Book review: Mickey Mouse History, and other Essays on American Memory Part III

In the third section of his book Mickey Mouse History, and Other Essays on American Memory, Mike Wallace focuses on the history of historic preservation in the United States, first by giving an overview on the subject from its beginning to the 1980s, and secondly by focusing on the most recent years (his first article was written in 1986, and then second probably around 1994-1995). It seems that Wallace’s goal is to give a general summary of the historic preservation movement in the United States, showing how it began, the different struggles it met along the way, as well as the involvement and withdrawal of the State. Wallace pertinently strikes out at the history of disregard in historic buildings and constant drive for profit in the country, and keeps it as a thread for both his article. Starting with the colonial period, he then goes on to what he calls the “preservation pioneers” and presents four groups that have been of importance between the end of the 19th century and the first half of the 20th century (the Brahmins, descendants of the antebellum planter class, multimillionaire industrialists and professionals). If the concern to preserve built traces for the past started primarily as an individual one (and from social elites too), the State became involved from the 1930s on. One of the most important step was the 1935 Historic Sites Act, which “authorized the Department of the Interior, acting through the National Park Service, to acquire property, preserve and operate privately owned historic or archeological sites, construct museums, develop educational programs, and place commemorative tablets.” (p.184) For Wallace, the intrusion of public (federal) concern for historic preservation enabled the broadening of the meaning of “historic” from what had been previously defined by a limited group of people. Saving some historic buildings, which would not have been seen as worth saving earlier. Then followed a larger preservation movement in the 1960s with groups of people being opposed to urban renewal and the destruction of housing buildings and entire neighborhoods. The second half of the 1960s also brought an interesting new allied force to the movement: middle class professionals who were seeking profit by avoiding the destruction of existing structure. This is what Wallace refers to as “adaptive reuse”; the main idea was to recycle old buildings, keep their exterior (or at least the front façade) and find new and profitable uses for the interior. Wallace goes on to describe meticulously the ups and downs of the historic preservation movement, with new legislations, support from the upper-class looking for profit, etc. His first article ends with the backlash of the 1980s, with the oppositions of large firms to the control and restrictions deriving from preservation laws (designation as historic landmark without the owner’s consent), as well as the anti-preservation moves from Reagan’s government. Wallace’s second article on the subject focuses on the second half of the 1980s and then goes on to the 1990s. He mostly explains the intrusion of business in the preservation movement, and the consequences of the drive for profit being more important than they “why” of preserving historic places. He eventually concludes describing the three renewed claims of historic preservation (reaching out to a multi-cultural embrace of the past, being concerned with housing issues, and working together with the environmental movement). For Wallace, the preservation movement cannot survive and be a winner if they do not collaborate with other minority groups.

A problematic aspect of Mike Wallace’s work is that he cannot retrain himself from strongly commenting things, and has to use a socio-political prism for all of his analysis. If it is true that issues cannot be removed from their social or political context, it is sometimes too much to try to introduce “class-struggle” everywhere. Wallace calls for the American preservation movement to reach out to a larger base, to work with the labor class, and other minorities. For him, the fight to save historic buildings should be combined with demands for additional and cheaper housings. But Wallace does not stop there. He goes much beyond that point, using historic preservation as a political soap box, when he declares that “{…} if we enhance popular control over the production and distribution of goods, including housing, if we provide shelter for those who need it and make resources available to those who want to fix up their own neighborhoods, people would likely be more than willing to honor collective memories.” (p.210). Wallace calls for a new social system, which would enable collectivization of goods, sufficient housing, and… historic preservation. But is Wallace approaching the issue in a relevant and constructive way? What does it bring to introduce a “class-struggle approach” in this issue? Is Wallace hoping for a social revolution, which would gather all those oppressed and unheard groups and launch the end of his much-hated Republican party? Isn’t it, maybe, time to go beyond such an approach? To look at it a little differently so as not to be mocked by people who remember that communism might be rolling towards extinction ? Maybe the problem lies somewhere else in American society. How does our society combine the omnipotence of private property, individual freedom and capitalism, with a humble respect and homage to the past? How to combine a never-ending thirst for profit and the preservation of a historic heritage that might not be money-wise profitable but “only” culturally profitable? What are our priorities? Further, how can antagonist priorities cohabit? Are we going to keep annihilating our historic heritage in the name of profit, or are we going to try to learn from our European neighbors who have been able to preserve a lot of their historic heritage, which is so much older than ours? Much seems to have been lost already, but it is never too late to keep trying. Trying to work on people’s sensibility and respect towards history might be a little easier and more realistic nowadays than calling for a pseudo-communist regime to seize power.

