Monthly Archives: February 2016

“Bryn Mawr: Hotbed of Radicalism”

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When watching The Women of Summer, one of the most surprising things was learning about how Bryn Mawr was on the forefront of a progressive social movement. I was especially shocked when one alum of the Summer School mentioned how a Philadelphia newspaper had claimed Bryn Mawr was a “hotbed of radicalism”, since that isn’t how I perceive Bryn Mawr’s reputation at all.

I googled Bryn Mawr and “hotbed of radicalism” to see if I could quickly find the article that the women had referenced. I didn’t find that one in particular, but I did find this article from the Evening Independent of St. Petersburg, Florida from May 17th, 1923, which I’ve screen capped below:

Evening Independent (St. Petersburg, FL) May 17 1923

(found on Google News, who made it incredibly easy to find a relevant newspaper headline from 93 years ago online.)

The entire story of the the Summer School for Women Workers in Industry was fascinating, but I was especially interested in the way that it was understood with its political context. The Evening Independent article doesn’t specifically mention the Summer School, but it does hint at Bryn Mawr’s progressive reputation in the 20s and fears about union organizing. the claim of a direct connection between Bryn Mawr and Soviet Russia through the Trade Union League seems ridiculous, but it’s fascinating to think that the Summer School was radical enough to warrant that type of publicity.

Both the quote from Women of Summer and this article mention how Bryn Mawr publicly denied allegations of radicalism. The woman interviewed in the film mentioned how the school administration was angry about the “hotbed of radicalism” headline, and this article quotes a response from Marion Davis Park. Although Bryn Mawr may have been on the cutting edge, their public responses also show the way that the school was still invested in maintaining a reputation that was not tied to radicalism. The school’s response is another integral part of the story, which speaks to the various voices within the school as well as the potential difference between private goals and public image.

Bryn Mawr’s Summer School: Answers and Questions

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Before engaging with the documentary and readings for this week’s class, I don’t believe I had any real awareness of Bryn Mawr’s summer school for women workers in industry.  I had seen the blue historical sign up next to admissions–probably most of us have–and had read it, but the sign failed to impress upon me the full importance and legacy of the summer school.  The documentary and readings on the summer school answered a lot of questions I didn’t even know I had about how the summer school was formed, what students’ and faculty members’ lives were like at the summer school, and the events that led to its closing.  However, now that I’ve learned far more about the summer school than what one historical sign could ever tell, I find myself with yet more questions.

First, I wonder about the lives of maids and servants at Bryn Mawr’s summer school.  I can count on one hand the number of things I learned about their lives from this week’s materials–they didn’t have to make summer school students’ beds or serve them food like they would have for year-round students, and the summer school students one year demanded that the maids receive better living quarters because they were living on the top floors of dorms, which were (and continue to be) notoriously hot.  I wanted to know, firstly, how the administration responded to that request, but I don’t believe the documentary or readings provided an answer.  More generally, I found myself frustrated that, when given materials aimed at uncovering silences in Bryn Mawr’s history in a course dedicated in part to exploring uncovering silences, only some silences were finally given voice.  Was there so little material on maids and servants because that material doesn’t exist in any archives?  Are we just not trying hard enough to find that material?  Why, when so many former summer school students and faculty came together for a reunion and were interviewed about their experiences, did they barely discuss the roles maids and servants played?  Did they talk about this subject more, but the interviews weren’t included in the documentary?  Why was only one former summer school maid interviewed, and only given about 5 seconds of screen time?  How were the summer school maids and servants hired?  Did they also work at Bryn Mawr year-round?  If making students’ beds and serving them in the dining halls weren’t their responsibilities, what were?  Did they do work similar to what our housekeepers do today?  I suppose the best way to answer some of my questions might be to go into the archives myself, to do my best to uncover these silences, but it saddens me that the people who have already undertaken efforts to tell the stories of Bryn Mawr’s summer school seemed to have relatively little concern for the lives of maids and servants there.

