Today one of the truly gifted historians died at the age of 94. John Hope Franklin, however, was always more than a historian. He understood that the present and the past are closely interwoven and that the study of history is always the first step to addressing present injustices. Duke University has set up a webpage to commemorate the life of John Hope Franklin.
My wife and I were lucky enough to meet Dr. Franklin last summer at a slave family reunion at Montpelier. Simply put, Dr. Franklin is one of my intellectual heroes. His career embodies a strong commitment to racial justice through activism and scholarship. It would be more accurate to say that his scholarship is in fact a form of activism, and at 94 he was still going strong. I especially enjoyed listening to him discuss why it is so important to tell the story of slavery as part of American history and the perils of ignoring or forgetting the past. I like to think that my own research on Civil War memory is in a way a form of activism. I to believe that it is important for a nation to confront its collective past in all of its richness, which includes both moments of great achievement as well as disappointment. And I am convinced that one can keep this moral goal in mind without it impinging or threatening the integrity of scholarship. The highlight of the day was having the chance to talk with him in person. I truly felt like I was talking with one of the great Americans of the twentieth century and I don’t mind saying that I was just a little star struck.
All I can say is, thank you Dr. Franklin. We will miss you.
Ihighly recommend Barry Schwartz’s new book, Abraham Lincoln in the Post-Heroic Era: History and Memory in Late Twentieth-Century America (University of Chicago Press, 2009). There is an interesting section on the image of Lincoln during the Depression, which is a moment where, according to Schwartz his reputation had peaked only to decline following WWII. Schwartz not only surveys popular or institutional representations of Lincoln, but also tries to uncover the views of ordinary Americans. One of the more interesting sections is his analysis of how white Southerners viewed Lincoln from the turn of the twentieth century through the New Deal. Along the way, Schwartz mentions Thomas Dixon, D.W. Griffith, and Mary R.S. Andrews and a host of lesser-known writers.
I learned that on February 12, 1928, the Virginia House of Delegates rose for the first time in respect for Lincoln’s memory and adjourned “in honor of…the martyred President of the United States, whose death was a distinct blow to the South, resulting in a national calamity.” Not surprisingly, a number of public figures, including Lyon G. Tyler (son of of the president) and Reverend Giles B. Cook (Lee’s staff) offered a request to “to Repeal the Resolution of respect for Abraham Lincoln, the Barbarian…” and an eleven-page resolution. At least one newspaper editor encouraged its readers to “put aside old animosities.”
What I found most interesting was a 1929 survey of 4,658 boys and girls in Alabama living in Mobile, Montgomery, and Birmingham done by David Spence Hill. Hill asked the following: Of all persons whom you have heard, or read about, or seen, whom would you most care to be like or resemble”? One third of the boys and 60% of the girls named a relative or personal acquaintance; however, when it came to historic and public figures their answers were quite telling. Of the boys, 26% chose Washington while both Abraham Lincoln and Robert E. Lee came away with 5% each. The girls also overwhelmingly chose Washington, but Lincoln earned 3% while Lee only earned 2%. Schwartz’s analysis of the data is worth repeating in full:
Hill’s survey shows Lincoln’s prestige to have been feeble among school children, but he also documents the decline of the Confederate tradition. That Lincoln and Lee are named by virtually the same small percentage of respondents is surprising, given the belief about the South’s lingering resentments. No longer can negative Southern attitudes toward Lincoln be attributed to nostalgia for the Confederacy and its heroes. Moreover, Alabama children were discovering ideals in the present as well as the past. Boys ranked Charles Lindbergh (22 percent) just below George Washington. Girls also mentioned Lindbergh, along with film stars Clara Bow, Billie Dove, and Ruth Elder. Not the Confederate hero but George Washington and contemporary entertainers were competing against Abraham Lincoln for Southern children’s attention and respect. (p. 55-56)
One of the most popular publications of Confederate nostalgia was Tyler’s Quarterly Magazine and in 1939 one of its contributors complained that “praises for Lincoln emanate in almost equal fervor from practically every section of America.” Not too long ago newspapers inquired as to why Southern states were not taking part in Lincoln Bicentennial events. Of course, anyone who bothered to look would have noticed that there are numerous events throughout the South which acknowledge in one way or another his importance to American history. In fact, Lincoln is getting much more attention than both Lee and Jefferson Davis. My guess is that the author of the piece was driven more by popular perception than any serious understanding of Lincoln’s place in our national memory. One of the reasons why I find the study of memory to be so intriguing is that it has the potential to surprise. I am constantly struck by the extent to which our assumptions about the past or the ways in which previous generations interpreted the past deviate from our own. We should be careful not to use those who came before as a means to our own ends. So, if you are a white Southerner who respects and admires Lincoln, it turns out that you are in very good company.
