Conference Essay by Dr. Christine Ovenden



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What are Museums for?


A Cumberland Lodge Conference


17th – 19th September 2004

Conference Essay by Dr. Christine Ovenden

Cumberland Lodge is most grateful to The Monument Trust for a grant towards conference costs.


Conference Speakers

Josie Appleton


Spiked-online.com

David Barrie


Director, National Art Collections Fund

Tristram Besterman


Director, Manchester Museum

Dr. Alan Borg


formerly Director, Victoria and Albert Museum

Jenni Calder


formerly Head of Museum of Scotland International

Dr. Maurice Davies


Deputy Director, The Museums Association

Mark Fisher


MP for Stoke-on-Trent, former Minister for the Arts

and author of Britain’s Best Museums


Professor Richard Fortey


Department of Palaeontology, Natural History Museum

Claire Fox


Director, Institute of Ideas

Professor Frank Furedi


School of Social Policy, Sociology and Social Research,

University of Kent


Dr. Gareth Griffiths


Director, British Empire and Commonwealth Museum

Dr. Katherine Hann


Head of Education and Interpretation,

British Empire and Commonwealth Museum


Tiffany Jenkins


Director of Arts and Society, Institute of Ideas

John Mackenzie


Writer and formerly Professor of Imperial History,

Univeristy of Lancaster


Dr. Nick Merriman


Reader, Museums Studies and Curator, UCL Museums

Garry Morris


Merseyside Maritime Museum

Julian Spalding


Author of The Poetic Museum and The Eclipse of Art

Helen Wilkinson


Policy Officer, The Museums Association
What are Museums for?

Introduction

In 1992 when Eilean Hooper-Greenhill wrote the opening chapter to Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge, she testified to the rapid and unprecedented changes that were happening in the museum sector1. Museums were not only mushrooming, but they varied in size and subject matter, challenging both the concept of a museum and what a museum was for. She wrote:


This fixed view of the identity of museums has sometimes been firmly held and, until recently, little has disturbed it. But it is a mistake to assume that there is only one form of reality for museums, only one fixed mode of operating. Looking back into the history of museums, the realities of museums have changed many times. Museums have always had to modify how they worked, and what they did, according to the context, the plays of power, and the social, economic, and political imperatives that surrounded them. Museums, in common with all other social institutions, serve many masters, and must play many tunes accordingly. Perhaps success can be defined by the ability to balance all the tunes that must be played and still make the sound worth listening to. At the present time, in many areas where decisions are now being made about the funding and maintenance of museums, hard questions are now being asked about the justification of museums, about their role in the community, and their functions and potentials (Hooper-Greenhill, 1992:1).
Throughout the Cumberland Lodge Conference in September 2004, similar hard questions were asked, demonstrating how social, economic and political factors impinge upon museums today. For example: are the core functions of museum collecting, conserving, researching and interpreting being maintained? And if so, how are these functions balanced or prioritised in a climate of financial stringency? In the three sections below, issues concerning these core functions are explored.

Collecting and Conserving for . . . ?

Attempting to explore the collecting and conserving functions of museums, delegates discussed: whether there was any significance in the exponential growth of museums in terms of their function or mission. Whether museums were getting better at connecting at the expense of collecting. What should be collected today and who should be empowered to collect? Whether museums should embrace a policy of collecting for sustainability, make better use of private collections, and be maintained in perpetuity. And finally, what issues are raised in museums with post-colonial collections?