Second, I was struck, in the documentary, by the singing of Bread and Roses juxtaposed with the strikes and demonstrations Bryn Mawr summer school students and faculty participated in.  Ever since learning the history of Bread and Roses as a song of the labor movement, I’ve felt somewhat uncomfortable singing it at Step Sing, as if we have appropriated this song, largely ignorant of the decades of labor organizing behind it, as a recognition of the culmination of our college lives, so different from the lives of the women whose experiences are told in the song.  However, I don’t know when, or why, Bread and Roses became the senior song at step sings.  Watching “The Women of Summer” made me wonder if it somehow came to Bryn Mawr through the summer school students and their labor activism?  If this were true, I would feel, when I sing Bread and Roses at step sing, that at least I am calling on a history of students here, consciously remembering and celebrating their struggles.  But of course most students still would sing the song not knowing about the summer school, and I wish more people knew about the powerful organizing in which summer school students and faculty (and maids and servants?  Again, we don’t know) engaged.

Physical Manifestations of the Past

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I stopped on my way back to campus this morning to take a picture of the sign documenting the Summer School for Women Workers by the Admissions Building, thinking that perhaps I would use that as the basis for my response paper. IMAG1133

Fortunately, before I did this, I decided to revisit the post I wrote around this time last year, when we touched on the Summer School in Monica’s History of Women’s Education course. As it happens, I had fixated on the sign last year, too (which is perhaps not surprising, given my interests, but somewhat amusing all the same). For anyone who is really bored, the full response is here — http://historyb332.blogs.brynmawr.edu/what-we-remember/ — but the gist of it is as follows:

  • We learn very selectively about Bryn Mawr’s history from physical landmarks, particularly when it comes to the signs put up by the PA Historical Commission
  • In the grand scheme of things, these signs aren’t really helping us learn a whole lot about Bryn Mawr as a school (the other sign is about Woodrow Wilson, but I will refrain from discussing my very strong opinion on that for the time being)
  • However, when it comes to the Summer School, the sign is doing an excellent job: it’s the only way most of us learn about this aspect of Bryn Mawr’s history

Revisiting this argument a year later, it seems that much has changed and yet nothing has. On the one hand, I know Monica taught about the Summer School during last year’s Community Day of Learning and will do so again this year, and I know she’s also taken opportunities to discuss it elsewhere, both on this campus and off. And yet– how many people on this campus actually know about the Summer School? Should we care if they don’t?

As a history major, my response (of course we should! Everyone should know about this!) is probably biased, and yet I hope that my reasoning is not inaccessible to a larger audience. Everyone on this campus cares about Bryn Mawr, and on some level or another, almost everyone has a stake in how stories about this campus are told. What better way to distinguish Bryn Mawr to a dubious relative than to say it was the first college to offer women doctoral degrees in the U.S. or to explain the opportunities that a genuinely revolutionary summer school gave to students who might not have had them otherwise? Conversely, what better way to expose Bryn Mawr’s hypocritical policies and push for change than to show the advancement the Summer School made with regards to race and class while the College itself lagged several decades behind?

If it is indeed important to learn about the Summer School, which I think it is for more reasons than listed here, how might we go about bringing it to the attention of larger audiences? Despite my general feelings on the signs at Bryn Mawr (again, see last year’s comments if you really want to get into it) I think the Summer School sign is a good start. So are initiatives like Monica’s that bring it to audiences who might not have encountered it further. But perhaps bringing the Summer School into greater prominence physically– e.g., having a sign (put up by the College, rather than the PA Historical Commission, which I think would say a lot about Bryn Mawr’s active investment in its own history) in a more prominent place on campus, or showcasing the words of the Summer School graduates in the Campus Center the way we do our regular alumnae– might also help. Suffice to say that I would really like to learn more about physical landmarks in general and how they impact the way we view history– and that I would very much like to consider the potential effect they might have on our campus.

