I have watched the #AHAGATE with fascination. You can read about it at Open History, http://openhistory.uservoice.com/, as well as the blogs of a host of colleagues.

Among the broader perspectives that I see is missing is a discussion of power (alluded to on Mills Kelly’s EdWired, which is a must read) and openness as a value in its own right.

Let’s start with openness as a value.  The AHA often weighs in on the value of openness of archives. To wit, “Beyond the interests of historical researchers stand a wide variety of civic-minded Georgians who depend on open access to archives. Teachers, lawyers, real estate developers, leaders of neighborhood associations–all rely not only on the vital records housed in the Georgia Archives, but on the expert advice of its archivists.”  Note that there are larger questions at work here about state institutions and their obligations in a Democracy. But, regardless, the point here is clear. Openness is a value that historians support, even in the context of economic crises and the changes wrought by the digital age.

So my question: If open access to archives is important, then why isn’t open access to scholarship?

The main objection of the AHA to openness is that too much of it will diminish the print publication of ideas (in books, but also as expressed elsewhere in journals.) The AHA claims that university presses won’t publish books based on dissertations that are online. They also have expressed concern about the cost models for scholarly journals, such as the American Historical Review, noting that subscriptions declined when it was made available on JSTOR, which is not really open at all (because it sits behind a paywall.) This, the AHA claims, will harm scholars because we need books to get promoted and tenured.

Even the least careful scholar can see this for what it is: a naked attempt to preserve the power of the AHA. Indeed, this position is exactly consistent with the AHA’s previous statements about the digital age:

“Thus it is incumbent on the AHA to both understand and utilize all the cutting-edge possibilities of these new technologies, while transferring its traditional role as gatekeeper and authority for the discipline to this new medium.” (I borrowed this quote and sentiment from Mills Kelly; see http://edwired.org/2013/07/26/the-rear-guard-makes-its-stand/.)

I have sympathy for the position of the AHA, Universities, and other traditional bastions of cultural authority. After all, having earned a PhD is evidence of my claim on that power. But, if, as scholars, our only claim to authority is based on an eroding power structure, and not our ideas, then we should get out of the business.

Now, I want to see books preserved. I love books. But, does the publication of dissertations online (or any expression of our scholarship in print or digital form) really harm the interests of publishers?  I would argue no, which is consistent with the evidence about the publication process and the statements of at least one prominent publisher.  Also, let’s be clear about the challenges facing academic publishing. They do not come from dissertations being available online. Indeed, the challenges facing universities presses and academic book publishers began well before the digital revolution because the economic model of academic books is flawed. Really, selling 1000 high-priced hard cover books to academic libraries (but not to the public) is hardly a model for economic sustainability, not to mention for the dissemination of knowledge.  Academic and historical journals face these very same economic problems, well before the digital revolution, and university presses have been scrambling to find ways to remain cost effective. And, of course, the expansion of the digital era has continued to exacerbate these long-standing problems.

I also find anecdotal claims about university presses not publishing work that has been online or in other formats to miss an important point in the context of this debate. Namely, university presses (and a small number of peer reviewers) possess an extraordinary amount of power in the present system–so much so that their presence actually distorts and diminishes the interest of authors and historians.  To wit, most university press contracts ask authors to assign that copyright over to the press. Presently, entry-level scholars (i.e. untenured, contingent, unemployed, underemployed, or in an alternative career) have little recourse when confronted with such contracts. Likewise, first-time authors lack the ability to challenge university presses to publicize and promote their work.  Similar situations occur in publishing in journals as well, where the time from submission to publication can be measured in years, not months, and power rests almost entirely with the journals. (By the way, with book publishing the times from submission to review(s) to publication often are embarrassingly long.)

Indeed, in academic publishing, the relation between author and publisher is almost entirely assymetrical, especially for first-time authors.

