Every so often an op-ed or a manifesto appears that admonishes historians for retreating into the ivory tower, for talking and writing to each other rather than to policy makers and the broader public. Is this a fair critique? How does the terrain of public engagement by scholars today compare to that faced by previous generations?

Sinha: I think that is an unfair critique. Historians have always engaged the broader public, but the terrain of public engagement has grown exponentially in our digital age as have the numbers of historians who do public-facing work. We have gone well beyond the time when a single scholar acted as a “court historian” for a particular president or party. Think of Arthur Schlesinger, Jr. for President John F. Kennedy or, more recently, Sean Wilentz for the Clintons. When Barack Obama ran for president, hundreds of historians signed on to a document titled, “Historians for Obama.” During the Trump years, hundreds of historians and historical associations signed protests against particular policies of his administration.

Historians also made publicly available syllabi of books and articles to understand current events and put them in historical context. Think of the pioneering #CharlestonSyllabus, in which I participated, put together by Keisha Blain, Chad Williams, and Kidada Williams after the attack on the historic Charleston AME church in the summer of 2015. That model was followed by other historians responding to the United the Right Charlottesville rally in August in 2017, the cold-blooded murder of George Floyd in 2020, the debate over Confederate monuments, the rise of authoritarianism, and most recently the January 6th insurrection by Trump supporters, to name a few.

Historians are also often criticized for writing arcane, academic books while independent scholars write immensely popular history books for a larger audience. Again, that is not entirely correct, as many of us write history books with one foot in academia and the other in a broader public. And many historians have started writing op-eds and opinion pieces to convey some of their work to a broader reading audience and speak out on current political issues. Others have partnered with journalists to popularize cutting-edge scholarship, such as in the much-debated 1619 Project or in the Slate series on slavery and Reconstruction. Some historians have been pretty savvy with current digital media, developing their own podcasts or partnering with public institutions to produce digital and film content that goes beyond the occasional PBS documentary series. We also see a proliferation of e-journals and newspapers produced in partnerships between historians and journalists. Some journalists, like Jamelle Bouie of The New York Times, consistently base their columns on historical scholarship. In short, there are many avenues for historians to reach a broader public today.

Kruse: Maybe the cliché about the “ivory tower” once reflected reality, but there has long been a mandate in the historical profession to engage with the public. Think C. Vann Woodward and John Hope Franklin dispelling myths about segregation in the Brown era, or William Appleman Williams tackling foundational assumptions about U.S. foreign policy during the Vietnam War. As Carl Becker chided in his presidential address to the AHA nearly a century ago, “The history that lies inert in unread books does no work in the world.”

And today's historians are more engaged than ever before. Partly this is due to a proliferation of media outlets and, with the rise of Twitter and Facebook, the realization that we're all our own media outlets, too. But at the same time, there's a real desire in an era of “unprecedented” events to have historians inform the national conversation.

Hemmer: This has always struck me as an odd complaint. Although it was never the case that historians were entirely cloistered in the ivory tower, it is true that, as few as fifteen or twenty years ago, they did much less public engagement. But they did so not because the profession was full of individual scholars who disdained public engagement, but because there were few incentives (and limited opportunities) to do so. Hiring, tenure, and promotion committees rewarded scholarly publications, not public ones; national reporters and editors had at most one or two high-profile historians in their Rolodexes; engagement with local publics gained no notice from the profession more broadly; and the image of historical expertise was predominantly white and male, limiting opportunities for women and people of color in the profession.

Significant structural changes in the profession and media have changed that. Not all to the good: many scholars find themselves turning to public engagement in the hopes that it will create career paths no longer provided by the academy. But there's also more opportunity, thanks to digital and social media, the rise of podcasts, and sites like Black Perspectives, Made by History, and Contingent Magazine.

One other shift worth mentioning is the different hierarchies produced by the academy versus the new public engagement. The academy is rigidly hierarchical in terms of professional rank and institutional prestige. Social media can disrupt those hierarchies, but we shouldn't think of them as flattening or erasing hierarchies. Instead, they produce their own hierarchies of influence, determined by follower counts and influence networks (like regular engagement from high-status accounts). These hierarchies of influence are more permeable than the academy's hierarchies, but they are still shaped by race, gender, and ideas of institutional prestige.

