Even When It Comes To History, The Customer Is Always Right.
By Leigh Rich
THE STORY IS all too familiar. The characters are always
the same--Wyatt and Virgil, Billy and Ike, Doc Holliday, Johnny
Ringo, Sheriff Behan and Big Nose Kate. And the conflict expeditiously
plays out at the O.K. Corral.
But the latest maverick to arrive in the town too tough to die
is a Norwegian scholar with new views on the legendary Arizona
gunfight.
Far from the cozy comforts of temperate Norway, Odd Are Berkaak
isn't the typical Tombstone-ologist. A mild-mannered anthropologist
from the University of Oslo who's well-versed in nebulous topics
like post-modernism, he came to Tombstone in 1993 as a visiting
professor with the UA's Department of Comparative Cultural and
Literary Studies.
He admits his five-year study of Arizona's once-lawless territory
is a boyhood fantasy come true.
"As far back as I can remember," Berkaak says, "I
knew about Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday and the Clantons. My buddies
and I, even before we started school, were re-enacting the O.K.
Corral. This is not American culture--this is global culture.
I knew about these heroes even before I knew about Norwegian heroes,
like Vikings."
It's not all daydreams of the Old West, however. Berkaak's research
is also firmly rooted in anthropological principles.
"What I'm doing is studying Tombstone. Not the ordinary
1880s history everybody else is doing: 'Who shot first? Who are
the crooks and who are the heroes--really?' What I'm interested
in is history making. How people create for themselves an image
of the past."
And that, he's found, apparently depends on whom you ask.
"Writing history is difficult. With Tombstone and the American
West, it's next to impossible. Because there are so many hoaxes.
Grown men--men in their 50s and 60s--are making up stories and
making up sources. It's going on all the time," he says.
To circumvent such "Piltdown Man" obstacles, Berkaak
has instead analyzed Tombstone sources, from George Whitwell Parson's
diaries to modern-day film adaptations, placing each narrative
in its particular context.
His conclusion?
"The O.K. Corral was like a 30-second rerun of the Civil
War: northern Republicans shooting at southern Democrats."
Tombstone in the late 1800s, Berkaak explains, was a miniature
reproduction of what had been happening in America. The two factions
in the nation at that time--agricultural, southern Democrats and
industrial, northern Republicans--were very much at the bottom
of the O.K. Corral and the so-called vendetta that continued through
March, 1882.
Southern Arizona's local farmers were mainly Democrats, demobilized
Confederate soldiers, who'd drifted over from Texas.
"They all hated the U.S. government, because it was still
the Union--the Yankee state. They were good at handling weapons,
because they'd been in the war. So, they didn't look upon themselves
as bandits at all. They were ranchers, not rustlers."
Concurrently, the Republicans dominated the town of Tombstone.
Republican industrial capital--mining and banks--were heavily
invested in the town itself. "And that was on a pretty large
scale in the early 1880s. There was a lot of modernization capital
in Tombstone owned by northern, Republican Yankees," Berkaak
says.
And the O.K. Corral conflict and ensuing vendetta threatened
the security of these northern investments. Fortunately for the
Republican faction, however, martial law was declared in Cochise
County, enabling the U.S. Calvary to run interference for the
state.
"This outraged the local people. The U.S. marshal is federal.
He represents the state, the Yankee state. He was, per definition,
hated by the ranchers.
"It was a conflict of modernization," Berkaak maintains,
"a classic conflict of modernization, where the agricultural,
traditional economy is trying to defend itself against being exploited
by industrial capital. It was a question of big government or
not."
Berkaak believes this feud between local self-determination and
federal intervention can be traced through Arizona--and American--history
to the present. It exists in all the narratives, from memoirs
and newspaper articles to books and movies, based around the O.K.
Corral shoot-out.
"The feuding between the Clantons and the Earps is still
going on," he says. "It's still there. But it's a literary
feud. These (Tombstone historians) are killing each other verbally."
And, of course, the heroes change, depending on the source. (There
is a pattern of partisanship even in the books written today:
Most male authors want either Wyatt Earp or Billy Clanton to be
the idealized, Western man. A clear bias pervades their works,
which either reconstruct the hero or debunk him. For the most
neutral account, Berkaak suggests Paula Mitchell Marks' And
Die in the West.)