Is the exponential growth of museums significant in terms of their functions or mission?
By taking an historical approach to museums in the Commonwealth, John Mackenzie’s paper focused upon the exponential rise and range of museums (currently there are 2,300 museums in the UK alone). Addressing the character of this phenomenon, he compared the practices and essences of 19th and 20th Century museums, to investigate whether there had been a corresponding shift in the mission of these institutions. For example, in the late 1920s the Mires and Markham surveys of the museums and art galleries of the British Isles and the entire British Empire, concluded that, in addition to collecting for national and civic pride, museums were for: ‘research, education and inspiration’. Furthermore, the 19th Century concept of a museum as a treasury, storehouse, laboratory and school, with its strong didactic purpose, was still applicable.
In the process of comparing the collecting practices of Victorian and present-day curators, Mackenzie acknowledged a change from a morally questionable approach, which aimed to ‘embrace the whole world, to a more self-reflective, almost introspective concern with locality and community’. Moreover, along with a change of perspective, was a corresponding shift in the subject matter of collections. For example, today in addition to our national and university museums, there are museums that focus on: specific activities, individual people’s lives, atonement, nostalgia, religions, reconciliation, regiments, transport, architecture, biodiversity, mining, shipping, migration, urban regeneration, ethnography, single objects, heritage and ironically, the British Empire.
If the character of contemporary museum collections and the reinterpretation of existing collections broaden the scope of museum visiting, could it also suggest what museums were for? Mackenzie suggested that this dramatic rise was indicative of a need when he said: ‘Societies do seem to want to negotiate issues or explore the past. To a certain extent, there is evidence that public silence leaves people uneasy’. In addition, he recognised that museums had felt the impact of new technologies and the media, the leisure and entertainment industries, and links between high and popular culture. In this climate of ‘edutainment’, he suggested, there was a pressure of museums to compete for audiences in an arena where, ‘the object has diminished and in some places all but disappeared’. However, if digital technology can deliver virtual reality at the click of a mouse, and state-of-the art communications attempt to seduce us with notions of global contact, how vital are the local and tangible for confirming our sense of reality? Isn’t there a yearning to experience the ‘real thing’? And, concomitantly, isn’t this the precise cachet of museums? Maybe, as Mackenzie conjectured, ‘the museum often speaks to the global precisely through the local and vice versa’.
In the present climate, when many cultural institutions are disoriented as they seek to fulfil an increasingly pluralistic mission, Frank Furedi was curious to determine whether the uniqueness of museums could throw some light on their functions. Mackenzie commented that, although cultural and social change tended to elicit ideas of how museums might reform themselves, notions of what they were for were still hard to define.
Despite the emphasis on audience participation, accessibility and accountability, Tom Freudenheim2 wondered if it was possible for people to have meaningful relationships with museums as he had experienced in his youth. Were museums still there to excite, thrill, fascinate and inspire? On a personal level, Mackenzie confirmed that museums were for plundering in an intellectual sense, for ideas and endless engagement on his travels.
Are museums getting better at the expense of collecting?
Julian Spalding’s paper presented a substantial body of evidence to support the hypothesis that museums were not only failing to collect, but also seemed unable to discern the ‘big stories’ – those narratives which had contemporary cultural significance. Without the impetus to collect, a museum loses its dynamism, its reason for existing; it feeds purely on the premise that culture is dead. Rather, ‘a museum is there to inspire you – to get that wonderful spine-tingling feeling of being in touch with the past . . . it is a seduction process; it’s also an identity claiming process’.
Collecting for display and collecting for research, according to Spalding, had long been the two principal activities of museums; however, things were now quite different. He explained:
I think we are at a point where we have to rethink those processes, and make some decisions about what we want to do and what we want to collect for the future. On the whole, museums have remarkably lost their nerve about collecting, and lost the purpose of collecting; it’s ceased to become the main purpose. They have become much more concerned with trying to communicate, trying to provide access, trying to reach new audiences, trying to educate, and they are much less concerned about actually acquiring and actually adding to those collections. And I think this is symptomatic of something that’s a real fundamental change and turning point in the whole of the museum business which is happening now.
Amongst many examples of museums that had curtailed their collecting in favour of emphasizing their communicating functions, Spalding cited the National Gallery’s recent decision to take the year 1900 as the end point for its collection. Since 1998, collecting had become both a marginal activity and a low priority; it had adopted a policy of filling in the gaps, or adding more of what was already owned. According to Spalding, these strategies had deprived the gallery of masterpieces from the 20th Century, thereby making the national collection unrepresentative of more recent developments in art.


