Enola Gay

Abstract: A plethora of articles discussing the development of and controversy resulting from Smithsonian Institution’s Enola Gay have been published. Experts from such diverse fields as museum studies, journalism, psychiatry, and history have commented on the event, although the archival literature has been silent. William Yeingst and Lonnie Bunch note that "how recent history should best be remembered, preserved, and interpreted [have] become less academic and more acrimonious." This article reorients the discussion and considers issues in a broader light. It begins with a recap of the Enola Gay exhibit and then considers four topics: museums, management, the media, and memory. In conclusion, the impact on archives and libraries is discussed.

Index terms: Exhibits, Archival records, Enola Gay, Smithsonian Institution, Non-profit management, Historical libraries.

The nature and power of art and its effect on the populace has been debated since Plato's claim in the Republic and the Laws that poetry was morally dangerous and, as an imitation of appearances, could be wrong. Aristotle, a student of Plato, countered his teacher's ideas in the Poetics by asserting that poetry was both an imitation as well as a representation of an ever-changing reality. Debates surrounding representations, such as literature, art, music, film, artifacts, particularly concerning how they relate to reality and the influence they have on people, are still very hot topics at the end of the 20^th century.

These debates are exemplified in the ill-fated Enola Gay exhibition at the Smithsonian Institution. The fate of the Enola Gay exhibit has been the subject of at least five books, numerous book chapters, and dozens of articles. Sensemaking surrounding both the exhibit's development and the resulting controversy is still being conducted. Experts from such diverse fields as museum studies, journalism, psychiatry, and history have commented on the event and its aftermath. The library and archival literature, however, has been silent on this matter. This is interesting, since librarians and archivists have much to learn from the episode and have already found themselves in the midst of interpretative, representational, and emotional debates surrounding exhibits, such as the “Sigmund Freud: Conflict and Culture” at the Library of Congress^¹ and the Newberry Library’s exhibit on the 500^th anniversary of Columbus’ voyage to the New World, entitled, “America in 1492.” The increasing number of exhibitions in libraries and archives, resulting in higher visibility for those institutions, has not escaped the notice of Edmund Morgan. He notes that several of the major independent research libraries “have assumed a public role that makes them much more than repositories of books and papers ... Exhibitions have become major activities, in which libraries bypass the academy to reach a wider constituency.”^² This trend opens up libraries and archives to new forms and depths of public scrutiny and potentially devastating criticism, such as that experienced by the Smithsonian Institution during the Enola Gay controversy.

This is an era when the questions concerning "how recent history should best be remembered, preserved, and interpreted [have] become less academic and more acrimonious."^³

Who has the authority to interpret history to the public-indeed, who "owns" history? Is an exhibition always the best venue to present diverse interpretations of complex historical issues, such as the Enola Gay? How does an exhibit best present an interpretation that reevaluates the sacred narrative of a culture in which the public feels wide ownership? [W]hat are the implications of the public's willing partnership in the museum metamorphosis for a more removed and isolated existence to a very public and commercial one?^⁴

David Thelin notes that the Enola Gay controversy is usually presented by providing poles around which the participants did indeed polarize and mobilize, such as commemoration versus scholarship, authenticity versus accuracy, firsthand observation versus scholarly detachment. This formulation has made it hard to explore the more difficult and interesting terrain that lies between and away from those poles.^⁵

This article attempts to reorient the discussion and to consider issues in a broader light in order to help librarians and archivists think about their own representations (whether in exhibits or cataloging) of ideas, issues, people, and events and to analyze the debates and discussions around these representations. This article begins with a recap of the Enola Gay exhibit by examining the external environmental factors and introducing the key actors and organizations. It then considers four areas of concern: museum presentations, management of representational processes, the role of the media, and the power of memory. In conclusion, the impact on libraries and archives is discussed.

Enola Gay Recap: Environmental and Organizational Factors, the Original Exhibit Script, and Individual Actors

There were several environmental factors that formed a backdrop to the Enola Gay controversy. These were the shifting political climate, increasing professionalism in the cultural resources community, and social and cultural conflicts. The changing political front was exemplified by the shift of power and control in Congress from the Democratic to the Republican Party in November 1994. Increasing professionalism is seen both nationally in writings on professional museum practice and within the Smithsonian itself. These two factors are considered later. The emergence of social and cultural conflicts rooted in different systems of moral understanding, termed the “culture wars” is discussed here.^⁶

The 1980’s and 1990’s have been decades of intense debate about United States culture and values. The desire to define and defend a public culture as well as the values that should comprise this culture are under contention. Who belongs to the culture and who is empowered to speak for the public culture are both disputed. The significance of this public culture is that it consists of “symbols and meanings that order the life of the community or region or nation as a whole...a nation’s public culture embraces the collective myths surrounding its history and future promise.”^⁷ From these definitions and observations, this article will demonstrate how the Enola Gay controversy cut to the heart of collective myths as well as organizational and individual identities. The debates over public culture have taken place in a variety of forums including the family, education, media, the arts, law, and electoral politics. Closely related to the Enola Gay controversy were the debates over the National History Standards (what or whose history students should learn and how they should be taught) and the uproar over the funding practices of the National Endowment for the Arts (what art should be funded). These were significant battles in the effort to define and some would say impose a specific culture on others. In these cases, social questions have been played out in a political arena. It is within this social and political context that the controversies of the Enola Gay exhibit were framed and ultimately judged.^⁸

The Smithsonian Institution’s National Air and Space Museum (NASM) opened in the mid-1970’s with large breathtaking artifacts and little scholarly and intellectual content. However, the story of this museum begins much earlier. Congress established the National Air Museum in 1946 after aggressive lobbying by World War II veterans, particularly Army Air Forces commander, Hap Arnold. The nascent museum organized activities and exhibits to further interest in aviation. For example, in 1949, the National Air Museum and the Air Force Association (AFA) jointly sponsored a National Air Fare. This was the largest air show ever in the United States and featured the presentation of Enola Gay, flown from Arizona by Col. Paul Tibbetts, to the Smithsonian. In spite of these grand demonstrations and events, the museum’s efforts to erect a building on the Mall were stalled in the 1950’s and through the 1960’s during the Vietnam War. In the early 1970’s Sen. Barry Goldwater, board chairman of the AFA’s Aerospace Education Foundation, began the push for the NASM on the Mall. Goldwater’s efforts were successful. In 1976, the doors to the present NASM opened. Once inside, however, visitors did not see the Enola Gay. Goldwater did not support the presence of the Enola Gay in that forum. “What we are interested in here are the truly historic aircraft,” Goldwater stated to Congress, “I wouldn’t consider the one that dropped the bomb on Japan as belonging to that category.”^⁹

From this brief history, both the importance of NASM to the Air Force and their interconnectedness are clear. Furthermore, the lack of public monuments or national memorials to the Air Force, in comparison to the other branches of the military have made the NASM a de facto memorial and imbued it with associations beyond its mission as a museum.^¹⁰

Designed to showcase American air and space achievements and technological advancements, the museum was criticized by museum professionals for equating these achievements with social progress. The NASM mission states:

The National Air and Space Museum shall memorialize the national development of aviation and space flight; collect, preserve, and display aeronautical and space flight equipment of historical significance; serve as a repository for scientific equipment and data pertaining to the development of aviation and space flight; and provide educational material for the historical study of aviation and space flight.^¹¹

However, this mission was challenged. When veterans’ organizations and congresspersons objected to the Enola Gay exhibit, they often cited the mission of the unfunded Armed Forces Museum to point out the celebratory responsibilities of the NASM,

The Smithsonian Institution shall commemorate and display the contributions made by the military forces of the Nation...The valor and sacrificial service of the men and women of the Armed Forces shall be portrayed as an inspiration to the present and future generations of America.^¹²

Although the Smithsonian’s legal counsel argued that this did not apply to the NASM, critics argued that this applied to the entire Smithsonian Institution.^¹³

