History Visualizations

Women on School Boards, 1895

Women on School Boards, 1897

          

Personally, I’m not a huge fan of word clouds by themselves. Yet, when I imagine an exhibit with a variety of materials, a large word cloud wall decal could definitely add to the experience. For these images I used Wordle to create two word clouds (inspired by the class exercise) to compare election rhetoric in different years.

About the topic: The Civic Club of Philadelphia formed in 1894 and immediately acted on an agenda that included an array of education reforms. Though the club was keen on eliminating the ward boards that were largely in control of the city’s schools, they decided to take advantage of the ability of women to serve on school boards and suggest candidates for election. Thusly formed, the Woman on School Boards Committee organized election campaigns for women. The source texts for these images were two campaign fliers advocating for the election of women on Philadelphia’s district school boards, one from 1895 and one from 1897.

The 1895 campaign was the first campaign that the club organized. It focused almost exclusively in the Seventh Ward. The 1895 flier was titled “To Our Neighbors and Friends, the Women of the Seventh Ward” and consisted of a list of reasons why women should serve on school boards. The language of this flier is friendly and community focused. It assures the voters that women will focus on the children. Because the tone of the rhetoric was friendlier, I chose a colorful, warm palate, a brighter background, and simple lower-case text.

The 1897 flier was titled “To Fathers and Mothers. Five Reasons why you should support Women Candidates for the School Boards” similarly lists why women should serve. However, the language of the 1897 campaign embodied a new approach for the Civic Club. The language of this campaign was more aggressively gendered than the one in 1895. This campaign stated outright that women, because they were women, would not only be just as good as male candidates, they would be better. Because this campaign was more aggressive I chose darker, cool colors, a cloudier background, and bolder font.

The resulting images are meant to portray the different tones of the campaigns. Being a little critical, they might be too distinct. The source text was short, making it easy for a single repeated word to appear twice as large as anything else. But all in all, they do show a distinct difference in the way these women perceived themselves and organized their political activity.

(The background image is of the Alice Lippincott School, named after a Civic Club member who was involved with the school and died in 1894. Source: PhillyHistory.org)  

Digital Storytelling: A Discussion

(Note: I did not read ahead on our course syllabus, and incidentally touched on some of the points of this weeks topic on my last post. Sorry!)

(Another Note: My former life as a children’s librarian and my background as a visual artist/illustrator biases and informs this discussion in ways that are too many to tell.)

I love stories, and history is full of them. For historians, especially public historians, digital storytelling can be a great way to captivate an audience, introduce people to the field, communicate complicated interpretations and just have fun with doing what we love. From what I understand the definition of what counts as “digital storytelling” is overwhelmingly broad, and as of yet, generally undefined. Yet, thinking in terms of how other forms of storytelling are defined I like to think of digital storytelling as storytelling that conforms to the limitations of digital technologies, and particularly to people’s expectations of, say, a website. This is not to say that those limitations cannot be tested. The adaptability of digital technologies may be the most exciting thing about digital storytelling.

Last week I looked at the multimedia film/website Welcome to Pine Point and the blog Small Town Noir. These are still my favorite history related websites though outside of history Dangers of Fracking may take the amount-of-time-spent-staring-at-computer prize. This week I tried to focus on examples that are manageable for a final project. The first tool that I came across was Meograph, which many news organizations use, but can also be used for history, like this brief overview of Women’s Rights in the USA (made by KVWM San Diego). Part of me (the control freak) does not like having to concede to the capabilities of a tool like this, yet it does offer fast and easy ways to create complex histories.

Another example that kept running through my head was the Drunk History series on YouTube. Though Comedy Central has acquired the series, at its inception Drunk History was made for the Internet. I know it is not “History,” and is ripe with troubling interpretations and flat-out inaccuracies, yet the first episode (here), to date, has had over five million views. There might be something that we can learn from the format, in this case an absurd YouTube short, that we would not learn if we let our disciplinary boundaries restrict us.

