Notes on “The Good War”: An Oral History of World War II (1984) by Studs Terkel

Support Independent Bookstores - Visit IndieBound.org“The ordinary person feels not only as good a being as I am; rather he feels somewhat superior. The average American has an indigenous intelligence, a native wit. It’s only a question of piquing that intelligence.”

Studs Terkel

As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of the things I’d like to start offering here at the blog is book reviews. “Reviewing” may not be quite the right word for what I’ll be doing, though; I think it will be something more like “making notes.” I should think that either reviews or notes would be interesting for anyone who cares to follow a blog focused on “the intersection of oral history and the documentary arts,” but it’s the latter option that would certainly be most useful for me personally. (That said, you can expect actual reviews from time to time — in fact, I’ve just agreed to review a germane new book for a publication that I’ve written for in the past.)

There are a few practical reasons for not writing reviews as such. Reviews are meant to provide a comprehensive overview and robust assessment of the book under consideration; in these ways, they’re a lot of work for the reviewer. Also, while I suspect that reviews of new books would be most useful for interested readers, I’d like to discuss books both new and old. In addition, there are certainly lots of options elsewhere if you’re looking for formal book reviews.

And, of course, some books don’t exactly need reviewing. Take for instance the great Studs Terkel’s magisterial “The Good War”: An Oral History of World War II (1984): among many, many other plaudits, it received the Pulitzer Prize for General Nonfiction and has been called “the richest and most powerful single document of the American experience in World War II” by no less than the Boston Globe. Am I really going to sing its praises more eloquently or astutely than others already have? Probably not.

What I think I can do that’s at least a little bit different is consider books like “The Good War” through the prism of my interest in the places where oral history and the documentary arts intersect. However, this is not to say that Terkel’s place within this constellation hasn’t already been argued over elsewhere; quite the contrary. Approaching this issue head-on for a 2014 article in the Oral History Review, Michael Frisch writes:

For a long time, many oral historians have had reservations about how seriously Terkel’s work can be taken, whether methodologically, substantively, or theoretically. Many have felt Terkel to be, at best, a figure from the informal prehistory of a rapidly growing scholarly field. He has always seemed to some a popularizer with great appeal but little discipline or depth, or a romantic populist evoking the voice of the people but not engaged with the more complex questions, intellectual and political, that have come to inform studies of orality, memory, and narrative in recent years.

Elsewhere, in the 2014 edition of his essential textbook Doing Oral History, Donald A. Ritchie notes (pg. 129):

Oral historians have expressed suspicion over the popular books of Studs Terkel, who usually removed his own questions and sometimes reordered his interviewee’s answers. When Charles Morrissey questioned some of the Vermonters quoted in Terkel’s American Dreams, Lost and Found (1980), they objected to the way their remarks appeared in print. One complained that Terkel ‘applied his thoughts to my words and came up with the version in his book.’ Another felt that his words had been rearranged ‘in such a way that I can’t make sense of it.'”

Frisch also discusses ways these criticisms have played out within the field of oral history as it has developed. Highlights include “a testimonial plenary at the 1995 Oral History Association annual meeting” that was rocked by “considerable controversy about how, or even whether, to honor Terkel.” Not to mention William Morris’s review of “The Good War” for the Oral History Review, which “[answers] its title question, ‘Oral History or Literary Impressionism?’ by consigning Terkel’s work to the latter.” His books seem to have been viewed very much the same way in journalistic and literary circles as well: as Frisch notes, for instance, the Pulitzer Prize for “The Good War” was “awarded for general nonfiction, not for history (oral or otherwise).”

Terkel and his books have always meant a tremendous lot to me personally, so much so that when I used to visit Chicago (while he was still alive) I would make sure to swing by “Bughouse Square” (aka Washington Square Park) — his favorite spot in the city — just to see if I could spot the man. In addition, during my time as a student of religion, Terkel’s exceptional Will the Circle Be Unbroken?: Reflections on Death, Rebirth, and Hunger for a Faith (2001) was one of the books I returned to often.

Having said that, it’s not sentiment alone that makes me dissatisfied with how Terkel and his works have been treated by oral history “gatekeepers.” For one thing, as I mentioned in the aforementioned post from a few weeks back, Terkel famously eschewed the label of “oral historian,” choosing instead to call himself a “guerilla journalist.” Furthermore, describing his work in the introduction to “The Good War”, the author quotes from his own earlier volume, 1970’s Hard Times: An Oral History of the Great Depression (pg. 3 in both books):

This is a memory book, rather than one of hard fact and precise statistic. In recalling an epoch, some forty years ago, my colleagues experienced pain, in some instances: exhilaration, in others. Often it was a fusing of both. A hesitancy, at first, was followed by a flow of memories: long-ago hurts and small triumphs. Honors and humiliations. There was laughter, too.