The tension between the NASM as a “Valhalla of the Air” to a “Place that investigates the interrelationship between aerospace technology and modern warfare” has not been easy or direct.^¹⁴ By the time Martin Harwit was appointed director of the NASM in 1987, the nature of the curatorial staff had changed. Curators who were experts in the technical aspects of the machines had retired and were replaced by social historians who sought reframe exhibits to emphasize the celebratory less and reflect more of historical debates. The new cadre of curators sought to minimize the technical explanations and offer more interpretations of the meaning and social impact of technologies.^¹⁵

Martin Harwit's appointment as director of NASM in 1987 was the first time a career military man was not appointed as director. Harwit, an astrophysicist with an interest in the history of science, was named NASM director in the mid-1980’s, Robert McCormick Adams, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution (1984 - 1994) saw this as a means of “deepening the intellectual structure of the place.”^¹⁶ Adams was supported in his effort by the Smithsonian’s Council who stated that it was not “intellectually or morally acceptable to present science simply as an ennobling exploration of the unknown,” or technology as “problem solving beneficial to the human race.^¹⁷”

The initial tensions associated with transforming the NASM into a more scholarly museum were evident before the Enola Gay exhibit. A 1991 World War I show entitled, "Legends, Memory, and the Great War in the Air" depicted not only the technical wizardry of the airplanes and rockets, but also the carnage of war and its destruction, terror, and cost in terms of human life. The World War I exhibit had a point of view and interpretation quite different from previous NASM exhibits. Several of NASM's traditional constituencies such as the United States Air Force and the Air Force Association were upset over this exhibit. While the furor over "Legends" did not reach the proportions that the Enola Gay affair would later achieve, the World War I exhibit engendered lingering bad feelings and suppressed anger that would erupt over the Enola Gay. ^¹⁸

In January 1994 the initial script for the exhibit, “The Crossroads: The End of World War II, the Atomic Bomb, and the Origins of the Cold War” was completed. The script had five sections, each designed to fill a separate gallery: 1) A Fight to the Finish, 2) The Decision to Drop the Bomb, 3) The World’s First Atomic Strike Force, 4) Cities at War, and 5) The Legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In May of 1994, the exhibit was renamed “The Last Act: The Atomic Bomb and the End of World War II.” What follows here is a brief overview of the script. Readers interested in reading the first draft of the entire script can refer to Judgment at the Smithsonian by Philip Nobile.^¹⁹

The first section covered the final year of World War II, but briefly recounted the events leading up to 1944-45. It also contained the oft-quoted, out of context sentence that became a rallying point for the critics, “For most Americans, this war was fundamentally different from the one waged against Germany and Italy - it was a war of vengeance. For the Japanese, it was a war to defend their unique culture against Western Imperialism.”^²⁰ In the May 1994 draft section 1, “A Fight to the Finish,” was expanded. The additions primarily supplemented the information on events leading to the American entry into the war and the fighting in the Pacific theater during the first years of the war. The offending sentence was dropped. The second section, “The Decision to Drop the Bomb,” contained many of the controversial issues in the script, such as projected and disputed estimates on how many United States casualties might occur during an invasion of mainland Japan and why the United States dropped the atomic bombs -- was it for military or political reasons? Part III, “The World’s First Atomic Strike Force,” was the section containing the actual Enola Gay. This part of the script presented the story of the crews and the refitting of the B-29 to carry atomic bombs. The exhibit that the Smithsonian finally mounted retrofitted this section and used it as a focal point. Not only were the crews and the refitting of the airplane a feature, but also the subsequent restoration of the Enola Gay. “Cities at War” comprised the fourth section. This part detailed the military significance of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the devastating effects of the atomic bombs blasts on these cities and their inhabitants. Critics of this section argued that the large number of pictures and objects of the results of the bomb were manipulative and depicted the United States as an aggressor, particularly since Japanese treatment of prisoners of war and tactics of fighting did not receive equal emphasis. The last section, “The Legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki,” examined the atomic bombings as the beginning of the nuclear age and as a key factor in the post-war nuclear arms race leading to and characteristic of the Cold War.

Robert McCormick Adams was Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution (1984 - 1994) during the initial conception of the Enola Gay exhibit. As noted above, Adams had introduced a more scholarly approach to exhibits. In addition, his management style may have been more suited to an academic setting, and was described as collegial and stimulating independence, than a large non-profit cultural institution.^²¹

I. Michael Heyman became Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution (1994-present) well into the controversy surrounding the Enola Gay. He was selected as a fund-raiser to strengthen the finances of the Smithsonian and its diverse museums. Heyman, a former law professor and chancellor of the University of California at Berkeley, stepped into the situation with Congress still upset about the exhibit and threatening large cuts in the Smithsonian’s budget and calling for hearings into how the institution was managed.^²² While Heyman was also from academia, his management style differed greatly from Adams'. "He [Heyman] became increasingly convinced that academic freedom in a great public museum is different from that in a great public university."^²³ This shift in approaches to management amidst the turmoil caused by the Enola Gay exhibit and the financial pressures being applied by Congress on the Smithsonian probably exacerbated the problems surrounding the exhibit and made it harder for the staff to adjust to a new style of leadership. Perhaps as Otto Mayr notes, Heyman realized that a “museum’s autonomy is therefore limited by its basic obligation of public service, its dependence on financial supporters, and the narrow base of its intellectual authority.”^²⁴

Martin Harwit was Director, National Air and Space Museum (NASM). Adams selected Harwit over a four star general with a graduate history degree.^²⁵ Harwit was a trained astrophysicist at Cornell University with an interest in the history of science. Taking a cue from the scholarly environment established by Adams, Harwit encouraged curators to extend their historical research, hired bright scholars, and facilitated staff members wanting to get graduate degrees.^²⁶ Harwit is the most interesting and tragic figure in the Enola Gay exhibit. He was a target for the different groups lobbying against the exhibit. In the end, Harwit was forced to resign as Director of the NASM. What is most interesting is that Harwit's background, which in another context might have worked for him, became a detriment. Harwit was born in Czechoslovakia and had personal memories of World War II in Europe. Numerous of his family members died in concentration camps and his father was forced out of a job by the Nazis and fled to Turkey with the family. After World War II, the Harwit family immigrated to the United States and Martin Harwit became an U.S. citizen in 1953. Ironically, Harwit was drafted into the U.S. Army and was assigned to monitor nuclear tests in the South Pacific.^²⁷ What is curious here is the emphasis on Harwit's foreignness and scholarship, rather than his membership in the armed services and very personal associations and experiences in World War II.

Tom Crouch, chairman of the Aeronautics Department of the NASM, and Mike Neufeld, exhibit curator, are the two final figures in this drama. Each of these men was also defined generationally, rather than as respected scholars. Tom Crouch had been in college during the Vietnam War and had no military experience. Mike Neufield , a Canadian, was accused of spending his undergraduate years in Calgary, where American draft deserters were fleeing.^²⁸ The implication of these arguments against Crouch and Neufield was that they could not possibly know anything about war or the military. Furthermore, Neufield’s nationality was considered an issue. “Why was Michael Neufield, a Canadian national, hired by the NASM?” “What are his philosophical and political underpinnings.”^²⁹ Neufield, as Harwit, was caught not only in the historical debate about the Enola Gay, but also in the increasingly hostile debate about cultural diversity and how to maintain United States cultural ideals in an ever widening debate about language, literature, and core values.

Army Air Forces veterans established the Air Force Association (AFA) in 1946. The AFA was set up to lobby for the creation of an air force independent of the army and to "keep our country vigorously aroused to the urgent importance of air power."^³⁰ Over the past few decades, the Air Force Association has evolved into a powerful advocate lobbying for a strong national defense and a part of the network linking the Air Force with industries involved in air and space research and development.^³¹ Wallace notes that

The AFA's relationship with the NASM went beyond that of interested onlooker. They were set up in the same year and for much the same purpose - the promotion of popular support for military and civil aviation. The two institutions have, in many ways, been joined at the hip all their lives, with the museum's sumptuous (and decontextualized) displays serving basically as an advertisement for the aerospace industry.^³²

John T. Correll, as editor of Air Force Magazine, was one of the main opponents of the exhibit and as editor had the means of vocalizing his dissatisfaction.^³³

Finally, one of the key participants in the exhibit was the actual airplane, the Enola Gay. Since its fateful bombing run on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, the Enola Gay has had an ambivalent place in American memory and this can be seen through a brief rendition of its history.

