Institutional Ethics and Memories in Photographs by Natalie Bottema

 

On Friday, during lectures we were able to develop an ethical understanding of using photography in exhibitions. Photographs are heavily nostalgic items that evoke a myriad of reactions and memories that help develop the museums narrative and open up new avenues of study. However, to ensure ethical use of photographs in exhibitions, the idea of ownership needs to be explored. 

 

What does ownership mean in relation to photographs either collected or donated to the museum? What obligations do museums as institutions have to previous owners of the photographs or the people who appear in them? 

 

The entry of photographs and objects into the museum space usually involves a documented process that outlines the museum’s obligations to the care and respect of the object. This process also authorises the museum to display the object within the public space of galleries. 

 

Moving the photograph from the personal private space of an individual’s house to the public space of the museum creates a shift in meaning. This shift in meaning is also heightened under the contextual information and the wider collection on display. The combined didactics, artefacts and media build a narrative that creates a different memory surrounding the object than that of the memory of the original owner. 

 

This new meaning assigned to the photograph within the context of the museum may then acquire a new narrative due to photographic reproduction of original photographs. This can occur when visitors take photographs of the photographs themselves as an act of a personalised souvenir from their time at the museum or when the museum reproduces the photographs for commercial sale. The effect of this moves the photograph further away from its original context. 

 

In the context of our field school, the Hoa Lo Prison Museum in HaNoi exhibited some very politically charged and culturally sensitive photographs of United States fighter jet pilots who were captured during the American - Vietnam War. The highly selective group of photographs on display ensured to follow a national narrative of peace and forgiveness during conflict. Not only was this national narrative displayed throughout the Hoa Lo Prison Museum, but also the museum shop sold various objects and post cards with reproductions of the original photographs to encourage visitors to take home part of the national narrative. However, visitors who purchased the reproductions would of course add their own personal memories to the photographs. 

 

This in essence creates an object biography surrounding the photograph. How does the photograph’s biography add more depth to the narrative? So far three areas of memory have been added to object biography: one, the memory of the photograph to the original owner; two, the memory of the photograph within the museum space;three, the memory of the photograph to the museum visitors both whilst they visit the museum and the photographic reproductions they take home with them. 

 

This third category leads into the rights of photographic reproductions within museums. In this process of photographic reproductions, by any means, whether that be from the visitor or sold within the museum gift shop, what is gained and lost? Who does the museum need to get authorisation from to reproduce photographs?

 

I myself am a guilty party to this process of taking and purchasing souvenir photographs. Admittedly, my own personal souvenir photographs that I take have a very different memory then what the images originally signified. For instance, photographs of images from museums may not necessarily make me remember thedetails of the museum visit, but might provide a cue for remembering a memory. 

 

One of my memories of my visit to Hoa Lo Prison Museum was being presented with a packet of post cards that pictured the images of the United States pilots. These images used as visitor souvenirs provide an example of how photographs can be manipulated to form narratives both within the museum space and the memory that visitors take home with them. 

 

By Natalie Bottema 

 

 

Observe the memory of Vietnam museum

Observe the memory of Vietnam museum

Generally speaking, three cities we have been these days leave quite different memories to me, for their own special personalities. The atmosphere in Hanoi is busy, which is always hustle and bustle. But the traditional handicrafts, artifacts, long and narrow houses and yellow French colonial buildings with vines climbing on are still very charming and glorying in the busy streets(just like views in Hayao Miyazaki's animations) ; Danang is more modern and western, not only the wider gray buildings but also orderly traffic. But it is a pity that traditional artifacts are rare in stores here. Maybe it is because of less International visitors here, so clerks here cannot speak English as fluently as Hanoi's. Interestingly, it is common to see Chinese character or hear Chinese songs here. From the other aspect, maybe it is not that touristy as Hanoi, so the city just need what residents really need here; Hoi An is totally different from the former two cities. It is a place which has traditional Chinese style, they remain the building, clothes, instruments and lunar calendar. It is a place which makes me peace ( especially the music we hear in Hoi An Museum and lantern street views.)

Most exhibitions in Vietnam are related to history, and the voices of in Vietnam's museums are usually government's or curator's. The grand narration present the collective memories which being decided by power owners. Sometimes it may be more objective than personal narration but it may lakes the power of personal emotion. Public memories like war history are most presented by objects, photographs and texts, but for people who are not very familiar to Vietnam's history, the short descriptions without clear introduction under the objects may make visitors confused, especially Military Museum and the Vietnam Museum of Revolution. If they add some personal voice (interview) or Personal stories, maybe soldier's and their families', the exhibition will be more objective, be lively and vivid. In my opinion, personal memories are the foundation of history, while history is the collection of personal fragile memories. If they can be balanced well in exhibitions , the truth presented to visitors can be not only compete but also attracting.