Article Review: American Memory, Culture Wars, and the Challenge of Presenting Science and Technology

In his article “American Memory, Culture Wars, and the Challenge of Presenting Science and Technology in a National Museum”, Roger D. Launius tackles the issue of the interpretation of science and technology in museums such as the NASM, and what kind of perspectives and approaches such type of museums could adopt. What should the NASM role be in the debate over American identity and past-making? Launius starts by going over the main historical schools from the 1940s to nowadays. He identifies two primary ones: first, the consensus school, followed by the new social history. The consensus interpretation tends to look at the past and interpret it as one unified past, the past of one people. Then, in the 1960s, the new social history approached the past under its multitude (black history, women’s history, etc.). This is important because for Launius it helps to understand the gap between the general public, cultural institutions, and the academics. Indeed, during the 1980s, scholars were drifting away from the consensus approach, whereas cultural institutions kept holding on to it. This is what Launius calls “the battle for control of the national memory”: is this history to be a sole unified one, or is it to be the one of different communities, evolving in different contexts? In the 1990s, the attempts to control the making of a unified history for the United States became more and more present, via control of television, secondary school and others. Launius asks the question, in the midst of those struggles, where do the museums stand? The question raised by Crouch, curator of the NASM when asking “Do you want an exhibition intended to make veterans feel good, or do you want an exhibition that will lead our visitors to talk about the consequences of the atomic bombing of Japan” (p.19) points at the dichotomy of the situation. Is it possible for museums to include different perspectives and have divergent communities accept this? According to Launius, controversial exhibits have always been found, but they have grown in a more frequent phenomenon during the 1990s. Has something changed for that to happen? Launius thinks it might come from the fact that the “forces of the consensus, one-nation, one-people history” (p. 20) have been leading more and more attacks to control the making of national history. What is at stake for an institution like the Smithsonian? How should they deal with those issues? Launius is worried that several of the recent exhibits put up at the Smithsonian become more and more uncritical and consensual. What should be the Smithsonian’s role in relation to an “official memory”? Should it allow visitors to encounter divergent meanings and interpret them themselves?
Launius then goes on to present the three ways people relate to history (through personal experience, through relatives or friends, and finally through broader historical events with which they have no personal connection). According to him, museums’ mission is to find ways to connect people to that last category, to bring them in relation to distant events or phenomena. After presenting ten projects that he has had in mind but that he knows will be controversial, Launius closes his article by wondering what public historians can do, and how institutions such as museums can have a positive impact on its audiences. What should be the role of a science and technology museum? For instance, should it focus only on technical aspects, or relate them to a broader social context? Launius seems concerned that all there is left for NASM is to bring a certain type of celebration of the past to its public, to educate them in that sole aspect, without challenging their thoughts. Launius hopes that there is still something else left. He admits not having any answers or ready-made solutions, but nor does he desire to give up. This is certainly something worth to do: to not give up, to keep trying, without actually imposing one interpretation or the other on society.

Article Review: A Narrative for Our Time. The Enola Gay "and after that, period"