There is an interesting article in today’s Washington Post on the place of Civil War statues in a changing Virginia political landscape. It’s a fairly balanced look at how these sites are interpreted by different constituencies and it directly addresses the connection between political power and how our public spaces are used to remember the past. John Coski explains that connection in pointing out that, “A monument always testifies to power — to who was in power at the time.” The Civil War statues that dominate Monument Avenue in Richmond and the soldier statues that populate local court houses serve as a reminder of white supremacy and a commitment to imparting to the general public a memory of the war that reinforced its preferred view of the past. Such a view worked to reinforce political dominance through much of the twentieth century. One wonders what the landscape of memory would look like if between 1880 and 1920 black Americans were able to take part in the decisions over who and what to remember. How might Monument Avenue appear today under such changed circumstances?
I welcome the debate about how utilize our finite public space in commemorating and remembering the past; however, I worry about the tone that it has taken and will likely take as we approach the Civil War Sesquicentennial. My biggest concern is the language of “tearing down” Civil War monuments that are deemed to be antiquated or even racist. Consider the recent controversy over a prominent Civil War statue in Raleigh, North Carolina involving a columnist who called for the newly-elected governor to tear it down. [Click here for the original column and here for a follow-up.]
I must remember that I approach these questions from the detached perspective of a historian interested in memory and public history and as a teacher who believes these sites need to be properly interpreted. In other words, I understand that people are passionate about these issue. The problem with the language of removal is that it fails to address some of the underlying issues that drive the discourse. It’s ultimately a veiled attempt at covering up the problem rather than working to better understand it or, more importantly, working toward meaningful reconciliation over what the Civil War was about. In the case of J. Peder Zane, however, it seems to me that all he managed to accomplish was to cause the various parties to dig in their heels even more firmly. It leads to defensiveness and suspicion and renders it that much more difficult to engage in meaningful discourse.
I recently took 30 students to Richmond to explore its Civil War heritage through monuments. This was a fairly diverse group of students who have very different opinions as to what the war was about and how it should be remembered. As we walked around the Lee and Davis monuments in Richmond and walked through Hollywood Cemetery we discussed and analyzed the sites and tried to better understand both the time in which they were constructed and their continued place on the public landscape. Even with a diversity of opinion not one of my students suggested that the solution was to remove them from public viewing; in fact, most of them acknowledged in one way or another that it is important for them to remain where they are.
Public spaces are not static. To understand this point is to acknowledge that they reflect the changing dynamics of the people who must live within their midst and, in many cases, maintain their integrity through tax dollars. If that is the starting point than it is incumbent on the community to discuss in as open and as honest a way how these sites should be maintained. I’ve tended to support at least two approaches in those situations when a monument or other structure no longer reflects the values of a substantial portion of the local population. The most common approach is to add to the landscape as in the case of the Arthur Ashe monument in Richmond, but the approach taken in Louisville, Kentucky is also instructive. In 2002, the University of Louisville announced plans to add civil rights monuments around its Civil War statue as part of a new development to be called “Freedom Park”, which will include structures commemorating the Civil Rights Movement. Another way of bridging the divide between the commemoration of a statue and the present is to place interpretive markers that educate the public about the origins of the structure. These do not have to be overly intrusive and can go far in placing the site in its proper historical context. What I like about this approach is that it does not prevent members of the public from attaching their own preferred interpretation or meaning to the structure. Perhaps the best example of this approach is the placement of an interpretive marker at the Heyward Shepherd Marker at Harpers Ferry, which was erected by the United Daughters of the Confederacy and Sons of Confederate Veterans in 1931. [Click here for an excellent overview of the history of this monument and also see Caroline Janney’s recent essay in Civil War History (June 2006).]
I am not overly confident that rational discourse about how to remember and commemorate the Civil War in public spaces is possible. Our culture is much too comfortable with a language of polarization that includes “Red States v. Blue States”, “Capitalism v. Socialism”, etc. Ultimately, we have to want to talk to one another or perhaps we must first learn how to do so.
