Reviews

REVIEWS

Reconstruction and Mormon America

Edited by Clyde A. Milner II and Brian Q. Cannon

Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2019. 270 pp. Hardback, $34.95

In 2002, then-president of the Western History Association Elliott West introduced the concept of “Greater Reconstruction.” West posited that while histories of nineteenth-century America were dominated by the nation’s westward expansion and the Civil War and its aftermath, the field might benefit from treating these simultaneous events as portions of one larger process of American nation-building that prioritized federal power and remade the United States. It has now been more than twenty years since West’s initial paper, and the concept of Greater Reconstruction has pushed the field in many interesting directions since then, opening the door to comparative scholarship that has expanded the historiography of Civil War era.

One of the fields that has most benefitted from this concept has been Mormon history, and Reconstruction and Mormon America is a perfect example. Originating from a seminar hosted by the Charles Redd Center at Brigham Young University, this edited collection is a meditation on the fields of Reconstruction and Mormon history, thoroughly considering the applicability of Greater Reconstruction in territorial Utah and thoughtfully comparing Latter-day Saint experiences with white and Black Americans in the U.S. South, as well as Indigenous Americans in the U.S. West.

The book consists of an introduction (appropriately written by Elliott West) and three main parts, each consisting of a short preface and three longer essays. The first section is the most contextual, focused on how assimilation efforts by the federal government in Utah fit in with state-building efforts elsewhere. Angela Pulley Hudson leads off, with a brilliant analysis of why there is no “Mormon Trail of Tears.”

As settlers themselves, Mormons were often the perpetrators and beneficiaries of settler colonialism, she says. Hudson also calls into question the value of the framework of Greater Reconstruction, because the comparison of Mormon and Indigenous assimilation efforts by the government obfuscates the unique brand of state violence against Indigenous peoples, in which “Mormons have been enthusiastic, if not always welcome, participants” (20). Christine Talbot comes next, focusing on Republican efforts to remake America’s social structure by not only abolishing slavery, but by remaking the nuclear family by eradicating polygamy and plantation-style patriarchy. She also makes insightful comparisons between the mid-nineteenth century concepts of free labor and companionate marriage. Patrick Mason finishes the first section with an analysis of “legitimate violence” and the state, concluding that Mormon Utah was subject to what he calls “disciplinary democracy,” which ultimately implied the religion’s eventual assimilability in the larger state, though it had to accept federal force for that to occur.

The next section is more specific to Reconstruction itself, with both Brett Dowdle and Brent Rogers arguing that Utah is a prime example of the development of federal supremacy in the post-Civil War United States. This applied to territorial administration and legislative action, as well as cultural and social pressures. Mormons, like other American “others,” were indeed subject to federal assimilation efforts, though there were differences in the groups. Rachel St. John, however, pushes against this conclusion, arguing that expanding the concept of Reconstruction to all assimilation efforts diminishes the framework’s usefulness.

The final section focuses on the legacy of Mormon Reconstruction, where the three authors (Clyde Milner, Eric Eliason, and Jared Farmer) ponder why there is no Mormon “Lost Cause” comparable to the legacy of the Confederacy in the southern United States. In all, the authors largely agree that Mormons have sidestepped the issue in many clever ways, such as prioritizing “pioneer” heritage in their commemorations, which situates them as agents of national development rather than dissatisfied refugees, or by truly giving up on the elements of their faith that were lost, such as polygamy.

In all, Reconstruction and Mormon America is an excellent collection that succinctly and cogently ties together many excellent stand-alone essays into an insightful historiographical reflection. Each of the essays would work well in undergraduate or graduate seminars, and the book as a whole is essential for any reader attempting to understand the current state of either Mormon or Reconstruction history. This is a solid contribution to the field.

–Reilly Ben Hatch University of New Mexico

Carbon County, USA: Miners for Democracy in Utah and the West

By Christian Wright

Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2020. xlvi + 423 pp. Hardback, $45.00

In Carbon County, USA, the historian Christian Wright examines the history of labor organization in eastern Utah’s coal mining industry between the 1930s and 1980s. Split into three parts, the book first documents the period from the 1930s to the early postwar years, including the problems emerging in the United Mine Workers of America (UMWA). Part 2 chronicles the coal industry’s revival during the nationally and internationally tumultuous 1960s and when the UMWA encountered the rise of a competing union in 1970: Miners for Democracy. In the book’s final section, Wright dedicated one chapter each to race, gender, and generation, emphasizing the 1970s to 1980s period, which was also the decline of industry and organization. In the epilogue, Wright connects the preceding chapters to pending questions about the roles of coal and labor organization in the United States during the twenty-first century.