Naysayers of digital storytelling for the purpose of history would likely say that digital media could easily dumb down content, exclude multiple perspectives, misrepresent history as fact rather than interpretation, and convey too much of a linear progression of historical happenings. Moreover, from the public historian’s standpoint, digital storytelling can strip away the shared authority in which we are proud. On one hand, these things are true. They are also true for articles, books, documentaries, exhibits and pretty much all modes of expression.

From bedtime stories and campfire tales to novels and film people are familiar with a range of storytelling techniques. Scholars writing historic monographs often use the narrative form and storytelling conventions to convey their argument. Moreover, we, the academics, understand that while history is multidimensional and dynamic, an historic monograph is the singular interpretation of its author. So why do we question putting a similar form to the public? People are smart and are capable of recognizing that multiple perspectives exist, even when only one is presented. 

In short, storytelling is an integral mode of communication among people. While digital storytelling has the potential to mask meaning with novelty, forgoing storytelling would deny the very thing that attracts most people to history in the first place.

Proposal for Final Project (preliminary)

Initially, I had a hard time coming up with an idea for a project. The readings and sites from this week inspired me to think about how history and art intersect, an activity that required some inbreeding between my historical interests and background as a visual artist (where I have traditionally relegated storytelling). I feel that this project could serve as an opportunity to try to bridge the gap.

The sites Welcome to Pine Point, Small Town Noir, and the Digital Vaults of the National Archives motivated me to think creatively. Pine Point and Small Town Noir both told poignant and touching stories, feelings that I would like my project to also radiate. The Digital Vaults succeeded in demonstrating the connections and complexities that a single era/event/person entails.

Currently, I am researching the Civic Club of Philadelphia and their efforts to centralize the School District of Philadelphia. Prior to 1905 locally elected ward boards ran Philadelphia schools with their individual neighborhoods, monitored by a loosely constructed and minimally powerful central Board of Education. The Civic Club was one organization among many Progressive Era reform groups. Specifically, I would like to tell the story of one campaign that the Civic Club ran in 1895 to get two women of the club elected to the Ward Board of the Seventh Ward.

I do not have access to much of the primary material to create a digital archive of the event, yet I am collecting materials related to Progressive Reformers of Philadelphia with Omeka that I can link to my final project.

I am imagining creating a series of multimedia images and possibly animations (potentially posted to a blog, as this will not require that I pay for hosting) that could serve as a teaching tool for students. The subject matter will revolve around the Civic Club’s campaign of 1895, but will try to connect the narrative with other event, people and places.  

What is Digital History?

Digital history is a tricky thing to define. My familiarity with the field (is it a field?) is minimal at best. The collaborative, interdisciplinary and experimental aspects of digital history projects sets them apart from traditional work in the humanities. Any definition that focuses on qualifiers may unintentionally undermine the non-traditional aspects of any given project. Lisa Spiro’s “ ‘This Is Why We Fight’: Defining the Values of the Digital Humanities” approached this dilemma directly and promoted a set of values that focus on communication and community rather than arguing whether projects are in the club or out. Along similar lines, I prefer a definition of digital history that is as open and inclusive as possible and have settled on this:

Digital history is the practice of using digital tools and technologies with the intentions of contributing to historical scholarship.

(The limited varieties of words that definitions of digital history typically entail lead me to believe that this definition already exists in the ether. My apologies to whomever I have plagiarized.)

Because digital history can encompass a wide variety of projects, an open definition allows a focus on the quality of a project in terms the project’s goals and intentions. Digital archives and databases may primarily be research tools, the choices from which materials get digitized to what tags documents receive involves a level of interpretive decision making. The educational website Great Unsolved Mysteries in Canadian History may not be as design-centered, flashy, and academic as more recent projects, yet it’s content encourages the promotion of historical thinking and insight into what historians do for a school age population.

The Spatial History Project is a section of Stanford’s Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis (CESTA) and uses visualizations and mapping technology to approach research questions that pertain to spatial history. The projects vary in themes, from the community based “Rebooting History” documenting urban change to the expansive information mapping of “Shaping the West.” These projects are a result of collaboration between academic researchers, primarily professors and graduate students, and the staff at the Spatial History Project. The mesmerizing visualizations undoubtedly belong within the literature of the topic they cover, as well as within the more sweeping information field in which they reside on the web.

