Museums and Remembrance Day - 2022 Edition

This has been an interesting year at ANSM; a year of change and a year of growth. We have been building bridges with people and communities, and stretching our perspectives as a result. The readings and resources that have crossed our desks have kept us awake and helped us sleep at night. And last week one article perfectly stated:

"Speak the truth even if your voice shakes."

This was in the context of decolonization and reconciliation, but I ended up pondering the statement more broadly, as it applies to every aspect of museum work. From working conditions to choosing which stories and voices to highlight in exhibits, we need to always remember that museums are not (and have never been) neutral. Everyone outside of the museum sector recognizes this; our community conversations have consistently included calls to not shy away from uncomfortable history but instead tell the whole story. We need to use our voices to speak the truth, whatever the truth may be. 

Remembrance Day feels like the perfect time to reflect on this call to action. So often in our commemorative exhibits we focus on stories of heroism and bravery and the men and women in our communities who served overseas or made significant contributions on the home front. We need to ask ourselves: Do our voices shake when we tell these stories? Are they the whole truth? 

As I thought about this, stories from my father kept swirling in my head. Family stories. Private stories. Telling the whole truth would most certainly make my voice shake. It is not comfortable. But it is important, so let's go there. Let's talk about Grandma's brother Fred.

Fred drove a tank during the Second World War. While serving in Italy, he and some friends were walking through a town. They encountered some local women who invited them into a house for some 'socializing.' As soon as the men were inside, the door closed and the women attacked them, stabbing them each multiple times. I don't know what happened to the other men or women, but Fred survived, and spent a long time recuperating in hospital. While in the hospital, Fred's tank was destroyed and the entire crew lost. He never forgave himself for not being there for his buddies. Having not one, but two traumatic experiences that were so intensely personal in such quick succession would damage anyone. Fred was no exception. If this happened today he would undoubtedly be diagnosed with PTSD. In the 1940s, 'the war changed him.' 

Fred made it through the war, came back home, married and had a son. They have richer and fuller and more positive stories to share with you. He was also especially close with one of his sisters who ended up living in the United Stated. In her eyes he could do no wrong. But from my father's childhood perspective, Fred was scary. He was unpredictable and volatile. He drank a lot, threatened people with knives, threw things, and was incredibly hurtful in his words and actions. He was a person in a lot of pain and in need of help. 

Relationships and family dynamics are complex. When I unwittingly mentioned the sad state of the family Bible to my great aunt (Fred's favourite sister) and that I was going to get it repaired, she was horrified to hear that it wasn't in the pristine condition she remembered. She asked what happened, so I relayed that Dad told me Fred had thrown it down the stairs. She gasped, denied, and then swung into sisterly protective mode. She would pay for it, she would handle it, no need to focus on or worry about how it got damaged. I imagine this kind of family response happened more than once after Fred returned from the war. 

This is not the kind of story you see in museums' Remembrance Day exhibits. Of course Fred's story includes heroism and bravery. But it is far more complex than that. It also demonstrates the impact of trauma on an individual and their family. It is private, uncomfortable, and makes my fingers shake as I type and think about my father's relaying of these stories and the fear he still feels so many years later. It is important to speak this truth. It is important to tell the whole story; the other side of Fred's military service.

Circling back to what we heard and talked through during this year's community conversations, some people look to museums as the trusted source of information while others have no trust in us at all. In both cases, we need to prove that we are trustworthy. And one of the best ways to do that is to speak the truth, even if our voice shakes.

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2021 Edition

 Since 2010 I've been writing a contemplative post for Remembrance Day. Hard to believe it has been so long. This year what has struck me as the day grew closer and closer is just how much art and creativity is born out of hardship - the inspiration of grief. 

I have been seeing poems, drawings, and songs pop up in a variety of places and from a variety of sources. All of these artworks give insight into the creators' experiences, political and social opinions, family lives, and so much more. The art is the door to understanding other perspectives. 

Museum collections contain the photos and stories of those have served at home and abroad, with a special reverence towards our servicemen and women. It is common to see portraits and read interpretive text about these individuals, and to see a few items that relate to their wartime experiences. When we include their artworks, the complexities of conflict and grief come to light in incredibly personal ways. A quick search of NovaMuse shows that we have many and varied options. 

People grieve differently, and navigate the stages of grief in their own time. Adding the elements of conflict, separation from family, unknown timelines and daily uncertainties make grief even more difficult to process. But for certain people, these issues and emotions are processed through a creative outlet. Their creations give us so many opportunities to interpret war and conflict. From a poem that sheds light on tensions between conscripted and enlisted soldiers to depictions of battlefields to trench art that turned deadly ammunition into household decorations, sharing these artworks can be a powerful invitation to our communities to explore human nature. It can also be an opportunity for people to explore their own grief by connecting with the personal stories and creativity of others. 

Providing people with opportunities to reflect and process their grief, and channel this grief in creative ways is an amazing public service. When this grief is intergenerational, giving space for people to share family stories and create art inspired by these stories can be incredibly healing. It honours those that came before us and gives people a chance to process thoughts and feelings that have been passed down from previous generations.

Museums offer these learning and healing opportunities in many different ways, but in my experience we don't always recognize their healing potential. Hosting a First World War song night, asking people to share photos and biographies of their family members who served, inviting a reenactment group to host an encampment on-site, partnering with the local school to display students' Remembrance Day poetry and art projects...all of these activities offer opportunities to better understand and connect with history and process grief. One of the opportunities we offer is through NovaMuseEd, where educators can use a learning activity about trench art to encourage students to ponder the intersection of conflict and culture. 

The inspiration of grief is evident throughout our collections, especially when we look at items linked to war and conflict. The individuality and uniqueness of these creative items served a purpose when they were made, and they continue to serve a purpose now. All that we need to do is look to them for our own inspiration.

Lessons from Mom

"There is a strange moment in time, after something horrible happens, when you know it's true, but you haven't told anyone yet." ~Barbara Kingsolver

There is usually a line between the personal and professional worlds, not to be crossed. But one of the things that I love about the museum sector is how relational it is. When we thrive, it is because of the relationships we form, the collaborations we develop, and the genuine way that we care about each other and our work. It feels personal. So here I am, walking through that invisible barrier that screams DO NOT CROSS. 

