE? On how they live? On what they stand for and represent? I've always been so happy that my wife looks at me and sees not a Mexican...but...ME.She, a small-town girl (from a town in Indiana that you might miss if you happen to blink while driving through) who grew up in a somewhat sheltered environment and surrounded by townsfolk who had a very CLEAR definition of what an "American" is and should be, grew into a woman whose idea of a person is based on the qualities they possess...and not the color of their skin, their background, etc.Granted, I'm not saying we should discount our heritage. I am proud of mine as she is hers...but it shouldn't be a divisive issue in family, marriage, or politics. And so many people use it as JUST that. Isn't it time to evolve? isn't it time to finally wake up and see the reality of being fellow human beings?!I guess I've sort of turned this post into a statement on my background history, and I apologize for that. But I state this history because I feel it's perfectly appropriate to the situation. The Birther movement seems to mainly fear and loathe the current President not because of his policies and the political ideas he represents (although I'm sure that plays into it somewhat), but because of his heritage, the color of his skin, and his history. And...is that really a reason to fear and loathe? How many times have we heard the indignant cries that "Obama is a Muslim!"? He's not, obviously. But even if he was...so what? Why is it okay to run for public office if you're a Catholic, Christian, Mormon, Baptist, etc but NOT if you're a Muslim? Oh yeah, that's right. Because they're "the enemy". Shouldn't we be more concerned about President Obama's CAPABILITY? His ability? His leadership skills?The people who hide behind the flag and cry out against President Obama because of the "Birther" idea remind me of those same people I mentioned earlier in this post. Who cares if I'm a Mexican and your family member might give birth to children who aren't "entirely White"? Shouldn't the bigger issue be whether or not I will love, cherish, and protect your loved one? Whether or not I will keep her safe and happy? Whether or not I will foster her growth as a human being? Whether or not I'll try to help her on her journey in life and her ever-evolving proces of growth as a woman and human?Shouldn't that be the same attitude we take towards our President?I fear that the growing rise in the Birther movement is related to the idea that these people, like the ones who cautioned my wife against marrying me, are glimpsing into the future...and they don't like what they see. They're afraid of the possibility of the "chickens [might] come home to roost". They're afraid that instead of being the majority...they'll have to live on the other side of the fence. They'll have to come to grips with the fact that they're falling into the minority. That they'll be on "the other side". But is that really so tragic? Hell, I've lived with it all my life and I don't seem to have any MAJOR issues.And those who would foster, enable, and encourage this fear (Trump...we're ALL looking at you)...who would exploit this fear and try to use it to their advantage. I wonder about those people...are they just as afraid of being in the minority? Or is it a purely financially-motivated anger? Are they SO afraid of having a little less and others having a little more that they'll basically stoke the flames of racism and hate so that they can accumulate more wealth? Whatever the case, people like Donald Trump should realize: it doesn't matter how much money you have. When you go on an insane, anger-filled rant like the one he engaged in last night...it doesn't make you seem like anything more than a bigoted, crazy fool. You're okay with that, Trump? You're okay with being the cartoonish buffoon that people now view you as?He'd most likely respond by saying something like, "Take a look at that kid. He's got no money. He doesn't know anything." Well, I'd venture to guess I'm a little more lucky and affluent than he is when it comes to my wealth of knowledge of the human condition.Anyway, I digress. And I apologize for this raving post. I know it's all over the place, but...I'm recovering from seven weeks of madness...in which every night I averaged about 4 hours of sleep...sleep filled with dreams of a red and blue map, electoral counts, and percentages. Last night was the first good, heavy night's sleep in a while. All six hours of it. LOL.But, despite my ramblings, I figure you get my drift. I'm right there with you. This nation needs to take a look at itself on this morning and think about where they stand as a people. Those in the red states...who would embrace this anger and hatred and fear and use it as a fuel to drive their lives...take a look at the country's vote. Take a look at some of the people elected to Washington. Take a look at some of the policies being approved by vote. This country is evolving. Do you wish to join the rest of us? Or are you still going to hold onto the fear and remain rooted in the past?There are plenty of seats on the bus. I wouldn't exclude you because of where you were born, the color of your skin, or your heritage. I'd smile and welcome you to the family. I'd look into your eyes and see WHO you were based on your actions, words, and how you related to others.Just as my wife and I see each other: to her...I'm not a Mexican/Italian/Arabic man. I'm a man. To me....she's not a Caucasian woman. She's a beautiful woman. She's my wife.Give it a shot, folks. It might make life so much easier than you ever possibly dreamed it could be. And that's what America COULD be. If you just gave it a chance."Responding to Thursday’s post on Obama and race, Amara highlights the similarites between the 2012 electoral map and the divisions between the slave and free states, and thus the Confederacy and Union, at the time of the Civil War.Responding to a conversation about the election and race/ethnicity, Sean Goodlett highlights this Eugene Robinson piece in the Washington Post.Next series starts Monday,BenPS. What do you think? Thoughts on the election and America? On Obama and America? On any related issues or questions?10/10 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two controversial, courageous, and influential American activists, Samuel Gridley Howe and Russell Means.10/11 Memory Day nominee: Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.!
