Methods, Shmethods?

What is it that historians do? My generation keeps being bombarded with post-modern theories, we are constantly warned of our biases and made conscious of our narrative structures. Until this past week, I would have mistakenly made the generalization that historians of my age and position have moved beyond this - that we understand that we are not, in fact, looking for the truth, that history is amalgamous and ambiguous and porous. Of course we have biases, of course we all interpret things differently, and of course this comes out in our writing. The very acts of deciding what to include in our writing (let alone our research), how to structure it, and which words we will use all impact our eventual readers. The professor conducting my methodology seminar this week made the point that the title of that day’s seminar, “Theory and History,” falsely implied the two could be separated. You cannot write history without theory, without employing some methods, whether conscious or simply background to which you pay minimal attention. That point seems obvious once made, but it struck me in the moment. And yet, as discussion progressed, and indeed it was actually a continuation of our introductory “Historians and Historiography” session of last week, it became clear that there are a couple people, and definitely one very adamant young man, who still ascribe to the traditional, out-dated “Historians look for and present the truth” maxim. This not only annoyed me, it surprised me. How, in a world where we acknowledge the relevance of individual interpretation and experience, how can one possibly still think that there is a definitive right answer to “what happened”? Yes, of course, one cannot claim complete falsehoods. You cannot go around saying that Robespierre died in 1800, it’s simply not true. But there is no single correct interpretation of the French Revolution, of its various phases, of what the Terror was. There are traditional, conventional, normally agreed-upon versions, bien sûr, but we are not beholden to them. If I wanted to, I could play with the dates, claiming that, actually, the French Revolution began in 1787, when active resistance to Louis began at Versailles, rather than the “normal” 1789 argument. I can claim that the French were actually spurred to action by the residents of the Austrian Netherlands (today’s Belgium), who had begun a serious resistance to Joseph II in 1787 when they refused him his taxes. [For the record, these are all simplifications.] How can this colleague truly continue to think that we historians search for a truth and (more scarily) that we will one day find it?

What frustrated me perhaps more was an incredibly condescending discussion of the difference between “popular” and “academic” history. Words like “the public” get thrown out with derision dripping from the speaker’s mouth, a snotty smile crossing their face as they mention historical fiction or the audacity of that television series to bend dates and simplify ideologies. It’s entertainment, you jerks. Cinematography, publisher demands, and pure time and space sometimes dictate changes a “pure history” would prefer not to make. This does not have to make it useless. Entertainment is fun. Willing suspension of disbelief. Stop over-thinking for a minute and enjoy, damnit. A large part of my class jumped down the throat of popular history, drawing a massive gulf between it and “real” or “academic” history. What’s the difference? Academic history tends to be more technical, drier, more boring, more into minutia, they answer. Why? Dear god, why? I actually brought this up: why do we write “boring” things for academic journals and exciting, more literary-stuff for “the public”? Surely it comes down to style and it would be completely possible to write less dryly for an academic article. No, I was told, that would make my work look less professional. And besides, “the public” does not want to know the origins of a specific Pictish word, they want the romance of William Wallace. Again, why? And who the hell are we to decide? “The public cannot handle the complexities and nuance of real history.” Fuck off. [Clearly, this is a pet peeve of mine.] Museum exhibits tend to be more popular when they confront people with new ideas, new approaches, or contradicting interpretations. [For a powerful example of this, see Eric Foner’s essay on his career as a historian. It’s chapter 1 of his Who Owns History?] People like to be challenged. There is a dignity and a flattery in turning to someone and saying, “What do you think?” This is not to say that professional historians shouldn’t have jobs. Please, I need to be employed someday. But we can certainly engage with “the laymen.” Afterall, history is everyone’s. Everyone has a history, everyone can engage with the past. Ok, everyone probably does not want to sift through the archival material on the Brabant revolutionaries of 1787-1790. But I bet their story would be interesting to someone. Presented in a relatable, exciting way, any history can be captivating. Lists of names and dates are boring, even to historians! They are not history, though, which brings me back to the original question: what do historians do?

