The Changing Archives Sky

Giving in all seasons

Posted on December 17, 2016 | 1 comment

What holiday gifts would you give archivists and librarians? Earlier this month, Merrilee Proffitt, Senior Program Officer at the Online Computer Library Center (OCLC), asked at Hanging Together for our suggestions. This is the fourth year she has written at the blog about gifts. The comments from archivists and librarians tell us who they are and how they see themselves and their work.

Last year at Christmas, I wrote in Gifts and the Gift about an essay Jarrett M. Drake wrote for the Students and New Archives Professionals (SNAP) blog about first-time publishing. He observed, “Scholarly communication bears resemblance to double dutch. One must study the twirl, the twirlers, and jump in when and where you feel comfortable.” The same is true in communications elsewhere, online and in the physical world.

In October, I wrote about a powerful keynote address in which Jarrett spoke about the problem of marginalization in archives, racism, the yearning to belong, about teaching English to the incarcerated. Gifts and the gift. A reminder that how we look at gifts in public space tells us as much about the giver as the recipient.

You can have differences with others over tactics or priorities but still work effectively with them on shared goals. Not just in the workplace, where there are managerial incentives. But on your own time, as well, as I wrote this fall in a professional Listserv when I pointed to Documenting the Now as a gift of knowledge that the participants give others.

How people react to professional issues can tell you how they view life, where they work, whom they know, and if they express it, what brings them joy. You don’t always know what they’ve experienced but you see the results when they choose to work with others.

Collaboration and teamwork are rooted in old civic traditions which depend on respect and humility and, as a commentator recently pointed out, acceptance of uncertainty and willingness to consider the thoughts of others. The same qualities commentators point to in writing about the civic fabric, ones cited long ago by John Dewey, Alexis de Tocqueville, John Stuart Mill. We have opportunities to shape those values to fit the needs of the present day.

Change provides opportunities as well as challenges for those of us who work to share knowledge. For me, Kate Theimer led the way when she showed that the future of archives is participatory. But how that works out in different spaces can be complicated, of course. Because “it depends.”

When you open records, you don’t know who will use them and how. Accepting this is part of moving away from the “gatekeeper” model in archives. (We see less centralization in where and how we talk about archives and records issues, as well.) Understanding information-seeking behavior, what users of records look for and where, but also what affects their creation, is essential to finding and understanding those spaces.

Intuition plays a part here. People don’t always articulate what they need. Sometimes, they don’t even see it. Or their needs feel inchoate. To understand others, find solutions to sharing knowledge, we need to be bold. And at times, counter-intuitive.

Merrilee Proffitt, Wikimania, 2012

In 2014, I was thrilled to meet Merrilee in person in a chance hallway encounter in Washington at the annual conference of the Society of American Archivists (SAA). She’s pictured two years earlier at a Wikimania event.

Such conversations have special value to “lone arrangers” and archives and library professionals who seek community outside of their workplace. For me, many of my most cherished professional encounters are unexpected and unplanned. Some take place in person, some online.

You go where the voices are. You don’t tell them where to come. That place never will be the same for everyone. It can’t be and it shouldn’t be.

Years ago, on an archivists Listserv, a then-records manager who was trained in archives, as well, asked what is the professional identity of archivists. My sense from reading the contributions of academic, corporate, and government archivists then was that we’re alike, yet different, different, yet alike.

I can no more pick out one person and say, that’s the model for an archivist, a librarian, a records manager, than I can buy and give the same exact gift to everyone among my friends. And even there, circumstances change, as some gifts are material, others experiential, and still others a mix of both.

Many archivists and librarians are Introverts. I’m one, myself. But as Ashley Stevens once said of herself, many of us are “people-liking Introverts.” You see Ashley pictured at an archives and records conference with AOTUS David S. Ferriero, who also has written about Introversion. Seeing her tweet the picture-David and Ashley, two people I know in person and admire!–brought me great joy.

I came to know both David and Ashley (with me above) through their thoughtful use of Social Media before I met them IRL. When someone’s written or spoken words inspire you, pick you up, give you strength at a long day’s end, the gift is experiential.

Sometimes you smile. Sometimes you cry. Some of the most poignant essays I’ve read in recent years are ones by Stacie Williams about archival labor. About trying to fit in on the job. Racism. And about family, about community, about life’s simplicity and complexity.