In his article “A Narrative for Our Time. The Enola Gay ‘and after that, period’ ”, Robert C. Post addresses the issue of the display of the Enola Gay. He starts his overview with the 1990s controversy over the exhibition organized by the NASM. According to Post, “at the heart of that conflict was the question of how this plane was to be ‘interpreted’ ” (p.374). One of the main dilemmas that the curators and the director of the NASM faced when preparing the exhibit was whether they would put up something that would please the veterans, or something that would bring the visitors to think more deeply about the bomb and its consequences. Crouch, one of the curators, thought this would be a very difficult goal to achieve, but he ended up following his director who believed it was possible. In accordance with a previous agreement, John Correll – who was editor of the AFA’s magazine – received the first draft of the scenario in 1994. His reaction was not long to come, and in March already the NASM’s team was accused of betraying their mission to portray the courage of the Americans serving in the Armed forces. Even though the Smithsonian team did recognize the too central place given to the Japanese death and ground zero (and changed in the following drafts), they were not betraying their museum’s mission. It was part of their responsibility to educate the public, and that could only be done by offering a full overview on the subject. Even if several people seem to acknowledge the fact that the exhibition had its weaknesses, needed some change in focus and some rephrasing, the crusade initiated by Correll went far beyond any imaginable reactions. For instance, the Congress became involved, demanding changes in the presentation and threatening to cut their funding to the museum. From the 1990s exhibition, Post goes on with the Enola Gay’s history and reaches 2003 and the opening of the new Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center where the plane was transferred. The plane is now displayed among other types of airplanes (commercial, air force, etc) and bears a short notice explaining that it was the plane which dropped the first atomic bomb. Post raises several questions in relation to that presentation: whether or not such a display is sufficient for visitors? Should it mention the consequences of the bombing? Does its many omissions render it neutral? Aren’t those gaps actually stating something about those who work in public history, supposedly contributing to the public’s education? Post concludes his article with a reflection on the nature of history, and how events are interpreted and revisited. Post demonstrates how some people believe it is not the NASM’s mission to interpret history but to show its visitors the good aspects of the United States, to construct a glorified past. They criticized historians and their way of imagining pasts, instead of being true to what the country really is. How are museums to deal with these continuous attempts from some groups to influence what is to be brought to their audiences? How could museums best deal with this gap that too often exists between historians and the public? And, above all, what is the role of a museum? Should it be only a tool of the ones in power, or should it enable people to access history and interpret it on their own?
Those central questions are raised by Post, and he tries his best to encourage his readers to think over these issues and decide for themselves. If someone like Mike Wallace, in his Mickey Mouse History, blatantly tells his readers what to think, Robert Post, on the other hand, tries to broaden our perspectives and give us enough material to think for ourselves. Yes, he does point at problems, and we can easily guess his opinion, but he never tries to impose it as the truth. Post tries to show that artifacts like the Enola Gay speak by themselves to the public, that they do raise issues, whatever their display is. Museums should not play dumb and try to keep things under silence. One day, those who try to take away the museums’ mission to educate the public will realize that silence can be far more dangerous than comprehensive information.

Book review: Mickey Mouse History, and other Essays on American Memory Part IV

The fourth section of Wallace’s Mickey Mouse History, and other Essays on American Memory focuses on two main issues: President Reagan and his use of and relation to History, and the controversies and debates around the Enola Gay Exhibit in the 1990s. In his first article, Wallace primary thesis is that President Reagan took control over the past and redefined history, events and their meanings. He set aside what is commonly called “history” and aimed at constructing a new mythology for the United States. According to Wallace, President Reagan came to that approach through his experience in Hollywood and his relation to its productions. This took mostly place in the 1930s-1940s when, via different movies, Hollywood was working at constructing a mythical past for the Nation; a past that was worth defending (during WWII, mostly). According to Wallace, another central idea of the time was to prove how superior of a nation the United States were, and also to celebrate those who keep the country so special: its people. Wallace goes on to explain how Reagan became so convincing to the American people, through what he offered, and the way he offered it. Wallace concludes his article by calling for an oppositional movement, for more oral history projects, and for the treatment of controversial subjects. Wallace declares that “[u]nderstanding how the present emerged from the past maximizes our capacity (whoever we are) for effective action in present” (p.267).
In his second article, Wallace then focuses on the story of the Enola Gay exhibition that was put up by the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum (NASM) in 1995. He attemps to present the process through which the writing of the exhibit scenario went, the opposing voices that emerged, and what ended up happening to the initial project. According to Wallace, the Air Force Association (the AFA) were the first unhappy ones with the project, and then started a general campaign against it. The press also criticized strongly the director and curators of the museum, and it even reached a point where congress threatened the museum with a total cut of financing if the exhibition was going to be constructed around the original draft. Ultimately, after several revisions, the opposition was still not content and the exhibit ended up being emptied of most of its sense.
The problem with Wallace is that he brings up interesting and important points at times, but they are railroaded by his way of accusing, highlighting others’ mistakes and proclaiming himself truth holder. For instance, he raises a very central point when discussing the Enola Gay exhibit. What is to be done about controversial subjects? Should certain issues be kept out of the public scene so as to avoid hurting one’s or another’s feelings? Or, rather, should we use the public arena to create a discussion, bring out different perspectives and let the people approach them? To what extend should we, as historians and/or museum planners, let certain lobbyist groups influence the scenario of an exposition? Likewise in his article on President Reagan, Wallace is unable to raise issues without condemning others. Wallace strongly denounces President Reagan’s attitude, his mistakes and choices, but he does not bring up the other side of the story, so as to allow readers to analyze things for themselves. Wallace declares that he lied, or that this is the truth, but why should we trust him more than somebody else? The sad thing is that Wallace actually ends up doing what he blames the others for doing: he forces people to trust him, to follow his way, without enlightening them wholly on the issues. He proclaims what is wrong and what is correct, and expects everybody to blindly follow him. Wallace enjoys criticizing everybody else for taking a stand, when that is actually all he does.

