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CHAPTER 18
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SITUATING THE NATION

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History Pedagogy for the 21st Century

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Kyle A. Greenwalt and Patrick N. Leahy

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If we regret the violence nations wreak on each other and sometimes on their
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own citizens, we must acknowledge that at present we have no more effective or

alternative institution to defend and protect citizens and human rights.
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—Thomas Bender, 2006, p. 298

is ng
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Yet we cannot be sure whether the multiplying effects of globalizing connections

ib

are having the moral effect of spreading world civic consciousness, or, instead,
facilitating the pursuit of vested interests.
ut

—Derek Heater, 1999, p. 144

io

In responding to most innovations, teachers generally weigh personal and

n

school-related factors . . . rarely do they have to actively consider national and

global forces. I am suggesting, therefore, that difficulties in finding meaning in
global education stem, in part, from the problems of comprehending an educa-

Contemporary Social Studies: An Essential Reader, pages 335–356

Copyright © 2011 by Information Age Publishing
All rights of reproduction in any form reserved. 335
 336 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

tional innovation that cannot be sufficiently understood in the context of the

cultural framework within which teachers normally operate.
—Graham Pike, 2000, p. 70

In his classic book on nationalism—a topic about which the author had
written extensively before (1962, 1983)—Eric Hobsbawm observed the fol-
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lowing: “Finally, I cannot but add that no serious historian of nations and
ev rm

nationalism can be a committed political nationalist . . . Nationalism re-

In

quires too much belief in what is patently not so” (1991, p. 12). With such a
statement, we are in deep agreement—as we believe Thomas Bender would
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be also, as evidenced by the above quote. Yet it is instructive to note the

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change in tone in the twenty years separating Hobsbawm’s text from the
more recent one of Bender.1
Hobsbawm’s illustrious academic career spanned nearly forty years, and
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throughout his work one can find an implicit but clear connection to what
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Marxists have traditionally called “the national question:” How could well
entrenched nationalist loyalties best be overcome in the struggle to create
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international solidarity among peoples? For Hobsbawm, “the nation” was a

delusion, and not just because nationalists “invented” traditions which they
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then located in a foggy, long-ago and indeterminate past (Hobsbawm &

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Ranger, 1983). Rather, nationalists were delusional because “no satisfactory

criterion can be discovered for deciding which of the many human collec-
tivities should be labeled in this way” (Hobsbawm, 1991, p. 5). So, following
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Hobsbawm, this paper raises the question of what, after all, is a nation.
Contemporary social and political realities suggest that we abandon the
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structural logic that would have us frame our political projects in either/
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or terms (national versus global citizenship). Instead, diverse writers have

endorsed the practice of what Derek Heater (1999) calls “multiple citizen-
is ng

ship.” The theoretical framework underlying this chapter therefore could

tr

be described by the following observation: While nationalism—as a politi-

cal project—may require belief in what is “patently not so” (Hobsbawm,
ib

1991, p. 12); and while globalization—however we might choose to define

it—may challenge any simple notion of sovereignty as uniquely vested in
ut

the Westphalian nation-state2 (Held, 1999; Scholte, 1997); national identi-

ties—as imagined communities of practice—seem more entrenched than
io

ever. Social studies education, perhaps now more than ever, seems caught
n

in the middle.
We write this chapter as curriculum researchers, ones interested not only
in the academic issues posed by the historiography of nationalism and its
relationship to globalization, but in the more particular role of the social
studies in fostering a global citizenship practice (Hanvey, 1975; Merryfield
& Wilson, 2005; Parker, Ninomiya, & Cogan, 1999). Yet to date, much of
the U.S. research done in the area of global education has not located a
clear curricular home for such an area of study (Gaudelli, 2007). Hence—
 Situating the Nation • 337

despite our considerable sympathies for an integrated, issues-centered cur-

riculum—we tend to worry that much of the work on a global citizenship
curriculum will not ever be enacted in actual flesh-and-blood classrooms
(Thornton, 2005).
This chapter therefore examines the rationale for curricular readjust-
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ment in perhaps the most “sacred” subject-area of the social studies: U.S.
history courses. We do this in four steps. First, we summarize and critically
ev rm

appraise the historiography of the nation-state as it has developed over the

In

past 25 years. In the process, we seek to define the nation, and suggest that
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the dangers which come along with nationalism may, if we do not proceed
with caution, be extended into global frames of being and acting.
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Second, we examine the possible classroom implications of this scholar-

ship, in particular, through recent calls from within the discipline of history
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itself for a transformed historical pedagogy, one that would draw less strict
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boundaries between “the domestic” and “the global,” and historicize the
nation-state in the process. In so doing, we build upon the important early
work in a “globalized” U.S. history course by Merry Merryfield and Angene
y- ge

Wilson (2005), Stephen Thornton (2005), William Gaudelli (2007), and

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Helena Benitez (2001). In the process, we provide concrete examples of

essential questions and topics for classroom practitioners.
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Next, recognizing that such a project is not without controversy, we elab-

orate on a series of objections that might be raised to history teaching that
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seeks to break down the borders between the U.S. and the world. In each
case, we provide a rationale for what we are arguing for, with reference to
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both academic and pedagogical considerations. Finally, in conclusion, we

provide an addendum, one written as a letter to the history teachers of the
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twenty-first century. In it, we lay claim to our faith in the teachers of the fu-
is ng

ture, and their ability to combine life-long learning with political acumen,
as they confront such issues as increasing curriculum standardization and
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public mistrust of teachers. In the process, we draw upon the substantial

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body of research in global education from the past 35 years.