I took some time today to reread some material related to my small project on the challenges of interpreting slavery at Arlington House. Most of my time was spent with a 2004 report that was done by Kevin Strait as part of a cooperative project between the NPS and the Center for the Study of Public Culture and Public History at George Washington University. [You can read the report online: (www.cr.nps.gov/crdi/Arlington_House_Survey.pdf)]
Strait and a small team conducted a series of interviews with NPS staff at Arlington as well as a small survey of visitors on their impressions of how effectively slavery is interpreted at the site. The findings suggest that there is much that can be improved at the site. This alone situates Arlington within a broader narrative of the past thirty years that finds museums and historic sites working – and sometimes struggling – to find ways to improve their interpretations of slave life and the complexity of race relations. As of 2004 tours were self-guided with interpreters situated at key points throughout the house. The house tour, according to one staff member concentrates almost exclusively to “tell the story of Robert E. Lee.” Unless the question/issue is raised by a visitor almost nothing is mentioned by the interpreters during the house tour. A survey of 60 visitors revealed the following:
Question #3: When touring the house did you learn anything about slavery? [Yes: 10] and [No: 50]
Question #4: Did you gain any insight on the relationships between slaves and masters? Between slaves and slaves? [Yes: 10] and [No: 50]
Question #8: Did you learn anything new about race or slavery during your visit? [Yes: 0] and [No: 60]
The survey can be found on p. 14 of the report. The slave cabins are accessible along with a few interpretive markers, but there are no regular interpreters on hand to answer questions and tours of slave life are reserved for Black History Month and other special occasions. This glaring lack of attention to slave life leaves the visitor with a disconnect between the relationship between the slave cabins and Arlington House itself. I will come back to this later. Most interesting in this survey are the written responses. One in particular suggested that Arlington “is sacred ground. It is a netural place, no race, color, religion should be mentioned here.” When I first read this report and this comment in particular I wrote it off as just another example of our inability and unwillingness to acknowledge slavery as integral to understanding both Robert E. Lee and the Civil War in general. No doubt, this is part of the story, but it may have as much to do with the bigger challenge of properly interpreting life at Arlington within the broader environment of a national cemetery.
By 1900 the grounds of Arlington had come to be defined not simply as the former home of Lee, but as sacred space devoted to the nation’s fallen soldiers. In the twentieth century this identification would only become more deeply embedded in the nation’s collective consciousness and, as a result, relegate Arlington House and its history to a footnote. Consider the following from the 1892 publication of Historic Arlington by K. Decker and Angus McSween:
Here every year come thousands to pay their quota of the nation’s debt to the dead Men women and children in an endless procession pass through the portals of the national cemetery and stealing from the bustling world in which they move spend moments of silent reverence among the dead No one enters who does not realize more fully than before the heroism of those whose monuments they view and few there are whose patriotic impulses are not quickened and their sentiments ennobled by a contemplation of the scene presented.
The long rows of white headstones and the imposing shafts of marble and granite that stretch away in picturesque order on every hand bring recollections of a scene far different and before the mind passes in review memories of battles fought where glorious deeds but led to death where for the cause they loved these men gave up their lives And as these recollections of the past transform the sleeping dead once more into the living heroes the marble slabs and the inscriptions that they bear change also and from the sterile name and date that mark each stone appears the record of the soldier’s glory. [pp. 8-9]
Decker and McSween sketch this scene as an introduction to the broader history of the home and surrounding landscape, but it seems to me that the vast majority of visitors today enter these sacred grounds to pay their respects to the fallen and to see the “Eternal Flame” at the Kennedy grave site and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. If I am right than most visitors who happen to stop for a tour at Arlington House may know that it is the home of Lee, but because of the surrounding landscape have no context for understanding it as a former plantation site. In short, most visitors walk the grounds of a cemetery rather than a cemetery that was once a large plantation that served as a Freedmen’s Village as well as a cemetery for fallen Union soldiers.
At the same time we do need to acknowledge the wide gulf in our historical understanding between both G.W.P. Custis and R.E. Lee and their relationship with the institution of slavery – a subject that has been severely distorted for much of the twentieth century. In Decker and McSween we can see the form it would take through much of the following century. In reference to the former:
Mr. Custis at this time conducted his estates on a system that was almost like the governing of a small principality. The Arlington estate was his home and upon it he did very little farming for profit. His income he derived from what he called his farms in Westmoreland county. The Arlington estate was simply his private grounds and its cultivation at all was for the purpose of providing for the numerous slaves that he kept about him. In his treatment of his negroes Mr. Custis was as considerate as he was regarding any other class of human beings and the glaring evils of slavery were never apparent upon his property. Each slave had a house apportioned him and a bit of ground the produce of which he owned as securely as if his title to the land he occupied was duly recorded in the records of the county courts.