Book review: Mickey Mouse History, and other Essays on American Memory. Part I

Mike Wallace’s Mickey Mouse History, and Other Essays on American Memory, is a collection of essays written over the years. In the first section of the book, Wallace discusses different issues related to the world of American museums. Wallace first starts with the history museum and historical houses, describing who first created them and how their contents evolved over the decades. He then goes on with urban museums, the history of Ellis Island, and also the museums of Science along with the Industrial museums. In each article, Wallace takes the time to go over a brief but useful history of his subject, and then goes on to how things are now, and how they could still be improved. What stands out of his writings, and what he also mentions in his last article on “Museums and Controversy” is the shift that has taken place in the 1970s-1980s in the museums world. Indeed, it is during that period that social history made its entry in museums, bringing with it the history of certain people, such as African Americans or workers. At that time, new subjects were also presented in the museums, such as imperialism or ecology. If Wallace stresses that shift in each of his articles, he then comes back to it in his last contribution and tries to open some new paths for museums and/or exhibits. He would like museums to go beyond taboo subjects (such as the Vietnam war or the antiwar movement). He calls for the introduction of different interpretive points of view in exhibitions, so as to encourage the visitors to take the time to think, build their own opinion on the subject.
One of the many interesting elements found in those article is his approach to what he calls “The Virtual Past: Media and History Museums”. What first must be noted is that most of Wallace’s articles were written some time in the 1980s and 1990s. Therefore, some of his comments, critics or fears may feel a little out-of-date for nowadays readers. His article on new technologies belong that group. Indeed, Wallace mostly focuses his writing on the risks inherent to the digital world. He wonders if video games or electronic books will be the only way future generations will be connected to historical subjects. He also seems worried that these new technologies (such as the internet) will slowly replace museums. One of his main concerns is that virtual museums will slowly replace real ones, bringing up the question of artifacts and what will become of them. Wallace is apprehensive that virtual museums will feel more convenient for individuals, who will slowly turn into “couch-potato museumgoers”. He also thinks that the internet will maintain a social distinction in the access to culture. Computers, software, and internet connection would be expensive and not everybody could afford such technologies. Even though he interestingly closes his article on a more optimistic note – new technologies might end up bringing new possibilities for learning history in museums – Wallace surely seems preoccupied with those novelties. A twenty-first century reader cannot help but wonder if Wallace painted the devil on the wall from lack of knowledge and experience. If it is certain that new technologies have dramatically reshaped our society, they have not destroyed our cultures. So far, what Wallace seemed to be hoping for in his conclusion is taking place: the internet has not replaced museums, and new technologies haven’t swallow everything else. They nevertheless have enhanced the world of museums and have erected new bridges between people and museums.
All in all, Wallace does mention relevant elements about the history of certain types of museums, showing what is lacking, or what should no longer be forgotten in such places. He calls for a better relation between the world of museums and their audiences. If museums do not focus solely on the social and economic elites anymore – by presenting their history and history from their point of view - they still fail to approach certain topics or social groups. They should, therefore, continue in the necessary direction of broadening the scope of their audience, topics and messages. Wallace hopes that, as museums continue to change, they will encourage citizens to think about history, and their relation to it. It will also enable them to participate more in public debates, and to become “historically informed makers of history” (p.128). Wallace hopes that museums will help the strengthening of the link between the past and the future.