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MODELS OF NATION-BUILDING: A PEDAGOGY OF

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ASSIMILATION AND EXCLUSION

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Diversity had not bothered earlier centuries very much. It seemed part of the
nature of things, whether from place to place or between one social group and
another. But the [French] Revolution had brought with it the concept of na-
tional unity as an integral and integrating ideal at all levels, and the ideal of
oneness stirred concern about its shortcoming. Diversity became imperfection,
injustice, failure, something to be noted and remedied.
—Eugen Weber, 1976, p. 9
 338 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

In this first section, we wish to turn to explicating two models of nations

and nation-building that have been identified in the broader historiogra-
phy on the topic. In doing so, we hope to further situate the stakes around
which our current moment—as citizens, as educational researchers, and
as teachers—revolves. That is, we view an understanding of the models of
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nation-building as an important lens for an informed discussion of global-

ization—a lens far too often overlooked, in our view—and of what such a
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phenomenon might mean for any project of curriculum reform.3

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The first model of nation-building—one we shall call “vertical”—is most

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famously represented by the work of Benedict Anderson (1983/1992),

though it has precedents in work by Eugen Weber (1976) and paral-
w ti

lels to contemporaneous work by Ernest Gellner (1983). For Anderson

(1983/1992), the nation was defined quite clearly as, “an imagined politi-
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cal community—and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign”

op A

(p. 6). Anderson correctly noted that all communities, from the largest em-
pires to the smallest tribal villages, are imagined—that is, all communities
rely upon symbolically-mediated relationships between their members. In
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addition, all nations are imagined as limited in obvious ways, for no nation
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imagines itself as composed of all humanity. Finally, all nations are imag-
ined as sovereign, thereby monopolizing the “legitimate” use of violence
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and obscuring alternative identity projects rooted in religion, race, and the
like.
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This model is considered a vertical one because it sees nation-building

as a process whereby a set of culturally-similar elite bind their often diverse
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subjects into a united and homogenous body which shares similar modes
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of speaking (the elimination of local dialects), market consumption (the

spread of internal markets of trade), where religion is gradually relegated
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to the realm of private experience (the “disenchantment” of the world),

tr

and where secular bureaucracies work to form a strong and centralized

state apparati (see also Bell, 2003). Vertical nation-building is thus a proj-
ib

ect of mass homogenization. It almost always make use of an already ex-

isting state apparatus to further its aims—though, at least for Anderson
ut

(1983/1992), a “genuine, popular nationalist enthusiasm” often existed

alongside the state’s attempts to create and maintain such enthusiasm (p.
io

163).4 In the absence of such popular enthusiasm, however, vertical models

n

are best viewed as a type of “internal colonialism” (Hechter, 1975/1999)—a

situation where a pre-existing political community is forcefully integrated a
larger national community.
The second model to consider—a “horizontal” nation-building—is less
well developed in the literature, but is nonetheless glimpsed across several
key historiographical texts (Bell, 2003; Hechter, 2002; Marx, 1996, 2003).
We believe that the general processes that the horizontal model seek to
describe, though, might best be understood by turning to Edward Said,5
 Situating the Nation • 339

and his classic text, Orientalism. There, Said (1978/1991) writes about the
manner by which the Orient helped to define Europe “as its contrasting im-
age, idea, personality, experience” (p. 2). That is, in these opening passages
of his book, Said speaks of the imperial encounter as a western project of
self-definition, a way of marking cultural boundaries between an “us” and
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a “them,” and in the process, of establishing a supremacist western identity

that would support the cultural and economic ambitions of imperialists.
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Hence, nation-building works not only through attempts to include and

In

homogenize, but to separate and divide. Anthony Marx (1996, 2003) has
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persuasively argued that the foundations of nation-building projects are ex-

clusionary in origin. In turning to the case of U.S., for example, he argues
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that the foundations for the mass Americanization campaigns of the early
twentieth century were laid though the prior creation of a legally-enforced
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system of racial hierarchy, wherein black Americans were targeted for ex-
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clusion by the state. As he notes:

Agreement on a racially defined “other” as a common enemy defined and

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encouraged white unity . . . Although intrawhite tension remained, it was con-

tained within a unified polity. Racial domination was repeatedly reinforced to
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consolidate the nation-state.6 (1996, p. 182)

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Hence, nation-building can also quite clearly be viewed through the lens of
exclusion—even scapegoating.7
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In both models, it is important to finally note, it is the public school

which ultimately stood as the favored state instrument for the construction
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of the nation. Schools were deeply implicated in the nation-making endeav-

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or, not least through their practices of enforcing certain language practices
and historical narratives as “natural” for their “own” citizens. Indeed, the
is ng

teaching of “national” history has long been one of the favored tools of na-
tr

tionalists. Hence, any serious attempt to institute global education within

American public schools would seemingly need to rethink the way in which
ib

U.S. history courses are taught.

