Defining Digital History: Can We?

Like the term public history, “digital history” is not easily defined. Digital history falls under the umbrella term “digital humanities” which, of course, is also tricky to define. Both fields (yes, I’ve decided digital history is a field rather than an approach), are ever-changing, with recently acceptable practices quickly becoming obsolete. Digital history is also interdisciplinary and often collaborative, as with most public history work. And so, if I must define digital history, I will stick to a broad understanding of the field: Historical research, interpretation, presentation, and study completed using digital tools, widely accessible for interaction with the public. Good digital history, like public history, must cause one to pose new questions and consider topics in a fresh way. As you can see from my attempt at defining the field, I believe identifying aspects of digital history work that make it successful is more important than defining digital history at this time.

Here are a few of the characteristics I identified (after the first class and three batches of readings…I’m sure I will identify many more throughout the semester!) for “good” digital history work:

• ·      Permeable
• ·      Interdisciplinary/Collaborative
• ·      Widely Accessible
• ·      Thought-Provoking
• ·      Risky (In the sense that it has not been done before)
• ·      Authentic

Many digital history projects include these characteristics, including Virtual Watervliet http://virtual.shakerheritage.org/. The Shaker Heritage Society of Albany, New York created Virtual Watervliet as a digital representation of the first Shaker settlement in the United States. Much of the Shaker settlement no longer exists and creating a digital model allowed the organization to share the former settlement with both on-site and digital visitors.

The site and mobile site allow you to experience Watervliet at different points in history through 3-D maps, images, music, and biographies. The mobile website offers an on-site audio tour, while the web version offers map tours divided by theme, historic maps overlays (taking advantage of Google Earth), and guided 3-D tours. The site includes a section on building typology and 3-D views of several of the former structures.

Virtual Watervliet allows a wide audience to experience and interact with the first Shaker settlement in a unique way. It offers different ways of considering the evolution of the town and the relationships between townspeople. The project used new forms of technology to promote the history of the Shaker Heritage Society and is an example of successful digital history work.

The Future of Public History

This week’s readings examined the present trends in various cultural markets, including museums, national parks, historic sites, and musical productions, and discussed the effects those trends will have in the future. Greater Philadelphia Cultural Alliance published “Arts, Culture, and Economic Prosperity in Greater Philadelphia” in 2012 and their “2011 Portfolio” to identify the status of cultural markets in the area. The study showed the effect of the shaky economy on different organizations, but as a student anticipating graduation and beginning a job-hunt in the field, some of the results weren’t as dismal as I anticipated. First, in “2011 Portfolio,” history-related institutions maintained the highest attendance. Reading this caused me to smile slightly, though I know it does not mean the current situation of historical museums and sites in the area is great. The study also found that while attendance increased and prices stayed stable, revenues dropped. Many cultural organizations are struggling financially. This led many organizations to defer necessary maintenance just to keep their doors open. As an intern in the field, I have witnessed this first hand.

In “Coming Soon: The Future: That Shape of Museums to Come,” James Chung, Susie Wilkening, and Sally Johnstone asked which of today’s trends are most likely to shape the world, and thus museums, of the future. The authors made smart observations about the growth of minorities and the need for museums to reach these new communities. They suggest this not only because engaging with the community is an important task of any museum, but because those minority groups will become a large portion of voters deciding whether or not to fund museums in the future. They also discussed the future role of women in museums and the possibility of women becoming their largest percent of visitors, volunteers, and even donors. But while the authors suggested that museums must change their roles in the community in order to evolve with the world around them, the authors did not offer readers any specific suggestions as to how to go about that. I know that every museum and its surrounding communities are unique, but some of the discussion felt incomplete—like a professor assigning a large project, but giving little direction for guidelines to complete it. Still, the points the authors made are certainly thought provoking and, even if they only convince museum professionals that change is imminent, helpful.