Jonathan Rausch famously wrote in 2003 in “Caring for Your Introvert” that it is very difficult for an Extrovert to understand an Introvert. But as Susan Cain and others have observed, some Introverts have advantages as leaders and thinkers that some Extroverts do not.

As psychologists have looked beyond their own field and considered what members of the public say, they’ve discovered there may be different types of Introversion. In June 2015, Melissa Dahl wrote in “Science of Us” at NYMag that researchers have found that “. . . the ‘scientific’ and ‘common-sense’ definitions of introversion didn’t quite match up. . . the more self-described introverts they interviewed, the less correct this one-size-fits-all definition seemed.”

Many archivists are comfortable with such conclusions. We’re used to thinking in terms of “it depends.” I like that. For me, the absence of discernment makes didactic writing challenging to read. I look for places where different people can say, “did you consider” without hearing “well, actually,” to use the Twitter meme for conversation-ending putdowns. And even concede points, a sign of willingness to listen and learn.

Complexity also is visible in archives. Literally.

Earlier this month, I worked as a host/guide during an evening reception at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA). Among the visitors attending a social studies conference in Washington was Karen Korematsu, the daughter of Fred Korematsu. The plaintiff in Korematsu v. the United States.

We talked about how Fred Korematsu received the Medal of Freedom at the White House in 1998 for his “principled stand against Japanese internment” during World War II. A few feet away from where I was stationed as a host/guide at the entrance to NARA’s Public Vaults exhibit is an inspiring quote from President Franklin D. Roosevelt. The President who issued the Executive Order which led to the internment that Fred Korematsu protested in litigation.

In 1941, before Pearl Harbor, Roosevelt said at the opening of his National Archives administered-Presidential Library that

“To bring together the records of the past and to house them in buildings where they will be preserved for the use of men and women in the future, a Nation must believe in three things.

It must believe in the past.

It must believe in the future.

It must, above all, believe in the capacity of its own people so to learn from the past that they can gain in judgement in creating their own future.”

As I watched visitors pause and read FDR’s words as I stood at my host/guide post that evening, I thought about what curatorial experts said during a panel at NARA earlier this year. Visitors bring their highly individual perspectives and experiences into museums.

For me, the hallway in front of the inscription was a fitting place to stand and talk with a visitor about internment and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Because history doesn’t unfold in a linear fashion, as “this, then that, then that.” But in twists and turns, in victories and defeats, with certitude and uncertainty. Achievement, error, correction, and struggle.

The complexity of history shows in many places. One is in the presidential records with which I’ve been lucky to work as an archivist. And the records I’ve read as a historian. It shows in the records of governance. But also in the correspondence from citizens to a President.

In my work in Fedland, I’ve seen some high-powered actions set in motion. But among the archival records I most often think about are the ones in the GEN, not the EX, folders of a collection about presidential travel that I once processed. White House Central Files: Trips.

Folders marked GEN customarily contain materials from the general public while EX typically includes correspondence with White House and government officials. The citizens, young and old, very much are part of the picture. Because the Presidential Trips files cover so many different places, they include reactions from people throughout the United States. How they view issues is highly diverse and often very nuanced.

In processing such collections, I appreciated the chance to see the highly individual human side of the presidency and of citizens, as well. We see this within our own professions, too, in the spectrum of experiences and perspectives shared. Or sometimes only suggested. As some of the correspondence we process shows, just as in our online forums, there’s a spectrum, not just a few fixed points along a line.

What, then, do I wish for archivists, librarians, records professionals? Friends, allies, supporters, partners, people who listen and converse with us and support and work with us. And, yes, friends can include solution-seeking critics willing to join us in being other-centric as they ask, “did you consider? why not this?”

Those friends and supporters need not be people we know in person. Members of our community even can be characters in the books, fiction and non-fiction, that so many of us read. The books that help us better understand others and ourselves. And which, as I wrote in my last blog post, help us “feel less alone.”

In 2012, David Ferriero wrote about the Wikimania conference in Washington,

“Over 1400 people from 87 countries came together to talk, hack, and share their expertise and experiences at the week-long event. I was glad to share in their joie de vivre and to talk about our common missions at the closing plenary session.”

