American Archivist

In a recent meeting with American Archivist editor Amy Cooper Cary, the three of us were reflecting on the decisions that led us into archives. For Amy, who went to library school later in life and was transfixed by a class in the history of books and printing, the decision was to pursue archives as a second career. For Stephanie, who wrote a paper that centered on a manuscript collection for a graduate English course, the decision was to apply to an MLIS program soon after. And for Rose, who discovered archives as an undergraduate, the decision was to leave a late-night job in food service for a day shift in her university's special collections and archives. These decisions, at the time, seemed relatively inconsequential, but they set each of us on a path to this profession, which has profoundly changed all our lives.Reviews are, by definition, reflective; they examine the themes an author or creator explored and the decisions they made in the wider context of history, theory, and practice. Reviews are also conversations that, like our conversation with Amy, can lead to revelations about ourselves and others. Most often, the conversation is between a reviewer and an author or between a reviewer and their readers. But reviews have the potential to spark broader conversations across time and space, between readers now and in the future.This issue coincides with the launching of a new series on the American Archivist Reviews Portal that we hope will encourage reflection and engagement throughout the archives community. Intergenerational Conversations2 intends to foster ongoing dialogue between new voices in the archives profession and authors whose work shaped the professional literature years ago. In the first year of this series, we explore the works of archives scholar, practitioner, Society of American Archivists (SAA) Fellow, and former SAA president John Fleckner. We encourage you to visit the series on the Portal, read Fleckner's work and our reviewers' commentaries, and share your thoughts about both by commenting on the pieces. We look forward to continuing to engage with you throughout the series.Like Intergenerational Conversations, the reviews in this issue center on conversations. These conversations bridge differences in occupations, practices, viewpoints, values, and beliefs. They feature collaborations between archivists, librarians, educators, curators, activists, and communities. We begin with reviews of two books about teaching with primary sources: What Primary Sources Teach: Lessons for Every Classroom, written by Jen Hoyer, Kaitlin H. Holt, and Julia Pelaez and reviewed by Sara Lyons Davis, and Engaging Undergraduates in Primary Source Research, edited by Lijuan Xu and reviewed by Kayla Harris. The former explores how staff at the Brooklyn Public Library incorporated archival materials into K–12 lessons about local history. The latter describes how archivists, librarians, and faculty in undergraduate programs can integrate special collections materials into everything from scientific writing to environmental history courses. Although these works have different goals, they both emphasize the importance of collaboration between archivists and educators. Furthermore, they foreground the potential of archives to engage students across ages and disciplines in inclusive, accessible ways.Inclusivity and accessibility are also themes in Claire Du Laney's review of Exhibiting the Archive: Space, Encounter, and Experience by Peter Lester. Lester argues that archival exhibits should move beyond linear frameworks that focus on the research value of collections to the embodied experiences of patron interactions with archival exhibits. For Lester, users include not only members of the public but also archivists and curators. This highlights his belief that participatory and community cocreated exhibits can lead to new archival encounters for all.Marissa Friedman's review of Viral Cultures: Activist Archiving in the Age of AIDS by Marika Cifor likewise shows how archivists can play a role in collaborating with communities as well as facilitating recordkeeping for the purpose of social justice. Cifor traces how archivists, curators, and activists have documented AIDS activism over time and how collaborators at three New York institutions use these archives to challenge narratives that downplay the present-day impact of AIDS on marginalized communities. Bailey Adolph's review of The Disability Archive UK on the Portal explores similar themes by examining how the digital archive provides free access to and promotes the visibility of writings of disability scholars and activists.The legacy of the past as well as its impact on marginalized communities to this day are themes in the next two reviews in this issue: Amber Glen's review of Rescued from Oblivion: Historical Cultures in the Early United States by Alea Henle, and Heather Mulliner's review of Narrative Expansions: Interpreting Decolonisation in Academic Libraries, edited by Jess Crilly and Regina Everitt. In Rescued from Oblivion, Henle describes how the frequent choice of early US historical societies to exclude materials by and about marginalized communities continues to impact the availability of archival materials about these communities today. The very practices that Henle describes are why decolonization—the theme of Narrative Expansions and the international case studies it offers—is a necessary step for addressing colonialism's legacy and building equity within archives. The topic of erasure, which looms large in these works, is also one that Janelle Monáe (singer and now author) explores in The Memory Librarian and Other Stories of Dirty Computer. On the Portal, reviewer Adina Riggins explores how this fictional book invites the reader to imagine a future dominated by unethical archives. In Monáe's work, the authoritarian regime New Dawn collects and erases the memories of its citizens. While this differs from what is described in Rescued from Oblivion and Narrative Expansions, the result is the same: a past that can never be remembered in its entirety.Even as archivists collaborate with educators, curators, activists, and communities to address the legacies of the past, Jessica Tai's review of Cultural Humility by David A. Hurley, Sarah R. Kostelecky, and Lori Townsend reminds us of the necessity of adopting cultural humility to redress power imbalances and structural inequalities. At both the individual and institutional levels, we must critically reflect on our attitudes, assumptions, and actions to ensure we recognize the limits of our knowledge and are prepared to put in the work necessary to build meaningful relationships across communities and cultures.It is with this sense of humility and critical self-reflection that we launched the Intergenerational Conversations series and that we hope you will continue to engage with us on important topics, trends, and issues in the profession.(Published between October 2022 and February 2023)