Thus well before the museum began mounting an exhibition, even before it began the expensive restoration of the aircraft, the Hiroshima atomic bomber had already come to symbolize both conflicting perspectives on American war making - emphasizing either innovative technological achievement or the mass death of enemy civilians - and, more widely, positive and negative judgments on the American past.^³⁴

After World War II, the Enola Gay was scheduled to participate in further atomic bomb testing in the Pacific. However, mechanical difficulties curtailed its role in these tests. The Enola Gay was decommissioned on July 24, 1946. In 1946, Senator Carl Hatch of New Mexico introduced a bill for an Atomic Bomb Monument near Alamagordo, New Mexico. Part of this monument was to be a museum featuring the B-29. This did not materialize. In 1949, the Enola Gay was given to the Smithsonian. However, without the proper storage facilities to house such a large plane, the Smithsonian parked the Enola Gay first in Park Ridge, Illinois, then at Pyote Air Force Base in Texas, and finally (beginning in 1953) at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland. At Andrews, the Enola Gay was allowed to deteriorate and be vandalized on a runway until 1960. Finally, in 1960, the plane was disassembled before further harm could befall the aircraft and the pieces were stored at the Smithsonian Institution’s warehouse in Suitland, Maryland. In 1980, members of the 509th Composite Group (the group that dropped the bombs on Hiroshima ad Nagasaki) began to lobby the Smithsonian for the restoration of the plane. Their efforts paid off when Walter Boyne was appointed Director of the NASM in 1984. Boyne, a former B-52 pilot with the Strategic Air Command, ordered the restoration of the Enola Gay. As restoration proceeded, the NASM turned to the problem of what to do with the restored plane and how to display it. The NASM still had no public facility large enough to house and display the Enola Gay. ^³⁵

The Smithsonian’s initiatives to place artifacts in a more scholarly and intellectual context grew out of current trends in museology. Otto Mayr characterizes this as a shift in emphasis from collecting to education, although he maintains that museums must balance these two missions.^³⁶ These trends seek to

explore broad contexts of important events, particularly their human dimensions; to include complexity; to stimulate viewer interest and evoke controversy; to educate as well as commemorate; and to combine the best recent scholarship with artifacts and other materials in multimedia, interactive “shows” that draw in audiences in powerful ways, intellectually and emotionally.^³⁷

museums were expected to set standards, to confer status, and to reflect accepted truth, not to search for it. Nor were they, like libraries or dictionaries, expected to reflect and represent inclusiveness. Museums were, by nature, exclusive, their holdings involved expert judgments.”^³⁸

Museums were not sites of contested knowledge. With this in mind, Harris claims that the new task for museums is to “define more clearly and self-consciously its actual goals and relation to truth seeking, and to learn more about how exhibitions function as sources of opinion.”^³⁹

John Dower argues that “Artifacts do not speak for themselves.”^⁴⁰ However, everything about the Enola Gay from its condition, to its ownership, to where it might be displayed stirred disparate responses from the public.^⁴¹ Artifacts may not speak for themselves, but they can elicit strong responses from people. People automatically interpret artifacts in light of their beliefs, experiences, and values.

The question whether museum objects can speak for themselves, and how, raises questions about the power of artifacts, the artifactual literacy of museum visitors, the belief in a constructivist or instructional approach, the aims of a critical education vis-a-vis cultural reinforcement, and the interaction between personal memory and professional history.^⁴²

Simply exhibiting the Enola Gay alone without context or commentary, as suggested by Paul Tibbets, the captain of the Enola Gay, does not solve this problem. Tibbets notes that the Smithsonian should present the Enola Gay like any other airplane.

Look at Lindbergh’s airplane. There it sits, or hangs, all by itself in all its glory. ‘Here is the first airplane to fly the Atlantic.’ Okay. ‘This is the first one to drop an atomic bomb.’ You don’t need any other explanation. And I think it should be displayed alone.^⁴³

In this vein, Martin Harwit observes that exhibits struggle with three key issues: accuracy, balance, and perceptions. “Perceptions [italics original], in contrast to accuracy and balance, are not what the curator puts into the exhibition, but rather what the visitor takes away.”^⁴⁴ Picking up on the idea of balance, Richard Kohn cites five reasons for the Enola Gay problems.^⁴⁵ The first concerns representational issues and involves a museum staff that was committed to applying professional scholarship and standards in a previously celebratory institution. Initial imbalances in the script were not flagged early enough.^⁴⁶

The idea of balance and the difficulty in achieving balance are also echoed in Tom Crouch’s oft-quoted and prescient statement. This quotation presents the Smithsonian’s dilemma of balance succinctly, “Do you want to do an exhibition intended to make veterans feel good, or do you want and exhibition that will lead visitors to think about the consequences of the atomic Bombing of Japan? Frankly, I don’t think we can do both.”^⁴⁷

Mike Wallace disagrees with this statement. He does not see any inherent contradiction between commemoration and analysis. This view is supported by Pamela Walker Laird who notes that one of the insidious and unrecognized assumptions in the public debate was a distinction between interpretation and commemoration in which “historical analysis based on documentary evidence entailed interpretation, and commemoration did not.”^⁴⁸ Wallace notes that a few individuals fueled the controversy surrounding the Enola Gay exhibit on opposite ends of this spectrum.^⁴⁹ Wallace is convinced that differing perspectives can be successfully incorporated into exhibits by engaging stakeholders in the deliberations for the exhibit, having curators clearly labeling fact and opinion, stating the perspectives and goals of exhibits up front and actually develop shows around controversies.^⁵⁰ Although Wallace poses the question, “How to respond when the very idea of presenting controversies is rejected as controversial?” he asserts that strong professional standards outlining the rights and responsibilities of museums, akin to the standards of academic freedom, should be developed and fostered. This not only involves drafting such first principles but also raising the overall level of professionalism in the museum community.

William Pretzer proposes that exhibits should be crafted as “teaching tools rather than works of scholarship, products more akin to curricular materials than to research monographs.”^⁵¹ Still, embodying questions in exhibits that engage the public is tricky. Furthermore, depicting controversy and presenting alternative explanations is difficult, particularly in a culture where the public does not yet expect this approach by museums.^⁵² Harris notes that the nature of exhibits is that the labels are terse and therefore appear as more authoritarian with few citations. “Discursive argument ... is more difficult to debate or follow in a conventional show, unless its textual elements are extended to inappropriate and unacceptable length.”^⁵³

Depicting controversy and alternative points of view was done successfully in the “Rembrandt not Rembrandt” exhibit mounted by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. While the labels presented the terse descriptions of paintings by and attributed to Rembrandt, the audiotape narrated (or perhaps refereed) by Philippe de Montebello featured two curators who debated the authorship of several of the paintings on display. One curator presented evidence arguing why Rembrandt should be considered the painter, the other countered with alternative evidence and interpretations. The result was a fascinating exhibit experience that depicted alternative explanations. Admittedly, the emotional and public stakes in the Rembrandt exhibit were less keen than those surrounding the Enola Gay.^⁵⁴ However, this Rembrandt exhibit is a successful example of one method of embracing controversy and engaging the public in the debates.^⁵⁵

The distinction between the Rembrandt and the Enola Gay exhibitions also lies deeper in the nature of the controversy. Mayr points out that the phrase “controversial exhibit” is ambivalent and can either mean that an exhibit has been scripted and mounted to provoke controversy about its subject matter by beginning a public discussion, as in the Rembrandt case, or it can mean that an exhibit has brought controversy upon itself, ultimately questioning the exhibit’s quality, as in the Enola Gay case.^⁵⁶ The nature of exhibits has worked against presenting questions, controversies or debates. For example, the creators of exhibits in museums, libraries, or archives rarely take explicit, public responsibility for authorship. “Anonymous scripts convey a sense of disembodied authority - a “word of God” - like quality that we know to be inappropriate.”^⁵⁷

