WHY CAN'T GEOGRAPHERS WRITE THEIR OWN STORY?

When Bill Woods returned from the CLAG conference in Morelia, he recounted to me a dramatic exchange that had occurred in the forum on Charles Mann's 1491. All of the papers had been given. The audience had had its say. The moderator noticed Dan Gade's pensive gaze. "You've been quiet," he said. "Is there something you'd like to add?" Dan waited a moment, then somberly asked, "What's wrong with us? Why can't we write our own story?" An intense discussion ensued, without resolution. It's a question that I myself have pondered (2001) and committed to address (2004). How odd it is that geographers can't excite the public about geography, yet others do so routinely. Why is it so hard for geographers themselves to stir public passions on the matters they hold most dear? Read 1491 and you'll find the "stealth discipline," geography, operating beneath the public radar. From Carl Sauer on, geographers led the way toward new understandings of the ancient Americas. As startling as the discoveries themselves is how much time passed from Sauer's first inklings (Sauer 1935) or Bill Denevan's 1961 discovery and publication (1966) to Mann's public revelation (2005). Profound ideas reported in geographical literature and widely accepted by geographers did not reach broad public awareness for half a century and more, and then not directly from geographers themselves but from the able pen of science journalist Mann. Geographers indeed can write serious geography that appeals to the public. Step into any major bookstore, or go on-line, and you'll find books by George Demko, Don Meinig, Mark Monmonier, Carl Sauer, and Neil Smith, several with respectable sales rankings at Amazon.com. Only one geographer, however, has the level of readership that Mann is enjoying. Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel (1998) has sold at least 1.5 million copies, and its current sales ranking, ten years after initial publication, remains somewhat higher than that of 1491. It is this exception, however, that proves the rule, because Diamond himself was not educated as a geographer. He was educated as a physiologist and adopted geography as his academic home after his book achieved phenomenal success. His latest book, Collapse (2005), is doing almost as well--in spite of his conversion, one might say. In American history, perhaps only four geographers--Jedediah Morse (1761-1826), Isaiah Bowman (1878-1950), Ellsworth Huntington (1876-1947), and Diamond (b. 1937)--have been true celebrities. That is difficult to say with confidence, for both "geographer" and "celebrity" are open to interpretation. Some who majored in geography (Michael Jordan), taught geography (Mother Teresa), or wrote geography textbooks (Gen. Augusto Pinochet) achieved great fame or notoriety, but not by "doing business as" geographers. Bowman presents an extreme case of the stealth principle. As geographer to President Woodrow Wilson during World War I and President Franklin Roosevelt during World War II, author of the United States' globalization policy, and one of six key architects of the United Nations, Bowman easily figures among the most politically influential scholars of the twentieth century, along with the likes of Henry Kissinger, Zbigniew Brzezinski, and George Kennan, author of the United States' containment strategy against the Soviet Union. No history of the Soviet Era is complete without paragraphs or even whole chapters about the others, but Bowman himself rarely gets a sentence. Similarly, Wild Bill Donovan's World War II Office of Strategic Services is famous, whereas Bowman's "Inquiry," which did the same job (intelligence analysis, not spying) during World War I, is practically unknown. Most histories of World War I barely mention the Inquiry, fewer still mention Bowman, and glaring errors are common. Neil Smith's American Empire (2003) does justice to his accomplishments, but its sales volume is not enough to sway public opinion. …