Thesis: S.B., Massachusetts Institute of Technology, History Section, May, 2020 / Cataloged from the official PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (pages [56]-[57]). / by Alden James. / S.B. / S.B. Massachusetts Institute of Technology, History Section

Thesis (S.B. in History)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, 2013. / Cataloged from PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (p. 68-71). / Histories of Boston's school desegregation crisis have focused on the legal and political struggles that preceded the Garrity decision, which, in 1974, enforced citywide school integration. It is necessary to discern and evaluate the viewpoints of black and white parents in the greater Boston area in the years before court-mandated integration. This thesis examines the black community's efforts to assure higher quality education for their children through public protests and self-help actions. It also explores the responses of urban and suburban white residents to this rising civil rights challenge. Black parents created Operation Exodus, a grassroots movement aimed at enrolling Roxbury children in other Boston schools, in response to the Boston School Committee's reluctance to build better schools and integrate existing schools. Led by a group of prominent black activists, Exodus members found allies within and beyond Roxbury. From 1965-1970, Exodus rallied the black community to not only demand better education, but also to develop more effective social agencies in Roxbury. The movement eventually inspired similar programs, such as METCO, in the suburbs. Although the Exodus movement was eventually superseded by national efforts to integrate Boston's schools, it played a key role in shaping public opinion about school desegregation and publicizing the failures of the Boston school system. / by Billy Huang. / S.B.in History

Thesis (S.B.)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences [SHASS], History Section, June 2010. / Cataloged from PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (p. 66-69). / This thesis examines the implementation of official propaganda issued by the National Socialist regime during the years following Adolf Hitler's rise to power in 1933 up through 1945. By analyzing two very different mediums of propaganda used by the National Socialist party, film and advertising in a middle-class German periodical, I compare subtle and overt propaganda methods, as well as the differing approaches the Reich Ministry for Propaganda took when targeting varying audiences. My first chapter is an in depth analysis of the German Film industry under the Third Reich. I looked at three Nazi propaganda films: Triumph des Willens (1934), a film created in order to establish Hitler's role as the leader of the Third Reich, der ewige Jude (1940), a crude, documentary style, anti-Semitic film, and Jud Siij3 (1940), a feature length entertainment film. A comparison of the content of these films and their respective box office results point out the strengths and weaknesses of different approaches to propaganda films. In my second chapter I explore women's advertisements in the popular German periodical die Gartenlaube. By looking at the evolving depiction of women in advertisements for products such as Nivea-Creme and Nur Blond (a women's hair product), and the imagery of women on the covers of the magazine, I attempt to show the ways in which the National Socialist party attempted to connect the standards of beauty to political and ideological goals, thereby redefining them. The political and ideological propaganda of the party was the "background music" to everyday life, regardless of whether its German viewers were political supporters of the Nazi Party. I argue that the goal of the Reich Ministry for Propaganda and Public Enlightenment was never to transform or mold the minds of the masses, but to reiterate and reinforce pervasive beliefs and to encourage passive acceptance of, or even just minimize opposition to, Nazi ideology and legislation. / by Priscilla W. Army. / S.B.

Thesis (S.B. in History)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, 2012. / Cataloged from PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (p. 55-58). / Immediately following the Spanish Conquest of Mexico in 1521, accounts arose claiming the Aztecs believed the Spaniards to be gods. This tale of Spanish deification has sparked heated debate among scholars for centuries as they have been asking, "Did the Aztecs truly believe the Spaniards to be gods?" This question naturally results in two lines of argument, those who think the Aztecs did believe the Spaniards to be gods and those that do not. The scholars arguing for the Aztec deification of the Spaniards rely on known Aztec beliefs, the importance of time to the Aztecs, and the historical works that clearly state the Aztecs though the Spaniards to be divine. The scholars against this argument instead argue the Spaniards created this account of European apotheosis, based on historical precedents and strikingly similar accounts of European apotheosis after the Spanish Conquest of Mexico. Both of these arguments are not, however, free of criticism, revealing the inability to ever answer this question decisively. Instead, this intriguing narrative of the conquest should be reassessed using new questions that could provide new insight on the relations of Spaniards and their conquered subjects, on cultural clashes more generally, and on historical work and interests over time. / by Alexandria C. Hall. / S.B.in History

