The 10 most-cited articles in The American Historical Review, 2020

Abstract The Black Death, often called the largest pandemic in human history, is conventionally defined as the massive plague outbreak of 1346 to 1353 c.e. that struck the Black Sea and Mediterranean, extended into the Middle East, North Africa, and western Europe, and killed as much as half the total population of those regions. Yet genetic approaches to plague’s history have established that Yersinia pestis, the causative organism of plague, suddenly diverged in Central Asia at some point before the Black Death, splitting into four new branches—a divergence geneticists have called the “Big Bang.” Drawing on a “biological archive” of genetic evidence, I trace the bacterial descendants of the Big Bang proliferation, comparing that data to historical human activities in and around the area of plague’s emergence. The Mongols, whose empire emerged in 1206, unwittingly moved plague through Central Eurasia in the thirteenth, not the fourteenth, century. Grain shipments that the Mongols brought with them to several sieges, including the siege of Baghdad, were the most likely mechanism of…

Abstract In a complement to the 2020 AHR Roundtable “Chronological Age: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis” (125, no. 2), this AHR Exchange focuses on the history of children and childhood. Sarah Maza presents a critical review essay, highlighting the limiting factors in the expanding field of childhood studies. Children, she observes, produce few sources of their own voices, have limited agency, and as individuals and as a group soon outgrow their subaltern status—they grow up. Robin P. Chapdelaine, Nara Milanich, Steven Mintz, Ishita Pande, and Bengt Sandin—historians representing diverse geographical, theoretical, and methodological perspectives on the history of children and childhood—react to Maza’s observations by bringing up important methodological questions about subjecthood, agency, and modernity. Maza’s rejoinder reflects on these questions and on the possibility of age-based historical agency.

Abstract In a complement to the 2020 AHR Roundtable “Chronological Age: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis” (125, no. 2), this AHR Exchange focuses on the history of children and childhood. Sarah Maza presents a critical review essay, highlighting the limiting factors in the expanding field of childhood studies. Children, she observes, produce few sources of their own voices, have limited agency, and as individuals and as a group soon outgrow their subaltern status—they grow up. Robin P. Chapdelaine, Nara Milanich, Steven Mintz, Ishita Pande, and Bengt Sandin—historians representing diverse geographical, theoretical, and methodological perspectives on the history of children and childhood—react to Maza’s observations by bringing up important methodological questions about subjecthood, agency, and modernity. Maza’s rejoinder reflects on these questions and on the possibility of age-based historical agency.

Abstract This article explores how plague—as an idea—became an ahistorical independent agent of historical change. It focuses on the case of the Justinianic Plague (ca. 541–750 c.e.), the first major recorded plague pandemic in Mediterranean history, which has increasingly been used to explain significant demographic, political, social, economic, and cultural change during late antiquity (ca. 300–800 c.e.). We argue that the Justinianic Plague retains its great historiographic power—namely, its supposed destructive impact over two centuries—because it evokes a terrifying myth of what plague should do rather than because of conclusive evidence of what it did. We define this historiographic power as the plague concept. It includes three key features: extensive chronology (lasting for two centuries), mortality (catastrophic death toll), and geography (global). The plague concept is built on three interdisciplinary types of evidence (here termed truisms): rats, climate, and paleogenetics. Our article traces how scientists constructed the plague concept in the first half of the twentieth…

Abstract Indigenous people are often seen as static recipients of transatlantic encounter, influencing the Atlantic world only in their parochial interactions with Europeans, but the reality is that thousands of Native Americans crossed the ocean during the sixteenth century, many unwillingly, but some by choice. As diplomats, entertainers, traders, travelers, and, sadly, most often when enslaved, Indigenous people operated consciously within structures that spanned the ocean and created a worldview that was framed in transatlantic terms. Focusing on purposeful travelers of “Aztec” (Central Mexican) origin, this article uses the distinctive context of the 1500s to rewrite our understandings of the Atlantic world. In the turbulent waters of early empire, we can more easily see Native people as purposeful global actors who created and transformed social, economic, political, and intellectual networks, forging not one but many “Indigenous Atlantics.” This is about more than “looking east from Indian country,” or recovering the transatlantic journeys of Native people, important though…

