History is Always Repeating Itself

 E. L. Doctorow’s Ragtime suggests that history does not move in a straight line but rather loops and repeats, as its title suggests, where the ragtime rhythm circles back on itself with variations. Issues like racial injustice, labor exploitation, and the glorification of wealth dominate the early 20th-century setting of the novel, but they feel just as relevant when Doctorow was writing in 1975, and even now in the 21st century. The book’s fragmented narrative style, constantly shifting between characters and events, reinforces this sense of history as disjointed and cyclical. Nothing feels resolved; instead, the struggles of one generation simply reemerge in the next. 

    Coalhouse Walker Jr.’s story best exemplifies this repetition in the book. His humiliation at the hands of Willie Conklin, as well as the other racist firemen, and his escalating demands for justice speak towards a larger American pattern. It highlights the grievances of the marginalized and how they’re dismissed until violence forces the dominant society to respond. Doctorow’s readers in the 1970s would’ve seen Coalhouse’s war as a reflection of the civil rights struggles just from a few years prior, and most readers today can connect it to modern protests against systemic racism. In this way, Coalhouse is not only a character but a symbol, playing a role in the story much too familiar. His campaign becomes sensationalized, attracting media attention and public fascination, much like modern-day movements that are reduced to headlines, hashtags, and TikToks. Just as audiences in the novel “watch” Coalhouse’s story unfold through newspapers, we watch ours unfold on TV and social media, where we find often times that it’s turning injustice into a much more palatable story.

Labor exploitation provides another example of history repeating itself while also being staged for public view. Doctorow writes with heavy irony about child labor: “Children suffered no discriminatory treatment. They were valued everywhere they were employed…If there was a problem about employing children, it had to do only with their endurance” (40). The tone makes the suffering of children sound almost like a joke, where it’s obvious to the modern reader that Doctorow’s words are coated with a layer of caked-on irony. The cycle of exploitative labor continues globally in sweatshops and supply chains, often hidden from view unless exposed by documentaries or viral posts. History’s exploitation is never truly gone; it is simply repackaged. We, as the audience, consume these stories with the same distance Doctorow gives us in his novel— horrified, but still sitting in our seats.

At the same time, Ragtime often reads like a theatrical performance, with its characters appearing on stage for their scenes before fading back into the background. Doctorow underscores this theatricality through his narrative style. Chapters often begin abruptly, like a new, disconnected scene beginning, with some examples being: “One Sunday afternoon the colored man Coalhouse Walker said goodbye to his fiancée and drove to New York in his Ford.”(174) as well as “And what of Younger Brother?”(241). Real historical figures like Houdini and Evelyn Nesbit function almost as celebrity cameos, entering the story for brief ‘performances’ before exiting. Houdini, a literal performer, is trapped in his own repetitive act. He’s always escaping but never free from the audience’s expectations. Evelyn Nesbit is famous not for her individuality, but rather for the scandal she embodies, a role she must perform endlessly for the public. Even Ford and J.P. Morgan, though industrial pioneers, are presented like actors playing exaggerated parts. Morgan chasing mystical meaning in the past, Ford perfecting the performance of modern industry. By portraying these characters theatrically, Doctorow highlights how history itself is staged. He leaves the characters reduced to their roles, and audiences remember the spectacle rather than the messy reality behind it, which really isn’t so different from how we consume history and current events today. 

Television dramatizes real events, and social media transforms them into digestible clips and trends. We scroll through protests, scandals, and tragedies much like Doctorow’s readers scroll through Ragtime, moving from one staged “scene” to the next. Doctorow highlights how the difference between the early 20th century and 1975 (and without meaning to, 2025) is not as great as it seems: injustice continues, the same roles are recast, and we, the majority, are still sitting, acting as the audience.

By blending cyclical history with the theme of theatrical performance, Doctorow implies that America’s problems are both endlessly repeating and endlessly staged for public view. His novel challenges us to ask if we are simply spectators, or will we finally step on stage and disrupt the cycle?