Thesis (S.B.)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, 2009. / Includes bibliographical references (leaves 97-98). / Introduction: There were two invasions of Russia by foreign powers in the early eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Charles XII of Sweden entered Russia in 1708 and was destroyed in battle outside Poltava in 1709. Napoleon invaded in 1812 and was back in France before the end of that year, having suffered defeat and having lost all but a few remnants of the once-proud Grand Army. Both of these men were at the height of their power and feared by their enemies up to the time of their attacks against Russia. However, the Duke of Wellington understood the way of conquerors and commented on their fate. "A conqueror is like a cannon-ball. He cannot stop of his own accord. He must go on until he runs down or hits something." These men captured the imagination of their European contemporaries. Voltaire would later describe this attention: Conquerors are a species between good Kings and Tyrants, but partake most of the latter, and have a glaring reputation. We are eager to know the most minute circumstances of their lives. Such is the ... weakness of mankind, that they look with admiration upon persons glorious for mischief, and are better pleased to be talking of the destroyer, than the founder of an Empire. Charles XII and Napoleon were both the preeminent generals of their age. But unlike the French emperor, Charles is a relatively unknown figure today. He was the last of the Northern Vikings, the last Nordic warrior king to lead his men into battle, and a halo still surrounds his memory. Never was a man more thoroughly suited to inspire Swedish troops than Charles XII. Noble, just, self-denying, and brave, he seemed to them almost a supernatural being. Every victory he won made his soldiers more confident in him. Every danger he shared with them spurred them on to further exertions. Every age has its own heroes, men who embody the prevailing characteristics of their epoch. Charles was that man while he lived at the start of the eighteenth century. The very mention of his name and exploits still causes the heart of every Swede to beat quicker. It is a name renowned throughout his world, and associated with a career so extraordinary, that both the man and the career have formed a subject of greatly varied criticism. Perhaps his great descendant, King Gustavus III, summed up the life of Charles most accurately: Charles XII was rather extraordinary than great. He certainly had not the true conquering temperament which simply aims at acquisition of territory. Charles took dominions with one hand only to give them away with the other. Superior to Alexander, with whom it were [sic] an injustice to compare him, he was as much inferior to his rival Peter in the qualities which make a great ruler, as he excelled him in those qualities which go to make a great hero.4 Unfortunately for Sweden, Charles was also ideally placed in history to demonstrate the fragility of her empire; much as Napoleon would doom the French empire a hundred years later with his own ambitions. / by Samuel Hollander. / S.B.

Thesis (S.B.)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences [SHASS], History Section, 2007. / Includes bibliographical references (leaves 80-89). / This new racial conflict over the future of blacks' social, political and economic self determination became an inescapable "trial by fire" for American democracy. Throughout the United States, W.E.B. Du Bois' "New Negroes," molded on the battlefields of Western Europe and the shop floors of the American mill, were determined to assert their claims to equal American citizenship. During the period of racial tumult following the end of World War I, three riots that were notable for their scale and significance to both American race relations and black political activism occurred in the United States: the Chicago Riot of 1919, the Elaine Riot of 1919 and the Tulsa Riot of 1921. All three riots involved armed, organized mobs of hundreds to thousands of whites fully mobilized against armed black communities that were resolute in the defense of their lives, property and rights as citizens. The three riots were additionally notable for the character of the black communities involved; although only Chicago's South Side escaped total destruction, armed and organized elements of blacks in each locale attempted to repel attacks by whites. All three riots saw the intervention of armed troops, though not necessarily in a bid to restore order. Once the troops arrived, only the black communities were occupied. Only in Chicago, where the black community enjoyed the most protection of their civil rights, did the government troops actually mobilize to protect the black population. At best, the troops did not actively move against the white mobs, allowing further bloodshed to occur (Chicago). At worst, they were implicit in the white mob violence that claimed hundreds of black lives and millions in property (Elaine and Tulsa). In each case, when the dust settled, the predominant racial caste system was still intact. In none of these communities were the mass of white rioters ever brought to justice for their atrocities. Many blacks, however, were detained and formally prosecuted for numerous offenses stemming from the violence ... / by Katonio A. Butler. / S.B.

