Tag: social sciences

The Past Is Another World

A split-scene illustration contrasts an ancient society with a modern urban landscape, divided by a central hourglass symbolizing the passage of time. The composition emphasizes that historical societies should first be understood according to the knowledge, values, and circumstances of their own era before being evaluated through contemporary moral frameworks, illustrating the concept of temporal relativity as an anthropological approach to interpreting the past. (Image generated by ChatGPT using DALL·E, 2026.)

Anthropologists are taught early in their education to avoid ethnocentrism. One of the primary methodological tools for doing so is cultural relativism, the principle that beliefs, customs, and social institutions should first be understood within the cultural context in which they exist rather than judged solely according to the standards of another culture (Boas, 1940; Herskovits, 1972). Cultural relativism does not require anthropologists to approve of every cultural practice they encounter. Rather, it requires them to understand those practices as the people within that society understood them before making comparisons or evaluations.

Over the years, I have wondered whether a similar principle might be applied to the study of the past. I propose the concept of temporal relativity as an anthropological analogy to cultural relativism. By temporal relativity, I mean the methodological principle that societies should first be understood according to the historical circumstances, knowledge, values, and social structures of their own time before being evaluated through the moral or cultural standards of the present.

I recognize that historians have long emphasized historical contextualization and have cautioned against presentism, the tendency to interpret the past primarily through modern assumptions and values. My intention is not to replace those concepts or to speak as a historian. Rather, I am approaching the question from the perspective of anthropology. If cultural relativism helps us understand differences between societies existing at the same time, perhaps temporal relativity can help us understand differences between societies separated by time.

Cultural relativism encourages anthropologists to ask what a particular belief or practice meant to the people who lived it. Instead of asking whether another culture is right or wrong according to our own standards, we ask how that culture understood itself. Temporal relativity asks similar questions, but across history rather than across geography. How did people of a particular period understand their own institutions? What assumptions about family, religion, economics, politics, and morality shaped their decisions? What alternatives were realistically imaginable within the historical conditions in which they lived?

Consider slavery in the ancient Mediterranean. From the perspective of contemporary human rights, slavery is morally unacceptable. Temporal relativity does not ask us to abandon that conclusion. Instead, it asks us first to understand why slavery was nearly universal throughout the ancient world, how it was justified philosophically and economically, and how people within those societies understood the institution. Only after reconstructing that historical framework can meaningful comparisons be made between their moral world and our own.

A similar example can be found in historical understandings of marriage. Many societies considered marriage shortly after puberty to be socially acceptable, often viewing the onset of menstruation as a transition into adulthood. Today, many societies would regard such marriages as child marriage or child abuse. Temporal relativity does not excuse these historical practices. Rather, it asks us to understand how those societies defined childhood, adulthood, family, and responsibility before evaluating them through contemporary moral frameworks.

This distinction between explanation and endorsement is essential. Cultural relativism has sometimes been criticized as encouraging moral relativism or excusing harmful cultural practices. I believe this criticism misunderstands cultural relativism as a methodological approach rather than a moral philosophy. Explaining why a society practiced something is not the same as approving of it. The same distinction applies to temporal relativity. Historical explanation should not be confused with historical endorsement.

One reason I find this concept useful is that it encourages intellectual humility. Every society, including our own, operates within assumptions that often appear self-evident to those living within them. Future generations may judge many of our own beliefs and institutions quite differently than we do today. Recognizing that possibility reminds us that we are not uniquely objective observers standing outside history. We are participants within it.

I do not suggest that the past should become immune from criticism or moral evaluation. Rather, I suggest that understanding should precede judgment. Anthropologists have long argued that understanding another culture requires temporarily setting aside one’s own assumptions. Temporal relativity proposes extending that same intellectual discipline across time. Before asking whether historical societies lived according to our standards, we should first ask how they understood themselves according to theirs.

Whether temporal relativity ultimately proves to be a useful concept is, of course, open to discussion. My intention is not to introduce a new historical methodology but to offer an anthropological perspective on historical interpretation. Just as cultural relativism encourages us to recognize that different societies construct different systems of meaning, temporal relativity encourages us to recognize that different historical periods often inhabited fundamentally different moral and intellectual worlds. Understanding those worlds on their own terms, I believe, allows us not only to understand the past more accurately but also to better recognize the historical assumptions that shape our own present.

References

Boas, F. (1940). Race, language and culture. University of Chicago Press.

Herskovits, M. J. (1972). Cultural relativism: Perspectives in cultural pluralism. Random House.

Novick, P. (1988). That noble dream: The “objectivity question” and the American historical profession. Cambridge University Press.

