The Negro runs great risks—of being arrested or worse—in the exercise of his right to use the library.
The person as a "fugitive thing."
The Negro runs great risks—of being arrested or worse—in the exercise of his right to use the library.
The person as a "fugitive thing."
“the historian who never wrote,”
Makes me look to the often "invisible" work of women. It gestures toward the kind of intellectual labor that often goes unrecognized, especially when done by women. It reflects how Harsh’s deep archival and curatorial work, though not always expressed in traditional scholarly formats, was essential to shaping Black historical memory. The line reminds me of how much invisible labor women have done, collecting, preserving, mentoring, organizing knowledge, without being credited as authors or theorists.
None of the city’s public or academic libraries officially excluded Black readers, but as Hughes noted while staying at the University of Chicago, many were made “foreign” to Bronzeville’s residents
Scattered things (people).
FIGURE 5.2
Every single image within this book has struck me. I think Helton has done an amazing job choosing what should be included image wise. Each one leaves me wanting more. The visual selections don’t just complement the text, they carry their own emotional and historical weight.
Until 1920, the Harshes were the only African American family on their block, but by 1930, Black migrants from the South became their neighbors on all sides.
People as scattered things.
however, on opening day and in the years after, did not transform their encounters with the collection into famous works.
This challenges the intellectual (?) idea to center the famous. Instead we center the ORDINARY READER. To me this sentence reclaims the everyday intellectual lives of ordinary library patrons, people who can be eaisly overlooked. It's a quiet but important act of historical recovery.
FIGURE 5.1
I love this photo. It looks like a photo from a movie. I think it highlights the ordinary (the group of children by the counter, the librarians behind the counter, no one looking at the camera). This chapter really highlights the Ordinary Reader and their key importance.
rage born of history’s deniala —but the marrow of their everyday intellectual practice engaged problems of scale and scope, classification, and taste—all of which revel in the idea of blackness as “too much to know” rather than too little.102
I love the sentence "rage born of history's denial." I think it really captures the powerful, emotional force behind the intellectual resistance that collecting and archiving became. This isn't just academic curiosity held by collectors, it is knowledge-making that is driven by historical erasure and systematic injustice.
Another way to understand archives, by contrast, is as “desire settings,” to use art historian Romi Crawford’s phrase for urban sites that invite “myriad scenarios of learning, labor, and conviviality.”
This term "desire setting" is so interesting to me. Archives as paces shaped by longing, imagination, and human action. The word "desire" immediately opens up a more emotional, even poetic dimension. It reminds me of the Gumby chapter, where his scrapbooks functioned in a similar way. His scrapbooks were creative and imaginative, as well as political and queer. He archived what mattered to him, what he felt should be remembered. In that way, his scrapbooks became a kind of desire setting, they reflected both a yearning for representation and a refusal to let certain stories disappear.
linear continuity
I like this term. Trouillot’s earlier discussion of Western models of linear time and how it became the assumed default hides the messiness, uncertainty, and multi-directionality of actual history. It also hides the fact that there is more than one way to look at time, the Western view excluded non-western ideas of time.
Would the real Columbus please stand up?
Who is the "real Columbus," as stated in the previous sentence, Columbus wears many hats. Historical figures are often battlegrounds for memory and meaning. The “real Columbus” is not a single, fixed person but a symbol whose identity shifts depending on who is telling the story and for what purpose.
Columbus wears a different hat in each of these places.
What does it mean when a single historical figure like Columbus can symbolize both pride and oppression? How should educators or institutions navigate these conflicting narratives? In some places, Columbus is celebrated as a symbol of heritage, in others, he represents colonial violence and is resisted or reimagined in turn. This reflects Trouillot’s broader argument that history is not just about what happened, but how it is told and by whom. The same event or figure can be mobilized for competing purposes, depending on the narrative power of local actors and their specific relationship to the figure as well as colonialism, resistance, and identity.
The Discovery has lost its processual character. It has become a single and simple moment.
To strip the event of its complexity and create a single, neat moment. In reality, this "discovery" was part of a long, messy process involving exploration, conquest, colonization, resistance, and genocide. But through dominant historical narratives, this process has been flattened into one symbolic moment, a flattening making it easier to celebrate, commemorate, or teach.
This reflects Trouillot’s broader idea of how power simplifies history, turning ongoing, contested events into fixed "facts" to serve the elite purpose (think national pride, colonial legacy). In recent years, there has been push back against this mythologized version of Columbus. It has been argued that what has been celebrated as a moment of “discovery” was in fact the beginning of centuries of violence and oppression. This could be an example of a challenge to the “single and simple moment” framing that Trouillot criticizes. History is not just about what happened, but about who gets to narrate what happened, and how those narratives are shaped by power. Are there any other examples that stick out where a complex, messy historical process has been flattened into a single, simple moment?
created an ideological space where religions and cultures that mingled in daily life were seen as officially incompatible.
How can ideology override reality? in this context the alliance between the Church and state created a fiction of incompatibility between Christians, Muslims, and Jews—despite the fact that these groups often lived together, traded, and interacted peacefully in everyday life. This is a good example of Trouillot’s point about how power produces selective narratives/stories, here, the idea of a “pure” Christendom justifies violence and exclusion. By controlling the narrative, peaceful coexistence seems like betrayal, and war seems like salvation. In this way, ideology didn’t just describe the world, it reshaped it, silencing the messy reality in favor of a simplified and convenient myth.