Thesis (S.B.)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, 2011. / Page 6 missing. Cataloged from PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (p. 57-58). / Introduction: Alice Nakamura, a senior of the Class of 1943 at Rohwer Center High School in Arkansas, read these words at the conclusion to her graduation speech. Substantively, it sounds like any other reflection on self-identity by a second-generation immigrant. In reality, Alice's speech stands out because it was delivered from a school located behind barbed wire, where the United States government had detained her because of her Japanese ancestry. Between 1942 and 1945, the United States government removed more than 110,000 individuals of Japanese ancestry residing on the west coast to remote relocation centers located in the barren mountainous states of the American west. Deprived of their freedom, these internees found themselves faced with the challenge of carrying on their everyday lives while surrounded by barbed wire. Parents concerned about the educational prospects of their children pushed for the development of primary and secondary schools, which the administrations provided. Adults seeking to occupy their time after work and alleviate boredom initiated education programs taught by internees who possessed relevant technical abilities and academic credentials. Despite the limited freedom and control the internees had over their squalid living conditions, educational programs emerged as one area in which they were able to establish a voice for themselves and collaborate with camp authorities. Due to the wartime shortage of teachers, many young Japanese teachers staffed the primary and secondary schools. The internees completely ran the Adult Education program with only perfunctory oversight from the camp administrations. In return for this degree of autonomy, the WRA requested the establishment of Americanization classes in all levels of camp schooling. These classes focused on the dissemination of American values and preparation for life after the war. Internees had mixed reactions to these government-mandated requirements but many valuable lessons came out of these classes. Primary and secondary students had an intensely personal experience learning about democracy inside barbed wire. As these students went on to attend colleges and find jobs after internment, they took these experiences with them and crafted new and deeply personal definitions of being an American citizen. The Adult Education programs gave internees English skills and new cultural knowledge that they used in their post-war communities and to communicate with their own children. Despite the horrid conditions that the Japanese experienced in the internment camps, the education program created relatively positive interactions between the internees and the camp authorities. Although suffering from supply shortages and a high variance in teaching quality, the educational programs challenged internees to think about democracy and what it means to live in America. Japanese internees provided staffing for these programs and worked with the camp administrators to implementing the curriculums, which allowed a degree of self-governance, an uneasy feat in government-controlled wartime internment centers. The Japanese-American internment process began on February 19, 1942, when President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the military to create special areas within the United States from which "any and all" persons may be excluded. The exclusion order applied to both citizens and aliens, meaning that the government intended to remove both Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans. The former are issei, a term meaning "first-generation" in Japanese, and the latter are nisei, "second-generation." Throughout the internment process, more than 110,000 individuals of Japanese-ancestry were excluded from the zones of exclusion, often forced to sell their belongings, and relocated to barren camps established in the interior of the United States. The internment process had no pretenses of kindness - following Pearl Harbor, propaganda posters depicting Japanese as apes and other savage animals were widely distributed, and racist sentiments were openly published and distributed through the press. A selection from a San Francisco newspaper derided the Japanese during the onset of the internment process: "Herd 'em up, pack 'em off and give 'em the inside room in the badlands. [...] Let us have no patience with the enemy or with anyone whose veins carry his blood [...] I hate the Japanese." A propaganda poster distributed in 1943 titled, "How to Spot a Jap," described a Japanese as having "buck teeth" and being unable to smile because he "expect[s] to be shot...and is very unhappy about the whole thing." Even Americans from the interior expressed hostility. ... / S.B.

Thesis (S.B.)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, Arts, and Social Sciences [SHASS], History Section, 2007. / Includes bibliographical references (leaves 87-88). / How does belief shape lived experience? This is a central question of existence that all people confront, be they philosophers or farmers. It is not simply a matter of religious belief but a problem that stems from the very core of what it means to be human. Who could decide how to spend their lives without defining priorities? Yet such profound choices are necessarily based on implicit beliefs, valuations of worth and existence. The Reformation period in early modem Europe shines a particularly bright light upon these fundamental questions. Once Martin Luther nailed his Thesis to the church door in Wittenberg in 1517, and in the religious turmoil of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries that followed, no one could avoid considering basic questions about their faith, even if only to defend what had been the status quo. Furthermore, the personal beliefs of Martin Luther and his German princes became a subject that could change the political course of nations. It was in Martin Luther's crucible of religious turmoil that personal belief and government began to shape each other in drastic and visible ways, an interaction which not only emphasizes the importance of belief, but also highlights the problem of popular beliefs, which are difficult to discern in times of religious quietude. But why examine belief? Are there not other more visible expressions of historical change? Ultimately, history is about individuals. One can examine the great political and economic trends of nations, but they only have meaning as they relate to individual existence. What is a modern nation state, if not a collection of its citizens and of how they live, work, interact, and think? Examining the religious beliefs of a society allows one to look at thought and actions in those who were far removed from "high" intellectual culture; for the thoughts of those who composed the massive majority of European society cannot be ignored simply because they were not always expressed in easily retrieved written discourses. Luckily, since theologians, politicians, and activists tried to influence popular belief, their records can be examined. The methods used to influence belief and practice, suggest not only what was in fact believed, but also what topics were of central concern to society's dialogue on religious change. Belief can have power over forces and institutions far larger than any single believing individual. Indeed, the very idea that religion is an issue of concern to individuals and not defined at the level of a city or nation was a novel one in the early modem era. Not surprisingly, and such a fundamental change in the concept of the individual had widespread consequences. This work examines the transmission of reformation ideas from scholars and theologians to lay parishioners in both the Protestant and Catholic traditions. It considers how large scale revolutions in religious thought affected the lives, piety, and religious practice of ordinary individuals. Yet the examination of this theme of transmission and communication is ultimately just a small part of one of the questions that historians have debated: Can the Reformation period be seen as offering up a true division into two different religions, or should it be seen as a moment during which both Catholic and Protestant traditions modernized in parallel to each other? Of course, both views contain some elements of truth; both churches managed to modernize, but nevertheless had fundamental differences in both theology and practice. However, an equally vital question is, perhaps, whether the churches' interactions with society were characterized by the differences between them or by the similar, modern forms both churches shared. This work ultimately suggests that the differences that had developed between Catholic and Protestant traditions by the mid seventeenth century are dwarfed by the changes in both that converted medieval practice to a more modem system. These modem religious traditions would come to co-exist with modern nation states, evolving economic practice, re-defined communities, and the secularization of Europe. Similarities in Protestant and Catholic communication of new theology and reformed practice can be identified and traced, lending support to the theory of parallel reform with similar outcomes, particularly in terms of community and state, even if their respective theologies contained real differences. Communication provides a useful lens for examining this question of difference and modernization since it involves many elements of the two reformed traditions. The choice of what information was to be transmitted, suggests which new theologies the churches thought significant and which were important to the contentious dialogues of the period. The forms of communication speak to the regular functioning of the church as an organization, and suggest how authority figures interacted with their laity. The composition of the audience suggests the new community definitions of each church. This essay will examine three mediums for communicating the agenda of reform in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries: architecture and visual art, education, and discipline and charity, insofar as they defined community ... / by Christine A. McEvilly. / S.B.