Tosh, J. (2015). The pursuit of history: Aims, methods and new directions in the study of history (6th ed.). Routledge.

When Aid Disappears: How the Big Beautiful Bill Fails Illinois Students

WASHINGTON, DC – JULY 04: U.S. President Donald Trump, joined by Republican lawmakers, signs the “One, Big Beautiful Bill” Act into law during an Independence Day military family picnic on the South Lawn of the White House on July 04, 2025 in Washington, DC. After weeks of negotiations with Republican holdouts Congress passed the One, Big Beautiful Bill Act into law, President Trump’s signature tax and spending bill. The bill makes permanent President Donald Trump’s 2017 tax cuts, increase spending on defense and immigration enforcement and temporarily cut taxes on tips, while cutting funding for Medicaid, food assistance and other social safety net programs. (Photo by Eric Lee/Getty Images)

The recent passage of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act—what some are calling the “Big Beautiful Bill”—has ushered in one of the most significant and controversial overhauls to higher education funding in recent memory. Signed into law by President Trump on July 4, 2025, the legislation is being praised in some corners for its tax reforms and streamlined government spending. But beneath the surface, the bill threatens to widen the chasm of educational inequality, especially for low-income students in Illinois and right here in the U-46 school district, where I formerly taught.

As someone who has spent years in education and now watches from the outside with a heavy heart, I’m particularly alarmed by what this bill means for Pell Grants. These federal grants have long served as a foundation for college access among students from working-class and economically marginalized communities. In U-46, where many students are first-generation college-bound and come from families already struggling with inflation and housing costs, Pell Grants have been nothing short of essential.

The Big Beautiful Bill reduces the maximum Pell Grant award by nearly 23%, cutting it from $7,395 to $5,710 (Knott, 2025a). That shortfall is not academic—it’s rent, groceries, textbooks, and transit. Just as troubling are the new restrictions the bill imposes: students must now enroll in at least 15 credit hours to qualify for full aid, up from the previous 12. Additionally, those enrolled less than half-time—often students working jobs to support their families—will no longer be eligible. These changes are not just policy shifts; they are structural barriers that will block many Illinois students from ever setting foot on a college campus.

Illinois’ public colleges and universities have already been under financial strain for years, and state MAP grants, while helpful, are often insufficient to close the gap. For students graduating from U-46 high schools—whether in Elgin, Streamwood, Bartlett, or South Elgin—this federal retrenchment will be felt immediately. Students who were on the edge of affording their first year may now find themselves locked out of higher education altogether.

This is precisely why I launched the Katherine Walter Anthropology Scholarship Fund, hosted on Bold.org. Anthropology—my field of passion—is not often considered a “practical” major by today’s economic standards, yet it offers vital tools for understanding human behavior, culture, and history. In a time when diversity, equity, and inclusion are under attack, we need anthropologists who come from diverse economic and cultural backgrounds more than ever. My scholarship fund is a small but deliberate effort to push back against the erosion of educational access. It is designed to support students pursuing anthropology who demonstrate both academic promise and financial need—particularly those from school districts like U-46 that are too often overlooked in national education debates. You can learn more or contribute directly here: https://bold.org/funds/katherine-walter-anthropology-scholarship-fundraiser/.

This fund is not intended to be a bandage over a deep wound. Rather, it’s a gesture of solidarity with the students I once taught—those who worked double shifts to help at home, who translated school forms for their parents, who stayed late after class to ask about college but worried aloud about the cost. It’s for the ones who won’t benefit from the Big Beautiful Bill but deserve every chance to learn, grow, and contribute to the world.

While the legislation also eliminates subsidized federal student loans and imposes new performance metrics on college programs—denying eligibility to those whose graduates earn less than high school diploma holders—the burden once again falls on students. Especially those pursuing careers in social sciences, education, or the arts, where the monetary payoff may be modest, but the societal value is profound (Knott, 2025b).

If you’re someone who believes in the right to education regardless of zip code or income bracket, I invite you to act. Contribute to the scholarship. Share this message. Start a fund of your own. Because while the Big Beautiful Bill may have passed, its consequences are just beginning to unfold—and we must meet them with action, not silence.

References

Knott, K. (2025a, July 4). ‘Big, Beautiful Bill’ Means Big Changes for Higher Ed. Inside Higher Ed. https://www.insidehighered.com/news/government/politics-elections/2025/07/04/big-beautiful-bill-means-big-changes-higher-ed

Knott, K. (2025b, July 4). Trump signs ‘Big Beautiful Bill’ into law in White House ceremony. Time. https://time.com/7300177/trump-signs-big-beautiful-bill

The Legacy I Hope to Leave Behind

Image: ChatGPT

Legacy is not built all at once. It takes shape over time—quietly, unevenly—through the choices we make, the truths we speak, and the lives we touch. I don’t imagine mine will be written in bold headlines or etched into stone. But I hope it will be felt in subtler, more enduring ways. In the freedom someone claims because I once stood up. In the insight sparked by something I taught or wrote. In the love that lingers in the spaces I leave behind.

