Writing About History
Is Writing Toward Truth
by Mark Nichol
by Mark Nichol
The latest chapter in the
depressing saga of Sarah Palin’s losing battle with chronic foot-in-mouth
disease illustrates a point writers and editors should take careful notes
about, because it’s going to be on the test. It has to do with history and
repeating, but not with history repeating itself. It has to do with repeating
accounts of historical events.
Palin was in the news again last
week because she recently made some confused statements about Paul Revere’s
legendary ride, implying that one purpose of the mission was to warn the
British military occupation that colonial militiamen were prepared to oppose
their advance through Massachusetts to arrest rebel ringleaders and confiscate
munitions.
So, where’s the writing tip amid
the historical histrionics? First, I readily concede that Palin is not an
entirely reliable source of American history. But, in her defense, she actually
got it partly right, and her detractors are also mistaken in some respects.
Here’s the background: The
legend of Paul Revere we all know from history class and Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow is just that — a legend. His ride is historical, but the details, as
they’ve been handed down to us, are a bit muddled: Paul Revere was not a lone
hero galloping off in the moonlight to rouse unprepared farmers and villagers
to repel a surprise British advance. He was just a minor part of a
long-prepared, well-organized network of planners, couriers, and militiamen who
had rehearsed for the eventuality of the military maneuver, which they knew was
inevitable. It was Longfellow’s poem that elevated a fairly trivial historical
figure into an icon of the American Revolution.
The most egregious issue in the
latest Palin controversy is that one of her supporters attempted to revise
Wikipedia’s Paul Revere page to deflect criticism of her. The intent was to
support her by introducing a comment suggesting that it would have been odd for
Revere to cry out, “The British are coming!” when those who responded to his
call identified themselves by that term of nationality. A Wikipedia monitor
rejected the change, but the truth is that it’s a valid point: Revere’s warning
likely referred to “the regulars,” not “the British,” to announce the impending
arrival of regular British army units.
The British colonists in America
were just that: British subjects. Many of them were disgruntled British subjects,
but on the eve of the battles of Lexington and Concord, in April 1775, most of
them remained loyal to the British crown and wanted not independence, but
redress of grievances.
Furthermore, British army scouts
captured Revere before he accomplished his entire mission. It is at this point
that he reportedly informed his captors of the stout defense they could expect
if the army unit marched inland; one purpose of this challenge was evidently to
try to divert them from the vicinity of the farmhouse where rebel leaders
Samuel Adams and John Hancock were in hiding. If this is true, then Sarah
Palin’s comments are essentially accurate.
On this point this post hinges:
History is a work constantly in revision. Unfortunately, it is a target also of
revisionism, and it is difficult to wade through legend and lore and
romanticized heritage to reach the truth. And truth is asymptotic; you will
never arrive at it. Walk halfway to a destination. Walk halfway again. And
again. Repeat into infinity. You’ll never technically arrive, but you’ll get
closer — and it is incumbent on writers, when discussing history (or current
events), to step ever forward toward the destination of truth.
Resist complacent reliance on
schoolbook history. Reject the partisan playbook. Read multiple sources of
history and information originating from all along the ideological spectrum.
Judge what you read — and what you write — by the standards of objectivity.