The most impressing museum experiences these days are Women's museum, the Hoa Lo Prison, and Dong Dinh Museum. Women's museum impresses me because women are well respected in this country, it successfully put details in living, family ,medical care and ceremonies. Additionally, the exhibitions forms here are very mature, not only multimedia but also meaningful interviews of local people and models demonstrate clothes and objects. Especially worship to Mother Goddess, visitors can immerse themselves totally in the atmosphere. As for Hoa Lo Prison, the emotion of depressing memory of Vietnam political prisoners and delightful atmosphere of American soldiers conveys to visitors successfully through music and well-selected objects and the models which repeat the history memory. Dong Dinh Museum is like a dream land, containing old memories of Mr. Giao's life experience and life philosophy, which are very touching with stories well told by labels(It is clear and makes visitors have image in our brain as well. It is what I love very much here.) the most natural lifestyle and his collection of artworks. The tranquility and peace here are go with nature forest in a harmony way.

Yuan Yuan Chang ( Bonnie)

Reflections on 'Museum and Memory'

Reflections on ‘Museum and Memory’

These several days of listening to the presentations from different people and visiting diversified Vietnamese museums in Hanoi and Da Nang leave me a deep impression on museology. The field school course focused on ‘museum and memory’, which increases my knowledge and understanding related to the museum development, exhibition construction and the memory-work in museums. Undoubtedly, this rare learning experience in Vietnam surprised me a lot. At first, the level of Vietnamese modernization and richness cannot reach a number of developed countries, while the completeness of museums does not fall behind with other relatively mature museums’ in developed countries. Amazingly, Vietnam has built a large number of museums related to different themes such as Vietnam Women’s Museum, Hoa Lo Prison Museum and Vietnam Museum of Ethnology. Besides, most museums are equipped with a number of multimedia interpretation devices such as touch screen, video or TV screen used to assist visitors to comprehend what is the past and historical memory of objects.

Contemporary museums are in the transition from object-centred museums to human-centred museums. During the changing period, a new type of museum called ‘Memorial Museum’ has gradually appeared, which emphasizes on memory and the relationship between museum and memory. Memory in the context of museums is considered as a medium, which may not only narrate history but also reconnect the past and people in contemporary society who do not experience the same events through some objects. Importantly, museums are required to narrate memory in an honest way for audiences. This type of narrating memory may not just present achievement and pride but also show difficulties, trauma and other debated political or cultural points. The purpose of memory narratives is to encourage audiences to face the past and acquire their own perspectives about history. It should be noted that objects kept in museums are a primary approach to deliver memory. Photographs are regarded as the typical one among objects to show memory in an explicit method. It is undeniable that memory can invigorate museum collections. Therefore, realizing the unique role and value of memory and memory-work within museums and exhibitions is indispensable nowadays.

When we visited Vietnam Museum of Ethnology, what I found interesting and impressive is the exhibition arrangement. The exhibition includes internal and external display zones. On the external site, the museum reconstructed several typical living rooms and houses by the local tribe. When I stepped inside the sites looking at the living environment, it seems that I live in the period when ancient tribal people lived. The memory about ancient houses of Vietnamese and the relative stories of their lives can be directly reflected through this active method. On the other hand, small models of ancient houses corresponding to the outside ones in the internal part grant audiences an opportunity to learn ancient Vietnamese lifestyle from different angles. What makes me exciting is that only a few museums possess an external exhibition area for displaying a number of large-scale objects, while the Vietnam Museum of Ethnology has one in which may easily engage audiences with memory of ancient Vietnamese.

Moreover, cultural memory is not just preserved and presented by tangible heritage materials and objects but it also should be discovered from intangible cultural heritage (ICH), which could be knowledge, skills or expressions. The tour in Hoi An Centre for Heritage Preservation provided me a rare experience to get close to different types of ICH and a number of folk artists. During the tour, I observed the process of embroidery and tried practicing Er Ho (an ancient instrument). Obviously, by ‘working’ with the special group instead of only watching, I can learn more about their culture, their working conditions as well as the current situation of the heritage.

Obviously, the significance of text labels for objects cannot be ignored in museums. However, when we visited Vietnam Museum of Revolution, I found that text introductions of some photographs are substituted by shorter titles. Under this circumstance, audiences without same background sometimes get confused about the content of photographs. Also, the caption shortage increases difficulty for visitors to understand the correlative memory behind photos. Aiming to acquire detailed photographs’ introductions, it is necessary to interview related people such as photographers, the man in the photo or scholars in this field. Furthermore, museums’ task is to integrate the most valuable information and then narrate it to audiences in an effective way.

Overall, majorities of Vietnam museums are classified to the traditional ones rather than memorial museums. However, these museums are making efforts to engage with different communities and integrate more memories into museum exhibitions. It should be noted that more works on museums’ development could be done in the future. Many museums should strengthen closely interaction with communities to realize their history, culture and memory. Also, more explanations and introductions for objects, such as captions in main several languages, should be equipped so audience with various cultural backgrounds can get familiar with memory of objects and make their own interpretation.

By --- Yuheng Zhang (Crystal)

Memory and History

Coming from a history background I do not think that a separation exists between memory-work in museums, and the practise of history as has been suggested. Rather I think that history and memory-based museology can work together to examine the limitations of this approach, or to offer new possibilities. As such, I think a simple and radical break between history and memory work limits both kinds of inquiry, and limits the ways we conceptualise and challenge both.