The open source, interdisciplinary journal Southern Spaces presents history in the form of traditional articles, alongside photo essays, videos footage, and lectures, while promoting more experimental entries, such as the types of spatial histories found at the Spatial History Project. Digital history may or may not develop into its own field in twenty years, yet the practices of its proponents are making an impact on the way people process information and the distribution of scholarship.

The Future of Museums

Throughout the course of the semester, I have become acutely aware of my own tastes. Particularly with the past few readings, notably Stanton and Tyson, I have discovered that I have minimal tolerance for academic writing that values criticism over construction. This may be why this weeks readings felt so refreshing. Not only are they realistic and practical, but also they do not shy away from compromise and the occasional concession. Perhaps multiple authors force multiple perspectives. Perhaps the administrative quality of reports and assessments causes them to be more aware of the logistics of their own advice. Whatever the reason, this week’s readings encouraged putting problem-solving skills to work.

"Coming soon: The Future: The Shape of Museums to Come" by James Chung, Susie Wilkening and Sally Johnstone, presented a speculative vision of what museums may be in the year 2034. Using comparisons of how museums have changed in the past two decades and projections about demographics and economics, the authors concluded that museums will both face great challenges and have opportunities to engage wider audiences in new ways. The points about baby boomers and travel were the most grounded of the predictions, and the ones that are the most immediate to museums today. 

            Imperiled Promise documented the concerns among history workers in the National Park Service and suggests actions, policies and programs that could help the field of history within NPS. While I appreciated the suggestions and the case studies, parts of the report seemed vague. The report would benefit from a few case studies that dealt specifically with things like funding, scheduling and programming. 

            The Philadelphia Cultural Alliance portfolio does not offer much in terms of policy, instead, it plays a crucial political role: proving the importance of the cultural sector to the economy. While the numbers deserve some scrutiny (all I remember from Statistics is that I learned how to lie with numbers), the message is clear. Valuable to the economy according to the numbers, it would be beneficial to get data about the impact of the cultural sector on other city institutions like education and development. Regardless, it is a good starting point to lobby for financial support of the types of initiatives that Imperiled Promise would like to implement.

Readings:

Chung, James et al., "Coming soon: The Future: The Shape of Museums to Come," Museum 88 (May/June 2009): 38-43.

Greater Philadelphia Cultural Alliance, “Arts, Culture, and Economic Prosperity in Greater Philadelphia.” 2011 Portfolio.

Whisnant, et al., Imperiled Promise: The State of History in the National Park Service (Part I). 

Readings Response: Tyson

In The Wages of History Amy Tyson sheds light on the misunderstood world of living history museum workers, and connects their emotional labor to growing, often disturbing trends in the non-profit realm. Having worked at a non-profit, I connected with many of Tyson’s observations. Though I genuinely respect Tyson’s motivations and many of her conclusions, certain aspects of the book detracted from Tyson’s more meaningful treatment of labor. I have pointed out three specific grievances that I feel should have been addressed in order to provide constructive criticism of The Wages of History.  

1.  Who is the audience? This book is aimed at academics, public historians, and museum professionals, the overwhelming majority of whom are intimately familiar with working for non-profits (and by extension the troubles that go along with it). While Tyson described the specific troubling aspects of being a living history worker, her complaints extend to most jobs in the public or private sectors. As such, the book could have benefited from a more constructive analysis of the workplace: one that criticizes but also aims to resolve the problems.

2.  Who gets a name? This is a book about the frontline workers, but not only is there no personalization of management, only certain perspectives are personalized among the interpreters at Fort Snelling. One survey respondent reasonably noted that many employees used the seasonal nature of the job to supplement other incomes and did not want permanent status. Tyson’s retort was that the response “conforms to the tenets of neoliberalism,” instead of having an honest dialogue with the respondent’s ideas. Tyson herself used her position to supplement her income and research while in graduate school. Cathy Stanton’s The Lowell Experiment comes across similar issues when the author is troubled by her reliance on the capitalistic system that she is trying to criticize. The Wages of History could have benefited from some honest self-reflection about why certain perspectives should be dismissed before going ahead and dismissing them.

