disaster – American Disasters

May 6, 2014December 16, 2020

Takeaways

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For my last blog post I figured I would save it for the end of the semester to comment on things that I felt either stuck with me or opened my eyes to different approaches on history. I think Cronon was a perfect piece for the end of the semester as Professor Shrout explained to Wells that Cronon gave us an authoritative perspective on historical writing and narrative just as we were filled with months of thoughts and opinions. I’m not sure I’m going to have the same takeaway as Wells did, coming to have a greater appreciation for historical narrative and storytelling, but I did takeaway something I think will give me a different perspective on the last year of my journey as a history major as well as my major thesis coming up next semester.

Cronon’s work and our subsequent class discussion today made me realize that regardless of the sources I use, the historical facts in play, or previous scholarship on the topic, I alone can create my story. In essence, we have all the tools in front of us to shape history in whatever manner to provide us with the message we want to send to our audience. Whether that means picking the starting and stopping points, the type of primary sources, the certain perspective of the subject, the different kinds of voices, or even the moral questions you want to ask or answer; the story you create is entirely up to you. Many of us, I would assume, feel the need that we have to take stories of the past and comment on them now to make our point, however; I think we need to expand our commentary as young historians and realize that we can create new stories that explain the history we want told and ask the questions we want to be answered. I just hope this epiphany is in time to make my mark on history. Also, CT tremendous closure to the course. Swanson, out.

April 2, 2014December 16, 2020

Constructing Disaster Narratives

I think both Wells and Dan rightly argue that disasters present people with a “blank canvas” on which they are able to project their own meanings or interpretations. We can see this to be true in Biel’s chapter, “The Rule of the Sea and Land” where he writes, “A conventional narrative of the Titanic disaster began to take shape before any survivor had been interviewed” (23). The narrative of the chivalric male dominated the press accounts of the disaster before any eyewitness accounts had been documented. Further, in the foreword, Biel cites Henry Adams who used the disaster to promote his own anti-Republican agenda.

I want to pause and acknowledge Molly’s assertion that we must not undermine the significant human loss of disasters’ such as the Titanic. I do think that in the study history there is a tendency to try to understand the broader social and historical implications of a disaster, and then as a result gloss over the numbers of dead. However, I think it is precisely this that constitutes a disaster in the first place – loss of human life and capital. Not to put words in their mouths, but I believe that where Wells and Dan argue that a disaster becomes a blank canvas is after the event becomes viewed as a disaster.

In considering this idea that the Titanic presented an opportunity for people to promote their own agenda or to assert their own disaster narrative, we can see a similar scenario play out in other disasters we have studied. In my own research into the San Francisco Earthquake, this idea plays out in numerous ways. For one, the Progressives certainly saw the disaster as an opportunity to rebuild the city to reflect Progressive ideals. Another example is the intense seismic denial following the Earthquake, as well as the aggressive attempt to ascribe the damage to the fires for fear that the city would not be rebuilt.

As we discussed early on in the course, disasters have the unique ability to bring social issues to the surface. Perhaps the way in which these societal tensions surface is through people using disaster as an opportunity to express sentiments that might be disregarded otherwise.

March 26, 2014December 16, 2020

Interpreting Disaster

I thought that both pieces had some intriguing arguments. Steinberg helped me answer some questions that I had about the San Francisco Earthquake, while Davis raises more questions for me to figure out that mamorte highlights in his post.

Steinberg seems to answer the question that we had in class Tuesday as to why the San Franciscan businessmen did not want people to know that the city had been destroyed; the businesses wanted other places to assume that the city was fine, and that they could do business as usual with the San Franciscan businesses. Moreover, the businessmen wanted others in commerce to believe that even though the city was earthquake-prone, this would not affect its business because they circulated the idea that the fire did more damage to the city than the earthquake; any city is susceptible to fire. I also agree with Steinberg’s argument that “blurring the boundary between natural and human actions obscures the social and economic forces responsible for calamity in the first place” (118). People try to make it more difficult to pin down the causes of what actually happened in order to disperse evidence for blame. This idea also poses a threat to the reliability of primary source evidence in the study of history and disasters. When people try to make sense of a traumatic event in immediate aftermath while trying not to place blame on themselves or others like themselves, they are much more likely to skew their own interpretation of what happened.

