by Paul Caputo
When Legacy first announced the theme for this issue, we heard some variation of the following question on more than one occasion: “What do you mean by public history?”
The difference between history and public history is rooted in context. Public historians do their work outside the classroom. The website Suite101 defines the field this way: “Public Historians, as opposed to academic historians, work with and for the general public. They work in archives, museums, public policy organizations, historical societies, and in media.” The website for New York University’s department of history defines public historians as those who “present and interpret history in a wide variety of dynamic venues, ranging from history museums to digital libraries.”
Public history helps us remember who we are as a society. When throngs gathered to witness the historic moment of Barack Obama’s inauguration in Washington, D.C., they did so in the chilly shadows of the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument, components of the National Mall and Memorial Parks. Even while history was being made and the nation looked to the future, we were reminded of our past. The looming Washington Monument that we saw in all of those panoramic crowd shots on TV commemorates the nation’s first president. The Lincoln Memorial, which played host to the inauguration, not only honors our 16th president, it was also the site of Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech. Having just elected its first African-American president, the nation was reminded of a time not too long ago when such a thing seemed unimaginable.
The inauguration itself took place on the steps of the U.S. Capitol, which was built in the late 1700s, partially burned by the British during the War of 1812, reconstructed between 1815 and 1819, and expanded (largely by slaves) in the 1850s. Even when it was new, the Capitol hearkened back to a shared heritage, borrowing architectural elements from famous European buildings. The building is made simply of brick, stone, and iron, but its history tells the story of who we are.
The cliche goes that those who don’t understand history are doomed to repeat it. Even in a relatively young nation, there are buildings and stories that make us who we are everywhere. You don’t have to be in the capital city or even on a site managed by a land management agency to find a place that helps us understand how our culture was forged. Sometimes it’s not even a physical place, but rather a person dressed or speaking a certain way. What ultimately matters is the stories about the place—not just the facts, but perspectives about why things happened a certain way and who the people were who made those things happen.
This is why interpretive sites that present history from multiple perspectives are so important. This is one of the reasons why interpretation itself is so important. Interpreters have the power to make sure that history is not just told by the victors, but by all people. (According to William C. Davis, author of Lone Star Rising: The Revolutionary Birth of the Texas Republic, one of the infringements inflicted upon Texans by the Mexican government was that it abolished slavery. Is that story told when we “remember the Alamo?”) The ever-growing field of public history ensures that history itself belongs to the public.
That’s what public history is.