The final reading, Imperiled Promise: The State of History in the National Park Service (Part I) examines the history of history in the National Park Service and makes suggestions for improving NPS’s history work in the future. The authors assert that the National Park Service was founded to preserve, interpret, and instruct the American public on historic places in the United States. But from the introduction of history to the NPS in the 1930s, the agency has kept history and the rest of the services separate. The authors suggest that historians at the NPS begin and maintain dialogues with academic historians to keep up with trends. Each of the readings, while pointing out problems in the world of public history, make suggestions for a brighter future that will hopefully create a more involved and informed public.

Inside the World of Living History

Living history is a complicated topic in the world of public history. Public historians debate whether it can be considered authentic and even whether it is a useful tool at all. This week’s reading, The Wages of History: Emotional Labor on Public History’s Front Lines by Amy Tyson, used an extended case method to examine the complexities of working as an interpreter at Historic Fort Snelling in Minnesota.

Tyson found several major themes that affected the lives of the workers, both on and off of the job. One such theme that I found to be interesting (and somewhat maddening) was the gender and class divides between workers. Interpreters at Fort Snelling experienced tension between male and female employees, as bosses assigned historically male of female tasks to each individual hired. Interestingly, female interpreters were not included in the interpretive plan to be historically accurate—as females would have lived and worked at the fort—but to please visitors (42).

Tyson found that visitor preference affected most of the decisions made concerning interpretation, both by management and individual staff members. Most interpreters agreed that visitor reaction guided their performances. Because interpreters could not move up in the organization, many workers considered positive visitor feedback the most important aspect of the job. The focus of interpreters on pleasing visitors led to another interesting point: that the less comfortable topics of history, especially slavery, was generally erased from the interpretation (150). Like in other situations, interpreters gauged how comfortable visitors seemed when they mentioned tough subjects rather than always including the touchy information. This caused some interpreters to misrepresent the history of Fort Snelling. It displays one major issue with living history: that the individual interpreters decide what story to tell and how they will tell it.

Many interpreters mentioned in Tyson’s book recalled internalizing their roles. Some explained that they maintained their upbeat, outgoing work personalities outside of work. They commented on gender tension in the discussion, but also focused on the class divide amongst workers. For example, an interpreter playing an upper-class lady can scold an interpreter playing a servant for an action that their “present-day person” decided was okay. Many interpreters who played lower-class roles kept the feeling of guilt or embarrassment throughout and after the workday. This class divide caused tension amongst the employees and personal strife even outside of the work place. After reading some of Tyson’s examples of this, I imagined a co-worker at the same level as me held the right to reprimand me just because they wore a different outfit and sat in a different room. I know that wouldn’t sit well with me, and imagine it would be difficult for most individuals to adjust to.

The Wages of History discussed many aspects of interpreters at a historic site, but in my opinion, the most important discussion focused on authenticity. According to Tyson, most employees had a preoccupation with authenticity and became almost obsessed with the idea (117). Some interpreters even turned authenticity into a game or competition and monitored others about it. Lead guides often falsely labeled behavior they disliked as inauthentic, using the term as an excuse to exert power (135). The authenticity of objects is a hot topic in the field of house museums, and I was interested to learn about it in the context of living history at historic sites. The thought that kept popping into my mind while reading is that those playing the roles of historic characters can never be truly authentic, no matter how much they get into their character. Even “hard cores” who take their jobs more seriously can never be a truly authentic representation of the past. They did not experience it. No matter how much they believe they know, they were not there.

Overall, Tyson provided a thought-provoking look into the lives of interpreters. Her discussion raises several key themes relevant to historic sites and museums around the world, with or without living history. Throughout the book, I compared the issues of interpreters to issues at my own past jobs. In the end, the book left me with the thought: a job is a job.

The Potential of Public History Projects

As you can probably imagine, public history projects are often controversial and cause conflict amongst those involved. Cathy Stanton studied one specific example in The Lowell Experiment: Public History in a Postindustrial City. Stanton examined the transformation of Lowell, Massachusetts from an industrial mill town to a heritage site. Through interviews, Stanton discovered the opinions of different involved parties, including both academic and public historians, community leaders, preservationists, former mill workers, real estate developers, and visitors to the site, among others. The Lowell Experiment is an extremely detailed case study and displays many themes concerning the issues that arise during the process of completing a public history project. One issue Stanton highlights is that of authority. Whose interpretation of history is the one displayed to the public? Academic historians, public historians, the townspeople? Another issue is that of present-day Lowell. How can historians address current politics through their interpretation of the past? Stanton suggests that public historians have the ability—and maybe even responsibility—to comment on present day political issues through work.