What should museums collect for today?
Spalding also remarked on the obsolescence of the 18th Century Enlightenment idea of collecting for completeness and comprehensiveness. Not surprisingly, the categories of collecting that shaped our knowledge all those centuries ago had changed. He believed: ‘Museums are stuck in their old ways of thinking about knowledge . . . but the thing is, where is the big story? Who is collecting for the big story? What does the public need to see? What will the public in the future need to see?’ Therefore, advised Spalding, to make displays relevant and consistent with the big story, museums should preserve significant evidence of human achievement from the past; which ultimately means, ‘you can’t just collect categories, you have to collect meanings; you can’t begin with the object, you have to look at the meaning, and then the profundity of that meaning’.
If Spalding recommended a more creative approach to museum acquisition and interpretation, with a prescient eye for both contemporary and future relevance, Josie Appleton was sceptical about beginning with an idea and then choosing objects that illustrated it. Moreover, she was perturbed about curators’ clumsy attempts to make their displays socially and culturally relevant to the communities they served. Should they, for example, like Hackney Museum and the Museum of Scotland, allow the general public to choose what to collect? And if so, what criteria should be applied? Furthermore, should editorial control be exercised to prevent displays becoming so personal they failed to elicit the curiosity of wider audiences?
Both Gareth Griffiths and Nick Merriman contributed to the debate of what to collect for today. Citing the collecting activities of Colin Sorenson at the Museum of London, Griffiths advocated a broad approach to collecting, including the acquisition of material such as oral history and film that are often categorised as ‘intangible heritage’. However, whilst a collect-all policy might promise to create a complete picture of the City of London, in practice it was questionable whether it would guarantee meaning and understanding. What was crucial, in Griffith’s view, was curatorial judgment and expertise.
Drawing on his experience in the museum field, Merriman said: ‘I believe we should reorient our conception of collecting so that we’re much clearer that we collect to suit present purposes; and our collecting is shaped by the attitude and opinions of a particular group of individuals who make the decisions at a particular time. There is no objectivity to collecting’. Furthermore, he acknowledged the difficulty which curators encountered when they endeavoured to collect for the future, unaware of the values and interests of forthcoming generations. While there was a strong temptation to collect everything to represent contemporaneity (a strategy which required no expertise), both space and funding militated against it. As a solution to this dilemma, Merriman suggested that a thematic approach to collecting should be adopted.
Whilst it was often assumed that curators made informed decisions about what to collect, Appleton wanted to know whether the problem of collecting was not just a scholarly one, but rather one which elicited much deeper interpretive issues in terms of society’s understanding of the meaning of events. For example, when the tragedy of September 11th 2001 occurred, how could people know what to collect when the phenomenon was so recent? If choosing what is significant is vital for understanding, should a policy of collecting everything be instigated initially to facilitate the investigation of that significance?
Talking from the perspective of the Art Collections Fund, David Barrie raised the issue of the lack of confidence exhibited by curators in their role as collectors. He explained: ‘There has been a period during which there has been a kind of crisis of confidence; a bit of a loss of nerve about collecting. I think to some extent it’s been fed by some profound philosophical concerns about hierarchies of value. There are some people who question whether it actually makes sense to say one object is better than another’. Despite the fact that many experienced curators failed to use their wisdom and connoisseurship to make bold decisions about acquiring art, Barrie remained sanguine about the future of collecting because, in his view, at the heart of the museum project lay a strong instinctive desire to collect. Moreover, those individuals who collected with genuine zeal and passion, could not fail to invest their collection with, ‘an extraordinary magical talismanic effect’.
Should museums embrace a policy of collecting for sustainability and make better use of private collections?
The issue of funding, including the Government’s, Renaissance in the Regions funding initiative, impinged upon many issues that were raised at the conference. More particularly, in response to Nick Merriman’s paper, delegates discussed how museums managed to finance their varied functions in the short and long-term.
Using evidence from The Bruntland Report - Our Common Future (1987), and The Cost of Collecting Report (1989), which explored the issues of sustainability and long-term collections’ management, Merriman made some practical suggestions for museums today. By considering their existing collections in the light of future needs, present funding, curatorial time and storage space, museums should, in his view, be pragmatic about what they could retain. Only then, once these decisions had been made, could a realistic collecting policy be formulated and put into practice.
When the issue of disposal was raised as a direct corollary to this discussion, Merriman’s position was clear:
I think we should challenge the notion of retention in perpetuity, and instead think about reviewing collections after a certain period of time for their continuing potential. And we should be bold enough to dispose of them by transfer to other locations if they hold less potential than material subsequently collected. I should stress that potential should be assessed on a wide range of criteria including scholarly potential, which would be to do with documentation and association, as well as artistic qualities. This is essential if museums are to continue to collect – which I passionately believe they should do in order to reflect changing society; and I believe they can only continue to collect if they do so in a sustainable manner.
Thus deaccessioning did not necessarily imply destruction, whether through disposal or attrition from neglect, it could mean transferring elsewhere. Furthermore, it meant shifting the mindset away from permanent ownership and more towards reorientation and collaboration. It was also Merriman’s view that, ‘removal to a museum can destroy meaning and context in many cases, and therefore for a lot of recent material, short-term loans and recording might be much more appropriate – the idea of the distributed national collection might then truly embrace the whole nation’.
Supporting this position of sustainability, Alan Borg related how surprised he was that the head of conservation at the Victoria and Albert Museum asked him how long he wanted to keep various artefacts in the collection. This was because modern conservation science can provide any level of an agreed life length for an object. In Borg’s opinion, ‘the arguments in favour of disposal in certain circumstances suggest a general reappraisal of the role of the private sector. Serious private collectors can already be seen to look after their collections with great care and increasingly with proper expertise’.
Should museums be kept in perpetuity?
Although Merriman’s approach to collections’ management was founded on a rationale of sustainability and efficiency in both the short and long-term, he was also aware that as museums evolved they might, like other institutions, outlive their usefulness. He said: ‘I think it’s fine that museums come and go, and I don’t think it’s an axiom that we have to preserve all museums or collections in the public domain. I think we should see collections perhaps as a process – some are processes of centuries, and some are processes on a much shorter cycle’.
Tom Freudenheim was intrigued by the potential of this idea to challenge traditional notions of permanency so fundamental to the ethos of museums. He also conjectured that the topic of a life cycle for museums might generate a discussion that would have a more direct bearing on what museums were for. Pauline Hadaway3 also contributed to this debate, and cited examples from Belfast where the future of a number of collections that had been emptied of their immediate political purpose and contemporary relevance, was in doubt.


Who owns culture and what issues are raised by post-colonial collections?
For the British Museum, whose high profile collection is largely composed of objects from Britain’s colonial past, issues such as cultural ownership and interpretation are crucial. Drawing on his personal experience at the BM, Jonathan Williams explained how the museum’s functions of collecting, interpreting and creating a sense of personal and national identity, had developed over the last two hundred and fifty years. He explained:
If the 20th Century was a century characterised by conflicts of ideology, the 21st Century is all about conflicts of identity . . . I think our current concern with questions of culture and identity and our increased awareness of their potentially explosive sensitivity, is more about this than about post-colonialism, though clearly the two developments intersect in interesting ways . . . political ideology and social class are not the only things which unite and divide us. Other, older ingredients in human identity – religion, culture, language have gained prominence and shown themselves to be anything but blandly harmless objects of benign curiosity . . . Culture came out of the museum, arm-in-arm with religion it has asserted itself as a driving force for re-establishing or inventing afresh communal identities . . .
Making a case for the way in which religious extremism had rendered an understanding of cultural heritage and cross-cultural dialogue problematic, Williams discredited the ‘archipelago idea of culture’4 which was often espoused by cultural institutions and movements which sought to preserve and promote indigenous cultures. To make a counter claim to this mindset, Williams quoted from a number of statements from the UNESCO website, on the theme of ‘intercultural dialogue’.
While each culture draws from its own roots, it must fail to blossom without contact with other cultures. It is not therefore, a matter of identifying and safeguarding every culture in isolation, but rather of revitalising them in order to avoid segregation and cultural entrenchment and prevent conflict.
If it is accepted that no culture is pure, but rather hybridised and plural, should it be acknowledged that the arguments for maintaining post-colonial collections intact outweigh the moral grounds of the repatriation lobby? As if to buttress his argument, Williams disclosed that the trustees of the BM had not only reappraised their national and international loan scheme, thereby making the collection available to museums across the globe, but also divulged that it was to be marketed as a core function of the ‘universal museum’. No one could doubt that this gesture had the potential to foster good local, national and international relations, but, whilst the current wrangle with the Museum Victoria in Australia was unresolved, international loans were to be suspended.
William’s arguments provoked lively debate, for example: Maurice Davies candidly suggested that the British Museum’s concept of the ‘universal museum’ was a ploy to counter ‘a particularly difficult set of disputes about the Elgin Marbles’. He commented further: ‘What’s interesting about the whole debate playing out at the BM, is how the very honourable values, ethics and concepts of thinking about the purpose of the museum are constantly corrupted by, I think, the museum’s determination or legal necessity, to hold on to this concept of protecting its property in its own building most of the time’.
Alastair Niven5, however, gave an example that testified to the BM’s positive role in diplomatic relations. In 1997, at a time of particular tension (the 50th anniversary of Indian Independence), he accompanied fifty treasures to India from the BM’s collection. In Niven’s view, ‘this act did more to heal relations between this country and India than anything else. So I think one should praise the BM as well as criticise it’.
Richard Fortey, Julain Spalding, Tristram Besterman and Tiffany Jenkins also joined the repatriation debate, but more specifically in connection with human and animal remains. In Fortey’s opinion, returning human remains of the ‘ancestors’ of indigenous people, especially if they were reburied, removed material from study. He explained: ‘What you are doing essentially is excluding future generations of those very concerned people, from answering questions which might be of extreme importance to them in the future . . . I regard looking after these bones as being a responsible custodian’.