Lee: It can be argued that some historians have always been public scholars who have contributed to contemporary debates, lobbied for or against specific policies, helped to establish museums and other organizations, and more. But it does seem that more and more contemporary historians view public engagement as not only important to their work, but also central to it. In 2017, I helped manage a group of immigration historians affiliated with the University of Minnesota's Immigration History Research Center and the Immigration and Ethnic History Society to create the #ImmigrationSyllabus. This was not just an intellectual exercise. We explicitly sought to provide essential historical context to the xenophobic and racist misinformation promoted by newly elected President Trump. More recently, many of us have come together to form the Migration Scholar Collaborative, which seeks to not only connect scholars to journalists, law makers, and thought leaders, but also decriminalize migration and open wide pathways to legal immigration in the United States. We see this engagement in our graduate students as well. They are increasingly seeking training in writing op-eds, public history and digital humanities work, and advocacy.

Who is identified as a respected public scholar and how this work is measured and valued by the profession, however, remain uneven. Who has the power and privilege to be considered public scholars? Whose work and opinions are sought after by policy makers and the broader public? Is publicly engaged and public-facing work understood and rewarded as research? Or is it just something “extra” that some of us do? These are among the important questions that we all need to keep in mind as we consider both the opportunities and the perils of public engagement.

Kendi: I do think it is a fair critique for the historians who are only engaging other historians (if the critic recognizes that there are many historians who are engaging the broader public and policy makers in different ways). But among those historians who are only engaging other historians, I think it is important to realize that these historians are doing what they were trained to do, and often incentivized to do. It is easy to attack individual historians. But I think these critiques should also consider the training and incentive structure of the discipline of history.

In addition, I agree there are more avenues today for the public engagement by scholars than previous generations. There are more writing outlets, more broadcast outlets, more trade press publishers open to publishing scholars. But it also seems to be the case that the legitimacy of scholarship and scholars has been questioned as more women, queer, and people of color have entered the public discourse as scholars. As such, there may be both more opportunity than ever for public engagement, and also more condemnation when scholars engage the public.

For those who have not written for newspapers, built a popular Twitter presence, gone on television or otherwise engaged in public-facing work, can you describe the range of reactions scholars who engage in these activities should be prepared to face? Do different kinds of engagement spur different kinds of reactions? How does a scholar's identity (their perceived gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, etc.) shape the kinds of reception they receive?

Lee: Hate mail, trolling, threats, and more. I've experienced all of these. And women of color are disproportionately attacked in these ways compared to their white male colleagues. This does not mean that we should be intimidated into not speaking out. It does mean that we should be prepared for these reactions and know how we might respond.

Kendi: I think scholars should be prepared for many people disagreeing with their “opinions.” Which is to say when scholars speak from evidence and expertise, they should expect some people to dismiss the evidence and expertise in order to dismiss the scholars’ research-based insights. Scholars should be expected to be cast not as researchers and thinkers but as political operatives and ideologues. And that's when those reacting to scholars’ research are not being mean-spirited. I can't tell you how many times—and in how many different ways—people have called me stupid and divisive. But that's because I study one of the most politically charged issues—racism—and it's because I'm Black. I suspect the more politically charged the issue that the scholar is researching, the more virulent the response, especially as a member of a maligned group. As bad as I get it—from the hate mail to the haters—I'd likely get it even worse if I was a woman of color. Studies show that on social media, women, and especially women of color, are the most likely to receive hostile messages and reactions.

Hemmer: It can be a heady and edifying experience to engage in public-facing work. People write to you with their personal stories and struggles, and at times with serious inquiries and thoughtful reflections. It can connect you to people and ideas you wouldn't otherwise encounter. And representation matters too: women have written me after events or public appearances to say how much it means to them to see a young woman taken seriously as a political and historical expert.

Okay, that's the good stuff. But I write about conservatism and the far-right, and those topics can bring out a wave of negative, even revolting, responses. I've dealt with everything from insults to death threats and, as a woman, every kind of gendered slur you can imagine. Sometimes, it goes further: once, on a live televised call-in show, a caller weighed in with some graphic sexual comments that soured an otherwise fun experience doing publicity for my first book. That came the same week that Rush Limbaugh dismissed me as an “info-babe” and, not coincidentally, the same week that the notorious Access Hollywood tape became public. I realized at that time that this would be the cost of continuing to engage publicly: I would have to weather, and harden myself to, regular waves of harassment.

Yet I also know that I'm spared some of the most vicious engagement because I am a white, cis U.S. citizen from a Christian background. Because so much harassment these days is public, I witness the vitriolic, racist, antisemitic attacks my colleagues face, and know it could be so much worse.