On the Margins of History

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Let me preface this by an acknowledgement of how witty I thought this title was. Not only will I be discussing the metaphorical margins of history (through Bryn Mawr’s Summer School for Women Workers), but through the very physical margins of archived evidence. Where to begin…

I think that one of the most interesting links that I’ve been noting through out numerous pieces of artifacts were the notes written in the margins. In documents, it’s very common for me to find handwritten anecdotes on the original paper. For example, when I was looking at the archives in the John J. Wilcox, Jr. LGBT Archives I came across underlines of words, doodled smiley faces, and handwritten names. What do these hand written notes mean? What was the significant to the original owners? These little things mean nothing to me. I can only guess at what importance they played in the lives of others. In some instances, it seems obvious- a heart next to a name suggest a relationship of endearment. But what about when I can’t read the text? What am I missing?

This was exactly my thoughts when I was reading the Bryn Mawr Summer School for Women Workers in Industry 11 Letter Boxes 7 feet 2 inches linear 2 Flat Boxes 3 feet linear. On the very first page, on the bottom left margin, is a note that begins with ‘No.’ (1).  The line that was bracketed off reads, “The Summer School syllabi, housed in boxes 4, 5, and 6, were transferred from the Sophia Smith Collection, Smith College, in February 1985.” (2) The rest of the ‘No’ is unreadable. Does the writer know something that I don’t know? Obviously, they were trying to contradict something within the bracket, and had made a hand written annotation in an attempt to write the wrong. Unfortunately, I can’t read what they had written. Could my understanding of history have been altered by the note that I don’t have access too?

Naturally, this lead me on a hunt. After googling the Sophia Smith Collection, I found two records of Bryn Mawr’s Summer School for Women Workers in their database- Eleanor Gwinnell Coit Papers (1913-1974) and Mary van Kleeck Papers (1849-1998). The Eleanor Gwinnell Coit Papers seem to contain information on her work with the American Labor Education Service, as well as education associations and councils. (3) The Mary van Kleeck Papers seem to include “a significant amount of material relating…(to) Bryn Mawr Summer School for Student Workers” (4). Both sets of papers are available thorough the Sophia Smith Collection. Regardless, the little marginal notes from my organizational box achieve papers led me on a small hunt for missing information- it arrived in the form of two women who had written on the Bryn Mawr Summer School for Student Workers, and were involved with its educational processing. Granted, I never learned what the “No” was in reference to, but I felt like I had made a small discovery instead.

 

 

(1) “File #3456: “Bryn Mawr Summer School for Women Workers in Industry Finding Aid.pdf” Omeka RSS. (Accessed February 10, 2016. http://greenfield.brynmawr.edu/files/show/3456.) 1.

(2) “File #3456: “Bryn Mawr Summer School for Women Workers in Industry Finding Aid.pdf” Omeka RSS. (Accessed February 10, 2016. http://greenfield.brynmawr.edu/files/show/3456.) 1.

(3) “Eleanor Gwinnell Coit Papers, 1913-1974: Collection Overview.” Eleanor Gwinnell Coit Papers, 1913-1974: Collection Overview. Accessed February 10, 2016. http://asteria.fivecolleges.edu/findaids/sophiasmith/mnsss229_main.html.

(4) “Mary Van Kleeck Papers, 1849-1998 : Collection Overview.” Mary Van Kleeck Papers, 1849-1998 : Collection Overview. Accessed February 10, 2016. http://asteria.fivecolleges.edu/findaids/sophiasmith/mnsss150_main.html.

Archival silence and violence

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I actually disagreed with Carter’s argument about the power of silences. She claims that silence, including the silences in the archive, can be a tool of resistance. Of course this is true in situations like that of slaves or soldiers who refuse to give crucial information, but in the case of history silence is deadly. It does matter if other people see things because they hold important meaning, even if one might want to keep them private while alive. For example, Emma Goldman’s very sexually charged letters to a variety of partners were left out of her autobiography because she had more political priorities, and these things were private, but in history these letters have revealed crucial dimensions of her life and politics. Silence can be good when you’re alive, but it is useless in death. People who donate personal papers realize this is true. It’s a foundational pillar of the archive.

I also really agreed with the analysis about saving community histories and chronicling our activism. I have been blogging for an organization in Philly in the Black Lives Matter movement for a while. I am thinking about how to save the blog in the future, now. This is also a huge issue because the internet is being taken over by corporations. We have to find ways to do things without using microsoft and others who might make our information inaccessible later.