Terkel’s books are definitely oral histories, but they are not academic oral histories. Holding them to the same standard that we might hold the work of, say, Ritchie or Frisch, then, is really dirty pool.

The mighty Alessando Portelli helpfully clarifies things in the essay “Oral History as Genre” for his 1997 book The Battle of Valle Giulia: Oral History and the Art of Dialogue (pg. 18 – 19):

Speaking to specialists implies the use of a more rigorously technical language (including bibliographies, footnotes, etc.); speaking to the community or to the general public requires a more pointed effort toward communication; the former will be more interpretive, the latter more narrative. Ironically, the originary orality of the sources tends to be retained much more extensively in works not intended primarily for a scholarly audience.

Speaking to the community, or targeting a broad, nonacademic audience, then, does not necessarily subtract from the quality of the work. One of the things that makes oral history different is its democratic potential, which can make an oral history project academically relevant at the same time that it is accessible to the general public, not only through readable books, but also through community projects, exhibits…film, video, the theater. Rhetorical strategies vary significantly, however.

To be sure, Portelli continues, “in the case of the community or the general public, attention must be gained and retained — or, if the word does not offend — entertained” (pg. 19).

In this respect, Terkel and his work have much to teach academic historians. As Peter Dreier explains in The Nation:

Terkel was not the first oral historian, but he transformed the genre into a popular literary form. His books reflected Terkel’s genius for interviewing people and eliciting vivid and fascinating stories from everyday persons, a skill honed over the years on his radio program. He drew people out, creating a tapestry of conversation that revealed insights into the American character. Terkel made people comfortable by being respectful, really listening to them… He believed that most people had something to say worth hearing.

Indeed, Ritchie adds that “a new generation of American historians [who] began writing history ‘from the bottom up'” were “[encouraged in] these efforts [by] the best-selling books of Studs Terkel…” (pg. 7). I should think, then, that academic historians could stand to be a bit more generous when it comes to acknowledging Terkel and his influence, in spite of their qualifications about certain aspects of his work.

Of course, this is not to say that he doesn’t have advocates in the ivory tower — he absolutely does. Frisch, for example, has defended Terkel and his books. He even goes so far as to say that the author of “The Good War” is not only an oral historian, but a historian in the fullest sense:

Studs Terkel is a historian, first if not foremost, because he has done so much to document and study our past. His books will remain a cumulative, definitive chronicle of virtually every dimension of modern American culture and history (with the exception of gender, a subject perhaps for the next Studs Terkel). It’s also worth noting, and with a satisfying sense of irony, that Terkel is most appropriately called a serious historian because, however great his distance from the academy and maybe precisely because of that distance, for over forty years he unfolded, in one major work after another, those arguments about history and historical practice recently trumpeted as “discoveries” (and with so much postmodern huffing and puffing): about history as memory and memory as history, about the social construction and historicity of categories like race, about “sites of contention,” the discourses and dialogics of difference, and so on. Important insights all and crucial tools in the broadened interrogation of the past that propels modern historical scholarship, but in stark danger of implosion into the black hole of academic preciousness, preening, and self-imposed isolation.

If there is one book of Terkel’s in which this is all most apparent, it is surely “The Good War” — Frisch is quite right to dub it “the most historically organized and focused of all his books.” (I think it’s probably reasonable to assume that these facts were part of the Pulitzer committee’s thinking when they chose to honor this book of Terkel’s and not, say, 1974’s better-known and much-beloved Working: People Talk about What They Do All Day and How They Feel about What They Do.) In a career that has produced many more than its fair share of masterpieces, “The Good War” undeniably stands out.

Though it is exemplary in terms of the Terkel hallmarks discussed above, there is something else that really sets “The Good War” apart: the wideness of the net that it casts. The assembled voices include not only the White male veterans whose stories we’re used to hearing in works like Stephen Ambrose’s Band of Brothers: E Company, 506th Regiment, 101st Airborne from Normandy to Hitler’s Eagle’s Nest (1992) or narrator E.B. Sledge’s With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa (1981), but also those whose stories we’re far less used to hearing even today, thirty-five years after the book’s initial publication. Among many others, we hear from women, people of color (including incarcerated Japanese-Americans), LGBTQIA+ individuals, children, noncombatants, conscientious objectors, and artists.