I recently re-read the blog post David wrote after the death of Steve Jobs in 2011. Ferriero quoted Jobs’s commencement speech in which he said, “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice, heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”

David observed, “The older I get the more I do feel that my time is limited. And I’m trying hard to help people discover and heed their own inner voice, heart and intuition.”

Joie de vivre is a beautiful experiential gift. You sometimes see it when someone heeds their inner voice, heart, intuition instead of being trapped by dogma.

It can be a complicated emotion, sometimes linked simply to happiness, sometimes to more complex emotions, such as perseverance in the face of great challenges. A determination to keep going regardless of the obstacles. A gift that is centered in giving to others, in serving communities, in sharing knowledge. A purpose-driven, sustainable gift, rather than one quickly unwrapped, used briefly, then forgotten, set aside, discarded.

I often see this joy in all its manifestations shared in person and in the virtual world. And as my blogging shifted in recent years, it increasingly has become the focus of my writing. It’s why I write here about the people I do.

Sunrise at the National Archives, College Park, Maryland

We draw inspiration from the joy we see in others. And we brighten their online and physical spaces by sharing our own joy.

What better gift to give or receive, in the cold of winter, than the warmth of such joy?

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Posted in archival issues, NARA, People issues

To feel less alone

Posted on December 4, 2016 | Leave a comment

The title of the recent Wall Street Journal column shared on Twitter caught my eye. Will Schwalbe wrote about connectivity and learning in his column, “The Need to Read.” His words resonated–I’m a reader (fiction and non-fiction).

But as I read his essay, I thought about surveys that show that 27% of Americans do not read even one book a year. The Pew Research Center reported this year that “Americans read an average (mean) of 12 books per year, while the typical (median) American has read 4 books in the last 12 months.”

Why does reading matter? And what is the impact of reading or not reading? Schwalbe observes that

“Reading is the best way I know to learn how to examine your life. By comparing what you’ve done to what others have done, and your thoughts and theories and feelings to those of others, you learn about yourself and the world around you. Perhaps that is why reading is one of the few things you do alone that can make you feel less alone. It is a solitary activity that connects you to others.”

At its best, reading provides insights into the lives of others. Or challenges you. As Schwalbe notes,

“They are the expression of an individual or a group of individuals, not of a hive mind or collective consciousness. They speak to us, thoughtfully, one at a time. They demand our attention. And they demand that we briefly put aside our own beliefs and prejudices and listen to someone else’s. You can rant against a book, scribble in the margin or even chuck it out the window. Still, you won’t change the words on the page.”

Reading helps fill in some of the silences we would otherwise have in our internal conversations about the world. As I read the Wall Street Journal essay, I thought back to what Jarrett M. Drake wrote a year ago about publishing. And about life online. In “Gifts and the Gift,” I looked last December at Jarrett’s advice:

“To determine my unique contributions to a given conversation, I first research, read, and consider the range of archival literature published on a given topic. This first step allows me to assess accurately the pulse of a conversation and highlight any gaps or absences. The words of journalist Amy Goodman ring relevant: ‘Go where the silence is and say something.’ I often take weeks or months just reading and annotating articles and books that pertain to the conversation I want to enter. This process of assessing the conversation is similar to jumping rope, double dutch style. As a kid, it amazed me how seamlessly other kids could enter the terrifying prospects of two deadly pieces of twisted twine twirling at breakneck speeds. It further amazed me how seamlessly they left and allowed others to enter. Scholarly communication bears resemblance to double dutch. One must study the twirl, the twirlers, and jump in when and where you feel comfortable.”

When I first started following Jarrett M. Drake, I mostly read his tweets, occasionally Liked ones, but didn’t immediately @ him. I wanted to know who he was first and to show respect when I appeared in his Mentions. When one of his tweets lifted my spirits in Washington at the end of a week, I spontaneously expressed my thanks and joy at the light.

On December 1, 1955, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a bus in the Jim Crow South. Alicia Garza, a co-founder of Black Lives Matter, spoke of her at the #BlkPowerMatters forum at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) in October. She noted that not everyone admired Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks while the Civil Rights Movement was ongoing in the 1950s and 1960s.