As noted above, the exhibit on the Enola Gay eventually mounted by the Smithsonian concentrated on the plane, its crew, and the restoration rather than attempting to delineate the historical debates. Early on in the exhibit, visitors were treated to a short film on the conservation of the plane and the process of its restoration. Instead of addressing the controversies, "Its [the Enola Gay’s] technological and restoration history is given in loving detail. Technological details are safe; they do not assume any responsibility for moving visitors beyond where they were when they came to the museum."^⁵⁸ Robert Jay Lifton and Greg Mitchell designate this process ‘psychic numbing.’ Psychic numbing is a purposeful distancing from any reference to the effects of the bombing in order to protect feelings and deny any affect that might cause people to reconsider the bombings or Hiroshima and Nagasaki from a more human or moral perspective.^⁵⁹

In adopting this approach, the Enola Gay exhibit attempted to treat the plane, evidence of the bombs' destruction, and other items as a type of art object, rather than as evidence. By decontextualizing select pieces and providing minimal interpretation or guidance in understanding the larger meaning, objects became surviving fragments of prior events, rather than living evidence that we can understand and from which we could derive meaning.^⁶⁰

The retreat to technology in part resulted from the problem of visualization. In the development stages of an exhibit, the script, objects, and the juxtaposition between these two elements are disjointed. Curators and others involved in exhibit planning need to be able to visualize the exhibit as a whole. Although there was much discussion about several individual objects, such as the Japanese schoolgirl’s lunchbox and the Enola Gay fuselage itself, by and large, the script stood alone and was disembodied from the artifacts which would illustrate, reinforce, and be juxtaposed with each other and the words. Judging the exhibition on words alone and the inability to visualize a three dimensional exhibit became a major liability for the exhibit.^⁶¹ The inability of Smithsonian curators and officials to help stakeholders visualize the exhibit and their lack of understanding of the power of the words and symbols they were juxtaposing combined with other management problems that contributed to the fate of the original Enola Gay exhibit.^⁶² As noted by Richard Kurin, “In writing history, the historian compresses time. An exhibit brings together a disparate assemblage of stuff and compresses it into a limited, defined space. Doing both - producing an exhibition of history - compresses time and space, creating a potent blend - a symbolic world. This symbolic world becomes especially valuable when enshrined in a national museum.”^⁶³

Both internal and external management issues had an impact on the Enola Gay exhibit. Managing change in both the internal and external arenas was a key factor, and the failure of officials at the Smithsonian to respond adequately to external and internal changes, some of which they themselves had initiated, exacerbated the NASM’s problems. These changes included a shift from a Democratic to Republican majority in Congress, a new secretary of the Smithsonian midway through the exhibit planning process, and a changing relationship between the NASM and the military aviation community. These changes combined with other environmental factors such as the culture wars and internal problems such as an unclear exhibit planning process to create major management crises for the Smithsonian.

Midway through the Enola Gay exhibit planning process, curators at the Smithsonian experienced a change in leadership styles from Adams to Heyman. Adams style was collegial, he wanted the institution to be on the cutting edge of scholarship and gave his employees room and space for research. He got rid of the Eisenhower Institute, a military history research institute, by not naming a new director.^⁶⁴ On the other hand, Heyman was willing to impose more top-down managerial decisions to get increased support and became very aware of limits to his power posed by the environment. Both Adams and Heyman, however, gave contradictory signals to Harwit. Adams and Heyman oscillated

between the postures of supportive senior colleague and hard-nosed CEO. They were of little help in either role: in the first, because they lacked the expertise and interest; in the second, because they were undecided about their support of the project and gave misleading signals to the director.^⁶⁵

Internal changes can also effect external relationships. For example, Harwit began drastic changes in collections management practices. Harwit tried to reduce the collection acquired by Paul Garber, his predecessor, to a manageable size that could be cared for appropriately.^⁶⁶ Instead of taking all items offered, Harwit sought to focus the collection. Along with the World War I exhibit, the approach to collections management signaled to the military aviation community that its relationship to the Smithsonian was changing. The military aviation community denoted this change and sensed a loss of control over both overall representation and interpretation in the NASM.^⁶⁷ As Mike Wallace notes, “The wrestling match over control of the interpretation was emblematic of the struggle for control of the institution.”^⁶⁸ What made this worse in the case of the Enola Gay was that the struggle was very public and fueled by media attention.

Harwit may also have been too close to the Enola Gay script and too personally involved in the exhibit planning process. Museum directors often delegate operational responsibility to a project manager and content to a scholarly group. The director will insulate staff from politics from above and keep his or her superiors informed of activities. Furthermore, it puts the director in the position of facilitator so that he/she can help staff reach consensus. This detachment can makes it possible in the event of a controversy for the director to sound less like an advocate and more like a judge, thus having more authority.^⁶⁹

Managing the script involved internal and external curators, reviewers, and advisors. Internally, there were too many hands in the pot. The script consisted of five sections, written by four different curators.^⁷⁰ As noted above, authorial responsibility was not only too diffuse, but it was difficult to coordinate. Although collaborative authorship of exhibit scripts is a widespread phenomenon, should the collaborators be more openly acknowledged?^⁷¹ Martin Harwit has framed the Enola Gay exhibit in terms of academic freedom, among others.^⁷² However, as Washburn notes, "It is rare that a curator is even mentioned in the press coverage. There is frequently no individual author of an exhibit; hence, the notion of academic freedom for an individual to express his views in an exhibit, as in a book, is often beside the point."^⁷³ Taking responsibility for one’s work is part of academic freedom.

The degree of difficulty in managing the internal script issues is unclear. However, it is clear that the external advisors were very unclear as to the script development process, their influence, and the criteria for script change decisions.^⁷⁴ At one point Stanley Goldberg, a member of the advisory board, even suggested to Harwit that the board could act as a buffer between the curators and the critics, an offer that the board is probably glad was never considered.^⁷⁵ Throughout the exhibit planning process who was involved, their roles, and relative decision-making powers were never clear. Linenthal commented that he was uncertain about his role and how (much) would be heeded.^⁷⁶ The misunderstanding of roles is clearly evident in this exchange by Tom Crouch and Richard Hallion. After initially supporting the exhibit, Hallion withdraws his support:

Crouch: “If you are telling me you only wanted to be polite, I can only respond that we were looking for an honest reading - not polite chit chat. If you really saw a problem, you should have indicated it.

Hallion: “We trusted you and believed you would take our comments seriously.”^⁷⁷

The miscues of intent and subsequent lack of directness compounded the exhibit’s controversies. Very late in the Enola Gay planning process a similar misunderstanding took place. This time the American Legion agreed to a script and then items were changed after further consultation with historians. The American Legion then withdrew its support for the script. The American Legion thought they had entered into a binding agreement with the NASM, only to find out that professional historians were also party to the agreement and, in fact, the historians could alter the agreement.^⁷⁸ Issues of role, power, and decision making need to be clearly laid out for all participants.

Environmental factors, such as the culture wars and the shift in power in Congress led to the Enola Gay controversy. However, once criticism against the exhibit arose, the NASM failed to understand the nature and power of the arguments and the arguers. No institution is immune to external pressures whether they are financial, political, or social. “Not until too late did the museum leadership realize that the exhibit could be cancelled from the outside.”^⁷⁹ The culture wars combined with the fact that the Smithsonian was a federally-funded institution that was subject to larger controls on its activities to create a perilous situation for the Smithsonian. Although Adams and later Heyman likened the Smithsonian to a university, in reality the curators’ exercise of academic freedom was not institutionalized and certainly this was not an expectation shared by Congress. Furthermore, as a federally financed institution, the Smithsonian faced very real and long term financial consequences as a result of any Congressional ill-will engendered by the exhibit. Heyman recognized this threat of reductions in congressional funding at the precise time he was negotiating for a new 5-year budget appropriation.^⁸⁰ “I believe you should have the money,” noted Senator Ted Stevens, “But I can tell you, you will not get it from this Congress if we have controversies like this. You cannot expect to have dramatic increases in funding at the time of controversies of this size.”^⁸¹

The final management issue also introduces the next section. The NASM failed to manage the media coverage. NASM never mounted a credible defense.^⁸² Wallace argues that the NASM should have been more aggressive in arguing their case and publicizing the right scripts and countering the charges (too unbalanced, no context, etc.)^⁸³ Wallace quotes NASM spokesman Mike Fetters, "We've been extremely outclassed. Had we known how intense the AFA's efforts would be, we'd have moved a bit more promptly and aggressively to get our information distributed to veterans, the media, and Congress."^⁸⁴ He also urges museums to be more proactive in thinking through an exhibit's political impact, identifying groups who might be affected, and engage them in a dialogue about the exhibit.^⁸⁵

Richard Kohn also notes that managing the media included identifying allies and rallying their support.^⁸⁶ Historians, museum professionals, archivists, and allied professional organizations were all potential NASM supporters. However, instead of helping the NASM to explain museum practices or historical methods, these groups were silent or joined the cacophony of voices arguing various points. This is not to say that these groups had to thoroughly support every decision concerning the Enola Gay made by the NASM, however, they could have given credence to the process and affirmed the professional practices of the museum.