In other words, “The Good War” is incredibly “woke” for its time. I am by no means a connoisseur of World War II histories, but I have a very strong suspicion that few — if any — other relevant titles from the 1980s will hold up nearly as well as this one.

We can probably attribute some of this to Terkel’s excellent, leftist politics — or, more specifically, one part of their origins. As Dreier explains: “During the 1930s, his political awareness was…nurtured at Bughouse Square, a free-speech area of a local park where an assortment of Socialists, Communists, vegetarians, Christian fundamentalists, and others would mount soapboxes and hold forth.” Much like his old stomping ground in its heyday, “The Good War” offers a remarkable diversity of voices. And thanks to Terkel’s nonjudgmental listening and skillful interviewing, these voices yield an invaluable assortment of thoughts and opinions on a range of topics — everything from the Atomic Age to how movies depict the combat experience to U.S.-Russia relations in the years after the war.

At the same time, “The Good War” never suggests that the reader should adopt some kind of misguided relativism; Terkel’s moral compass never falters, and he is a clear-sighted and stalwart guide through these vast and varied voices. Consider the the scare quotes in the title. As he explains (pg. vii):

The title of this book was suggested by Herbert Mitgang, who experienced World War II as an army correspondent. It is a phrase that has been frequently voiced by men of his and my generation, to distinguish that war from other wars, declared and undeclared. Quotation marks have been added, not as a matter of caprice or editorial comment, but simply because the adjective “good” mated to the noun “war” is so incongruous.

Discussing common themes in the book’s collected interviews, he continues: “In battle, the order of the day was often disorder. Again and again survivors, gray, bald, potbellied, or cadaverous, remember chaos” (pg. 7). Terkel was a veteran himself, though his was “limited service” in the “air force, 1942-1943” due to a “perforated eardrum”; for him, things were “stateside all the way, safe and uneventful” (pg. 4). The relative ease of his own experience notwithstanding, the author has no illusions about what war is and what it isn’t: the romantic jingoism and selective nostalgia that taint so many World War II histories get no quarter here, and “The Good War” is all the greater for it.

I’ll give Frisch the last word, because I don’t think there’s another scholar who understands Terkel quite as well as he does:

As a historian, he never forgot Marx’s enduring challenge that the point of understanding and interpreting the world ought to be to seek to change it. And in the process of making this point to so many millions of readers and listeners, he changed the practice and potential of oral history profoundly — and of American historiography as well. [Terkel critic Edward] Rothstein was right: “He gave voice to many, among them himself.” Studs Terkel’s enduring works of history preserve many voices and present his own, all in a rich, productive, transparent, engaged conversation that readers will continue to find it easy and meaningful to join. Which is exactly what characterizes the best historians and the histories they leave us.

Posted in Book Notes | Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

“Visual Media in Syria”

I’ve written a review of Donatella Della Ratta’s exceptional new book Shooting a Revolution: Visual Media and Warfare in Syria for H-Net: Humanities and Social Sciences Online’s H-Socialisms network. You can read the whole thing right here.

Posted in Articles | Tagged , , , , , ,

Finding My Thing

(The obligatory headphones-on-oral-history-bookshelf snapshot common to so many blogs and websites.)

“I often reflect upon what it means to identify as an oral historian. What makes each one of us an oral historian…? Are we oral historians only if the interviews we conduct are transcribed, indexed and deposited into a traditional archive? Is it someone’s masterful interview technique that allows them to identify as an oral historian? Or, is it how one interprets, analyzes and then artfully incorporates oral histories into their research, book, podcast or exhibit design?”

–  Shira Hudson in her post “The Identity of an Oral Historian” for the blog of Columbia University’s Master of Arts in Oral History program

Almost two years ago, my friend Aaron passed away after a bout with cancer. He and I were able to speak by phone a few days before his death, and though I had been afraid that it was a “goodbye” call, he was hopeful about overcoming his illness, curious about all that Steph and I were up to, and wanting to make plans to share some of our writing back and forth with each other. Just before we hung up, though, he was serious for a moment and said, “Remember to enjoy your life.”

On its face, this might seem like the parting wisdom of a dying friend. It was that, I think. But it also felt like the final punctuation to an earlier part of our conversation: specifically, a lengthy discussion about professional identity.

