On the Frontier with Memory and History

We live in a world where history can be familiar, comforting and liberating, but also a burden and reminder of an unpleasant past. Memory can serve this purpose as well. Memory is intrinsically linked to history, especially public history. In some sense, the history we offer and present is almost always a process of selection where we must choose what we will present (and consequently not present) and how we will present it. A simple comparison could be that between a museum exhibit and a monograph. A well-crafted presentation of history in an exhibit has the ability to impact its viewer with the history presented, the created ambiance, and the interpreted message. What the viewer takes away, however, is immediately open to any influence that may accept, reject, or conform the message read into the processes of developing memory. The same goes with a monograph on a historical subject. However, books have that funny way of often being considered eternal. A bookshelf or library represents our belief in the codification of ‘real’ history – ‘real’ history being what we perceive as the most accurate attempt at objectively presenting the past, with all its pitfalls and nuances (and yes, I’m aware of how lucid the term ‘real’ history is). The book stands as the link between memory and history and can serve the user to verify or adjudicate ones memory. Of course, this is an example of a possibility and by no means a definition. Museums and the like often attempt to correct memory and nostalgia, but are somewhat transparent in this process. The information, as stated above, is a selection and is often temporary. Memory is constantly transformed and reshaped and resists ‘real’ history, especially a history as transitory as an exhibit.

Yet, even our trusted monographs are often subject to a memory – a memory that is historiographical in nature and is both a creator and product of a history taken for granted everyday. For an example, one need only look to the most prevalent form of public history in Québec: the provincial license plate. The provincial motto printed on every plate since 1978, replacing “la belle province”, is “Je me souviens”, meaning, “I remember.” Our first instinct is to ask: well, what is it that the Québécois are remembering? However, what is dangerous about this question is that there is no single answer. This is both the poignant success of memory and the danse macabre it performs with history (the moment when the historian throws their futile hands in the air in nihilistic defeat). The answer is loaded with undertones and emotions. It can contain nationalist sentiments, a response to the defeat on the Plains of Abraham in 1759 and the crystallization of this moment and what it means to the history of the Québécois. Of course, this sentiment can be ripe with separatist undertones of survivalism that remembers what the English did to the French and how, therefore, the French of Québec are doomed to struggle to maintain their culture until freed from the yokes of Confederation. Or, it can simply demand that one not forget the past, a nostalgic reminder of a rich heritage.

The tricky business is the combination of the two; history and memory. When united, a selected history, as fodder that emboldens memory, can serve a purpose that is both ignorant and manipulative. In A History for the Future: Rewriting Memory and Identity in Québec, Jocelyn Létourneau explores how history and memory in Québec has affected interpretations of the past, which in turn affect society’s future. Létourneau proposes a change in the discourse that would establish a liberating history for future generations, rather than a perpetuating survivalism. This perpetuating survivalism is, in part, a result of the accepted collective memory. Memory is acting as the agent through which the user creates an image or idea of their past. It is through many sources that memory is established as history. Without access to and the use of materials that present an alternative interpretation, historical memory is perpetuated. Texts, monographs, teachers, and family histories in Québec are dominated by an interpretation that is engulfed by the notion of nostalgia and the survival of it, eternalized by “Je me souviens”. What exists now in Québec is a collective memory that is perpetuated by a school of historiography that resists alternative interpretations of history that would question the proliferated memory.

The license plate in Québec provides us with an example of how volatile public history can be, especially when it embraces and plays off of personal and collective memory. Although it may sound narcissistic, the public historian can act as a mediator between ‘real’ history and memory. It does not have to be our goal to crush or inhibit memory, but we should strive to present a multi-interpreted history that challenges memory and provokes the receiver to question and realign ideas. It is no easy task to challenge memory that has cloaked itself in history. As public historians, however, we must not only meet this challenge with already established methods, but also with the tools of new media on the frontier of (Canadian) public history.