The media coverage was a pivotal factor in the Enola Gay at two points in history. First, at the time of the Hiroshima bombing news stories were key in explaining the event to the general public in the United States as well as United States servicemen abroad. Second, the media was instrumental in publicizing the controversy over the Enola Gay exhibit in 1994 and 1995. In each of these instances, the media helped to define the environment for the debate and frame the structure of the debate, thus influencing public opinions. The social impact of the media today cannot be overestimated.^⁸⁷ Uday Mohan and Sanho Tree argue in opposition to those who alleged that the bomb was necessary to end the war and save the lives of countless allied soldiers. As they put it, this “conventional” wisdom has evolved over the past five decades in media and popular accounts and was not present right after the bomb was dropped in 1945.^⁸⁸ The power of the media to exacerbate differences is great.

But these differences are often intensified and aggravated by the way they are presented to the public [italics original]. In brief, the media technology that makes public speech possible gives public discourse a life and a logic of its own, a life and logic separated from the intentions of the speaker of the subtleties of arguments they employ.^⁸⁹

Contemporary reports of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima had several distinctive characteristics that are still evident in the memories of those who were alive at the time. These reports and the "memories" they produced were pivotal in the later controversy concerning the Enola Gay exhibit at the Smithsonian. Contemporary reports were censored and presented little detailed information concerning the atomic bomb or its after effects. Perhaps more important is that due to the censorship, contemporary reports "protected" the American public from Ground Zero and footage of victims of the Atomic bombing. Therefore, this aspect of the atomic bombing never incorporated itself into the memory of those alive during the atomic bombing. I think that this is significant and hard for those of us who grew up in later generations to understand that we may associate the graphic imagery more with the atomic bomb than our parents and grandparents. Although photographs and motion picture films were taken at the time, most were classified, particularly those that depicted actual atomic bomb victims, both dead and live. The only color motion picture film footage, shot by Sussman, was classified until the 1970's. It was first shown widely as part of the movie The Day After in 1983 and then only as stock footage of Kansas City after a nuclear blast.^⁹⁰

Journalists Tony Capaccio and Uday Mohan argue that the media fueled the Enola Gay controversy. Media accounts “uncritically accepted the conventional rationale for the bomb, ignored contrary historical evidence, and reinforced the charge that the planned exhibit was a pro-Japanese, anti-American tract.”^⁹¹ Controversy sells. “Readers and viewers love controversy and conflict, and journalists devote great energy and talent to reporting it.”^⁹² Journalists also did not do sufficient research on the original atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Furthermore, evidence was accepted using different criteria for each side of the controversy. "Journalists did not do enough research and failed to hold the veterans' version of history to the same exacting standard they used in judging the curators' version."^⁹³ For example, the oral history of the veterans was accepted while the historians’ research based on documentary evidence was questioned.

Press reports continued to misinform readers that the NASM was ignoring input and criticism.^⁹⁴ For example, even though the offending sentence concerning a war of vengeance and western imperialism was deleted from the script by the May 1994 version, journalists would cite and repeat this sentence as if it still existed one year later.^⁹⁵ News articles continued to quote deleted passages from the script long after they had been excised.^⁹⁶ Even when updated facts concerning the script were included in news stories, editorials in the same newspaper might fall back on misquotations and out of context remarks.^⁹⁷

In addition to using different criteria journalists employed to weigh various pieces of evidence, they ignored potential sources of information. For example, historians' views were solicited late in the controversy and generally given short shrift. This inability of journalists to balance fact with conjecture, memories of soldiers on the ground with evidence from the highest echelons of government proved fatal for the exhibit.^⁹⁸

In the end, the media provided one way accounts often given in extreme terms. The media laid out the terms of the debate polarizing on two alternatives: using the atomic bomb and invading the Japanese mainland. Other alternatives, such as a blockade or diplomatic negotiation were never mentioned.^⁹⁹ The technical constraints of the media also stifled debate, rather than creating a forum for dialog.^¹⁰⁰ As James Hunter argues, “because there is no dialectic, because here is no mechanism for ensuring accountability, the newer communication technologies provide an environment that predisposes actors to rhetorical excess.”^¹⁰¹

In sensationalizing the Enola Gay exhibit, the media created a pseudo-event. Pseudo-events, as described by Daniel Boorstin, bear four characteristics. They are (1) planned, planted, or incited, (2) planted for the purpose of being reproduced, (3) the relation to the underlying situation is ambiguous, and (4) it is intended to be a self-fulfilling prophesy.^¹⁰² Reports in the Air Force Association’s magazine were intended to incite readers and this tone carried over to major newspapers. By focusing on the memories rather than facts, ambiguity became a key factor in perpetuating the divisions between the different sides and halting any constructive dialogue. In essence, the debate took on a life of its own. In the words of one reporter interviewed by Boorstin,

the task of his profession is seldom to compose accounts of the latest events at lightening speed. Rather it is shaped by ‘the problem of packaging’...’Our job is to report news but it is also to keep a steady flow of news coming forward.^¹⁰³’”

It is with this note that we turn to explore the power and limitations of memory.

Memory is an interesting topic. Once thought of as an individual phenomenon and the province of psychologists, memory is now seen also as a social construction.

"In a study of memory the important question is not how accurately a recollection fitted some piece of a past reality, but why some historical actors constructed their memories in a particular way at a particular time.”^¹⁰⁴ Middleton and Edwards argue that memory is social and what is remembered is a result of culture and tradition. Furthermore, remembering is often the result of a social process and constructed through interaction and dialog among people.^¹⁰⁵ “Memory is not the retrieval of stored information, but the putting together of a claim about the past state of affairs by means of a framework of shared cultural understanding.”^¹⁰⁶ Others, such as Shotter, have also argued that not only memory but also forgetting is socially conditioned.^¹⁰⁷

In the United States, the “collective memory” of World War II sees the war as “our finest hour.” It was not simply the “Good War.” It was the most just of wars, the model warm, the most righteous of wars, and a war - as the leaflets American planes dropped on Japanese cities in July 1945 stated - in which the United States “stood for humanity.” America without that image is unimaginable to the generation that fought the war, and to those in subsequent generations who have defined their lives by the image.^¹⁰⁸

In terms of the Enola Gay, Lawrence Lipschultz and Kai Bird assert that the collective memory of the good war and the necessity of dropping the bomb were fostered by the United States government. The intentional creation of memoirs ex poste facto citing higher projected casualty figures, document and film classification by the government, and contemporary censorship of the press led to the creation of collective memory.^¹⁰⁹ As Lubar notes, "Memories are personal and specific, exhibits are general. Memories are incorporeal; exhibits show things. Memories stand on their own; a good history exhibit provides context."^¹¹⁰

Neufield, the curator of the exhibit, noted that the original intent was to explain the mindset of contemporary participants, the United States as well as the Japanese. Explanation, however, did not mean that the curators agreed or supported all of the mindsets presented.^¹¹¹ This nuance was lost on veterans whose memories diverged from many of the mindsets presented, such as the Japanese and policymakers in Washington, D.C. Veterans expressed particular outrage that Harry Truman might have been considered more than the loss of American lives in his decision to drop the bomb. Many veterans fell into an emotional fallacy, equating memories and beliefs with "truth.” The ardor and anger that arose because of this led to the fierce debate over numbers. Veterans believed they would die in a Japanese invasion. For the Smithsonian, this was a losing battle because it did not really matter if the estimates were 10,000 or 1,000,000 casualties, all veterans felt that they could possibly be one of these casualties.