Rose Buchanan

Stephanie Luke

The American Archivist

Archives in Conversation

对话中的档案

For eighty-six years, this journal has held a mirror to the world of archives and archivists, its authors writing the ongoing analysis of our professional ethics, theories, and craft. The stated purpose of the journal is “to reflect thinking about theoretical and practical developments in the archival profession, particularly in North America; about the relationships between archivists and the creators and users of archives; and about cultural, social, legal, and technological developments that affect the nature of recorded information and the need to create and maintain it.”1 Over the years, we have, as a profession, formed our theory, honed our practice, explored our ethics, and discussed our purpose. The archival literature is, in many ways, as organic as Terry Eastwood has described the characteristics of archival records themselves.2 The literature is natural and interrelated; it is cumulative, and each piece speaks to and through the writings of others. As professionals, we are informed and shaped by our literature. Eastwood notes that “theory becomes more than contemplation of the nature of archives when it presents ideas about the role or purpose archival documents play in social relations.”3 We have explored this purpose in numerous articles and books since Eastwood wrote this in 1994, especially in the late 1990s and early 2000s. And now, we are once again at a point in our professional analysis where we are turning our collective gaze inward and asking ourselves who we are as a group and how we are contributing to the preservation of the historic record, social memory, and cultural heritage. What are our responsibilities, and what barriers are we facing? It is exactly this element of reflection that comes to mind when I think about this issue of the journal.This issue's publication of the All Archivists Survey of A*CENSUS II shows us a snapshot of who we are now, nearly twenty years after the publication of the first A*CENSUS. A*CENSUS II builds on the 2004 survey and informs our current consideration of the place of archives and archivists in society.A*CENSUS II also gives us a framework in which to read the other articles in this issue. Courtney Chartier's Presidential Address encourages us to actively question the systems in which we work. Michelle Sweetser and colleagues do just this via another survey—the College and University Archives Landscape Survey—which explores the challenges inherent in the structure of these systems. Partnered with A*CENSUS II data, this is powerful reading. Alex Poole and Ashley Todd-Diaz explore the basis for our professional structures, considering the history of archival education and the relationship between educators and practitioners. These observations are again informed by the demographics of the A*CENSUS II data. The dynamics of this relationship are also highlighted by Eira Tansey's consideration of the archival literature and its focus on the published work of academia as opposed to works authored by government archivists. Finally, Sarah Jones and Ryan DiPaolo contribute a view of a workplace and workflow changed by COVID-19. This issue is rooted in our collective history, as well as in our current dynamic. There is tension in this issue, and with it comes promise.The reflective focus of this issue is extraordinary, and it mirrors a shift in the perception of our profession, by ourselves as well as by those whom we serve. As I noted in the last issue of this journal, we create our own literature. It is up to us where we take it, and that depends on our theoretical outlook, the focus of our work and research, and our urge to share those things with our colleagues. The Fall/Winter 2023 issue of American Archivist will publish the A*CENSUS II Archives Administrators Survey Report—a new perspective on the profession. And for the Spring/Summer 2024 issue, American Archivist is inviting authors to work with the A*CENSUS II data and analyze different aspects to explore how we have changed in the last twenty years and to anticipate how we continue responding to societal change. This is precisely where I see the promise. I look forward to continuing to engage with authors submitting to this journal, encouraging viewpoints from all areas of our profession and seeing where the literature takes us as participative, thoughtful, and generous stewards of our profession.

