Posted in atomic bombings, imperialism, journal articles, Ku Klux Klan, labor, military, propaganda, terrorism, violence

Terrorism and the American Experience: A State of the Field

Gage, Beverly. “Terrorism and the American Experience: A State of the Field.” Journal of American History 98, no. 1 (2011): 73-94.

The “State of the Field” essay that I am addressing is “Terrorism and the American Experience: A State of the Field” by Beverly Gage, which appeared in the Journal of American History in 2011.  Gage sets the foundation for her argument by presenting historian Richard Hofstadter’s call in 1970 for historians to “remedy their ‘inattention’ and construct a history of violence that would speak to the present and the past.”[1]  She explains how the historical profession stepped up to the challenged over the course of the next forty years by publishing numerous studies on “racial conflict, territorial massacres, gendered violence, empire, crime and punishment, and war and memory,” yet, even though terrorism dominates American political discourse, historians have not effectively confronted the issue.[2]

In the early part of her essay, Gage shows that “terrorism” is difficult to define, although she does claim that terrorism tends to be a “spectacular method of communication aimed at audiences far from the target itself.”[3]  Throughout the essay, certain examples are repeatedly cited as terrorist acts, such as Klan lynchings and labor violence like the Haymarket riot.

She also discusses political violence and social movements, and historians’ hopes of developing a general theory of terrorism through studying groups such as The Weather Underground and the Irish Republican Army.  But most of all, Gage contends that these historians sought to underscore the “illegitimacy of terrorism as a means of social change, a violation of state sovereignty and moral norms.”[4]  These historians afforded the state exceptional status rather than holding the government to the same moral codes as individuals.

There are many challenges to distinguishing terrorism from other forms of violence, including determining whether formal “states” can be terrorists.[5]  Most specialists agree that the term terrorism needs to be “restricted to nonstate actors—specifically, groups or individuals seeking to challenge existing governments.”[6]  One of the big issues, though, was that the government funded many of the studies, so there seems to be a conflict of interest.  Chomsky and others emphasized the large role the United States government played in exporting a “state-sponsored ‘culture of terrorism.’”[7]  Such actions should not be ignored.

Since 9/11, there has been a boom of studies focused on terrorism.  Yet a primary focus of these studies has been based on a “new terrorism” framework, which Gage connects to sociologist Mark Jurgensmeyer’s work.[8]  In this framework, violence is always motivated by religion.  Placing the focus on religious motivations, however, pushes politics out of the discussion.[9]  Isabelle Duyvesteyn states that emphasizing religion tends to obscure the political nature of terrorism.  She offers Timothy McVeigh as an example and remarks: “[he] may have purported to love Christ, but he certainly despised the federal government.”[10]

My project began with my Religious Studies MA thesis, where I explored how Americans think about the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  My exploration was guided by Susan Sontag’s question from her book Regarding the Pain of Others: “Which atrocities from the incurable past do we think we are obliged to revisit?”[11]  For my history MA thesis, I continued to explore these themes through a public history digital project.  “Terrorism and the American Experience” was an appropriate “State of the Field” essay for me to consider in light of my project.

I view the atomic bombings of Japan as acts of terrorism, so clearly I do not side with historians who wish to exempt the state from such considerations.  Bombing cities that were heavily populated with civilians aimed to send a very strong message to Japan and the rest of the world and therefore fits Gage’s assessment of terrorism being a “spectacular method of communication aimed at audiences far from the target itself.”[12]  I do not necessarily think that there is anything for me to gain by labeling President Truman or other government officials as terrorists; however, my approach has been to view the evidence from a guilty perspective.  What I mean by this is that I tend to analyze evidence without trying to justify the bombings.

Duyvesteyn’s point about religion is well-taken, but I also feel like religion is not the only lens that can obscure the political nature of terrorism.  Blaming the bombings on the American government’s racist attitudes, as some historians have, also distorts the truth.

I have read two of Jurgensmeyer’s books and a number of books on lynchings, Timothy McVeigh, Waco, Ruby Ridge, abortion clinic bombings, and about museum exhibits and memorials dedicated to these and similar themes.  The most frustrating issue I have found is that few authors (and even fewer public exhibits) seem to address the role American leadership plays in evoking and advocating these acts of terror.  The narratives tend to focus on demonizing the actor without effectively evaluating all of the contributing societal factors.

