Looking back at Ottawa’s Parliamentary Precinct

In April 2013, I reviewed a walking tour around the Parliamentary Precinct in Ottawa as part of the National Council on Public History‘s annual conference programme.  I re-read it today, the morning after Michael Zehaf-Bibeau’s attack that left one Canadian soldier dead and the precinct in lockdown for hours.  I did so with a sense of sadness, as the one of my enduring memories from that tour was the openness of the area and the low profile of the security measures.  It had the feel of a genuinely public place, suggesting a certain confidence in the institutions and in how people interacted with them.  Surveillance was present, but it wasn’t prominent – a deliberate strategy that had survived post-9/11 clampdowns.  This was the second attack in a week, and it was targeted at two sites of great national importance, historically, symbolically, politically: the war memorial and the Parliament.  What will be the legacy of the attacks on the openness and confidence of Canada’s Parliamentary Precinct?

Post-conference review #1: Canadian Parliamentary Precinct

The Canadian Parliamentary Precinct as Public History: Telling the Outside Story Walking Tour, April 17, 2013. NCPH Annual Meeting, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. Creators: National Capital Commission; Tour leader: Mark Kristmanson, Director, Capital Interpretation, Commemoration and Public Art.
As a hybrid of policy professional and historian interested in the role of history in political processes, this tour was first in my shopping basket when I registered for the NCPH conference in Ottawa. For me, parliamentary buildings and districts hold a magnetic appeal, making any visit to a capital city a busman’s holiday. As Stefan Berger reminds us, historians are, necessarily, always engaged in comparison. Such tours are, therefore, an opportunity for public historians to place comparative thinking—a dimension that remains relatively unexplored in the field—at the forefront of our minds. I should begin my comments by explaining that we weren’t taken on a standard tour of the precinct. Mark Kristmanson, Director of Capital Interpretation for the National Capital Commission (NCC), and his staff had thoughtfully put together what they termed a ‘meta-tour’: a combination of the historical interpretation itself, and an explanation of how visitor services are conceived and delivered. In other words, they knew their audience.
We walked down Lyon Street, under the “stripped-down art deco” arches of the Veterans’ Memorial Buildings to Wellington Street, part of the Confederation Boulevard: a ceremonial route that embraces the Ontario and Quebec shorelines of the Ottawa River (and itself an interesting public history concept). Following the Boulevard east, we were successively introduced to striking assemblages of architectural ideas about democracy, culture, and citizenship.
Part of the Confederation Boulevard map.   National Capital Commission.
Next, and on our left, the uncompromising “German/Italian Fascist” lines of Supreme Court came into view. The curved “Château”-style windowed roofs offer a notable contrast, and are attributed to the influence of the then Prime Minister, Mackenzie King, whose thirteen-year leadership (1935-1948) spanned the beginning of construction in 1939 and the first hearings in 1946.
The Supreme Court, taken from the Summer Pavilion. (Photo courtesy of Alix Green.)
Echoes of Edinburgh could be discerned in the stonework of government buildings, the cliff-top outlook making them all the more resonant for anyone who has seen images of the castle that presides over the Scottish capital. Central Block, the building in which the Senate and House of Commons meet, forms one side of a lawned quad, and features a clock tower unmistakably modelled on that which stands at the north end of the Palace of Westminster in London. As we stood there, a chime recognized across the world marked the hour on the day that Big Ben, the great bell housed in the Westminster tower, was silent for the funeral of former British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher. Visible from our vantage point were the round towers of the Château Laurier, distinct against the gothic lines of the East Block. These are the comments of an untrained eye, and the origin and mix of influences on the architecture of the Parliamentary Precinct would be an interesting addition to the tour. Partly inspired by this experience, I’m now developing a plan for comparative research on the architectural ideas of national capitals.