Sinha: I can speak to this from personal experience when I started writing for a popular audience in the mainstream press during President Obama's first campaign in 2007. I remember I wrote an article for The Huffington Post comparing Obama to Lincoln and Hillary Clinton to William H. Seward. Soon numerous historians and journalists started doing the same and mostly without attribution. I quickly learned that unlike careful academics, journalists and, at times, scholars pick up ideas from the public sphere without attributing them to the original source. During the Obama Presidency, I started writing for numerous outlets, from The New York Times to CNN. Some were political pieces, and some showcased my scholarship on a new history of abolition. Suddenly journalists started contacting me frequently for my opinions on historical as well as current events. But as a rule, women and especially women of color are undercited and not approached frequently for their “expert opinion.”

On the eve of the publication of my book on abolition, I was asked by my publishers to start a Twitter account to publicize it. I had a Facebook account to connect with family and friends throughout the world, but Twitter was a new medium for me. This was precisely the time that Trump had started weaponizing Twitter for his political purposes, so I was wary. On Twitter I soon found myself drawn to political arguments, especially if I had written a popular piece on current politics. Twitter tends to encourage confrontation, and it is particularly unforgiving to women, especially women of color, and minorities. One can, though, find community among different groups, historians, those interested in politics like me, and I love #blacktwitter. I developed a trademark with my tweets generally beginning with “Historian here …” to correct historical misinformation. Nevertheless, I would argue that only those with thick skins should venture into the medium, and I would caution them not to spend too much time on it as it can be a real time suck. I tend to limit my daily time on social media to a couple of hours.

I joined my town Facebook community group precisely because I read that Facebook's, now Meta's, tolerance for right-wing disinformation had allowed Republican extremists to take over local community pages to spread disinformation about the pandemic and the last presidential elections under the pretense of being “nonpartisan.” I saw that dynamic immediately in my town page in Sturbridge, Massachusetts, and began responding regularly to posts or comments making false claims. The site's administrators allow right-wing Trumpers to post all sorts of material, and when I showed Trump supporters waving the Confederate and Nazi flags in response, they threw me out for posting a swastika on the town page! When I questioned their decision, they responded variously that since I posted a “swatisa” or “swasticka” even if it was an actual instance of Trump supporters flying those flags, I could not be let back in. Not only did they refuse to acknowledge the context, but their willful ignorance was captured in their misspelling. I have now experienced personally how right-wing, neofascist groups enabled by Republicans sow misinformation and censor content on social media, something I had just read about. I guess they thought I had become too effective in exposing their lies.

Kruse: When we engage with the public, we engage with all of it. While sometimes people take the time to send in thanks and praise, more often than not it's the angry ones who call, email, or comment. We have to have a slightly thick skin to do this work, or at least an ability to shrug off the complaints of cranks.

In my experience, engaging on politics leads to the predictable partisan bickering, but engaging on matters of race relations brings out the worst elements. I'm sure that scholars working on other hot-button issues—gender and sexuality, abortion, etc.—would have similar experiences.

A scholar's identity absolutely shapes the reception. As a straight, white male, I know I get maybe 1 percent of the garbage that comes to colleagues who don't check all those demographic boxes. That's one of the reasons I engage—I know someone in my position has no excuse not to.

Have you discovered effective ways to cope with the uglier side of public engagement? What advice would you give a young scholar who is considering putting their work and expertise out there?

Hemmer: The first bit of advice is that it's okay to disengage. Right now, one of the costs of the regular public engagement is a thick skin, and it's okay to consider that too high a price to pay.

But there are many rewards for engaging various publics, so some advice: choose audiences who are meaningful to you and with whom you'd like to be in conversation. That will allow you to create more thoughtful spaces of engagement. Also, build communities with other scholars who are engaged with public work, so you have people you can lean on to strategize and commiserate as needed. Figure out if your institution will back you if you're under threat, and if not, find organizations and associations that can provide support.

And a practical bit of advice: if you're in the midst of a wave of attacks, know that there is often a very intense period when it feels like the whole world is watching you drown. Those moments pass more quickly than we think they will, but those are the exact moments when it's best to unplug. Find a trusted friend who can monitor your email and social media, deleting and blocking abusive comments and flagging any serious threats for campus and local authorities (if you're comfortable having those authorities involved).