Amy Cooper Cary

Mirror, Mirror

镜子，镜子

When choosing a book to read, my first questions are “Is the title interesting?” and “Does it make me want to look closer?” Rescued from Oblivion was a resounding “yes” on both counts. As an avid reader who is always looking for something new to learn, this book did not disappoint.Whether your background is in libraries, archives, or museums, it is easy to commiserate with the struggles early historical societies (1791–1850) faced. Finding the balance between collecting everything of interest or not enough material plagued early historical societies much like it can today. This was particularly true in the early days of an institution when an item's intrinsic value depended not only on content but also on the accepting society's or librarian's opinion of what was important enough to keep. Historical society librarians and officers selected and culled donated items based on the materials' potential usefulness for writing about history in the future.Alea Henle's passion for research makes her an ideal person to tackle the topic of historical collecting. Henle is an associate librarian and head of the Access and Borrow department at Miami University Libraries. She received a master's in library science from Simmons College and a PhD in history from the University of Connecticut. Henle states that her “research interests center on how decisions [made] in libraries, archives, research centers, and commercial database providers increasingly shape the resources available—making materials paradoxically both easier and more difficult to locate.”1 In Rescued from Oblivion, Henle “uses close examination of historical societies to explore historical cultures and consciousness in the early United States” (p. 2). She draws on accounts that emphasize how historical society decision-makers over two hundred years ago faced similar paradigms as do current professionals regarding collection policies, preservation of textual and three-dimensional artifacts, and reconciliation of scholarly and popular approaches to understanding history.The book begins in the late eighteenth century citing challenges the new United States faced in defining the line between British and American history. Early societies attempted to focus on the national level, but many failed because they tried to cover a large geographic area and an unsustainable scope. Regional or city-specific groups fared better because they focused on a local or smaller area, making it easier to appeal to individuals and groups for support; some of these groups continue to exist today. Throughout the first half of the book, Henle illustrates early societies' struggles in defining what to collect, though the vast majority preferred facts (information, chronicles of events) and primary sources (newspapers, government documents, diaries, letters, etc.), specifically government records, public documents, and what would now be considered city directories (whether printed or as lists created and submitted to the societies by citizens). Many historical societies focused their missions on “gathering historical information for use in the writing of history” (p. 102) and “valued documents as much or more based on content than circumstances of creation, although they gathered documents as sources of information rather than as artifacts in and of themselves” (p. 103). Contemporary archival collections continue to emphasize the importance of a document's information over the physicality of presentation because, as history has taught us, paper can be destroyed in a variety of ways.The second half of the book explores the impact of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century historical societies' collecting practices on women and other marginalized communities, particularly the propensity to view all history through a European-American upper-class lens due to most officers and members of the organizations being part of that social class. When historical societies desired items from marginalized communities, officers and collection keepers—not donors—defined the items' historical importance. Henle discusses two case studies in which donations highlighted how “women of wealth and station . . . ensured [the] acceptance of items documenting women's lives and labors” in the context of their connections to important men of station (p. 6). One example is a pair of shoes donated to the Connecticut Historical Society and “described as having belonged to Mary Young Ledyard, mother of Revolutionary War hero Colonel William Ledyard and grandmother of the noted traveler John Ledyard” (p. 144). While the shoes were owned by Mary Young Ledyard, their importance at the time of donation hinged on the connection with Colonel Ledyard and tangentially the shoemaker, Jonathan Hose and Son, rather than on anything Ledyard did herself. In another example, when the Connecticut Historical Society sought to collect items “that would show the Costume and throw light on the early history of the Colony” (p. 170), Hannah Whittelsey donated items owned by her grandmother and great-aunt and provided as much information about the items as possible, including their creators (her father and brother). However, the historical society ledgers recorded the donation to emphasize the men (creators) over the women (users) and referenced Whittelsey's husband as the donor as if she were incapable of making the donation herself. Henle does not shy away from the harsh realities of fighting for inclusive narratives, something cultural heritage professionals still struggle with today.Henle provides some examples in the epilogue of historical societies established to focus on religious denominations and