For if, in 1861, Massimo d’Azeglio could famously pronounce—We have
ut

made Italy. Now we have to make Italians—one route for doing so was compul-
sory public schooling. If, today, a globalized economy is a fait accompli, the
io

task of defining a global citizenship and identity likewise remains ahead

n

of us. Schooling is again likely to play a role in this process, yet that role
must be carefully guarded. Despite the fact that globalization has weakened
the economic and identity-forming power of nation-states, the two most fa-
vored tactics of nationalists in the past—cultural assimilation and structural
exclusion as carried out by the public schools—are still powerfully at work
in contemporary global society. Hence, there is a clear need to confront
some of these processes through a reformed U.S. history pedagogy. It is
there which we shall next turn.
 340 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

Thomas Bender’s Neo-Comparative History: A Sample Unit in

Action

Historians are to nationalism what poppy-growers in Pakistan are to heroin-

addicts: we supply the essential raw material for the market.
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—Eric Hobsbawm, 1992, p. 3

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We send young people to Europe to see Italy, but we do not utilize Italy when it
lies about the schoolhouse.
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—Jane Addams, 1908/2009, p. 44

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In September of 2000, on behalf of the Organization of American Histo-

rians and New York University’s Project on Internationalizing the Study of
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American History, Thomas Bender published The LaPietra Report. This short
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but provocative work in many ways summarized for the historical profession
the results of twenty-five years of research into the origins of the nation-
state. It also sought to draw certain conclusions based on that research. In
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particular, it argued that:

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If historians have often treated the nation as self-contained and undifferenti-

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ated, it is increasingly clear that this assumption is true in neither the present
nor the past. A history that recognizes the historicity of different forms of soli-
darity and the historical character of the project of nation-making promises
fo bli

to better prepare students and the public to understand and to be effective in

the world we live in and will live in. (2000, sect. II, para. 4)
r sh
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Bender’s insight here is not so much that the discipline of history itself has
a history—for the reflexivity underlying such a claim is itself essential to
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historiography as an important tenet of the discipline—but that the history

tr

of history cannot be told apart from its strong relationship to the rise of the nation-
state (see also Anderson, 1983/1992; Rosenzweig & Thelen, 1998; White,
ib

1973/1980). To speak of U.S. history, or Canadian history, or French his-

tory is indeed quite natural—yet it is the very naturalness of appending na-
ut

tionality to historical narratives that needs to give us pause. Bender’s work

in the pedagogy of history is a first step in that direction, one that curricu-
io

lum workers in the social studies should be careful to consider. In this sec-
n

tion, we would like to explore the curricular possibilities that are inherent
in Bender’s work, possibilities that might inform the important future work
of building “forms of solidarity” that rest more firmly on global frames of
reference.
While Bender has followed this work with other projects (2002), his most
important scholarship might seemingly be his attempt at re-thinking the
traditional American history survey text, A Nation Among Nations: America’s
Place in World History (2006). Breaking U.S. history into five separate peri-
 Situating the Nation • 341

ods, Bender’s text reads like other popular texts of revisionist history we
have seen used in high school classrooms and in social studies teacher edu-
cation courses, by such scholars as Howard Zinn (1980/2003) and James
Loewen (1995/2007).
Yet to a degree beyond those presented by Zinn and Loewen’s texts, we
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feel that Bender’s (2006) revisionist text is likely to present problems for
future social studies educators. The amount of material covered in each
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chapter is encyclopedic, and is not guided by any larger vision of what cur-
ricular topics might show most promise for pedagogical exploration in the
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public school setting. For example, his chapter on the American Revolu-
tion includes not only the background context of Britain and France’s ri-
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valry for global hegemony, but includes a bewildering multiplicity of other

examples of “local resistances” to colonial projects during this time period
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(South Africa, Haiti, Peru, Brazil, and India—among others).

op A

Bender’s (2006) text provides the type of information out of which teach-
ers might begin to craft critical counter-narratives and unearth “subjugated
y- ge

knowledges”— knowledge which might eventually open up space for teach-

ers and their students to critically interrogate and transform the present
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(Kincheloe, 2001). The work of critical interrogation and transformation

of the present we see not only as the strongest purpose and rationale for
ot u

the inclusion of the social studies in the public school curriculum, but more
broadly, as the single most important goal of schooling itself. Indeed, it is
fo bli

exactly out of such interrogation of a globalizing present that we hope to

see the emergence of an informed sense of global citizenship. Yet if such
r sh

work is to happen in the U.S. history classroom, more guidance is needed

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towards the emerging work of the sort Bender’s text represents.

Hence, we would recommend that we help teachers to use essential
is ng

questions in their U.S. history courses which are not only explicitly com-
tr

parative in nature, but also evaluative. Such questions, at the level of the
entire course, might include the following:
ib

1. Is the course of U.S. history “exceptional?”

ut

2. Is the U.S., in the words of Lincoln, “the last best hope of earth?”
io

Historians might perhaps cringe at such questions. Yet such questions,

we would argue, only make transparent the argument implicit in all too
n

many existing U.S. history courses, which often tend to treat the history of
the U.S. as one only of expanding rights and freedoms (Barton & Levstik,
1998; Cornbleth, 2002; Epstein, 2000; Wertsch & O’Connor, 1994). Indeed,
as Bender (2000) himself has argued, “by contextualizing the nation and
comparing it with other nations, one may better appraise the nature of
its particular, even exceptional qualities, while avoiding simplistic asser-
tions of American exceptionalism” (sect. II, para. 15). That is, then, we
 342 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

might launch our courses by making American exceptionalism the starting

point—rather than the undisputed framework—for student exploration.
Another consideration is that the concepts used in any revised course of
U.S. history would need to extend beyond those currently in use, particular-
ly as it relates to the inclusion of foreign countries. That is, globalized nar-
R fo

ratives would need to extend beyond international armed conflict. To the

degree that they are covered at all in U.S. history courses, the histories of
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In

