Whose History?

The continual (re)development associated with urban spaces results in the demand that heritage spaces be preserved. This raises a number of questions to be considered such as: which spaces will be preserved, what stories will be associated with these, and how will the embodied experience of these spaces be mediated? Since Foucault, it has been accepted that knowledge, power and truth are inextricably interwoven. There are no golden sands of freedom, there is no transcendent truth free from composing discourses. The construction of truth and history as discursive practice has a strong spatial component in museums. Objects are taken out of their original contexts, placed into knowledge regimes that delimit how these shall be known and then fixed in a stasis that regulates any change or flow in the meanings that might be constructed around these. Figure 1 - Skeleton of a middle age woman on display in the Dublinia MuseumThe body in the museum becomes either an object to be displayed or a nuisance to be excluded from contact with 'artefacts'. The picture above is of the skeleton of a middle age woman who died in Dublin hundreds of years ago and is now on display in the Dublinia Museum. Once the decision is made that this skeleton is no longer a body but an artefact it is placed behind glass so that the living bodies which come to view it may not 'interfere' with its discursive or physical existence. Once 'preserved' in this way, 'she' becomes an 'it', an object translated and removed from the everyday. In this case, the skeleton is placed within a scientific-medical discourse where the fact that it once belonged to an old woman who had worn away teeth tells us that she lived in a time when the people of Dublin had a poor diet. Similar undertakings are accepted practice in the Hyde Park Barracks Museum. All 'real' artefacts are kept behind glass, preserved in carefully controlled conditions that prevent human physical contact. Only replicas or reconstructions are available for everyday handling by the general public. In the example below, the item discussed was kept behind glass, a thing to be observed, revered, a relic to lend authority to the power-knowledge-truth regime of the Hyde Park Barracks Museum.Figure 2 - box containing a lock of Captain James Cook's hair and a rendition of his death scene in Hawaii on display at the Hyde Park Barracks MuseumSo 'precious' was this object that it was kept doubly removed, a small wooden casket within a timber and glass case behind the display panel of the museum. Figure 3 - closer view of box containing a lock of Captain James Cook's hair and a rendition of his death scene in Hawaii on display at the Hyde Park Barracks MuseumThis particular item contains a lock of Captain James Cook's hair and a rendition of his death scene in Hawaii. The case is made from the wood of the Resolution (his ship at the time of his death) and the entire item was a memento given to his widow upon the Resolution's return to Britain. This 'relic' is iconic of the approach adopted by the presentation of the Barracks as a museum. But what happens when the history being 'preserved' is the fabric of a built space? The spatial process of 'encasing', 'preserving' and physically removing 'artefacts' from everyday contact is an ongoing aspect of the presentation of the Barracks. In 1996, not long after I began my employ with the Barracks as part of an extended engagement with the embodied experience of cityspace, the curator decided that each guide should have their skills at presenting the Barracks in an appropriate light assessed. The result was that each guide was required to prepare and present a 'wall talk'. The 'wall talk' was literally that. Each guide was assigned a physical section of the museum to research and then discuss for ten minutes to an audience composed of other guides, the curator, the manager and education staff. The aims were to get each guide to re-assess their lecture presentation technique and to spread awareness amongst the guides that each physical section of the museum held its own unique part in the story of the Barracks. My assignment was a piece of wall on the second floor directly above the reception area. Deep into the persona I created so that I could 'pass' in this environment, I began by examining the wall. It was constructed of the convict made brick laid down in 1818 held together by Aboriginal midden material that dated back thousands of years, overlaid with whitewash applied in 1848 when the men moved out and the women moved in, the whitewash was overlaid with plaster held in place by cows hair in 1887 when the building was converted to a courts complex which was topped with remnants of wall paper that dated back to 1952 when the room was renovated as a Judge's chambers. On a section of the wall that had once been covered by this wallpaper was a pencil drawn outline of a pair of scissors, the name Max Fry and the date 1952 was written next to these. Both the floor and ceiling above and below the wall had sections that had been replaced when air conditioning was installed in the first incarnation of the building as a museum under the management of the Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences. A red builders' chalk mark showing where this was to installed remained even though the ducting had been removed in a later enactment of this museum space under the auspices of the Historic Houses Trust. In the rebated corner closest to this wall, out of sight to any but the closest inspection, there was a pencil drawing of a boxer shaping up to an unseen opponent. The skirting board was two inches higher than in the next room and of an Edwardian rather than a Victorian style. 