When John Correll of the Air Force Association objects to what he perceives as an emphasis on Ground Zero, this reflects not just perceived bias of the exhibit. His arguments are based on much deeper beliefs and experiences, reflecting his very real memories that are in part due to the censorship and manipulation of the media at the time of the bombings in 1945, as discussed above. The contemporary media accounts did not incorporate Ground Zero to a great extent. This demonstrates Zolberg's point that the "foundation of the past sets limits on how it is constructed in the present."^¹¹² Any attempt to present a balance of corpses, then, was unacceptable to both veterans as well as the museum curators for professional reasons.^¹¹³

Connerton categorizes memories as inscribed or incorporated. Inscription is based on written documentation, incorporation is based on the senses. As a society moves from orality to literacy inscription gradually but never fully replaces incorporation. This was very apparent in the Enola Gay exhibit. Incorporation was tied to artifacts that provoked memories. As noted above what further clouded the Enola Gay exhibition was the ambivalence towards the airplane itself as demonstrated by both the military and curators as shown through the plane's own history.^¹¹⁴

Objects are linked tightly to memory. They establish tangible links with the past to help sustain identity and evoke a sense of time and place. However, in the case of the Enola Gay displacement has in fact occurred. Displacing an object from its original context can sanitize the item. Radley argues that

the displacement of objects from one context to another over time (such as the removal of a religious painting from a church to an art gallery) allows certain features of an object to remain significant while making us forget (if we ever clearly knew) by what transformations the artefact achieved its present importance.^¹¹⁵

This displacement has happened with the Enola Gay and as noted above has led to the difficulty of using the plane in an evidential context.^¹¹⁶ By separating the plane from the effects of the atomic bomb at ground zero, certain features became more prominent. This was a result of the contemporary media reports in 1945 and became a major issue of contention in the 1995 Enola Gay exhibit.^¹¹⁷

The decontextualization of the Enola Gay has led to its becoming an icon. And icons are very volatile things when questioned. For veterans, it symbolized deliverance and raw power. Ironically, peace groups have lobbied to make the Enola Gay a shrine to the horrors of nuclear war.^¹¹⁸ In addition to endowing the Enola Gay with such diverse meanings, roles, and responsibilities, Hiroshima has also become a powerful legend built around four tenets of collective memory: the bombing saved lives, Japan was notified of the impending attack, that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were legitimate military targets, and the bomb forced an early surrender by the Japanese, he only alternative to which was invasion.^¹¹⁹

Lubar suggests that in the post-Enola Gay world the public demands to be considered a partner in creating meaning.^¹²⁰ Yet, this again raises issues of balance and professionalism. Richard Kurin also argues that

It does not mean that curators and scholars give up their responsibilities. But it does mean that they fully and honestly intellectually engage those whom they seek to represent. The presence of those voices should not lead to bad history any more than bad history should be allowed to silence those voices. As John Shy has put it, history plus memory equals good history.^¹²¹

This is perhaps easier in some cases than in others. For example in the development of the recent Sigmund Freud exhibit mounted by the Library of Congress, the controversies never reached the fevered pitch of the Enola Gay exhibit. The disputes in the Sigmund Freud exhibit concerned the interpretation and context for interpretation provided to viewers by the curators rather than racial sensitivities or patriotism.^¹²²

Combining memory, good historiography, and professional museum practice is not easy. In the case of the Enola Gay exhibit,

for some veterans the narrative unfairly placed then in a history that was not of their making. The Air and Space Museum narrative for the Enola Gay exhibit - at least in the first draft - offered veterans a history that was not of their memory, and also a history that was not how they wanted to be remembered.^¹²³

As John Whittier Treat notes, “In both countries [Japan and the United States], the facts of wartime atrocities can be uncovered with little effort. What we do not yet know for sure is how we should react to those facts and what they imply about our societies today.”^¹²⁴ Paul Rogat Loeb furthers this argument, that no matter how difficult it is to face our reactions, we should have the chance to react.

The dropping of the bomb is one of those key actions whose consequences continue to rebound. Its legacy is no more explained by the mute fuselage of the Enola Gay -- about all that remains of the original Smithsonian exhibit -- than by mushroom clouds on high school football helmets. Whatever we believe about the necessity of the decision to use the bomb, Americana at least deserve the opportunity to hear the contending voices and arguments. We deserve at least the chance to reflect upon it.^¹²⁵

There are many lessons and warnings embedded in the Enola Gay controversy for archival repositories and libraries. First and foremost, the Enola Gay exhibit demonstrates what can happen when organizations ignore social, political, and cultural factors in the environment. Another factor is the costs of not responding quickly enough to organizational change or to media reports and controversies. An associated challenge is the need to create space for dialog when controversy arises, the increasing necessity for well educated professionals, the benefits of increasing ties among related professions managing or using cultural resources. Also, the problems inherent with appealing to wider audiences or audiences not traditionally served by an organization are significant for archives and libraries as these types of institutions begin to explore web applications and exhibits. Finally, these controversies should remind archivists and librarians to focus less on the limits to their power and more on the uniqueness of their power.

No cultural institutions, including archives and libraries, are immune to the effects of outside trends, pressures, and movements. The “culture wars,” shifting political power in Congress, and changing professional ideas about museum exhibitions combined to create a situation for which the Smithsonian was unprepared. As insolated or marginalized as librarians and archivists may sometimes feel, the more they scan, analyze, and understand the environment the lesser the chance that they will be totally surprised or swept away by environmental factors. One example of a historical library acknowledging different interpretations of events is the Newberry Library in Chicago. In preparation for the exhibit “America in 1492,” the Newberry hired several Native American consultants.^¹²⁶

Change can be a scary thing. The shift in the Smithsonian’s leadership from Adams to Heyman required NASM officials to adapt to a new leader’s style and priorities. Initially, the managerial style of these two men seemed to encourage academic freedom and increased professionalism in exhibits. However, Heyman’s commission to be a fundraiser and the upcoming vote in Congress to reauthorize funding for the Smithsonian rapidly changed the priorities within the institution from one of standing firm on professional and historical issues to one of self-preservation. In other words, the decision premises changed. The risk shifted from one involving historical interpretation to one focussed on the economic well being of the institution as a whole. Understanding both the potential impact of change and how the stakes can alter in unexpected ways is essential.

Likewise, a change in collection management policies initiated by Harwit at the NASM signaled a change in the relationship to an external constituency in the military aviation community -- one that they did not like. Instead of collecting everything, items were selected more judiciously and with different criteria. Here, archivists and librarians should note that internal collection development and management decisions can be noted externally. However valid the decision to change collection development practices (or other policies) is, alienating an institution's major constituency should not be done lightly and cannot be done without consequences. Cultural institutions need to be prepared for those consequences. Collection management issues have become public controversies for several other historical libraries, such as the New-York Historical Society and the Historical Society of Pennsylvania. In both of these cases, the institutions tried to reevaluate their missions and redefine their collecting emphases in order to better manage and preserve a select group of materials. In each instance, major constituencies were alienated and very vocal and widespread commentary ensued causing each organization to reconsider its decisions.^¹²⁷

Management is also key in establishing appropriate roles for auxiliary bodies, such as trustees, review boards, and exhibit advisory groups associated with cultural institutions.^¹²⁸ Cultural institutions need to be very clear about the role they expect members of different groups to play, the responsibilities of members, the process and appropriate procedures in which a specific group is involved. Most of all cultural institutions must also be responsible to these groups by giving them clear signals and instructions, keeping them informed, and making sure their work is on-track. Difficulties in working with boards and in defining new roles for trustees have been themes in recent books on independent research libraries.^¹²⁹ Both the New-York Historical Society and the Historical Society of Pennsylvania cases cited above also involved problems with trustees. In the latter case, one of the trustees openly denied having ever supported a decision to deaccession materials.^¹³⁰

Once controversy arises, cultural resource institutions need to respond quickly and in an organized, coordinated, and far-reaching manner. The military aviation community was able to organize such a campaign against the Enola Gay exhibit and the Smithsonian failed to mount a counter attack until it was too late. One successful example of dealing with controversy is the acquisition of Ku Klux Klan materials by the Clarke Historical Library at Central Michigan University described by the library director, Frank Boles.^¹³¹ Admittedly the staff initially tried to ride out the controversy but they soon realized that a fast, well-prepared response was necessary. Boles responded to criticism of the acquisition to individuals as well as in the press and on local public television. He concludes that responding to all criticism, even that considered ill thought out or crank is necessary in a public forum. Furthermore, the Clarke Library staff discovered that they not only had to address the historical and archival issues, but also feelings.