"Local voices see the Earps as the bad guys. But in memoirs
and all kinds of accounts by local voices, the cowboys are the
heroes. Or they're innocent victims. In the more distant voices,
like Hollywood's, the Earps are the good guys and the Clantons
are the bad guys. This thing, it was there during the shoot-out,
it was there during the vendetta. It's there in the real history,
and it's there in the constructed history."
And so Berkaak wades through the interminable re-tellings of
the O.K. Corral. And there have been plenty of them: countless
films (the most recent of which include Tombstone and Kevin
Costner's Wyatt Earp) and several hundred books. But why
such repetition?
"I think it's ballad making," Berkaak says. "All
the balladeers are out, because it still has an emotional relevance
to people. Wyatt Earp is very relevant for American men. You stand
your ground; you exert physical courage; you don't ask the state
to enforce the law. You are the maverick marshal. All this still
figures into American individualism, political sentiments and
the relationship between the local community, the individual and
the state."
And like these American ideals, our fascination with the Earps
and the Clantons endures. The Tombstone legend itself is circular:
It has no clear climax, no real solution. When viewed politically,
as Berkaak's done, the O.K. Corral isn't really an heroic tale
or a tragedy.
"It's just a lot of episodes and characters who come together
and go away and reunite again. And it keeps going on--because
the Earps didn't solve anything. The O.K. Corral shoot-out was
not a climax. The violence was there when the Earps came. And
the violence was there when the Earps left."
While it seems sort of pointless, then, to circulate within the
Tombstone-legend quagmire, Berkaak is very clear about the part
he plays.
"My time in Tombstone reveals how the marketplace is the
context within which any historical narrative has to emerge--that
this market context is structuring your narrative. Which means,
if it's true or not, that doesn't matter at all. As long as it's
new. If it's different from other versions, it will catch the
attention of the visiting customer.
"I was discussing this recently in Tombstone with a guy
who owns a shop. I tried to explain to him that Tombstone wouldn't
look like this if it'd been in Norway: The 1880s structures would
be meticulously restored, and there would be hordes of professionals--ethnologists,
anthropologists, historians, folklorists, architects, whatever--working
there. No amateurs would be allowed half near it.
"In Tombstone...how is it in Tombstone? Like this guy said,
'Here anybody can do whatever they want. And shouldn't they?'
It's a very good question. This is interesting to me as an anthropologist,
in comparing the European and the American tribes when it comes
to constructing their own history. In America, it's kind of up
for grabs. If you have a heart for it, who can stop you? You write
your story."
BERKAAK HASN'T ALWAYS tooled around the dusty towns of
the American West. In fact, he's spent much of his adult life
studying music--from the Rasta yards of Kingston, Jamaica, to
the Zambezi flood plain in southern Africa. However, common themes
weave together each of his adventures: history construction and
identity formation.
During the 1994 Winter Olympics, for example, Berkaak and colleagues
from the University of Oslo carefully observed as Norway hosted
the world games.
"That was the first time Norway had a chance to stand up
to the world and say, 'This is us. This is who we are.' And what
happened almost immediately was that (Norway's Olympic organizers)
didn't ask themselves those questions. Instead, they asked, 'What
does the world want to see when they come here?' In other words,
'Who do they believe we are?'
"See, it's that external voice: The gaze from the outside.
Which basically means 'the customers.' They stopped talking about
identity at the games. There was no talk about identity at all.
They never used the word. The word they used instead was 'profile.'
"Now, the classic profile is a featureless, black portrait.
An outline. It's how you're received from a distance. It's the
alien gaze from the outside."
Berkaak can't help but compare this with the Southwest: "This
is very much how I see Tombstone constructed, on this imagined
perception of the stranger who comes there--the customer. It's
there in the structure of the town."
So it's no surprise today that most of Tombstone's a tourist
trap. Even Boothill Cemetery and its unfortunate inhabitants have
been on display since the 1930s. The town itself is very much
a profile: the exteriors dressed 1880s style, the interiors gutted
and converted into "curio shops."
Not exactly what Berkaak expected--both as cultural anthropologist
and as boy reared on Westerns in the '50s. "The identity
would be inside somewhere. But what's in there doesn't match at
all. It's a discontinuity. Is the building authentic? Is it the
real house? Uh-huh. The gaze of the customer is taking over in
the writing of history. It's the customers who are actually giving
the conditions for how this history's formed and which narrative's
going to be told." He sighs.
"It's very much the same in Europe and, I guess, all around
the world."
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