Britain, Canada, Mexico, Spain, Germany, Russia, Cuba, Korea, China, Viet-
nam and Iraq tend to be included only around periods of armed conflict
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with the U.S.8 The other ways in which national histories are linked—most
importantly, through the circulation of goods, peoples, and ideas—there-
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fore need to be deepened and extended in the course of student investiga-

tion. Hence, we would suggest using such paired concepts as diaspora and
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immigration, colonialism and resistance, trade and exploitation, peace and

op A

war, and, most importantly, given the nation-building models we have laid
out above, assimilation and exclusion, as explicit organizing course themes.
Bender’s (2006) own work is clear about the need to include such con-
y- ge

cepts—and they are quite helpful, we believe, on the level of the course.
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But as one starts to break this down into smaller curricular levels, problems
related to the development of specific units and lessons emerge. Given the
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admittedly exploratory nature of our writing, we feel that we are only in

a position to speculate about these issues—with the help, though, of the
fo bli

ample research about powerful teaching in the history classroom as our

guide (see Barton & Levstik, 2004; Grant, 2003 for summaries of this litera-
r sh

ture). So as to ground our exploratory thinking in as concrete a curricular

D i

context as possible, we will now turn to imagining a sample unit around the
American Revolution.
is ng

The concepts out of which Bender builds his exploration of the later
tr

eighteenth century are those of colonialism and local resistance. In particu-

lar, he opens the chapter by arguing for the importance of examining the
ib

diversity of local reactions to eighteenth-century colonialism, from active

resistance in Haiti, Peru, and the U.S., to tacit acceptance in India and Can-
ut

ada. We agree that this manner of globalizing the U.S. history curriculum
is a good one—that of using themes that are already present in powerful
io

explorations of the standard U.S. curriculum. Hence, a common essential

n

question used in many units addressing the Revolutionary War—Were the

colonists justified in their reaction to Britain? (see Wineburg & Wilson, 1991,
for this essential question in action)—would itself be appropriate for our
globalized unit. For clearly, this question is itself reframed in interesting
ways when students are asked to consider this question in more than one
case example.
As a next step, then, any curricular deliberations would need to address
the following: If the Era of Revolution is going to be explored through an
 Situating the Nation • 343

additional case example, which one is pedagogically most appropriate? To

answer this question, we would like to suggest two principles to guide any
curricular deliberations, ones we will call interrelationship and interest. We
will explain and apply each of these in turn.
The principle of interrelationship speaks to the need for topics to con-
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nect in ways that are rather obvious and clear. To gain a comparative per-
spective, teachers and their students will need to examine other national
ev rm
In

histories that parallel that of the U.S. in illustrative ways. And if we allow
the essential question to limit our focus to British colonialism—a limiting
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and directing of attention that any good essential question would do—then
the best comparative examples at this time period might include either the
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West or the East Indies, both of which were important parts of the British
empire at this time, though for differing reasons, and with differing govern-
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ing structures.
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Let us accept this as a first step in our curricular deliberations, then, and
let us further concretize our examples by focusing on a choice between ei-
ther Jamaica and Bengal—both of which would provide further perspective
y- ge

in determining why local elites might choose to either accept or resist Brit-
N P

ish rule. The next step would be to turn to the principle of interest, which
would be of help in making further curricular choices by speaking to the
ot u

need to ground curricular choices in our knowledge of the present. Hence,

one way of going about this would be to consider the U.S.’s current geo-
fo bli

strategic interest in India. Studying late eighteenth-century India would al-

low students, then, both the chance to explore the unit’s essential question
r sh

in a manner that moves beyond the U.S. as the only determining case, and
D i

allows students and their teacher to explore the history of a nation-state

that is currently of much general interest. This, in any case, might be one
is ng

approach.
tr

Yet we can think of nothing more important in the present than the ac-
tual flesh-and-blood students that teachers meet in their classrooms on an
ib

everyday basis—and the potential identity transformations that might come

about as a result of powerful history teaching. So, rather than relying only
ut

on geo-strategic criteria—which are themselves laced with nationalist pre-

sumptions (Tye & Tye, 1992)—might not a teacher working with a group of
io

African American students (for example) want to consider Jamaica?

n

Even a cursory glance at the history of that island would reveal that the
white elite of Jamaica had initially supported the white North American
elite in their resistance activities against the British crown. Yet this quickly
changed as Jamaica’s own white elite was faced with hostile resistance ac-
tivities by the large, numerically-superior black population. The parallels
between the slave societies in the U.S. and Jamaica therefore might provide
a richer context for powerful history teaching and learning, as students ex-
plore questions such as: What is the relationship between slavery and free-
 344 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

dom in these two colonies? How did calculations among British elite, white
colonial elite, and black slaves play out in the two case examples? How did
the happenings in one place affect those in the other? How does this knowl-
edge of the past help us think about the opportunities to form new global
solidarities in the present—ones that would avoid the structural dilemma of
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assuming that identities must be either one thing or another, either assimi-
lated or excluded? It is around this last question that a globally-informed
ev rm
In

U.S. history would ultimately want to revolve—as it explored continuing

possibilities for cross-national solidarity-building projects, ones linked to
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the interests and identity projects of a multitude of diverse students in our

schools today.
w ti

We think that such a unit could be an important pathway to breaking

down the “naturalness” of national frames of reference—an important first
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step towards building the type of informed global citizenship for which so
op A

many in the social studies community have called (Cogan, Grossman, &
Liu, 2000; Gaudelli, 2003; Hanvey, 1975; Heilman, 2007; Merryfield & Wil-
son, 2005; Myers, 2006; Wilson, 1997). We say this, however, without in any
y- ge

way wanting to detract from the powerful teaching and learning that could
N P

and often does take place in more “traditional” units.