Aaron had observed that I seemed to be struggling mightily with my own. In fact, as anyone paying attention to my online presence at that time might have noticed, I had been something of a dilettante, trying on a series of self-descriptors over a period of months — from “writer” to “video essayist” to “video activist” to “filmmaker” to “documentarian” and back to “writer” again. To be fair, these all corresponded with the study, experimentation, and play I had been doing to discern my own place in the documentary landscape. But rather than just study, experiment, and play, I was obsessive about putting a label on myself, clearly in the habit of donning one before I’d even determined if it was a proper fit.

Aaron wanted me to relax, smell the roses, and have faith that such things would work themselves out in their own time and in their own way.

On the one hand, I had to agree with him; experience had taught me that fixation was inversely related to my ability to make meaningful progress on almost anything. For example, Steph and I often wonder if we would have gotten together (or stayed together) if, when we met, we hadn’t both been at a point where we’d stopped “worrying” about being single and learned to be (and enjoy being) alone. (I don’t know how I would have been fully present to our relationship if I was preoccupied with being in a relationship, if that makes sense.)

On the other hand, though, I wasn’t sure this sort of approach was entirely practical when it came to my professional identity. I was at the start of a second career, and no spring chicken; I needed to pin down “my thing,” get moving, and make up for some lost time. I also knew that I was going to be completing a major research project (M.R.P.) as part of my M.F.A. degree; in order to make best use of that time, it sure seemed like I ought to get as clear as possible about my own documentary practice…and, at that point, there wasn’t a lot of time left to do that. If finding my thing felt urgently important, then, perhaps that’s because it actually sort of was.

After Aaron died, though, I thought a lot about what he said and tried to relax at least a little bit. I figured that if I kept my nose to the grindstone and my wits about me that I would get closer to finding my thing, slowly but surely — though hopefully not too slowly.

And I’ll be damned if that’s not pretty much exactly what happened.

Flash-forward more than a year: I’m at home one evening, at work on my M.R.P., the Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project. A digital storytelling initiative inspired by Steph and her family, it’s a project I haven’t been able to shake: I’d applied to the M.F.A. program with the idea, and though I’d entertained others (one in particular), I couldn’t seem to set this one aside. It’s now or never, my guts seemed to say.

So there I am working. When I’m not editing or adding components to what will become CJOHP.org, I’m expanding and revising my support paper. There are books, memory cards, and papers everywhere. It’s a moment representative of how I’ve spent (and will spend) many, many identical hours in the months leading up to the 2019 DocNow festival.

On this particular evening, Steph sits beside me on the couch, doing some of her own work. Ordinarily, I love it when we’re both sitting together, quietly reading, watching a movie, or even, yes, working overtime. But on this night, I hardly notice she’s there: I’m definitely in a state of “flow.” That is, I’m completely and totally wrapped up in my work — “in the zone.” And this isn’t unusual either; it’s like this a lot when I’m working on the M.R.P.

At some point, I feel eyes on me and look up to see Steph smiling warmly. “What?” I ask.

“You found it, didn’t you? You found your thing.”

I hadn’t even noticed. “You know…I think I might have.”

It’s probably obvious, but the thing that I’d found was “oral history.” After two-plus years of study and practice in documentary media-making, I can say that I definitely have a very strong affinity for oral history as “a field of study and a method of gathering, preserving and interpreting the voices and memories of people, communities, and participants in past events” (to quote the Oral History Association).

Funnily enough, I’ve always been drawn to nonfiction work built around oral history and testimony — everything from Studs Terkel’s literary opus Working: People Talk About What They Do All Day and How They Feel About What They Do (1974) to verbatim theater like Moisés Kaufman and members of the Tectonic Theater Project’s The Laramie Project (2000) to documentary films like Spike Lee’s When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts (2006). Working on my own oral history project, though, showed me that it’s not just an area that I have a particular appreciation for — it’s something I really want to do.

In retrospect, the pull towards an oral history methodology makes a lot of sense — I’m sort of surprised I didn’t figure it out sooner. For example, my first career in spiritual care and counseling relies on many of the same skills, including and especially active listening. I still have a great deal to learn about oral historical work, but I definitely come to it from a background that could be described as “complementary.”