Some Americans showed hostility and opposition to what King and Parks stood for, contemporaneously and later. Others agreed on overall objectives but disagreed with Movement tactics or strategies. John Lewis’s memoir, Walking With the Wind, eloquently conveys what it was like to grow up in the Jim Crow South. And how internal and external events affected the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee, which he led from 1963 to 1966. And why it shifted course. Lewis is pictured with NARA education staff member Darlene McClurkin at an event I attended in 2013. He used the image “a steady pilot light” to describe leadership on challenging issues over the long-term.

When we study history, we see how the people we read or write about (I’m about to publish a history book) often had to make choices in an atmosphere of chaos and uncertainty as to outcomes, while trying to balance their own values and objectives. This to me is one of the values of reading nonfiction. But fiction offers wonderful insights into the diversity of human experience. Creativity allows an author to go beyond the paper trail found in archives.

You can’t change the words on the page of a book. Or a record. Or archival material. That’s not to say the records scheduling and appraisal processes don’t differ in various record keeping cultures. And what users find in archives can depend on actions taken, or not taken, at the beginning of the records life cycle.

As I noted in a blog post in February about the impact of race, the information professional on one side of the spectrum, who tweeted last winter that the “drumbeat of news stories” about racism might affect poll results about the problem is a part of conversations about the issue in the United States. So, too, on another point on the spectrum, the progressive archivist at a historical society who tweets about marginalization, the impact of privilege, and how you can be both privileged (as white) but marginalized (as many LBQTQ people are).

Also in the mix is the historian whose writing shows depth news links may not reflect, when he looks at slavery and race. Or the Civil Rights Movement. And the curators at the new National Museum of African American History and Culture. And social scientists and political scientists.

And archivists such as Bergis Jules (pictured at left), who spoke powerful words about “Confronting Our Failures of Care Around the Legacies of Marginalized People in Archives” in his keynote at the National Digital Stewardship Alliance conference. He described how

“In his book, The Half Has Never Been Told: Slavery and the Making of American Capitalism, Ed Baptist places slavery and the extreme violence involved with cotton production, the most valuable commodity in 19th century America, at the very heart of a new and distinctive American capitalist system. He argues, among other things, that slavery created and supported the economy in the Northern, enriching merchants, and mill owners, while also drastically growing the assets of British bankers. Slave owners pioneered advances in banking and finance, which still exist today.

But most importantly, Baptist argues, what drove the drastic rate of cotton production and our first experience with a type of national economic growth, especially between 1800 and 1860, was an extreme new kind of violence perpetrated against enslaved Africans. The sole purpose of this violence was to drive up the daily output of cotton that one person could produce. He paints a picture of this violence in distressing details and one of the most unsettling examples is when he writes about tracking the increasing size of the slavers whip with the rise in cotton production in the most productive decades of the 19th century.”

The results of research are shared in programs at libraries and archives, as when Ed Baptist spoke at NARA in 2014. Baptist’s presentation starts at the 3 minute 12 second mark with AOTUS David S. Ferriero’s welcoming remarks in the video. I often link to videos of archives’ educational public programs in archivists’ forums. I’d like to see records managers link to them, as well, to remind information professionals why records matter beyond everyday business use or litigation discovery.

Members of both professions (archivists, records managers) have opportunities to serve as bridge builders in civic, news and information literacy. In an archivists’ forum, a Canadian professor who specializes in writing about records and archives recently used the term “post-truth age.” On November 30, 2016, The Times Literary Supplement posted Jennifer Howard’s long form essay about four books that look at privacy and technology, “The Internet of Stings.”

Howard wrote at the beginning of her essay about four books that examine privacy, technology, communications and data collection,

“The days of free-wheeling it around the web, just to see what’s out there, feel distant. In this post-factual, truth-averse era, many of the destinations that draw us online have become unsafe spaces, hostile and treacherous, where hatefulness and fake news prevail and surveillance is omnipresent. The web has changed, and it has changed us. How big those changes are, and what we can or ought to do about them, form the subject of these four books. “

Howard examined an issue that long has interested me, information literacy:

“For many content consumers, reality is mostly virtual anyway. That creates a problem scarier than many of Goodman’s scenarios: the rise of fabricated news, which spreads faster via Facebook and other online platforms than a cold virus in a kindergarten classroom. A BuzzFeed analysis from mid-November found that “top fake election news stories generated more total engagement on Facebook than top election stories from 19 major news outlets combined”. As one master of the fake-news genre told the Washington Post: ‘Honestly, people are definitely dumber. They just keep passing stuff around. Nobody fact-checks anything anymore’. Separating truth from fiction takes time, information literacy, and an open mind, all of which seem in short supply in a distracted, polarized culture. We love to share instantly – and that makes us easy to manipulate.'”