When first discussing memory in the lectures I was reminded of an essay by Robert Darnton called “Worker’s Revolt.” (1985) This essay (and the book it was part of) provided a framework for approaching history from a cultural perspective, and instead of using empirical data it investigated the symbolic worlds and metaphoric connections presented by historical texts. Darnton started to excavate meaning from symbolic worlds by identifying what he called moments of “opacity”. In short, what interested him was what he could not understand. For example, the eponymous essay focussed on the laughter generated by the mass mock execution of a number of cats in France in the 1730s. By investigating laughter at event which shocked his modern sensibilities Darnton tried to generate understanding as to the symbolic and cultural metaphors at play, and the kinds of narratives created within a community who was distanced from him spatially, temporally, and symbolically. Furthermore, he tried to discover what was at stake in these interactions. It is this intention which reminded me of how we can approach memory work.

By approaching historical inquiry through opacity Darnton engaged in a heated debate as to how communities construct and share meaning through metaphors, narratives, symbols and texts. For historical writing it radically changed the way in which we perceive meaning to be communicated, and challenged the empirical authority of history texts (including Marxist histories) by demonstrating the unstable nature of communication and cultural memory. In terms of memory work, ‘opacity’ and ‘thick description’ as a way of approaching inquiry could be best used in contested memory sites, or subjects. This is particularly pertinent because as a method it challenges the assumptions of researchers, and requires deep thinking about how we construct narrative, what symbols exist within our cultural memory, what symbols we use when communicating, and ultimately challenges researchers to acknowledge that their own individual, cultural, historical and social values influence how they construct other people’s stories. In history this offered a new way of approaching historical inquiry.

Other historians similarly destabilized the authoritative voice perceived as ‘history’. Hayden White drew attention to how narrative and history function in history writing. Post-colonialist theory similarly questions the assumptions made and the absences constructed in the process of writing history. All these theories reflecting on the process of history defeat the notion that there is a binary opposition between the practises of memory and the practise of history.

As Nora reflects, “Without the intention to remember, lieux de memoire would be indistinguishable from lieux d’historie,” and while this is set up as an aggressive, consuming force Nora traces the connections between history and memory. As is written later in the essay, “it is memory that dictates while history writes…” (21) Even within Nora a battle between history and memory is not a decisive spilt. Instead memory and history overlap, consume, and provide the functions of each other in a world Nora sees as increasingly less made of living, ritualistic, social memory. Memory, as a living thing, circulates in the mundane, in the use of knives and forks or chop sticks or in specific sites, but history and memory practise, are similar forms of analytical story telling which directly investigate the way in which we represent and tell stories about sites and events. History and memory are the sides of the same coin, and of similar practises when awareness of how history is conceptualised is fully understood. What should be investigated is how Marxist narratives to history can be understood, not history in totality which is a series of approaches, practises and skills which have developed a memory work of their own.

I think Hoi An is a fantastic example of history and memory at play. Even though the activities in Hoi An are practised daily the performative aspect, generated by their historicised function as recognised by the museum and UNESCO, complicates the line between ritual memory and historical re-enactment. Both history and memory are trying to cope with loss and it is between memory practise and historical inquiry that narratives about and within cultural practise are developed and communicated. In this case the two fields work to legitimise both – legitimising Hoi An, legitimising the practises through recognising historical significance, and also potentially (through further memory work) de-legitimising its historical functions. This reflects what Nora writes about the interplay between history and memory. Memory work is the way in which museums can practically reflect the cultural turn of historical practise. Privileged national narratives are merely narratives and museums as institutions are as guilty of legitimising certain stories without conceptualising this fault as a vague notion of the power of ‘history’. Instead, envisioning history and memory work in museums as opposed means that a whole subsection of inquiry practise is removed from conversation. An opposition is not required when what can convey the tension between various groups and individuals over events can be a greater understanding of narrative, especially when the vague notion of history is not as tangible as the physical authoritative space of a museum site. Memory work in museums still encounters the same problems of privileging some voices over others – but it is the site of the museum which acts as the site of power. As such a break between history and memory work is not a easy, nor helpful way to envision the concepts of either. Furthermore, memory practise does not develop in reaction to history as a practise, but rather has developed alongside museums competition with other attractions, tourism, the need for doing as opposed to seeing, and the need for more community engagement in order to justify the existence of the 21st century museum. As such historical practises and skills can be incorporated into a much more nuanced discussion of the museum as a site of power, rather than standing in as comparative, binary dichotomy of approach.

Written by Bronte Geitz

The Embodiment of Memory

While not officially on the field school itinerary, Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum was perhaps the most important site in all of Hanoi, for me, and put the rest of the museums in the area into a new and somewhat clearer perspective. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. All I knew was that there, in the centre of the city, was the embalmed body of the “uncle” of the Vietnamese people, and I felt a peculiar need to visit before we left Hanoi. My ensuing reaction to the visit surprised me more than I could have guessed.

It was a bizarre experience, to be sure. There seemed to be a particular ritual to the whole visit, through the mostly silent queuing, to the reverent atmosphere in the two neat lines as we ascended the stairs, up and up, until we reached his body. I found myself torn between looking at him (looking good, nearly 50 years on!) and the Vietnamese people bowing at his feet as they walked around, worshipful and, so it seemed, immensely grateful. It was as if going to see Uncle Ho was akin to visiting church on a Sunday, only with a much greater sense of privilege surrounding it.

