Based on my personal views and my reading of Sernett, I do not believe that there is a distinct difference between academic and non-academic history. I think the congruency of the two, whether intentional or not, is unavoidable, regardless of the medium used to portray the history. Regardless of their degree of difference, I believe both (if we can, in fact, refer to them as two forms) have a place in society and fill beneficial role in its progression.
I believe that the difference between academic and non-academic history, if it exists, exists only in the intentions and perhaps methodologies behind a particular piece of writing. An academic historian sets out in search of truth, as Conrad did, because he found previous writings (in this case the Bradford books) “inadequate” (210). Non-academic writers, filmmakers, and artists, such as Anne Parrish, “make no claim to historical accuracy” (230), and instead strive for other goals, such as financial profit, moral education, artistic beauty, etc. By extension, the methodologies behind academic and non-academic writing can be used to define the two: while Conrad “cast a wide net in an effort to gather as much information about Tubman as he could” and took care “to cross-check stories told him” (214), non-academic creators are likely to rely on a more limited range of sources. For example, Parrish’s focus was literary rather than historical, and as such A Clouded Star perpetrated the flawed and inaccurate suggestions that slavery was a benign institution, as stated by Ulrich B Philips. Thus, I do believe that there is a difference between the motives and methods of academic and non-academic history, I do not believe that there is a fundamental difference between the actual products. It is easy to extrapolate “academic” as meaning “truthful” and “non-academic” as “false,” but this is not necessarily true. As Sutcliffe indicates, Conrad had significant problems finding reliable information of Tubman despite his best investigative efforts, to the point that two of his sources (Brickler and Northrup) were actively contradicting and accusing each other of lying. Given that these types of inaccuracies can clearly exist even with the most academic methods and intentions, I believe that there is no guarantee that an “academic” text will differ in truth from a “non-academic” one. This is especially true in art and film history. An artist is required, by the nature of the medium, to embellish and edit aspects of reality from her work—especially since Tubman lived long enough ago that we have no photographic evidence of her escapades. Therefore, any artistic portrayal of her life must be largely interpretive, whether it is intended to resemble reality or not. Similarly, even documentaries striving for academic accuracy must be filtered through the director and actors who have their own nuanced views of how Tubman’s life would have looked, sounded, and occurred. For instance, Cecily Tyson “did not remind one viewer of Harriet Tubman” (234), and while this is only a modern spectator’s opinion, it demonstrates how no actress could perfectly embody the actual spirit of a long-deceased person, whether she was trying to for academic purposes or not. While an academic documentary may therefore have a greater chance of accuracy than a film made largely for dramatic effect, there is no guarantee that they will differ. Therefore, I believe that there is no “sharp, generalizable difference” between the two types of history—only a spectrum of likelihood of resemblance to reality, which it is impossible for us to truly evaluate anyway.
Even though I would argue that academic and non-academic histories are different degrees on a spectrum, both do have a worthwhile function. Academic histories exist as a public record, so that some form of truth can be found in the past. They allow as to view events accurately, so that we can correctly apply the information to modern day life and research. Non-academic histories, in contrast, can be more inspirational and impactful, as its details can be altered to crete the strongest effect. Less academic history, such as children’s literature, also generates interest in true history and thus encourages more study in the field. When I was young, I enjoyed history class because I the non-academic texts I was given were like stories that I could enjoy just like any fiction, yet the implication that the stories had been real gave them more importance, and made me stop and consider them more deeply. Similarly, my dad once tried to show his favorite movie (about soccer games during World War II) and tried to convince me by repeating that “it’s all true!” The movie turned out to be very non-academic and fictionalized, but the notion that it might have been historically accurate inspired my dad to be interested in WWII sports, at which point he could progress to academic histories. Additionally, non-academic texts can fill the same role as fiction, and provide morality tales. This principle can be seen in the non-academic Disney movie about Davy Crockett, which could teach children how to stand up for their beliefs and be honest without weighing the story down with infinite asterisks and footnotes and various interpretations that academic texts often require.