There’s a lot that could be called distinctly and definingly American about Tuesday’s election. The resemblance of the electoral map to past American schisms, as Amara comments below. The slow and hesitant but still impressive and inspiring march of progress and arc of justice, as witnessed in the four marriage equality victories, the number of new female Senators and Reps and their stories and identities, and so on. The contests between nostalgic and forward-looking worldviews, particularly when it comes to women and sexuality. The amazingly American, and just plain American, victory speech delivered by President Obama in the middle of the night. And much more.But for me, the election’s most American aspect was also its most contested and crucial: voting. I’ve written before in this space about the many efforts to disenfranchise voters and suppress votes ahead of this election, and they only intensified as the election neared. As I wrote in that post, such efforts have a frustratingly long history in America, could in fact be said to be among the most consistently present of our national horrors and tragedies. But so too, as I wrote, do the inspiring and hopeful responses, both by activists who fight to extend the franchise and by voters themselves, Americans who brave the most difficult and even violent conditions to exercise their right to vote. So when I say that I could not be prouder of the turnout in this election, of the millions of Americans who did everything they had to do—and then some—to participate, I mean it in the most AmericanStudies way I can. That’s what I wanted to say! Now a few thoughts from my fellow AmericanStudiers:In response to Wednesday’s Birtherism post, Toni Osier argues, “I agree with you that his multiculturalism makes him American. Even though the Birthers and tea partiers don't want to see it. That is American now! There are very few just white people left. My issue with the Birthers is I don't really understand why if Obama was not born in America that the people in charge of making sure he was when he first started running for office would be working so hard to cover it up. How does that benefit them? There were plenty of other candidates if he was not legitimately born a US citizen then we would not be here today! I have a friend whose step mother was born in MA and grew up in Saudi Arabia but if she were to run for office no one would question her status as an American because she is white. She does not look Middle Eastern so no one would think differently. Honestly I think that they never even thought there would be a possibility of their white bread America having a black president and now for two terms!”Responding to the same post, Lito Velasco writes: "First, to your definition and idea of "American"... I couldn't agree more. That idea is part of what makes me so proud of my marriage. My wife is about as "Caucasian" as one could get: a true Anglo-Saxon mix of English, French, Irish, etc. And during our courtship and engagement, we battled against some pretty divisive and cruel attitudes towards our union both from inside and outside our family (granted, most of the "attitude" came from people in her extended family...mine was pretty open-armed and accepting of us). But Jennifer didn't bat an eye. She knew who she loved and WHY she loved. She didn't care that my skin wasn't "white", or that we might have children who weren't "blonde haired and blue eyed" (to quote a letter she received from a loved one...one that warned her of the impending doom she was walking into). She cared that she loved a man who was Mexican, Arabic, and Italian...and yet, she never "sees" those things. She only sees me: a man. The man she loves.And isn't that what we're SUPPOSED to do? Not just as citizens of this potentially-great country...but as human beings? Aren't we supposed to look at someone and define them not based on their ethnicity and appearance, but on who they are on the INSIDE? On how they live? On what they stand for and represent? I've always been so happy that my wife looks at me and sees not a Mexican...but...ME.She, a small-town girl (from a town in Indiana that you might miss if you happen to blink while driving through) who grew up in a somewhat sheltered environment and surrounded by townsfolk who had a very CLEAR definition of what an "American" is and should be, grew into a woman whose idea of a person is based on the qualities they possess...and not the color of their skin, their background, etc.Granted, I'm not saying we should discount our heritage. I am proud of mine as she is hers...but it shouldn't be a divisive issue in family, marriage, or politics. And so many people use it as JUST that. Isn't it time to evolve? isn't it time to finally wake up and see the reality of being fellow human beings?!I guess I've sort of turned this post into a statement on my background history, and I apologize for that. But I state this history because I feel it's perfectly appropriate to the situation. The Birther movement seems to mainly fear and loathe the current President not because of his policies and the political ideas he represents (although I'm sure that plays into it somewhat), but because of his heritage, the color of his skin, and his history. And...is that really a reason to fear and loathe? How many times have we heard the indignant cries that "Obama is a Muslim!"