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PERSISTENT HOSTILITIES IN CIVIL WAR MEMORY

grapple with through a history written by Toby Riddle’s son Jeff and military pension requests presented by Klamath Basin Indians during the early twentieth century. The author alludes to but does not pursue another intriguing act of reinscription when he notes that there was “vandalism” of a cross marking the place where Major General Edward Canby was killed during peace negotiations (178). Cothran reflects on the 1988 addition of a new memorial to the “victims of nineteenth-century U.S.-Indian violence in the Klamath Basin,” as another moment in which Modoc people talked back to the dominant narrative even as it became more deeply embedded in popular consciousness. The National Park Service commissioned a plaque that Cothran sees as emblematic of the era’s “liberal multiculturalism,” paralleling the violence experienced by Indians and non-Indians during the Modoc War. It featured the names of all the people who died, Native or non-Native; combatants or non-combatants. “[B]y suggesting that ‘we all pay the price’ and that ‘there are no true winners,’” argues Cothran, “the memorial normalizes the U.S. federal government’s possession of a culturally, spiritually, and materially significant place and elides the fundamentally unequal nature of nineteenth-century U.S.-Indian violence and American settler colonialism writ large” (188). Both AMisplaced Massacre and Remembering the Modoc War engage the challenges in forging collective memories, the dangers in attempts to reconcile the irreconcilable, the fallacy of healing open wounds, and the impossibility of bringing closure to living histories. In the wake of forgetting to remember Indigenous experiences, narratives, and ways of knowing, it is not enough to remember in the interest of forgetting. At Sand Creek and in the Klamath Basin, the authors amplify voices saying, “It’s our collective past.” “It’s our shared suffering.” “It’s our equivalent pain,” and “It’s history.” On all counts, we hear the riposte, “No, it isn’t.” In the song “Hurt,” the narrator self-inflicts pain hoping that it will “kill it all away” only to find that “I remember everything.” Commemorative encounters with the violence of history and the history of violence suggest a similar dynamic. Kelman and Cothran take us into these difficult spaces without offering easy answers. Public commemorations of and historical knowledge production about violence do not offer final resolutions by killing pain or healing wounds—nor should they. AMisplacedMassacre and Remembering the ModocWarmake important contributions to American Indian and Indigenous Studies, memory studies, and the history of the Civil War and Reconstruction.