In her final paragraph, Gage writes, “The historiography of terrorism with its uneasiness about terminology, its political uncertainties, and its fractured discussions, is still struggling to find the proper balance between these imperatives.”[13]  I am not attempting to reach any definite conclusions about the atomic bombings or the definition of terrorism, but I hope that my project might help others in the field think about the issues and relationships in more creative and objective ways.

[1] Beverly Gage, “Terrorism and the American Experience: A State of the Field,” Journal of American History 98, no. 1 (2011): 73.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid., 74.

[4] Ibid., 77.

[5] Ibid., 74.

[6] Ibid., 78.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid., 82.

[9] Ibid., 91.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Susan Sontag, Regarding the Pain of Others (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2003), 93.

[12] Gage, “Terrorism and the American Experience: A State of the Field,” 74.

[13] Ibid., 94.

Posted in African Americans, film, gender studies, imperialism, masculinity, material culture, myths, propaganda, racism, violence

Manliness and Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880-1917

Bederman, Gail. Manliness and Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880-1917. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995.

Prior to the 1990s, most literature on American whiteness and its relationship to masculinity emerged out of the historiography of labor and the working class.[1] Gail Bederman helped to shift this emphasis by her work which explored the political and cultural implications of whiteness, manliness, and civilization.[2] Bederman is considered to be one of the “first generation” of gender historians to study masculinity in the United States. Her 1995 seminal work, Manliness & Civilization, investigates connections between manhood, race, and power, which she identifies as the defining attributes of the “discourse of civilization,” during the Progressive Era.[3]  Her study is based on the premise that gender is an ongoing “historical, ideological process.”[4]  Bederman insisted, in a 2011 article entitled “Why Study ‘Masculinity,’ Anyway? Perspectives from the Old Days,” that “masculinity,” as scholars use the term, is a heuristic category and is most useful when recognized as such.[5] But, she confessed that she had not worked on masculinity studies since 1995 and felt like “Rip Van Winkle, awakening from his twenty-year nap.” She noted huge changes in the field of gender studies since she stepped away and admitted that she did not understand what members of this generation of masculinity scholars really want to know, or why.[6]

Manliness & Civilization opens with an exemplary model for Bederman’s argument: the world heavyweight boxing championship in 1910 between Jack Johnson, the first African American to hold the title, and Jim Jeffries, who was marketed as the “Hope of the White Race.” From the beginning, the Johnson-Jeffries fight was framed as a contest that would prove racial and masculine superiority.[7] After “Johnson trounced Jeffries,” interracial violence and riots broke out across the United States and government officials colluded to imprison Johnson. His victory was perceived as an affront to the power of white masculinity.[8] Bederman concludes that Johnson’s triumph “implicitly challenged the ways hegemonic discourses of civilization built powerful manhood out of race.”[9]

To build her main arguments in Manliness & Civilization, Bederman analyzes key experiences in the lives and work of four prominent and diverse American figures, Ida B. Wells (anti-lynching activist), G. Stanley Hall (psychologist), Charlotte Perkins Gilman (feminist), and President Theodore Roosevelt, who each worked to shape the meaning of manliness using their own conceptions of “civilization.” She shows how their work challenged or upheld notions that “civilization” is predicated on white masculinity. In her conclusion, Bederman analyzes the original 1912 rendition of the character Tarzan to show how the previous four examples combine into an image of perfect manhood that is both civilized, signaled by his descent from noble English aristocracy, and primitive, marked by his childhood among the apes and his drive to rape and kill.[10]

For Bederman, Tarzan is Teddy Roosevelt’s great white hunter who conquered racial inferiors and even nature itself.[11] Tarzan, who lynches Africans, is more savage than Wells’ lyncher because he enjoys killing as a sport (much like Roosevelt enjoyed killing animals). Kill or be killed is the law of the jungle.[12] He is Gilman’s “brute” who progresses from potential rapist to a chivalrous and civilized man due to his genetic superiority.[13] Tarzan is also Hall’s savage little boy who is allowed “racial recapitulation” to emerge as the most powerful civilized man.[14] Bederman admits that Burroughs most likely was not directly influenced by the works of any of these four individuals; however, the alignment of these “discourses of civilization” illuminates the pervasiveness of the “cultural project to remake manhood” during the Progressive Era.[15]