Comparative comments were, indeed, made by many of the participants about the openness of the area. We discussed with our guides the contested nature of the space: the arguments that had been made post-9/11 for cordoning off Parliament Hill and how those had been, thus far, resisted (camera surveillance being intense but invisible).
Central Block. Our guide explains about the on-going debates around security. (Photo courtesy  of Alix Green.)Although the majority of visitors to Ottawa are Canadians, foreigners call in disproportionate numbers on the services of the NCC (around thirty per cent). This may be a feature that parliamentary precincts share; how many of us choose to visit the seats of government in our own countries, compared to the numbers of foreign tourists? Perhaps disillusionment with politics, and national politics in particular, is a factor. Do we view the buildings in which our elected representatives convene in terms of politics, but those which house foreign chambers as historical parts of their national heritage?
We were told about a two-year pilot program undertaken by visitor services, which had led to individuals, located at key points, being replaced by pairs of “roving” guides—resulting in a five-fold increase in engagements. Students recruited from local universities provide many of the guides during high season. The demands on them to be proactive with visitors, and to tailor their interactions to very diverse needs, call on a range of high-level skills as well as on historical knowledge: certainly a valuable training for future public historians.
I had downloaded the NCC Capital Tour app before I arrived and it was interesting to hear from Mark after the tour about how the approach has evolved over time. Initially designed to package material by length of tour required, a new version will organize it situationally: where am I now and where can I go next? The new Wi-Fi zone on the Hill has made the apps more popular. What may seem a minor point is actually a substantive one. Apps can be regarded as a “must-have,” engaging a new, smart-phone-obsessed audience, but then the usability of an app on the ground may be overlooked: can it be downloaded quickly (and therefore relatively cheaply)? How effective is it in tracking the user’s movement? Can relevant additional content on external websites be accessed efficiently (tourist information, public transport, restaurants and so on)? Free, reliable public Wi-Fi makes a difference (especially for international visitors) and the case for linking public history services to wider initiatives around economic development and urban renewal would seem worth exploring.
As historians, we may be focused on and concerned about “content,” and that’s certainly important (the NCC app helpfully offers different levels of detail). But it’s not the only issue, as my conversation with Mark made clear. How to assemble content appropriately for consumption, and thereby serve very different interests and priorities, may actually be the more problematic question. This discussion also points to the deep connections between history and geography, time and place. Can there be a fruitful dialogue between public history and “public geography?”
The Parliamentary Precinct “meta-tour” gave a thought-provoking insight into the work of integrating visitor services with historic interpretation. That we only managed to fit in about four stops is testament to the high level of engagement of the assembled participants. I would happily have devoted a much longer time to this tour, being so tantalizingly close to a whole array of buildings and monuments, but unable to investigate in more depth. That is no criticism of our guides, more the regret of a confessed enthusiast (both for high politics and the historic built environment). I would have welcomed more of a historical perspective on the site, the references encoded in its design and a sense of its place in the history of Canadian (and Commonwealth) politics. It may, however, be impossible to meet such a wide range of expectations in full, and I would certainly commend NCC for accommodating those of visitors to Ottawa so thoughtfully.