What’s more, the oral history methodology speaks loudly and clearly to the frustrations I’ve felt as a so-called “documentary artist.” For example, when I came across this quote from the Belarusian Nobel laureate Svetlana Alexievich — author of such literary oral histories as The Unwomanly Face of War: An Oral History of Women in World War II (1988) and Voices from Chernobyl: The Oral History of a Nuclear Disaster (2005) — I wept because I could so identify with it:

I’ve been searching for a genre that would be most adequate to my vision of the world to convey how my ear hears and my eyes see life. I tried this and that and finally I chose a genre where human voices speak for themselves. … Today when man and the world have become so multifaceted and diversified the document in art is becoming increasingly interesting while art as such often proves impotent. The document brings us closer to reality as it captures and preserves the originals. After twenty years of work with documentary material and having written five books on their basis I declare that art has failed to understand many things about people.

Of course, if oral historical work is my thing, then that raises more questions about professional identity — specifically, though, the one raised by Shira Hudson in the epigraph of this post: “What makes each one of us an oral historian?”

Terkel famously eschewed the label, choosing instead to call himself a “guerilla journalist.” I’ve got one graduate degree that says “history” in it, and I took a course on historiography when I was working on my doctorate, but I’m not a historian either. Rather, according to Ryerson University, I’m now a “Master of Fine Arts.” So do I have any business calling myself an oral historian? Is favoring an oral historical methodology enough to call oneself that?

Blessedly, the field of oral history itself seems fairly broadminded and open to a wide variety of approaches. The Oral History Association, for example, notes that its membership represents “various [academic] disciplines” and also includes those from “both inside and outside the academy.” Indeed, there are all sorts of community practitioners, and it would certainly be the height of snootiness to begrudge them the label just because they don’t work in the ivory tower.

All of that said, I don’t know that I even need to call myself “an oral historian.” I’ve tried it on already (of course — sorry, Aaron), but it doesn’t feel like something I actually need to do. Alexievich’s professional, English-language bio just says that she has “developed her own nonfiction genre, which gathers a chorus of voices to describe a specific historical moment.” I like that. That feels like enough.

I’m similarly content to say simply that I’m a writer and educator who is working and thinking at the intersection of oral history and the documentary arts. I’m interested in all of it — from the most rigorous academic oral histories to literary oral histories to verbatim theater to digital storytelling to films made from witness testimony to everything in between. That’s my thing. Beyond that, I don’t need a label. I’m good.

But I do want to devote more time here at this blog to focused learning and development in this area. I imagine there will be book reviews, reflections like this one, discussions of relevant tools and resources, video essays, and possibly more. (I know I’ve made noise about restarting the blog before, but I’d only partially identified my thing at that point and got sidetracked.) It’s largely for me, I suppose. But for those practitioners who do care about the places where oral history and the documentary arts intersect, I hope this space will end up offering something meaningful.

So here we go again. My thanks to you, the readers, for indulging me.

And thank you, Aaron.

Posted in Reflections

“Doc This!”: Episode Six (Season Finale)

As previously mentioned, two of my classmates, John Verhaeven and Kenny McDonald, have been producing a podcast called “Doc This!” Its goal is to “get behind the minds and processes of Ryerson University’s MFA Documentary Media students.” I’ve been the regular co-host with another classmate, Sara Wylie.

Episode Six, the “season finale,” is now live, and you should definitely check it out: in this “souvenir edition,” every member of my MFA cohort (including me) gets a turn at the mic talking about their thesis project. It’s all stunning work, made by lovely people.

I’m not sure what the fate of the podcast will be after this season — I’ll certainly keep you posted. If this is the end of my run with it, I’ll just say that it has been an honor, a pleasure, and a learning experience (in all the very best ways). My deepest gratitude to Sara, John, Kenny, and so-frequent-a-guest-co-host-that-he-might-as-well-have-been-a-regular-co-host Pearson Ripley.

Posted in News

The Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project is Live at CJOHP.org

CJOHP.org homepage.

The Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project, my M.F.A. thesis project, is officially live online at CJOHP.org! Please have a look and give a listen.

The project will be ongoing, but debuts with an initial group of narrators that includes:

You can see each narrator’s portrait and listen to their interview by clicking on their name.

In addition, please do take a look at the interactive timeline (which I spent a lot of time on) and additional resources page, and follow the project on social media.

Posted in News, Oral History

I Am Interviewed on Episode Five of the “Doc This!” Podcast

As previously mentioned, two of my classmates, John Verhaeven and Kenny McDonald, are producing a podcast called “Doc This!” Its goal is to “get behind the minds and processes of Ryerson University’s MFA Documentary Media students.” I co-host with another classmate, Sara Wylie.