Book review: Paradise Lost? Chapter 13

Chapter 13 : “Conservation Is Now a Dead Word”. Marjory Stoneman Douglas and the Transformation of American Environmentalism. Jack E. Davis

The article by Jack E. Davis, “Conservation Is Now a Dead Word”. Marjory Stoneman Douglas and the Transformation of American Environmentalism, feels like a comprehensive biography of Marjory Stoneman Douglas, a woman who got involved in environmental issues and defended the conservation and restoration of the Everglades throughout the twentieth century. Although a twenty-page article cannot describe her life completely, nevertheless Davis uniquely combines key elements from her life with the changes in the environmentalist movement and the history of Miami and of the Everglades. Born at the end of the nineteenth century, Douglas moved down to Miami in 1915 to work in the newspaper her father owned. At that time, Miami was still a fairly new city, and its expansion was rather limited. In 1896, The Florida East Coast Railroad had reached the city, and it influenced grandly the coming growth of the city; companies, farmers, investors and politicians became more interested in the development of the region, as well as in the possible use of the Everglades. According to Davis, Douglas was never opposed to the actual development of the area, but she strongly opposed to the continual attempts to drain the Everglades, and their destruction. Throughout her career, Douglas got involved in different ways. She wrote a decisive book called The Everglades: River of Grass in 1947, which has been a great influence on environmental history. Douglas went on to get involved in different groups, and also founded a grassroots organization. It is intriguing how the article combines information on Douglas herself, the expansion of the region, and political decision-making as well as activism. It also makes the article very dense and not always easy to follow all the way through.

Book review: Paradise Lost? Chapter 2

Chapter 2: An Eighteenth-Century Flower Child, William Bartram. Charlotte M. Porter

Born in Kingsessing, Pennsylvania, in 1739, William Bartram grew up in a prosperous environment for what will later become his vocation. Their house had its own botanic garden, and his dad was a self-taught botanist who corresponded with English Quakers and members of the Royal Society of London on subjects related to natural history. In 1772, William Bartram was hired by a wealthy British to collect and draw plants. This is when Bartram started traveling in different areas of the country. His journey lasted from 1773 to 1777, and out of this experience a book was published in 1791: Travels through North & South Carolina, Georgia, East & West Florida, the Cherokee Country, the Extensive Territory of the Muschogugles, or Creek Confederacy, and the Country of the Chactaws; Containing an Account of the Soil and Natural Productions of Those Regions, Together with Observations on the Manners of the Indians. According to the author of the article, Charlotte M. Porter, even though the term “environment” does not appear in that lengthy title, its last part suggest a study of the interaction between nature and humans.
Among the many places he went through, Porter focuses on William Bartram’s journey through the Alachua Savanna, in central East Florida. According to Porter, the Alachua Savanna was one of the greatest landscapes of Bartram’s travel, being an amazing natural garden. Bartram had been hired for scientific purposes, but this was not his only focus. Indeed, by traveling with skin traders, he became more accustomed to their habits, and also studied their relations to the native Indian tribes. From Porter’s article, it seems that one of the most important element emerging from Bartram’s narrative is the concept of “asymmetry”. He describes the asymmetry in the “natural communities”, and also asymmetries in extension of species, where they were numerous or scarce. There were then exchange asymmetries: between the American scientists and the British colonists, or also between the skin traders and the Indians. Bartram realized how the skin traders would ask for more and more products from the Indians, but gave in exchange fewer European goods. He observed how the colonial. He was concerned with the consequences for the Indians hunting grounds and the pauperization of the Indians. Bartram worries that this excessive exploitation of nature will lead to the disappearance of the Indians, and the deterioration of the Floridian wildlife.
Porter’s article is comprehensive (she draws different needed contexts enabling a more in-depth analysis of Bartram’s book), and very dense. She brings the reader many things to think of, even though it feels at times a little over-whelming in regards to the numbers of tracks she encourages them to follow.