Likewise, we make these claims recognizing that this type of curricular
ot u

thinking might be subject to all types of wrong-headed assumptions about

who are students are and where their interests and allegiances actually lie.
fo bli

Are all African Americans interested in forming a pan-African diasporic

identity? Would Hindu-Americans be more interested in studying Bengal—
r sh

a territory where most inhabitants are Muslims—than Jamaica? We under-

D i

stand there is a deep risk here of provoking some sort of politically-correct

firestorm, one of the sort that Jonathan Burack (2003) at least somewhat
is ng

accurately foresaw in his own critique of the “troubling ideological agenda”

tr

of global education (p. 42).

Yet the point here cannot be that we teach so as to avoid controversy.
ib

Rather, such controversy might become the very fabric of good history
teaching and of global education itself. As John Dewey himself pointed out
ut

(1902/2001), there are many attendant dangers in grounding curricular

decisions in our knowledge of the child.9 Yet such dangers seem to us un-
io

avoidable, unless we are to fall back into the “common sense” frameworks
n

of the nationalists themselves. The teacher must always seek to realize that
“the child and the curriculum are simply two limits which define a single
process” (Dewey, 1902/2001, p. 109).
Our hope, then, is that such a unit—whether it would choose to focus
on either Bengal or Jamaica—would provide a more concrete and clear
home for global perspectives in the U.S. curriculum by drawing on the
subject matter-based curriculum as it currently exists (Thornton, 2005).
Such a project can be compared with similar attempts to globalize the cur-
 Situating the Nation • 345

riculum—both across the entirety of the existing curriculum, as well as cer-

tain strategic subjects within it—in both the U.K. (Davies, Evans, & Reid,
2005; Ibrahim, 2005) and Canada (Schweisfurth, 2006). But at bottom, the
method underlying this discussion is far from novel: let us reintroduce the
comparative method in our schools, for it might serve as a helpful heuristic
R fo

for crossing the borders that now divide the local from the global, the U.S.
from the rest of the world.
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Further Objections/Further Responses

In

ie a

What we should work toward is the generous gesture: This place means every-
thing to us! How can we preserve and share it?
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—Nel Noddings, 2005, p. 58

An informed and rigorous comparative approach would allow skilled so-

C on

cial studies teachers the opportunity to more clearly extract the “big ideas”
op A

inherent in their traditional units while at the same time providing a more
well defined space in which to analyze and discuss contemporary issues
and interests. Most importantly, such an approach would start to historicize
y- ge

the nation by allowing students to rethink and reexamine (in our example
N P

above), its founding myths and the “exceptionalism” of its founders.

Yet we can imagine global-education critic, Jonathan Burack, were he to
ot u

read this chapter, frustratedly exclaiming, as he did in his own critique of

global education (2003), “it is hard to see why a separate U.S. history course
fo bli

of any sort ought to be provided in the first place” (p. 64). To which our
response might be—“you are right, it is hard, for both contemporary global
r sh

realities and the historical scholarship recommend us to do otherwise.”

D i

Yet this does not mean that we would want teachers to devise curriculum
that would somehow ignore the seminal role played by the United States in
is ng

world history, nor that we are advocates for a stoic cosmopolitanism (Nuss-
tr

baum, 2002). Indeed, in this section of the chapter, we hope to further

flush out exactly these difficulties as we explore the questions of what to
ib

teach, why we teach it, and where we should teach it.

First of all, a clear limitation of the traditional treatment of foreign na-
ut

tions in traditional U.S. history courses is the tendency to drop the explora-
tion of a particular country when it is no longer has a clear connection to
io

U.S. national interests. Hence, students get a smattering of eighteenth-cen-

n

tury Britain, nineteenth-century Mexico, and twentieth-century Vietnam.

The U.S. becomes the center around which all countries orbit in this partic-
ular curricular rendering of the world—an implicit message quite problem-
atic when viewed through the lens of global citizenship. A neo-comparative
approach does not remedy this deficiency, and indeed, apart from falling
into the trap of trying to “teach everything” from a non-positioned, “objec-
tive” framework—we do not see how this problem could ever be seriously
addressed. An approach such as Bender’s would, however, expand the basis
 346 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

upon which international relationships in the past are identified by mov-

ing beyond the sole theme of armed conflict. It would also stress the need
to move away from a strictly narrative approach to teaching history, and
would instead tend to reconceptualize U.S. history courses around those
moments where the international system of nation-states was being locked
R fo

into place. Powerful U.S. history teaching already tends to reorganize its
curriculum into a more limited number of topical units (see Grant, 2003,
ev rm
In

pp. 16–28)—a neo-comparative approach would need to make sure that it

furthers this encouraging trend.
ie a

Second of all, a neo-comparative approach would have to be flexible

enough to allow for the inclusion of diverse comparative case examples.
w ti

Part of this flexibility would relate to the state of actually existing peda-
gogical resources—the availability of classroom-appropriate primary docu-
C on