When he was Director of the Glasgow Museum in 1994, Spalding returned some Aboriginal bones to Australia that had been dug up by grave robbers in 1898. After acquiescing to the Aborigines’ request, he subsequently discovered that they were being kept in storage at the National Museum of Australia in Canberra. Outraged by this deceit, he now takes a different view about repatriation. He remarked: ‘I would not have returned those objects. I would have put them into a display of the history of conceptions about evolution; and I would have kept them as part of that story, they are much more important’.


In contrast, Tristram Besterman’s paper argued for repatriation of human remains to Australia and dinosaur eggs to South America. With regard to the Aborigine’s bones – he knew they had been collected illegally in the 19th Century; they had never been used for display or research; and, for the indigenous community, they were not specimens they were their ancestors. It was also discovered that the Manchester Museum possessed some dinosaur eggs and embryo remains illicitly exported from Argentina. Purchase by the Museum had been unethical and was constantly against its Acquisition Policy. As a consequence, it was decided to return the specimens to the source area in Patagonia where they now form part of an active research collection in a dinosaur museum which is central to the community’s cultural identity.
Having done extensive research on the issue of repatriation and human remains, Tiffany Jenkins6 was clear that people from source communities such as Aborigines or Maoris, are often mistaken when they claim either an affiliation to the original creators of cultural artefacts, or maintain a close ancestral connection to human remains held within collections outside their homeland. She explained:
At the heart of the argument for ‘repatriation’ are questionable assumptions about race and ethnicity. The notion promoted in arguments for return, that ethnic identities remain fixed over thousands of years, is scientifically wrong and politically disastrous. Fundamentally, it is racial thinking that reinforces mistaken and dangerous notions of cultural difference. Moreover, the campaign to repatriate is detrimental to those it claims to help. It certainly cannot solve the very serious social problems that affect people’s lives today . . . the repatriation movement reinforces the politics of victimhood, promoting vulnerability as a key feature of identity (Jenkins, 2004:6).

Researching for . . .?
This section is focused on the discussions that arose in response to the impact of both the evolving and diversified roles of curators, and the implementation of social inclusion targets on the research functions of museums.
Do the evolving and diversified roles of the curator in museums today compromise scholarship and research?
In the session on the role of the curator, Richard Fortey gave a description of his research career as a curator-scientist at the Natural History Museum. Unlike many curators in smaller institutions whose roles embraced ever more varied functions, Fortey had seen his principal tasks of looking after the collection and doing original research remain fundamentally the same. However, he was at pains to emphasize that unless the collection was kept in perpetuity, new research opportunities would be missed. The potentialities of the discovery of DNA for example, had ground-breaking implications for reappraising specimens and expanding the knowledge base of natural history. He said, ‘If science moves forward, we have a duty to keep this stuff available for future generations, and I think that’s a global duty.’ Moreover, if collections were destroyed, the possibilities for further research would be denied along with the knowledge of the cultural assumptions that underpinned those collections. For instance, ‘a collection made under an overtly racist assumption would rightly be viewed as unacceptable in today’s terms, but might one day be relevant to an understanding of how racism formerly permeated aspects of society’.
In a climate of accountability and financial stringency, where research funding was subject to the vagaries of fashion and/or the public imagination, Fortey had managed to maintain his own research output and enhance his own academic profile, along with that of the NHM, by publishing books that appealed to a broad readership.