I first got to know Jennifer Howard online when she wrote for the Chronicle of Higher Education (CHE) about archives, libraries, scholarly communications, digital humanities, and technology. She blogged at CHE’s Wired Campus on April 13, 2010 about David Ferriero starting to blog–and what Kate Theimer wrote about that at her blog, Archivesnext.

Two people I know in person, like, respect, and admire–David and Kate–in a CHE blog post. What was notable to me in Howard’s post about “The Archivist Enters the Blogosphere” at Wired Campus was her recognition of the lively debate over the term Citizen Archivist.

When I come to book lectures and other programs at NARA, I often bring a book to read before the start. I sometimes tell David Ferriero which book I’m reading. David (pictured with me and Tim Mulligan in September) lists at his AOTUS blog “What I’m Reading.”

A recent blog post by an archivist outside government reminded me that in some settings, archivists are discouraged from doing historical research in repository holdings. Not so at NARA. Tim, a specialist in Captured German Records, has published several books which drew on archival materials in the National Archives and elsewhere. He recently spoke to members of the National Archives Volunteers Association about records in NARA collections.

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Tim Mulligan, Maarja Krusten, David Ferriero, NARA, September 26, 2016

As does Pulitzer prize-winning historian Alan Taylor, I believe that narratives matter in history. But I’m also an archivist. Sometimes, as Taylor explained, our own stories get jumbled. A journalist may miss the larger point of a story. Although he didn’t say so, to me this is all the more reason to recognize archival silences and how facts and data can and may be interpreted or misinterpreted. And, of course, to recognize that even articles that uphold the best journalistic standards don’t always convey the full picture.

Taylor recognizes the issues with Francis Parkman’s books, whose “narratives tended to be elitist, triumphalist, sexist, and often racist in their portrayal of native or enslaved peoples.” He describes himself as having sought to “produce a hybrid history which combined story-telling and description with the deeper, more collective research methods of the New Social History.”

But we can move beyond hybrids, towards greater inclusion. We can add to the resources for “story telling.” To keep alive through their voices in archives more stories of the diverse people who make up this nation. We can do that, as archivists, as records managers, as historian, if we’re serious about civic literacy. It isn’t easy. But there’s damage to the civic fabric if we keep our heads down or act as bystanders in our own professions.

Let’s be bold, brave, and discerning, for the sake of books written in the future. But most of all, for those whose stories need to be told. To help them feel less alone in life. And when others read our nation’s history, too.

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Posted in archival issues, cultural competence, NARA, U.S. History

What shapes our values

Posted on November 26, 2016 | Leave a comment

Trying to understand others’ experiences is a key part of management, as a corporate executive once observed in a speech:

“People are different. People can do different things relatively well or not so well. We have to recognize those differences in individuals if we’re going to capitalize on their potentialities. The…principle of integration…means simply that there’s nothing that a person does in a specific situation that can be understood fully except in reference to the total pattern of his living. . . .maybe there is a borderline where we shouldn’t invade a person’s privacy. But I can tell you this: Unless we understand that person in the total pattern, integrated pattern, of his living, we can’t understand his job performance.”

Earlier this month, I looked at what we can learn about professional values from engagement online by archivists, librarians, and records managers. And by looking at those my late sister, an archivist, knew in the workplace and outside, at why, as AOTUS David S. Ferriero put it in a recent blog post, “Our values remain unchanged.”

Just as people are different, so, too, are the core values of various professions. I was reminded of that on Twitter when a friend who works in a university archives observed how differently archivists, records managers, and lawyers can see key elements in records issues. And how reconciling those perspectives is a challenge.

Archivists focus on knowledge, records managers on risk, lawyers on compliance (or, more complicated, the appearance of compliance), and litigators on prevailing on behalf of a client. These elements in civic knowledge and news and information literacy don’t always align smoothly. In the best cases the outcomes are satisfactory to all, in the worst, they are not.

In law at times, as in politics, the end seemingly can justify the means. Litigators and political consultants work for hire. They do what it takes to crush the other side, question the motives and impeach the character or professionalism of those who stand in the way. And then move on to serve the next client. But even in such work for hire, organizational stewardship can be in the picture, even if not recognized as such.

