An Archive of the People, for the People… just not by People

This post was by far the most fun and the hardest to write: On one hand, I didn’t need to do any research on the creator—after all, who knew me best but me? On the other hand, I could no longer pretend to be the “objective critic” peering through the files of some bygone historical figure. What was originally intended to be a brief, perfunctory scroll through my Facebook page turned into a two-hour stroll down memory lane. As a daily user of Facebook, it was difficult to switch hats and become a user of the archive. After all these, were my memories—weren’t they? Finding room for critical distance was near impossible.

Perhaps this anxiety is what Joanne Garde-Hansen, in her chapter “MyMemories?: Personal Digital Archive Fever and Facebook,” gestures towards when she urges us to “move toward understanding personal digital archiving as the expression of memory rather than history” (136, added italics). Garde-Hansen complicates our idea of how social media platforms such as Facebook function as a form of personal digital archives. Drawing on Derrida’s seminal paper, “Archive Fever,” to demonstrate how these soi-disant private archives are both more institutionally and publically influenced than anticipated, she writes, “we cannot ignore the powerful politics of archiving and friendship at stake in SNSs [social network sites]” (136).

Garde-Hansen cites many convincing examples to demonstrate the institution’s control over user content—she must be one of the few people on earth who have actually read the entire user legal agreement, and while parts of her paper are obviously outdated, recent developments on Facebook only go to support her larger claim. Now and then, ready-made videos (“On this Day” and “Year in Review”) will pop up on the user’s newsfeed, a slideshow of pictures curated by Facebook to celebrate friendship anniversaries or important moments, such as “Beatrice and Jocelyn: Friends on Facebook since 2012” or “Highlights of 2016”. However, as hard as Facebook tries to “story,” to borrow Sinor’s verbification of the term, the presence of its underlying database logic is still jarringly apparent. Just the other day, I received a notification that a video documenting my friendship with Gary Turner* was ready to be posted (*name changed). Who is this dude, what is he doing on my wall, and why would I want to share this video? It turns out that Gary was an acquaintance from high school and whose friend request I had been too polite to decline. Facebook’s algorithm had assumed that we were close buddies since we had both been tagged in a series of grad photos that received a lot of likes. I thought this was a neat instance of how Facebook controls our memories. Garde-Hansen writes that “the wall is only really meaningful to the user” (143), but I would argue that this too is no longer so. Albums which only have one photo of me end up on my wall. Videos commemorate memories I never made. Not only does the “technical structure determine how… private memories come into public existence” (137), but the underlying mechanisms of a social media archive determine what can and should be remembered. The institution has become a smart computer. In this day and age, the creator has no control over her own archive.

Last thoughts:

One of the “dangers” of a social media archive is that traditional methods of categorization are not and were never meant to be applied. The fonds no longer exists. Whereas the 9/11 Archive, though disorganized, still maintains some sense of archival classification (Collection: Photography >> Creator: Mark Phillips >> Item: Satan in the Smoke), each Facebook wall, if we can consider them “collections” of an individual, are so fluid that clicking on a picture posted on your wall will lead you immediately to another friend’s album by means of a hyperlink. Hyperlinking is not only an “exteriorisation of history” (144), but a meshing together of identities and private archives. This trans-creator aspect of social media archiving demonstrates how people are not bounded beings; we are populated by our memories of and interactions with others. The social media archive most clearly illustrates this by the way it replaces the hierarchical structure of classical archival organization by an interactive and often messy web of associations.


Works Cited:

Garde-Hansen, Joanne. “MyMemories?: Personal Digital Archive Fever and Facebook.” Digital Memories. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. 135-150. Print.

 

Uncovering the Silence of the Colonizer  

School children during visit by Governor General Lord Tweedsmuir. (Item a034664)

Ok, I know I’ve been speaking a lot about archival silences lately, but bear with me!