Herding Cats, Bacon Bats, Mountain Day, and More

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I was particularly excited to read “Educate a Girl?? You Might as Well Attempt to Educate a Cat!” — this week’s reading about Smith College’s archives. Besides the ironic title, I enjoyed reading this piece because I got the chance to examine Smith’s archives myself as a part of their History Summer at Smith precollege program almost 4 years ago.  Similar to the glimpses of Bryn Mawr’s archival items that we saw last Tuesday, the archived items at Smith were scrapbooks, photo albums, yearbooks, and miscellaneous items such as dance cards. Another thing that the collections had in common was the snark, wit, and the dialectically serious and care-free attitude of the women attending both colleges in their early years.

Though he was only mentioned briefly in the reading and in relation to encouraging women’s education, I learned while at Smith that President Seelye, like M. Carey Thomas, wasn’t always revered in the Smith community. He often remarked how the women attending the College should behave like proper ladies and didn’t fail to lament them when they were too “rambunctious”. Like Bryn Mawr students, the students at Smith bristled at the thought of following mandatory rules and used their guile to subvert the somewhat oppressive system of higher education at Smith College. In fact, much to President Seelye’s dismay, I’m sure the students at Smith College in the early 20th century would’ve screen-printed “Educate a Girl?? You Might as Well Attempt to Educate a Cat!” onto their clothing if given the technology.

One thing that caught my attention about this reading was how some traditions managed to stand the test of time, such as Mountain Day — a day only known to the President of the College until the day of when the clock tower bell is rung and classes are cancelled, encouraging students to venture out into the surrounding area for a nature retreat. Other traditions however, like Bacon Bat — a time when small groups of students would picnic into nearby rural spots — has disappeared or perhaps evolved into something new, something more modern. Like leaving campus to go to a coffeeshop or diner with friends. I think that our ability to look through archives and to see what things have happened in the past helps to inform us how rapidly or drastically things can change (or not change) within colleges.

Relating Smith’s archives to Bryn Mawr’s, there are still so many unanswered questions about Bryn Mawr’s past history that have yet to be answered or even inquired. I hope that once the College hires an official Bryn Mawr archivist that new things as well as old things will be discovered and added to the public’s knowledge of Bryn Mawr College.

One last thing I want to address is the issue of “herding cats” that Young posed towards the end of the article, talking about the difficulty of obtaining archival materials from alumnae/i due to sentimentality, hopes to make big bucks, and as we talked about in class, individuals thinking that their materials lack importance or significance. Young argued that the internet has helped to remedy this situation in some ways. However, she wonders if digitization and internet resources will be enough to overcome the hardships that archiving is encountering. I pose the same question for Bryn Mawr and its archives.

Everything Old is…Blue Again?

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Students_from_the_Class_of_1898

Bryn Mawr Students from the Class of 1898, via Bryn Mawr College Archives.

Given our questions raised last Tuesday about cyanotypes, the photographic printing process that produces a blue print, I thought some of you might like to see this piece from Friday’s New York Times: “Photography’s Blue Period is Making a Comeback.”

The article promotes a new exhibition at the Worcester (MA) Museum of Art on view through April, “Cyanotypes: Photography’s Blue Period.”

Archiving Digitally

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I came across a few questions and observations in looking over the William Way Center’s Collection Development Policy in relation to the Radical Archives and the New Cycles of Contention.

I feel like comprehensiveness in an archive is a hard thing to grasp or even strive for. Won’t there always be gaps that you can’t fill in? Is anything really comprehensive? Even if you feel the archive is comprehensive, clearly silences will arise when the archive is examined, even with an effort to collect comprehensively there will be a specific narration of the events documented.