(Incidentally, I agree with Adam Crymble’s point that knowledge has a real cost (i.e. it is not free.)  But, I would argue that assymetrical power relations of academic publishing as presently conceived actually asks huge concessions from authors (and first-time authors especially.) Indeed, when presses ask for our copyrights, and seek to gain economic sustainability through selling our work, they are essentially engaged in transferring our investments in research to themselves.  And, increasingly presses ask authors to pay for the costs of images, indexing, and even poor copy-editing. Thus, if the problem with open publishing is that it puts too much of the cost of the research on the individual author, the same is also true of contemporary academic publishing. And, more to the point, if a potential author does not work in an R1 setting–i.e. most historians–the present publishing model works even more strongly against their interest. See http://adamcrymble.blogspot.com/2013/07/students-should-be-empowered-not.html)

Additionally, in his defense of the AHA, William Cronon, claimed that making dissertations available online opened junior scholars to possible theft of their ideas. This is not so at all. When an author makes their work available online–whether a dissertation, a website, whatever–they don’t lose copyright. To the contrary, they likely can stipulate the terms of that availability in very clear terms.  And, in no case, does availability of something online allow others to take those ideas without citation.

In short, dissertations are copyright protected scholarship. They are the scholars intellectual property, whether they are online, or not.  So, no scholar should worry about anyone appropriating their idea because they put a dissertation online. (One could argue, in fact, that the presence of the online version might actually offer protection from such appropriation.)

University presses should recognize that the process of scholarly publishing adds value to a work (or, at least, it should add value._ If they are concerned that the value-added is not sufficient to warrant publication of a dissertation, they either have to review their economic model or change their standards for publication. Or, as was the case with one scholar, Jennifer Guiliano, they could ask the scholar to embargo the work once its been accepted for publication. (Incidentally, as Guiliano points out in her case, the openness of her dissertation may well have been a positive.)

As for the AHA, if the AHA wants to protect junior scholars (defined broadly, not narrowly as the AHA would have it), then there are many things it could do. For example, such protection could include a demand that university presses should judge submissions based on their intellectual value, and that members and history departments allow for multiple paths to tenure and promotion (other than the book.) And, finally, the AHA could take a consistent position vis-a-vis openness. It is an important value; it should not be undermined.

With openness will come new challenges, but it is best we face those challenges head on rather than by burying our head in the sand–or embargoing our intellectual treasures.

The emperor has no clothes. Or so I declare in a comment on a post at the brilliant public history blog, History at Work. I didn’t mean to spoil the feel-good digital party at History at Work, really. But, the post was about a scholarly volume, Subjecting History that claimed to be “open review,” when it wasn’t. And, it also claimed to be “public” engagement. I didn’t see that either.

Here is the story, as I understanding it from reading Subjecting History: Seventeen scholars respond to a call for proposals. Some (all?) are accepted, apparently. (Are any rejected?) There is no evidence of review, review criteria, winnowing, or exploration of the volume’s content. In other words, it is a garden-variety essay collection. I have no problems with this aspect of the book, to be published by Ohio State University Press.

But, the book claims to be an “open review volume.” Thus, I presumed that I’d see something in the open about how it evolved. There is no indication as to how comments before/during/after solicitation would/will shape the essays on their eventual publication. Moreover, to date, there are handful of comments there, but nothing incisive or from others outside the volume. As far as I can tell, none of the comments engage the material as a peer reviewer might.

Likewise, there is no evidence, that I can see, of “public” engagement. I don’t see “public” (apparently defined here as non-academic) participation in review for acceptance or in comments on the site. I see a general statement about reaching out to interested constituencies and public audiences that might be interested in engaging the essays. I find this statement unsatisfying. Public historians, in our reviews of grants or such public projects or publications, would ask not just whether you were going to do such outreach (it’s obvious that it’s necessary) but *how* you would do it and *how* you would make such outreach successful. Doing outreach to public audiences is hard work.

