Active History

Empathy for the End Times: On Climate Disaster & The Apocalypse

November 11, 2026 No Comments

By Caliesha Harris

This post is part of the Tomorrow’s Historians series.

The world always seems to be ending. This past summer, as wildfire smoke hung over much of Ontario, I tried my best to shelve my climate anxiety only to end up reading four-hundred-year-old sources describing similar experiences. No matter where I looked, the world seemed on the brink of disaster.

My dissertation explores environmental crisis and apocalyptic thought in late-Tudor England. I read cheap print—sermons, pamphlets, and almanacs—to understand how strange weather was experienced as an apocalyptic phenomenon. In the last decades of the 1500s, we read of ‘signs and tokens’ — comets, eclipses, severe thunderstorms, double rainbows, freakish snowstorms, and floods. In 2026, we saw one of Canada’s worst wildfire seasons ever. On top of this, extreme heat, flooding, and drought persisted across the country. Readers will be interested in Elbows Up for Climate, an interactive site that maps Canada’s many environmental disasters this year. It is hard not to feel fear and anxiety looking at this map. These reactions, however, are useful to make dynamic what is often presented as static. Because of the catharsis, fear, and wonder that sprang from observing signs in nature, sixteenth-century people read moral warnings and affirmations into them. Understanding their reality helps make sense of ours.

As a historian of the sixteenth century living through ‘unprecedented times,’ complete with climate disasters and large segments of the population living in apocalyptic expectation, I am uniquely positioned to show how precedented our experiences are. In this short essay, I spotlight an earthquake that shook London in 1580, one example from a generation that witnessed environmental disasters alongside political crises, religious reform, and technological advances. Using this case study, I bring the apocalyptic rhetoric I study into conversation with our own contemporary language. This exchange encourages empathy for historical actors we might otherwise view as superstitious or simple. Empathy for the past means recognizing where we can see ourselves by working to understand what is unfamiliar.

A woodcut shows a man watching the Heavens open following London’s 1580 Earthquake. From Thomas de Twyne’s *A Short and Pithie Discourse* (1580), reprinted in a modern edition by R.E. Ockenden (1936). Acquired from The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford, 18822 e.20 (6) (Box B000000207720).

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Dr. Doom and the Housewife

November 10, 2026 No Comments

Alan MacEachern

Cartoon by an unidentified grade 10 student from Honolulu, Hawaii, 1961. Courtesy of the University of Illinois Archives, Heinz von Foerster papers 11/6/26, box 62, folder “Doomsday Requests PPc Prints, 1960-61.”

In November 1960, Science, one of the leading scholarly journals in the world, published a paper with the sombre title “Doomsday: Friday, 13 November, A.D. 2026.” On that day, according to the authors – American physicist Heinz von Foerster and two of his students – the global human population will have soared so high that it will “approach infinity.” The sad truth was that “Our great-great-grandchildren will not starve to death. They will be squeezed to death.”[1]

The Doomsday article became something of a sensation. It was talked about in newspapers and magazines around the world, even becoming the subject of a series of Walt Kelly’s Pogo comic strips. Yet the very quality that made the essay most irresistible – its bare-faced absurdity – also made it enigmatic. Was it meant as a dire warning of population rise? A satire of postwar demographic fears? A mathematical parlor trick? That von Foerster never broke character – writing spirited defenses of the original article in response to critical letters to the Science editor – and then never wrote about human demography again made it all the more difficult to discern his underlying intent. While the Doomsday article is von Foerster’s claim to fame in some corners of the internet, it is not even mentioned in much biographical work on him.[2]

One could say that the article was perfectly in keeping with von Foerster’s background and interests. He had trained as a magician in Austria before moving to the U.S., and his sense of stagecraft infuses the essay – and ensured he would not give its game away entirely. More importantly, he was a leader in the new field of cybernetics, the science of how systems self-regulate, and the Doomsday article can be seen as a model of cybernetic thinking.[3] Whereas classical economist Thomas Malthus and his modern followers believed that when a population rose, it would inevitably be kept under check by famine, disease, or war, von Foerster saw the human species as uniquely capable of self-organizing – developing medicines and technologies and, above all, coordinating these – to avoid these threats. But this meant that our species could experience hyperbolic growth, carrying us off a mathematical cliff. Far better, then, that we self-regulate with intention, by working to reduce the global birth rate.[4]

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Promoting History: A Message from History Students to our Educators

November 5, 2026 No Comments

Owen Deis and Andrew Kelly

Graphic created by the authors. Statue photo from Getty Images.

Throughout their undergraduate studies, history students are often told two things: that their degree is invaluable and that it will likely lead to unemployment. As a result, prospective and new history students are often unsure what the degree can do for them. As recent graduates with Bachelor of Arts degrees in History from the University of Saskatchewan, we wanted to share insights into what we see as the degree’s real potential.