 The idea of public historians addressing current politics remained in the back of my mind as I began Slavery and Public History: The Tough Stuff of American Memory, a collection of essays edited by James Oliver Horton and Lois E. Horton. Several of the authors who contributed to Slavery and Public History connect the teaching, interpretation, and presentation of  slavery through American history to present day issues of race, inequality, and misunderstanding of the topic. Most Americans today are aware of issues of racial inequality still rampant in our nation, but are unaware of the affect slavery had on creating those issues. Slavery is one of, if not the toughest topic to both interpret and present to the public. Many individuals are uncomfortable with the topic, some prefer to ignore it completely, while others attempt to search for the good that came of it-- such as culture, cuisine, language, and religion. But just like other tough topics in history, slavery cannot be ignored at historic sites or, importantly, in public education.

Several authors agreed with Stanton that public historians can use their work to comment, and affect, present-day political issues. Ira Berlin, the author of the first chapter of Slavery and Public History, entitled “Coming to Terms with Slavery in Twenty-First Century America,” asserts that if race can be created in the past, it can be remade in the future. This conclusion agrees with Stanton’s idea that public historians are responsible for addressing political issues today through their interpretations of the past. Other authors suggest broader public education on the matter, commenting on our nation’s lacking public education system. After reading both The Lowell Experiment and Slavery and Public History, I am more familiar with both the process of a public history project and more aware of the potential—and consequences—of  the work of public historians.

Exploring Exhibitions

This week’s readings, Private History in Public: Exhibition and the Settings of Everyday Life by Tammy S. Gordon and Creating Exhibitions: Collaboration in the Planning, Development, and Design in Innovative Experiences by Polly McKenna-Cress and Janet A. Kamien both explore the process of creating successful exhibits.

 In Private History in Public, Gordon focuses on historical exhibits and explains the unique aspects of several different types of exhibits, from academic to corporate to community. She asserts that historical curation is a social experience, in which individuals interact with historic objects that serve to explain certain communities around a common historic narrative (Gordon, 4). Gordon’s discussion on private history exhibits, which are rarely acknowledged by museum professionals, stood out to me in contrast to McKenna-Cress and Kamien’s work. Gordon explained that private historical exhibits are “cross-class, cross-ethnic, cross-cultural conversations that can ultimately lead to social and economic change” (Gordon 5). Rather than using artifacts, like academic exhibits, private exhibits use belongings that have a connection to the curator of the exhibit. Further, some private exhibits attempt to replace the larger, well-known historical narrative assumed by most of society. Even after her discussion of examples, Gordon’s claim that private historical exhibits restructure the authority of historical knowledge, create conversations, and serve to further democracy seemed like a bit of a stretch. However, learning about the different types of exhibits proved helpful, particularly when reading Creating Exhibitions.

McKenna-Cress and Kamien provide an in-depth, almost textbook-like discussion about the process of collaboration within exhibit design. Unlike Gordon’s book, which seemed to favor the private or vernacular exhibits, Creating Exhibitions focused on more large-scale professional exhibitions. The authors explained the importance of collaboration, asserting “Basing program and exhibit development on the limited experience and knowledge of a single person is simply not acceptable in an age where access to information, knowledge, and people are at one’s fingertips” (McKenna-Cress, 7). Though McKenna-Cress and Kamien focus on different types of exhibits, they agree with Gordon that real objects can affect visitors in a powerfully transformative way and that authenticity it significant. Gordon writes that only private exhibits, when objects are belongings rather than artifacts, allow visitors to connect on a higher level with the object. Creating Exhibitions will continue to guide me as I come closer to graduating and entering the field of public history professionally.