This essay is part of “What Is Scholarship Today?”
When I became the curator of Gunston Hall in Lorton, Virginia, the conventional wisdom among my colleagues was that we were not aware of anyone descended from the hundreds of people that constitutional framer George Mason (1725–92) had enslaved at the site. However, after a single community meeting, I realized how wrong that wisdom was. Two people in attendance self-identified as descendants of people held in slavery at Gunston Hall; one of them agreed to walk the 550 acres of the property with me, identifying sites associated with his family history. Many of the locations he showed me were ones I had heard were “lost” or “unknown.” These descendants have provided locations for future archaeological investigation and suggested new archives to consult, vastly increasingly the resources I have to research Gunston Hall’s history. As one descendant told me, “You can know a lot more when you simply ask.”

At Gunston Hall in Virginia, community partnerships have enriched the staff’s research. Courtesy Board of Regents of Gunston Hall Inc.
Among my proudest achievements at Gunston Hall have been the partnerships I have developed. Part of this work is community outreach; for the first time, we have begun working with local tribal citizens and are convening a new Descendants Advisory Board that will incorporate the genealogy and research of people whose ancestors were enslaved by the Mason family. I have also worked closely with scholars at other museums and universities, including George Mason University and the University of Maryland. We are drafting a research project proposal focused on searching for records of the people enslaved by Ann (1734–73) and Sarah Mason (c. 1730–c. 1805), George Mason’s wives, both of whom grew up on Maryland plantations. This research agenda was informed by recent scholarship on the role of white women as slaveholders; the excellent research of historian Greta Swain, whom I met while she researched her dissertation in the Gunston Hall archives; and informal conversations I’ve had with Gunston Hall descendant communities about their family histories.
Historians know that even when a single author’s name appears on a book, every research project is a collaborative effort. Countless colleagues read drafts, suggest sources, and add to the historiographical conversation. Working in a museum, however, particularly in a relatively small museum, as the only full-time curator, has challenged and expanded the ways I think about collaborative research and the scholarship it produces. While I find deep satisfaction in writing an exhibit label, publishing an article, or giving a public talk, a huge part of my job—the part that has yielded the newest insights about our collection, historic landscapes, and buildings—is talking with people and, perhaps more importantly, asking them questions.
These conversations can be a form of research, but they also allow me and our partners to co-create new research plans to dig even deeper into the history of the site. I have spent much less time in the archives during my museum career than I did during graduate school, but my methods of gathering historical information have broadened. The ability to combine formal academic research with anecdotes and conversations to create a compelling story relevant to the lives of museum visitors is one of the great opportunities for history work in a museum context and one classroom teachers could employ as well.
These collaborative projects take time. Building trust within local communities to the point that neighbors want to participate in historical work can take years. Maintaining networks within the academic community, keeping up with historiography, and publishing or attending conferences also take time. Community-based work does not necessarily immediately translate into an exhibition. But much like archival research for a book, the acts of building trust and convening different communities that might not otherwise be in conversation expand the boundaries of knowledge about our collection, the themes relevant to our mission, and our methods of knowing the past.
Many museum professionals speak about museums having the responsibility of disseminating cutting-edge research to the public. But I also see an opportunity for innovating community-driven research agendas to contribute to that scholarship through conversations that are distinct from formal oral histories or interdisciplinary papers. I hope one day to be able to share the findings of this research with both the public and other historians. In the meantime, as many of my friends working in universities face questions about the boundaries between disciplines and departments, I would encourage us all to think about the different ways that we glean historical knowledge and what research looks like in the 21st century. Our community stakeholders do not have to come to the museum only to be the recipients of information. They can also be co-investigators, helping us to frame questions, set research agendas, examine sources, and provide peer feedback on the scholarship we produce together.
Kate Steir is senior curator and head of collections at Gunston Hall.
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