Before wrapping up discussion on Bederman’s work, I must digress to consider a couple of modern cinematic remakes of the Tarzan story. Hundreds of films, radio and television shows, stage plays, and video games have featured Tarzan. Most adaptations have continued to propagate the paternalism and racism found in the original.[16] Walt Disney employees decided to completely remove all African natives from its 1999 children’s animated Tarzan, a move that helped them to avoid any hint of racism found in the original stories.[17] Although, it makes one question the underlying message for a diverse global society. Yet, in an even more surprising move (at least for me now that I know the original storyline), the film’s villain, a white hunter by the name of Clayton (Tarzan’s family name), dies in an accidental hanging (lynching?) that viewers witness through the shadows. And in 2016, a new film, The Legend of Tarzan was released.

In this most recent reimagining of Tarzan, the storyline begins in England, where Tarzan and Jane are happily married and living as Lord and Lady Greystoke. The action takes place in the 1880s during the colonization of the Congo by King Leopold of Belgium. African American diplomat George Washington Williams, whose character is based on a real American Civil War soldier, Christian minister, politician, lawyer, journalist, and historian, enlists Greystoke/Tarzan’s help to thwart King Leopold’s plans to enslave the Congo. Although the filmmaker attempted to upgrade the story for twenty-first century sensibilities, there are foundational problems inherent to the Tarzan storyline. As Richard Brody points out in his New Yorker review of the film, “There are inescapable underlying racist horrors built into the very notion of Tarzan—the idea that, as a white man raised by apes, he’s the white-skinned equivalent of black Africans, their equal as a force of nature but with the natural aptitude to be rapidly civilized, and that, as a white man, he is Jane’s one acceptable African mate.”[18] If we understand films to be a way to gauge how we see the world and how our world is reified, these examples illustrate that gender and race are indeed ongoing historical, ideological processes that we need to question.

Looking today at the continued influence of Bederman’s work, Google Scholar returned 2,189 results for Manliness & Civilization. Searching within these results, 83 results related to publications in 2016, which indicates that the work continues to have relevance. However, I found that numerous works that cited Manliness & Civilization over the years did so only in passing. By citing a page or two from the work, these publications seem to acknowledge the importance of Bederman’s contributions, but few seemed to actively engaged with any of her arguments. This may indicate that scholars of gender and/or race studies are at least expected to be familiar with this work. Some of these titles include Racial Formation in the United States: From the 1960s to the 1990s (2014) by Michael Omi and Howard Winant, How Jews Became White Folks and What That Says About Race in America (1998) by Karen Brodkin, and Jazz, Rock, and Rebels: Cold War Politics and American Culture in a Divided Germany (2000) by Uta G Poiger, each of which were cited by hundreds of additional publications.

“So where does that leave us in the twenty-first century?” Bederman asks.[19] She does not offer an answer; however, one point she makes is clear. There is nothing self-evident about what it means to study “masculinity.” The term is a heuristic category that allows us to ask certain kinds of questions and is useful only when scholars clearly define what they want to know and what they mean when they use the term.[20]

[1] Tanfer Emin Tunc, “Recapitulating the Historiographical Contributions of Matthew Frye Jacobson’s Whiteness of a Different Color and Gail Bederman’s Manliness and Civilization,” Rethinking History 12, no. 2 (2008): 281. The author of this article suggests that Jacobson’s and Bederman’s contributions should be looked at together in order to better understand their contributions to the field.

[2] Ibid., 282.

[3] Gail Bederman, Manliness & Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880-1917 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 4-5. She posits that as “middle-class men actively worked to reinforce male power, their race became a factor which was crucial to their gender…whiteness was both a palpable fact and a manly ideal for these men.” In addition, Bederman’s use of the term “discourse” was influenced by the work of Michel Foucault. By simultaneously looking at the intellectual constructs and material practices of a society, this methodology helps historians understand ways in which a society defines itself and how that society deploys social power. Ibid., 24.