ments, documentary films, and textbooks that may or may not exist for
op A

any particular time period (Merryfield, 1998). But this flexibility might also
entail, as we suggested above, considerations of the identities of concrete
classroom students, and the potentials that exist there for topics of study
y- ge

that could help build cross-national solidarities—along the lines of race,

N P

gender, language, religion, and any of the other social formations that
are currently considered to exist “within” or “below” the nation. Indeed,
ot u

from our own point of view, stoic cosmopolitanism, of the sort advocated
by Martha Nussbaum (2002), makes very little sense in its suggestion that a
fo bli

person’s overlapping identity practices—their nonsynchronicity—could ul-

timately be “contained by” or “grounded in” a universalist liberal-rationalist
r sh

framework.10
D i

Third, we understand that the project we have sketched might better be

taken up in reinvigorated world history courses—ones modeled, perhaps,
is ng

on the work being done by the National Center for History in the Schools
tr

(Dunn, 2002; Dunn & Vigalante, 1996) or the Advanced Placement World
History program (Dunn, 2008). Yet we find the notion of a “world history”
ib

course equally as problematic in certain of its usual features as the “nation-

al” history course to which it is so closely related. Consider, for example,
ut

this description of the scope of the A.P. World History course:

io

The United States is included in the course in relation to its interaction with
other societies: its colonial period in the seventeenth and eighteenth cen-
n

turies, the War for Independence, and its expansion. The internal politics
of the United States is not covered. Coverage of the United States is limited
to appropriate comparative questions and to United States involvement in
global processes. (The College Board, 2009, p. 10)

While such scope for a world history course is surely better than one in
which the United States’ role in the world is entirely omitted, it still is left
having to draw boundaries around those aspects of history which are “inter-
 Situating the Nation • 347

nal” to the nation-state, and those which depend upon global “interaction.”
We find such a distinction dubious, for it reinforces an organic view of the
nation and “its” culture. It is to say that the boundaries between “us” and
“them” are both clear and unproblematic, and that possibilities for hybridi-
ties and interstices do not exist. It should be clear by now that we wish to
R fo

confront such either/or thinking.

The issue, as Nel Noddings (2005) correctly realized, must ultimately be
ev rm

this: “how educational strategies can use love of place to develop knowledge
In

and skills useful in the larger world” (p. 57). We have argued for a U.S. histo-
ie a

ry curriculum that acknowledges its connections to other nations and other

histories—while still preserving and honoring our love of the United States,
w ti

in all of its tragedy, complexity and beauty.11 Drawing in particular on the

work of Thomas Bender, we have attempted to demonstrate here the ways
C on

in which the civic imagination might be reimagined to build cross-national

op A

solidarities through rigorous examination of the past. By drawing compari-

sons with other nations, and by situating portions of national history within
world history (as opposed to presenting national history alongside it), we
y- ge

believe that an important space is provided for students and educators to

N P

consider the connections between the global and the national, between
lived experiences of the present and cultural memories of the past—all in
ot u

ways which might challenge and indeed transform the taken-for-granted

identities of the present.
fo bli

This type of history teaching is going to be difficult. It is also going to

have clear implications for the ways in which citizenship is (re)conceived.
r sh

As Gaudelli (2007) has noted, “as the nation-state is reconfigured, new

forms of citizenship are needed to address the fact that nations are no lon-
D i

ger the sole locus of political belonging, obligation, and protection” (p.
is ng

480). If, then, multi-citizens, hybridized identities and reimagined solidari-

ties appear as a herculean task of curriculum reform, they are nonetheless
tr

a future good well worth pursuing. In closing, we would like to briefly raise
ib

the question of just what type of social studies teacher might lead us into
the next century.
ut
io

ADDENDUM: TO THOSE WHO WILL BE EDUCATING

TOMORROW’S STUDENTS FOR MULTICITIZENSHIP
n

When you start teaching, you do not know enough, but you are also not cul-
turally developed enough to be a model for your students. This might be par-
ticularly true if you come from a family that never had much access to “high”
culture. Even if you got a lot of “culture,” is it really yours, or is it a ragbag of
secondhand experiences and unexplained views? How do you help your kids
build the rainbow bridges back and forth? How can you sell them on literacy if
 348 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

you yourself don’t read much and don’t enjoy books? What about your identity
as a teacher? What about the struggle for democracy? You might like the picture
of the teacher going out to meet the people, but what do you really have to offer?
This is a harsh question, but you have a big responsibility if you are signing up
as a teacher. How do you start the lifetime work of becoming a practical intel-
lectual who can help the people progress culturally?
R fo

—Joseph Featherstone, 2003, pp. 170–171

ev rm
In

We hope that teachers, in particular, aspiring teachers, might read this

chapter. Therefore we would like to address this final section to you, the
ie a

history teacher of the twenty-first century.