Kendi: I don't read the comments sections on articles. I don't read the hate mail. I don't listen to the threatening phone calls. And no matter how ugly it gets, I don't stop engaging the public. Expect the ugliness when your research challenges power or the status quo or conventions. But appreciate the beauty of the change your engagement with the public can bring.

Kruse: I try to find the humor in it, tweaking critics on Twitter and things like that. A lot of the pushback is meant to shame and silence us, and I think we have to do what we can to stand our ground.

Occasionally, I try to turn lemons into lemonade. After publishing an article on the history of voter suppression in Georgia, for instance, I received a couple voicemails calling me a “n---- lover.” At first I shrugged it off, but then I posted the audio on Twitter, using it to raise $10k in donations for a voting rights group in Georgia.

For young scholars, I'd first remind them that tenured faculty like me have more safety and security than early-career scholars, especially those who are on the market or working in precarious positions. So I wouldn't present myself or anyone else senior as a model for them to follow in every way. Social media, in particular, can be a minefield.

But I hope that they'll still engage with the public where they can, through traditional avenues like op-eds and articles, as well as new forms of digital media. There's a real hunger for history out there, and while educating the general public is its own reward, it can also be a terrific way to generate interest in your larger work and make connections to other scholars, journalists, and policy makers, too.

Sinha: In 2018, I wrote a couple of articles on Trump's impeachment, comparing him to Andrew Johnson, the southern racist who had succeeded Lincoln after his assassination. The one I wrote on CNN was the most downloaded article on its website for that day, which CNN told me was unusual for a non-news article. It also garnered me a death threat and quadrupled my Twitter following. The death threat was serious, leading to a Massachusetts warrant for the arrest of a man in Texas, who apparently had outstanding warrants in three other states. It was a scary moment for me with my local police patrolling my house and putting a camera in my driveway and the campus police at UConn on high alert. This was the time I considered briefly tamping down my public-facing work, especially if it threatened me, my family, and my colleagues. But my husband, who is German, pushed back, arguing that this is exactly how the Nazis cultivated conformity by scaring dissenters into silence. So I stayed on Twitter and continued to write in mainstream media on political issues. I did however refuse to go on the Tucker Carlson show, whose producer contacted me, saying I wanted no more death threats from their viewers! Recently, the conservative Campus Reform site reached out to me to comment on Elon Musk's takeover of Twitter. I did not respond, mainly because I did not want my words misconstrued or taken out of context in bad faith. We have to choose when to engage and when not to act as fodder for trolls and right-wing media.

I think social media including Twitter can be helpful to historians who want to publicize their work or engage politically. And at times, academic Twitter can be helpful if you put out a public call for help looking for sources or secondary material. But it also has some pitfalls as we have seen. Some have been penalized and even fired for expressing their political opinions in their personal Twitter feed. But I know of colleagues elsewhere who have to be far more careful. I would also caution young scholars that, since their social media is public, to be mindful of how they may be perceived by prospective employers in a very bad job market and to be careful in choosing how much of their scholarship they want to put out there. If journalists at times scoop each other, academics are known to steal ideas without attribution from junior scholars, especially women of color.

Do you ever wrestle with the line between scholarly expertise and advocacy on the one hand and political opinion and activism on the other?

Kruse: All the time. It can be a little difficult to separate the two—like many historians, I'd imagine, my political take on the present is deeply informed by my understanding of past politics, of what was tried and what wasn't, of what succeeded and what failed, etc. But it's vital that we don't let partisan blinders obscure our vision and it's just as crucial (perhaps more so) that we call out the shortcomings of our own side as well as the other.

Sinha: As a trained historian, I was always encouraged to present my work based on evidence objectively and not to wear my politics on my sleeve. But of course we all know that historians are human beings influenced by the times they write in and the values they cherish. A conservative group once listed a course I teach, “The Radical Tradition in the United States,” as indoctrinating “Marxism” when I discussed the American Revolution, abolition and the Civil Rights Movement, feminism, and the American labor movement. My sense is that one is accused of political activism even when one may not indulge in it overtly in the classroom. And of course, the pose of objectivity and even-handedness makes its own political statement in subjects like slavery and imperialism when one cannot “both sides” an issue.