Wright’s argument is at least twofold. One argument is that labor history is still relevant and valuable. But Wright also argues that looking beyond the labor–management and union–antiunion dichotomies to the nuances of labor organization demonstrates that union power’s decline in Utah’s coal industry resulted from fracturing union leadership and changing understandings of identity among rank-and-file workers. Integral to Wright’s study of identity are race, gender, and generation. While the first argument—the relevance and value of labor history—will speak mainly to an academic audience, the second will likely appeal to anyone interested in the histories of coal mining, Utah, labor organization, and identity studies.

In exploring the depths of labor organization in Utah, Wright’s book adds to several bodies of literature. For one, it is the most comprehensive examination of coal mining labor organization in Utah. It adds to a 2006 edited volume on Utah mining by examining eastern Utah over a fifty year period in particular. Additionally, Wright’s arguments about labor organization extend the chronology of most mining labor histories, which often analyze the pre-1930s period. In doing so, Wright’s work fills a gap but also demonstrates the value of learning from the decline of the movement, not just its heyday. Finally, labor history had its own heyday and has seen some decline, but Wright’s analysis reveals how labor history might add to ongoing political conversations.

Overall, this volume contains excellent prose, impressive research, and useful graphics, ranging from graphs and tables to historical images. The introductions to chapters 1, 2, 3, 5, and 6 are particularly noteworthy for their prose. Wright’s spread of records from the United Mine Workers of America and Miners for Democracy archives to local repositories, including museums and records in Carbon and Emery counties, expresses a deep engagement with the national and regional stories. Readers will surely appreciate the images contained throughout the text as well, including the maps at the front, the appendices (e.g., a timeline of regional and national events), and tables throughout that illustrate Wright’s extensive and impressive use of demographic data.

Wright’s inclusion of race and gender in particular are a welcome addition to the literature on mining history, especially in Utah, though the analysis and framing might have benefitted from stronger situating in gender and identity studies. Commendably, he consulted numerous sources regarding women’s history and several histories that speak to Mexican American and Mexican workers. That said, the concept of “intersectionality” might have offered Wright a way to investigate race and gender more consistently throughout the narrative. Cordoning off race and gender in their own chapters, rather than integrating them more prominently into earlier chapters, comes with costs and benefits. Treating them separately highlights them in a way that integrating them would not. On the other hand, it suggests that the two are mainly characteristics of later labor organization. The introductions of the race and gender chapters provide only brief information about those themes in earlier chronological periods. To be fair, perhaps Wright did not include women earlier because they were not miners—state law did not allow women to mine until 1973 (227). Even so, were women part of the strikes or other labor events, perhaps similar to the involvement of auto workers’ wives at the 1937 Flint General Motors strike? If not, how did notions about masculinity affect pre-1970s unionizing? Even without answers to these questions, these chapters are still much-needed additions to the extant literature on mining and labor history in Utah and the West.

In the end, Wright’s thought-provoking, nuanced work is a useful base for further explorations and a smart addition to the current literature on mining labor organization efforts.

–Nichelle Frank Utah State University

Traditional Navajo Teachings: A Trilogy—Volume I, Sacred Narratives and Ceremonies; Volume II, The Natural World; Volume III, The Earth Surface People

By Robert S. McPherson and Perry J. Robinson

Distributed by Boulder: University Press of Colorado, 2020. 237, 236, and 229 pp. Paper, $24.99 each

Summarizing a content-rich trilogy about the complex worldview of the Navajo is no simple task. More books have been written about this Native American tribe than perhaps any other, a trend that started in the 1890s and continues to the present. One might ask, why three more books, and what makes them different? The answers lie in the approach. While many studies attempt to interpret this culture’s inner workings, most are written by white men who miss the insider perspective, while Navajo informants, who may understand why something is done, concentrate on what is more easily explainable. This often results in a detailed accounting of what transpired, but misses the feelings and reasoning of the practitioners. This is not to criticize the previous work of some of the “deans” of Navajo studies—Washington Matthews, Father Berard Haile, Gladys Reichard, Leland Wyman, and others—but only to recognize that there is a far more detailed and integrated explanation of Navajo beliefs on both a tangible and intangible level. The medicine man (hataałii) Perry Robinson and historian Bob McPherson have brought the two worlds of practitioner and academician together to provide that understanding.