3.  What should interpreters do? Tyson spends the most time on gender, class and race issues between interpreters and the content they must present to the public. The Native American history of the site is not give nearly as much space as race or gender, though, I would argue, for this particular site it is far more important. Much of the book felt as if Tyson were projecting her own interests rather than working at a specific historical site. Fort Snelling was and is still largely a military site and yet there is surprisingly little in the book about the interpreters’ relationship with the military. Researching between 2001 and 2006, if Amy Tyson wanted interpreters at Fort Snelling to be critical and interpretive, how could she not address the question of playing soldier when the real US military is actively engaged in warfare in Iraq and Afghanistan?

Earlier in the semester the Historical Methods course assigned Trouillot’s Silencing the Past. While I believe Tyson’s objectives were noble, I also believe that she unintentionally silences people and ideas in order to come to those conclusions.

Reading:

Tyson, Amy M. The Wages of History: Emotional Labor on Public History’s Front Lines. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2013.  

Readings Response: Stanton

In The Lowell Experiment Cathy Stanton explores how historical sites are constructed. Lowell, Massachusetts, once an expansive industrial city, was hit hard by de-industrialization and has since attempted to revitalize its economy through culture-led redevelopment. An anthropologist by training, Stanton turns her critical inquiry onto the historians, staff, politicians and visitors who have determined what happens at Lowell. Stanton’s aspiration is that Lowell’s historical sites be used to foster “a fuller consideration of capitalism in our lives.” (57)

I have two primary criticisms of The Lowell Experiment. The first is that Stanton denies any meaningful discussion about the potential uses and interpretations of the Lowell sites by assuming that the conversation necessarily will revolve around a critique of capitalism. Capitalism has played an integral role in Lowell’s past and there is certainly room for discussion about working conditions, gendered jobs, and organized labor. However, the type of focus that Stanton would like requires that the visitors have a firm grasp on what capitalism is opposed to other systems of economics (a feat that I am not convinced the American education system has handled well, if at all) and possibly detracts from some of the more intimate, human elements of the past that makes places like Lowell attractive to visitors.

The second critique is that though she provided some poignant criticisms of the Lowell sites and clearly explicated what she would like to see for the future, Stanton is vague about how to realistically apply criticism in practice. This became clear when Stanton discussed the Acres tours. The Acres neighborhood was historically and is presently inhabited by poorer, blue collar, immigrant workers. Stanton uses the tours to criticize the manner in which the parks anachronistically emphasizes the positive precisely because tours of this neighborhood illustrate the level of disconnect between the present immigrant population and the park’s staff and visitors. While Stanton is right that both history and the present have not always been positive, she dismisses a comment by one of the tour guides that I wish she had addressed. Namely, that the guide felt it would be disrespectful to Acre locals to go into their neighborhood and remind them (and a group of strangers) of all the problems they face on a daily basis. Where and when sensitive topics are brought up is essential to the dialogue that Stanton wants to create. Questions of how to start the dialogue, how to reach out to the community, and how to involve local civic organizations are not discussed.

This critique of Stanton is ironically a critique of critical history in a broad sense and encourages me to turn to David Blight’s article “It You Don’t Tell it Like It Was, It Can Never Be as It Ought to Be.” Blight makes a clever allusion to One Hundred Years of Solitude that questions if we, as historians, have become so obsessed with our past failures that we feel the need to over-compensate by reading critique into everything. Slavery and Public History shares a collection of thoughts, yet one common thread is that the practical side of presenting sensitive and at times controversial topics is just as arduous and time consuming as it is rewarding. As a result, I tend to view The Lowell Experiment as a foundation from which to start to think about, not just critique, but how critique can transform into something more tangible.

Readings:

Horton, James Oliver & Lois E. Horton, ed. Slavery and Public History: The Tough Stuff of American Memory. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2006.

Stanton, Cathy. The Lowell Experiment: Public History in a Postindustrial City. Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2006.