A good friend of mine often says, “History is the activist's muse,” and I realized the truth of his statement when I was called on repeatedly to comment on or give my opinion on the taking down of Confederate statues and flags. I had advocated that since the 1990s when the NAACP had a boycott of the state of South Carolina for flying the Confederate battle flag on its state grounds. Many of my fellow Civil War historians disagreed with me. But thanks to the Movement for Black Lives and activists who rose in opposition to organized groups of racist terrorists, even the Confederate statues on Monument Mile in Richmond, statues that I never thought would be removed, have come down. History gives us a map to understand our present and chart our future. At a time when the teaching of history itself is under attack by right-wing reactionary forces who want to censor topics, teachers, and indoctrinate students, we would be remiss as historians and scholars not to wade into these political debates. The “history wars” have always existed, since the end of the Civil War and later over the National History Standards in the 1990s and the Enola Gay controversy. But recently they have been weaponized politically to a much greater extent. As historians, it behooves us to enter the trenches especially in this case.

Hemmer: It can be very tempting to play pundit instead of scholar, because social media in particular reward flip commentary and dunking more than considered reflection. That said, there are tremendous rewards for advocacy—and activism and political opinion—that is informed by scholarly expertise. (The lines between these different categories are rarely starkly drawn.)

I write a weekly column and have two regular podcasts, and it can be tempting to slip into punditry, which is easier than scholarship. I have to regularly remind myself that I don't need to weigh in on every controversy or outrage, and that my competitive advantage is my scholarly expertise, and that it should inform my activism and opinion.

I'm also a scholar of media, so I think and write a lot about the platforms that historians use for public engagement. That has led me to pull back on my use of social media sites like Twitter and outlets like cable news, because my scholarship suggests that, while these have broadened the number of voices contributing to political debate, they have also been corrosive to that debate. I'm still not sure what the right balance is—I suspect it is something I will be navigating and renegotiating throughout my career.

Kendi: Some people think scholars should sit on the sidelines of history and just produce knowledge for the sake of knowledge. I disagree. Some people imagine that scholars should not sit at political tables and speak from their research about the new policies and structures needed to address a human ill. And when they do, scholars are expressing a political opinion and engaging in activism. I disagree. It is a radically different scenario when an interest group is condemning a policy out of self-interest and a scholar is condemning a policy based on her research. It is a radically different scenario when an interest group wages an activist campaign to stop that policy that is against its interests, and when a scholar lends her research expertise to a group of activists striving to defeat what the scholar's research has deemed to be a harmful policy. I think the time has come for scholarship and expertise to shape policy making and the political discourse around it—and not the political interests of benefactors, politicians, and ideologues.

Are college administrations, professional societies, and other institutions doing enough to enable their members to speak freely and safely in public? Are there collective responses to harassment campaigns that might be pursued?

Kendi: This is a hard question to answer. Of course, college administrations, professional societies, and other institutions can be doing more to protect their members. But it is hard to say what that more should be. Should it be strengthening libel, defamation, and harassment laws in a way that they can't be weaponized against academic freedom and free speech? Should it be working with social media companies to stymie the spread of disinformation, misinformation, and trolling? Should it be trainings for members on how to protect themselves? All of the above? It is hard to say precisely.

Lee: When my most recent book, America for Americans: A History of Xenophobia in the United States, was first published in 2019, I was profiled by a leading white supremacist organization and called out as someone who “hated white America.” The site published several photos of me and listed my contact information at the University of Minnesota. I started receiving constant hate emails and other forms of online harassment. My first response was to inform my department chair to alert them that the department might also receive hate mail and messages. It did not dawn on me to ask for help or support. To their credit, my chair immediately contacted college administrators and they started the process of helping me secure my email and share resources about how I might protect myself from online harassment. There were many people available to help me, but no central place where faculty and students could receive guidance themselves. Now there is. The university now has clear guides and resources offering support to victims of online harassment. Check to see if your university has similar resources. If not, ask for them. Online harassment has become increasingly common as states and localities pass laws limiting the teaching of core elements of American history.

Kruse: It does vary by institution. Private institutions like my own are a bit insulated from the pressures that are all too familiar in public universities, where the involvement of state officials and the oversight of public agencies often land engaged scholars in hot water. Too often, administrators at these institutions don't understand that, while some of these complaints are organic, many more are orchestrated campaigns of manufactured outrage seeking to punish a professor—campaigns that rely on the unwitting help of university officials. Deans and presidents need to stand by their faculty members, and not rush to disciplinary actions or public condemnations that they might soon regret.