A list of the facts, of the empirical evidence, is nothing. It is a chronicle. It has no inherent value. Not until someone picks it up, reads it, and begins to think, does a set of facts become real and important. [Jenkins discusses this a bit in Re-thinking History, to those of you looking for footnotes or references.] The choice of things included and the choice of things excluded are the first elements of importance, of shaping that a historian undertakes. Then there are the inferences drawn from the list. Will I present it as a list? Will I give explanations of each thing? If I do, what kind of language will I use? “Democratic” takes on many meanings. I may write it with one intention and my audience read it with another. Historians interpret. We give voice to what we find in the archives, and that voice is none but our own. We can pretend that we are “objective,” as I’m sure my particular colleague would, but we are not. We never will be. We are human beings, with feelings, thoughts, prejudices, and value systems. I’m currently reading R. R. Palmer’s Age of Democratic Revolution (1959) and it is so dated, it is laughable. He speaks of parallels between the 18^th and 20^th centuries and their “revolutions” - the 20^th being communism. He makes moral judgments on both, coming down hard on the Western side in opposition to communism. He reminds his readers that, just because we do not like revolution now (in the 50s) and the implications of what happened in Russia are mostly negative to his audience, doesn’t mean we should write off the 18^th century revolutions as inherently negative as well. Now, that last point does make sense, but to be preached at about the evils of communism is quite annoying when reading about the Atlantic world of the 1790s. And yet, his example proves my point (which, for the footnote enthusiasts, is again closely related to some Jenkins): no historian can be taken out of their own context. Palmer’s book will undoubtedly paint the Jacobins and more leftist revolutionaries as extreme, and I will have to account for that as I read, but that does not make him wrong or irrelevant. It makes him dated, certainly, but his is only one available interpretation and anyone reading it is free to agree or disagree as they see fit. This should be obvious, I lament again. Of course everyone has an opinion. Somehow, though, historians have come to be seen as some kinds of scientific experts, giving the world the “right” versions of past events. 

When are we going to get to a point where everyone knows to read with a grain of salt, to take people’s backgrounds and ideologies and interests into account? When are we going to move past needing rights and wrongs and into a world of maybes and gray areas? When are we going to enjoy the debate for its own sake and revel in the availability of different points of view? When, when, when?! 

When I get my PhD and get out there into the real world, that’s when. [She writes arrogantly.]

NB: The above is all my own interpretation, shaped by my own interests, history, current events, and world view. You are free to disagree.

Happenings, Happenings the World Over

Today I had my second meeting with my PhD advisors. Yes, I have officially begun! It's a scary prospect to think that in three years I have to have finished my project, complete with an 80,000- to 100,000-word thesis. It's going to be a comparison of the revolutions and resulting constitutions in what became the United States and Belgium. Not entirely obscure, but definitely not a run-of-the-mill topic. Each meeting reinforces why I am here, why I have always wanted to be here. Talking about the project, the things that may (or may not) prove relevant, the directions my research could take, the possibilities of further research is not just engaging, it is purely enthralling. To a degree that I find rare in other corners of my life. I remarked to one of my supervisors today that I'm genuinely intrigued to see where this will all lead. At this point, from this vantage, none of us can really see the clear path - no roadmap has been hammered out yet - but the elements are beginning to surface through the murk and the mud. In many ways, academic work takes on a life of its own. Everyone always says that, I realize in typing it, but there's a very good reason: it's true. You cannot tell where a project will go until you are in the middle, or possibly near the end. And that is a pure joy. People sometimes liken a PhD thesis to someone's child, usually jokingly. But, like children, someone's thesis takes them to unforeseen intellectual spaces, challenges their limits and their sense of self, and grows into something quite different from what was perhaps expected. I'm just at the beginning. (In the child analogy, probably still pregnant, really.) Already, though, I am excited and ready and rearin' to go. Ah, the sweet smell of academia. How I missed you these past (4) weeks. [NB: the break was welcomed with open arms.]