I’ve lived many chapters in this life—some of them linear, others far more tangled. I began as a student of anthropology, drawn to the study of culture, meaning, and human complexity. It taught me to listen deeply, to question what seems natural, and to honor what is often ignored or devalued. Anthropology gave me not just tools for understanding others—it gave me a way to understand myself. As a transgender woman, as a spiritual seeker, as someone shaped by forces both seen and hidden, I learned to situate my life within broader currents of history and identity. That perspective never left me.

Eventually, I put my education into service in a different way—as a SNAP program specialist with the USDA. There, I saw how policy lives not in abstract theories but in the faces of people trying to feed their families. I worked at the intersection of administration and survival. It gave me a profound respect for the dignity of everyday life, and a deepened sense of duty to advocate for those so often silenced by red tape and economic cruelty. That role grounded me in the real: in food, in need, in systems and the people caught within them.

But even before all of that, I served my country in uniform. I am a U.S. Navy veteran. I served as a submariner and fought in Desert Storm. It was a life of discipline, of structure, of submerged tension—both literal and emotional. That chapter gave me a close relationship with mortality, with silence, with sacrifice. And later, it gave me the courage to live my truth. Because once you’ve survived war, you learn how little time there really is for pretending.

Though my time teaching in a classroom was brief, it was profoundly meaningful. Education, I believe, is one of the most radical forms of love and hope. I did not stay long enough to become a fixture, but I hope I was a spark. I hope that somewhere, a student remembers me not as perfect, but as present. As someone who saw them clearly, challenged them to think differently, and held space for who they were becoming.

Throughout it all, I’ve remained a writer, a creator, a witness. I write not just to tell stories, but to make space—for desire, for defiance, for complex and beautiful lives that rarely make it into the mainstream. I write for those on the margins, for the ones building new worlds from the ruins of the old, and for the future selves who need proof that we were here.

If I am remembered, I hope it is as someone who lived with fierce honesty. Who loved without shame. Who fought for justice, even when she was exhausted. Who stood in her womanhood and her queerness not as burdens, but as blessings.

I hope my legacy is not one of perfection, but of permission. Permission to live. To change. To desire. To dream beyond the roles assigned at birth or by circumstance. I hope I leave behind courage in those who need it. Gentleness in those taught to harden. Fire in those told to shrink.

And if some future soul—browsing an archive, reading a quote, hearing a story—finds a piece of me and thinks, “Because she lived, I feel less alone,” then that is all the immortality I will ever need.

Committed to Students, No Matter What

For as long as I can remember, giving back has been a core part of who I am. It’s not about recognition or prestige—it’s about believing in the possibility of someone else’s future and doing my part to help it unfold.

For many years, I sponsored children in the Philippines through Children International. Each letter, each photo, each update reminded me of the real lives impacted by consistent, personal support. I cherished those relationships. But due to financial hardship, I had to make the painful decision to stop. That choice still weighs heavily on me, not because I regret helping, but because I couldn’t keep going the way I had hoped.

Even as my own circumstances shifted, my desire to invest in the next generation never faded. That’s why I launched a local scholarship for high school students in the U-46 School District. I started it before I was let go from my student teaching position. At first, I assumed it would be a one-time gift—my final gesture before moving on. But the students changed that for me.

Despite everything, I do not blame the students for what happened. I am frustrated with the district and its decision-making, but my heart still lies with the young people I had the privilege of working with. Their dreams, struggles, and resilience moved me. They deserve opportunities to thrive, and I still want to be part of that.

So, I made a decision: I would continue the scholarship, even if it meant asking for help. Due to my financial constraints, I’ve launched a fundraiser to sustain the scholarship through Bold.org. If you believe in education, equity, and giving students a chance to succeed, I invite you to contribute:

👉 bold.org/funds/katherine-walter-anthropology-scholarship-fundraiser/

This fund supports high school students with a passion for anthropology and the social sciences—fields that help us understand each other more deeply and build a more just world. Supporting this scholarship is an act of hope in a time when many feel hopeless.

Philanthropy isn’t just something you do when you’re comfortable. Sometimes, it’s something you keep doing even when it hurts—because you know what it means to be on the edge and still reach out a hand.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

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