Sinha: I think college administrators and institutions of higher learning like to always follow the path of least resistance, even though they often pay lip service to diversity. Today, when academic freedom and a sustained attack by the right to constrain and dictate the teaching of history are well underway, we need a far more proactive response from colleges and universities to protect faculty and students. Generally, historical associations and professional societies have done a much better job of this as they are faculty-governed institutions. But we all need to do much better and speak out against systematic campaigns to harass and silence the most vulnerable among us, such as contingent faculty, graduate students, junior untenured faculty, faculty of color, and other minority groups. Institutions surely can provide support and protection for faculty and students beyond individuals, legally as well as creating a safe haven for intellectual inquiry.

Hemmer: In my experience, institutions love the prestige of having their scholars appear in major media outlets but are much less invested in protecting scholars from the harassment campaigns that can follow. Institutions tend to be reactive and prefer to protect the status quo, and scholars pay the price for that. This is especially true for contingent scholars without the protection of tenure (though we have seen in recent years that tenure is not as sacrosanct as we'd like to think it is).

Administrators and professional societies should be much more proactive in creating resources and protocols for responding to harassment campaigns, ones that are primarily concerned with protecting the scholar's safety and academic freedom. They should also take the time to study and understand the anatomy of a harassment campaign, so they can better understand the dynamics that the institution and the scholar are navigating.

Despite the hazards, why do you continue to engage so publicly? Why is it important, and what have been some of the most impactful or rewarding moments for you?

Lee: I think that most of us hope that our work—whether it be in our published scholarship, teaching, or service—has a broad impact. As a historian who writes and teaches Asian American and immigration history—two topics that are often invisible in K-12 curriculum and in the broader public's understanding of American history—engaging with diverse public audiences has always been a goal for me. I've been fortunate to share my expertise by testifying before Congress, participating in documentary films, writing op-eds, and appearing in the news media. I've also enjoyed leading teacher workshops and consulting with museums. I view this work as just as—if not more—important than the “traditional” work of the historian.

Kendi: I engage publicly because I'm committed to producing public scholarship. While public scholars are directly known by the public, public scholarship directly impacts the lives of the public. I was also trained in Black Studies, which is committed not only to academic excellence but social responsibility. To me, this social responsibility is using my expertise and platform as a scholar to not only study racism but abolish it.

Hemmer: Public engagement is a core part of my career, which has developed outside of the traditional tenure-track path. Though it carries some risks, it has also allowed me to bring my scholarship to the center of national debates over politics and media and to shape how people understand conservatism and the far right. The most rewarding moments of my career have been those when I have been able to bring scholarly insights to intense public debates.

As a scholar of the far right and a journalist covering the white-power violence in Charlottesville, Virginia, in 2017, I was able to help people make sense of the horrific displays of racism, antisemitism, and violence that unfolded there. I've been able to help explain the growing political power of Fox News and far-right media outlets and put the insurrection at the Capitol in historical context. In some of the most intense and alarming moments of the past several years, I've had an opportunity to offer a historical context at a time when people have been desperate for some framework to understand perplexing events.

I've also been able to connect with graduate students and early-career scholars about using public engagement to shape their careers and widen the number of opportunities available to them. With so few opportunities available within the academy, and so few tenured professors familiar with the new media landscape, that has been a particularly meaningful part of my public engagement: finding ways to help other scholars build rewarding (and remunerative) careers that blend public engagement and scholarship.

Kruse: As much as doctors have an obligation to speak out against anti-vaccine conspiracies or climate scientists have an obligation to dispute the denialists in their field, I believe that historians have a duty to use our special expertise to inform the general public about the historical record and to dispel the growing mass of misinformation that is out there. There's a hunger for history, and if professional historians don't address it, then the vacuum will be filled by amateur partisans who want to twist the past for their present needs.

Sinha: Yes, as a U.S. historian, the events of the recent past have convinced me that it is virtually a civic duty for us to engage publicly, even if it comes at the cost of some hazards, online abuse, and threats. At a moment when our democratic institutions, when American democracy itself, is under threat, I cannot imagine maintaining a public silence. The “politics of silence” is complicity at its worst and apathy at its best. I realize that it may not be easy for some for whom the cost of public engagement may be far greater than to me. And it is really an individual decision on how we may enact our principles and conscience. But in the age of global digital social media, I think historians and scholars can play a special role in combating misinformation and hate.

Perhaps the most rewarding and impactful engagement for me has been amplifying voices and perspectives that are generally ignored in mainstream U.S. media. The democratization of media has its pitfalls, as in the massive uptick in disinformation and state surveillance and censorship, but it can also be an empowering experience for activists and scholars whose voices may never have been heard otherwise.