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The summer of protests which began with George Floyd’s murder at the hands of a white police officer in May 2020 reignited a national reckoning with the complicated story of race in America. America’s history of and enduring manifestations of systemic racism clash with American foundational principles of freedom and equality. One way in which this reckoning has manifested is in increased attention to monuments honoring controversial historical figures, particularly those with records of racist beliefs, attitudes, and actions, including slavery. In this thesis, I propose a guiding system of inquiry by which a controversial statue may be comprehensively evaluated and thoughtfully addressed. It drives at the heart of the issue by identifying and categorizing the six most significant and relevant attributes of the statue, with the ultimate goal of properly contextualizing a proposal for action. In order to test the efficacy of this evaluative model, I have selected the statue of Thomas Jefferson at the University of Missouri as a case study.
In this thesis, I trace the history of the Salvadoran-American gang Mara Salvatrucha, also known as MS-13. I argue that the blame for MS-13 does not lie on immigrants and youth making bad choices, but rather that United States government policy is to blame for the formation and growth of MS-13. In order to argue this point, I analyze US policy including mass incarceration, policing, deportation, and involvement in El Salvador.
An entire decade of films that emerged from the Hollywood system during the blockbuster era of the 1980s is often summed up as one marked by a “curious and disturbing phenomenon of children’s films conceived and marketed largely for adults — films that construct the adult spectator as a child, or, more precisely, as a childish adult, an adult who would like to be a child.” If it is possible, as film theorist Siegfried Kracauer proposed, that “in recording the visible world — whether current reality or an imaginary universe — films … provide clues to hidden mental processes,” what are we to deduce about the mental processes of the American public who would pay to sit in a movie theater and watch Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) or Rambo: First Blood (1982) for multiple viewings? In addressing this questions it may be helpful to turn again to Krakauer, who reminds us that a box office “hit may cater only to one of many co-existing [mass] demands, and not even a very specific one,” and that even if one could draw conclusions about the “peculiar mentality of a nation” by analyzing the “pictorial and narrative motifs” of box office hits, this “by no means implies a fixed national character.” This is a key insight because it implies a diverse national character composed of mass demands that remain unmet by the “children’s films” produced for adults which remain emblematic of Hollywood during the 1980s. In this thesis, I argue that the mainstream Hollywood film Beverly Hills Cop contradicts this notion because it employs sophisticated strategies to work as resistance against the dominant American cultural ideologies of the mid-1980s. I briefly contextualize the film in its historical and cultural setting. Then, I analyze three narrative aspects of the film. First, I begin with the various interactions Eddie Murphy’s character Axel Foley has with several “gatekeepers” throughout the film. Next, I analyze a scene in which Foley is assaulted by Sgt. Taggart of the Beverly Hills Police Department. Finally, I analyze Foley’s relationships with the supporting characters Mikey and Jenny. Beverly Hills Cop is one of the most popular and successful American films of the 1980s. Its subversiveness suggests the possibility that a host of other popular films from the decade are similarly sophisticated. This points to the need for a reexamination of a decade of American cinema that has been cast as “children’s films conceived and marketed largely for adults.”
"The Silver Age of American Comics, Then and Now" is an exploration of a certain period in the history of American comics. It began with the creation of the Comics Code Authority in 1954, which censored comics to stamp out any content that might incite children to delinquency. Even today, though the era has passed and the Code is defunct, its effects continue to influence how the general public understands comics. Why was censorship deemed necessary? What stories were created in response to the new paradigm? Why did it go away? What does it even matter now? All these questions and more are explored herein.
History is written by the winners. The losers’ narrative ends with the downfall of their civilization. Right now, the winners writing and teaching American history are setting up the next generation for failure. Instead of honing in on the structural landmarks that made the United States a shining city upon a hill, as most victors that would look to perpetuate prosperity would do, many institutions of higher education in charge of teaching our history imbue shame and skepticism of our past into our curriculum. By focusing on the atrocities of American history from an out-of-context modern perspective, we are teaching our young adults that monumental institutions deserve to be torn down, not venerated or improved for modern times. In my research for the Center for American Institutions, I have discovered that the winners that have captured academia and American history subscribe to corrosive tenets rooted in postmodernism and subjective victimhood. Postmodern American historians believe objective truth and knowledge collected over the centuries should be held in radical skepticism because of its origins in a society formed in oppressive systems of hierarchies. After discarding much of our history because progress did not happen fast enough, contemporary American historians believe in constructing a culture that emphasizes an equitable, multiracial democracy rooted in intersectionality, an ideology which has its proponents looking to align itself on vertices of identity—both real and perceived— in search for victimhood and offense. After examining syllabi that displayed this ideology in an empirical study, I examine evidence of this ideology worming itself into history, before spilling off college campuses and into our daily lives. Amplified by social media algorithms, extremist factions on both sides of the political spectrum have been empowered by our academic institutions to abandon the pursuit of truth and our history to construct the culture as they see fit. The casualties in this war over history and culture are too numerous to count, but perhaps the most the most costly one is the Generation Z. By teaching a history that shames instead of empowers, our newest generation enters the political fray unprepared for reasonable civil discourse, interprets such discussions as personal attacks, and feeds the polarized dichotomy destroying our political culture. Beyond our politics, the teaching of history—along with factors like the decline of freedom to play and a concerted focus to aim children towards higher education among others— has resulted in a generation of fragile, anxious, and unprepared individuals that stand ready to be hoodwinked by life, instead of embracing it. My thesis seeks to not only present these problems to you, but to present a model of a solution, a way to tell our history from a winning perspective. My model syllabus strengthens debate, encourages participation in our discourse, and strives to equip students with the tools they need to thrive in America’s vibrant civic culture. America is a winning country and idea, one which deserves to be perpetuated for as long as possible: we should teach our young people to embody this idea and succeed rather than confuse them with a pessimistic portrayal.