In managing people, how you get there matters as much as where you’re going. Of course, workplace cultures affect the options available during a journey. There are many reasons why a book written in the early 1990s, Driving Fear Out of the Workplace, caught my eye two decades ago in Washington. And why I later embraced Open Leadership as a key element in good management.

One of my favorite Washington blog posts is “Leading an Open Archives,” by David Ferriero. David, whom I know in person, like, admire and respect, quoted in 2010 a passage in which Charlene Li wrote:

“Leadership requires a new approach, a new mind-set, and new skills. It isn’t enough to be a good communicator. You must be comfortable with sharing personal perspectives and feelings to develop closer relationships. Negative online comments can’t be avoided or ignored. Instead, you must come to embrace each openness-enabled encounter as an opportunity to learn. And it is not sufficient to just be humble. You need to seek out opportunities to be humbled each and every day – to be touched as much by the people who complain as by those who say ‘Thank you.’”

This makes sense. Understanding a total pattern of living is important, although often you have to intuit some of the elements. As I explained in my last blog post, this can be challenging to get right online.

My career as an employee of the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) shaped many of the values I hold to this day. December 6, 2016 is the 40th anniversary of the day I started work at the agency which I now call part of the light in Washington. I was lucky that managers such as Richard A. Jacobs, Deputy Assistant Archivist for Presidential Libraries, gave me assignments early on which enabled me to learn about the big picture, beyond my own function.

The notes I took of a meeting with Jacobs on July 11, 1977 said of the archives cohort I had just joined, “Because of the nature of the Nixon materials and the legal questions involved, and the trust placed on the archivists who will be processing [them], it will be necessary to get people with a sense of responsibility and integrity.”

Working with the right people prepared me for what I would experience–some good, some bad, all sources of valuable lessons–during a long career in Washington. I’ve worked with poor managers but also good ones. And have seen some shared characteristics among the best.

One is stewardship. You know your actions affect others who depend on you. You strive to live up to their trust. But also to recognize the needs of the members of your team, whose actions affect stakeholders (clients, customers, users of library or archives services.)

From Joan Howard, Supervisory Archivist in charge of textual records in the unit in which I worked, I learned the importance of consistency and sustainable values in working with archival materials. Of standing up for your team. And of not letting others down. She’s pictured at the right with me at the White House in 1977.

Jim Hastings, director of the NARA project on which I worked between 1976 and 1990, showed me why treating members of a team equitably matters. Early in my career, I made some mistakes with Jim. The worst was when I used feminist framing for an issue on which he had acted properly from another viewpoint. An early lesson to me not to jump to conclusions but to consider that the person in charge may be considering or balancing elements of which you might not be aware as a subordinate.

Later, I came to understand why Jim tried to not favor any one part of the diverse teams of people with different archival duties in the project he managed. And why he sought to avoid the impression that any one component was elite or special. Jim, pictured above at his office and at a workplace social event, had an open door policy, a sign of a good manager.

Towards the end of Jim’s tenure as project director, as forces beyond his control began to affect the work of his team, knowing what to convey to working level staff about those forces became challenging. Things became difficult for many in Washington for a while. Jim served in many jobs focused on records access over the years. He rose to become a member of the Senior Executive Service at NARA before retiring in 2010.

Several people who worked during the 1980s for my first line supervisor, Fred Graboske, later described him as the best boss they ever had. He certainly was among the best supervisors I had during my NARA career. We made a good team, although we were similar in some ways, different in others. A sign of good bosses is their being able to read others different from themselves.

Fred Graboske, Cary McStay, Maarja Krusten, Luke Nichter, Douglas Brinkley, NARA 080814

Fred Graboske, Cary McStay, Maarja Krusten, Luke Nichter, Douglas Brinkley, NARA, August 8, 2014

One of my most enjoyable holiday memories in Washington was introducing Fred to David Ferriero at a reception in December 2011, pictured below. As I’ve observed here before, Fred told David that I was a challenge to supervise. David’s answer made me laugh as he replied, “I can well imagine!” I laughed, “David! You agreed with him. And immediately!” Ferriero’s response made me laugh even more: “Old friends. They know you well.”