Thesis (S.B. in Ancient and Medieval Studies)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, 2011. / Cataloged from PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (p. 80-82). / This thesis explores the appearance alleged by ancient sources of a comet over Rome in 44 B.C. and its role in the use and abuse of divine patronage in the rise of the young Octavian between 44 and 27 B.C. The comet was concluded to have actually occurred through an analysis involving Poisson statistics, basic calculations of orbital dynamics, and historical context. The physical manifestation of this comet over Rome granted Octavian the opportunity to begin asserting himself as a legitimate political competitor in the wake of Julius Caesar's death and his adoption in Caesar's will. With the comet as a symbol of his father's deification, Octavian's new status as divi filius portrayed him as a pious young man dedicated to the traditions of the Roman Republic and won him the early support of the people, the legions, and the Senate. This image persisted through the 30s and became far preferable to that of the drunk and eastern Marc Antony when Octavian began to associate himself with the very Roman and republican figure of Apollo. Together, Julius Caesar and Apollo became two key divine patrons behind Octavian, with the generous Julius Caesar representing the more public aspects of Octavian's plan for Rome, and Apollo portraying the more personal side of Octavian's character and his dedication to the harmony of the Republic. / S.B.in Ancient and Medieval Studies

Thesis (S.B. in Literature)--Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Dept. of Humanities, 2010. / Cataloged from PDF version of thesis. / Includes bibliographical references (p. 69-70). / Introduction: Translating science as dramatic tradition Scientific and literary traditions are curious bedfellows. Popular perception views contemporary scientists - especially those interested in mathematics or physics - and their occupation as fundamentally other and unknowable to a nonscientific audience. This viewpoint has led to a bizarre treatment of science and its practitioners in literary and dramatic works as most depictions of science in print are restricted to the realm of speculative science fiction geographically and chronologically removed from the author's own time. Those authors or playwrights who do take historical or contemporary science as their subject must present it in such a way that the science is made accessible to a diverse audience. This presentation is particularly important in the theatrical medium. Playwrights have integrated science with drama in a host of different ways, whether as a plot device or thematic concern. I will study plays that entertain broad thematic questions about the nature of truth and morality while still maintaining their focus on the scientific community and its scientific concerns, especially as these concerns intersect with those of society at large. My analysis will focus on two plays that use science more than rhetorically: Bertolt Brecht's Life of Galileo (editions published in 1937; 1945; 1953) and Michael Frayn's Copenhagen (1998). Although these two plays were written and produced more than fifty years apart and the historical events that they examine are over two hundred years removed from each other, both explore paradigm-shattering moments within physics research. I will argue that both plays use physics to examine, broadly, the responsibility that a scientist has to involve himself with the non-scientific community. Characters in both Life of Galileo and Copenhagen make a case that part of the scientist's responsibility lies in presenting science to the laity, both inside and outside the world of the play. The semantic shift involved in making scientific concepts both understandable and relevant within a dramatic context involves a movement on the part of the playwright and his characters that is, I shall suggest, similar to an act of translation. Translation is generally conceived of as purely linguistic, which might be described as an attempt at transmitting meanings across language barriers or a linguistic shift seeking to conserve the sense of a written text in a second language. In his seminal work "The Task of the Translator," Walter Benjamin sees translation as something more than a direct word-by-word transposition from one language to another. Instead, Benjamin posits that the translator endeavors to elevate his project beyond changing signifiers between tongues. A true translation moves past linguistic accuracy as an end point; instead, it identifies a higher meaning that the original text points to and creates a new text from that original. Benjamin's theoretical re-assessment of the task of the translator as one of unlocking meanings extends its boundaries to include the translation of different