Ho Chi Minh seems to be a unifying figurehead in Vietnam. While outsiders from Western and other cultures such as ourselves may find it hard to understand the love of the communist regime and the almost deification of Ho Chi Minh, there is no doubt that the communist revolution was a massive leap ahead for Vietnam over French colonial rule, if the awful stories we have heard of the colonial era in these two weeks are anything to go by (I’m looking at you, Hoa Lo). Watching people bow as I walked through the strange little room, I found it felt not only disrespectful but inherently wrong to think of the experience as anything other than special and privileged.

The preservation of Ho Chi Minh very much embodies (quite literally) the memory of the revolution, which also serves as a long-lasting form of pro-communism propaganda. By keeping his physical remains intact and on public display, the public is constantly encouraged to remember – for seeing is believing (in a political ideal). Furthermore, the ritual of visiting his body seems to have become a cultural tradition, an important pilgrimage, and a lesson to remind oneself of who one has to thank for such freedom.

There are some important questions to consider, however, as we discussed variously at different points in the field school. Does his image become distorted due to the sheer overload of its reproduction in propaganda? Does anyone really remember his true persona or achievements anymore, or is his memory and ideal largely constructed and thus potentially false (which does seem to be at least partially the case, especially for the youth who never lived through the time)? And critically: would the impact of Ho Chi Minh as a symbol be lessened without a physical body to attach the deeds to and serve as a constant reminder?

I don’t think it’s really for me, or any outsider for that matter, to say or criticise something we can’t relate to. A lack of understanding or capacity for empathy does not automatically mean that a belief is unusual or wrong. In short, the experience was eye-opening in ways I never expected, and I feel like I understand the country and its museums a little better for it. Or I could be totally off base.

- by Jessica Johnson

Pronouns, Translations, & Representations

During our visit to the Museum of Da Nang on Monday, the use of pronouns in one part of the exhibition connected me back to last week’s visit to the Vietnam Military History Museum in Hanoi. It was mentioned by Jo as well: The use of the word “their” to refer to the coastal culture of the fishermen.

The use of pronouns first struck me at the Vietnam Military History Museum, which displayed two battle models: one for the Battle of Dien Bien Phu (“chiến dịch Điện Biên Phủ”) in 1954; and one for the 1975 Spring Offensive or the Ho Chi Minh Campaign (“chiến dịch Hồ Chí Minh”). 

The two battle models were an impressive investment from the museum with videos and diorama’s light bulbs illustrating how each battle happened step-by-step; and during our group work time I lingered near them for some time listening to the narration for the two battles, which was in English. The pronoun “our” was featured frequently before words such as “army”, “troops”, or “soldiers”. This made me wondered if international visitors read the Museum’s “our” as the voice of the Vietnamese people, or as the voice of the Viet Cong only. Would they really be on “our” side in both battles? What happens when the expectations of visitors do not match the intention of museum and how do the visitors cope with this gap?

Unlike the Vietnam Military History Museum, the Museum of Da Nang separated itself from its subject in the English translation. As mentioned above, local fishermen would be referred to as “fishermen” or “them.” The city of Da Nang was referred to as “Da Nang.” While the Vietnamese caption for one of the house models stated that “due to the limitation in space, we can only illustrate certain parts of the house,” the English translation removed the “we.” In fact, the English translation seems to take a more neutral tone than the Vietnamese caption. For example, in the War Remnants section, there was a panel listing out atrocities committed by U.S. troops in Central Vietnam. While the original Vietnamese caption can be translated into “massacres of ordinary/innocent citizens,” the English translation was “the killings of civilians in Quang Nam – Da Nang” – adding the location but leaving out the emphasis that these people were ordinary citizens and not related to any military activities. Although some nuances of one language will undoubtedly be lost when translated to another; it is hard to think that this is an unintentional mistake by the museum, considering the trauma and political implications this exhibition might evoke.

While it is obvious that a national museum wants to create a sense of unity and nationalism in the visitors, the reasons behind a state museum’s decision to separate itself from its subjects, to me, can be an interesting research project. In the case of the Museum of Da Nang, this can imply that there are some sides to the rapid development of Da Nang not present in the exhibition. One example can be the street vendors, who are prominent actors in postcards and past photos, but missing from any other part in the exhibition. In the past ten years Da Nang has enacted policies to restrict street vendors and activities such as shoe-shining or selling lottery tickets. The signs of this policy are displayed throughout the main streets in Da Nang, but they are only in Vietnamese. On the other hand, while street vendors are restricted and sometimes fined, they still continue their activities because these activities are the only ways they can make a living. This is a problem that Da Nang is still struggling with. As a result, there can be different explanations for the signs: On one hand it can be because the people undertaking these activities are mainly Vietnamese; on the other hand it can be understood as the city’s decision not to inform foreigners that such activities are prohibited.

Both the Museum of Da Nang and the city itself seem to present a different image to English/foreign visitors and to Vietnamese people. This is only my personal interpretation and it certainly needs further factchecking, but it is a fascinating case study about what is included and excluded from a museum.