[4] Ibid., 7. Emphasis in original.

[5] Gail Bederman, “Why Study ‘Masculinity,’ Anyway? Perspectives from the Old Days,” Culture, Society and Masculinities 3, no. 1 (Spring, 2011): 14. The paper is based on a keynote address given at the conference “Performing the Invisible: Masculinities in the English-Speaking World,” Université Sorbonne Nouvelle-Paris 3, September 25-26, 2010.

[6] Ibid., 13.

[7] Bederman, Manliness & Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880-1917, 2.

[8] Ibid., 41.

[9] Ibid., 42. This example provoked me to think about Jesse Owen’s win at the 1936 Olympics. Many American history and sports sites publicize how Owens, who was the son of a sharecropper and the grandson of slaves, had single-handedly crushed Hitler’s myth of Aryan supremacy. Yet, we don’t often hear about how Americans treated Jack Johnson.

[10] Ibid., 218, 21.

[11] Ibid., 220-21. “Tarzan’s cultural work was to proclaim that ‘the white man’s’ potential for power and mastery was as limitless as the masculine perfection of Tarzan’s body.”

[12] Ibid., 225.

[13] Ibid., 229-31.

[14] Ibid., 222. “…civilized man could be powerful if, as a child, he repeated the primitive life of his savage ancestors.” Hall believed that children grew up literally repeating the psychological experiences of their primitive adult ancestors. Ibid., 94.

[15] Ibid., 232.

[16] Rebecca Keegan, “Can You Make a Non-Racist Tarzan Movie?,” The Los Angeles Times  (July 1, 2016), accessed October 19, 2016,

[17] Ibid.; J. Weeks, “Reprints of `Tarzan’ Books Soften Racism,” Florida Times Union  (1999), accessed October 19, 2016,

[18] Richard Brody, “Tarzan Cannot Be Rebooted,” The New Yorker  (June 30, 2016), accessed October 19, 2016,

[19] Bederman, “Why Study ‘Masculinity,’ Anyway? Perspectives from the Old Days,” 24.

[20] Ibid., 16.

Posted in African Americans, Great Depression, homelessness, Japanese Americans, marginalization, material culture, migrants, New Deal, photographs, propaganda, racism, reformers

Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits

Gordon, Linda. Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits. London; New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2009.

Linda Gordon is one of only three historians to have won the Bancroft Prize twice, one of which was for Dorothea Lange: A Life beyond Limits.  In this book, Gordon traces the life and photography of Lange by interweaving historical biography with contextual readings of Lange’s photographs.  Gordon reminds us that behind every photograph lies the person whose viewpoint framed the shot.  This is the first book that I have read about Dorothea Lange that encompassed her entire life rather than just focusing on her work during the Great Depression.  In addition, Gordon reveals the photographer’s growth and resilience through Lange’s relationships, personal tragedies, and professional setbacks.  A prime example appears near the center of the book, where Gordon illuminates Lange’s lessons in “participatory democracy” from her second husband Paul Schuster Taylor.[1]  Gordon successfully portrays Lange as a passionate “photographer of democracy.”

Lange is most well-known for her photography during her time with the Farm Security Administration (FSA), and specifically for the iconic image Migrant Mother.[2]  Gordon astutely notes that this image seems to represent the nation during The Depression, much like Marianne stands for France: “Migrant Mother is the enduring, ultimately invincible nation enduring a terrible collective tragedy.”[3]  Gordon shows that even though the original intent of the of the FSA’s photography project was to publicize the value of President Roosevelt’s New Deal, Lange was able to raise public awareness of and sympathy for poor farm families through her moving photography.  The same empathetic eye that earned her such acclaim for her FSA photographs caused her work to be marginalized following her photography of Japanese American internees and West Coast defense workers.

Gordon researched a wide range of documents, including photographs, letters, taped interviews with Lange, FBI reports, newspapers, and trade magazines. Numerous photographs by Lange are printed throughout the book. Gordon tells American history through Lange’s photography.  Lange’s biography is the focus, but important historical events are narrated through her work.  Gordon reveals racism related to immigration through Lange and Taylor’s work.[4]

[1] Linda Gordon, Dorothea Lange: A Life Beyond Limits (London; New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2009), 157.

