On a site that brings light, and darkness, to a contested past.
No matter what you’re looking for in a summer daytrip, the twelve islands
and various boat excursions included in the Boston Harbor Islands National
Recreation Area probably offer it: secluded beaches and picnic areas,
hiking and camping
trails, kayaking, lighthouse tours,
whale watching and sunset cruises, and, yes, American history. Embodying the
latter is Fort Warren,
the National Historic Landmark located on Georges Island; the Fort’s history dates
to the early 19th century and includes 20th century
service during both World War I and World War II, before it was decommissioned
and turned into a historic site in the late 1940s; but it is most famous and interesting
for its role as both a Union Army training camp and a prison for
captured Confederates during the Civil War.
I have visited Fort Warren before, many years back, but when I took my sons
on a trip out to Georges Island and the Fort a couple months ago I noticed
something particularly impressive about its presentation of that Civil War
history. Many historic sites feel the understandable need to guide a visitor’s
experiences, to present numerous exhibits and placards, paths to follow and
interpretations with which to engage; since this here blog seeks (among other
goals) to add histories into our collective conversations of which (I believe)
many Americans are not aware, I can’t fault the sites for their own delineation
of salient histories. But in so doing, they run the risk of turning the site’s
once-living history into a lesson, of not allowing visitors to connect to what’s
there. Whereas at Fort Warren, where (outside of the visitor’s
center, which is separate from the historic site) there are very few
placards or interpretations of any kind, the visitor is asked to make his or
her own way through the site and its histories.
I saw first-hand how much my boys were able to connect to the Fort through
that open and un-guided (in the best sense) nature, and how much more it spoke
to them than any dry lesson could. Ironically, but tellingly, I felt that most
strongly in the places they were most hesitant to go—the Fort’s dark inner
tunnels, which even at noon on a summer day receive no sunlight and are not
artificially lit in any way. Even a step or two into those tunnels was enough
for my boys to hold back, recognizing perhaps one of the few places they have
yet encountered that is truly unknown, where anything might happen. Certainly
that feeling might approximate some part of the experience of being a prisoner,
at the Fort or anywhere. And just as certainly, it parallels the true nature of
historical investigation—where the more we connect to the past, the more we
realize how much we have to feel our way through, bringing whatever light we
can with us but open to where the tunnel leads. All lessons Fort Warren can
teach us, young and old.
Next daytrip tomorrow,
Ben
PS. Thoughts on this site? Other daytrips you’d highlight?
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