How do you go about collecting digital-born material, especially when much of it is not very typical (e.g. Snapchat and Twitter etc.)? Snapchat is a growing media outlet in our society with ‘snap stories’ of big events such as political debates, and even news outlets that have their own snap stories. Presumably the more official snap stories, like that of the Wall Street Journal are saved in some capacity. But personal snap stories, and personal snaps only last so long (anywhere from 1 second to a day), as far I understand they are kept in storage by Snapchat but they can document first-person impressions of important events around the world, including events we may not know are even important. In the future who knows what will happen to these millions and billions and trillions of pictures of the documentation of life. Snapchats could be very important to the future of archives, but how do we make sure that they get documented by more than just the Snapchat server? It will be interesting to see, since most things in archives are currently given as donations. Digitally that seems harder to do–would a grab what you can policy be put in place with more public platforms like Twitter? More private communications like Twitter Direct Messages and the more traditional email are still subject to the need of being donated, but what happens when you don’t even have a saved version of what you would like to donate? Many Snapchat users do not save the things they send and thus their content is lost to the infinite server of whatever was sent on Snapchat that day. Many users don’t read the terms and conditions, they assume will be lost to time and eternity with nobody looking on after the sent photo. Some articles have revealed that Snapchat does not simply lose the photo forever, it is saved in their servers. How will access to these servers be implemented in the future? Will it be?

Preserving Historical Records

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In “Radical Archives,” Springer expresses concern that future researchers will be unable to access records of today’s activist groups, as many of these are stored exclusively online and often on third-party sites such as Facebook. In response to this dilemma, Springer proposes that archives be backed up “on three different hard drives,” which would then “be tested every year” and “transferred to a new set of hard drives every five years” (Springer 4). While this would seem to be a sound way to ensure the preservation of research materials, I could not help but view it with some skepticism. Such an involved process seems impractical when viewed alongside the article on Smith College by Nanci Young, who writes: “Our challenge is to continue to add digitized material to this site on a regular basis, which frankly, has not happened” (Young 62). If archivists cannot upload their records a single time, one wonders if they would come to upload those same records three times and then test and re-upload them at regular intervals, even if (as in Springer’s case) these records are online to begin with. The problem then appears to be with the practices of archivists, rather than with the complexity of Springer’s plan. Why have more historical records not been digitally archived or backed up? The reason might often be insufficient funding; Young mentions the importance of the Andrew Mellon Foundation grant in allowing the college to digitize a good portion of its records (62). Most of the small historical sites I have visited are run by non-profit organizations and are largely staffed by volunteers. These sites depend on donors for support; however, if the public is not made aware of the importance of historic preservation, projects such as the digitizing of archives may be brought to a standstill. The problem is multi-faceted, but if it goes unsolved, many print records of past history and online records of history-in-the-making might be made inaccessible to future researchers.

Rethinking Archival Silences

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Rodney G.S. Carter’s piece Of Things Said and Unsaid brought to mind a discussion I had had in an art history class this week about how our analysis of the past is shaped by our access to written materials. We were discussing the potential meanings behind a medieval painting of Mary, and how the image may have held a myriad of meanings but the only ones we could properly analyze were those that were supported by theological texts of the era. This is despite the fact that the vast majority of contemporaries were illiterate and more likely to learn their faith through images, not theological texts. The painting may have been read in many different ways, but the only one we know about is the one that comes from an institutional perspective. Although archives are made up of both words and images, I can’t help but feel that the strong preference for archiving the written word is already privileging certain people and types of material culture over others.

Carter ends his piece with a call to action for further archiving, especially on the part of marginalized groups. But I wonder if the problem runs deeper than that. Yes, literacy rates in much of the world are higher than they used to be. But we still can’t account for all the things left unsaid and unwritten. Even Springer in Radical Archives is looking at groups who created material that is in the right form to be archived using traditional methods. We can’t go back in time and ask medieval peasants what they thought of a painting in a church, but we also aren’t going out and collecting the thoughts of every person who sees a work of art now and putting it in an archive. It’s easy to look at newspaper archives and find art critics writing about exhibits, but much harder to find a record of someone who wandered in off the street, or someone who couldn’t afford to pay the admission price in the first place. Nobody asks what people without power or influence thought, so nobody writes it down, and consequently there’s nothing to archive. Our way of thinking about recording information still prioritizes certain types of material, especially things that have been written and published. Carter suggests that we “attempt to understand the contexts that gave rise to the silences” (230), but he uses the past tense as if we aren’t still creating silences and leaving blank spaces in the history we record today.