In the first section of this chapter, we walked you through the histori-
w ti

cal literature on nationalism. We suspect that many of the ideas present-

ed there were not unfamiliar to you. In the next section, we walked you
C on

through the process of curriculum deliberation, as we might undertake it,

op A

in our roles as both social studies teachers and social studies teacher edu-
cators. In particular, we tried to suggest important concepts and essential
questions, and give you some ideas about how you might approach thinking
y- ge

about both your curriculum units and the students to whom you would be
N P

teaching them. As you undertake this work, we recommend that you read
the work of Thomas Bender, from whom our own chapter has borrowed
ot u

heavily. But more importantly, we would just encourage you to read—and

not just historical research, but literature drawn from across the humanities
fo bli

(really, whatever excites you and helps you think about your students and
your teaching will do just fine).
r sh

Finally, we raised a series of objections, ones you might very well hear
D i

one day from parents, departmental colleagues, or administrators. We have

tried to suggest some possible responses, but ultimately, this task is up to
is ng

you. As Joseph Featherstone (2003) says, in his own quite lovely letter to
tr

an aspiring teacher, “new teachers often don’t realize that there are sides
to take, and that they are called upon to choose” (p. 164). Teaching is of
ib

course hard work, and the teaching of history is twice as hard (and dare we
say a comparative approach makes our work three times as hard?). You will
ut

make choices, and then be called upon to explain them—and we recom-

mend that you be prepared to revise those decisions in the light of what you
io

learn from your students and their parents, as well as your colleagues. We
n

wish you both courage and humility as you undertake these tasks.
In this brief letter to you, we would like to raise just a few more conclud-
ing issues, and provide some sense of the research that guides us in what we
are recommending.
Now, we want to make clear that we are not in favor of piling on require-
ments for teachers. We are not interested in devising any new exams—for
either you or your students—nor are we interested in prescribing more
undergraduate coursework for those of you just beginning your career.
 Situating the Nation • 349

Indeed, if anything, we agree strongly with one of the founders of global

education, Robert Hanvey, who said that “the postmodern personality type
. . . is not likely to be produced by educational strategies” (1975, p. 12).
Loading you down with additional course requirements might backfire if it
sends you the message that you have learned all you need to know in your
R fo

undergraduate coursework.
One thing you might consider, if you do not already have this skill, is
ev rm
In

learning another language. (And if you grew up speaking a language oth-

er than English, by all means, continue to grow in that language as well!)
ie a

Bender (2000) suggested this as a basic requirement for anyone wanting to

study U.S. history in the future, because, of course, other people writing in
w ti

other languages might just have something to teach us about the history of
the United States. This is one reason a history teacher might learn another
C on

language, but by the far the more important reason is the ability to learn
op A

through travel, work and study in another country.

Research by Kenneth Cushner (2007) has made clear to us just how im-
portant such experiences might be in developing global-mindedness. In-
y- ge

deed, global educator Merry Merryfield (2000) did a fascinating study of

N P

preeminent global educators in the U.S. and found that, “the experience
of living as an expatriate is frequently the lived experience that middle-class
ot u

white teacher educators cite as turning points towards multicultural and

global education” (p. 439).12 Remember, however, there are no guarantees.
fo bli

Living abroad does not automatically produce global consciousness, nor

does it guarantee that you will know what to do with whatever knowledge
r sh

and insight you gain once you return to your classroom. That responsibility
D i

always rests with you and your own ability to design experiences for your
students that can offer them the possibility to gain some of the same in-
is ng

sights you have gained in your own travels (see Germain, 1998).
tr

Future teachers, the responsibility to figure out the curriculum of the

future is therefore yours. Know, however, that researchers have also given
ib

us a few clues about what not to do. One quite important notion comes
from global educator Graham Pike, who did a study in which he talked with
ut

global educators in the U.K., U.S., and Canada. Pike (2000) found that
“British and Canadian practitioners tend to speak in terms of interconnec-
io

tions between people and global systems, whereas American teachers are
n

more likely to characterize global education as learning about a constel-

lation of discrete countries and cultures” (p. 65). He goes on to note that
“American culture is used, often without exposition of its own complexity,
as the yardstick by which other cultures’ similarities and differences are
compared” (p. 65).
Globalizing U.S. history does not just mean that we study people outside
the U.S., nor should it mean we study those less fortunate than ourselves—
for such an approach leaves unquestioned the conditions that have made
 350 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

some more “fortunate” than others. Global educator Merry Merryfield

(2001) and educational historian John Willinsky (1998) have made just this
point—so whatever you do with your students, we hope that you will be at-
tentive to how some differences “make a difference” more than others, and
help to articulate with your students why this is (Why did John Adams sup-
R fo

port Haitian independence while Thomas Jefferson deeply feared it and

worked actively to suppress it?).
ev rm
In

You might sometimes read calls for teachers to infuse more coverage
of African, Asian or Latin American nations into their curriculum—those
ie a

peoples who, admittedly, were all too invisible in the American curriculum
of the past. Yet simply “covering more” will not produce the type of his-
w ti

tory instruction that the twenty-first century needs, nor will it make your
classroom a more enjoyable place to learn. Merry Merryfield found some-
C on

thing very interesting in this regard, in her study of exemplary k–12 global
op A

educators: “It is quite remarkable the degree to which students affected

instruction . . . Most of these teachers were acutely responsive to student
y- ge

interests, abilities, behavior, and concerns” (p. 354). Globalizing the U.S.
history course should not mean that we study more “there” at the expense
N P

of “here”—indeed, it just such dichotomies that must be broken down, and

ot u

it is only by starting with our students’ lives that such will be done.
Good luck, then. We know that there are incredible pressures on you to
“cover” certain content in your courses so as to “meet the standards.” But
fo bli

please do not feel like you have to wait around for some state committee to
adopt a curriculum resolution that says the U.S. is a part of the world. For
r sh

the U.S. and the world have always been joined, it is just that our history
D i

writing has not always reflected that. If you find what we are saying compel-
is ng

ling or in the least bit interesting, just start experimenting! Infuse some
unfamiliar comparisons into your units, and see if all the world might not
tr

just come of it.