[2] Ibid., xii.

[3] Ibid., 238.

[4] Ibid., 149-50.

Posted in anti-war movements, censorship, material culture, military, myths, photographs, propaganda, resistance, Vietnam War

The Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of Vietnam

Lembcke, Jerry. The Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of Vietnam. New York: New York University Press, 1998.

Traditionally, Americans have shown their appreciation for soldiers returning from war, believing that they all deserve a warm welcome for their sacrifice.  Newspaper columnist Bob Greene collected accounts from Vietnam War veterans about their experience of returning home in his 1989 book Homecoming.  Many of these recollections involved stories of hippies and other anti-war activists spitting on them as they arrived stateside. In Spitting Image, Jerry Lembcke investigates the myth of Vietnam War veterans returning home only to be spat upon by representatives of the anti-war movement. His research reveals that no evidence exists to support that such incidents ever occurred.  Barry Romo, who was the head of Vietnam Veterans Against the War (VVAW) and an active collector of Vietnam War historical materials, literature, and oral accounts, confirmed that no news source documentation (such as photographs) exist to validate this myth.[1] Contemporary newspaper reports and police records document no such incidents. If soldiers had been spit on, someone would have collected photographic evidence showing the alleged perpetrators.[2] Lembkce contends that the myth was propagated by government officials in order to demonize anti-war movements and the political Left in order to gain public support for current and future wars.[3] He shows how this myth and PTSD diagnoses worked to stereotype Vietnam War veterans as mentally unstable.

Few people realize that World War II veterans were early demonstrators against the Vietnam War and instrumental in reaching out to Vietnam era soldiers and veterans.[4] Veterans’ groups led some of the earliest protest marches against the war and developed tactics, such as burning draft cards and returning military medals in mass, which became emblems of the anti-war movement.[5] Lembkce argues that the anti-war movement established credibility with drafted and enlisted men, which helped form tight relationships between veterans and anti-war activists by 1970. Many veterans of previous wars, however, were openly hostile to the anti-war veterans and were the source of much of the grist for the myth.[6]

Lembkce explains that stories about war veterans being spat upon frequently occur in modern histories around the world. Many stories involve, on one hand, soldiers who fought on the losing side of the war and, on the other hand, their abusers who were traitors to the national cause. For example, following Germany’s loss in World War I, Fascists spread similar rumors to incite public anger against groups and individuals who had opposed the war. Some historians claim that images of abused veterans were critical to Nazi propaganda that fanned the flames of patriotism to lead German masses into World War II.[7]

According to Lembcke, it was extremely important for the Nixon administration to discredit the anti-war movement, so the government worked with Hollywood and other popular cultural media creators to propagate this false collective memory. To discredit anti-war veterans and mobilize support for the war, the administration drew a distinction between “good” pro-war veterans and “bad” anti-war protesters who symbolically spit on brave and loyal fighting men. The figurative symbol became a literal reality for the American public. Years later, the Bush administration exploited this anti-American image to gain public support for the Gulf Wars, convincing Americans that not supporting the troops was a fatal mistake of the Vietnam War. However, both administrations had enormous stakes in depicting the anti-war movement as anti-veteran. In order to achieve this goal, the true collective memory of protesters demonstrating at induction centers while recruits and draftees went off to war was rewritten into a story of protesters demonstrating at airports when the worn veterans returned home.

Recent analysis of the effects of the Vietnam War in American culture has revealed that the primary focus of Vietnam veterans’ stories is how they were treated after their return from the war, rather than their experiences in the war.  Lembcke notes, however, that most documentation of abusive behavior against Vietnam veterans show that pro-war people acted against anti-war veterans.[8]  In several interesting revelations, Lembcke argues that members of conservative veterans’ groups, such as Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) and the American Legion, rejected soldiers returning from the Vietnam War.[9] Claiming that Vietnam was not a “real war,” Vietnam veterans were excluded from participating in veterans’ parades and treated as second-class citizens in veterans’ hospitals.[10] When VVAW conducted its march and guerrilla theater from Morristown, New Jersey to Valley Forge, Pennsylvania in 1971, pro-war members of the VFW publically harassed the marchers.[11]

[1] Jerry Lembcke, The Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of Vietnam (New York: New York University Press, 1998), 5.