Book review: Written in Stone. Public Monuments in Changing Societies

In his essay Written in Stone. Public Monuments in Changing Societies, Stanford Levinson explores the subject of the making of national history, and the making of its heroes and villains. His work does not focus primarily on what historians produce, but rather what official institutions – such as states – and also individuals want as historical heritage. Levinson starts with the example of the Millennium monument in Budapest. His brief but comprehensive survey of the history of that monument points right to the central theme of Written in Stone: depending on the period in time, and the political power in place, the monument was modified and rearranged so as to transmit a message that would satisfy the leaders. The author then goes on to describe more generally the interesting situation in Eastern Europe. Indeed, as the communist regimes were abolished, monuments honoring the leaders and heroes of those regimes were brought down, and destroyed. If the concept of “regime change” and the alteration in attitude towards public monuments apply when describing the situation in Eastern Europe, something else has to be found in the United States to explain an exchange in attitudes. Levinson remarks that the difficulty for our country lies in the making of one culture out of several different ones. Coups have not shaped our history, but rather its multi-cultural society. After presenting four general examples, Levinson then concentrates on his main focus: the American South. This is a very intriguing and complex case. If Eastern Europe rid itself of the monument to the glory of Stalin and the communist period, conversely the South kept its commemorations of the secession. The Confederate flag can still be found, and has been found flying above a state capitol not too long ago, and some memorials still glorify Southern icons from the Civil War. The central question is what kind of past are such monuments and symbols transmitting to the present and future generations? What is it that we want to keep from the past? And how do we want to preserve and convey it? Does the Confederate flag only symbolizes the peculiar institution, or does it also and more generally embody a certain Southern culture and identity? How neutral can a state be in commemorating the past? Levinson offers several possibilities in how to deal with certain monuments. An interesting one is to question their location, and also the raising of another monument in proximity to them, portraying both sides of a story. When concluding his work, Levinson mentions that sometimes, to commemorate an event is also a way to remember how dreadful it was, so as never to forget it and – hopefully – never to repeat it. Traces from our past should be kept, maybe in museums, or in parks for instance. But what is most critical is the transmission of this past to the future generations, to be sure that it is not the wrong message that is passed along.

Book review: The Presence of the Past

In 1989, a group of professionals from the worlds of historians and museums met in Indianapolis to brainstorm on better ways to connect academic historians and a larger public curious about history. This led to a survey which was conducted in 1994, and during which about 1500 Americans were questioned over the phone about their relation to history, events that have marked their lives, or ways they feel most connected to the past. A book eventually came out of his research, The Presence of the Past. Popular Uses of History in American Life. In a six-chapter long analysis, the authors present the results of their survey, largely quote their respondents and try to make sense of the information they collected.
The core of this study revolves around one central idea: the notion of popular historymakers versus professional historians. The former being a category of people that do not follow the academic path to construct their history, relate to or interpret the past. The research shows that people feel most connected to the past in family gatherings, or when listening to friends or relatives witnessing about historical events they lived through. People also would rather visit museums or historic sites than read books or watch movies on the subject. In addition, the respondents held a dual opinion on scholars or professors. On one hand, professors are thought to be rigorous in their research, reading primary sources and interpreting them. Therefore, what they state is very closely to what can be gathered from listening to eyewitnesses, or visiting certain places. On the other hand, however, some respondents consider professors to be easily opinionated and, therefore, wanting to defend one thesis to the exclusion of all the others.
The respondents of the survey seemed all to be interested in the past, and driven by a desire to relate to it, and use it in their lives. However, one wonders at time what kind of past the book and the respondents are referring to. Indeed, they did not seem deeply interested in conventional history, or a more general history. What these respondents were saying, is that they would use pieces from their own past, or stories from their families, or even sometimes their culture or heritage, and use that to construct their own history or future. What is described in the book feels at times as uniquely personal and often too self-centered. Yet, one wonders if this is really what the authors of the survey were trying to express. Moreover, is this really the only way people relate to history? Does everything have to be connected to them? Are they only interested in events or facts that they can associate to themselves, their present and their future? The message conveyed by this book feels two-sided. It is on one hand almost comforting to see that people are still interested in history, even though they usually do not keep a positive memory from institutional history classes. However, how is one supposed to comprehend this too often egocentric approach to the world’s history?
The six main chapters of this book, which describe the results of the survey, would not make much sense without the Afterthoughts. More accurately, they would leave a bitter and confused taste in the reader’s mind. After studying those chapters, they would just stare at the book, wondering what to do now; what it all means. The Afterthoughts bring additional information, some deeper analysis of what has just been presented in a very abrupt and condensed way. Roy Rosenzweig, for instance, elaborates on how important it is to find a collaborative terrain where professional historians and those “popular historymakers” could meet. What is most important in that article is related to the risks emerging from the study: a privatized past, and forgetting to embrace the world’s history in a larger way. History is not limited to personal histories, even though those stories are all important. There are larger structures at stake also; political or economic powers and interests, for instance. It is important to find a common ground, to reach what Michael Frisch calls “shared authority” (quoted p.181), which would lead to a better understanding and respect between both types of history makers. History cannot and must not be reduced to what can be immediately used by individuals; it must not become a product that people consume for their sole benefit. But history also should not remain enclosed in an academic world, alienating larger audiences.