Thursday, March 29, 2007

archives of melodies, laughter, accents & bad hair

It was quite a journey from Historical Voices to YouTube. I started off listening to William Jennings Bryan's "Cross of Gold Speech," enjoying his warm yet no-nonsense voice, and ended up watching a video of a local Salvadoran band, shot with a predictable fisheye lens. I found it more difficult than ever to stay focused on the original question this week. After a few hours to collect my thoughts, however, I became interested in what it was exactly about the material that made it so easy for me to lose my way.

I think more than anything it has to do with lack of practice. Digital collections of oral histories make interviews available across the world that might have been sitting quietly in a dusty drawer. For someone who is accustomed to working with text rather than voices, it might take some time to develop new skills to "highlight" relevant information. The Black Oral History project on the Washington State digital sound archive makes interviews accessible in a variety of ways. Each interview is accompanied by a kind of abstract that identifies the person, the date of the interview, and (importantly) an outline of the topics brought up during the interview. What I found particularly impressive about the outline is that the topics are linked to other interviews. For example, clicking on the topic "voting" will take you to the result page with all the other interviews with people who talk about that same topic. This linkage of information would have been a little clumsy in a written format, like an index. On the database it seems to be the logical thing to do. I found this to work much better in the African American Oral History collection of Washington State than in Historical Voices (the "transcript" option on the website did not work on my computer, although I was surprised to learn that I didn't need it too much).

I think it's also important to make a distinction between audio-visual material and audio-visual material on the internet. When I watch a documentary on a DVD or on television, I do not try to find out about it until afterwards, if at all. Even when I listen to the radio, or a recording, I am much more passive. I receive the information, I think about it (maybe) and later I try to find out more about where it came from and why (sometimes). But today I caught myself wandering into Wikipedia, or simply googling key terms, again and again to shed further light on what I was listening to or seeing on another screen. I know we should be all for engagement and actively shaping how you receive information, and the internet is good for that - but it also makes it a lot easier to simply forget where you started and why.

Friday, March 23, 2007

detectives with cliolators

(sorry this is late)

Cohen and Rosenzweig argue that a rapidly approaching fact-checking gadget that they (ingeniously) call the cliolator will soon be to history as the calculator was to math. After our discussion in class today regarding the difference between learning history and "doing" history, I'm still not sure what to make of the idea of the cliolator. Cohen and Rosenzweig use their example primarily with dates. But even dates are not numbers the way that they are in an equation. There are an infinite number of "facts" in the world. Historical "facts" such as dates are created by the people who single them out as significant. Events become historical facts only after they have been afforded some attention, and with attention come all sorts of arguments about why they are significant.

Dates themselves are embedded in certain historiographical arguments, or in popular narratives. What does this mean for students? Will having a fact-checking device make them more or less critical about pre-sorted information? Would it be like having an open-notebook test, which forces you to only single out information that is relevant to an argument, rather than try to impress your teachers with your ability to retain information?

My other concern is the murky line between understanding historiography and "doing" history. To use an analogy from English Departments: are students in a literature class, in which they read and study texts, learn how they are constructed and also the content, or are they in the creative writing class, in which they are taught how to construct those texts themselves? Anyone who has sat down with fifty different newspaper articles regarding one event can attest to how bewildering it can be to simply figure out what happened. A website like Who Killed William Robinson opens up the excitement of history (the detective work) to students who might otherwise never quite understand how every history book is doing exactly that (drawing on evidence to make more--or less--plausible arguments) on a larger scale.

It's interesting that both having instant access to historical "facts" and being able to immerse yourself in primary documents to make sense of an event on your own have the effect of displacing historiography. While very exciting, it makes it far too easy to get lost in all the disparate information.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Putting the final project to work, slowly

After talking to my advisor for a while about summer research, I've decided to use the original idea for a database that George Alter suggested last month. I'm applying for funding for it next week. My proposal draft still needs to include a more thorough discussion of the methodology (George Alter suggested a few articles that I still need to read) as well as a more detailed description of what the database would be like. But it provides a general idea of how a database like this would really help address several problems in the historiography. So here is the general proposal, which I plan to keep working on throughout the semester in order to have the database ready to go for the summer.

Rough Draft - proposal

The overwhelming attention given to the development of progressive Catholicism in El Salvador in the wake of the Vatican II and Medellín has created a powerful historical narrative involving a "break" between traditional and progressive Catholicism, with the Pastoral Week of 1970 marking the split between two eras. Underpinning this narrative is the assumption of a two-tiered model of religion: elite and popular. Before the break, the Salvadoran Catholic Church was the defender of the status quo, providing a justificatory religious framework for the elites; after the break, the Church questioned the status quo by redefining sin as primarily social and structural and embraced the opposite side of the binary--"local," decentralized, or popular religion. Although in this narrative there is a distinction between progressive and "local" or popular religion, the former is seen as growing out of the latter, while shedding along the way "magical" or deterministic explanations of poverty and suffering. Less attention has been paid to clearly defining what is meant by "religion of the elites" or "traditional" Catholicism.