Regarding himself as a ‘blue sky’ curator, and somewhat doubtful about how long this type of researcher might be financed, Fortey expressed his support for the NHM’s Darwin Centre, which attempts to bridge the gap between the public and the research functions of the museum. He explained:


I think museum professionals like me have a duty to come outside the hermetic world if they can . . . the Darwin Centre and things like that are one move in that direction . . . I think it’s a good thing to put before the public some of the science, some of the real work that goes on in the place. When I first joined the museum, we moved away from specimens towards electronic wizz-bangs. I think there’s now a reaction against that and people want to see specimens, because they have twigged that what museums have that the telly never has, is the real thing.
In contrast, Maurice Davies described how the role of many curators had changed. Until the 1980s an academic curator’s job was multi-faceted involving the organisation of exhibitions, delivering occasional lectures, and performing various administrative functions. Since that time in more affluent museums, some of which were university based, specialists including educators, interpreters, collections’ managers, registrars, display technicians, conservators and marketing experts had taken over many of the curator’s original tasks. In consequence, these curators had seen their work narrow to an almost exclusive concern with the intellectual health of the collection. Amongst other less well-endowed museums however, where curators had acted as ‘generalist’ practitioners with little time to research their collections, there was a ‘dwindling curatorial or research pool’. Alerted to the paucity of intellectual activity, the Renaissance in the Regions programme had agreed to fund 150 new curatorial posts, though how many of these would have a sizeable research remit was open to conjecture.
In Davies’s view, providing ‘generalist’ curators had the skills to access information about their collection from libraries, the Internet and relevant scholars, the function of these museums would not be compromised. However, while Alan Borg discerned a decline in the level of curatorial research in museums, and was convinced that it had disappeared altogether in some institutions, a recent Museums Association Collections’ Inquiry discovered that there wasn’t necessarily an absence of expertise, but rather an uneven distribution of it; and furthermore, much of that expertise was inaccessible. Davies concluded that, if collections were made available for research, and scholars recruited to research them, a coordinated system could be set up which would create a national picture of expertise from which curators could draw.
In addition to Davies, other delegates expressed a range of views about the role of curators. For example, Frank Furedi was concerned about the way in which the autonomy of the academic curator was compromised either by public pressure or Government interference, effectively making him/her into another civil servant. He asserted: ‘The big problem that we face in Western society, and particularly in places like Britain, is that our cultures find it difficult to value any cultural object or any cultural institution within its own terms. We find it difficult to see that knowledge is good for its own sake; it is a little bit elitist and a bit self-indulgent’.
David Crowther7 endorsed this and commented: ‘Museums offer a unique place in society where people can come and be confronted by the evidence. But they do need to have mediation, they need enthusiastic, knowledgeable, scholarly interpretation of the material culture which is theirs either by right or by some other process’.
From Tristram Besterman’s point of view, while it was vital to research collections, it was also imperative to bear in mind that a researched collection was only a collection. It was only when that collection became more widely accessible for inspiration, learning and enjoyment that it became a museum. Though the question of researching audiences was not discussed, when the conference turned its attention to the issue of social inclusion, many strong opinions were expressed.
What effect does the implementation of a social inclusion policy have on the collecting, exhibiting and research functions of museums?
In the early 1990s when museums became aware that survival meant competing for audiences with other institutions in the leisure industry, museums began to realise that the needs of their visitors were crucial. Henceforth, this realisation provided a catalyst for audience research, brought a reappraisal of the museum’s core functions, and a corresponding shirt of emphasis from collecting to communicating (Hooper-Greenhill,1994:1)8. As today’s museums are compelled to meet social inclusion targets to secure Government funding, the conference discussed whether this policy was inimical to their mission.
From her experience at the Museums Association, Helen Wilkinson acknowledged that, although museums had mostly attempted to embrace a social inclusion agenda, for many this had been, ‘a fairly flimsy and hastily-built tacked on extension to the grand museum edifice, in other words, it hadn’t been integrated into the building . . . I think there is a danger that it could all blow down very quickly when the political wind changes’. Notwithstanding, Wilkinson was clear that while some social inclusion initiatives had the potential to help museums refine their functions, others strayed into the area of social work that was unlikely to play to their strengths. However, it had to be admitted that in recent years not all museums had been doing a good job, they had backed away from being authoritative, failed to use their expertise, and were in urgent need of reassessment.
Also responding to the issue of social inclusion, the MP Mark Fisher gave a list of museum priorities. These were: first, to maintain collections; second, to employ scholars to research and exhibit collections thereby bringing them to life; and third, to provide good access and education. In his opinion, all these functions should be balanced and integrated within the museum to prevent a polarised debate developing which would be in danger of becoming perilously lop-sided, with ‘social inclusion’ and ‘access’ pushing aside the acquisition and care of objects and the scholarship necessary to animate and interpret them.
Frank Furedi, who took a more political approach than either Wilkinson or Fisher, claimed that crises in political legitimacy and domestic policy had led Western governments to devise strategies which would create new points of contact with their people. In Britain, for example, the Government’s failure to meet satisfactory targets in education, health care and social work, had prompted it to impose a social inclusion policy on museums, universities and other cultural institutions. While this policy not only shifted the mantle of responsibility on to the cultural sector in exchange for funding, it also problematised the functions of these institutions. Speaking specifically about museums, Furedi described the detrimental effects that had resulted from politicising access and participation. First, as museums adopted new economic and therapeutic goals consistent with a social inclusion policy, their traditional functions had become impoverished. Second, by burdening museums with social inclusion targets, curators had become preoccupied with ticking boxes to ensure the financial buoyancy of their institution. This not only deflected them from their scholarly functions, but also deprived them of the passion to research objects and the enthusiasm to exhibit them. Valuing objects for the purpose of knowledge, appreciation and meaning had effectively been eclipsed by the social inclusion agenda.
