Scholars as activists? Beware . . .
Let me explain. It is obvious that I am not averse to expressing my opinion. However in the classroom I think it is a different ballgame. In my writing I have not only the right, but the responsibility, especially in a forum such as this one, to express my opinions forthrightly and assertively. In front of students, however, the rules are different. Of course I am not neutral, but I do aim for a level of objectivity. Several of my colleagues here like to use the air scare quotation marks when they say the word “objective” which seems rather condescending. Few historians would deny that true objectivity is unattainable, and indeed in our outcomes we have no qualms with our subjectivity. But if the ends are not objective, that does not mean that the means are not – in our writing we weigh evidence. If there is evidence that we do not like we cannot simply ignore it. If the evidence we hope to find is not there we cannot make it up (Are you reading this Michael Bellisles?). For good scholars, our reading of the evidence informs our opinions, not vice versa. That is also Tom’s and Steve’s and my approach with Rebunk as well as with other things that we write outside of the stuff that fills out our vitas. (OK, I confess, Rebunk has a line on the vita too. Sue me.) I also take this approach into the classroom. Historical figures, right and left, liberal and conservative, Democrat and Republican, all get the same treatment. I am not the biggest fan of Ronald Reagan. My students would be unlikely to know this. This does not mean that some value judgments don’t seep out – I make my admiration for civil rights activists clearly known. I am not afraid to say that Stalin was an evil bastard. But these sins, if that is what they are, are a far cry from cramming an agenda down their throats. I do not believe in using history as an extended metaphor to push students in any particular way. On Election Day I tell them to vote, reminding them that at least some of them can leave the booth knowing they cancelled out my vote that day.
But what does this all have to do either with the NEH seminar or activist scholarship? A great deal. It relates to the NEH seminar because a number of my colleagues are proudly activists, and this enters their work in ways subtle and not so. Further, today we had Emory & Henry College political scientist Stephen L. Fisher visit us to talk about his edited collection Fighting Back in Appalachia: Traditions of Resistance and Change. The essays, written by both scholars and activists, explore a series of issues related to community activism in Appalachia. As with all endeavors of this kind, some of the essays work better than others do, but on the whole it is a worthwhile book. Professor Fisher is an ardent activist. He has done a great deal of work for social justice issues. And he unabashedly believes that he needs to encourage his students to do the same. I am still uncomfortable with this, but I was more impressed with him than I expected to be. We had a nice conversation during a break and he conveyed to me that his classroom is open for debate, that he does not lecture, and that he wants students to pursue their own course. I think he somewhat underestimates what a chilling effect knowing the political beliefs of ones professor and having to confront them in class can have, but I left impressed nonetheless with his passion and earnestness and intelligence.
Still, I am a bit wary of this approach. Maybe it is because I am so opinionated that if I opened the floodgates I’d be afraid that I would create an unfair environment. But beyond that, I am wary because “activism” is not an anodyne concept. One is not simply an activist, one is an activist for something. And if this seeps into the classroom, indeed if it is at the heart of the course, what of those students whose politics are not the same as yours? This is an especially acute problem at smaller schools. If you are in the political science department at, say, Michigan State, it is pretty easy to avoid a professor and still be a Poli-Sci major. At Emory & Henry, however, this is unlikely to be an option. The poli-sci department, which appears to be excellent (Professor Fisher has won a national college teacher of the year award) has five professors. Given leaves and topic interests and the nature of small colleges, how easy would it be for a student to avoid one professor’s classes? And what if more than one is an activist? This does not seem to be the friendliest atmosphere for, say, a libertarian, or someone who opposes service learning, or a conservative who believes in right to work laws. I would not agree with these students, but I am not certain I have the right to force my views down their throat. And if I did, I would have to understand their discomfort.
Again, I am wrestling with this. I have taken groups of students to do community service work in Ireland and peace work in Belfast. But they signed on to the program knowing this was what they were going to do – this is a far cry from including it in a class at a college where students take courses for an array of reasons. I have certainly engaged in what most people would consider to be activism that has informed my writing and teaching. But it has not been something that has been at the heart of my classes.
My favorite historian, C. Vann Woodward, was also not a believer in activist scholarship. Ironically, his scholarship, despite his intentions, may have done more to impact history than the work of just about any other disciple of Clio’s art. He wrote historical briefs (with John Hope Franklin) for the Brown case. Although he did not engage in a great deal of civil rights activism, he did meet the marchers in Montgomery who had taken the long, bold (and early on bloodily aborted,) walk from Selma for voting rights. When Martin Luther King Jr. spoke, he pointed out Woodward’s presence and called the historian’s The Strange Career of Jim Crow “The historical bible of the civil rights movement.” If my writing ever has an impact, I would prefer for it to be this way, or through activism that I do separate from the classroom, and not as the result of a strange, uncomfortable, and potentially coercive, no matter how well intended, marriage between the classroom and my fallible sense of politics.