Last weekend my Mom died. She's had Alzheimer's for years now and so our grief is not that of a sudden, unexpected passing. It has been long and ongoing and is now paired with a strange and uncomfortable sense of relief that she is finally at peace. This does not make it easier to let her go.  

To quote Archer Wallace, "truly great [people] are humble; they think, not of themselves, but of the good they can accomplish." What has struck me over the past week is the breadth and depth of Mom's impact. Whether in her family circle, or as a teacher, tutor or volunteer, she loved and inspired everyone she met by her faith, kindness, patience, and gentle spirit. She lived her life by always asking how the world would be a better place because she was in it. And now, the memories and stories being shared are a testament to the power of this question and her desire to help others. These stories cover her childhood in Hill Grove, Digby County, her studies at Acadia University, her teaching days in southern New Brunswick, and the countless hours she spent on children's programs through Kingston Baptist Church. 

In addition to the therapy of writing and explanation this provides for my recent absence, Mom has a lot of lessons for museums. She was incredibly organized and could create detailed program plans that ensured success. She even wrote how-to manuals so that others could see and learn from the formulas she developed. If she was at the helm she made everyone else feel like their role was important and their contributions valued. If she was teaching or tutoring, she made sure those children felt safe and seen and supported. No matter what she was doing, she approached it with humility and a desire to serve. 

Likewise, great museums are not attention-seeking or self-serving. They look for ways to serve their communities, are attentive and good listeners and sincerely work to understand needs. Not only that, but they seek to understand the underlying causes and reasons for those needs so that they can provide healing and nurturing in deeper, richer ways. They work for positive change and aren't afraid to talk about the pain or issues that have brought communities to their current reality. When museums do this, word spreads and great reputations are built. Their relevance and value are understood and seen. Their humility becomes the great strength of sincerity.

My childhood is filled with memories of community service with Mom; quiet activities that helped those in need. She was adept at reading between the lines, hearing words not spoken, and seeing information not shared. She also rarely said no when asked to help with a cause. Individuals, families, and organizations benefited. How powerful could our museums be if we collectively sought to do the same? To be such attentive listeners that any time a need is voiced or concern expressed that we come together and ask how the museum can help? 

As I navigate my grief and a world without Mom, I can't help but think that I need to be more like her. I need to be attuned to the needs I am seeing and hearing, and listen to the little voice in my head that picks up on words not spoken. And I need to do this in both my personal and professional life. Museums exist to serve our communities. We too should be asking ourselves how the world will be a better place because we are in it.

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2020 Edition

For my longtime readers, you will know that I have a tradition of sharing a Remembrance Day blog post that is contemplative in nature, and has 2020 ever given us reasons to contemplate. 

This year could easily be called unprecedented because of the many major movements and issues at play.  From Black Lives Matter, to Indigenous fishing rights, to immigration, to gender equality, to COVID-19 (just to name a few), these are some major shared experiences for humanity. The pandemic has caused incredible stress, sickness, death, and major changes to how we live our daily lives. It has also highlighted inequities and issues that have been bubbling beneath the surface for years, if not generations. In an age where we are all so interconnected and "in the know", it is impossible to not be touched by these issues. And while we can read news, studies, statistics and overarching reports about them, the individual experiences of these issues are vastly different. I am a white settler whose family has lived in Mi'kma'kii since the 18th century. I have to work to understand the perspectives and experiences of the Mi'kmaq because my education was colonialist in nature and the southwestern Nova Scotia that I know and love has never been a place of violence. I have to work to understand the experiences of new immigrants because my family has lived in Canada for centuries. I have to work to understand the perspectives and experiences of African Nova Scotians because I have lived a life of privilege and grew up in an area that was predominantly white. 

Dad/Grumpy and his girls. Roar!

I have to work to understand the pandemic perspectives and experiences of others, both near and far, due to the fact that my family has stayed healthy and employed and together thanks to the Atlantic Bubble. I do not have to work to understand the Me Too movement or what it feels like to be sexually harassed. As my father likes to remind me, I am woman. Hear me roar. And yes, I also recognize the privilege of having a father like that. 

The best way that we can work to understand the different perspectives and experiences of others, is to talk at the individual level. Yes it is helpful to know the overarching trends, statistics, and general information. We need to know how these individual perspectives and experiences fit into the bigger picture. But to understand, to empathize, and to make our communities stronger, we need to hear the individual realities. We need to document the individual realities. 

visiting Uncle Grenville's grave

The broad, complex, and far-ranging realities of the First and Second World Wars, and many other conflicts, have been studied and documented. We have access to many statistics and resources from many angles. And we have an increasing number of personal, individual accounts that speak to these broader experiences. But there is more work to be done. There are more stories to capture, more lessons to learn, more perspectives to understand. I did not live through the First or Second World War, so I must rely on family photos, letters, and oral histories to understand the impact on my family and the perspectives and experiences of my family at the individual level. I have to visit people, places and spaces where I can learn. I have to analyze why I am the way I am, think the way I do, and act the way I act, and how my past, multi-generationally, has impacted me. I have to work to understand.

As museums, it is our job to work to understand. We are called to share information from a variety of perspectives. Perspectives can be collective, based on location, politics, religion, gender, race...and much more. But they can also be very individualistic. And without understanding perspectives at the individual level, we will never be able to make sense of the bigger picture and overarching trends. We will not understand why some fought in wars while others stayed home unless we look at the individual stories. We will not understand what life was like for those who lost family members unless we look at the individual stories. We will not understand our communities, the grief and loss that they experienced and how this shaped their perspectives on life, unless we look at the individual stories.

Shared experiences are big, they are powerful, and they have the potential to shape our communities for generations. As we have more and more dialogue about systemic racism, multi-generational grief, inequality, the personal and economic impact of the pandemic, and other major issues, we have an opportunity and a responsibility as museums, to capture the individual realities of these shared experiences. It may not always be a comfortable task. There will be difficult conversations, differences of opinions, and very diverse memories and lived experiences to document, but we cannot fulfil our mandate to collect, preserve, and share knowledge without them. So as we honour those who fought for freedom and to protect people and communities, we must consider how we can carry that torch in our own way. We must work to understand. And we must help others do the same. 