Photographs and Institutional Responsibility of Museums

As a former volunteer for the Vietnam National Museum of History, I am aware of the fact that many of the photos exhibited in the gallery of the Revolution Building were copies of the originals. However, it was during our visit to the Revolution Building on Friday that I discovered another interesting story: some of the war photos were taken during “reconstructions” of historical events. This means that the historical events were recreated in the same or similar environment; the people who were involved in the original events were present; and pictures were taken during these reconstructed events. The three pictures that the staff pointed out to us were: the foundation ceremony of the predecessor of the Vietnamese Army; the capturing of General de Castries – the French commander in the Battle of Dien Bien Phu in 1954; and the flying of the Vietnamese flag on top of de Castries’ command post. The captions for all of these pictures only included the date and description of the original event.

"Foundation Ceremony of Armed Propaganda Brigade for the Liberation of Vietnam... in 1944" (taken in 1959)

"General de Castries and the entire French staff in Điện Biên Phủ were taken alive... in 1954" (taken in 1959)

There has not been any research into the reason behind this lack of footage of the original events. This could be, for example, due to secrecy or a lack of photography equipment. Nevertheless, the three pictures are all famous; the Vietnamese flag on top of the French command post, in particular, has gained symbolic meaning to many generations, representing the triumph of Vietnamese people over the French colonial rule as well as presented in many history text book as fact. Informing the public that these photos were not taken during the original events can result in many different outcomes for the public’s perception of the museum.

The flying of the Vietnamese flag on top of de Castries' command post, present in the museum and history textbooks

Museums serve as an institute that provides facts and commemorates the past. Revealing the story behind these photos can disrupt these functions, especially in Vietnam because these photos are used to remind current generations of how much our grandparents and parents had sacrificed for peace and independence. In addition, there will undoubtedly be criticism on the museum’s inability to check the accuracy of these photos as well as the insistence on providing a dishonest account of history. Moreover, it is impossible to predict how people will react when the museum attempts to correct the information and provides a version of history that clashes with people’s memories and interpretation. Will the symbol lose its meaning to millions of people who have come to take the pictures in the exhibitions and textbooks as “truth”? Will it be better if the museum continues to exhibit the ‘reconstructed’ and ‘romanticised’ version of the past that support people’s memories?

On the other hand, others might praise this move an attempt to fulfil the two main functions of museum, i.e. providing facts and commemorating the past. As people develop new technology and skill to evaluate the authenticity of artefacts, they will definitely come up with explanations that dispute the original account. When the museum acknowledges its shortcomings, it also acknowledges its responsibility to provide information to the public to the best of its ability. In terms of commemoration, the fact that these events were reconstructed already signifies the need to commemorate them. Without the intention to provide future generations with the means to remember and commemorate events such as the foundation of the army or the victory over the enemies, people would not have recreated these events, and the photos would not have existed. On the other hand, the museum can also present other documentations alongside the pictures to support the date and the presence of the people in these photos. The museum also has a responsibility to honour the memories of the people who participated in these reconstructed events.

The fact that the museum chooses to display a photo taken at a much later date than the event in the description will draw many contrasting opinions. Correcting existing account is a problem that many museums will face in the future, and balancing different expectations will not be an easy task.

Connecting the Past and Present at a Military Museum

In the morning of the second day of the museum field school at Vietnam Military History Museum, one particular issue captured my interest: how can military museum become more relevant to future generations? In the afternoon, as we tried to incorporate memories into the exhibition and I experienced the power of memories myself, it became clear to me that using memories can be one of the most effective solutions to this problem.

My group visited a small section in the gallery dedicated to the 2nd of September of 1945 – Vietnam’s Independence Day, which was later chosen as Vietnam’s National Day. This section included a photo of the parade in Hanoi, and below the photo there were musical instruments that were used to play the national anthem on that day. Both the photo and the instruments were accompanied by simple caption. In fact, this was the typical issue of the whole museum’s exhibition. Halls after halls, visitors were presented with displays arranged in similar amount of space, overwhelmed by a number of historical artefacts with little accompanied information. This method, along with the authoritative voice of the museum, made it hard for the visitors, especially foreigners who usually explore the museum by themselves, to grasp the significance and meaning of each stages in the chronological flow of narrative.  I particularly felt like I was back at school, getting bombarded with date and figures which I were told to learn by heart; yet at the end of the day, I still had trouble engage them or fully appreciate the relevance of that history in my own life.

For my group project, we came up with many ideas to include more voices in the gallery. First, we wanted to contact and include the stories of the musicians who played the instruments and the people who participated in the parade as many of them are still alive. Second, we intended to provide an audio of the national anthem as well as the translation of the lyrics into different languages. In addition, we thought that the museum can also collect testimonies of different generations to demonstrate the differences between the National Day of 1945 and that of modern day. By including these voices, the museum can use memory to connect the past and present. The personal stories and feelings of the people who were present in 1945 can evoke empathy from the visitors, which might not be achieved by the authoritative voice of museum. Moreover, an audio of the national anthem and a translation would help the international visitors connect the music to words and bring the triumphant tone of the exhibition alive. 