Fred observed that at times it seemed as if I was arguing with him. (Being able to point out alternative views to a boss is a gift in the workplace.) But that he came to realize as he got to know me, that we often simply were finding different paths to the same or compatible conclusions. This was before Myers-Briggs testing became popular within the Federal government. More power to Fred for figuring that out on his own.

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Maarja Krusten, Fred Graboske, NARA, 1988

Fred and David both served in the military during the Vietnam War, Fred in the U.S. Army, David in the U.S. Navy. Fred served in Vietnam in 1968, David in 1970. (David is pictured on liberty at Subic Bay.) I once observed to David that many Federal agencies would do better on selling what they must internally and handling workforce issues if they had a Chief Psychologist. (It can be hard for any one mission component to take others’ needs into account.) David then told me about the excellent training he received in the Navy for his specialty as a Navy Corpsman–neuropsychiatry.

David Ferriero's Navy photo, used in The Grog interview, 2014

David Ferriero, left, U.S. Navy Corpsman, 1970

David did some of his Corpsman training in the Washington area at military facilities and at the St. Elizabeth’s psychiatric facility near my old home in Southeast Washington. From my observation, that training has stood him in good stead in his current job as the Archivist of the United States. And before then, in the library positions of increasing responsibility he held earlier at MIT, Duke, and the New York Public Library.

I’ve read a lot of management books since the early 1990s but few resonate. They often reflect a top down view, with the author marketing a prescriptive approach that seems based on managerial infallibility. In reality, we all do best if we’re open to learning, no matter where we are in the chain of command. And if we’re able to navigate workplace issues with a deep understanding of multiple perspectives.

In 1982, while a Supervisory Librarian at MIT, David wrote an article about “Burnout at the Reference Desk.” I liked it better than most management books. Ferriero offered insightful observations on public service librarianship. And how to recognize and cope with burnout.

When I first read “Burnout at the Reference Desk,” I thought about Fred Graboske and the morale-enhancing staff meetings I attended at the National Archives in the early 1980s around the same time David wrote his article. Ferriero said of staff meetings that they serve many functions, among them

“socialization: a chance to get away from users and the cluttered desk; to exchange pleasantries with the rest of the staff in a relaxed atmosphere; support group–a place where a public service person can vent the frustrations of dealing with problem users and get tips from the group for making the next such encounter less frustrating and the nod from the group that it is alright to have those feelings.”

And in another sign that he already was an open leader, long before that concept had a name, David wrote astutely about the importance of people feeling a part of the organization.

“Librarians in public service who are not involved in the library decision-making process often feel a lack of control over policies and procedures that directly affect the user community; as the visible link between the users and the library, we are often literally ‘caught in the middle,’ explaining or enforcing or circumventing policies in which we have had no input and in which we have no confidence.”

Most of us have been in that position, in archives and libraries. It’s refreshing to see the issue acknowledged. Rarely have I seen it discussed as candidly as David did in 1982. I’m not surprised that when I posted about David’s article in 2014, many archivists and librarians asked me for copies. Its candor and insights resonated across time, and not just with me.

David’s take on attending conferences resonated with me, as well.

.”These sessions away from the work unit allow for the exchange of information and ideas and the sharing of concerns. It is comforting to learn that other public service librarians have similar problems. You may even pick up on some ideas which are appropriate to try in your own situation. Remember that the meeting serves at least two purposes: the advertised intention and the serendipitous experience–fertile minds coming together at random.”

Now, some of that takes place online. I found comforting the tweet from an academic archivist trying to reconcile archives, records and legal perspectives. This especially can be difficult with archives, an open, learning oriented profession. Yet legal tactics on some archives issues can be closed, limiting, risk averse, or in worst case scenarios, even destructive.

Although I’ve worked with Federal lawyers, we haven’t talked about why archivists are other-centric; how we view public service and stewardship. Our meetings have focused on other issues. But I’m glad I formed my values on the archives side of Fedland from many people I admire, some of whom I thank here today!

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Posted in archival issues, NARA, People issues

Who are you, really?

Posted on November 15, 2016 | Leave a comment

As I walked in Washington on Sunday evening, I stopped at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) and looked up at the Super Moon. I had seen it rising nearly two hours earlier, magnificently large and closer to Earth than it had been since 1948. Now it was higher in the sky over Constitution Avenue than earlier in the evening but still awesome to behold.