I also don’t see how this volume presents material in a fashion that the “public” might actually engage. Really, public historians have taught us a great deal about the complexities involved in engaging the public. Writing words on a page and asking people to respond directly to those words is hardly public engagement, whether it is done digitally, on exhibit labels, or in a book. What would I like to see? How about alternative visions for “public history,” outside the text? How about solicitations of particular publics that might engage the essays through planned partnerships? How about some analytics (though that would impose a new standard than has been accomplished in previous comment-press books.)

I want to be clear here that I applaud such attempts. In fact, I think everyone should go over and comment on “Subjecting History.”  But, I’m not sure that comments can save a project that does not seem to emphasize open review. Indeed, what makes the work Jack Doughtery and Kristen Nawrotzki, Writing History in the Digital Age, so interesting was the process. The strength of Writing History in the Digital Age was that the project that evolved, grew, and morphed through an open scholarly process. This not only met the goals of openness that is surely valuable, but it met the standards of peer review. Moreover, it involved lots of participation, both inside and outside the project. It is a model. We should strive for it.

We should strive for it, because there is very much at stake. Surely, we need to find ways of publishing material, openly and with review, both to improve the process but also so that digital scholarship become more deeply part of the scholarly review process. Although I would note that this last statement validates old-fashioned academic standards that are increasingly antiquated by the digital age. And, of course, peer review is often (though not always) a sham embedded in 19th-century scientific practice, so I am not sure we should even see it as a gold standard. Still, there is something critical here and that is the importance for scholars–public historians and more traditional research historians–to connect with the public beyond the ivory tower. Our failures or successes in this regard are critical to the broader shape of civic society, which historical interpretation shapes in significant ways.

Which brings me to my final point. There is a claim here that “By implementing a digital platform that enables an open review process and inviting comments and discussion from the general public, we are experimenting in making history the subject of popular gaze, rather than the other way around.” If (as I’ve said) I don’t see the first part of this claim, I surely don’t see the second part. Isn’t “history” already “the subject of popular gaze?”

Really, heritage tourism is a global industry measured in trillions of dollars. History abounds in multiple media forms and is avidly consumed. History is actively debated in our civil and political culture. Elsewhere the volume proclaims that the term subject is also used because the volume seeks to “put History somewhat under the power of the public.” Commenting on scholarly essays, without any real say over their publication accomplishes neither of these tasks.

And, incidentally, I would suggest that history is already fully “under the power of the public.” As public historians (actually as historians–is there really a distinction?) one of our great challenges is to engage, challenge, interpret, and re-frame understandings of a past that is surely outside our limited power.

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I do have another model, other than the book–and there is a place for books written for public historians–from practicioner to theoretician. My suggestion, and a plug as to why my own work has importantly reframed our approach. We should abandon the conceit that our scholarship is “history” or even what makes our work specially. Indeed, public historians do more than write and theorize. We are brilliant at *practice* at project development. We should get into the trenches with the public and produce digital (or non-digital) projects that collaboratively remake the past, including memory landscapes (which is ostensibly one of the contributions of essays in the Subjecting History volume.)   I’ve been at work on that here in Cleveland with my work on the Cleveland Cultural Gardens.  Rather than theorize the Gardens, imagine how they could be better, or simply write their history (I’ve done all three, incidentally), I joined the fray and with students built a history website, www.culturalgardens.org. Oddly, we didn’t merely open up the site for public comment, or solicit the input of folks involved in the Gardens. No, instead, we invited our partners to use it as their voice, to reinvent it with photographs, text, and their own vision. What has emerged is an amalgam of traditional scholarship, student essays, enthusiast contributions, and community involvement. While the site does not quite make the grade as “scholarship” because of its form (and non-academic contributions), we have shaped public reinterpretation of the site by participating in, and helping to lead that change. Oddly, history in the Gardens is neither subject or object. It is collaboration–exactly what it should be.

NOTE (3/13/2013, needs spelling/grammar check.)