? He's not, obviously. But even if he was...so what? Why is it okay to run for public office if you're a Catholic, Christian, Mormon, Baptist, etc but NOT if you're a Muslim? Oh yeah, that's right. Because they're "the enemy". Shouldn't we be more concerned about President Obama's CAPABILITY? His ability? His leadership skills?The people who hide behind the flag and cry out against President Obama because of the "Birther" idea remind me of those same people I mentioned earlier in this post. Who cares if I'm a Mexican and your family member might give birth to children who aren't "entirely White"? Shouldn't the bigger issue be whether or not I will love, cherish, and protect your loved one? Whether or not I will keep her safe and happy? Whether or not I will foster her growth as a human being? Whether or not I'll try to help her on her journey in life and her ever-evolving proces of growth as a woman and human?Shouldn't that be the same attitude we take towards our President?I fear that the growing rise in the Birther movement is related to the idea that these people, like the ones who cautioned my wife against marrying me, are glimpsing into the future...and they don't like what they see. They're afraid of the possibility of the "chickens [might] come home to roost". They're afraid that instead of being the majority...they'll have to live on the other side of the fence. They'll have to come to grips with the fact that they're falling into the minority. That they'll be on "the other side". But is that really so tragic? Hell, I've lived with it all my life and I don't seem to have any MAJOR issues.And those who would foster, enable, and encourage this fear (Trump...we're ALL looking at you)...who would exploit this fear and try to use it to their advantage. I wonder about those people...are they just as afraid of being in the minority? Or is it a purely financially-motivated anger? Are they SO afraid of having a little less and others having a little more that they'll basically stoke the flames of racism and hate so that they can accumulate more wealth? Whatever the case, people like Donald Trump should realize: it doesn't matter how much money you have. When you go on an insane, anger-filled rant like the one he engaged in last night...it doesn't make you seem like anything more than a bigoted, crazy fool. You're okay with that, Trump? You're okay with being the cartoonish buffoon that people now view you as?He'd most likely respond by saying something like, "Take a look at that kid. He's got no money. He doesn't know anything." Well, I'd venture to guess I'm a little more lucky and affluent than he is when it comes to my wealth of knowledge of the human condition.Anyway, I digress. And I apologize for this raving post. I know it's all over the place, but...I'm recovering from seven weeks of madness...in which every night I averaged about 4 hours of sleep...sleep filled with dreams of a red and blue map, electoral counts, and percentages. Last night was the first good, heavy night's sleep in a while. All six hours of it. LOL.But, despite my ramblings, I figure you get my drift. I'm right there with you. This nation needs to take a look at itself on this morning and think about where they stand as a people. Those in the red states...who would embrace this anger and hatred and fear and use it as a fuel to drive their lives...take a look at the country's vote. Take a look at some of the people elected to Washington. Take a look at some of the policies being approved by vote. This country is evolving. Do you wish to join the rest of us? Or are you still going to hold onto the fear and remain rooted in the past?There are plenty of seats on the bus. I wouldn't exclude you because of where you were born, the color of your skin, or your heritage. I'd smile and welcome you to the family. I'd look into your eyes and see WHO you were based on your actions, words, and how you related to others.Just as my wife and I see each other: to her...I'm not a Mexican/Italian/Arabic man. I'm a man. To me....she's not a Caucasian woman. She's a beautiful woman. She's my wife.Give it a shot, folks. It might make life so much easier than you ever possibly dreamed it could be. And that's what America COULD be. If you just gave it a chance."Responding to Thursday’s post on Obama and race, Amara highlights the similarites between the 2012 electoral map and the divisions between the slave and free states, and thus the Confederacy and Union, at the time of the Civil War.Responding to a conversation about the election and race/ethnicity, Sean Goodlett highlights this Eugene Robinson piece in the Washington Post.Next series starts Monday,BenPS. What do you think? Thoughts on the election and America? On Obama and America? On any related issues or questions?10/10 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two controversial, courageous, and influential American activists, Samuel Gridley Howe and Russell Means.10/11 Memory Day nominee: Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.!