I also liked Davis and his piece about the ecology of fear, comparing disasters in different time periods and how they’ve developed. I think it’s interesting how he claims that disasters will continue to have more catastrophic effect, even though we have had a lull in terms of calamity from disasters since the Gilded Age. I am not saying that I disagree with his main argument, but I find it intriguing.

January 27, 2014December 16, 2020

A Positive Understanding of Disaster: New Confidence From Gilded-Age “Innovation”

Blog Post 3 (for Tuesday, 1/28)

In his introduction to American Disasters, Steven Biel reinforces a notion that our class has grown familiar with over the last few weeks: the category of disaster is a seemingly arbitrary catchall for unusual destructive events. The essays that follow further demonstrate how the study of disaster can be approached from almost any angle.

Sheila Hones, in “Distant Disasters, Local Fears”, describes how local characterizations of distant disasters can illuminate “areas of immediate cultural or social concern” (171). In particular, she examines how a Boston publication called The Atlantic Monthly described disastrous events during late 19^th century. For example, “His Best” is the fictional tale of a working class Irishman who falls in love with an upper class girl in the midst of a flood. The narrative integrates the natural disaster as a metaphor/parallelism of the social instability that the romance represents. The working class man’s passion is a threat to societal order. Perhaps the “immediate… concern” that this particular story addresses is the problem of incorporating the immigrants that were “flooding” America during the late 19^th century. Additionally, Hones also explains that distance makes the event feel like a “safe theater” for social introspection (171). Because “His Best” is set in fictional Virginia, rather than real Boston, the author is free to explore the issues of class in a non-confrontational manner.

Kevin Rozario, in his essay “What Comes Down Must Go Up”, writes about the economic opportunities that result from disasters. Just as disasters promote social progress by revealing the “challenges to established ways”, they also promote economic progress through “creative destruction”—the idea that outdated systems must be eliminated to make way for more modern replacements (Biel 3, Rozario 73). For example, a businessman named George Harvey who witnessed the San Francisco earthquake and fire of 1906 expressed excitement for the “resuscitated capital” (73). By this he meant the physically rebuilt capital city, but also alluded to “the revitalizing role of the calamity for American capitalism” (73). Inevitably, innovation and progress would replace what was destroyed by the quake. For Harvey, the San Francisco quake was an economic opportunity. This philosophy seems particularly well paired with the rapid industrialization that characterized the Gilded Age. And on a deeper level, the notion that “destruction breeds progress” is consistent with the Gilded Age’s lack of policy regarding industry regulation. Eli Caldwell describes how Gilded Age businessmen were hardly concerned with the ethics of industrialization, saying: “the so-called progressives of San Francisco cared as little about the effect of their plans on the working class as did Haussmann, though at least they did not blast away their housing with cannon.”

These two articles illuminate the cultural and social milieu of the Gilded Age while also demonstrating the manner in which disasters were understood during this period. Personally, I think that “His Best” and George Harvey both show that people who lived during the late 19^th and early 20^th century felt more confident in the face of disaster, because of social, intellectual, economic, and technological changes that they believed were “innovations.” The fictional story seems comfortable utilizing the disaster as a literary metaphor, and Harvey views disaster as an economic opportunity.

January 27, 2014December 16, 2020

The Benefits of Disaster

The detrimental losses and challenges of homeowners, widows and politicians after a disaster often obscure the disaster’s economical, historical and geographical advantages. That is not to say that the human aspect of disasters should be removed, but rather that those who study disasters should do so using two analytical methods: one which recognizes the immediate impact and one which considers the historical legacy.