The slaves were of course compelled to give a good portion of their time to the master’s service but their work was not hard and they were liberally provided for in decrepit old age as well as in sturdy youth. Mr. Custis also respected the domestic relations of the negroes and the separation of mothers from their children and of wives from their husbands was a practice in which he never indulged himself and which he abhorred in others. As a result his slaves were devoted to him. He was not only a kind master but was their friend and delighted as much in joking with them and in making harmless fun of them as he did in the conversations of his neighbors. Active both in mental and physical exercise Mr. Custis’s out door life at Arlington was at once to him a source of pleasurable recreation and of physical health and vigor.
Whatever the truth is about Custis’s treatment of his slaves, the paternalism that was already so predominant in antebellum pro-slavery tracts is clearly discernible. More importantly, it tells us very little about the men, women, and children who were owned by Custis. Lee’s own attitudes towards the slaves he would eventually inherit from Custis bear the same markings:
Though opposed to the institution of slavery which he regarded as a moral and political evil he was of the unalterable opinion that the matter was one that under the Constitution the States had the right to regulate for themselves and he denied absolutely the right of the non holding slave States to interfere. He believed the emancipation of the negroes would sooner result from the mild and melting influences of Christianity than from the storm and tempest of fiery controversy. He was too much of a patriot to believe that the country could possibly be disrupted over the question but he saw with feelings of the gravest apprehension that it was as he expressed it rushing rapidly towards the verge of anarchy or civil war.
Again, whatever the truth of these claims happens to be, the narrative fails to help us in any way to better understand the lives of the slaves who made Arlington their home. On the other hand, the excerpts from Decker and McSween’s Historic Arlington may help us to better understand our visitor who would have park officials say nothing about slavery at Arlington on what he describes as “sacred ground.” The comment may, in the end, suggest a unique challenge for NPS interpreters at Arlington. First, they must bring their interpretation more in line with recent scholarship on slavery, the Civil War, and Lee specifically. We cannot fully understand the home or Lee without a fuller understanding of slave life and the same holds true for understanding slave life at Arlington. And they must do this in an environment where visitors may not be prepared to consider such controversial topics such as slavery and race after walking through such a solemn space that speaks to what binds us as Americans rather than with what once divided and continues to prove difficult to grapple with as Americans. This means that NPS officials must work extra hard to bring visitors out of one world and into another if they hope to impress upon them the importance of the home and its complete history.
Fortunately, the history of slave life can easily be integrated into the surrounding grounds given its history as a Freedmen’s Village. Few people who visit know that an entire section of the cemetery is devoted to former slaves who lived on the grounds well after the war ended. In that same section are rows of United States Colored Troops, which opens up numerous possibilities to link the history of slave life with the broader history of service and sacrifice, which is so rooted in the surrounding landscape.
I’ve only just begun to think about the various interpretive threads that need to be explored in this essay so your comments are most welcome.
The Charleston Museum is set to unveil a new exhibit that extends their permanent exhibit beyond 1865 with “A Storm Beyond Control: Freed Slaves and Political Mobilization in Reconstruction South Carolina.” That’s right, up till now, for one reason or another, the museum ended its history of the state with the end of the Civil War. That means that the history of African Americans in South Carolina only encompassed the institution of slavery.
That powerful narrative went largely unchallenged here until the late 20th century, but since then the racial and cultural myths at its core have aged poorly, causing decades of controversy and indigestion for numerous local institutions. Which raises the question: Did From Slaves to Sharecroppers represent another evolutionary step away from the aristocratic party line? Museum Assistant Director Carl Borick doesn’t think so, contending the organization made a break from the past when it updated its mission in the 1980s. “Since 1983, we’ve been pretty up-front about our history,” Borick says. “The museum has been very open to admitting the good and the bad. Slavery was what it was. We show that in our permanent exhibit.”
But good history also teaches us a healthy respect for irony, and no matter the efforts of its current employees, memory at the Charleston Museum remains highly selective. Glorious victory at the Battle of Sullivan’s Island in 1776 gets a special display case. Humiliating defeat on the peninsula in 1780 — the largest surrender of patriot troops in the Revolutionary War — essentially goes unmentioned. Captured German and Japanese weapons from World War II? They’re on display. But the Charleston Hospital Strike of 1969? Nada.