November 9, 2012
November 9, 2012: Obama and America, Part Five
[I’m writing these posts ahead of time, as is my wont, so I can’t say whether this week’s series will be an epilogue on a four-year journey or a middle chapter in an evolving story. I sure hope the latter. But in any case, here are five posts through which I’ve tried to bring AmericanStudies to bear on our current president and some of the many national questions to which he connects. Your thoughts, on the election or the distant past or anything in between, will be very welcome for a special weekend post with my own new thoughts as well as yours.]
On history’s judgments of presidential administrations.If we could ask Andrew Jackson, toward the 1837 conclusion of his two terms as president, how his administration would be remembered by posterity, I’d be willing to bet that he’d answer with one or another aspect of Jacksonian Democracy: his opening up of the White House (literally) and the democratic process in general to a much wider swath of his fellow Americans; his populist war on Nicholas Biddle and the Bank of the United States; and so on. Love me or hate me, my hypothetical Old Hickory would reply, you have to admit I was a man of the people. Yet while all those histories are indeed part of our narratives of Jackson, I would argue that they run a distant second to his policy of Indian Removal, and the resulting brutality and tragedy of the Trail of Tears. Our most prominent memories of Jackson (in my argument at least), that is, are of him destroying a people, not advocating for them.Those are all debatable ideas, of course, but the point is this: how history remembers a president is a complex and evolving question, and one that is particularly tough to predict when we’re still within the era itself. As we reach the end of either President Obama’s first term or of his presidency (we’ll know which by the time this post is published, of course), then, it’s challenging at best to guess how posterity will remember Obama. Certainly you would think his racial and cultural identity will be part of the narratives no matter what; so too does the Great Recession seem destined to interweave with any and all histories of Obama (although how that Recession plays out likewise remains undecided and will of course influence those histories). But beyond that? Will it be something progressive and inpsiring, such as the endorsement of gay marriage, the end of DADT, the various steps toward full civil rights for gay Americans? Or something far more dark and destructive, such as our drone wars and the assassination policy for US citizens suspected of aiding terrorists abroad? Or will it be something that seems now relatively inconsequential, as perhaps Indian Removal did to Jackson and his supporters?Damned if I know; frankly, as I write this in late October, I’d give anything just to know whether Obama’s presidency itself will be history by this date. But I suppose the hopeful side of me would say this: the Recession and its responses, the War on Terror policies, these and other issues are hugely complex ones that Obama inherited, and with which he struggled, sometimes to better effect and sometimes to worse (and always with approximately 0.0000000001% support from any members of the opposing political party). Each, that is, should to my mind define the George W. Bush presidency more than the Barack Obama one. So I think instead that the slow but definite movement on gay rights, those multiple and important steps toward a nation that more fully accepts and gives equality to this community of Americans, might well become the defining elements of history’s narrative of Obama. After all, Obama’s own identity is, as I have argued this week, a crucial part of his legacy but also one that America has had a frequently difficult time understanding and responding to. So it’d only be fitting if he were remembered best for what he did for a community of his peers facing a very similar challenge—and in helping the nation as a whole bend its arc toward justice for that community.New, post-election post this weekend,BenPS. So please add your thoughts, in response to this week’s posts but also on any aspect of Obama, the election, and related questions, for that weekend post!11/9 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two very distinct but equally impressive, influential, and inspirationalAmerican astronomers, Benjamin Banneker and Carl Sagan.