During the peak of Catholic Action involvement in the late 1950s and early 1960s, members of the clergy involved in the movement were effectively horrified at members' lack of Catholic instruction or understanding of the basic catechism. Underlying the assumption of the "break" there is an assumption of a widespread influence of "traditional" Catholicism, yet we have little knowledge of how Catholicism was traditionally practiced. To what extent was Catholicism a part of people's everyday lives in the mid-twentieth century?

Examining the influence of the Catholic Church in El Salvador in the years prior to the Pastoral Week of 1970 poses two related problems. Articles books, homilies and symbols will only get us so far: these sources only provide a vision of interactions within the institution and how it was struggling to present itself to the laity. They offer little insight into how the Church was perceived by other institutional actors like the military, and even less of how it was perceived by lay Catholics and non-Catholics, making it almost impossible to determine the degree to which its actions were greeted with acceptance, hostility, or indifference. How many people read those journals or listened to those homilies? How many people could read at all? Who cared? The most readily available sources are one-sided and tracking direct responses to these is, in most cases, impossible.

If it is true that there was a marked shift in the Church during the tenure of Archbishop Chávez y Gonzalez, one angle into the problem of how this shift was perceived is to track how people came into contact with the Church at an institutional level throughout their lives and if this changed in the twentieth century. By creating a database in my History and New Media class with semester, this summer I hope to begin a data collection project employing a methodology used primarily within the historiography of eighteenth century France in the years prior to the Revolution. The approach is quite simple: tracking the percentage of marriages carried out during Advent and Lent, two periods in the Catholic liturgical year of fasting and "preparation," in order to determine the degree to which "traditional" Catholic rituals were observed. The Church officially frowns upon getting married during these periods, as marriage is a celebration of union not in keeping with the penitential attitude demanded of observant Catholics. Whether or not Catholics were observant, oblivious, or indifferent to the most important periods of penance during the liturgical year can be broadly determined by examining if and to what extent they were getting married during Advent and Lent. In eighteenth century France, there is a correlation between the increasing number of such marriages and the Church's gradual loss of hegemonic authority as the first stage of the Revolution drew nearer. What will this tell us in the case of El Salvador?

First of all, it will simply tell us the extent to which El Salvador was a strictly observant Catholic country at all. This, in turn, will give us the tools to determine the degree of hegemonic authority that the Church wielded, broadly speaking, over the laity. Most importantly, it will allow us to examine how this changed both through time and in different dioceses. I propose to start my samples in the 1880s, when civil matrimony became an alternative to marriage through the Church, and continue into 1962, the year of the Second Vatican Council, with five-year intervals. I plan to compare the dioceses of San Miguel, San Salvador and Santa Ana as well.

The variables in a marriage certificate include profession, place of residence, age, witnesses, and name of priest. Gathering this kind of data will therefore also prove fruitful on other fronts. We will be able to consider correlations between class and church membership, compare differences in urban and rural areas, as well as determine the presence of priests in certain areas (and by analyzing the name, whether they were foreign born). In sum, examining such data will prove invaluable to understanding shifts that are difficult to track on the level of discourse alone.

Thursday, March 01, 2007

strolling through an essay

I found it quite funny that when I tried to cut and paste several passages from Philip J. Ethington's website onto a word document for my notes, I kept getting a blank page. It took me a few seconds to realize that the font was white. It felt like he wasn't letting me pin down his words with my old fashioned note-taking.

"Los Angeles and the Problem of Urban Historical Knowledge" is an amazing project--in its broad scope and its approach to knowledge. Like the white font, it is also purposefully difficult to grasp at first. He means it to be approached as a "totality," read like a newspaper. While I admit that I was a bit annoyed with this at first, the approach grew on me. Unlike most articles I read, I thought about his website a lot afterwards. Initially, I kept thinking, "just get to the point." What is his point about literally mapping the past? I'm still not sure. Wondering what the point is... is his point, in a way.

Now, this is something that I spend most of my time doing with my own research, this searching for the point. Going off on tangents, making links between vastly different sources, wandering through a historiography and sometimes getting lost. I have come to believe that "the point" should assume these things but should be presented in final form free of them. In other words, it should be well stitched. We all know that it was formed out of disparate pieces of knowledge, but the art of it is creating something intelligible out of the mess.

But it's the mess that I always go back to, at least in my head, to wonder what other sort of thing I could have stitched with the same pieces. Ethington creates something of a controlled mess in which to wander, and in doing so challenges my urge to "clean up." It's not just a simple mess: it's quite well organized but it demands effort to engage with it. Like a good book, I know I'll go back to it, if only to try to figure it out again. And each time I'll probably learn something new.