New Book? New Book!

 

While my esteemed readers were distracted by more pressing matters, I apparently wrote another book. Hoozay!

To Be Men of Business: The Origins of Chickasaw Capitalism has been in the works for sixteen years, and I’ve written a few blog posts (here and here, for instance) about my progress and research findings. The finished product is now on sale from the University of Nebraska Press; those interested in buying a copy can obtain a 40% discount by entering the code 6AS26 at checkout.

It’s the perfect gift for the eccentric relative whose interests are well-concealed, or the college student you’re trying, for some reason, to steer away from business school and toward ethnohistory. And more power to you in either case.

Was Lincoln a Douche?

On Presidents’ Day it is customary to laud Abraham Lincoln, sixteenth president of These United States, as the greatest of all American leaders. The man saved the Union, ended slavery, told good jokes, had nice legs - what’s not to like? Historians in a recent poll affirmed their profession’s usual ranking of Lincoln as the Number One guy, well ahead of the current incumbent (No. 14) and his predecessor (No. 45). Old Abe of course has his critics, and not just among unreconstructed neo-Confederates. President Lincoln’s policy toward Native Americans - a combination of military repression and malign neglect - proved so destructive that Congress temporarily took over the conduct of Indian Affairs after Appomattox. Closer to our own time, Bobby Wilson, a member of the 1491s, assessed Lincoln’s relationship with his own Dakota nation in a short, pointed video, “Lincoln Was a Douche.” Reviewing the president's record, I kind of have to agree.

A few years ago, the organizer of a podcast called Lincoln Log asked me to offer my scholarly assessment of Number Sixteen on his show. In his invitation the podcaster asked me how Lincoln had affected my life personally, which suggested that the show’s attitude toward Mr. Rail-Splitter was not merely reverential but theological. In my reply, which I offer below, I effectively declined the invitation:     

 

“My recent scholarship endeavors to place Indigenous Americans at the center of their own stories, and to move white policy-makers toward the background…My views on Abraham Lincoln are shaped by the impact on Native Americans' lives of policies for which Lincoln, as president, bore ultimate if not always proximate responsibility.

Navajo prisoners at Bosque Redondo (Wikimedia Commons)

"The years of Lincoln's presidency were ghastly ones for tens of thousands of American Indians. Your listeners are probably familiar with the story of the Dakota Sioux* rebellion of 1862 and the 38 men Lincoln hanged for insurrection; they are probably less familiar with the hundreds of Minnesota Ho-Chunks deported after the Sioux War (even though they had nothing to do with it), and with John Pope's deadly punitive campaign against the Lakota[s]...who also had nothing to do with the Dakota rising. Lincoln was less directly responsible for the California and Arizona militias' war of extermination against the Apaches, the Colorado militia's infamous attack on the Cheyenne encampment at Sand Creek, and Kit Carson's forced removal of the Navajos to Bosque Redondo, where 4,000 people died in four years. All of these military actions occurred, however, in the course of a...war with the Confederacy which Lincoln was determined to prosecute to unconditional victory, and all occurred in regions where Lincoln or his subordinates feared that Native American warriors might become recruits or catspaws of the CSA. (Not without some justification: the Five Civilized Tribes of Indian Territory did become formal allies of the Confederacy in 1861.) I have found little to no evidence that President Lincoln intended his Western commanders to fight a frontier war with kid gloves on.

"It is worth noting that the intense, nearly genocidal character of the Indian Wars of 1862-65 generated growing criticism from white Americans. At the end of the Civil War Congress endeavored to wrest control of Indian policy away from the Executive Branch, setting up its own peace commission and initiating its own peace treaties with the Plains nations. A few years later President Ulysses Grant, taking back a leading role in Indian policy-making, called his new approach the "Peace Policy," to distinguish it from the more bellicose actions of his immediate predecessors - including Lincoln. Perhaps if he had survived his fatal trip to the theater Lincoln would have embraced a similar policy a few years earlier, but I haven't found much support for this counterfactual speculation.

"…In an interview or conversation about 'Lincoln and the Indians,' I would emphasize the experiences of Native Americans, and while I could certainly try to explain the actions of President Lincoln and his subordinates, I would not be inclined to excuse or justify them. This approach to the subject may be too pitiless for your audience. If not, I would be glad to talk with you further about taking part in an episode of your podcast.”

 

I didn’t appear on the Lincoln Log. 

I rather like Lincoln as a person, and think he did some remarkable things as president, but the responsibilities of a modern historian - to tell the truth about the past - differ considerably from those of a hagiographer or professional moralizer.

 

* I would not use this term today, as many people find it offensive.

The World Is a Garden and We Are All Flowers

“I for one do not lament the passing of social organizations that used the many as a manured soil in which to grow a few graceful flowers of refined culture” - Theodosius Dobzhansky, quoted in Fernand Braudel, The Structures of Everyday Life (1979), 186.

 

Dobzhansky himself, 1966 (via Wikimedia)

 

Raised by elitist parents and schooled at a high-toned college - “four years in a lukewarm bath of snobbery,” to steal a phrase from Orwell - I in my youth grew accustomed to the argument that high culture could not exist without social inequality. The masses toiled and were taxed and exploited so that mannered commentators could discuss affairs of state on Sunday-morning television, philanthropists could endow galleries of art by past and present masters, and well-educated authors could write of adultery and ennui in the suburbs. Friedrich Nietzsche, a popular fellow on high-toned college syllabi, epitomized this aristocratic view in Chapter Nine of Beyond Good and Evil, claiming that only “a society believing in…differences of worth among human beings” could produce men of elevated spirit. These great-souled men, in turn, should rule a society that “is not allowed to exist for its own sake, but only as a foundation and a scaffolding, by means of which a select class of beings may…elevate themselves to their higher duties.”

Exhausted and alienated by my parents' and contemporaries' elitism, how delighted I was to encounter, early in graduate school, Dobzansky's quote and his democratic attitude in a work by one of the modern masters of history. Braudel was a scholar as canonical in his way as Nietzsche, who nonetheless devoted his career to study and celebration of the everyday and common. People and the societies they create are ends in themselves, culture is produced and reproduced by everyone, the great innovators and artists of history owe much if not most of their insight to their teachers, contemporaries, and disciples, and nearly everyone has a good story to tell.* These observations and beliefs became all the more important for me to retain as American political and economic leaders adopted, in the early twenty-first century, the principles of one of Nietzsche’s bastard offspring, Ayn Rand. The United States’ headlong rush toward aristocracy slowed somewhat in the 2010s - more so during the recent unpleasantness - but the belief that most people don’t matter very much remains a compelling one for a powerful minority.

(The title of this post is from the underrated film Party Girl [1995].)

 

* I’d like to claim that I learned most of these lessons from my graduate-school training and subsequent reading, but actually most of it came incidentally, from magazine articles and genre fiction. I learned of the categorical imperative from one of George Will’s columns; of the diffusion of creativity and good stories through the general population by way of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman and another underrated film, The Good Girl (2001); and of the idea that “solitary” geniuses were usually inspired by other, more obscure geniuses from some of Stephen Jay Gould’s articles. The universalist definition of culture I will admit to acquiring from the essays of Clifford Geertz.