via Post Conference Review #1: Canadian Parliamentary Precinct | Public History Commons.

‘It’s the mix that matters': new journal article on history and expertise for policymaking

Contemporary British History

Really pleased to see that my new article has gone ‘live': History as expertise and the influence of political culture on advice for policy since Fulton

Here’s the abstract:

The 1968 Fulton report made the case for reforming the civil service to meet the demands of modern government.  This article considers Fulton, and subsequent ‘failures’ to implement it, in the context of a changing political culture in Westminster that privileged political advice in policymaking and became ambivalent towards external expertise.  It explores whether the Fulton recommendation for the creation of policy planning units in government departments, staffed by a mix of outside experts and talented officials could be reimagined for present purposes, to include historians: history embedded in policymaking is proposed as an alternative to history presented to policymakers.

Keywords: government, policy advice, historians, public history, policymaking

***

Thanks must go to Prof. Ludmilla Jordanova, Prof. Owen Davies and Dr. Sarah Lloyd for their advice and support, and to the the anonymous reviewers for their careful and constructive comments.

‘It’s the mix that matters’ is borrowed from R. A. W. Rhodes, “The Governance Narrative: Key Findings and Lessons from the ESRC’s Whitehall Programme,” Public Administration 78, no. 2 (2000)

Historian with the Foreign & Commonwealth Office – a job with a history

Last week, the post of Historian with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office was advertised (with the strapline ‘If you’re passionate about the past and excited about the future, consider a role as a Historian in Whitehall’).  Historians in government are a very rare breed in Britain, at least in historical roles (historians have been taken on as generalists since the civil service professionalised – and came under pointed criticism as ‘amateurs’ for it from the late 1950s).  By contrast, historians working as historians are part of state and federal/provincial government structures in the USA and Canada; the US Society for History in the Federal Government has been around for over 30 years.

But perhaps we shouldn’t be too quick to assume that the grass is greener for colleagues across the pond.  Being a historian in government doesn’t necessarily mean you’re bringing historical thinking into the corridors of power (even walking said corridors doesn’t equal admission to the offices where the major policy decisions are taken).  The North American experience suggests recognition as a specialist can be a distinctly mixed blessing.  An expert’s influence can easily be limited to those questions relating directly to the area of expertise…

The role of the historian in government is often concerned with research and the management of records: cataloguing papers; editing documents and producing official histories for publication; responding to queries; writing briefing papers on historical topics.  In countries such as Canada and New Zealand, historians are also expert contributors to processes that address grievances and claims relating to the treatment of indigenous peoples.

The currently advertised job certainly fits with this editorial and curatorial profile.  But the FCO is a particularly interesting case, because a previous historian at the department made the transition from editor of official documents to historical adviser to the Minister.

Rohan Butler Credit: FCO

Rohan Butler Credit: FCO

Rohan Butler (1917-1996) worked at the Foreign Office from 1944, while also a Fellow of All Souls, Oxford.  He became Senior Editor of the Documents on British Foreign Policy in 1955, and, in 1959, he was commissioned to produce a history of the Abadan Crisis as part of a Whitehall initiative (‘funding experience’) to learn lessons from the past.

Peter Beck’s careful scholarship has revealed the work of historians at the Treasury and Foreign Office during this experiment.  Butler, however, managed to gain a position of influence as a historian (the Abadan history was finished in 1962 and Butler went on to become historical adviser to successive Foreign Secretaries until 1982) – something his Treasury colleagues never did.

Beck states that the Abadan history ‘fed into, guided, and influenced on-going discussions and reviews within Whitehall by juxtaposing the lessons of history, contemporary realities, and possible new directions for both foreign policy and methods.’[1]   Beck somewhat underplay’s Butler’s success, stating that it’s difficult to ascribe a ‘clear-cut outcome’ to the history.  But Butler’s work was informing the highest levels of decisionmaking.  He was, effectively, a policy adviser as well as a historian.

The job description for today’s FCO historian mentions ‘responding to requests for historical information and advice from Ministers, officials and the public’, but the prospect for a role such as Butler’s seems remote.  The salary of £26,363 – £32,834 is well below the range for special advisers and points, perhaps, to a role seen as ‘back-office’ rather than ‘core business’.

We may today lament that history has little influence on policymaking – it might be worth looking back at Butler for inspiration: a historian on the inside.

[1] Beck, ‘The Lessons of Abadan and Suez for British Foreign Policymakers in the 1960s’, p. 545.

See also: Beck, Using history, making British policy: the Treasury and the Foreign Office, 1950-76, (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006).

NB: Butler’s authoritative memorandum on the Katyn Massacre (produced in 1972 and printed for internal circulation in 1973) is now in the public domain with original footnotes and annexes.

Policy advisers: out of the top corridor and into the classroom?

1255_University_Corridors02

The university policy adviser is now a fixture in higher education.  At least, there are enough of us that we’re now getting organised.  There’s a large Political Affairs Network under the auspices of UUK that brings together policy, comms, strategy and related staff as well as a smaller, more informal collective of VCs’ policy advisers and exec officers, now named the Lighthouse Group (after Plymouth’s Caroline Chipperfield handed the attendees of the first get-together snazzy lighthouse phone charms).