Boles created space for dialog by going to student organizations such as the Organization of Black Unity to discuss the purchase. While dialogue may have changed few minds about the acquisition, it had another purpose.

The purpose of dialogue is not to listen to the archivist argue for the importance of ideas critical to his or her academic culture, but to show the archivist how his or her cultural perspective fails to appreciate the African-American heritage and thus either consciously or unconsciously continues a long tradition of racism. The student’s purpose in entering he dialogue is not to be inculcated in traditional academic cultural norms but rather to educate regarding the African-American cultural perspective.^¹³²

At Central Michigan University, creating the space for dialogue led to a successful interaction, although the reasons for success had nothing to do with generating unanimity.

Archivists and librarians have long examined and challenged themselves to reach wider audiences. With the World Wide Web, archives and libraries can attain this goal. However, reaching larger and more broad-based audiences can have a down side. David Thelen’s assertion concerning historians could apply to archivists, “If we want scholarship to reach wider audiences, we need to expect controversy.”^¹³³ Morgan urges historical libraries not to practice self-censorship and argues that

if library exhibitions are to flourish, they will have to deal with subjects that raise some group’s hackles…Conflict can be beneficial, in alerting curators and designers to the complexity of a subject. But it will require extraordinary daring for libraries to resist organized ethnic and ideological pressures.^¹³⁴

Along with reaching wider audiences and instigating (even unintentionally) controversy requires new skills. In addition to the public relations skills noted by Boles, increased professionalism and better academic preparation for archivists and librarians is needed. While no one is fully prepared for major controversies in or about their collections, being better able to predict potential conflicts, practicing conflict resolution techniques, and learning how to develop articulate collections policies will assist librarians and archivists in mounting well-researched exhibits, developing well thought out surrogates for collections (e.g., finding aids), and arguing intelligently about collection and acquisitions decisions. As Morgan notes, “[l]ibrary exhibitions are evolving as a new genre of communication.”^¹³⁵ However, archivists and librarians are still learning both the language as well as the social conventions associated with this new genre.

One way to begin to acknowledge this new professionalism is to continue to and expand the practice of acknowledging authorship for exhibits, finding aids, other surrogates (MARC records), and web pages. Claiming authorship on products diminishes the appearance of absolute authority that anonymity can supply as well as to gives more credibility and responsibility for work products. For archival repositories, the recent emphasis on archives as evidence needs to be carried over into our public representations of collections, particularly finding aids and exhibits. As noted above, it sends the wrong message if we decontextualize documents in our collections and make them objects, robbing them of their value as evidence.

In addition to increasing the professionalism of individual archivists and librarians, increasing the ties within the profession and among allied professions (e.g., historians, museum professionals, records managers) will help build united fronts to spurn attacks during controversies. The NASM tried too little, too late to muster support from natural constituencies. Mike Wallace thinks that an attack on one institution should be seen as an attack on all, professional bodies also have a responsibility to act, and most of all institutions should be ready to take responsibility for their own self-defense.^¹³⁶ As Mayr notes, “For the defense of its intellectual independence, a museum needs a base that can withstand attack and that is professional, not political.”^¹³⁷ In the examples of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania and the New-York Historical Society, there was very little support by other historical or research libraries or archives. Although both institution had obvious problems attributable to poor decisions over time, the underlying arguments for deaccessioning were valid. The larger issues of how best to care for our cultural heritage and the very difficult selection decisions that must be made were not addressed by the broader cultural resource management community. Most notably, an opportunity for dialog with allied groups to discuss the enormous dimensions of the problems of managing cultural resources was missed.

There are various ways of looking at the legacy of the Enola Gay exhibit. It can be seen as a triumph of one group over another, a lost battle in the culture wars, or as a lesson for all professionals working with cultural resources. In examining the controversy, thinking about how social and political environmental factors effect cultural institutions, understanding the actors, and focusing on activities and the exhibition planning process, we can learn from the missteps and mistakes made by the NASM as well as the lack of a community response on the part of allied professionals. On the one hand, the battle of the NASM curators against the media, Congress, the military aviation community, may seem one-sided, but as cultural resource professionals we sometimes underestimate the power we do have.

As curators, what we collect, whose stories we preserve, what interpretations we present, and our mandate to convey those decisions to millions gives us power. The power to determine who and what has value. The power to save or to forget a people's culture. The power to shape memory. And the power to help determine what is historically meaningful and culturally significant. In essence, curators have the power of choice and the power to convey meaning-powers that should be used judiciously and openly.^¹³⁸

*Dr. Elizabeth Yakel holds a Ph.D. from the University of Michigan and is an assistant professor at the University of Pittsburgh, School of Information Sciences. She has over 15 years experience in archives and records management. Prior to coming to the University of Pittsburgh in the fall of 1997, she worked as Research Assistant for the Medical Collaboratory Project and lecturer at the University of Michigan, School of Information. Her previous positions include Director of Archives for the Maryknoll Missioners, and the consultant for the NHPRC - funded Technical Assistance Project in New York City where she helped non-profit organizations make decisions concerning their archival and records management programs. Her primary areas of research are electronic recordkeeping systems and the evaluation of use and user needs. Dr. Yakel is the author of Starting an Archives, a contributor to Vatican Archives: An Inventory and Guide to the Historical Documentation of the Holy See, and several articles on the administrative use of archives. She is active professionally and has been a Council member of the Society of American Archivists. Her areas of research are electronic records, social informatics, and user needs.

3 William Yeingst and Lonnie G. Bunch, "Curating the Recent Past," in Exhibiting Dilemmas: Issues of Representation at the Smithsonian, eds. Amy Henderson and Adrienne L Kaeppler (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997), 145. The most interesting thing about this volume of thoughtful and provocative essays is the fact that although several explicitly refer to the Enola Gay exhibit, it is not the subject of any of the essays.

8 In addition to Hunter, further readings on the “culture wars” include James L. Nolan Jr., ed., The American Culture Wars: Current Contests and Future Prospects (Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 1996) and Gary B. Nash, Charlotte Crabtree, and Ross E. Dunn, History on Trial: Culture Wars and the Teaching of the Past (New York: Knopf, 1997).

18 Kohn, “History and the Culture Wars,” 1052. See also Edward T. Linenthal, "Anatomy of a Controversy," in History Wars: The Enola Gay and Other Battles for the American Past, eds. Edward T. Linenthal and Tom Engelhardt, (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1996): 24-25 and Edward T. Linenthal, “Struggling with History and Memory,” p. 1098. Linenthal quotes Correll who stated in Air Force Magazine that the Enola Gay exhibit recalls the “Legends” exhibit in that both were examples of “politically correct curating.”

20 Tony Capaccio and Uday Mohan, "Missing the Target," American Journalism Review, (July/August 1995): 24. Capaccio and Mohan provide the context for this quotation, “In December 1941, Japan attacked U.S. bases in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and launched other surprise assaults against allied territories in the Pacific. Thus began a wider conflict marked by extreme bitterness. For most Americans, this war was fundamentally different from the one waged against Germany and Italy - it was a war of vengeance. For the Japanese, it was a war to defend their unique culture against Western Imperialism. As the war approached its end in 1945, it appeared to both sides that it was a fight to the finish.” Nobile, "Crossroads," p. 3.

