Difficult Times With “Difficult Knowledge”

Before the first speaker took to the stage, Billie Holiday’s song “Strange Fruit” echoed throughout the room. It was a powerful opening to a discussion that dealt with what many of us would call “difficult knowledge.” As Holiday sings about lynchings in the Jim Crow South, a blaring jazz trumpet awkwardly comes in between the verses. The contrast is startling. Like Holiday’s song, museums that attempt to memorialize tragedies are filled with these startling contrasts: hope and despair, unity and division, blame and forgiveness. In the “Museum, Memories and Politics: Educating about Difficult Knowledge” dialogue, the four museums and memorials discussed by the speakers highlight how each place deals with these contrasts differently with varying degrees of success.

Dr. Joyce Apsel began by discussing The Center for Civil and Human Rights in Atlanta, Georgia. It is one of the foremost institutions dedicated to chronicling the civil rights movement in the United States. Unlike many contemporary museums, it relies less on artifacts and more on striking images and recordings. Old 1950s television sets play footage of marchers in the streets as they are beaten by the police. Headsets at a replica lunch counter replay the stinging insults hurled at those who dared challenge segregation. As Apsel noted, the museum does not shy away from the shocking brutality that was the hallmark of the Jim Crow South, but it nevertheless provides a “popular” history rather than a “reflective” one. The museum grapples with balancing the presentation of the civil rights movement's great successes and the uncomfortable truth that much work still needs to be done before society can truly say, "we have overcome."

In the second presentation of the evening, Davide Lombardo presented the Museum of Deportation in Prato, Italy. It sits on land where 29 partisans were executed by the retreating German army at the end of World War II. The museum memorializes both those who were deported to concentration camps and those who fought for the Resistance. Prato is now twinned with the Austrian city of Ebensee, where targeted groups in Prato were deported during the war. Many of the artifacts were gathered by survivors several decades after they returned, committing themselves to preserving the memory of those who never made it back.

Amy Sodaro discussed the 9/11 Memorial Museum, noting in particular how politically fraught the institution has been since its inception. She quoted Alice Greenwald, the director of the memorial, who once said that the memorial aspires “to be an agent of resolve.” Personal stories dominate the museum with little historical contextualization. According to Sodaro, this ahistorical perspective creates many complications. For an event that is still so fresh in the minds of many, Sodaro acknowledged that one could say the history of 9/11 is still being written. However, by lacking any significant historical context, Sodaro stated that the story of 9/11 is ripe for manipulation, particularly as a way to promote nationalistic narratives.

The final speaker, Roy Tamashiro, discussed the memorial for the My Lai massacre in Vietnam. It has been nearly 50 years since U.S. soldiers murdered hundreds of innocent civilians in this area and forever affected the lives of thousands more. Tomashiro was able to visit the site, and he recounted how his own tour guide had deep connections to the massacre. As the guide welcomed the tourists to pray with her in a moment of silence, he recalled how she shed tears as they passed the irrigation ditch where bodies were thrown. Tomashiro also shared the story of how over a decade ago, an American who participated in the massacre journeyed to the site to apologize and ask for forgiveness. One local villager, a child at the time of the massacre, could not accept the apology. He had no idea if this man had perhaps been the person who murdered his family members. While Tomashiro said that the My Lai Memorial is one of the less nationalistic museums in Vietnam dealing with the Vietnam War, it still promotes a patriotic narrative.

The speakers underlined the complexities and contrasts that each museum attempts to hold together. The Center for Civil and Human Rights struggles with presenting a history that is both accessible, filled with icons and stories of hope, and reflective, acknowledging lesser known figures and internal conflicts among civil rights activists. The Museum of Deportation must be cognizant of how it represents the specific story of the victims in Prato in the much larger context of World War II and the Holocaust. The 9/11 Memorial Museum must grapple with the relatively recent nature of the event it memorializes, and realize that showing “resolve” does not mean ignoring the complex history behind the attacks and the complicated political aftermath. The memorial for the My Lai massacre confronts a unique challenge. Given that both some victims and some perpetrators are still alive, they must deal with the question of forgiveness: can one ever forgive, even when one can never forget?

Though the challenges that each museum faces are different, they all share an underlying tension: tension over history, tension over tone, and tension over representation. As Tomashiro noted during the Q&A, bias greatly influences how people create and perceive these places. Museum curators are influenced by different stakeholders and competing narratives, and it is often difficult to balance every demand, especially given the highly sensitive nature of these events. While visitors may disagree with how museums present a tragedy, the speakers agreed that it is necessary for people to still engage with these spaces. Part of educating the public about “difficult knowledge” is to bring them into the ongoing conversation about how tragic events should be commemorated. Apsel perhaps put it best when she said, “Museums are like us, they’re political.” Much like the never ending political debates we face today, the debate over “difficult knowledge” and its presentation will continue for as long as there are tragedies to remember.