As Kevin Rozario points out in “What Comes Down Must Go Up” economic loss is the initial stage, but economic growth is the latter stage. Similar to Sarah’s post, I also, find this concept strange. However, redevelopment of cities, through reconstruction and urban planning can adapt cities to meet the current more modern needs while bringing in jobs. Following the fire in New York City in 1835 property prices increased from $93,000 to $765,000. Additionally, the San Francisco earthquake and fire destroyed about five acres worth of property and left hundreds of people dead, but allowed the city to recreate itself following the Parisian model of transformation (Rozario). Given that this era was abundant in disasters and therefore demanding of reconstruction, the argument James Connolly made in “Bringing the City Back in” about urban planning in the Gilded Age gains credibility.

But further than Eli’s point in “The perverse and often baffling economics of disaster,” I believe disasters have more than just an economic benefit. In year 79 Pompeian citizens lost their lives when Mount Vesuvius exploded. Over 1500 years later archaeologists and historians excavated the site and made discoveries that have contributed to the modern understanding of the Pax Romana time period. Similarly the King Manor Museum (KMM) in Jamaica, Queens experienced a fire in 1962 that “damaged the upper floors of the manor house” but left artifacts such as “bottles and jars, household ceramics, flower pot fragments, tin cans, buttons, nails, bricks, animal bones, plaster and foil” (Matthews, 737). Archaeologists were then able to interpret these remains to understand how the museum served as a “center for cultivating elite women’s agency” (734). Disaster as a means of preservation seems contradictory, especially when descriptions of disaster include: economic loss, damage, emergency, tragedy, victims, and mortality rate (Hewitt). Maybe in another 2000 years historians and archaeologists will make discoveries about our society and culture based on artifacts from Hurricane Sandy or the 2010 Haitian earthquake.

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

Robert Polidori’s “5417 Marigny Street”: The Power of Photography

Different kinds of primary sources have the ability to offer distinct looks into the past. A diary entry can provide one person’s emotions and perspectives that may clue a historian into a pattern that existed across a certain faction of society. Advertisements offer suggestions about the interests of a particular demographic according to what the advertisement focuses on. Art is an interesting primary source in that it almost works as a visual diary through which the artist conveys a message. In the “State of Emergency” exhibit, the artists’ intentions seem to be grounded in eliciting an emotional response from the viewer. However, as historians, it is important to recognize these intentions and the emotions the artist is trying to convey in order to objectively analyze the works and their historical merit.

Robert Polidori’s photograph, 5417 Marigny Street, New Orleans, LA, is a great example how art can act as a primary source. The photo is of the inside of a home that was made uninhabitable by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. In it you can see dirty dishes on the coffee table, bottles of Tabasco on the counter, and tattered furniture that will never be sat in again; it is the portrait of a life interrupted. It is for this reason that this photograph is distinct from images that flashed across the TV screens, or were plastered all over newspapers and magazines following the disaster. While those images are disturbing and emotional in their own right, Polidori is able to strike a different chord with his viewers by photographing the inside of this home. Images from within the home paint a more complete picture of the people who lived in it, and the life that was taken from them.

Sometimes there are weaknesses in a primary source’s ability to provide a historian with enough information to draw larger conclusions. This photograph however, does not necessarily fall victim to this tendency because although this is only a picture of one home, the viewer knows that there were thousands more pictures to be taken, just like this one. Perhaps the furniture would have been arranged differently, or a different book on the coffee table, but it would still portray an interrupted life. This realization can allow historians to begin to assess the social implications of a disaster like Hurricane Katrina, which are crucial to writing the history of a certain event. While written accounts are valuable in their own ways, works of art like Polidori’s photograph can enhance a historians understanding through heightening the emotional response of the viewer through personalization.