We work to very different VCs with very different institutional aims, but in practice the similarities are surprisingly many.  One of the main similarities is also the source of one of the main challenges: we work in VCs’ offices.  Maybe not in physical terms that far from where the core business of the university happens, but sometimes it may as well be.  It would be relatively easy to stay in the bubble of the ‘top corridor’ and only interact with other parts of the university when we need a ‘crunchy’ case study for an MP’s briefing note, some figures for a speech or an amenable group of students for a ministerial visit.  That is of course a crude characterisation (all the HE policy advisers I’ve met have genuine dedication to their institutions).  And we do need access to – and the trust of – the executive team to be effective. But I wonder if that’s only half the argument.

Would we be better policy advisers if we were also part of ‘core business’?  More aware of operational realities, more part of the fabric of the place and more able to bridge the corporate and academic ‘levels’, both as advisers and advocates?

Some could get involved in teaching and supervision, building on (or developing) their academic credentials or team teaching to integrate their professional expertise on politics, government, journalism or management.  Others have come by different routes and could contribute to student administration, marketing or recruitment.  Of course, some of these roles would need significant commitment – a genuinely dual or hybrid role – whereas others could be fulfilled on a less formal basis.  And there would need to be mutual benefit and a collaborative approach – no-one would want a tokenistic effort that involved more trouble to accommodate than it was worth.

Personally, the best and most fulfilling thing I have done has been taking on an academic role.  It has clarified my sense of self and opened up a whole new future.  But even if you’re a dedicated follower of policy, getting some experience of ‘core business’ has got to be worth considering.  From the university’s perspective, why shouldn’t policy advisers be expected to  ‘practise what they brief’, if only to make them better advisers and advocates?  From the adviser’s perspective, we can develop that rare combination of profile and substance that is often lacking in politics (with the well-established special adviser route to ministerial status).

As I’ve argued before, it’s a shame that university systems and structures create parallel tracks for staff that make any such innovation difficult.  Making it happen relies on the entrepreneurship and enthusiasm of those involved (on both sides).  But maybe working on the ‘top corridor’ is only worth it if you also know how to work outside it.

The ‘endless rustle of the in-tray': finding time for historical thinking

Rohan Butler served as the Foreign Secretary’s historical adviser from 1963-82 and was one of the leading figures in the civil service’s post-war experiment in incorporating historical perspective into the business of policymaking.  His neat and evocative phrase ‘the endless rustle of the in-tray’ (cited by Peter Beck in his illuminating study of these experiments, in the the Treasury and Foreign Office, 1950-76) points to the difficulty of finding time for long view, big issue thinking when operational demands always seem to take precedence.  This means that in times of crisis (Butler was writing about Abadan), the need for ‘action under pressure’ cannot accommodate the considered thinking necessary for good decision-making.

The institutional culture of the government department – and the broader civil service – seems from Beck’s description (based on extensive archival research) to account in large measure for this operational mind-set.  But are we any better at “resisting the rustle” now, in universities, in businesses and other organisations?

Doing this blog is one way I try to step back and look for perspectives and connections that I’d otherwise miss.  And I struggle to find the time to do so, even though my express purpose is linking history with political and public life!  So sitting down and writing this now means consciously blocking my ears, knowing that the to-do list is growing as I type.

Self-help books often recommend setting aside some time on a regular basis for doing more strategic thinking (don’t turn the email on, ignore the phone etc.)  But such good intentions are unlikely to last.  And my sense is that keeping historical thinking going means making it part of “business”.  We often think that “diarising” something is a way of signalling its importance and securing its status in our lives.  But I think that tends instead to compartmentalise it, making it separate from our lives: moveable, interchangeable, containable.  In policy, this would entail integrating historical forms of enquiry into the broader process by which policy is developed, rather than seeking historical “evidence” as a bolt-on (if at all).  I think this approach has wider relevance too.  At its simplest, it could just be asking historical questions about how an issue’s emerged or the context for a decision.

But for now, the ear-muffs must come off…