[2] Ibid., 73.

[3] We can see from recent events in the United States how powerfully “fake news” can influence public opinion.

[4] Lembcke, 4.

[5] Ibid., 29.

[6] Ibid., 76-83.

[7] Ibid., 2.

[8] Ibid., 81.

[9] Ibid., 78.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid.

Posted in gender studies, material culture, military, photographs, propaganda, racism, WWII

Victory Girls, Khaki-Wackies, and Patriotutes: The Regulation of Female Sexuality During World War II

Hegarty, Marilyn E. Victory Girls, Khaki-Wackies, and Patriotutes: The Regulation of Female Sexuality During World War II. New York: New York University Press, 2008.

Women’s bodies were nationalized and their sexuality militarized during WWII. While men’s bodies were drafted into battle, women’s bodies were called upon to support the war effort, in part, by maintaining servicemen’s morale.[1] More than 200,000 women served in the United States military during World War II, while over six million flooded the American workforce. Countless more supported the war effort through activities like selling war bonds and rationing.  Common knowledge of women’s contributions during the war often is limited to images of “Rosie the Riveter.”[2]  Hegarty’s Victory Girls, Khaki-Wackies, and Patriotutes presents a counter-narrative to the iconic Rosie the Riveter story. In addition to the socially acceptable roles women played during the war, tens of thousands of women supported the war effort by providing morale-boosting services to male soldiers that ranged from USO dances to more blatant forms of sexual services, such as prostitution.

While the de-sexualized Rosie was celebrated in the media, women who used their feminine wiles to serve their country faced discrimination and imprisonment from morals campaigns launched by government and social agencies. This double-standard was summed up by U.S. Public Health Service (USPHS) physician Otis Anderson, who dubbed these women “patriotutes” (part patriot, part prostitute), further blurring the line between patriotism and promiscuity (between “good” and “bad” women).[3] Advertisements and popular magazines contributed to these mixed messages by condemning promiscuity while at the same time encouraging female readers to make themselves sexually alluring to soldiers.

Authorities from government, military, health, and social reform agencies developed plans to protect the wartime state and male health by controlling what they perceived as dangerous female sexuality. They succeeded through linking prostitution with venereal disease.[4]  Even though many young women’s reputations were questionable, they were nonetheless mobilized by the state to serve the military’s needs. Hegarty points out that “[p]rostitution was illegal, promiscuity was immoral, female sexuality was dangerous, but sexual labor was essential to the war effort—a veritable catch-22.”[5] Policymakers (military and civilian) intensely debated whether to criminalize prostitution or regulate the practice by screening and licensing prostitutes.

There was not much consensus across the forty-eight states and territories. Hawaii had a longstanding and successful history of legalized prostitution, while many states shut down their brothels as soon as the May Act was implemented in 1941. Some advocates for prostitution regulation argued that policies would protect soldiers from disease and protect respectable women from soldiers. Authorities generally agreed that (white male) soldiers should not (or could not) be sexually restrained. Hegarty notes that one study suggested that men “often act with impunity because acts of aggression (including rape) are linked to traditional images of what it is to be a warrior, because of women being seen as men’s property, or because women fear to speak out.”[6] This study suggests that the warrior image these men embraced is to blame, for it promoted the mindset that soldiers have the right to rape women because that is what warriors do.

Silence around rape is a huge issue during wartime.[7] But women became the ones responsible for stopping unwanted advances.[8]  Hegarty points out that wartime statistics show that reported rapes increased, but those statistics are probably low. She writes, “It seems likely that, given the discourse of servicemen as victims and of girls and women as responsible for sexual control, many pressured sexual encounters were not defined as rape.”[9] This image of warriors as rapists is not an image that Americans will readily accept.

