The idea of a museum dedicated to the Troubles in Northern Ireland is something that continues to unsettle me. I have previously written that we need a shared space in which we can explore our histories and experiences and that museums should represent the conflict in our galleries. But was I right?
In April I attended the conference Should We Put History Behind Glass?, organised by Healing Through Remembering, a cross community project looking at ways of dealing with the past relating to the conflict in Northern Ireland.
One of its ideas is to develop a permanent Living Memorial Museum. The conference allowed participants to discuss the idea, its timing, whether an exhibition might increase tension and if museums challenge visitors. When forming our relationship with the conflict there are no easy options - placing our perspective in public view adds to the difficulty.
The idea of a museum of the conflict touches a whole range of issues, such as whether we could ever write a shared history; where should that story be told; and who should be its author? An exhibition might attempt to tell the story of the conflict, but may be charged of being sensationalist, one-sided, judgmental, biased or pandering to government objectives.
The "traditional route" might be to tell the green and orange story separately, but what of new nationals and those who don't feel they fit into the usual depictions of the conflict?
The tragedy of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, told as it is in such a heartbreaking manner through stories, objects, letters and records, has an ephemeral quality. It is permanently etched in the hearts and minds of those scarred by the conflict, but understanding by others can only be fleeting.
There will be many who feel that we shouldn't be retelling the past 30 years, given that it is an unagreed history; instead we should be using points from the past to create aspirations for the future.
This messy complexity may tempt us to abandon the project altogether and allow spontaneous engagements to spring up in an unstructured fashion. This is more-or-less what is happening: individuals, community groups, cultural societies and activists are developing and sustaining collections and exhibitions relating to the conflict.
The nature and extent of these collections is brilliantly documented in the Artefacts Audit, a report of the material culture of the conflict researched and written by Kris Brown and recently published by Healing Through Remembering.
There is a lot of interest in the idea of establishing a museum of the conflict that would promote understanding and be a commemorative space. But I am unsettled by the idea of a museum, not because of the conflict story, but because of the nature of museums.
The traditional concept of the museum is that it is a place of permanence, authority and reverence. We value museums because we feel that once we are included in their archives, our place in history is secured - if we get to determine how that entry is written, even better.
Inclusion brings power and influence and a story told in a museum is an effective one. The more recent re-conceptualisations of the museum are challenging these foundations, and are developing innovative projects with open-minded agendas at their core. Nevertheless, the core principals of permanence, authority and reverence associated with museums are what many expect.
Whether we develop a museum on such a basis, or attempt to turn the traditional canon on its head, museums are places underpinned by an agenda. Whether that of the individual, community or nation; the museum is fashioned by the desires of those shaping its identity. Fine if we agree - more troublesome if we don't.
The narratives in museums are simple: they involve selection and rejection and provide a curated-glimpse of another's experiences. We can provide multiple voices, creative spaces, and encourage our visitors to forge a personal visit - but the framework within which that is achieved is still predetermined. This is the case for every museum, whatever the topic, but it becomes more charged when the subject is one of dissonance.
When thinking about a conflict museum, it is this combination of factors that unsettles me. But I do believe the conflict story should be told in our galleries.
In this new venture, issues of authorship, authority, truth and transparency will be key. No one could deny that a museum of the conflict will have to take risks. But on this occasion the risk will be more than finding a story that can be communicated in a public space, it will also have to be one that exposes the methods of the museum to scrutiny.
Elizabeth Crooke is a senior lecturer in museum and heritage studies at the University of Ulster
In April I attended the conference Should We Put History Behind Glass?, organised by Healing Through Remembering, a cross community project looking at ways of dealing with the past relating to the conflict in Northern Ireland.
One of its ideas is to develop a permanent Living Memorial Museum. The conference allowed participants to discuss the idea, its timing, whether an exhibition might increase tension and if museums challenge visitors. When forming our relationship with the conflict there are no easy options - placing our perspective in public view adds to the difficulty.
The idea of a museum of the conflict touches a whole range of issues, such as whether we could ever write a shared history; where should that story be told; and who should be its author? An exhibition might attempt to tell the story of the conflict, but may be charged of being sensationalist, one-sided, judgmental, biased or pandering to government objectives.
The "traditional route" might be to tell the green and orange story separately, but what of new nationals and those who don't feel they fit into the usual depictions of the conflict?
The tragedy of the Troubles in Northern Ireland, told as it is in such a heartbreaking manner through stories, objects, letters and records, has an ephemeral quality. It is permanently etched in the hearts and minds of those scarred by the conflict, but understanding by others can only be fleeting.
There will be many who feel that we shouldn't be retelling the past 30 years, given that it is an unagreed history; instead we should be using points from the past to create aspirations for the future.
This messy complexity may tempt us to abandon the project altogether and allow spontaneous engagements to spring up in an unstructured fashion. This is more-or-less what is happening: individuals, community groups, cultural societies and activists are developing and sustaining collections and exhibitions relating to the conflict.
The nature and extent of these collections is brilliantly documented in the Artefacts Audit, a report of the material culture of the conflict researched and written by Kris Brown and recently published by Healing Through Remembering.
There is a lot of interest in the idea of establishing a museum of the conflict that would promote understanding and be a commemorative space. But I am unsettled by the idea of a museum, not because of the conflict story, but because of the nature of museums.
The traditional concept of the museum is that it is a place of permanence, authority and reverence. We value museums because we feel that once we are included in their archives, our place in history is secured - if we get to determine how that entry is written, even better.
Inclusion brings power and influence and a story told in a museum is an effective one. The more recent re-conceptualisations of the museum are challenging these foundations, and are developing innovative projects with open-minded agendas at their core. Nevertheless, the core principals of permanence, authority and reverence associated with museums are what many expect.
Whether we develop a museum on such a basis, or attempt to turn the traditional canon on its head, museums are places underpinned by an agenda. Whether that of the individual, community or nation; the museum is fashioned by the desires of those shaping its identity. Fine if we agree - more troublesome if we don't.
The narratives in museums are simple: they involve selection and rejection and provide a curated-glimpse of another's experiences. We can provide multiple voices, creative spaces, and encourage our visitors to forge a personal visit - but the framework within which that is achieved is still predetermined. This is the case for every museum, whatever the topic, but it becomes more charged when the subject is one of dissonance.
When thinking about a conflict museum, it is this combination of factors that unsettles me. But I do believe the conflict story should be told in our galleries.
In this new venture, issues of authorship, authority, truth and transparency will be key. No one could deny that a museum of the conflict will have to take risks. But on this occasion the risk will be more than finding a story that can be communicated in a public space, it will also have to be one that exposes the methods of the museum to scrutiny.
Elizabeth Crooke is a senior lecturer in museum and heritage studies at the University of Ulster
