Museums are spaces of discomfort. They are spaces that have grown from violent origins into a disconcerting present. As an industry, we have used the language of change and the language of community. Yet we have still allowed many institutions to remain steadfast in maintaining their often-hostile status quo. How do we expect visitors and audiences to feel welcome and safe when even industry professionals can’t seem to escape how our own industry can make us feel defensive, unsafe, or unheard?
This question has colored much of my work as a museum educator and public engagement manager across multiple institutions and political climates. It’s a question that feels central to how I understand and experience museums and how I approach my work within them. In the day-to-day experience of working within a museum, this line of questioning can, at times, feel isolating and singular; something that must be done privately and individually; something that can’t be shared.
This reflection and critique are a large but often quiet part of any career rooted in museums; something that I frequently sense we all feel, yet we usually can’t find meaningful and cathartic ways to discuss. As a result, I did not expect to find others so willing and ready to discuss these questions at the WMA Annual Meeting. Yet, my time at the WMA annual meeting was filled, both in and out of scheduled panels and discussions, with fellow professionals who proved that engaging in these questions and other critiques of the museum is one of the few ways our industry can define its own future in the face of an era of uncertainty.
At a time in my life when I was slowly recovering from burnout that had me questioning my place in the museum world, it was reinvigorating to meet so many others working in the field who held museums in equal parts awe and accountability. It was a space where we could celebrate our wins and reflect on our losses; where we could be honest about how museums serve us and how they fail us. It helped us create a shared vocabulary across institutions and across locales to address the unique challenges we face as museum professionals. WMA became a space for us to face, head on, the conflicts we are forced to address as the museums we love, steward, and pour ourselves into rise or fall to the challenges of our day.
At its best, the WMA annual meeting was a space of shared hope and a shared belief in institutional possibility. Almost everyone I met at WMA expressed, in one way or another, that museums would not just survive all of the hurdles being thrown at cultural and academic institutions in the midst of an ever-evolving culture war, but that they would blossom into spaces that can actively address the many different needs and wishes of the communities that museums have so often failed. It became clear that for myself, and for many of the people I met at WMA, our critique of museums comes not solely from a place of love, but a place of deep yearning, and a belief that the change and accountability we hope to see is not just possible, but inevitable when we as museum professionals continue to use our critique of museums as a guide for the transformational work that has already begun to break down barriers between ourselves, our audiences, and our institutions.
Em Halladay Ptacek Choi is a museum educator and public engagement manager living and working on unceded Duwamish land. Their work is shaped by their experiences as a Descendant of a Korean Adoptee (DoKAD) and as a resident of the Chinatown-International District. They are honored to have served audiences across Washington state at the Wing Luke Museum, Japanese Cultural and Community Center of Washington, and the Seattle Asian Art Museum.
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