groups including “women, African Americans, and Native Americans [who] worked to preserve materials documenting their histories and affirm their importance” (p. 190), including the Presbyterian Historical Society (1852) and the Afro-American Historical Society (1897), both of which still exist today. To some extent, these organizations have been able to narrow the gaps in their history because they were founded in the mid- to late nineteenth century, allowing them to learn from earlier organizations' choices. Henle states that “societies located in states with sizable non-Anglo ethnic populations engaged to various degrees in documenting more diverse pasts [even though] English-language materials and descendants predominated” (p. 176). Many of these efforts came in the form of documenting French, Spanish, or Dutch histories rather than the more contentious histories of slavery or Native American rights and land claims. However, Henle describes societies' attempts to document slavery through a chronological history of print materials that covered slavery from a distance of years. In doing so, societies perpetuated a “literal separation of present slavery and abolition activities from historical pursuits” by not collecting items related to slavery, accepting only a few artifacts related to those enslaved, or soliciting “works on colonization or abolition . . . within the context of gathering the publications of religious or charitable organizations” rather than actively collecting contemporary items (p. 177). Henle also notes how historical societies invested more time “documenting the pasts of Native American peoples than those of African descent to solidify white control of the land versus Native American rights and historic presence” (p. 180). Documentation came in the form of actively gathering information and artifacts from the past, essentially denying centuries of Native American presence in North America and overlooking the presence of Native Americans in contemporary society. Henle's inclusion of these collecting strategies highlights the struggle that archives, museums, and historical societies may face today when attempting to fill gaps in information and collections in a belated effort to document the history of previously overlooked groups, including the working class, women, and minorities.Rescued from Oblivion not only shares the history of historical societies, it also imparts the uniqueness of cultural heritage organizations. Professional archival collection standards were nonexistent when US historical societies began to emerge, yet they were born out of and refined by a group of individuals who realized the significance of defining preservation and disseminating the information contained within historical documents. An even smaller group of historical society officers, librarians, and businessmen understood the importance of specialized buildings to accommodate and preserve the archival materials being collected. While they were mostly unsuccessful in funding specialized construction, collection losses from fires, inadequate housing in mixed-use buildings, and rapid demolition and construction during the Industrial Revolution contributed to future officers and donors heeding their warnings by designing buildings and systems specifically for cultural heritage collections.Anyone with an interest in cultural or national heritage will find Rescued from Oblivion worthwhile. That said, Henle missed opportunities to connect her analysis to archives. Although the narrative is filled with in-depth research (emphasized with over sixty footnotes per chapter), the book lacks specific information on how archival standards were developed; Henle merely describes the general realization that standards were needed. If she had explored this topic in greater depth, the book would be more useful for archival and information science academics. A good portion of the book also discusses how historical societies shared their collections with their membership and each other, mostly through publications. However, Henle does not reference other scholarship that touches on the practice of preservation through publication and glosses over the implication of this preservation method to the archival profession today. Though missing these points, the book is still worthwhile as a reference about how early historical societies and archives were established. While it is interesting to learn what different historical societies published and believed was important, the book lends itself more to leisure reading by academics, historians, cultural heritage professionals, and history enthusiasts than as a reference text for disseminating applicable and executable skills.Henle writes, “a broader range of institutional missions flourished than existing scholarship has considered, demonstrating that citizens founded historical societies to ensure different identities and histories were remembered” (p. 48). This statement, though seemingly contradictory to what has become part of the standard mission of collecting organizations—gathering information for the writing of history—made me reflect on today's cultural heritage institutions and the history we are creating now. How long will it take for marginalized groups to have their version of the National Museum of the American Indian or the Hispanic Society Museum and Library? What would happen to regional identity and history if state lines were redrawn? These “back burner” questions consistently reappeared as I was eagerly reading. Although Rescued from Oblivion does not provide all the answers, it will hopefully inspire archives professionals to become more cognizant of gaps in current collecting practices.