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2019 Edition

Allie & Shari.
Allie fell asleep mid-play

Last week I attended the funeral of a dear friend. When lives are cut short, especially when the person is on the younger end of the spectrum, conversations inevitably include musings on the person's hopes and dreams, what they accomplished in their short life, and how much more they could have done if they had been given the opportunity.

Tributes and reminiscences at my friend's funeral revealed common threads; a strong faith, a love of reading, a passion for music, a desire for community (especially if it involved food), an eye and voice for social justice, a knack for jokes and being silly, a talent for seeing the uniqueness in children and nurturing their individuality, and the ability to fall asleep on anyone's couch at any time.

My friend started not one, but two literacy programs, learned to play many instruments and even resorted to building her own 15th century instrument that none of us had ever heard of when she felt she needed a bigger challenge. She was energized by learning, volunteered widely, and loved to help people. She traveled and was part of musicals and festivals and lived her life unapologetically and to the fullest.

I left this funeral feeling a mixture of inspiration and regret. Listening to the tributes and accomplishments of my friend was impressive to say the least. Her legacy is far flung, it is varied, and she will be remembered and missed for a very long time. People who never met her are benefiting from what she did. I wish we had visited more often, especially after she fell ill. I wish my daughter could have had more time with our friend, as she is too young to hold on to the memories of their time together. I was really looking forward to their days of music lessons. I miss her and I miss what could have been.

Tyne Cot Cemetery, Belgium

I wish we had more time. How often do we express that sentiment? As I mused over this time of year and everything that comes with Remembrance Day, I was suddenly hit by the grand scope and scale of this loss, of times of war and conflict when funerals and memorial services and mourning were so widespread and such a common occurrence. What would a world be like where my singular grief was magnified hundreds and thousands of times. What would a world be like when so many people would be mourning for so many other people at the same time.

As I pondered all of this, the word legacy came to mind again and again. We often hear of the collective legacy of our veterans; of the rights and freedoms we are guaranteed because of their service. More and more we are hearing personal stories, as we collectively realize that time is running short for some of them to be shared in veterans' own words. As museums, if our mission is to honour and celebrate our community's past, then we must be doing this in a personal way, at the individual level. Unfortunately, even though we are engaging in oral history and other projects to capture these personal stories, they don't always get linked to databases or websites or other standard resources. They are separate, and can be lost or left behind on shelves or in files.

In an age when distractions are rampant and information is often twisted or made up, pursuing the truth and sharing the good, the bad, and the ugly of human experiences is a noble task for museums. We can and should be bearing witness to personal stories and lives lived, but this information has to be integrated into our sharing tools (databases and websites) in a more permanent way for this information to be disseminated and make an impact. In contemplating Remembrance Day, we should investigate and honour the legacy of our veterans, following as many threads as we can find.

Uncle Grenville and his fiancee

If we follow these threads, the information revealed provides opportunities for celebrating the men and women who served. How did they overcome hardships and endure terrible experiences? How did they care for and protect and save their friends with whom they were serving? How did they maintain their senses of humour when there wasn't much to laugh about? For those that didn't come home, what were they studying or pursuing as careers before they were called to serve? What happened to the fiancées whose wedding plans had to be cancelled? How did people adjust to life after conflict? What kind of mental and physical and emotional scars were left from such experiences? Did they maintain war-time friendships throughout their lives, participate in reunions, write letters to each other, or did they prefer to move on from that chapter and focus on a peaceful civilian life? How did people's experiences during times of war and conflict change them? What lessons did they want to impart on the next generation? What impact did people have on their communities, what memories and marks have they left behind? Can they still be seen and felt today?
Following these threads of questions and information will enable us to weave richer collections records and demonstrate legacies in our communities; to reveal connections that aren't obvious.

The questions and stories are seemingly endless. But what better way to honour people than to document and share their far flung and varied legacies. In doing so, we will remember them for a very long time to come.

Grandpa and his buddies, Burma 1945

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2018 Edition

It's funny how things tend to converge; how you will get the same message from a variety of unconnected sources. One of the messages I've been hearing lately has been, "old story, new angle". I think that taking the time to ponder such messages and apply them to our museum work is important.

One of the sources of this message is a book I'm reading about relevance. It has me thinking about my own life and how what is relevant to me has shifted a lot in the past 14 months. When I became a mother, my perspective on things really changed. I noticed a baby consignment shop in my neighbourhood for the first time, even though it has been open for years and I have walked by it countless times. I learned that the sidewalks and streets of Halifax are incredibly frustrating to navigate with a stroller and by extension have started to think a lot about mobility and accessibility issues. My brain is now always occupied with planning and coordination in order to juggle the requirements of work and home. Time and again my husband and I have commented on just how much hard and tiring work is involved in parenting, and how glad we are to be part of a team rather than single parents.

I know that single parenthood isn't the first thing that comes to mind when someone says Remembrance Day. If you are like me, you think of people in uniform fighting overseas. We think of the ones who didn't come back, like my Uncle Grenville. We talk about the home front, of women going to work for the first time, of Victory Bonds and rations. But as I started to think about my annual tradition of a Remembrance Day blog post, I got thinking about my Grandma, raising little Susan-Jane alone while Grandpa was serving in Europe and Asia. Sure she had family and friends around to help her, but caring for a small child on your own is incredibly difficult and extremely lonely. The weeks that Allie and I spent visiting my family in New Brunswick taught me that. Being surrounded by my family and being able to text with my husband was wonderful, but being the sole caregiver was still lonely and exhausting.

I am embarrassed to say that I have never seriously thought about Grandma's single parenthood during the Second World War. The photos and letters and our family stories are testimonies to Grandpa's dedication as a father. The recording that he made for Grandma and Aunt Susan in London includes a serenade for his baby girl and a loving reprimand for his wife to look after herself and her health so she can be at her best for their little family. He was as present and engaged as he could possibly be given the circumstances, so in looking at the archival evidence, it doesn't really feel like Grandma was on her own. But if you remove Grandpa's letters and photo album and record, the single parenthood is painfully obvious. A mother and her daughter on their own, time and again.

