The State of the Field

Lessons from New Orleans and other musings

There’s an outstanding refrain from one of The Revivalists’ new song, “Kid”:

As much as everything changes, everything stays the same
I've been going through phases, turning the page in my brain
That glow up ahead in the distance, it's never looking the same
I'm going through changes, going through phases
Walking through mazes, wrecking my brain, so

I love the song and it’s lived in my head for the past few weeks.¹ It’s had me thinking about writing for you a State of the Field, talking about where I am in the process of being a Real Actual Scholar with books, thoughts, careers, everything else. I’ve been hesitant to do this. For one, a crap ton² of you read this thing these days. I don’t want to ruin my chances at a position by commenting on things that may or may not be in progress. And God knows my social skills aren’t always where they should be. I’m afraid that when I get going I get a little too honest. People like honesty, but usually a flavored one, peppered with something easily digestible. Just ask TARS.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with what a State of the Field is, it’s typically an analysis of what’s going on in any particular field or subfield of history. Historians sometimes publish these as a way of talking about what other historians are doing, what methodologies people are employing, what questions are being asked, and what questions need to be asked. These are really important in developing both scholarship and scholars.

You have to write these in graduate school as well. At least I did. And I HATED them. They can be absolutely terrifying as a developing scholar. The semester is maybe 15 weeks long, so counting in time to revise and resubmit, you’ve got maybe eight weeks to read, analyze, and write about your given field. Usually you are doing this while taking two other courses in which you read at least one book per week in each of those. Plus develop your dissertation. It’s a lot.

On top of this you will read and discuss the states of the field written by your colleagues in class, many of whom are smarter than you or at least are better dressers.³ Plus you will sometimes have graduate students from other departments taking your crosslisted course. This can be difficult when said students write in a foreign language, such as political science.⁴ Here is an example of my state of the field for my early American seminar, the only history course where I came closing to earning a B+, and rightfully so:

Brooks examines the links between Southwestern Indians and New Mexico. Here he finds that concepts of masculinity were very similar between indigenous and Iberian peoples, which led in turn to both frontier violence, and the "exchangeability" of women and children.[1] Like Gallay, Brooks spells out Indian uses of slavery as part of a two-tined system: one of inclusion and one of exclusion. Slave raids were important to native societies, as captured women could be integrated into a community and then add to it via offspring. These new additions could then become conduits between their former and latter societies. Captured humans could also be sold to another party to be used as forced labor.

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Yeesh. You hear that actors don’t like watching their previous work but then you go back and read your own stuff and understand exactly why. All that time trying to understand how people are understanding Indigenous forms of captivity, labor, and bondage, and I could’ve been a fly-fishing guide in Patagonia.⁵ So be it.

But now we turn to the State of MY field. Exactly where are we in this while historical process, anyway? In January, I completed my service for the Seminole Tribe of Florida, where I’d been helping on Everglades restoration. That job was a contract position, and one that holds a dear place in my heart. I’d been hesitant to talk about it in public—I didn’t want to be seen as manipulating my service to the Tribe as some kind of self promotion. Folks have taken so much from Indigenous people and I wanted my work to be a form of service to a community I love completely. The friendships I made and lessons I learned I’ll keep with me all my days. I think now it’s probably ok to say that I served the Tribe, did it honorably and to the best of my ability, but even that feels awkward. I’ll eventually come to a place in my head and heart that feels right.

But we all knew that my contract would come to an end and I’d need to look elsewhere for my longterm career. Besides, I like to think that a way I can continue to be of service to the Tribe is by writing and teaching Indigenous history the best that I can. And so I began to look. And boy it’s tough. At last count, I applied to 39 tenure track university positions. I was lucky enough to make the cut to zoom interviews to 8 positions, and invited on campus to 2. One of those searches failed; the other chose a dear friend of mine who was by far the strongest candidate and best fit there.⁶

I have zero complaints. I had to opportunity to talk to some great programs, people honored me by asking about my work, and they chose what was best for them. You can’t make someone love you, though God knows I’ve tried.

I’ve got a few applications out there still as well as for Visiting Assistant Professorships. A VAP is also a contract gig—usually for a single year, sometimes two, and on occasion they segue into a tenure track position. I’d been hesitant about applying for them mostly because as a 45 year old man with two kids, the idea of moving someplace only for a year is only slightly more enticing that eating mayonnaise ice cream.

But if we’re honest with ourselves (and boy, our own selves are the people who least like honesty), my misses on the job market revealed that I probably need to get back in front of the classroom. I’m good in front of a class—it’s my favorite part of the job—but my time serving the Tribe means that it’s been three full years since I got to lecture consistently. A VAP would do exactly that. So, just as I told my son about starting a new high school, you can reject the opportunity or embrace it. Lean into it. So let’s see what awaits. I’m too damn stubborn to quit on this dream now.

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What I’m reading

A lot of you know that I’ve been focusing on hiking the Applachian Trail lately, so I just completed Bill Bryson’s A Walk in the Woods. I liked it a lot. As an attempt to get my butt reading Indigenous and Environmental history, I’ve recently picked up Robert Michael Morrissey’s People of the Ecotone from the the University of Washington Press, one of my favorite presses.⁷

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Podcast:

This week we’re joined once more by Craig Bruce Smith and Robert Greene II to ask a simple question: did Sylvester Stallone end the Cold War? Find out as we dive into Rocky IV. You can find it on Apple Podcasts here:

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This week on HATM:

Finally, join in on Amazon Prime at 8pm Eastern this Sunday, April 9 as we live tweet the greatest high school film of all-time: The Breakfast Club. Hope to see you there.

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Whew! That’s a lot. Hey, if you dig this substack or the podcast, please share with a friend. Take care of yourselves.⁸

1. If you’re going to hear one song by The Revivalists, make sure it’s Soulfight. There aren’t many sexier tunes than this.

2. Craptonne, for you English and Australian subscribers.

3. Everyone is Minnesota knows who I’m talking about. It was like sitting next to Paul Newman in class, only if Paul Newman talked about journalism and fonts, but did so in a way that was mindblowing.

4. Key to understanding political science is recognizing that no sentence is complete without a word ending in “ologies.” You will have to read words such tautological, epistemological, pedagogical, and other such goobledygook. This is why no one reads political science.

5. Fun fact: I can’t actually fly fish, but whatever.

6. I’d briefly flirted with looking at other programs last year, interviewing with a few before pulling out of the searches. I was madly in love with someone and I gambled. Note to self: my heart is actually an asshole.

7. Pro tip: pay attention to who publishes your favorite books and then just buy something unexpected from them. You’ll be rewarded. Also, I receive no funds for recommendations. I don’t have that many subscribers. Yet.

8. By the way, I know the song is already in your head.