Besterman acknowledged that the task facing museum directors today was to earn and retain the public’s trust as a place of intellectual and moral integrity committed to broadening and exploring new forms of social engagement. Because museums and their collections were in the public realm, it was entirely appropriate in a democratic state that they should respond intelligently to the Government’s agenda. However, both politicians and civil servants had to understand the difference between creating a strategic framework for funding activity and the business of managing museums, which was best left to the highly trained and committed professional staff of museums. This arms-length principle would not only safeguard the integrity of the relationship of museums with their visitors, but would also protect their right to critique Government policy.
In Raj Pal’s9opinion, social inclusion could be a force for good because, from his experience, it deterred curators from mounting exhibitions for their colleagues, and writing labels which were too specialised for the layman. He said: ‘If social inclusion makes curators look at the much wider world and then seek out the truth, then it’s not a bad thing’. One salient example of how acquiescing to the social inclusion agenda proved very unsatisfactory, however, was the involvement of the Islamic community in the exhibition, The Veil (1997-98), at St Mungo Museum in Glasgow. Although the curator had intended to represent a range of positions on the meaning of the veil, the community refused and a biased exhibition resulted.
Alan Borg identified with this dilemma and related how the V&A had specifically arranged an exhibition to engage the Sikh community. Many Sikhs visited the exhibition as predicted, but had subsequently not returned. In his opinion, museums had the option not to be socially inclusive, because realistically many people don’t want to go to museums and never will. If this is the case, should objects be conserved and researched without being available to the public? Wilkinson was adamant that objects should always be accessible, accepting that access of any kind almost always compromised the care of objects in some way. Claire Fox, on the other hand, argued for preservation at all costs even if it meant that objects might never be put on view.
Interpreting for . . .?
Although the question of interpreting collections was partially discussed in the discussion on museum collecting and research, the ways in which museums become meaningful institutions through their education and exhibition activities were also addressed at the conference.
What can museums teach us, and should the educational function of museums dominate their mission?
Katherine Hann’s presentation, which gave an insight into her educational work at the British Empire and Commonwealth Museum in Bristol, emphasized the importance of active participation as the key to engaging visitors in collections. For example, the advent of a radio station within the museum had been a great success as a community ‘inreach’ and ‘outreach’ resource, enabling both children and adults to interact with the ideas from current exhibitions. Gareth Griffiths, also from Bristol, endorsed this: ‘We are working in an environment where the generations that are now our potential visitors don’t necessarily approach history, the past, the subjects we feel passionate about, in the same ways as either we do or those who are older than us. We need to be aware of this, and I think we need to be comfortable about using new techniques’. Having the chance to experience objects through handling was another activity that allowed visitors to empathise with people from the past; it gave them an alternative point of access. Lesley Allen10, from Porthcurno Museum, Penzance, who is also a mother of four, agreed that object handling was very important for very young children, and especially for those who had special needs, such as the deaf/blind, who rely on their sense of touch and smell to learn.
Despite the fact that Alan Borg’s paper did not discuss empathetic responses specifically, he focused on the strategies that museums used to generate emotional responses from objects. Though it had long been the tradition for history museums to teach and art museums to inspire, nowadays their missions had many common goals. So much so, both types of collections had the potential and power to engage people in an emotional way. Furthermore, it was his view that, ‘provided we have a context in which to put them, detailed explanation is unnecessary’. For example, the baby tokens in the Foundling Museum in London, or the exhibits in the Vasa Museum in Stockholm, didn’t need any interpretation. ‘The people who see them remember them and learn from them because they elicit a deep emotional response’.
If Hann, Borg and Allen testified to the importance of the emotions for learning, Claire Fox was sceptical. Despite being moved by, ‘a kind of shock and awe experience’ of seeing a Roman soldier in Chester Museum as a child – an encounter that fuelled her imagination and understanding, Fox regarded empathetic approaches to history as limiting and unhelpful because they failed to exercise the intellect. She claimed:
We have developed a much more emotional way of thinking that people have to empathise with suffering in order to be able to understand it, and I just don’t think that’s true . . . if you look at a lot of history lessons these days, everyone is wandering around acting and empathising and nobody is understanding very much . . . there is no way in which you can empathise with what people felt then, but you can understand the social and historical circumstances that made things happen.
As a counter claim, Hann re-argued that from her long experience in museum education, empathy – which can often result from handling activities, was not an exclusive learning strategy, but created a ‘way in’ to help visitors engage with the subject matter of collections.
While Fox was dubious about empathy, she was equally unconvinced about the efficacy of learning through active participation. Citing the influence of Howard Gardner’s theory of Multiple Intelligencies, she advised everyone to be wary of, ‘this frenetic activity model’ because it allegedly, ‘underestimates the interaction between objects and the imagination’.
When the discussion moved on to the consideration of museum leaning vis à vis the National Curriculum, Fox was clear that since the educational remit of museums had been propelled to the top of the agenda, a sense of perspective had been lost which had seriously undermined the other functions of the museum. Accordingly, she considered, ‘the whole of museum life is being reorganised around educational ends . . . learning is no longer to be intermittent, instead it’s to be relentless’. For some curators, consulting the National Curriculum had become a regular practice before they decided on forthcoming exhibitions. For others, whole sections of collections were never used because they did not fit into the suggested units prescribed by the curriculum’s schemes of work. Increasingly, Fox asserted, ‘museums and galleries are in danger of prostituting their exhibitions and their work to closed educational and political ends’.
