What Are We Afraid Of?

From the OAH President
Richard White

White

As historians, we do take opposing positions, but we seem to be united on one thing: a reluctance to debate. This was evident in our attempts to implement the “scholarly controversies” sessions. I won’t mention names—and there is no need to—because the problem is not personal but rather collective. The unwillingness to debate spans the spectrum of the profession. It was as strong on the left as on the right. Race and gender, as far as I know, made no difference. There were numerous excuses given, including other commitments, but although the reasons varied, the refusal was pretty universal. The always exceptional Patricia Limerick accepted and so did a few others, but they were the outliers.

This is, on one level, puzzling. If the debate were to take place on Crossfire, I can understand a “thanks but no thanks” answer. If this were to be a debate along the lines of presidential “debates,” I could understand why people, particularly the potential audience, might say, “why bother?” But these would be debates between colleagues who have taken differing positions on important issues. The audience would be their professional equals. I have little doubt that all of us would go to the wall to defend the free exchange of ideas, but we don’t seem much interested in exchanging ideas ourselves, at least in public where there might be occasion for embarrassment.

I may be the most naïve member of this organization, but I didn’t think that any of us have that much to lose.

I still do think that collectively we have something to gain. At the very least, it would provide a chance for people to actually remember our annual meetings for their lively intellectual exchanges and not their meals and receptions. I thought the exchange on immigration history and policy between David Gutiérrez and Otis Graham at the Washington meeting was one of the most memorable intellectual exchanges that I have heard in the last half dozen years. The statements were candid; the two scholars were respectful to each other. The discussion from the audience was, at times, passionate, but these are issues that arouse passion. I will remember that session.

But on another level, I think I do understand what we are afraid of. There is a culture of caution, a prickly over-professionalization, that has begun to influence all of us.  We have become each others’ hostages. The culture of universities encourages this. My own employer, Stanford, has so institutionalized timidity that one or two critical letters from outside evaluators or a scathing review can endanger, if the circumstances are right, tenure, promotion, or appointment. We should celebrate scholars who draw strong reactions. Instead, we shy away from them.

In a profession where we should wear our wounds proudly and confront our critics gladly, we prefer to be safe and guarded and fear that we have enemies who can cost us our reputations. Younger historians learn that honest intellectual exchange and criticism can harm careers. Our reputations may have little currency outside our institutions, but within them they seem to be all we can trade on, and so we nurture them. For those of us more senior, and safer, the fear is less understandable. It is more than a little sad that one hundred years of professional history have led to this.