The photographs of Grandma and Aunt Susan also include beach trips and frolicking in the snow and having play dates with cousins and neighbours. It is clear that this little girl was receiving love and attention from everyone around her; that the village really was raising the child. And I think it is safe to assume that a lot of other mothers had similar experiences. Neighbourhoods and communities banded together to meet the needs of all the mothers raising their children alone while their husbands were away. And once these networks were established, support could continue as families adjusted to new realities when husbands and fathers returned home. The first night Grandpa was back home, Grandma woke up in the middle of the night and in her sleepy state was scared to find a man in bed with her, so rushed to Susan-Jane and hid with her in a closet. It may be a funny story now, but it is also a stark reminder of just how big an adjustment it was to have Grandpa rejoin the family after four years away.

We talk a lot about museums serving and meeting the needs of their communities, whatever these needs may be. Sometimes you may have a widespread issue like the temporarily single mothers of the Second World War. Other needs won't be as obvious, but are just as important to those experiencing them. So as we ponder our Remembrance Day exhibits, our biographies and profiles of the servicemen and women from our communities, and our programs and events that honour them, their experiences and their stories, I hope that we can take some time to really ponder the incredible information we are holding in public trust. Let's keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground as our lives change and priorities shift, and embrace what we learn from ourselves and others about what is relevant and why. As I embrace the newly relevant things in my life and community, I hope that I can pass on these old stories with new angles to Allie and her friends. I hope that I can take a lesson from these old communities and help to meet a need when I see it. And I hope that our museums can do the same.

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2016 Edition

from Wikipedia Commons

This Remembrance Day I'd like to talk about a classic - Lt. Col. John McCrae's poem "In Flanders Fields". And I want to talk about authenticity, depth, and understanding.

I think that over the years we have lost the power of this poem as it was written. Schoolchildren have memorized it en masse and recited it in a choir of robotic voices at assemblies; a recitation method that has become so accepted it was even used in the Heritage Minute about McCrae. If this rings a bell and your experience was anything like mine, you were told that "In Flanders Fields" was written by a Canadian military doctor who died near the end of the war, and very little else. This is of course only part of the story. It is a very basic understanding of both poetry and history.

I had a wonderful high school teacher who taught us to read the poem as it was written; to embrace the punctuation and pauses. The result was eye-opening. We all thought we knew the poem already, but it turned out we didn't. We thought it was okay to just rattle it off without taking a breath until absolutely necessary, to not think about the words we were saying or the places and circumstances they represented.

So let's add some context to this poem shall we?

This, is the unassuming bunker where McCrae worked during the Second Battle of Ypres. This, is the confined space that was filled with the smell of burned, broken flesh. This, is the cold, stark reality he faced day in and day out. Imagine the sights, the smells, and the sounds. If you take care to read the poem the way McCrae intended, they will overwhelm you as they surge from between the lines, desperate for attention.

If you visit Essex Farm and the John McCrae Memorial you are in essence visiting an outdoor museum. You can walk into the dank, dark rooms that served as surgeries, where visitors often leave Canadian flags and poppies and little wooden crosses with handwritten messages. You can walk through the farm's fields that are now a sprawling cemetery and read the names and military units. You can also see the many unnamed Soldier[s] of the Great War and the respect they have been shown by visitors.

And yet just around the corner from all this concrete and stone is a beautiful, agricultural area, cozied up to a canal - the fields that McCrae wrote about. The poppies between the rows are now carefully manicured rose bushes, and the crosses are etched onto the gravestones rather than being the marker themselves. But you can still watch and listen as birds fly overheard and flit from tree to tree. When you see this first-hand, McCrae's poem gains a new dimension.

Museums are the caretakers of our history. Our collections are filled with both tangible and intangible information, which when read properly can speak volumes. But many times the authenticity and depth of this material and intangible culture has become clouded over time; the power has been lost. Significant stories and artifacts are hiding in plain sight, on display or in storage, their full potential not being realized. It is easy for both museum workers and visitors to walk by the familiar information because 'we know it already' or 'we've heard it before'. This makes it far more difficult to take the time to pause or to look at that familiar information from a different angle.

As the caretakers of our history, it is [literally] our job to help people move from that basic understanding to a place where they can pause and breathe in the depth of information. We need to turn those empty rooms into places where homage can be paid, where grief and tribute can be expressed, and where appreciation of the sacrifices of those that came before us can be cultivated.

In a week that has highlighted the divisiveness and fear that grips our world, let's try to be more authentic in our sharing of information and promotion of understanding and depth of issues, past and present. Let's be the poetic, punctuated voice that educates and truly serves the public, encouraging people to dig deeper and challenge their understanding, rather than just sharing our history without stepping back to pause or take breaths.

December 2015 Update

An alternative title to this post could be Thoughts & Lessons from 2015. It's been a pretty hectic year here at ANSM. The Evaluation Program, Advisory Service, First World War digitization focus, Museums 101 and Collections Management worshops...the list is pretty intense and those are just some of my projects, let alone other ANSM activities that have been or are still in the works.

Throughout my travels, I've made note of various thoughts and lessons and had every intention of blogging about them earlier - of sharing info in a timely fashion after I attended the AAM conference or the Tamarack workshop on community engagement, or just had a good conversation with someone inspiring. The funny thing is, the same themes kept coming up. So let's take a little look at these hot topics:

1. Commemorative Funding - is anyone else sick of hearing that you have to tie in your activities with "approved events" in order to get special project funding? I think a lot of us have felt pretty discouraged by this at one point or another. But I heard a great quote at a conference this year, "Local stories are relevant so can always tie to national narratives". I can't argue with that, so if we need to think a bit harder and write a bit more in applications about how our stories tie in, I think it's worth it. Our goal is to share information after all.

2. Community Asset - You've heard us use this term at the evaluation orientation sessions, but I promise you we aren't the only ones. Time and time again I've heard people say that we need to identify our museums as community partners and catalysts for positive change rather than as attractions. We shouldn't be proud if we are considered a hidden gem; we should be a local hub where people come together. And this includes focusing on the hyper-local, ie our immediate neighbourhood. It turns out, this also makes good business sense.