Throughout our undergraduate studies, our cohort of history majors was fortunate to have professors tell us we had the makings of strong graduates and career professionals. However, when we discussed in more detail what we wanted to do with our degrees, our professors’ tone changed. Many of us wanted to go into graduate or professional school. Others wanted public service roles and to leave the academy. Whichever path we eyed, however, our professors told us to be careful about how we intended to apply our degrees. Sobering statements we heard from our professors include:

“You will be older, poorer, and less happy than your peers [if you do a PhD].”

“The job market is paralyzed.”

“What do you want to do with this degree? Think carefully about that.”

Getting such direct statements from professors we looked up to was hard and rather disheartening. It certainly wasn’t encouraging to be told that a career in academia might be unattainable. In sharing the comments, though, we don’t mean to deride the professors who said them. These comments offer real insight into the academic side of the field. Students pursuing graduate studies do face greater financial and career challenges than their peers. The job market for history graduates in the academy is imbalanced, with more candidates than openings. Academia is not an ideal career path for many. The Canadian Historical Association’s 2022 Task Force on the Future of the History PhD in Canada report affirms these facts.^[1] Our peers also alluded to these issues. The joke in our history group was, and still is, that we are unemployable and that our degree will not matter in the long run. In reality, even vacancies for jobs requiring a Bachelor’s degree have declined sharply in Canada in recent years. Thus, this issue is not confined to just grad students.

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What Happens When Incomplete Evidence Becomes an Image?

November 4, 2026 No Comments

Feimo Zhu

The fragment page centres on a girl eating ice cream, with surrounding drawings of taste, texture, bodily sensation, family members, and details of the setting. Labels and source notes identify different kinds of evidence, while some family figures and parts of the setting remain faint or incomplete.

What happens when incomplete historical evidence becomes a finished image? How might public historians show these gaps and explain their visual choices in exhibitions and other public displays? Michael Frisch examines how editorial decisions, including omissions, shape the public presentation of oral history. Susan A. Crane discusses how museums can present history in ways that conflict with visitors’ personal memories and expectations.¹ In exhibitions, archival displays, and digital reconstructions, public historians may need to turn incomplete historical materials into visual presentations. These presentations may draw on different sources, but viewers may not always see where evidence is missing or where interpretation is involved. One challenge is to communicate uncertainty without making the presentation difficult to understand. As an artist, my current approach is to examine historical testimonies and archival records through drawing. I use notes, labels, and separate images to distinguish what is supported by the sources, what involves my own interpretation, and what remains uncertain.

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Bedrock

November 3, 2026 No Comments

By Maren Savarese Knopf

This post was originally published by NiCHE in collaboration with the Indian Act 150 series.

“Sir, We are looking anxiously for your report as to Indian titles both within Manitoba and without; and as to the best means of extinguishing [terminating] the Indian titles in the valley of Saskatchewan…We should take immediate steps to extinguish the Indian titles somewhere in the Fertile Belt in the valley of Saskatchewan, and open it for settlement.”

-Prime Minister Macdonald, 1870, a letter^[1]

Adorned in ancient ripples and sedimentary patterns, Nepean Sandstone warms underneath the morning sun^[2]

Excavated, dislocated, transformed.

On April 12, 1876 the stone swallowed 206 settler Men gathered within its, now, parliamentary shaped walls^[3]

In loud, rumbustious voices the Men declared: THE INDIAN ACT HAS PASSED^[4]

quietly, the stone objected… quietly the stone protested

“the language of stone is difficult, Rock mumbles”^[5]

Unaware they had been swallowed,

the stone spat them out

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Will Québec ever answer the ‘Immigrant Question’?

November 2, 2026 No Comments

By Theodore Aretakis

In the recent 2026 Québec elections, one topic once again captured the electorate’s attention: immigration. The Parti Québecois (PQ), which formed a minority government, presented twelve points on immigration during their campaign, notably setting permanent targets to roughly 35,000/year—a stark drop from last year’s figure of 60,000. PQ leader Paul St-Pierre Plamondon describes this initiative as important to the “protection of the French language, [the party’s] ability to deliver public services, and in terms of housing, and equal opportunities.”^[1]

While this policy presents itself as a response to contemporary concerns, debates over immigration are nothing new for the francophone province. For decades, Québecois have grappled with the complexities of immigration in the context of their national project and perceived standing in Canada. However, this is not simply a two-sided debate. The Confédération des travailleurs catholiques du Québec (CTCC), whose statements and policies during the post-war period spanned both support and opposition, complicated the binary between “pro-” and “anti-” immigration. Examining the context and reasoning behind the contradictory sentiments of CTCC leadership and the rank-and-file provides insight and nuance into the development of the immigration debate in Québec.

