Throughout history, intellectuals have served as the conscience of their societies, challenging prevailing narratives and steering the tides of public discourse. In America, this mantle was once carried by towering figures like Frederick Douglass, whose eloquence and moral clarity ignited the national conscience, or Carl Becker, who famously declared, “every man is his own historian.”
History has no Jordan B. Peterson, no Neil deGrasse Tyson, no Sam Harris, no Eric Weinstein—figures who have, for better or worse, carved out space in the public imagination as provocateurs, challengers of orthodoxy, and, in some cases, self-styled rebels. They are part of what the New York Times once called the “Intellectual Dark Web,” a loose constellation of thinkers whose ideas ripple far beyond the walls of Academia. But where are history’s rebels? Where are the voices who stir the pot, who refuse to let the past lie quietly archived, gathering dust? Not every historian needs to be a figure of controversy, a Red Skull to someone else’s Captain America. Yet, in the great arena of public thought, history seems curiously absent, its champions too few, its presence too faint.
In today’s fragmented media landscape, the historian’s voice often struggles to rise above the deafening clamor of influencers, entertainers, and opinion-makers. The challenge is not merely one of volume but of relevance: how do historians capture the public’s imagination without sacrificing the rigor and nuance that are the hallmarks of their craft?
The answer begins with a simple truth: history is not entombed in the past. It lives and breathes in the fabric of our daily lives, woven into political debates, cultural trends, and the very air we breathe. Consider Joe Rogan, a podcast host whose influence eclipses that of many traditional media giants. We all saw this in the past election, where Rogan had over 6 million YouTube views in a day when he had the 2024 Presidential candidate Donald J. Trump on his podcast. Say what you will, but that reach will lead any young lady to Call Her Daddy.
With millions of listeners hanging on his every word, Rogan has the power to catapult ideas—and individuals—into the national spotlight. When S.C. Gwynne, author of Empire of the Summer Moon, appeared on Rogan’s show, his book soared to the top of bestseller lists despite being nearly a decade old. This phenomenon is no anomaly, ask Graham Hancock. It is a testament to a public hungry for history in almost any form, even if they don’t seek it from ivory towers.
Yet, Academia has been slow to adapt. The traditional markers of scholarly success—peer-reviewed articles, conference panels, tenure-track appointments—rarely reward public engagement. Paul Lerner, a history professor at USC, captured this disconnect with a glib tweet: “Pro-tip: don’t cite Joe Rogan in your final paper.”
His offhand remark, perhaps in jest, reveals a deeper chasm between academic historians and the platforms where historical narratives increasingly unfold. The implication is stark: if knowledge doesn’t bear the stamp of academic approval, it is deemed suspect, if not illegitimate.
This mindset is not only shortsighted but profoundly counterproductive. As Sam Wineburg eloquently argues in Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts, history education aims not to fill students’ heads with dates and facts but to cultivate the critical thinking skills necessary to navigate an increasingly complex world.
Dismissing popular media out of hand forfeits an invaluable opportunity to meet students where they are and to teach them how to dissect and analyze the very sources they consume daily. After all, historical thinking isn’t about memorizing what happened; it’s about learning how to think about what happened.
Moreover, to assume that popular platforms are inherently anti-intellectual is to ignore the success of historians who have harnessed these channels to remarkable effect. Patrick Wyman’s podcast Tides of History reaches a global audience, offering meticulously researched episodes that rival traditional lectures in substance and style. His work proves that scholarly rigor (he has a Ph.D. from USC✌️) and mainstream appeal are not mutually exclusive; they can be powerful allies.
However, the responsibility does not rest solely on the shoulders of individual historians. Academic institutions themselves must evolve. Graduate programs should embrace curricula that include public history, media literacy, and digital storytelling, equipping future scholars with the tools to communicate effectively beyond the cloistered halls of Academia. This is not a call to abandon traditional scholarship but to expand its reach. After all, what good is knowledge if it languishes behind paywalls and academic jargon, inaccessible to the very public it seeks to enlighten?
The stakes could not be higher. In an era awash with misinformation, historical illiteracy poses a grave threat to our institutions and social cohesion. Myths and half-truths about the past fuel political polarization and erode the foundations of civil discourse. As historian Timothy Snyder warns in On Tyranny, “Post-truth is pre-fascism.” If historians abdicate the public stage, they leave a void that will be filled by voices less concerned with truth than with the seductive allure of narrative control.
Yet, there is reason for hope. The success of public historians, documentary filmmakers, and even historically minded YouTube creators reveals a growing appetite for nuanced storytelling. Series like The Vietnam War by Ken Burns and Lynn Novick, or podcasts like Hardcore History by Dan Carlin, demonstrate that the public is eager—even hungry—to grapple with the complexities of the past. The question is not whether people care about history; it’s whether historians are willing to meet them halfway.
Ultimately, the historian’s role is not to be the final authority on the past but to serve as a guide—a curator of stories, a challenger of assumptions, and a steadfast defender of truth. This requires more than knowledge; it demands courage to speak plainly, venture into unfamiliar platforms, and trust that the public can engage with the messy, complicated, and often uncomfortable truths that history reveals.
Because history is not just what happened; it is what we choose to remember—and, just as importantly, who we choose to listen to.
SOURCES | BIBLIOGRAPHY
U.S. Census Bureau. "QuickFact."
Weiss, Bari. "Meet the Renegades of the Intellectual Dark Web." The New York Times, May 8, 2018.
Flood, Alison. "Jordan Peterson 'Shocked' by Captain America Villain Red Skull Espousing '10 Rules for Life'." The Guardian, April 7, 2021.
The Joe Rogan Experience, December 9, 2019.Rogan, Joe. "#1397 - S.C. Gwynne."
Rogan, Joe. “#1397 - S.C. Gwynne.” The timestamp is 27:02.
Lerner, Paul. Twitter post, May 11, 2021, 2:44 p.m.
Pro-tip: don’t cite Joe Rogan in your final paper.
Wineburg, Sam. Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts. p. 122.
Weiss, Bari. "Meet the Renegades of the Intellectual Dark Web: An Alliance of Heretics Is Making an End Run Around the Mainstream Conversation. Should We Be Listening?" New York Times, May 8, 2018.
Flood, Alison. "Jordan Peterson 'Shocked' by Captain America Villain Red Skull Espousing ‘10 Rules for Life.'" The Guardian, April 7, 2021.
Hanks, Tom. "You Should Learn the Truth About the Tulsa Race Massacre" New York Times, June 4, 2021.