3. Crowdsourcing - A few museums in Nova Scotia have stepped into crowdsourcing, by funding the purchase of an artifact, the feeding of animals, or almost anything else. One of the coolest crowdsourced museum projects I heard about this year is Virginia's Top Ten Endangered Artifacts. Crowdsourcing isn't just about finding funding, but about community engagement, raising awareness, and being more transparent about museum work.
On a personal ANSM note, we've just backed a kickstarter project about strategic planning for museums and are pretty excited to put this into play (literally) in Nova Scotia. More on that in the new year!

Room of Martyrs
Center for Civil & Human Rights, Atlanta GA

4. Creativity - I know, super broad right? But this year I saw some great examples of museums troubleshooting issues in creative ways, be it in storage, exhibit design, or programming. And you don't have to break the bank. My example here is a pretty small room where the important stories of individuals are being told in an interactive way. Easy to change out content, easy to add more, and allows your visitors to get up close and personal with history.
In the areas of preservation & storage, I saw museums using fibreglas screens on windows while fundraising to purchase proper UV filters, conversion of garment racks and carpet tubes to awesome rolled storage units...the list goes on and on.

Those are just some of the things I've seen this year, and for the most part they give me hope and get me excited about where museums are headed next year (aka tomorrow). So I'm going to wrap up this quick little post with some of my favourite one-liners of the year:
"Ask yourself what you do better than others in your region"
"Pick three things you're good at and focus efforts there. Don't try to be everything to everyone"
"We need to take time to reflect on our work in order to learn from it"
"Sometimes your longest term employee is your database"
"Exhibitions do not equal engagement"
"Diversity in your board is a marker of success"

"A museum is good only so far as it is in use" ~John Cotton Dana

Happy New Year!

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2015 Edition

As my long-time readers know, I tend to get a little introspective when Remembrance Day rolls around. I've shared stories from my family's past, my personal experiences, and try to tie these in with the work we do as museums. This time I'm stepping away from my family's story, because this past week was Holocaust Education Week. Here in Halifax, this has meant special speakers and events, one of which I attended at the Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. It commemorated the 77th anniversary of Kristallnacht through song, video, and a first-hand account by author Sidney Zoltak.

When he was a teenager Sidney and his family escaped from the Warsaw ghetto just prior to the ghetto's "liquidation", ie when the people were all transported to concentration camps. While his father was careful to shield Sidney from the truth of what was happening, Sidney remembers being aware of rumours circulating that "something bad, something significant was going to happen soon." In the middle of the night, his father cut through the barbed wire fence and people ran for their lives while being shot at by Nazi guards. After hiding out in the forest, his family made their way to a rural area and ended up being hidden in a barn for 14 months by another family. After the war and his father's death, Sidney and his family came to Canada to join his mother's sister in Montreal. They maintained contact and sent care packages to the family that hid them, and eventually had the family added to the Righteous Among the Nations list.

That is obviously a very brief synopsis of what Sidney shared with us on Sunday afternoon. And it is impossible to convey the emotion with which he spoke, and the response and reaction of the audience. But what I want to do is really focus on his musings as he wrapped up his talk. He shared that when he meets with other survivors they ask each other what the memories will look like when they are gone. They are worried about the distortion of historical accounts, Holocaust deniers, Nazi sympathizers, and that no one will be present to provide a first-hand account when questions arise.

There's no way around it, we all know it to be true; there are fewer and fewer survivors and veterans every day. As Sidney put it, "we leave future generations an important legacy". I could not help but feel that he was issuing a call to action to heritage institutions. I talk a lot about the need to personalize our collections - that each item has a story to share and we need to be more proactive in capturing those stories. But here was a man with far more clout than I have, tearfully pleading with his audience to never forget, and to seek out these memories and important stories and ensure that they are documented for future generations.

As the saying goes, truth is stranger than fiction. Whether it is a Holocaust survivor's story or the life story of a local farmer who never left Nova Scotia, people's lives and experiences matter. We can learn a lot from those that came before us. They deserve our respect, especially as museums. Our mandate includes preserving our heritage right? This is literally our job. Again Sidney put it very poignantly that if we "don't do it now, tomorrow might be too late. Our stories are important historical facts." Truer words were never spoken.

We, the museum community must acknowledge this call to action and step up to the plate. We know that each story captured is another piece added to the puzzle that is our past. We know that we are ethically bound to be socially conscious institutions and that we have an active role to play in sharing life lessons with next generations. We know that sometimes our history is none too pretty, and that this can quickly and easily result in disbelief by our visitors and audiences. But we also know that sometimes we fail. Sometimes we shy away from telling the difficult stories in our history, we disregard teachable moments, and we don't take advantage of opportunities to capture personal, first-hand accounts. And frankly, if I had to explain to this wonderful gentleman why my museum had failed to capture and share these personal, difficult, and oh-so-important stories, I would be left feeling embarrassed and speechless.

The words honour, respect, responsibility and duty all immediately spring to mind. However you think of it, or whichever reasoning makes the most sense to you, let's all agree. As museum workers and as institutions that preserve societal memory, the least we can do is help those that are left to share their stories in the way they want, and in their own words.

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2014 Edition

Grenville & sister Irene

A few years ago I started writing special blog posts for Remembrance Day. My second one focused on my Great Uncle Grenville, an RCAF Flight Sergeant who was a wireless operator and air gunner on a Halifax bomber.

This summer I was privileged to make a trip to Belgium to visit Grenville's grave and attend the unveiling of a memorial at the site of his plane crash. This was definitely a once in a lifetime opportunity and one in which I was honoured to participate.

The architects of this commemoration were the wonderful people of the Wings Museum in Sussex, England. They've developed a partnership with some local history buffs in Belgium and have been working for years on researching RAF crash sites, and this is now translating into searching for family members of the airmen and unveiling memorials in their honour. As we in the museum field know, they don't do this because they get paid the big bucks. They do this because they are passionate about aviation history and have a great respect for the many airmen who fought for our freedom.

