HISTORY BUSINESS MINDS THE STORE

History business is a museum, a class, an artifact.

It’s all of that and more: it’s you, me, and the guy down the road.

If you ask someone about it, you might hear something like, “I learned history in school.”

There are other responses to the question, “What does history mean to you?”

In some parts of the world, the backward parts, the nasty parts, the places where ill will is the goal, history means whatever you’re told, whatever you’re allowed to read or see.

In those places history is easy.

Bad things never happened, everyone was happy, the end.

You have to be either simpleminded, or a crude manipulator, to think that would fly.

Or both.

 

Daily History

As an old white man in his seventies I can walk down the street without drawing a second look.

No one shields their children when I pass by, no one crosses to the other side of the street, or turns around when they see me.

I could be a ghost passing through, which is how it’s supposed to be.

Blend in, be forgettable, disappear.

The only people interested in you as an icon, as impactful, as a focus of stories, are strangers.

The people who don’t know you will remember your drink, your scent, your vibe.

People who know you don’t care about your signature stuff, they don’t need reminders to remember you.

If you are half the man you think you are, or one quarter the woman (adjusted for gender bias) you’ll be fine.

You cared for people way past their tolerance or need. (Over Daved)

You shared with people you cared about. (You proved your point. Again.)

Shared and cared? What else could paint a better picture?

 

The Problem In The History Business

Not everyone remembers people, places, and events, the same way.

Some are mistakes, some are intentional.

When a punk-ass man-bitch is the boss, all of their workers and underlings do their best to show they too can match the boss in being a punk-ass bitch.

What’s it take to be a punk-ass bitch?

Practice your bitch-face in the mirror so you can whip it out when called on.

Nothing says acolyte better than trying to look and sound like the boss.

The shittier the boss, the shittier the follower.

What’s it like to put your feelings on hold to obey the boss? Stressful?

Imagine the stress of a history business professional with decades on the job learning that the work they’ve poured themselves into is meaningless in modern times.

Think of the museum manager watching their exhibits get dismantled, altered, based on the whims of an over-reaching jackass with a limited interest in the topics presented.

When a thoughtless moron leads the pack of thoughtless morons, what could go wrong?

Their grubby fingerprints on everything leaves a stain invisible to them in the moment, but a cause for remorse later.

 

The Best Response

Over here in America we’ve learned to love the under-educated, the uneducated, the intentionally ignorant.

We are them and they are us. Can’t we all just get along?

Apparently not, especially when there’s a negative reflection on those who see history based on an incorrect set of facts.

What we have here is blind allegiance from a segment of the population to a figurehead, one of those memorable people who works their vibe, the way they move, their scent.

If they say something happened, or didn’t happen, they’re right.

If they change their mind for sounding too stupid even for them, they’re right.

If they call a fart a sneeze? They’re right. Gesundheit.

 

Since we’re talking German now, I see a similar reaction here to what happened after WWII.

Back then no one in Germany knew about the concentration camps, the labor camps, the death camps.

After the war they found out.

What will America find out ten years down the line? Twenty?

“Oh, we didn’t know. This is horrible. How did this happen?”

Someone will learn more about their old dad, their grandpa, than they ever wanted to know.

It’ll be a letter in a drawer, a uniform in a closet, a photograph of them in that uniform.

Then the questions no one wants to answer.

Did you work in detention where people died?

What did you do about it?

 

PS:

“I voted,” is the answer.

 

PSS:

Either vote for the rubber stamp of intentional ignorance and welcome the same ugly faces to remain, or vote for decency.

 

 

The history business never stops, never relents, and that’s the good part.

The bad part comes with the shame and remorse of those caught up in the moment, like the old fuck in the top right corner beaming his approval.

This wasn’t his first time at the lunch counter.