Amber Glen

Rescued from Oblivion: Historical Cultures in the Early United States

从遗忘中拯救：早期美国的历史文化

ABSTRACT The Society of American Archivists (SAA) has long involved itself with graduate-level archival education. It has sponsored committees and subcommittees, guidelines, roundtables/sections, student chapters, and pre-conferences. But limited empirical evidence exists regarding faculty members' view of SAA's involvement with graduate archival education. This exploratory qualitative case study employs semistructured interviews with full-time, tenure-track archival faculty. We address the ways in which SAA contributes to faculty members' teaching, faculty members' encouragement of students to join SAA, SAA student chapters and faculty advising, and how SAA might promote better communication, coordination, and collaboration between graduate archival education programs and practitioners. We contend that despite decades of effort on both sides, the relationship between graduate archival education programs and the Society of American Archivists remains disjointed, ultimately limiting the field's development. We offer recommendations and suggestions for future research to strengthen this relationship in the interest of improving student experience and the health of the profession.

Alex H. Poole

Ashley Todd-Diaz

“Sometimes I feel like they hate us”: The Society of American Archivists and Graduate Archival Education in the Twenty-first Century

“有时候我觉得他们恨我们”：美国档案工作者协会与二十一世纪的研究生档案教育

ABSTRACT The Society of American Archivists (SAA) and its members have conducted numerous surveys of the archival profession—both of archivists as individuals and of archival institutions—through the years. In 1949, the College and University Archives Committee of SAA conducted the first survey specifically of college and university archives. Building off previous surveys, in 2021 the College and University Archives Landscape Survey was undertaken by the College and University Archives Section to gather data about the management and organization of college and university archives within the United States, as well as about the backgrounds, skills, responsibilities, and tasks in which college and university archivists are engaged. While the initial results were released to the membership, this article represents further analysis and contextualization with other professional literature. It identifies trends, similarities, and differences between surveys and eras, and it provides suggestions for future surveys and research.

Michelle Sweetser

Tamar Chute

Elizabeth James

Jane LaBarbara

Krista Oldham

College and University Archivists: Doing It All for Less

大学档案管理员：以更少的资源完成所有工作

ABSTRACT As archivists are increasingly called upon to measure and demonstrate our value, it is vital to consider not only what we are measuring and why, but also what is beyond measure (what can't be captured by data and metrics) and how we communicate value beyond what can necessarily be measured. In exploring these questions, the author offers some provisional ideas for reframing the discourse and practice around archival metrics and assessment, and for opening space to “take our own measure” more fully and demonstrate the true value of archives. Looking beyond metrics per se, the author first traces a broader notion of archival engagement as an outcome-oriented and people-centered conceptual frame for contemplating and assessing archival value(s) beyond measure, and then considers the role of storytelling in communicating value and ways for framing our stories in terms of archival engagement to convey meaning and impact.

Jennifer Meehan

“Taking Our Own Measure”: Archival Engagement and Storytelling

“量己之尺”：档案参与与叙事

On Stephen King, and the “What” and “Why” of <i>American Archivist</i>

论斯蒂芬·金与《美国档案工作者》的“何事”与“为何”

Laila Hussein Moustafa

Moroccan Other-Archives: History and Citizenship after State Violence

摩洛哥的他者档案：国家暴力后的历史与公民身份

Eric C. Stoykovich

War on Record: The Archive and the Afterlife of the Civil War

战争记录：内战档案与战后生活

ABSTRACT This article argues that archival access systems require a new archival ecosystem (physical infrastructure, access tools, e.g., catalogs, findings aids, indexes, rules policies procedures, and institutional supports) and a broader conceptual framing. Based on the findings from sixteen interviews with archivists, this article proposes a multifaceted, relationship-based access framework. The framework focuses on supporting users studying difficult histories or members of oppressed communities in a physical archives but also highlights elements that all users might appreciate.

ISSN	0360-9081, 2327-9702
h-index	33

涉及主题	计算机科学政治学历史地理图书馆学法学业务考古工程类社会学哲学万维网物理
出版信息	出版商: Society of American Archivists，出版周期: ，期刊类型: journal，开源期刊: 否
基本数据	创刊年份: 1938，原创研究文献占比: 0.00%，自引率:N.A.， Gold OA占比: 0.00%

American Archivist

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