Moreover, from a teacher’s point of view – pressured to tick all the attainment targets, the National Curriculum tended to shackle the choice of museum visits and limit the range of topics for study. Thus, Fox conjectured, if museums were ‘unhooked’ from the DfES, the practice of assessing and validating learning would be superfluous. Though Hann agreed that the cost of measuring educational outcomes in terms of time and money seemed to bring very little enlightenment or benefit, she was adamant that the reappraisal of education as a core function of museums had been very worthwhile. Fox, on the other hand, disagreed, claiming that education should be both subordinate to the collecting, conserving and research functions of museums, and specifically reserved for schools. From Borg’s point of view, museums should educate by capitalising on their ‘unique quality’ – namely their objects. The more objects were researched and displayed, the more people would be attracted to come and see them.
In what ways can museum exhibitions promote or create a sense of personal, national and/or cultural identity?
Although the conference as a whole touched on issues of interpreting collections, there were two sessions that focused specifically on the power of museums to construct meaning positions and identities through the use of objects.
With reference to the newly opened National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, Tiffany Jenkins revealed how American Indians had been consulted to ensure a pure and authoritative interpretation of their history. In effect, they influenced every decision, including the design of the building, the role of the museum, selective conservation and rights of access to sacred objects. The understanding which this museum, and similar museums in Australia, Canada and New Zealand, promoted was that, ‘originating cultures and their affiliated people today are the only people who can speak to that past . . . There is a problem with the argument that certain communities own culture over others; it’s premised on the idea that cultural material has an essence best understood by the ethnicity of the originating place of that object’. For Jenkins, while cultural production was fluid, open to influence, hybridized and never pure, so too were peoples who interbred with different social groups. In the light of this situation, Jenkins stated:
The heart of this argument is that truth and understanding of the past is deemed possible only through a very fixed notion of identity, and I think this is fundamentally wrong. I think the nature of knowledge, what we know and what we can know, is that it is open to all, beyond our identity . . . it’s not bound by who we were born to whether we were Sioux or not Sioux.
Tom Freudenheim agreed with the arguments in Jenkins paper, and predicted there would be a storm of litigation around the issues of freedom of information and denial of access to the NMAI. He also wondered what would happen to the American Indian artefacts that were still managed by anthropologists at the Smithsonian’s Department of Natural History in Washington.
On the issue of cultural ownership, Williams discussed how the British Museum interpreted its collection and validated their interpretations. He assured the conference that it was the BM’s intention to function as a, ‘multi-directional junction-box of cultural dialogue’, by including a multiplicity of gazes, and thereby guarding against exclusively white European interpretations. However, when he cited the current exhibition in the ‘Living and Dying Gallery’, which set out to present a picture of Western medicine from the perspective of Aboriginal Australia and Native America, it received criticism for its lack of intellectual rigour.
Within a South African context, Keith McCabe11, asked what curators should do with the politically sensitive discovery of ancient human remains which ran counter to the apartheid understanding of how long people had lived there. Should they include them in exhibitions and tell the whole story about the cradle of humanity, or ignore them and thereby compromise it? While Mackenzie’s advice was, ‘to tell it like it is and be brave,’ he also expressed the view that curatorial staff should never be drawn from one racial group in any society. Furthermore, he was clear that there should be cultural reciprocity about the writing of history. Speaking to his black students in Zimbabwe, he said: ‘I want you to be trained as historians and come to Britain and write British history because you may bring fresh insights, new ideas from an African context . . . and I want to be able to write your history’.
Besterman described various ways in which museums thrive on stories – those constructed narrative landscapes told by curators, visitors and collections, including human remains. He asserted that, ‘the ownership of stories, which is a much richer territory than the ownership of objects . . . comes down to individuals as well as communities, societies and nations . . . they have many layers, and unlike objects, the stories we construct or abstract are accretionary. There lies the true universalism because everyone throughout the world constructs narratives’.
Thus, if it is acknowledged that a scientist or curator’s story draws on evidence which is subsequently researched and interpreted, isn’t it true to say that, because every reading of that evidence is partial, and historically and culturally constructed, no purely objective reading of that evidence can exist? Similarly, when visitors witness exhibitions in museums, they too create their own stories or interpretations constructed through the prism of their own memories, imagination and experience. In consequence, although museum curators might wish to convey a particular interpretation of, for instance, an event or an ancient culture, they cannot prescribe how it might be received or understood.
By citing the example of how an ancient African carving resonated with an Asian woman’s understanding of female archetypes when it was displayed at Manchester Museum, Besterman disclosed that its owners, the Yoruba tribe of South West Nigeria, believed it possessed magical or spiritual powers to give protection against measles and smallpox. Furthermore, although it was not made as art, who could predict that another visitor might not find it meaningful in an aesthetic sense? It was Besterman’s belief that, ‘through the universal appeal of narrative, people connect across time and space and form a bridge between cultures. By challenging perceptions of ‘otherness’, their origins and common humanity is recognised, and in so doing, museums help them to understand themselves and their place in the order of things’.
In 2003 the influence of memory on our understanding and identity was explored at the British Museum through an exhibition entitled, The Museum of the Mind – Art and Memory in World Cultures12. In the preface to the catalogue, Neil MacGregor said:
For individuals and communities, it may be said that memory is identity . . . to lose your memory is, quite literally, no longer to know who you are . . . all societies have therefore devised systems and structures, objects and rituals to help them remember