The union’s periodical, Le Travail, offers a window into this complexity. In these pages, articles appealed to new arrivals by advertising their immigration support services and defending immigrants’ position in Québec society. At the same time, writers criticized government immigration policies and quotas, blaming them for high unemployment rates and the housing crisis.

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Teaching Colonial Histories in Canada Through Relationship and Responsibility

October 29, 2026 No Comments

Chaa’winisaks and Pia Russell

Photograph from the shoreline of a rocky beach with an overhanging tree. — *Beach at P’kols/PKOLS. P. Russell, 2026.*

As the teaching of history in Canadian universities seeks to incorporate decolonization, anti-racism, and truth-telling, the work of how to realize these commitments in practice remains emergent. As a Nuu-chah-nulth and a White settler co-teaching team, we delivered a 12-week undergraduate history course at the University of Victoria (UVic) that focused on these commitments. In so doing, we treated relationship and responsibility as essential parts of the work of teaching history at a Canadian university. This post reflects on how relationship and responsibility shaped our pedagogy, describes what we learned in the process, and encourages others to consider how our experience might inform their own teaching.

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Choosing to Stay

October 28, 2026 No Comments

This post is an introduction to the series Tomorrow’s Historians: A Reflection on the Graduate Student Experience

By Katie Carson and Tiffany Chénier

In a pervasive climate of anti-intellectualism and cuts to humanities programs, the decision to pursue a degree in history is an existential one. It is not uncommon for prospective students applying to PhD programs to receive “The Talk.” It typically begins by cautioning that the academic job market remains dire and that it is unlikely you will secure a tenure-track appointment upon completing a degree.

These talks didn’t end once you received your acceptance letter. The malaise of an uncertain future hangs heavily over graduate students as they try to balance completing a degree with planning for an unpredictable postgrad career.

The reality that studying history can be an isolating experience adds insult to injury. As a history graduate student, you’re likely to spend many solitary hours doing archival research, analyzing your sources, and drafting your chapters. You might also be the only student in your department studying a given sub-discipline, adding a layer of intellectual loneliness to the equation. Taken together with the grim job market, this isolation makes the decision to pursue a graduate degree increasingly daunting.

And yet, each year, new students embark on this journey.

Students at the University of New Brunswick, 1908.

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On the Useless History Degree

October 27, 2026 No Comments

By Sarah Kittilsen

As a tour guide, I answer a lot of questions. Some are related to the tour itself, but many are not. Guests ask about my life just as much as, if not more than, they ask about the history of Montreal. I wasn’t surprised, then, when a woman turned toward me one summer morning and asked,

“So, what do you study?”

I’d answered this question enough times to perfect my response. Most guests were looking for small talk, so I kept it brief, including just enough detail to inspire confidence in my competence.

“I’m finishing a master’s degree in modern Canadian history this fall,” I said.

Guests usually offered a word of encouragement or nod of support in reply, or if they were chatty, an anecdote about a cousin’s husband’s daughter who also had a history degree. But not this woman.

“What are you ever going to do with that?”

Image 1: The author guiding a historical walking tour in Montreal.

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Returning to Woodside: Changing Perspectives on a Historic House

October 26, 2026 No Comments

Shannon Stettner

Exterior of Woodside National Historic Site. Photograph by the author, December 2025.

Last December I visited Woodside National Historic Site, the boyhood home of Canada’s tenth Prime Minister, William Lyon Mackenzie King (WLMK). It was my first visit to the house since 1998 when I was a public history graduate student at the University of Waterloo. Back then, I wrote a paper on the portrayal of gender at Woodside. Decades later, while sorting through file boxes, I found the paper and wondered whether the interpretation had evolved in the intervening years. I don’t know if it has changed all that much, but my impression of it has.

In 1998, as part of my research, I accompanied a group of eight-year-olds on their school tour. While I got to witness their enthusiasm for the house, not surprisingly, the tour didn’t touch on my own interests. Instead, the emphasis was on portraying “Willie” as a “regular” kid. My assignment fell a few pages short, so I included an experiential analysis of my visit. It is an understatement to say that approach made my professor uncomfortable (he used the word “fretted” in his feedback). Nevertheless, I wrote about how walking through the house made me feel. I was a little disappointed that the house portrayed gender in the familiar ways we would expect of a Victorian house museum. I left wondering is that all there is? This was not a criticism of the staff or the story that was told. Rather, I was frustrated by what I perceived as the limitations of how gender could be conveyed in a Victorian household; 1998 me couldn’t relate.[i]

Prior to visiting in 2025, I contacted Woodside with an ambitious list of interpretive and operational questions. When I arrived, Holly took me on a tour of the house. What was planned as an hour-long visit turned into two. Because Holly knew my interests ahead of time, she pulled out specific artefacts for me to look at. For example, she found an etiquette book on the shelves of the library, showed me a telegram from WLMK to the South Waterloo Women’s Liberal Association, and shared a dance card from a July 15, 1889, party in the King’s parlour.

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