Marcus Hall

Anniversary Forum

True Environmental History

MARK CIOC'S RECENT eco-biography of the Rhine appeared auspiciously as I was settling into my new home at the headwaters of that drainage. His was a potent reminder that while most of us living in northern Switzerland fix our gaze on the mountains, much of what we throw out or flush down eventually makes its way into that great river, which with each new bend flows slower, darker, and dirtier on its approach to the North Sea. The rise and fall of the Rhine, I found out, is fortunately rising again, with public concerns and international treaties helping to clean up its polluted waters. In re-reading William Cronon's preface to the book, I agreed that Cioc may well have given us "the first true environmental history of a major European river." And then, I realize now, it was this simple assertion that stuck for me: While I agree that Cioc's work is a marvelous contribution, I have at odd moments ever since wondered just what true environmental histories might entail.	1
With these words, Cronon meant of course that the book represented good scholarship, and was asking questions that hadn't quite been asked before. Appearing as it did in 2002, Cronon's statement was also a declaration that environmental history had finally arrived, a confirmation that most scholars now knew about this field, that most universities offered courses in its subjects, and more importantly, that the reading public had even encountered studies similar to this one before. More subtly, this statement implied that there were true environmental historians, and Mark Cioc certainly fits the description as a respected, established—card-carrying—member of this particular guild of the historical profession. We now have tenure-track environmental historians, and perhaps that greatest legitimization of a field, our own encyclopedia covering the topic in three volumes.	2
It is for me immensely gratifying to see the field closest to my toils and aspirations receiving its due. But while I applaud bigger, better, wider, more nuanced environmental history scholarship, I think there are several cautionary remarks that need whispering between back slaps and victory shouts. Beware of inbreeding and clubishness. Beware of rapid growth and lust for size. Beware of losing moral purpose (in some ultimate sense). And lastly, speak less of true environmental histories, but more of true environmental historians.	3
Let me try to explain. I am convinced that environmental history is what environmental historians do, and that we are much wiser to define our field by its practitioners than by its subject matter. The ASEH must be viewed as a community first and a scholarly pursuit second. Rigorous efforts to define the field or police its borders will bring vacuous results and hard feelings. At the same time, close-knit groups of practitioners can lead to narcissism and even exclusion, and part of ASEH's success has been its ability to welcome a variety of newcomers, within and beyond universities—and even beyond borders. But the "A" in our society's acronym can be off-putting: that letter may simply designate the base of operations or the main geographic interest of its members, yet it is also excluding potential members and so squelching innovation. A better model would promote an umbrella organization having regional chapters within an international society, an ISEH.	4
Environmental historians will be quick to point out that growth brings its own problems. I, too, would hardly relish attending environmental history meetings as sprawling as AHA or AAG conferences or (so I'm told) the Congrès International des Sciences Historique. Part of our society's secret has been its manageable size and ability to change with the times. So while some environmental historians after the events of 9–11 expressed dismay about their own research agendas (which paid scant attention to terror and bloodshed), others began following Edmund Russell's lead by scrutinizing their environments from a soldier's eye view. As environmental history societies grow, they may eventually tire of maintaining an awkward unity of distantly related "interest groups" as is attempted by other scholarly societies in, say, geography, anthropology, or ecology. Better to splinter off into new sub-societies and smaller groups than to wallow in too-muchness. The study of nature and culture through time does include everything (and not all of it is historical!), and so there will be a day when even the upcoming New Environmental History will seem passé. As scholarly evolution rolls forward, one must be dedicated to colleagues more than to scholarly societies, committed to seeking answers more than to pursuing fields.	5
There is also the crucial importance of not overlooking the moral purpose that gestated the field, and originally brought society members together. I don't think environmental historians can or should be disinterested, and this is precisely why our public and our students are so enthralled with it. Rigorous scholarship is also part of that moral imperative, and so it is the tension between our agendas and, er, truth that I think keeps us going back to very dusty and sometimes very boring archives. Relevancy is key. Studies about war and nature may be more important right now than wilderness. Trendiness is our middle name, but we should embrace rather than spurn it. As Donald Worster intimated during the society's banquet last year in Victoria, clever scholarship and good stories alone are not enough to save the earth and its inhabitants.	6
True environmental historians, then, are mostly interested in getting out their messages. We need films, radios, and newspapers to spread our messages. Believe it or not, most people don't read anymore, much less flip through scholarly journals. Journalists should be contacted and offered press conferences. We need to practice speaking to our publics more than to our scholarly colleagues, to foundation directors more than to college presidents. J. B. Jackson was enormously effective because he celebrated rather than criticized the vernacular. Be sure to look carefully over Michael Pollan's Botany of Desire, Anne Matthews' Wild Nights, and Mark Kurlansky's Cod to see how they do it. Be sure also to consider what true environmental history would be without its star practitioners.	7
Marcus Hall studied at the University of Wisconsin-Madison before following fellowships to the Swiss WSL Reseach Institute and the University of Zurich, where he teaches in an environmental studies program. Hall's first book is a transatlantic history of environmental restoration entitled Earth Repair (Virginia, 2005). He is currently researching the linked histories of malaria and DDT in Sardinia.

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