I knew as I prepared for the trip that it could be a moving experience. Even though Grenville died 70 years ago, I've heard stories and seen pictures and understand how devastated my family was when they heard news of his death. But I didn't expect it to be such a powerful experience. Upon arrival we met the family of another crew member and mused that our uncles were buddies so long ago and now we were carrying on that connection. In the morning we were given copies of the account of the final flight by one of the two survivors of the crash. The room quieted as we passed the pages around to read. Suddenly it was real. It wasn't just a family story. It wasn't just some young guy in family photos. This was a group of men who were in crazy circumstances fighting for their lives and the lives of others. We finally had answers to the 70 year old family mystery of what really happened that fateful night.

from WingsMuseum.co.uk

As soon as we stepped foot on the crash site, I felt a lump forming in my throat. As Marcel described the plane's final descent we felt transported back in time, hearing the roar of engines and gunfire as it exploded and crashed. This was the place where my family was crushed by the loss of a son and brother. Rather than the memorial unveiling being a quiet, intimate affair, the entire town came out to pay their respects. They didn't know us, let alone our relatives who were on that bomber in 1943. And yet they came and listened to the account of the final flight and did their best to chat even though none of us spoke Flemish. They smiled and applauded as I tearfully rambled on in English about how appreciative we were for all that they had done to honour our uncles. When the planned military flypast fell through because the planes were called to duty, local pilots stepped in to pay this respect to the lost crew.

One of the things that struck me about the trip was the way Belgian history was so real to the people. It didn't matter how many years ago something occurred, they could tell you amazing tales of their past. And this makes sense when you think about it. From the Canadian perspective, men and women left home to fight, and not all of them came back. But in Europe, events were unfolding all around. It happened in their backyards and in their skies. I asked several people how they manage to keep this appreciation for history alive, especially when we're talking about the world wars of 70 and 100 years ago. Every time I got the same answer in slightly different words. "This is what we do. We will never forget."

As I traveled the province this summer visiting community museums, I saw numerous exhibits honouring local WWI veterans, and heard about many commemorative activities that the museums either coordinated or took part in. Singalongs of WWI songs and hymns, special services of remembrance, reading of letters sent home from the front...lots of examples of respectful acknowledgements of the sacrifice paid by Nova Scotia's men and women 100 years ago. And what every museum worker told me was that these activities were far more powerful than expected. People got emotional as they thought about their relatives of years gone by and of the men and women who didn't get to come home. The museums' work made a war from 100 years ago real and relevant. Battles fought overseas in places never visited became real. Grief that had been buried for years and generations resurfaced.

This is the kind of work that museums should be doing. Going beyond the exhibits to provide opportunities for personal connections, opportunities for healing, and greater understanding of life in general.  We should adopt the Belgian mantra for our own: This is what we do. We will never forget.

we will never forget

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2013 Edition

Walter's Attestation
Papers from Library &
Archives Canada

Lately there's been a lot of talk about war. Not because of where Canadian soldiers are currently serving, but because of the looming centenary of the Great War - World War I. Museums are in exhibit & program planning mode, digging through collections for interesting local stories to share with the public. At least once a week I have a conversation with a museum about their work; an interesting discovery, an update on the digitization progress, or questions about funding applications for their proposed commemorative project. So as the centenary of the Great War looms closer and closer, I've been thinking a lot about how quickly it has slipped from recent memory.

When I was young, discussions about war always meant talking about grandparents - whose grandfather served where and in which branch of the services. So when Remembrance Day rolled around, it was a time to be proud of our grandfathers as they visited the school wearing their medals earned during WWII. Standing next to them gave us such pride, even though we were too young to really understand their sacrifice.

I can share many stories about my family's contribution to the war efforts of 70 years ago, but WWI is a lot more difficult. How did that information fall to the wayside? Is 100 years really so long? So difficult to recall?

I love to visit my grandmother's cousin Hilda. She's now 92 years old but her mind is still as sharp as a tack. Her father served in the Canadian Expeditionary Forces during the Great War and was wounded at Vimy Ridge. He spent the rest of his life walking with the aid of two canes. I never met Walter, nor have I prodded Hilda for information that he may have shared about his war-time experiences. From what I have heard, he was a very quiet man and didn't have a lot to say on the subject. But I can't help but wonder at how his life was changed. He left rural Annapolis County a healthy young bachelor farmer, and returned home a permanently wounded man.

Listening to Hilda's stories about years gone by always involves a bit of detective work - she'll tell you a grand tale but never what year it happened, and sometimes she won't even name names. That's not a lot of information to go on. And she's 92 years old. The daughter of a WWI veteran is 92! And while I know she has some scrapbooks that surely document the Great War, the stories have not been passed down to the same extent as those of WWII. Besides, she says no one would be interested in such drivel.

The responsibility of museums to revive these lives and tales of a century ago is daunting. The realization that we've lost so much first and second-hand knowledge; terrifying. Our job is to connect people with the past - to facilitate dialogue and enable people to make meaning of objects and other material remains. Without the personal stories associated with the objects, it is far more difficult for people to connect with and appreciate this heritage. Unless we can personalize the material evidence, a division photo is just a bunch of guys in uniform, the uniforms are just some old clothes, and badges are just cloth patches. So as we continue to prepare for the upcoming centenary, I hope that we are able to uncover some of these lost lives and stories. I hope that we can prove dear Hilda wrong - that people are interested and do care about the great sacrifice paid by her father and his many compatriots.

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2012 Edition

Years ago, people actively and visibly mourned. They wore mourning clothes - dressed all in black with weeping veils, no jewelry, and black armbands or ribbons - for extended periods of time. They would weave intricate hair wreaths and craft other memorial objects to always have a keepsake of the person they lost. But today outward signs of grief and/or struggles are few and far between, and let's be honest, society basically has a 3-6 month window where they think someone can legitimately dwell on any particular difficulty. Then society gets bored with it and moves on, while the affected person is still in a whole lot of pain and confusion.