On history’s judgments of presidential administrations.If we could ask Andrew Jackson, toward the 1837 conclusion of his two terms as president, how his administration would be remembered by posterity, I’d be willing to bet that he’d answer with one or another aspect of Jacksonian Democracy: his opening up of the White House (literally) and the democratic process in general to a much wider swath of his fellow Americans; his populist war on Nicholas Biddle and the Bank of the United States; and so on. Love me or hate me, my hypothetical Old Hickory would reply, you have to admit I was a man of the people. Yet while all those histories are indeed part of our narratives of Jackson, I would argue that they run a distant second to his policy of Indian Removal, and the resulting brutality and tragedy of the Trail of Tears. Our most prominent memories of Jackson (in my argument at least), that is, are of him destroying a people, not advocating for them.Those are all debatable ideas, of course, but the point is this: how history remembers a president is a complex and evolving question, and one that is particularly tough to predict when we’re still within the era itself. As we reach the end of either President Obama’s first term or of his presidency (we’ll know which by the time this post is published, of course), then, it’s challenging at best to guess how posterity will remember Obama. Certainly you would think his racial and cultural identity will be part of the narratives no matter what; so too does the Great Recession seem destined to interweave with any and all histories of Obama (although how that Recession plays out likewise remains undecided and will of course influence those histories). But beyond that? Will it be something progressive and inpsiring, such as the endorsement of gay marriage, the end of DADT, the various steps toward full civil rights for gay Americans? Or something far more dark and destructive, such as our drone wars and the assassination policy for US citizens suspected of aiding terrorists abroad? Or will it be something that seems now relatively inconsequential, as perhaps Indian Removal did to Jackson and his supporters?Damned if I know; frankly, as I write this in late October, I’d give anything just to know whether Obama’s presidency itself will be history by this date. But I suppose the hopeful side of me would say this: the Recession and its responses, the War on Terror policies, these and other issues are hugely complex ones that Obama inherited, and with which he struggled, sometimes to better effect and sometimes to worse (and always with approximately 0.0000000001% support from any members of the opposing political party). Each, that is, should to my mind define the George W. Bush presidency more than the Barack Obama one. So I think instead that the slow but definite movement on gay rights, those multiple and important steps toward a nation that more fully accepts and gives equality to this community of Americans, might well become the defining elements of history’s narrative of Obama. After all, Obama’s own identity is, as I have argued this week, a crucial part of his legacy but also one that America has had a frequently difficult time understanding and responding to. So it’d only be fitting if he were remembered best for what he did for a community of his peers facing a very similar challenge—and in helping the nation as a whole bend its arc toward justice for that community.New, post-election post this weekend,BenPS. So please add your thoughts, in response to this week’s posts but also on any aspect of Obama, the election, and related questions, for that weekend post!11/9 Memory Day nominees: A tie between two very distinct but equally impressive, influential, and inspirationalAmerican astronomers, Benjamin Banneker and Carl Sagan.
Benjamin A. Railton's Blog
- Benjamin A. Railton's profile
- 2 followers
Benjamin A. Railton isn't a Goodreads Author
(yet),
but they
do have a blog,
so here are some recent posts imported from
their feed.