The three volumes center on the teachings of Robinson from Black Mesa, Arizona. He hails from a long line of medicine people, whose cumulative knowledge he shares. As a member of the Navajo Nation’s Medicine Men Association for over twenty years, he is anxious to teach and preserve many aspects of traditional beliefs that he sees being lost to younger generations. That is what these books are designed to prevent, each one standing alone, but also cross-referencing and expanding information found in the others. Navajo teachings are highly integrated, and although there may be regional or individual differences, when taken in their entirety, they present a unified system. Here, that information is made very accessible for the lay reader interested in understanding Navajo beliefs.

The trilogy is divided topically. Volume I, Sacred Narratives and Ceremonies, explains why Robinson became a practitioner, the Navajo creation and emergence stories that serve as a basis for much ritual performance, different ways of interacting with the holy people, the role of language in summoning their assistance, various forms of divination, proper etiquette when attending rituals, and how to understand the organization of a ceremony. Ties to the spiritual and physical worlds are illustrated in chapters on the rarely-discussed Bearway ceremony and the role of medicine structures. This volume explains the relationships among the patient, holy people, medicine man, and other participants, as all work together to heal the sick. A united effort is required. What appears physically and performed outwardly represents only half of what is taking place, as different relationships, seen and unseen, unfold. Proper procedures must be maintained and mistakes corrected.

The second volume, The Natural World, examines how everything created has an “Inner Being that Stands Within (spirit)” that allows for interaction with other entities. Songs, prayers, a sacred name, and a role assigned by the holy people provide an Inner Being power, responsibility, and a means by which to communicate and understand. Relationship (k’é) is the basis for all that transpires. Ranging from the sun, moon, and stars in the heavens to water, trees, animals, and insects on the ground, the natural world in the Navajo worldview encompasses a multitude of interactions. Thus, the holy people created a world that is both giving and unforgiving, depending upon how each element and creature interacts. The power to heal or harm is everywhere.

The last volume, The Earth Surface People, outlines the cultural life stages, from conception to death, of a traditional Navajo. Chapters on birth, a baby’s first cry and laugh, male and female puberty rites, clan and family relationships, marriage, and old age reveal significant differences from that of a western perspective. The last three chapters concern Navajo beliefs about the physical body, differences between Navajo and Anglo medical practices, and thoughts on aging and death. A short conclusion examines the trajectory of Navajo healing customs by comparing the Influenza Epidemic (1918–19) to the Hantavirus (1992–93) and the Covid-19 Pandemic (2020–21), and explaining how traditional views are changing.

I approach evaluating this trilogy not as an academician, although I have read much of the literature available on these topics, but more as an “observer/practitioner,” having lived and worked on the Navajo Nation for over thirty years, twenty-five of which were in the employ of the Navajo Nation Historic Preservation Department. My job was to oversee all research within the boundaries of the Navajo Nation, which included ethnography and archaeology. At the same time, I attended many ceremonies, had them performed on every member of my family, held lengthy discussions with medicine people, and observed—as well as experienced— the curative powers of these traditions. I am not Navajo, but my wife of forty years is. Thus, I have been obligated by both home life and work to know and understand as much as possible about Navajo tradition.

This trilogy is an amazing set of books that can be read on a number of levels. For the beginner interested in Navajo beliefs, each chapter has an introduction written by McPherson that provides context and a brief discussion of the topic from the perspective of the scholarly community. Robinson takes over from there and furnishes an insider perspective that teaches of the practices and rationale for a particular subject. Plain language and jargon-free, the text begins with simple concepts and moves to the center of a deeper understanding. For those familiar with Navajo traditions, there is still much that a person will learn. I know I did. Robinson often mentioned that he was sharing information from his family and the practices found in the Black Mesa region. Other medicine people from different geographical areas may have variations of these teachings, due to an oral tradition that has not been codified in the same way that a religion based in writing has. The spoken word, by its very nature of transmission, fosters more flexibility in interpretation. For readers more knowledgeable about these topics, the trilogy contains a lot of references to practices that could open new fields of investigation. A map and over one hundred photographs and sketches help solidify understanding of some of these teachings. On a more personal note, I found much of the information presented applicable in my own life. Robinson’s background as a counsellor who uses Navajo tradition to help people—whether sitting in an office or conducting a ceremony—makes his teachings highly rewarding. These three books are strongly recommended for those interested in understanding the Navajo worldview. May all who read them walk in beauty.