Canadian War Museum

When I go through the Canadian War Museum, I am extremely stressed out by the end of it. The chronological journey through the exhibits, through Canada's history of conflicts, is very difficult. Sure it's easy to stay detached when all you see are paintings and weapons and uniforms from bygone centuries, but the further along you travel, the more personal items and stories are integrated. Suddenly you're reading letters sent home that were received after the 18 year old boy was killed in action, or you're watching news footage about our recent participation in peacekeeping efforts. At this point you can't escape the reality of it. Even if it's an official military statement being read at a press conference, it is very clear that there is a lot more going on than meets the eye - the invisible effects of service.
In thinking about these invisible effects, I've thought of a number of stories from family members and friends who have served or are currently serving in the military. Since this list includes contemporary events, I've decided to refrain from the use of names.

1. The woman at home, waiting for her man to return. But instead he disappears, never to be heard from again. How did having someone unexpectedly ripped from her life affect her? She never got the chance to say goodbye, let alone tell him she loved him one last time.

2. The tank driver who survived the war but wasn't quite the same when he came home. He was the only survivor of a trap that saw several of his friends stabbed to death. While he was recuperating in the hospital his tank was sent on a mission and hit a mine, killing everyone inside. He had survivor's guilt for the rest of his life because he wasn't there to drive and keep his buddies safe. These days we'd probably call that post-traumatic stress disorder. Back then, "the war changed him".

3. The aircraft mechanic who had to pull the dead pilot from the cockpit and take over flying the plane so they didn't crash. What kind of impact does staring through a bloodied and broken windshield have on a person?

4. The parents who received the official notice that their youngest son was "missing in action". What is it like to be stuck in that sort of limbo? Was he dead? If so, would his body ever be found? Was he alive? Was he captured as a POW or hiding out somewhere?

5. The peacekeeper who just couldn't reconcile the financial compensation given to a family whose child was accidentally killed when he ran in front of a UN jeep. Their son was gone; no amount of money would ever change that.

As museums, we are the keepers of both the tangible and intangible evidence of difficult times. We conduct oral history interviews with people to learn more about the personal side of military service (and many other things). We collect the uniforms, mementos, badges, medals, log books, ration cards, magazines, newspapers, journals and diaries, letters, photographs....so many things that shed light on the invisible realities of war and military service.
It's not about any particular campaign or mission or battle, or how many people from our community have served. It's about acknowledging the personal sacrifices made by those who serve, and also how this service is supported on the home front and how it affects life on the home front. Canada has been greatly affected by the personal experiences of our military personnel both past and present. We will never understand what these people have gone through. But by doing this work we become the tangible vessel for our intangible heritage - the outward sign of grief and the visible effects of service. Museums are a place for people to come and mourn, to get a bit of closure and healing from these awful experiences, regardless of how long it has been or how much society tells them they need to "move on". It's ok if our exhibits or programs make people uncomfortable or elicit an emotional response. That means we've succeeded in truly honouring these brave men and women.

Professional Development

image from students.engineering.ubc.ca

Today I had lunch with a few colleagues, and after lunch we had another colleague visit the office which meant even more shop talk. Maybe it's because of the upcoming workshops, but the topic of professional development and staying current came up during both conversations. I am paranoid that I will fall out of touch with the field. How can I be an effective museum advisor if I don't have a grasp on the challenges faced by our members, and trends within the sector? Put simply, I can't. And at the risk of people getting very annoyed with me, I would argue that museums can't stay relevant in our ever-changing world unless they also keep up to date with these challenges & trends. Museums are educational institutions, ie we are focused on the pursuit of knowledge. That sounds like a call to action to me, and one that has to begin internally.

Now before you start getting defensive, I recognize that many of our members simply do not have a budget for professional development. We do our best to keep workshop costs low and to share resources and information for free via Facebook, the Beacon, regional meetings, etc. But there's just no comparison to actual people-people training. As I've been promoting our core curriculum workshops, I have heard a number of reasons for people not attending - and money is at the top of the list. Well, that's exactly why the CMA has a travel bursary. 

As I was thinking about how museums (of any size) could/should be participating in professional development opportunities, I came up with the following list:

1. Attend conferences - I'm going to skip the international specialized ones and start at the national level. The Canadian Museums Association's conference is coming up. This year's theme is "On the Edge". It consists of pre-conference workshops, post-conference study tours, and the program is chock full of concurrent sessions (not to mention the famous ice cream break). Anita and I end up picking sessions together, trying to figure out which ones are most important to ANSM and then parting ways to get as much learnin' as possible. We regroup over breaks and tell each other all about our respective sessions.
Provincially, ANSM has a conference every year. This year we'll be in Wolfville, September 13-14th. Again there will be a pre-conference workshop & study tour, and lots of sessions about engaging youth. And did I mention we're launching our collections website at the conference? I'm so excited for this that I'm already thinking about what to wear (anyone that knows me would tell you this is not normal).
And there are always a host of other conferences taking place - archives, built heritage, genealogy, marketing, tourism...the list goes on and on, and the information is either directly related or very transferable to museum work.

2. Attend workshops - I've already mentioned workshops a bit, so I'll just say that these are extremely important. Learning in a group setting through lecture, hands-on activities, and discussion will help you retain the information much better than just listening or reading something on your own.

3. Take advantage of site visits - I travel all summer, visiting museums from one end of the province to the other (literally - Wedgeport to Cape North). These visits are scheduled in advance as it takes a lot of coordination to cover an entire province in one summer. As I deliver training or converse with staff/volunteers I often hear things like "oh I wish so-and-so were here for this". If you know that someone from a professional organization will be visiting your site, call in the troops! Sure we may find it a little intimidating to be met with an entourage, but we would much rather endure this than repeat the same training or conversation for the same museum. Don't say yes to a site visit when there will only be summer students around. I love to meet students and see what they're working on, but they'll be gone at the end of the summer. You have to have a permanent staff person or volunteer on-site for these visits.

4. Regional Meetings & Listservs- Networking is important, and each of the four heritage regions have bi-annual meetings to compare notes, talk about opportunities for partnership or advocacy, etc etc. And sometimes they invite guest speakers to share information on a particular topic of interest. The meetings are announced via the regional listserv, an email list that facilitates discussion on all kinds of museum issues.

5. Read books - Most of the museum people I know are also avid readers. I have found some amazing resource books in used book stores and libraries, and every once in awhile a publisher will have a great sale on 'specialized' subjects (that includes museology). And did you know ANSM has a reference library? Well we do, and right now we're working on getting those books into CollectiveAccess so we can share the catalogue on our website.