'Ghosts' from zinc tiles were etched upon the ceiling and scratch marks from the iron beds used by the immigrant women remained upon the floors. I considered the wall carefully and even more carefully thought about the discourses of this institution, the personality of the curator and the predilections of the manager and other guides. If I was to continue 'passing', which story should I tell? How should it be told? What emphasis should be made and, most importantly of all, what must be elided? I considered raising the awareness that anthrax spores had been found in similar cow-hair reinforced plaster in the London Tube system but this somehow seemed irreverent. Starting with an statement about the mortar, Aboriginal land claims and how the entire Historic Houses Trust functioned to legitimate European seizure of Aboriginal land and that this was reflected by the way in which Aboriginal artefacts were ignored seemed equally inadvisable. Perhaps a discussion of the judge who inspired the boxer was in order. Rumour had it that he used to pay 'taxi-drivers' to join him in his rooms and engage in a little 'wrestling' and 'boxing'. This was reputedly such a physical activity that grunts, groans and cries of pain (?) were heard throughout the building. I could talk about the rats that had infested the ceilings above and below the room from the time that false ceilings were put in place during the renovation of the building into a courts complex and perhaps even display some of the 'artefacts' that had been stolen by the rats and hidden under the floor or in the ceiling space. A straight 'history' of the wall that simply discussed its physical composition would have 'passed', but that was perhaps more superficial than I felt the material warranted. Instead, set to a background audio tape of Tracey Chapman singing "Talking Bout a Revolution", a selection from Pink Floyd's The Wall and The Beatles Revolution 9, I told a story about the scissors. The scissors tale began by introducing Max Fry as a humble paperhanger working in the chambers of a powerful Judge in the 1950's. Oppressed, voiceless, the only impact he could make within the Barracks was to trace his scissors, sign his name, date it and then paper over this minor act of rebellion. For nearly thirty years his legacy remained hidden under the paper as judge after judge used the room to write the judgements that ordered the lives of those unfortunate enough to pass before them. In 1979 this legacy was unveiled but ignored, covered over by an air-conditioning system decreed necessary to preserve the artefacts displayed in the building. This oversight was rectified (so my story went) by the current generation of carers for the heritage of the building when the air conditioning was removed and the slice of social history and iniquitous power relations that Max Fry's rebellion illustrated was put on display for all to see. The talk was received well by all except for the chief guide who felt the music was distracting. He wanted me to do another wall some other time and 'get it right this time'. The curator was delighted and over-ruled the chief guide and the wall talks were over as far as I was concerned. A few months later, I was surprised to discover that on one of my 'time in lieu' breaks from the Barracks, that the wall had been encased in glass. The original scissors whose outline was traced upon the now preserved wall had been 'rescued' from Max's tool shed and hung behind the glass along with a picture of himself and some other of his tools. A story panel iterated a simplified version of the story I had told that elided any reference to class inequality or the powerlessness of his position. History's truth and permanence was now safely assured and no meddling fingers would ever again touch the pencilled scissored outline or smudge the bleary red chalk-line. The boxer, however, remains un-encased, a few hands-breadths from Max's sanitised and now unapproachable history, awaiting the right 'story' to bring it to prominence and preservation. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Darrell, Aaron. "Whose History?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.2 (2002). [your date of access] . Chicago StyleDarrell, Aaron, "Whose History?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 2 (2002), ([your date of access]). APA Style Darrell, Aaron. (2002) Whose History?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(2). ([your date of access]).