In “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens,” Bastian assures archivists that there is hope “in face of the elitism, complicity, and narrowness of the colonial record” (278). While recognizing that silences are inherent in the creation and management of sources, Bastian emphasizes the need to identify the socio-historical context of a record and to expand our definition of records to encompass radical forms such as memory texts and embodied performance. Most importantly, she writes, “framing records within social provenance and a ‘community of records’ helps to locate all voices within the spaces of records” (267). Bastian’s discussion of provenance prompts archivists to seek out the multiple relationships of creation surrounding a record.

Beverley Brown’s photo collection nicely illustrates and complicates Bastian’s claim. Reading the archival description, I was surprised to uncover that these photos were taken by “Beverley Brown, her friends, and school supervisors.” This fact can be interpreted in multiple ways. On one hand, it can be read as an inversion of subaltern theory. Post-colonialism is all about uncovering the voice of the marginalised in the fault lines and interstices of official history, however, here we find the reverse: in a satisfying poetic justice of sorts, it is within the fonds of a residential school survivor that we find the traces of the dominant discourse, subsumed under the voice of Beverley Brown. Bastian begins with a reference to the old cliché, “history is written by the winners,” yet here it is the victim, not the victor, who survives to tell her tale after years of oppression. On the other hand, it can be argued that, although Brown represents ostensibly the subaltern voice, her message is still mediated and contaminated by the hegemony. Hence, Spivak would probably agree again that once again, that there is “no ‘real Rani’ to be found” (Spivak 271).

Lily Wildman, Mrs. Staley's help at manse. (Item a034661)

“Lily Wildman, Mrs. Staley’s help at manse.” Telfer is mostly able to identify her subjects by name. (Item a034661)

In the quest to “locate all voices within the spaces of records” (267), Bastian quotes Ballantyne on the need to “appreciate how our colonial archives were constructed… and to reconstruct the ideological work that they have done” (276). Colonialism allows us “to analyze multi-class, multi-ethnic societies that were simultaneously co-dependent” and stratified” (269). Turning to the context of Indian Residential Schools, I sense that there is as much of an archival silence regarding native children pre-TRC as there are regarding school supervisors post-TRC. Journals and diaries of school supervisors we have and do quote much, but what are the thoughts and responses of the surviving clergy members and institutional managers in the present? While the government has actively sought to record (and contentiously retain) the oral testimonies of res school survivors, there has not been much of an effort to hear from the perpetrators as individuals. Perhaps there were, and these were unsuccessful. Here we find yet another face of archival silence–that of the colonizer in the postcolonial era. After all, nobody likes to play the criminal. For this reason, Jean Telfer’s decision to donate her collection to the MOA in the two years before her death, I find, is incredibly courageous. Her act of contributing to the ‘total archive’ necessitated a public recognition of her involvement as teacher at the Morley and Alberni residential schools. Her fonds include the names of students. While we must still, of course, remain cognizant of the biases and prejudices embedded in every individual’s subjective self-representation, I daresay Telfer’s view of residential schools must have shifted dramatically for her to speak so bravely into this archival silence.


Works Cited:

Bastian, Jeannette Allis. “Reading Colonial Records Through an Archival Lens: The Provenance of Place, Space and Creation.” Archival Science 6 (2006): 267–284.

“Beverley Brown Fonds.” Audrey and Harry Hawthorn Library and Archives. Museum of Anthropology. Web. 11 Mar. 2016.

“Jean Telfer Fonds.” Audrey and Harry Hawthorn Library and Archives. Museum of Anthropology. Web. 11 Mar. 2016.

Spivak, Gayatri (1985). The Rani of Sirmur: An Essay in Reading the Archives. History and Theory 24 (3):247-272. http://www.cameronius.com/helen/rhprg/Spivak%20the%20Rani%20of%20Sirmur.pdf

 

Truth and Reconciliation Commission and Archives

First Nations culture and communities

South African Apartheid history

Understanding settler colonialism (specific to Canadian context)