In other news, I finally browsed the NY Times today for the first time in quite a while. Not having internet at home (crazy flat-moving going on... too much to mention) means my forays onto the wonderful worldly web have been fairly specific, short, and sweet. But today I have some time and so news came to the top of the heap. The first article to jump out at me was one on the general anti-establishment nature of recent uprisings the world over, and a sister article about the protests in Israel. It was interesting to consider the idea that the world at large is moving beyond the governmental structures we know so well. It was a joy to everyone to see the use of Twitter and Facebook during the election protests in Iran over a year ago, and it seemed everyone in the West could unite in condemning state shut-downs of internet access to stop peaceful organization through social media. Hell, the very fact that I can write about social media on this here blog says a lot, considering this girl only got Twitter to follow the great Rachel Maddow. That all made sense without necessarily impinging on our own little worlds. But that first article I mentioned puts forward an interesting premise: that even in the West now, people are going around normal "democratic" processes and using social networks to take matters into their own hands. The article emphasizes a true disappointment on the part of the public when it comes to the effectiveness of their governments and the legitimacy of their voices in elections and polls. It struck me as I read that we are at the precipice of a brand new world, one that could potentially exist without traditional structures and nation-states made up of vast, intricate systems that require cloak-and-dagger diplomacy and special ops forces. Are we as humanity moving beyond the nation-state? Is there about to be a break that, for students of the future, will represent a new fall-line, demarcating the start of a post-Treaty of Westphalia universe? I doubt anything that drastic will actually come to fruition, but the implications are mind-numbingly awesome. How tantalizing to think of tearing down structures that have given Wall Street, bankers, and career politicians the power that monarchs, viceroys, generals, and career diplomats used to have. [You didn't think I'd be able to leave my study of 18th-century revolutions out of this did you?]

[Side note: my Twitter feed just popped up with this tragically hilarious (and relevant) article from the Onion.]

In truth, part of why all of this caught my eye to the degree it did is because I've recently been on some outings with a charming PhD in Education student whose interests lie in social media, technology, etc. and the implications for education. Interesting stuff. I don't get on the Twitter all that often and I don't use LinkedIn or any of that jazz, but I realized that maybe in letting that kind of thing pass me by I'm doing more than sitting in a comfortable cocoon of insulation. Maybe I'm missing out on something. Maybe not.

Whatever the status of the world and its revolutions, Edinburgh is proving itself splendid as ever. An Indian summer has descended upon us, and I welcome it with open arms. Today I actually sat in the Meadows in a tank top... I think I even got a little tan. Being a funded student has meant that I can finally take a little advantage of this fantastic town. In the spirit of revolutions, the other night involved a fantabulous dinner at Pancho Villa's in the Canongate and dessert at Chez Jules (both extremely highly recommended). I'm looking forward to the next three years. For their academic fun, their opportunities, and for the chance to know and love Edinburgh even better.

Historicize Me

So this past Monday was the Fourth of July. I am living in Edinburgh, Scotland, and so it was a different celebration from the one I normally engage in. When I'm in the States, the Fourth is always a day of gorging myself on hot dogs, baked beans (the Boston kind, not the crazy tomato-based kind they eat here), chips (crisps), potato salad, and then a vast array of desserts, most of which would be red, white, and blue, the white always being some kind of cream product, making it the best of the layers. The evening is then spent watching some kind of fireworks with friends and family, probably drinking. Although, let's be serious, the drinking happens all day long. When I'm in the South, these all tend to take place at a state or national park - last year involved my parents' canoe. In Buffalo the evening always happens at Niawanda Park on the Niagara River (known to locals as just "the river") because the fireworks are set off from a barge in the middle of the river, paid for jointly by 3 communities so they're usually pretty spectacular. In fact, that is my favorite way to spend the Fourth. And not just because a local staple and phenomenal ice cream shop Mississippi Mudds is right across the street from the park...


But so yes, I missed Buffalo and fireworks and such this year, but things weren't bad because there's quite a few Americans in this town and we got together on the Meadows (Edinburgh's biggest public park, conveniently located right next to the main university buildings) and had a mini barbeque. Now, when I say mini, I mean positively miniscule by American standards. But one makes due. We played a little touch football (yes, the American kind - it *was* the Fourth of July) and had some drinks and all in all it was a fun time. Even with British friends trying to throw the ball like a rugby ball - psshh, lame-os. Overall, a good day though nothing spectacular. Perhaps when I have a backyard and a grill here I'll put on a proper celebration. Until then it'll be make-due central for American holidays.


There was one aspect of the day, however, which gave my Intellectual History muscles reason to flex. The day before Independence Day I had an English girl ask my why we celebrated it (then quickly add that she knew it was Independence Day - she had studied abroad in the States). As in, what were we celebrating independence from exactly? It was hard not to make a very snarky comment that it was her own culture we had thrown off so many years ago. I went with a cheeky grin and a simple, "You. And the British monarchy." 