The belief that some bodies (female and nonwhite) were dangerous shaped government policies and social attitudes during World War II. Knowledge about deviance and disease was formed around preexisting assumptions regarding particular bodies. And because the disease in question was sexually transmitted, the bodies in question were constituted as dangerous, both morally and medically.[10] The campaigns to prevent sexually transmitted diseases from harming the health of the military focused primarily on controlling women; however, African Americans were also perceived as “sexually promiscuous” and came under scrutiny as well.[11] Hegarty sheds light on numerous biased health studies and treatments of African Americans, including the infamous Tuskegee Syphilis Study. She also repeatedly shows how authorities exempted white males from the same level of scrutiny given to females and minorities.

Governmental racist policies and regulations ensured that nonwhite men (civilian and military) were controlled and contained in a variety of ways. Hegarty asserts that within the segregated military, race-based sexual politics guaranteed that African American men and women suffered numerous personal and professional indignities. Citing one case in point, Hegarty explains that in the Caribbean, military officials allowed white servicemen to cohabit with Polynesian women, but black servicemen were prevented from doing so because offspring would be considered “undesirable citizens.”[12]

[1] Hegarty, 7.

[2] Sean Irwin, “Beyond Rosie the Riveter: Women’s Contributions During World War II,” The Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History, accessed December 15, 2016.

[3] Hegarty, 1.

[4] Ibid., 13.

[5] Ibid., 85.

[6] Ibid., 89.

[7] Sexual assault is, and has been, a huge issue in the United States military, for men and women. Numerous books and documentaries have been published on MSA (Military Sexual Assault) that both document the issues and provide assistance to survivors.

[8] Hegarty, 160-61.

[9] Ibid., 160.

[10] Ibid., 61.

[11] Ibid., 65.

[12] Ibid., 160.

Posted in censorship, gender studies, masculinity, material culture, military, photographs, propaganda, WWII

The Male Body at War: American Masculinity During World War II

Jarvis, Christina S. The Male Body at War: American Masculinity During World War II. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2004.

Jarvis explores images of masculinity during World War II and the years leading up to war in The Male Body at War.  Proposing that America’s idealized vision of the militarized white male body was a national symbol, her study compares connections between the emerging “powerful male ‘body politic’” and the United States’ “rising status as a world power.”[1] During these years, Uncle Sam was transformed from his slender World War I form into an imposingly broad-shouldered figure during World War II.[2] Images of Uncle Sam, America, and its men were transformed into powerful fighting machines.

Her argument is based on the idea that men were emasculated by the Great Depression. New Deal employment programs such as the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) and Work Projects Administration (WPA) aimed to reinvigorate the image of American manliness. Efforts intensified as the nation acquired a new sense of national purpose with its entry into the war.

Jarvis sheds light on how military medical boards implemented massive screenings to sort and categorize men in terms of their usefulness to the war effort. Relying on Michel Foucault’s definition of “technologies of power” that literally measure and codify “normality,” Jarvis shows how new understandings of deviance were constructed through medical examinations and how these classifications impacted larger society.[3]

The government restricted images of wounded and dead soldiers during the first two years of World War II.[4] Even though there were fewer than 300,000 battle deaths and approximately 671,000 servicemen suffered combat wounds, there were over 24 million hospital admissions during the war attributed to a wide range of maladies, such as malaria, dysentery, and “jungle rot.”[5] However, the true extent of the horrors of war were concealed from the public for much longer.  Jarvis notes that “American soldiers did not shed any blood in print” until May 14, 1945.[6]

Images of wounded soldiers that appeared in posters and advertisements tended to valorize warriors while simultaneously shaming citizens into giving more.[7] Images of wounded soldiers were also used to recruit women to enlist as nurses.[8]  Nevertheless, representations of wounded servicemen continued to be perceived as a threat to national manhood, so were tightly controlled by the OWI in cooperation with Hollywood studios. Representations of the physically disabled president were likewise controlled.[9] America’s soldiers and leaders represented the health of the nation and needed to stand strong.

[1] Jarvis, 4.

[2] Ibid., 35-44.

[3] Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punishment, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: Vintage Books, 1977).

[4] Jarvis, 97.

[5] Ibid., 91-92.

[6] Ibid., 89. Hitler committed suicide on April 30, 1945 and Germany surrendered on May 8th.

[7] Ibid., 100.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Ibid., 30-33.