Geoffrey Allen
Contributing Writer
They say you either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. But what happens when you become a villain after death? Many of history’s idealized heroes face scrutiny by the discovery of their wrongdoings, regardless of their good deeds. This is in large part due to “Cancel Culture,” a phenomenon that does not discriminate based on background. This unique type of culture has even reached the discipline of humanities, specifically anthropology, through one of its major contributors: Alfred Louis Kroeber.
In the summer month of July last year, the University of California Berkeley’s Chancellor Carol T. Christ and her Naming Building Review Committee received a proposal to remove the late anthropologist’s name from the academic hall where he once taught for over 40 years. This was all done, according to the chancellor, “[to] help Berkeley recognize a challenging part of our history, while better supporting the diversity of today’s academic community.” Without the ability to speak for the dead, the proposal to unname Kroeber from the hall was unanimously approved and removed at the end of January on their campus. While he may still be a part of history, Kroeber’s name sign is now in a box, with a fate unknown where it may be taken to.
However, a bottomless pit of fears for one’s legacy is not the only dilemma at hand. This hits close to home for many social scientists, because of Kroeber’s many contributions to the various disciplines, methods of fieldwork, as well as to the outlook people today may have on Native American tribes such as the Ohlone native people of the region where the university stands. Furthermore, these administrative actions provoke many open ended questions. Was this a just act? What will this event affect how we see academic contributors and their work in the future? And lastly, what impact can this make across the country in our small liberal arts College of Wooster?
Born in the New York City area, Kroeber, during his time as a student at Columbia, was inspired by the linguistic works of another notable anthropologist, Franz Boas, on Native American languages. Inspired, Kroeber headed West to become who we now know as the founder of the Berkeley Anthropology department, as well as to bring a new perspective in the anthropological study of Native Americans in the West. His primary fieldwork was focused on Salvage Anthropology — a line of anthropological work that is done in an attempt to preserve “declining” cultures such as the Native Californians. His ethnographic research led to many breakthroughs in the field including the innovation of the wax cylinder machine to make recordings of language and music found during fieldwork.
Both sides of this case make reasonable arguments — whether it is supporting the unnaming of A.L. Kroeber or claiming it was an exaggerated politically correct agenda — make great points in defending their cases. Yet, most people are afraid to admit that the removal of Kroeber’s name is just symbolic change, and nowhere as effective as a complete change in policy. As the proposal supporter notes, this was merely a “first step” in acknowledging those who “participated in the dehumanization of Native Americans.” It is important to note that disciplines like anthropology were products of colonialism and are still bound to the hierarchical relations found in both systems despite the many reforms it has had since even Kroeber’s time.
After all, many members of the Berkeley community have pointed out that much of this is “less about passing judgment on Alfred Kroeber,” but more about bringing attention to the greater errors of Native American genocide. Perhaps this may serve as a lesson for those who make history to accept that their contribution may become vilified or forgotten, but the work they leave is far more important in advancing humanity as a whole. That said, his flaws are something that should not be used as a model, and someone else deserves better recognition than him for that title.
Why would this still be relevant for our community at The College of Wooster? Perhaps in many ways, it serves as a lesson for how we confront the past regardless of location. Berkeley, as previously mentioned, has been far from the first school to confront this issue. In my hometown, Princeton University was under elevated pressure during the same time to remove the openly racist Woodrow Wilson and his name from an academic and residential hall. That event in itself inspired a group of former high school students in the area, led by myself, to petition the removal of John Witherspoon name and likeness from the local middle school.
Today we may know about the life and work of Alfred Louis Kroeber, but what about other past figures whose names occupy some of our buildings such as Kauke, Morgan and Lowry? Do we truly know the moral integrity of some of Wooster’s greatest benefactors such as American businessperson Stanley Carleton Gault — a man whose surname can be found not just all over campus, but even in some buildings in the downtown area? Even with this call to question old honors, we must recognize that morals change as society as a whole comes to evolve — and so do our heroes.