ib

ENDNOTES
ut

1. Hobsbawm’s book on nationalism, which was first printed in 1990,

io

then reprinted in 1991, was based upon a series of lectures he gave

in Belfast in 1985. As he all too briefly notes in the Preface to the
n

1991 edition, “the location suggested the topic” (p. vii). Indeed, it
is important to recall that in the 1980s, the Irish Republic Army was
actively carrying on a bombing campaign in Britain. Indeed, just
seven months prior to these lectures, the IRA set off a 100-pound
bomb in the Grand Hotel, in Brighton, England, where the Con-
servative Party was having its annual conference. Five people were
killed, including a member of Parliament.
 Situating the Nation • 351

2. “Before the onset of intensified globalization several decades ago,

world politics was chiefly organized on the basis of the so-called
Westphalian system. The name is derived from the Peace of West-
phalia (1648), which contains an early official statement of the
core principles that came to dominate world affairs during the sub-
R fo

sequent three hundred years” (Scholte, 1997, p. 19). These core

principles are the division of the world into territorial states, each
ev rm
In

of which has sovereignty over its own territory, free of interference

from other states.
ie a

3. It is, of course, quite possible to speak of globalization without

speaking of the historical processes of nation-building. Yet we find
w ti

such discussions often lack historical depth. One way nations were
built was through a process of unification that tended to obliterate
C on

previous existing boundaries and identities. Given that globaliza-

op A

tion can be understood as doing the same thing on a grander scale,

careful attention to the prior history of nation-building seems war-
ranted.
y- ge

4. Anderson’s initial focus on popular support of the nation-building

N P

project was reconsidered in the second edition of his book, where

he placed more emphasis on the colonial state’s tendency to man-
ot u

ufacture, through institutions such as the map and the museum,

anti-colonial nationalist sentiments. Such an interpretation has
fo bli

caused consternation for some postcolonial theorists, who are keen

on presenting the non-derivative nature of anti-colonial struggles.
r sh

See Chatterjee, 1993; Chrisman, 2004; Gandhi, 1998.

D i

5. We recognize that Said is not usually grouped among the theorists

of the nation. Yet we find the general mechanism he lays out in
is ng

his book to be so persuasive as to represent a whole line of later

tr

thinking.
6. Exclusionary nationalism not only bolsters intra-group unity by
ib

scapegoating another, but by punishing those members of its own

group willing to live across group divisions. Hence, Hechter (2002)
ut

notes that the “first targets of the Serb paramilitary units that swept
into multiethnic Bosnian villages were those Serbs who favoured
io

ethnic integration” (italics are our own, p. 131).

n

7. Ultimately, both models should be employed in tandem. This is

particularly the case in those nationalisms that are born as move-
ments of resistance and liberation, as was the case in the twenti-
eth century’s anti-colonial struggles. Such struggles—what Michael
Hechter has called peripheral nationalisms (2002)—employed
both methods simultaneously, as local elite sought to demarcate
an “indigenous” pre-colonial cultural tradition (horizontal work)
around which subalterns could be made to rally (vertical work).
 352 • KYLE A. GREENWALT & PATRICK N. LEAHY

8. The one large exception to this claim would be England, whose

people played an important part in the way the “settling” of the
American continent is told in many U.S. history classrooms. Yet the
mono-ancestral approach—ignoring as it does the impact of Na-
tive American, west African, Spanish, and French peoples on the
R fo

formation of an “American” identity—probably does more harm

for global citizenship than good.
ev rm
In

9. “It will do harm if child-study leave in the popular mind the impres-
sion that a child of a given age has a positive equipment of purpose
ie a

and interests to be cultivated just as they stand. Interests in reality

are but attitudes toward possible experiences; they are not achieve-
w ti

ments; their worth is in the leverage they afford, not in the accom-
plishment they represent. To take the phenomena presented at a
C on

given age as in any way self-explanatory or self-contained is inevita-

op A

bly to result in indulgence or spoiling” (Dewey, 1902/2001, p. 112).

10. Nonsynchrony is a term used in critical race curriculum theories.
y- ge

It refers to the fact that “race, class and gender function in contra-
dictory fashion in daily life; they do not reproduce themselves in
N P

any simple manner” (Pinar, Reynolds, Slattery & Taubman, 2002,

ot u

p. 319). That is, there is no single identity frame that contains all
others—identity is always shifting, according to the contextual fea-
tures of a situation.
fo bli

11. We are well aware the Noddings and others usually use the concept
of “place” to refer to the “local.” However, here we would return to
r sh

Anderson (1983/1992): all communities are imagined, even the

D i

most “local” ones, and even those tied to very particular “places.”
is ng

Under certain contexts, we are quite confident the nation and its
territory can be experienced as a “local place.” This is not, however,
tr

to downplay the importance of what we might call “backyard” stud-

ib

ies.
12. Merryfield (2000) is absolutely correct that there is “a profound
ut

difference between developing a double consciousness to survive a

racist state and developing a consciousness of others’ perspectives
io

when the other holds no power over one’s life” (p. 439). That is,
being an outsider in another country mustn’t lead one to believe
n

that one better understands people whose exclusion are structural

features of a national system.

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Notes to Author:
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The following references are cited in the Reference section, not in the
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text. Please add to the text or delete.

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Hobsbawm, 1962, 1983

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