–Ronald P. Maldonado Navajo Nation Historic Preservation Department

The Last Canyon Voyage: A Filmmaker’s Journey Down the Green and Colorado Rivers

By Charles Eggert

Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 2020. xxvi + 353. Paper, $34.95

The Hatch-Eggert expedition arose from one simple question: “How would you like to go down it all the way . . . from Green River, Wyoming, to Lake Mead . . . the way Powell did[?]” (32). The Last Canyon Voyage relates the dramatic tale of Charles Eggert and Don Hatch’s expedition in 1955 and 1956. Their goal was to retrace the 1869 “wilderness trail” of Major John Wesley Powell; a feat that had been repeated only a handful of times. Completing Powell’s course was an accomplishment that, due to the Colorado River Storage Project, would never be possible again.

The Colorado River Storage Project, undertaken by the Bureau of Reclamation, planned to dam the rivers in 1956. As Eggert explains, “the construction of two huge dams . . . would forever block the passage of travelers on the wilderness river trail of Major John Wesley Powell. Our expedition was the last to make it” (37). Eggert and Hatch’s secondary but no less critical goal was to preserve the canyons and rivers on film before their topography and hydrography changed forever. The Last Canyon Voyage is, in many ways, Eggert’s eulogy for the Green and Colorado rivers as they once were.

The Last Canyon Voyage features Eggert’s ever-present and descriptive narration, which ushers the reader through the pages in much the same way that the Green and Colorado rivers guided the author’s rubber crafts downstream. His vivid account from the bow of their raft elicits appreciation for the grandeur of the scenery. “The canyon wall on the outside of the curve was laid back in tremendous tiers, like a mammoth coliseum with imaginary row upon row of seats. . . . We landed on the opposite bank of the river, and as we prepared camp, we felt like tiny actors playing before unseen giants” (191).

Even more than Eggert’s recounting, his photographs bring life to the gargantuan canyons that stretched before and behind their boats. Images of the powerful rapids of Hell’s Half Mile Rapid, Lodore Canyon, and the Little Colorado River provide perspective of the danger and beauty that came with every turn of the river. In addition to images, the maps contained throughout The Last Canyon Voyage highlight the Hatch-Eggert expedition’s progress down the river and their surroundings at each camp. Eggert’s deep knowledge of previous expeditions, some of which had sad conclusions, provides a rich history of “the world’s most dangerous river” (95).

In the end, the Hatch-Eggert Expedition experienced an unfortunate finish but not a tragic one. As Eggert remarked following their failure in 1955 (due to sinking water levels) and subsequent return to complete the journey in 1956: “the river did defeat us, but not in the violent way it had so many others. Rather, it captured us in a spiritual way, and none of us will ever be the same again” (324). While the Hatch-Eggert expedition was unable to replicate Powell’s feat in a single year, they were able to succeed in their secondary goal: documenting the rushing river and steep canyon walls on film before the landscape was remade. “We accomplished what we set out to do—to make a motion picture record of those eighteen canyons that Major Powell first traveled through in 1869 . . . so far as I know, ours is the only complete record of that entire route” (325).

In this way, The Last Canyon Voyage is significant as a primary source. It offers a glimpse into the rivers before their damming. Because of Eggert’s work, we can “see [them] as Powell had” (36). Eggert’s photographs, film, and book are the last vestiges of the lost wilderness river trail of Powell. Not only did the expedition succeed in memorializing the rivers but also in warning what may come of ecologically destructive projects such as damming.

Eggert’s captioned photographs acquaint the reader with the canyons that have been changed forever. Petroglyphs once visible on the canyon walls are now submerged. The path of Powell’s expedition, almost a century earlier, has been erased. Ta-vwoat’s forbidden passage, a legend that Indigenous people warned Powell of, is now impassible. In these ways, The Last Canyon Voyage hints at the environmental and social history of the rivers that can no longer be experienced. It is truly the last remaining part of the wilderness trail.

The Last Canyon Voyage can serve as a vehicle for further conversation about the role of conservation. Like Eggert intended with his films, The Last Canyon Voyage is thought provoking. It poses questions regarding the role of adventurers, environmentalists, and citizens in protecting their natural environment. Eggert’s son, Sebastian, perhaps best summed up the value of his father’s work in the acknowledgments: “understanding what this place was like before the dams were built can be a force for changing our attitudes about our responsibility to the places we love, wherever they may be” (xiv). As climate change intensifies the drought conditions of the West, the more we may have to consider the significance of our waterways and the stories they carry.

–Christian Filbrun University of Nevada, Reno