For all its merits as a historical primary source, a potential weakness of Polidori’s photograph is that he did not live through Hurricane Katrina himself. He is a photographer that was sent to New Orleans post-Katrina by the New York Times to photograph the destruction. In the case of this particular photograph, 5417 Marigny Street, there doesn’t seem to be any traces of personal bias, but the photographer’s background is important to note for the reason that it may have affect his approach to this assignment, or even to his photography in general. It forces us to examine the Polidori’s motivations, which may not be bad, but should be noted. Despite this potential shortcoming, however, I still contend that his photograph is ultimately successful in enhancing our understanding of the impact that Hurricane Katrina had on the people of New Orleans, and subsequently, the wider implications it had on the city of New Orleans—politically, economically, etc.

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

History Is More Than Just The Facts

World War II is often touted as one of the bloodiest moments in history, and for good reason. Children today often grow up hearing tales of the nearly incomprehensible atrocities that occurred during this bleak moment in history, leaving words such as Holocaust, Hiroshima, and Hitler ringing in their ears. But what impressions do these tales really leave on those who have never experienced the unique terror of each individual disaster? And what assurance do those that had an active part in each tragic moment of history have that their terrors won’t fade away as humanity continues its blundering and blind race into the future?

Art is one way to ensure that more than the facts and experiences of history continue forward- it has the ability to encapsulate the emotions of each disaster and invoke them into each viewer. In his dynamic piece, London 1940, Bloomsbury, Clerkenwell, Southwalk, Waterloo (2012), Matthew Picton presents a tangible way to keep these memories alive through his vivid portrayal of just a sliver of the damage mankind wrought on both itself and nature in London, 1940. Picton’s piece incorporates text, paper, and charcoal into a meaningful rendition of the impact of German aerial bombing on the city of London during World War II. Yellowed paper fragments that are formed to depict the layout of the city of London vividly contrast with blackened sections of the “city” where the paper buildings have been completely burned away, leaving nothing behind but the foundations and black smudges of ash.

In regard to the intention behind his piece, Picton states: “The city represents a fragile compact between the forces of nature and those of human desire and inequality” (State of Emergency exhibit). In extension to Picton’s analysis of his own work, it is certainly apparent that in the continual battle between nature and man, man often destroys not only nature, but also himself. Picton’s inclusion of the Thames River, smudged and dirtied with charcoal, brings an element of nature into his rendition of London. The treatment of the surface of the Thames plainly demonstrates the effect man has on the purity of nature. Yet, far more garish than the smudged surface of the Thames are the black abysses left in the center of London from the bombings. The devastation from the bombings makes it clear that man not only has the power to irreparably damage nature, but also through the process to destroy himself and his creations.

Extending beyond Picton’s synopsis of the power of his own work, viewers and historians alike can more broadly analyze the impact that a piece like this can have on the study of history. Picton’s rendition of midcentury London suggests that no piece of history, however small, is unimportant. Though perhaps larger World War II tragedies such as the Holocaust and the nuclear bombings in Japan overshadow in some ways the bombings in London, as historians it is absolutely imperative not to gloss over any moment in history, no matter how small. Though his piece depicts only a small fragment of the city of London and an even smaller sliver of the damage left in Europe from World War II, the impact of this disaster cannot be overstated.

While staring at Picton’s rendition of wartime London, it is easy to feel the confusion and panic London citizens must have felt as they raced among the haphazard and disorderly London streets to escape the falling bombs. This is why art can be such a powerful tool- it can invoke emotions in such a way that allows the viewer to feel as though they are part of that moment in history instead of just an observer.

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

Simple Words Trump Sheer Size

The “State of Emergency” art exhibit in the Belk Visual Arts Center on the campus of Davidson College almost seems ironic at first glance. An exhibit that shows off artists and their interpretations of crisis is actually remarkably clean, modern and spacious. When I think of disaster and crisis my mind doesn’t picture sleek, white walls and a spacious gallery, however, this is what I saw at the “State of Emergency” exhibit. To me, this unique and somewhat mislead structure, describes the meaning of the entire exhibit as a whole. To me it represents how these works of art are providing different ways at looking at disaster and crisis just as the exhibit structure provides you with a different visual viewpoint. Furthermore, because of this unique design, I found myself leaving the area with most of the art pieces and focusing on the room across the hall. At first, I couldn’t tell if it was a piece of art or a building structure or what; it was massive. As I began to lean in I realized it was a wall with names all over it. But it wasn’t just a wall; this wall represented the massive size of the 2008 Sichuan earthquake.

