The Case of the Critical Comment
Recently, a student from my program at Johns Hopkins reached out with a sharp observation: why had a museum quietly deleted my critical comment on their Valentine's Day social media post? The exchange wasn't just about a disappearing Instagram comment—it opened up a revealing conversation about accountability, transparency, and the responsibilities that come with practicing public history through digital media.
When a museum or historical site sees digital media mainly as branding rather than authentic historical engagement, they've stopped doing public history altogether. Instead, they're just selling heritage—a package that is comfortable, nostalgic, and marketable, but rarely honest. Institutions that claim to represent the past but treat digital media as mere marketing miss a crucial opportunity for meaningful historical dialogue. At that point, they're no longer engaging with history—they're merely peddling a commodity.
The deleted comment was directed at a Valentine's Day post featuring Martha Washington, Patrick Henry, and Benjamin Franklin—figures central to America's past but unquestionably complicit in slavery. My criticism wasn't about spoiling fun; it was about calling out hypocrisy. These weren’t complex figures—they were enslavers who exploited and brutalized other human beings for personal gain while loudly professing ideals of liberty and freedom. Presenting them as charming valentines isn't neutral, harmless, or historically "approachable." It's dishonest. Worse, it actively undermines the difficult and essential work done by public historians who confront these uncomfortable truths every single day, both online and on-site.
Social media isn’t just outreach or promotional fluff. It's a battleground where history is actively contested, shaped, and co-created. It’s a space where public historians share authority, invite meaningful engagement, and where each critical comment, even uncomfortable ones, represents an opportunity for genuine accountability and deeper historical insight. Deleting criticism isn't protection—it's cowardice. It’s dodging the essential, often difficult conversations that define ethical public history.
We’re in a historical moment when honest historical narratives are being actively challenged and silenced. Effective digital public historians—particularly those who amplify marginalized voices and confront distorted historical narratives—are more essential than ever. This is precisely why I consistently highlight and support public historians and creators doing vital digital work, reshaping how history is publicly shared and understood.
For the museum that deleted my comment (and removed me as a follower): accountability isn't an attack; it’s an opportunity to do the history you claim to care about. Public history demands fidelity to truth and accountability to our audiences. Embracing both openly—even when uncomfortable—isn't optional. It's mandatory.