But it is funny in some ways to be in Britain on the day Americans celebrate specifically not being British. Well, that and having created a new nation on our own. As a historian, it's an interesting thing to think about from various angles. Especially given today's political climate in les États, people are often asking "What would the Founding Fathers think?!" Sometimes in wonder, sometimes in exasperation, always with reverence. Here's the thing though: those men are dead. They would not recognize our world in myriad ways. So much about what we do and have today would be so totally alien to them, the same way that much about their world would be incredibly alien to us. People like to romanticize history a lot and pretend that the chord between past and present is really a telephone line that they can tap into at any moment and suddenly be completely immersed in the past (though with all modern amenities and probably without having left their couches). This is not only slightly absurd, it is sometimes dangerous. Enshrining anyone as demigods is never a fantastic idea - it's how Egyptian slaves ended up being killed when the Pharaoh died so he could take them with him, being a demigod and all. When NASA creates a spaceship, they don't wonder what Newton would think. Similarly, asking what the Founding Fathers (and first you'd have to define who exactly you mean... I like to include Melancton Smith of NY even though he didn't vote for ratification of the Constitution) would think of being in Britain on Independence Day is pointless unless taken in a spirit of fun and tongue-in-cheek speculation. Jefferson spent quite a bit of time in Paris and the John Adamses spent time in London, as did Franklin and lots of the other big names, so assuming they'd be appalled at the idea is probably a bit arrogant if not just completely false.


All I can say is, I'm looking forward to Bastille Day and questions of what the sans-culottes would do to today's CEO and banker fat cats. Now *that* is a scenario I would love to see play out.

That's my cue...

Starting a new blog is never easy. The first entry holds power and mystique like no other. What tone will one set? How does one grab a reader with a blank slate? What, pray tell, should the overall theme be? None of these questions can easily be answered. Hopefully this first entry doesn't die a horrific, flaming death. Always start with a positive, eh?


The reason for this blog is actually fairly unspecific. I used to have an LJ account where I pretty much just rambled on about various things that popped into my head. Sometimes simple updates on my life, sometimes massive universe-altering questions, sometimes politics, sometimes silly things. That is probably what this sucker is going to end up being. In fact, it's that old LJ that inspired me to begin anew. A friend I hadn't heard from in ages randomly messaged me saying they'd found the link while bored on Facebook and had thoroughly connected to some of the entries. So I went back and checked them out and, lo and behold, I'm not a total moron! Some of my entries were kind of witty, in fact! I'd been thinking about blogging for a couple months, anyway, and here was precisely the impetus I needed. And so, dear readers, Pseudobelge was born.


The name may be a bit strange to those of you who don't reside in the dark corridors of my brain. Some explanation, then: I am American, born to parents from the Buffalo, NY, region while they were in Belgium as my dad did his Ph.D. I was ripped from small-town continental life when I was 9, moving to Jacksonville, NC. Then I went to high school in Buffalo, NY, while my family moved to Rock Hill, SC. My first year of undergrad was spent there, going to Winthrop University and living at home. Undergrad was then finished at Canisius College in beloved Buffalo. Then a year in Lille, France, teaching English. Academia continued to seduce me, though, and I moved on to Middlebury College, VT, doing a Master's in French over 6 weeks in VT and an academic year in Paris. Then, broke, spent a year living with my parents, working for Starbucks and trying not to lose my mind. Now I'm finishing up my second Master's in Intellectual History from the University of Edinburgh in Scotland and my Ph.D. begins in September - glutton for punishment, holla!


That's the bullet-point biography, but it's useful as background for the fact that I feel strong connections to Belgium without actually being Belgian. It is the place I have spent more of my life than any other. And, as you can see, I have actively sought out living in Europe as often as possible. And one of my life goals is to revive (or begin?) interest in the Belgian Revolutions of the 1780s/90s. So, Pseudobelge.


I suppose some house rules are in order to finish off this introductory entry. Feel free to get in touch with any questions or comments. Feel free to comment directly to posts. I'll do my best to answer in a timely fashion, unless the comment/question is inappropriate, which I will point out and then use as the reason for ignoring you. Suggestions for topics are always welcome, too.


Alrighty, that about does it for me this Saturday morning. See you next time - same blog channel, same blog time!