This work was called “Namelist and Remembrance,” by Ai Weiwei which commemorates the school children lost in the 2008 Sichuan earthquake. According to the exhibit curator, “Namelist” will cover the gallery walls with the names of 5,196 schoolchildren who perished in the earthquake because of shoddily constructed schools. The names of the deceased will be read aloud in the audio work, “Remembrance.” As background, Ai Weiwei is a Chinese contemporary artist, active in sculpture, installation, architecture, and social, political and cultural criticism. As a political activist, he has been openly critical of the Chinese Government’s stance on human rights and has even investigated government corruption, in particular the Sichuan schools corruption scandal following the collapse of so-called “tofu-dreg schools” in the 2008 Sichuan earthquake.

Subsequently, Weiwei’s work, “Namelist and Remembrance,” is a continuation and political expression of his investigation into the scandal following the earthquake. The 2008 Sichuan earthquake, according to official figures, stated that 69,197 were confirmed dead, including 68,636 in Sichuan province, and 374,176 injured, with 18,222 listed as missing. Besides the sheer size of the artwork by Weiwei and its evident resemblance to the size of the earthquake, I believe his work is making a much bigger political argument than just commemorating the lives lost. I think this piece offers a unique window into the terrors of the earthquake, and in Weiwei’s attempt, probably the terrors of the Chinese government. This piece details all of Weiwei’s work in the past on the corruption of the Chinese government but shows us intimate details about that event like no other kind of historical evidence can. As this piece is a reaction to disaster and crisis, it is fitting that in Ai Weiwei’s past he led a team to survey the post-quake conditions in various disaster zones. I think this artwork can shine some light about the time and place where this crisis occurred and maybe more importantly, something about the human values of this civilization. With the background of Weiwei and the source information from the Sichuan earthquake, I believe his argument is a response to the government’s lack of transparency. By creating this sculpture with all the student’s names on it, I think he is doing what the government didn’t do in revealing names of students who perished in the earthquake due to substandard school campus constructions. A political statement against the Chinese government takes on the simplest of forms, as the artwork is just a list of names; an extremely powerful message.

Weiwei’s piece highlights and certainly speaks true to the message given by exhibit curator Lia Newman when she claimed, “The goal of the exhibition is not simply to present images of horror or ‘disaster pornography’ but rather to open a dialogue about the role artists can play in bringing attention to disasters while working toward recovery.” By not only commemorating those who had passed and taking political action through art, Weiwei is an excellent example of artists using their role in society to shine light on disaster relief and crisis situations at all ends of the earth.

Source: (Ai, Weiwei (2011). Ai Weiwei’s Blog: Writings, Interviews, and Digital Rants 2006-2009. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press. p. 209.)

January 24, 2014December 16, 2020

Individuality vs. Anonymity: the “Ubiquitous Yet Indescribable” Nature of Art

Blog Post #2 (for the State of Emergency exhibition)

A black and white spreadsheet envelops an entire wall, each row representing a young victim of the 2008 Sichuan earthquake. Chinese characters denoting name, gender, and birthdate fill the cells. The language prevents me from being able to speak these words, making the incident seem foreign and distant, but the length of the list alone is disturbing. A startling number of the cells have been left blank, representing unidentified victims. Ironically, what’s distinct about these victims is that nothing is known about them. They have been given their own space on the spreadsheet yet remain indistinguishable.

Ai Weiwei’s “Namelist” demonstrates a grim dichotomy between individuality and anonymity. The piece is as much a list of information as it is a work of art, and viewers are inclined to see it as both. When observed as information, viewers interpret the data and focus intensely on a small portion. But when observed as art, viewers observe the entirety of the piece and their focus is scattered. The victims are represented with individuality in the former approach, but with anonymity in the latter. “Namelist” is both commemorative monument and a provocative message in this way. I feel some reverence for the victims of this disaster, but am mostly unable to connect with them. Instead, the sanitary, apathetic presentation and sheer vastness of the piece disgust me as much as the wreckage probably would have.