27 Linenthal, “Struggling with History and Memory,” 1089. Linenthal quotes Correll in Air Force Magazine, “[Harwit] was born in Prague, grew up in Istanbul, and came to the United States (at age 15) in 1946. He [Harwit] asks those who suspect his attitude toward U.S. forces I World War II to consider his personal background.” See also, Linenthal, "Anatomy of a Controversy," 14.

43 Tom Engelhardt, “The Victors and the Vanquished,” in Linenthal and Engelhardt, 247. Tibbets remarks were originally made at a news conference June 9, 1994 and are also quoted by John T. Correll in “‘The Last Act’ at Air and Space,” Air Force Magazine, (September 1994): 64. A related example of an exhibit without commentary is “Nagasaki Journey: The Photographs of Yosuke Yamahata, August 10, 1945,” mounted at the International Center of Photography during the summer and fall of 1995. Yamahata was a staff photographer attached to the Western Corps of the Japanese Army and sent to Nagasaki to document the effects of the atomic bomb. Arriving the day after the explosion, his photographs offer the most complete visual record of ground zero. Although there was a small brochure, individual photographs were displayed without commentary and few identifying labels. To deny that the photographs do not elicit social, political, or emotional reactions even in this pristine representation is to deny human nature.

45 Kohn, "History at Risk, p. 142. The five reasons are: a museum staff determined to apply professional standards in a previously celebratory institution, an increasingly uneasy relationship with the military aviation community, previously a big supporter of the NASM, an external environment in the United States characterized by culture wars and major disputes about historical interpretation and whose story should receive the most emphasis, the appointment of a new secretary of the Smithsonian, and finally the shift in Congressional power from the Democratic to the Republican party.

51 Pretzer, “Public History and the Enola Gay,” 458. Mayr argues that it is impossible to compare museum exhibits to academic scholarship because of the detail and depth of analysis in academic scholarship and the variety of media and objects they provoke the senses in exhibitions. Mayr, “The Enola Gay Fiasco”, 465.

54 There were risks involved in this exhibit that need to be noted. Museums who participated in this exhibit ran the risk of having the authorship of their Rembrandts called into question and could potentially face a high financial risk as well as professional problems if the authorship painting formerly attributed to Rembrandt was called into question. I think that this is why this exhibit is all the more noteworthy.

55 The Sigmund Freud exhibit also tries to present controversy by wrapping a series of quotations by critics around the display panels that amplify or refute the conclusions in Freud’s manuscripts below. According to Talbot this exhibit feature is not particularly successful. Talbot, 59.

58 Steven Lubar, "Exhibiting Memories," in Henderson and Kaeppler, 17. As someone who has spent 20 years in archival administration, I was intrigued by the film and particularly by the audiences who sat or stood seemingly enrapt watching this documentary film. I had never seen ordinary people so interested in conservation activities and wondered how this interest might be harnessed to work for the preservation of other significant artifacts in our nation’s history.

63 Kurin, 78. Harwit also addresses this issue in “Academic Freedom and “The Last Act,” 1074. Harwit, though, does not discuss his role in assisting non-professional curators to visualize the exhibit. “To our critics, who read only the script and could not imagine the raw visual impact of the aircraft and the atomic bomb, this section of the script read like a pro-Japanese, anti-American diatribe. Where the script alone was not quoted out of context...the quotations were unrepresentative of the exhibition in its entirety. The humanity of our fighting men, in particular, was so strongly conveyed in the final video film that no one could have left that exhibition feeling anything but proud of the people who had served their country on those two missions, even though they had helped inflict terrible punishment on our wartime enemies. Without constructing the entire exhibition, there was no way of pointing this out and of so defending the museum against allegations of imbalance.”

65 Mayr, “The Enola Gay Fiasco,” 470. In the end, Mayr concludes that the primary cause of the Enola Gay exhibit controversy was a lack of professional museum and political leadership at the Smithsonian and the NASM (p. 473).

77 As quoted in Martin Sherwin, “Struggling with History and Memory,” 1098. Sherwin also discusses the ambiguity and the Smithsonian’s failure to deal with contradictions between members of the advisory board in “Memory, Myth, and History,” in Bird and Lifschultz, 348.

83 Wallace, “The Battle for the Enola Gay,” 62. This point is also argued by Tony Capaccio and Uday Mohan, “How the U.S. Press Missed the Target,” in Bird and Lifschultz, 367. They quote Fetters as admitting, “Our own office didn’t respond as strongly as we could have…”

93 Tony Capaccio and Uday Mohan, "Missing the Target," 26. See also Edward T. Linenthal, "Anatomy of a Controversy," 48-51 and Goldberg, “Smithsonian Suffers Legionnaire’s Disease,” 357-358 who notes the difference in historical and journalistic research methods and their use of evidence in stimulating different types of responses from their respective audiences.

98 Al Gore, Earth in the Balance: Ecology and the Human Spirit, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1992), passim. Gore also makes this point in his book about preserving the environment. Gore notes that journalists would balance one study arguing against global warming with a dozen scientific studies demonstrating concrete evidence for the phenomenon in a way that each viewpoint appeared to be backed up with equal scientific weight.

100 Alex Roland describes leading a university-sponsored tour to Normandy on the fiftieth anniversary of the Allied landings during World War II. During the course of the tour, the group made up of veterans and others entered into dialog about war, bombing, and the morality and wisdom of the atomic bombings. Demonstrating that dialog about the atomic bombings is possible, Roland notes that by creating space for dialog, tour members gained a better understanding of the events themselves, their own moral principles and beliefs, and a better understanding of themselves. Alex Roland, “Voices in the Museum,” Technology and Culture 39/3: 487.

112 Vera L. Zolberg, "Museums as Contested Sites of Remembrance," in Theorizing Museums: Representing Identity and Diversity in a Changing World, eds. Sharon MacDonald and Gordon Fyfe (London: Blackwell, 1996), 79.

116 Kenneth Foote, Shadowed Ground: America’s Landscapes of Violence and Tragedy, Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1997. The idea of displacement is interesting to contrast with Foote’s well researched descriptions of historic or important sites in the history of the United States and how they are commemorated, contested, or ignored. Perhaps because the end of World War II occurred at such a remote distance and the Enola Gay’s role in ending the war, the Enola Gay serves also as a de facto place where the Second World War finished.

127 The story of the New-York Historical Society is provided in detail by Kevin M. Guthrie, The New-York Historical Society: Lessons from One Non-Profit's Long Struggle for Survival (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1996). Information concerning the problems at the Historical Society of Pennsylvania is primarily available in the Philadelphia Inquirer. See Stephen Salisbury, “Historical Society’s Makeover Plan Criticized in Consultants’ Reports,” Philadelphia Inquirer October 22, 1997, B1 and Stephen Salisbury, “Sale of Artifacts Prompts Rebellion among Philadelphians, Historians,” Philadelphia Inquirer, July 29, 1997, B1.

128 Donna R. Braden, “Whose History Is It? Planning Henry Ford Museum’s Clockwork Exhibit,” Technology and Culture 39/3, p. 491-492 and passim. Braden discusses the problem of defining roles in exhibition planning and dealing with conflicting interests. While the curatorial team involved in this exhibit was able to reach consensus, internal reflections on exhibit planning processes over time at Henry Ford have led to greater clarity and structure being imposed on exhibit development to avoid role ambiguity.

129 See Jed I. Bergman, Managing Change in the Non-Profit Sector: Lessons from the Evolution of Five Independent Research Libraries (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1996) and Guthrie, The New-York Historical Society.

130 Salisbury, ““Historical Society’s Makeover Plan Criticized,” B1. More background information on the Historical Society of Pennsylvania is available in Stephanie L. Woerner and Stephen A. Geyser, “The Historical Society of Pennsylvania,” Cambridge, MA: Harvard Business School, 1996.

133 Thelin, “History After the Enola Gay Controversy," 1030. Richard J. Cox also makes this argument in reference to archival collecting in a multicultural society where disputes concerning the veracity of sources can easily lead to controversy centering on the decision to collect, rather than an investigation of the evidence itself. See Richard J. Cox, “Archival Authorities: Building Public memory in the Era of the Culture Wars,” MultiCultural Review 7/2 (June 1998): 58.