kinds of discourse into literary or dramatic forms. The plurality of central characters from Life of Galileo and Copenhagen belong to a scientific, not literary tradition. Although they conceive of their investigations philosophically, even this attitude requires a shift in thinking from an empirical or theoretical viewpoint to a more poetic one. Theorists and even non-academics have noted that the language of science involves a distinct set of signifiers that is highly metaphoric and symbolic. Mathematical formulae rely on a scientist's ability to perceive the inner workings of the world as numerical and then to further abstract from those numbers to abstract signifiers, the Greek pis and sigmas and the well-known "x" that appears in even the most fundamental of algebraic problems. This kind of abstraction is itself a translation that moves the scientist from observation to description and then understanding. Undertaking an act of translation requires a unique kind of mind - which I will refer to in shorthand as a "scientific mind" - which involves being able to conceive of the world around it in a more purely scientific way. The translation involved in viewing things scientifically is implicit within those of Brecht's and Frayn's characters who are presented to the audience as fully formed and educated scientists. For characters like Brecht's Andrea, however, that transition - from curious bystander to member of the scientific community - actually occurs onstage. The scientific mind, therefore, as seen within Brecht's and Frayn's plays, requires the ability to translate understanding from observations of the natural world to a scientific or mathematical understanding of those phenomena. I argue, therefore, that truly responsible science requires something more than the ability to translate into scientific understanding; it demands too a route from esoteric scientific knowledge back into a vernacular. As Benjamin intended, translation becomes a way of unpacking meanings deeper than either original form; it can illuminate questions of essential human nature. In each of the plays examined here, translation mediates the scientist's interactions with society. Galileo presents it as a way for scientific tools and thoughts to be used to benefit to common people; in Copenhagen for example, it is Heisenberg's inability to translate and therefore understand his equations that narrowly prevents him from potentially creating a deadly nuclear weapon for Hitler. The two plays focus on very distinct moments in physics - empirical observations of the planets versus theoretical models of a subatomic universe - and so the physicists' modes of translation are also unique. While Brecht's Galileo relies on explanation bolstered by visual proofs, Frayn's Bohr emphasizes the use of "plain language" as a way of parsing the implications of abstract equations. The plays are undeniably vastly different when it comes to both the scope of their science and dramatic form; the reason for this difference can be located in authorial intention. Brecht, a life-long committed Communist and social radical, is remembered for advancing the technique of epic or dialectical theatre, a style that sought to counter the melodramatic realism pioneered by the actor and director Constantin Stanislavski. Epic theatre is the theatre of the people, appealing to their reason while advancing the cause of social change. Life of Galileo uses the techniques of this epic dramaturgy; its goals are social, political and didactic in nature. Copenhagen is, by contrast, less informed by ideology than by the idea of intention itself: Frayn frames the play as an exploration into his historical character's motivations at a mysterious meeting in Copenhagen during World War II - the meeting itself is historical fact, although what transpired remains a mystery. The play begins by asking a simple question: why did Heisenberg come to Copenhagen in 1941? Through the drama, however, Frayn expands his investigations into a full study of how intentions are manifested through acts of scientific study; through an act of thematic mimesis, the more the audience attempts to unravel the characters' intentions, the more those intentions become unclear. Copenhagen's dramaturgy makes this complication explicit through its use of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle as a structuring metaphor. In parsing intent, Frayn's audience and Brecht's find themselves in a similar position: perhaps due to the numerous revisions Brecht made of the play, Galileo's character embodies a slippery position with respect to his translation and the audience. Unlike Frayn, however, Brecht makes his intended readings of the character clear, creating uncertainty and tension between the audience's reading of the character and the playwright's intentions. / by Anneke Schwob. / S.B.in Literature