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When many people think of an archive and the role of an archivist, they envision a gatekeeping municipal worker tasked with rows of dusty archival boxes in official buildings, usually inaccessible to the public.
Let me begin by shattering the archives praxis of power mythology. My professional archival career developed in the wake of a pandemic and the #blacklivesmatter movement. This period of activation influenced many in the archival profession: shifting its self-perception from the pretense of “neutrality” to structural accountability and care. This structural care redistributes harm and dangers posed by patricidal white supremacy in archives and beyond.
As foundational ethics of care archival scholars, Michelle Caswell and Marika Cifor, argue:
Feminist ethics of care approach, archivists are understood and understand themselves as caregivers, bound to records creators, subjects, users, and communities through a web of mutual affective responsibility based on radical empathy. (Caswell, Cifor, “From Human Rights to Feminist Ethics: Radical Empathy in Archives,” Archivaria 81 (Spring 2016): 23-43.
The idea of “affective responsibility” inspires me personally and professionally to engage in care-taking, and nurturing relationships that reflect equitable care practices. It is in this milieu where collectivities formed amidst crises, that engender resilience, survival and communal access.
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The emergence of community archives has led a shift that echoes care-giving, justice-seeking, and community-oriented frameworks, at the center of professional archival practice. These emerging archives means taking responsibility of the body of records and of those whose lives are implicated within the collection. It allows these communities to take control of their own stories, memories and developed their own means of collecting, preserving and sharing.
So what makes an archive empathetic and from a place of care? It’s about a self-aware praxis. It’s about how the record creators are treated, how materials treated and are described, and what kinds of histories are prioritized within larger collections. In essence, it’s about a prioritization of the creators’ and community’s needs, not simply on the schematic level, but on a deeply emotional one.
As feminist theorist and scholar, Sarah Ahmed, reminds us, we must witness pain as archivists and scholars to learn to realize that:
The past is living rather than dead; The past lives in the very wounds that remain open in the present. (Ahmed The Cultural Politics of Emotions).
How might this look in the work of processing archival collections? Though processing may seem straightforward (weeding through boxes, arranging, describing, creating identifiers and then rehoming items in archival boxes) it’s much more relational based and nuanced.
The archival process is an “affective”, complex topography. Certain materials may bring up memories and emotions. To embody a feminist ethics of care, it’s important for the archives to prioritize collaboration with the record-creators, or the communities documented within them; to honor their wishes: how the collection is presented, accessed and curated.
The process is more important than the end product. A precept I live by and honored in my art practice as a printmaker; it follows me as an archivist. This doesn’t mean the quality of the collection suffers. Crucially, the metadata and descriptions of materials benefit from working closely with the record creators. This provides opportunity for gradation and subtly of the collection and history itself.
A Feminist Ethics of Care approach challenges the traditional legacy and history of The Archive, recognizing it is as much about the past, as our current and future health. We need archival care especially in crisis to alleviate suffering and help communities foster living archives. It is here I strive to situate myself as an archivist, examine (and re-examine) my blindspots and biases and consider the ways we are woven together in larger community and inter-reliance.
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