Academe (where a weathered historian shares)
What is it like to go to the conference of the Midwest World History Association (MWWHA)? I was lucky enough to be able to attend in person. The conference was “hybrid,” with each panel and the keynote with both in-person and remote attendees (“Zoomies”). I will share a few impressions of the conference from the view I had.
Sincerity
Hugs from friends. Missing friends who couldn’t be there in person. Jokes about what didn’t go as planned. (Nothing was Jim’s fault, despite the joke that repeated.) Conversations about the difficulties and joys of going back into the classroom. Conversations about career and life and paths and where they have led us and where they might lead. Conversations about directions the journal might go. Chats about future conversations. Apples, cups of coffee, donuts, meals, glasses of various beverages, and laughter. Even some tears. All good.
Authenticity
Presentations with fascinating observations, with all the usual efforts and exertions to explain complicated ways ideas intertwine. Burgeoning scholars finding their feet. More experienced scholars wrestling with institutional inertia.
Here are some snippets of ideas I gathered from just three of the presentations I attended.
Natural disasters and people’s assumptions that “we” will learn from them but historical actors do not have to act logically and can, in fact, choose to do nothing.
One panel’s exploration of existential crises and political discussions through allegory temporally from the twelfth century (Ibn al-ʿArabī), then early twentieth century (late Ottoman intellectuals), and into the twentieth century (Muhammad Iqbal’s Javednama), and geographically from Al-Andalus across to South Asia, and thematically from a dream within a dream to a spiraling journey through the cosmos, showed the complexities of the Islamicate world (and nearly caused existential crises for audience members).
How both the macro consideration of the medieval world across the globe (we need a different word than “medieval”) and a micro scrutinization of a “small” war early in the Ming era can help us reconceptualize where we place the “centers” of world history.
Questions from the audience aimed at amelioration. New acquaintances who make instant connection over ideas and shared values, especially the value of critical thinking in the study of (world) history.
Back to hermit-like existence
A stop in Madison for a relaxing and gloriously hot-in-the-sun late-September lunch began the process of returning me home. While driving back across the driftless part of Wisconsin, I thought back on the joy of attending random talks on the UW campus as an undergrad and how those talks contributed to opening the world to me, a kid from a mostly rural area near Wausau. I wondered if undergrads everywhere were getting exposed to enough “random talks”: the speakers who share their expertise, who show how to ask questions and pursue possible answers, and who show how to make an esoteric topic relevant to the wider world. I bow to those who undertake the slow, deliberate contemplation, rumination, and concentration that it takes to produce an idea, and to communicate that idea to others. It is not easy but it is worth it.
The weekend ended with reunion with Ande. My dog found a new way to vocalize — not barking, not whining, but trying to talk about the emotions that had built up over the weekend. Nothing grounds a human in the here and now like caring about an animal.
With Critters, It’s Personal
The Toad, Act II
“At night I depart through my back egress, but the human still marks me.”1
“It makes no difference. I will soon be lost to the night.”
“The tree frogs climb with abandon.”
“Just before dawn they climb, when I am too fatigued to parse the precariousness of their positions to them.”2
“I go home, but home has changed.”
“I am no longer alone.”
“Trespasser. Interloper. Libertine.”
“He will not go away.”
“Perhaps the natural order will rid me of this marplot.”
“The young hawk’s eyes are not sharp enough. Or maybe a scrawny toad does not make a big enough meal.”
“He must go away.”
Don’t miss the final act of “The Toad.”
Share it with your friends.
All photos used in “The Toad” are mine own.
I can neither confirm nor deny that this is the same little tree frog who may have changed color between photos, but I like the idea of Ms. Toad shaking her head at young little tree frogs running, er, climbing around.