Another point to consider is the comparison of the past and present from the audience. Inter-generation personal memories of the national day and how it meant to them can create the opportunities for visitors to reflect on change in perspectives and the changes in Vietnam’s society. By understanding and reflecting on Vietnam’s National Day, visitors can turn a historical event into a symbol of pride, nationalism, or change based on their personal memories. Similarly, enriching the experience with memories for visitors could help connect the past to the present, and make a military museum more relevant to younger generation.

Coincidentally, as we were going back to present our suggestions, I got a glimpse of how memories could achieve this goal by observing the interaction between a group of marine veterans and a family who happened to be at the same gallery. The veterans were just starting their guided tour in the building when the family consisted of an elder and two boys saw them. What followed was a brief but touching interaction: the faces of the old man and the two boys lit up as they saw the marines. Both parties smiled as the old man took a picture of the boys with two veterans leading the group in their uniform.

After one of the boys expressed his wish to join the marine, the two veterans gave the boy a pat on the soldier and told him that he would be able to join if he worked hard and took good care of his sight (he wore a pair of glasses). The groups then parted; but just by being at the same place together, old memories were shared and new memories were created for the veterans, the old man and the two boys, and for me as an observer. It is evidence that museum can be a place for people of different generations and backgrounds to come together to learn, to share and to celebrate their memories.

Movement towards memory

“History is perpetually suspicious of memory, and its true mission is to suppress and destroy it.”   Pierre Nora 1989

To me this quote from ‘Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire’ seems to express the idea that museums present only fact and being should be the authoritative voice for the nation. The idea that memory is a critique of history. However, from day one of our field school we have seen museums opening up to memory work and inclusion. Some creating exhibitions with multiple voices and personal narratives. Through the field school I’m seeing the difference between history and memory and that they need not be in competition, rather they can be complimentary.

At the Vietnam Women’s Museum we learned that museums are crucial sites of memory, and heard of exhibitions such as ‘Single Mothers’ which told personal stories from marginalised women. Then as I looked through the galleries I was drawn in by the ‘Mother Goddess’ exhibition and particularly it’s use of personal stories. As an unfamiliar visitor, the first person quotes and multi-faceted approach, including a sound track, helped me to get a sense of how everyday people feel about the Goddess. Along with the ceremonies and rituals that reinforce this cultural memory which looks to the future with the past ancestors in mind. To me it seemed that this museum is an example of the movement towards memory work, community participation and inclusion.

The next day at the Military History Museum we learned of their plan to update their galleries. So the question emerges: how should we remember? And importantly, how can this Museum stay relevant to a generation who didn’t live through the conflicts? Could memory work be an option in this case? The voice throughout the different exhibitions is patriotic, presenting a unified voice of achievement and triumph. As museums play a key role in the intergenerational communication of these histories, could the addition of more personal narratives generate empathy for the general visitor and the younger generation? Potentially bringing the past into the present and keeping memory alive.

The Museum of Ethnology appeared to be successfully undertaking memory work. When Professor Nyguyen Van Huy spoke of the exhibition held ten years ago about life under the subsidy economy, he told us that the timing was right to do an exhibition of this kind. With an approach of first finding the stories and then allowing the objects to come to light from them, we heard of an exhibition in which curators worked collaboratively with the community to include a narrative of diverse voices. Although the exhibition was extended, it sadly was not enough for us to get a glimpse firsthand into this world where a  young couple who were both doctors kept a pig in their bathroom to sell for extra money. We heard how these true reconstructions and personal stories had made strong connections with visitors. Those who lived through this time reminisced about the past together, and made the exhibition come alive. The Professor acknowledged that this was a big challenge. And I’m not sure that this is something that all museums are ready for.

Movements towards memory in Vietnam’s museums allow the visitors additional ways of relating to the past without necessarily rivalling history. From ‘History, Memory, and the Genre of Testimony’ of 2006 by Aleida Assmann, this now seems more pertinent: “The question to be asked is no longer merely what has happened? but also how was the event experienced, how is it remembered and passed on to succeeding generations?”

Threads of knowledge at the Hoi An Museum of Folklife

At the Hoi An Musuem of Folklife there was a silk weaving demonstration that I found mesmerizing, because it's so rare to see weaving or textile making in it's traditional form being performed live. At the Vietnam Musuem of Ethnology in Hanoi, there where many displays of looms in the collection with audio/visual accompaniments to help the visitor to understand how the tool may be used, however, this demonstration was for me a real treat.  The woman pictured below sat quietly at the loom and methodically moved the thread guide between the red and gold silk threads, tapping the threads firmly into place and moving the pedals with her feet. In doing so, she changed the pattern, also by pulling on weights, hung by ropes, attached to many threads. The repeated pattern within the fabric she created was intricate and detailed, compared to the uncomplicated bamboo frame holding the work.  I watched her, smiling, taking a few pictures and video to show friends and family later of the demonstration. The experience for me felt intimate, because she wasn't on a stage or being circled by a frenzy of cameras and iPhones. The feeling reminded me of how my mother taught me to sew, first by watching, then supervised basic sewing and finally being left alone to make my creations, but nothing was ever written down. If the machine jammed, the bobbin tangled or the needle broke, I would call her for help and she would just "magically" know what to do. How did she know this? A combination of her own experience sewing and what she learned from her mother (my grandmother). Since Modernity has taken up more time in my life, I no longer have the luxury of time to sew as much as I would like too these days. I miss the physical act of making something- creating something, out of something else. I envied this woman.