. . . the Museum itself is a site or ‘theatre of memory’ . . . it has acquired its own cargo of memories. Memory is not however, a static, nostalgic condition, but an active and ongoing dynamic, and museums must respond to its perpetual reverberations. Accommodation and responding to memory is a central, but rarely articulated responsibility of contemporary cultural institutions (MacGregor, in Mack, 2003:8-9).


Jenni Calder, who was partly responsible for setting up the Museum of Scotland in 1998, gave a paper that demonstrated how the notion of Scottish identity might be expressed in the new museum, and the role that memories might play in that process. She asked: ‘Can a national museum have a space for memory? If so, are we talking about collective memory or individual memory? Or is memory best left to local museums? Is memory perhaps too chancy, too shifting, too personal to have a place in scholarship? And does this mean that we tend to think of local projects which are often reliant on memory as lacking the gravitas proper to a national museum?’
Calder also questioned notions of the Scottish object; how far the museum’s collection contained specimens that had ‘authentic’ claims to Scottishness; and suggested that a mixture of languages (Gaelic, Old Norse, Scots and Latin), although making it more complex, contributed to a sense of Scottish identity. In spite of these queries, gaps in the collection, and the absence of an historically sequential narrative, she contended:
The museum communicates very powerfully Scotland’s rich, diverse, contentious, creative, international experience. It resonates with the historic city around it, and by doing these things it offers a sense of what it is . . . People have multiple identities, objects have multiple identities too and place and context is everything . . . that’s the magic of objects. So we shouldn’t see this as a problem, we shouldn’t see this as limiting. It is expanding the horizons which we need, as museum professionals, to respond to with imagination. And we need to translate that response into something that is going to inspire the imagination of people who have the opportunity to actually see the objects.
Both Calder and Appleton discussed the practice of inviting the public to select and/or donate objects to national and smaller local museum displays as a strategy to instil a sense of identity, ownership and involvement. However, when those strategies were discussed in relation to the Museum of Scotland’s 20th Century Gallery, the reactions were largely negative. Spalding, for example, listed a random number of these exhibits that, in his view, had no intellectual content. Furthermore, he assumed that the museum curators had failed to ask themselves what they needed to remember about the 20th Century, and what might be preserved to tell that story. In defence, Calder was convinced that even though the choice of objects might appear random, and the reasons for selecting them might seem banal, what they could actually convey went beyond that banality.
Appleton was equally unimpressed by the way in which Hackney Museum had attempted to create a sense of local identity through some of its displays. Citing the juxtaposition of a Turkish football shirt from a Hackney resident with a flint hand axe in one display, Appleton was incredulous when she read that these objects reminded the owner of his home. To her mind they were both banal and meaningless. Although she accepted that objects, and especially our own belongings, were vital for our sense of identity, she was sceptical about how, ‘the shorn-off relics of people’s lives could resonate with people on a more general level. She asserted: ‘Museums are shying away from the hard choices; how do we understand Hackney? How do we represent Hackney’s history?’ In preference to calling for ad hoc contributions from local residents, she advocated a more scholarly approach which would represent Hackney’s understanding of itself through its past in a more rigorous way.
For Garry Morris, whose experience of working in Liverpool informed his comments on museums and identity, the last fifteen years had been crucial for acknowledging that transatlantic slavery was an important part of the city’s history. With the advent of the Liverpool Slavery Remembrance Initiative, the Transatlantic Slavery Gallery, the Slavery History Trail, and the inclusion of transatlantic slavery as a study topic in the National Curriculum, Liverpudlians had gradually become aware of the significance of slavery and how that contributed to the identity of their city, and in some cases, to their own personal identity. While it had once been politically expedient to overlook the past, recent attempts to deconstruct it had created an historical space that was ripe for both questioning, and cultural and racial understanding. If Liverpool was a city where people had multiple identities, the museum was a place where these identities could be negotiated and renegotiated. In Morris’s view, ‘Museums can’t replace bonds of social solidarity, but they can create other kinds of connectivity . . . they are one of the reference points in a hybridized society, and that means they have quite an important role’.
Conclusion
Throughout the conference key-note speakers, museum professionals and students of museology debated the functions of museums. They acknowledged that in many instances financial considerations – often linked to government targets, influenced the choices museums made in terms of prioritising their collecting, research and interpreting activities. However, there was healthy debate concerning, on the one hand, the need to keep collecting with a view to contemporary relevance and the future, and on the other hand, a need to manage collections sustainably by considering alternative conservation and research strategies. Furthermore, when issues about interpreting collections were discussed, there was an honest appraisal of the ways in which memory, the intellect and the emotions contributed to constructions of meaning. And finally, though there was general agreement that museums should excite, thrill, fascinate and inspire their audiences with real objects, there was a particular resolve for museums to maintain both a rigorous and scholarly knowledge of their own collections, and a continually questioning approach to their own mission.
Notes

1. Hooper-Greenhill, E. (1992), Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge. London: Routledge.


2. Although Tom Freudenheim (Director of Fondazione Arnoldo Pomodoro, Milan) did not give a paper at the conference, he brought his considerable expertise to bear on the discussions.
3. The ‘archipelago idea of culture’, embodies a fictional notion of cultures as islands in an ocean; separate, racially pure and characteristically distinct.
4. Alastair Niven is Principal of Cumberland Lodge.
5. Jenkins, T. (November, 2003), Burying the Evidence. www.spiked-on-line.com.

Jenkins, T. (May, 2004), Human Remains: Objects to Study or Ancestors to Bury? London: Institute of Ideas.


6. Pauline Hadaway is Director of the gallery, Belfast Exposed Photography.
7. David Crowther is Project Director for Renaissance in the Regions, at the Museums, Libraries and Archives Council.
8. Hooper-Greenhill, E. (1994), Museums and their Visitors. London: Routledge.
9. Raj Pal, who works for Oxfordshire Museums’ Services, was a member of the steering committee of the conference, and chaired the session on, ‘Who owns culture?’
10. Lesley Allen works at Porthcurno Telegraph Museum, Penzance.
11. Keith McCabe is Chair of the Angle Gallery, Birmingham.
12. Mack, J. (2003), The Museum of the Mind – Art and Memory in World Cultures. London: The British Museum Press.





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