Last week in both my Digital Public History class and my Public History Theory class, we discussed difficult history and dark history, through the question of “how can public historians engage with difficult subject matter?”
Personal or political identities can be formed by an individual's live experiences or tied to the historical experiences of their ancestors. The acts of both remembering and forgetting play important roles in our lives as individuals, our communities, and our western culture. Historian Julia Rose in her book Interpreting Difficult History at Museums and Historic Sites writes: “Reading history, learning history, writing history, and even reflecting on history, difficult or otherwise, can trigger powerful reactions because we know that history matters, that it can be urgent, and that it is necessary for living as persons.” Difficult histories can lead a visitor of a public history site to resist engagement with painful subject matter and therefore refuse to talk about the discomfort an exhibit caused them.
For our class discussion on dark tourism we were asked to read Dark Tourism and Crime by Derek Dalton. The first chapter focuses on Dalton’s own trip to Auschwitz. As I read it, I began to reflect on my own experience of visiting Auschwitz and noticed that I shared many of his emotive responses and feelings.
When I had the chance to visit Auschwitz-Birkenau on a school trip in 2011, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had read The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, Sarah’s Key, The Diary of a Young Girl, and other literary portrayals of life under Nazi rule, but I hadn’t stopped to prepare myself to see the ruins for myself. Walking through the gates, the black, iron letters forming the phrase “Arbeit Macht Frei” (Work Sets You Free) stood very pronounced against the light grey sky behind them. Standing beneath those words as a tour guide recounted their place in history was admittedly chilling.
I remember thinking that the brick buildings would almost have looked pretty if I hadn’t known the history of the place. As a tour guide greeted us, our group of thirty-odd 16-18 year olds did not speak. We were introduced to the grounds and offered audio tours if we wanted them. The tour guide told us they would not be narrating the tour, they would merely guide us through the site and only provide some contextual information for some buildings or sites that might need clarification. For the most part, the tour was silent. Occasionally, the audio tour would recount an incredibly sad or otherwise emotional fact and you could hear people in the group sniffle or sob. I must admit though, that visiting in mid-March perhaps also contributed to the solemn behaviour – it was rather chilly.
Some of the barracks have been converted into gallery space. Some is devoted to displaying the conditions in which prisoners would have lived, while some is used to display the confiscated items the Nazis had taken from the prisoners upon their arrival at the camp. Of particular note are piles of items like shoes, prosthetic limbs, hair, and clothing. But what stood out most to me was the unexpectedly large pile of kitchen pots and utensils. While the other items would have come with the prisoners on their person, the kitchen pots worked to remind me that the prisoners had no idea what kind of life they were coming to when they were taken from their homes. While I had read about the history of this place, this display in particular reminded me that the Holocaust hadn’t always been history. The people who had arrived with these items thought they might need them, thought they might continue their life in a new place.
Now our discussions were not solely about Auschwitz (I digress that this post became mostly about my personal connection to the subject). We also addressed programming on living history sites with difficult subject matter, including slavery and genocide as well as prostitution and racism. I recently worked in a museum where the main history gallery included a display on the "dark history" of the city. The small display consisted of three panels and about four artefacts relating to alcoholism, crime in the city, and a brothel that had once been present. I visited this gallery three times as a visitor before working at the museum and I had never actually viewed its content. The panels and artefacts are displayed behind darkened glass on a fake building façade, which can be lit from behind with the push of a button. I must have walked past this display each time I visited the gallery because it wasn't until I was asked to dust the artefacts that I realize there was even anything behind the glass. The stories told are very interesting, but I can only assume that there are other visitors who, like myself, don't known to look for more.
We also discussed how we as Public Historians can and should go about collecting and/or displaying difficult history. And in the end, I came away with some rather interesting questions that I invite you to consider as well:
In recording oral histories, should we be censoring the stories for racial slurs or other sensitive information based on our public audience? Is the terminology used or the unpleasantries not part of the story?
In incorporating difficult histories in displays, should we provide the option to not engage with the difficult materials? (ie: doors or walls that children could not easily see behind without the assistance of an adult)
Would we be doing a disservice to the stories we’re telling if we offer an option for them not to be heard? Are we doing a disservice to our own field if we offer the message that it’s okay to not want to learn about the less pleasant history?
Much of human history is not easy to look back on accurately. Both pride and pain caused by recollection or remembrance can incite anxiety or resistance to public memory. It can be easier to forget and move on than to remember and find the lesson within the history. "Avoiding difficult histories," Rose argues, "means missing learning opportunities that are otherwise ethically responsible, inclusive, and enlightening." Engaging with difficult histories encourages visitors to reconsider their understanding and responses to oppression or injustice in history and attests that the suffering endured in the past has meaning in the present.