6. Follow blogs - I follow 16 different museum-related blogs. A few belong to our member museums, but most take an overarching look at the field and focus on innovative ideas and techniques that anyone can mimic. The beauty of blogs is that you can check in with them whenever you have time, and the posts are short which means no worries about when the book is due back to the library or carving out 16 hours of reading time. Some of my favourite blogs are the Center for the Future of Museums, ExhibiTricks, Museum 2.0, Museum Audience Insight, Technology in the Arts, and the Uncatalogued Museum.

7. LinkedIn - I'm not really active on linkedin, but I am a member of several museum groups and once in awhile participate in a discussion. For anyone unfamiliar with this site, it's basically a professional forum. Some of the discussions can be really fascinating because these people are genuinely interested in what happens in museums worldwide. Talk about staying current.

It doesn't matter if you've been in the field for 30 years or are fresh out of school. If you aren't challenging yourself or investing in your staff/volunteers, it will become harder and harder to stay relevant to your community. Or as my predecessor would say, if you're not stirring the pot you're not cooking.

Museums and Remembrance Day - 2011 Edition

Last year I wrote a Remembrance Day post in honour of my grandfather and his contribution to the RAF in WWII. While my grandfather and his brothers all returned home safely, my grandmother's family was not as lucky. The biggest blow to the family was when her youngest brother was shot down over Belgium during a bombing run. The stories and objects associated with Grenville have now become part of the Stanley family lore.
All too often this kind of information is excluded from museum collection records.

the musician

Grenville was elevated to a sort of immortal status in the family, having two nephews named after him, and a few semi-shrines established in his parents' and siblings' homes. He was the promising youngest son who never got to live out his potential or truly experience life. The stories that have been passed down about him reveal him as a very kind, caring individual, full of life and love for his fellow man. He played the clarinet in the Salvation Army band, volunteered with youth, and planned on becoming an Anglican minister after the war. His nickname was Bumps. His cheerful personality made him very popular in his squadron, Bomber Command No.76, and when that terrible letter arrived at my great-grandparents' door, his courage, skill, and popularity were all referenced.

young love

We also know that he had a special lady friend who he was planning on marrying. Her name didn't make it on any of the photographs, but there are enough images of these two to know that they had something special; that they looked forward to building a life together when the fighting finally stopped. The story goes that he was on his last bombing mission before heading home for his wedding. I don't know what happened to this poor girl whose heart was broken - the family didn't maintain that tie and she has now faded from memory.

the wireless operator

His military record sheds a lot of light on his war-time activities, but also has a lot of blacked-out sections that leave the reader guessing.  We know that P/O Stanley served as a wireless operator on Halifax bombers, making night-time runs into Germany. We know that when his plane went down, only one man survived and became a POW. Grenville was buried in Schoonselhof Cemetery, Antwerp Belgium, alongside many other promising young men whose lives were cut short. He was only 23 years old.

Having suffered the sudden and unexpected loss of a very significant person in my life, I understand how difficult it is to talk about it. You want to focus on those good memories and silly quirks that make you smile. Those things that used to drive you crazy seem far less important, and so you let them slip from your memory. It's just natural that certain aspects of the story are maintained, others are lost, and some are altered slightly through retelling. So when museums interview donors to find out the stories behind the objects, we always end up with a slightly altered truth - the lore of that object.

Artifact records will always have loose ends and unanswered questions. Some purists will refuse to include family lore in their records because they want only the proven facts, but in my mind these stories are a valid and important part of the object's history. The museum exists to provide answers about the past. Sometimes we will have wonderful proven facts to include in our records, but other times we will have fascinating stories that have been passed down for generations. Maybe the story isn't always 100% accurate, but there is something very special about reading a record that tells me how the family talked about and treated the item.

I don't know what Uncle Gren was really like, if he truly was on his last bombing mission, or what all of his plans were for after the war. But I do know that we cherish the family memory of him; that we will never forget the sacrifice that he made. And one way that we can pay tribute to him is through the sharing of the family lore. 

lest we forget

Museums and Youth

While some people may not believe it, I do actually have a life outside of work.  This recently involved chaperoning a group of middle and high school kids at a weekend youth event in Moncton.

As I was driving to and through New Brunswick, listening to hip hop and made up rhymes about camels and dragons and tomatoes, wondering if 6 kids rocking an SUV back and forth while doing 110km/h could possibly tip the vehicle, I couldn't help but think about work...nice, safe, quiet work.  I was thinking how very far away a typical Nova Scotian museum is from the world of these kids.  They're fun, easily excited, very intelligent and critical thinkers, and just want to be taken seriously as individuals.  Ok, so some museums can deal with people like that.  But what about a mob of teenagers like that?  And did I mention that they come from very diverse backgrounds?  Almost half weren't even born in Canada.  So how are Nova Scotia's museums relevant to them?

At our recent conference we asked attendees to fill out an evaluation form, and part of that was voting on next year's theme.  A lot of people asked for a conference on engaging youth, which makes me really excited.  We all seem to understand the concept of "getting them while they're young", but few of us are really good at this.

Whenever I talk to people about teenagers and museums, I share one of my favourite museum stories.  A couple years ago I was doing a site visit and the curator was telling me how worrisome it is that kids these days just aren't interested in museums, that the schools never bring them anymore, and that if nothing changes we'll start to see museums closing because there's no one to continue the work.  Before I could respond she started to complain about how a group of teenagers were hanging around the front yard of the museum and "scaring off" potential visitors, and that she was having to spend a lot of time chasing away these troublemakers (literally, she even used a broom).

Gezim
Photo by Evan

On the off-chance you encounter something like this, let me enlighten you. These teens are interested.  You have a space that they recognize as being safe, and the reason they chose it is because at least one person in the group really wants to check out the museum.  They just need to know this is okay.  So go out, introduce yourself, tell them it's totally cool to skateboard and practice their bboy routines in the parking lot (without blocking entrances or getting in the way of traffic of course).  Let them know you've got water and washrooms and weird old stuff inside if they want to check it out.  And if they say they don't have the money for the entrance fee, who cares.  Is the loss of $5-$10 really going to break the bank?