Abstract This annual AHR Conversation focuses on the issues and historiographic debates raised by the term “Black Internationalism.” Participants Monique Bedasse, Kim D. Butler, Carlos Fernandes, Dennis Laumann, Tejasvi Nagaraja, Benjamin Talton, and Kira Thurman bring a wide array of interests and areas of expertise to bear on the origins, evolution, and meaning of the concept of Black Internationalism; its application within Africa, the U.S., and the African diaspora more generally; and its relationship to gender, nationalism, and anticolonialism. In addition to tracing the deep roots of this framework for writing the history of Black resistance to slavery, colonialism, and white supremacy as global phenomena, they insist on seeing Black Internationalism from multiple points on the compass. Perspectives derived from the history—and intellectual production—of Africa, Europe, South America, and the Caribbean prove just as important, if not more so, than those emanating from the United States.

Abstract The word “boredom” was not used in English before the eighteenth century. Does this mean that pre-eighteenth-century people did not experience boredom? Or did their experience of boredom differ from ours? This article approaches these questions by exploring the history of people falling asleep in church, and asking whether boredom played a role in their slumber. Across the confessional spectrum in premodern Europe, religious somnolence was depicted as a common and grave problem. The preoccupation with this problem went hand in hand with longstanding ecclesiastic concerns about deficient attention among the flock. Probing medieval and early modern controversies about somnolence and boredom offers insight on two levels: First, it helps to correct the problematic presentism that identifies boredom as a quintessentially modern condition. Second, exploring the long history of boredom adds nuance to our understanding of premodern culture and mentalities, revealing—in the case of religious audiences—a struggle for attention that we would not expect to find in a world in which…

Abstract It is easy to presume that age’s legal value rests in the autonomy and rights that accrue to the liberal (male, propertied) citizen who has reached the age of majority. But this is not universally so. In Spain’s American colonies, legal age talk involved multiplying privileges rather than exclusionary subtraction. Few indigenous peoples, enslaved people of African descent, or members of the free casta poor tallied the years they had lived in a manner that meets modern standards of precision. Instead, the ages that Spanish American officials set down on paper in criminal trials, censuses, and freedom suits derived from complicated cultural equations, including reconciling local ethno-numeracies with European counting systems. For all its seeming imprecision, age was of critical importance to colonial Spanish Americans, since rather than guaranteeing access to rights, age was a language that colonial subjects used to turn legal incapacities into beneficial protections.

Abstract In a complement to the 2020 AHR Roundtable “Chronological Age: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis” (125, no. 2), this AHR Exchange focuses on the history of children and childhood. Sarah Maza presents a critical review essay, highlighting the limiting factors in the expanding field of childhood studies. Children, she observes, produce few sources of their own voices, have limited agency, and as individuals and as a group soon outgrow their subaltern status—they grow up. Robin P. Chapdelaine, Nara Milanich, Steven Mintz, Ishita Pande, and Bengt Sandin—historians representing diverse geographical, theoretical, and methodological perspectives on the history of children and childhood—react to Maza’s observations by bringing up important methodological questions about subjecthood, agency, and modernity. Maza’s rejoinder reflects on these questions and on the possibility of age-based historical agency.

Graphic novels and historical imagination, connected. In Cumbe and Angola Janga: Uma história de Palmares, these are the main ingredients that the artist and art historian Marcelo D’Salete uses to reconstruct quilombos in Brazil. In the Americas, over the course of the sixteenth to the nineteenth century, enslaved men and women escaped and formed a vast number of communities that have reproduced themselves from the post-abolition period until the present day. They have received many names: cumbes in Venezuela, maroons in the British and U.S. Caribbean, marronage in the French Caribbean, and cimarronaje in Cuba and the Spanish Caribbean (Richard Price, ed., Maroon Societies: Rebel Slave Communities in the Americas, 2nd. ed. [1979]). In Brazil, they were initially called mocambos and later quilombos, African terms that meant “camps” in many micro and collective societies in the central-western region of Africa. We still know very little about what the fugitives called themselves and even less about the reason for the widespread use of the names mocambos/quilombos in Brazil, unlike the…