Seen and not heard

At Hoa Lo Prison Museum I spent a lot of time looking into the smiling faces of captured US pilots. They were photographed as they prepared for their release and return home in 1973 and I searched these photographs for evidence of truth or lies. The spaces dedicated to the treatment of captured B52 pilots seem incongruous with my western perspective of POW camps and my understanding of North Vietnam during the American-Vietnam war.

Where in the tidy regulation jackets, pressed shirts, shined shoes and leather satchels filled with souvenirs could I find evidence of POW mistreatment? Did they look too thin or unhealthy? Did their smiles look forced? Was their someone standing just outside of the range of the lens who was forcing the illusion of friendship and compassion? John Berger said that ‘a photograph, whilst recording what has been seen, always and by its nature refers to what is not seen. It isolates, preserves and presents a moment taken from a continuum' (1980, p.293).

The narrative presented in the rooms about the American war were not what I was expecting, so much so, that before we got to these spaces, I had already asked the tour guide how the prison was used when it was controlled by the Vietnamese. I expected a continuation of the prison cells and yards. “Not at all,” was his response, “the american prisoners were treated very well.” 

After representations of persecution and extremely harsh conditions that Vietnamese political prisoners endured, was it possible that the Vietnamese military were not driven to retaliation? It made sense to me, that on gaining power and control of the north, the Vietnamese captors would inflict the same treatment on their prisoners, after all, the prison was constructed to house an enemy.

Within the prison museum, I was moved by life-size, three-dimensional portrayals of shackled prisoners in dark, over-crowded cells. In the face of great adversity, the individualised figures depict shared experiences of compassion and love – they embrace, support, laugh and play games, never broken by the horror of the prison. The over-bearing stench and extreme temperatures are gone but were described in detail by the museum narrative, evidenced in the tour guide’s descriptions, text panels and photographs. The carefully lit, sophisticated exhibits and haunting audio add impact to the memory-work capturing the ‘crimes of the French colonialist committed on revolutionary patriotic soldiers.’

This is a carefully controlled representation for the museum visitor. The path through Hoa Lo museum is a chronological narrative. How many visitors ask their guides about the treatment of US POW’s while standing in the reflective memorial space that commemorates thousands of lost Vietnamese lives under French occupation? This memorial space also marks a separation in the narrative.

The contrast between the prison cells and the  spaces representing the American war is stark. Across two exhibition halls, the first depicts the ‘sabotage warfare’ carried out by the US government through photographs and film of destructive air strikes. The second hall, where I found myself searching the faces of the same US pilots who had caused this destruction, is a space of triumphant Vietnamese achievement. The haunting audio of the prison, is replaced with a tune of celebration, the rooms are brightly and evenly lit, and the photographs and film are joyful. The captive US pilots are shown celebrating Christmas with church outings, meals of chicken, trees and Santa Claus decorations; they played basketball and received letters from home. Apparently, they had a very comfortable stay.

I’m left questioning my own motivations. Why was I searching the photographs for what is not seen? Perhaps it is because of what is also not heard. The only  voice in this space is the authoritarian voice of the museum. These are official photographs of carefully chosen moments. Where are the testimonies, the personal stories and the depictions of the everyday lives of the prisoners like those in the narrative of Hoa Lo Prison under French rule? Despite the smiling faces, the US pilot’s memories of their time at the Hanoi Hilton are noticeably absent. 

Museums of Memory: The top 5 places to visit in Hanoi, Vietnam

The capital of the north of Vietnam is the bustling, fast paced city of Ha Noi. Day or night, the city is bursting at the seams with life; Mopeds and cars flood the streets with no discernible designated sides, and crossing is like playing a game of Frogger, where it is not so much about timing as it is about skill and practice. The old quarter is filled with shops and vendors and restaurants with smiling staff waving you into their business. Most people in the area know enough English to get by in business and short chats. A short cab ride in any direction can bring you to a museum that is trying to tell the story of Vietnam. If you are interested in the Archaeological history, the social history, or the current community, there is a place for you to learn about their rich culture. 

Hanoi Citadel

    

(front of the Citadel)

The Citadel is one of the oldest structures in Hanoi. The site itself has been used for many purposes, including a bunker that was created under it much more recently. This form of new use contrasts with the archaeological site that you pass when entering the citadel, covered with a glass case to protect it from the elements, the site shows the old road into the citadel, and the layers of construction that was built over it. Pieces of the citadel, such as the dragon banisters that appear to be climbing down the stairs in the front of the temple, are older and well kept to preserve the memory of what it once was. 

(Front stairs)

Archaeological site

    

Across the street from the CItadel is an ongoing archaeological project, where the ancient city is in the process of being recreated and recorded. When I was there, the archaeologists of the site were in the process of re-creating a lake and waterway that was originally there, in hopes to recreate the memory of the original city that has since been forgotten. Through their efforts, they have discovered wells layered with pottery that was unfortunate enough to be lost in the process of water gathering, but lucky enough to have survived hundreds of years because of it. Once at the end of the walkway around the site, keep an eye open for a large cover with an archaeological boat printed on it. The boat, which is covered for preservation, is in what used to be the old waterway.