Episode Five is now live, and, oh, how the tables have turned: the guest is me! In it, I talk to Sara and guest co-host Pearson Ripley about my newly unveiled MFA thesis work (the Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project), as well as oral history as a documentary art. I hope you’ll give it a listen…

Posted in News

PRESS RELEASE: The Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project Will Launch Its Website and a Digital Storytelling Exhibit at Ryerson University During the 2019 DocNow Festival

(Photo by Daniel Clarkson Fisher for the Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project.)

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact: Daniel Clarkson Fisher (daniel.c.fisher@ryerson.ca)

The Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project Will Launch Its Website and a Digital Storytelling Exhibit at Ryerson University During the 2019 DocNow Festival

TORONTO, May 23, 2019 – The Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project, a new initiative that aims to record and preserve stories from the Chinese Jamaican community in Toronto, will launch an interactive website (CJOHP.org) and a digital storytelling exhibit in June. The project is one part of DocNow 2019, a documentary festival featuring innovative work from students in Ryerson University’s Master of Fine Arts (MFA) in Documentary Media program.

An opening reception will take place on Wednesday, June 19th, from 6:00 – 9:00 pm, at the Image Factory (IMA 324) in Ryerson’s School of Image Arts building (122 Bond Street). The public is invited to attend, and can RSVP at https://bit.ly/2YJgrDE. The exhibit will also run in the Image Factory until June 30th.

“This project began with the vision of the late, great Chinese Jamaican photographer Ray Chen,” says Daniel Clarkson Fisher, the MFA candidate behind the project. “In the fall of 2015, he tried to organize an oral history project with a group of interested parties from within the community, including my partner Stephanie Lyn. After Ray died, though, the project seemed to as well.” However, when Fisher was accepted into the Documentary Media program, he saw an opportunity to revive it. “Stephanie and I always had a lot of faith in Ray’s idea, and when I got into the MFA program I saw that it offered many of the things that were needed to make it a reality: time, equipment, supervision, etc. So I jumped at the chance to get things going. And I like to think Ray would see the work that’s been done as a very solid start toward his vision.”

Posted in News, Oral History

“Doc This!”: Episode Four

As previously mentioned, two of my classmates, John Verhaeven and Kenny McDonald, are producing a new podcast called “Doc This!” Its goal is to “get behind the minds and processes of Ryerson University’s MFA Documentary Media students.” I co-host with another classmate, Sara Wylie.

Episode Four is now live. In it, guest co-host Pearson Ripley and I interview Sara about her extraordinary new documentary short The Garden Collective. Do check it out — you don’t want to miss this one.

Posted in News

“Racist Violence Is a Family Thing in DID YOU WONDER WHO FIRED THE GUN?”

I’m now a regular columnist for PopMatters. Here’s my first piece in this new role: a review of Travis Wilkerson’s latest essay film, Did You Wonder Who Fired the Gun?

Big thanks to my most excellent editor Karen Zarker, and my sister Anna for giving me feedback on an early draft.

You can read the whole thing here.

Posted in Articles

The 6th Emerging Scholars Symposium on Oral History, Digital Storytelling, and Creative Practice

I’ve just received word that my proposal was accepted, and I’ll be presenting at the 6th Emerging Scholars Symposium on Oral History, Digital Storytelling, and Creative Practice at Concordia University’s Centre for Oral History and Digital Storytelling!

The subject will be my M.F.A. thesis project: The Chinese Jamaican Oral History Project (CJOHP.org). I’ll also discuss the major ethical challenge of representation in my research-creation. “As a white man who has married into the community, but is not of it, I am approaching this subject as an outsider,” I say in the proposal. “As such, I have had to devise strategies that reflect my affinity with [oral historian] Jan L. Peterson, who has said that ‘in terms of White researchers researching across differences, letting go of prior notions of who and what defines research; questioning choices that are made regarding research design and analysis; and interrogating White privilege, biases, and assumptions we bring to the process are all critical to transformational research that seeks to improve human conditions.'” [1]

I’ll present with other emerging scholars in Montreal on March 22nd. For more information about the symposium, visit this page on the Centre for Oral History and Digital Storytelling’s official website.

  1. Jan L. Peterson, “The Intersection of Oral History and the Role of White Researchers in Cross-Cultural Contexts,” Educational Foundations 22, nos. 3-4: 50.
Posted in News, Oral History