A second piece accompanies the first. In “Remembrance”, voices read off the names of the victims. Each name is read by a different voice. After listening to the track play for a while, the names and voices both become indistinguishable. Much like the spreadsheet did, “Remembrance” pays homage to each victim individually, but they are all eventually forgotten in the multitude. Also like the spreadsheet, my inability to understand the language restricts my ability to feel sympathetic for each victim. Because the sounds are meaningless to me, each name blends into the next. I cannot identify one name from another, and I do not have friends or family with these names. Once again, I feel both reverence and indifference simultaneously.

In his essay “Disaster: A Useful Category for Historical Analysis”, Jonathan Bergman explains that a disaster is “ubiquitous yet indescribable” (Bergman 934). He tries to pinpoint a definition for the term by examining its origins and evolution, but ultimately determines that broadness makes the term a useful category for historical analysis. The grim dichotomy between individuality and anonymity seems consistent with Bergman’s conclusion: this dichotomy is easily recognizable in Weiwei’s work, yet escapes verbal definition.

Disasters are interdisciplinary subjects that span the fields of environmental science, sociology, history, and more. They can be quantified in terms of physical damage, casualties, or psychological impact. They can be defined as natural, unnatural, or a combination of the two. Only art can project sensations—like Weiwei’s dichotomy—that are complex enough to accurately represent the complexity of disaster. Like disaster, art is “ubiquitous yet indescribable” and therefore better suited to tell the story.

January 15, 2014December 16, 2020

Tragedy vs. Disaster

When I signed up for this class, I assumed disaster’s were limited to natural occurrences. Even while we were listing off disasters in class, I didn’t believe that terrorism, car accidents, or other man-made disasters would satisfy the disaster definition. I’ve always associated disasters with natural phenomenons and tragedies with man-made screw ups. Part of this association comes from the loss of life and capital that we were discussing in class. Human error rarely causes as much devastation as natural disasters. One of my favorite childhood memories stems from the show “Wrath of God” put on by the Weather Channel. The show recounted various storms of epic proportions. I’d watch it with my mom at nights (past my eight-thirty bedtime, so it was that much better), and we both were in awe of the sheer power some storms could produce. It was awesome. Point is, that show defined disaster for me. Sure, I thought the death of Princess Diana was a terrible thing, but I considered that a tragedy. 9/11 was a tragedy. School shootings are a tragedy. These are all tragedies because it’s tragic that human malcontent or error caused harm to other humans. Although Google’s dictionary (and there’s no arguing with Google), essentially defines the words tragedy and disaster as interchangeable, the specific connotations for me are a little different.

However, reading Bergman’s article, I found Matthew Mulcahy’s definition better than Google’s. He states, “disasters become disasters only when natural forces meet human ones.” (936) Bergman continues this way of thinking by claiming that disasters reveal weaknesses in social and environmental systems. He couldn’t be more right. Think about it. Why was Katrina so devastating? Because we built a city below sea level and our human levies broke, which allowed further flooding. Would Katrina be as devastating if the same storm hit a different area? Or better yet, would the storm even be a disaster if our buildings were all concrete and elevated off the ground (or made out of this arch’s material)? Granted it’d be a hideous city with strictly concrete buildings, but the point is that the storm was made a disaster because of the human aspects combining with the power of nature. As Bergman claims on page 940, disaster is now an “artifact of culture.” For example, fires were more devastating before Benjamin Franklin created Fire Departments (where’s Benny Hartshorn for this one?!), but our culture adapted to control this disaster causing event. Fires are still an issue, especially out west, but we’re much better prepared to handle these wildfires. So the damage and cost of life wildfires cause is greatly reduced now than 300 years ago.