(Archaeological dig site with walls and floor tiles)

    

Ethnology Museum

The ethnology museum, which has two large buildings for exhibit space, also displays full sized traditional houses from the minority ethnic groups around Vietnam. They are built, furnished, and maintained by representatives of the minority groups community, and are open to the public to explore, from thatched roofs to clay shingles. 

    Inside the museum is displays showing recreation of intangible heritage practices; craft making, dances, songs, etc. The setting creates a personal connection between you and the minority group; being in their style of house; walking the stilted, woven floors; even sitting at the table gives you a feeling of being a part of their life. 

(House of an ethnic minority group)

(Inside the house)

Hanoi Prison Museum

(A display of how prisinors would be kept)

    The Hanoi Prison, or the “Hanoi Hilton” as it was referred to by Americans who were prisoners of war there, offers the stories of the many sides of the last two significant revolutions (known as the French and American wars) and the role that the prison played. The prison displays several artifacts from its past, which may be hard for some visitors and bring up unwanted memories. Displays include various objects from a guillotine from the French war, to the flight suit of the U.S. 2008 presidential candidate, John McCain, who was a POW in the prison. 

(Flight suit of John McCain)

    

Hanoi Women's Museum

(Wedding outfits of a minority ethnic group)

    The Hanoi Women’s Museum does a good job of celebrating women’s achievements in society. The exhibitions display the accomplishments of the culturally significant women, with an exhibition on the women who were heroines during the American war in Vietnam, to depictions of daily life as a woman in agriculture, farming, and fishing. The ‘Family Life’ exhibition provides a lot of information into the cultural aspects of living in mainstream vietnamese culture and the ethnic minority groups. The 'Mother godess' exhibit was very interesting to me, as it had quotes from a lot of community members displayed in various ways talking about what the mother godess exhibit ment to them and memories they have had from past Mother Godess festivals.

(Mother Godess Shrine set up in the exhibit)

Kiki Lathrop

(abridged from a longer list)

Memories of National Resistance

What struck me the most about museums in Hanoi is the strength of the collective memory of national resistance and yet there is a profound absence of personal narratives, with some obvious exceptions, that embody this spirit for the visitor. These museums face the challenge of reconstructing this history of resistance to create understanding both with younger Vietnamese and international visitors who may be distanced from historical events spatially and temporally.

Without personal stories of valour and victory, struggles and loss, the museum’s resistance narrative will remain nationalistic and ephemeral to the visitor, and in doing so limits the diversity of audiences who are imperative to sustaining the memory of Vietnam’s national resistance.

I am the first to admit I haven’t grasped the complexities of Vietnam’s history, the Communist regime and the causes and effects of French imperialism and the American-Vietnam War. Although I don’t have a background or even a passion for photography, my interest has peaked with the use of photographs as evidence of change, specifically the effects of conflict on the landscape. These photographs are key objects to ignite storytelling and the sharing of experiences, the essence of national resistance.

The Museum of Revolution had many photographs evident of poignant and challenging dark heritage. A sense of injustice for the effects of conflict was overwhelming and yet I wanted to know what the effects were, understand the context of the photographs I was viewing. In the case studies I have selected to share, an obliterated school as an image of complete loss was replaced in my memory by an image of people walking children to school, hand-in-hand, for the new school year in 1974.

Although the schools photographed were from different locations, as a visitor I connected them and wanted to grasp the effects of warfare on children and student’s education during the American-Vietnam War. Did their education cease during times of conflict? How interrupted was their learning opportunities? How did the children and students engage with the world around them? How are the 57 pupils killed on the 9 February 1966 remembered today? Was their Secondary School at Huong Phuc rebuilt and witness to a similar scene of renewal in 1974?

How did the students and parents in Dong Ha feel walking their children to school for the first time in 1974? What effects of the conflict permeated into the student’s learning environment? How did the education system cope with loss both in terms of human loss and the loss of resources? How safe did the students feel going back to school?

I think these questions could be answered by examining the cultural values of Vietnamese people and how these values interplay with the nationalistic value of resistance presented in Hanoi’s museums. The limitation of this exercise would be to delimit the Vietnamese population into a collective as from these museum and site visits it is evident that various ethnic groups had significant roles during conflict. The second limitation which is tied to the first, is the timing of such an endeavour. With ongoing talks of themes of remembering, reconciliation, forgiveness and nation building, can such discussions assist in the healing and unification process or could they highlight disparate, hidden or ignored histories and stories of suffering and perhaps neglect which could reopen wounds and detract from the memories of national resistance. An understanding of the Vietnamese sense of spirit is a theme which I hope to explore at the Vietnamese Women’s Museum and will hopefully help me understand how the nationalistic voice of resistance is evident in the lives of contemporary communities and its significance. 

Hayley Young.

 Photographs taken at the Vietnam Museum of Revolution, Hanoi, 8 January 2016.