there are many names in history, and all of them are ours: history, and why it’s for you
Hey, guys. This is the post that I promised to make about history, partly as a considered response to this, but as a note of warning: I am not a professional. I am a master’s student of the history of literature, film, and culture, that is true, but I am a long, long way from from being an academic. This is a personal essay; an essay about why I love history, because history shouldn’t be oppressive, even though it often has been. This post explicitly talks about almost all forms of historical oppression, so if that is something that triggers you, please don’t read this. Please let me know, too, if I have said something problematic, I am more than willing to admit that I, too, always have room to learn. (Lots of it, as it happens.) I am considering making a post as a sequel to this about people who do not like facing the realities of history, especially when represented in media, but, well. We’ll see. On with the show.
Fle under: Christian Bale in Velvet Goldmine, in front of the television, yelling THAT’S ME at his parents.
Everything I’ve wanted to say to anyone who’s asked me “why history?” with a superior, condescending I-Majored-In-Something-“Useful” way, but was full of too much indignant rage and too little eloquence to find the words for.