As I approached the building where I first started work in 1976, I thought of what AOTUS David S. Ferriero recently wrote of the agency in his care: “Our values remain unchanged.” As we say on Twitter, “THIS.”

What does that mean to people outside NARA or the archival profession? And what do they tell us about their own jobs and professions? Well, it depends.

I took my walk on Sunday because the forecast for Monday, when the Moon would be even closer, called for cloudy weather in Washington. As a professional association, the Society of American Archivists (SAA) seeks to explain some of the arcane terms we use. Among the Words of the Week it recently highlighted were light archives, dark archives and dim archives. Sun, darkness, cloudiness.

The descriptors refer to access but I thought of them in other terms–what do professionals online tell others about themselves, their values? Where they work, how they see their jobs, their professions, and those affected by the work they do? Are the images light, dim, or dark?

Social Media provides some clues and also opportunities.

The opportunities come in enhancing information literacy, news literacy, civic literacy. I’ve blogged about these issues previously, as follows. News stories about archives and records can be unreliable even when they follow good journalistic standards (or aren’t fake news), simply because of information asymmetry. That press releases from advocacy groups may tilt towards one perspective and not cover others is an obvious element in appraising their use. And links that rely on litigation records may be too adversarial to provide useful insights or knowledge.

Archivists, librarians, and records managers don’t all engage online the same way, if at all. Just as in the old days with professional Listservs, some share announcements or press releases but say little about their professional lives, much less personal ones. Although I’ve leaned the other way, I understand the value of prudence and discretion online in an age when many face job precarity. As in many areas, there’s a spectrum.

Some professionals analyze various developments that affect their jobs or touch on their lives outside the office. How that plays out varies, depending on where they stand on a broad objectivity and discipline spectrum. By objectivity, I don’t mean neutrality on public policy issues. (Many people take principled stands.) But in how they act in matters of the public trust.

The values archivists, librarians, records managers choose to show online matter. Anyone can end up in a position where they need allies. Are we opening doors? Or are we closing them?

Because I’m Fedland centered, I look for practitioners who strive to analyze issues by looking at them consistently and, to the extent anyone ever really can, objectively. But human nature can get in the way of analysis, as I noted on Twitter this week about flip-flops on professional values and standards.

One of the records experts I follow on Twitter, Jesse Wilkins, answered, “Amen. One of my biggest gripes within RM/IM industry overall – OK when my person does it, a sin when yours does.”

To which I replied, “Yes!!! This. Helps no one.”

For those able to do so, demonstrating ability to discuss issues online dispassionately and based on best practices can help job seekers. At a minimum, it indicates you can entrust someone with functions that affect or involve highly diverse people.

Objectivity on the job is a different concept than what some librarians and archivists mean when they use the term “neutrality.” When I speak of lack of neutrality, I mean the inherent biases in records or in cataloging terms. The materials with which we work reflect the people who wrote them. But even this can get complicated, especially in an age of discoverable language and little understood archival silences.

When I write about the objectivity required of employees of the National Archives, I mean the people the public depends on know they should check their personal political views at the door when they come in to their workplaces. This goes beyond taking an oath of office when accepting Federal employment. It shows in a deep commitment to handling records issues with integrity, on a sustained basis under different conditions, regardless of their content.

When I reach outside of Fedland for advice on best practices, I look for feedback I can readily use inside it. This isn’t as easy as it seems. While we don’t see how other people handle their assignments as information professionals, we can get unexpected glimpses into their internal wiring. At times, they limit how we can use what they say elsewhere, perhaps unintentionally.

The extent to which people at junior levels sometimes embrace strategic communications on the job but abandon it in the Social World can show on platforms such as Facebook. The startling gun-related rhetoric that a records professional aimed against President Obama in a Friends of Friends visible comment on Facebook led me to reassess the writer, whom I don’t know in person.

I once had brief contact with the person in online space (not on a SAA Listserv). After seeing the person post about a firearms “solution” regarding a President who is a Democrat, I decided future outreach on professional issues with the writer might bring limited results.

If you want to be an influencer in public forums, think about the reach of what you say on Facebook. I don’t mean venting among a curated group of FB Friends you know will see what you post. But the visibility of poorly thought out choices in someone else’s space that is set to Public or Friends of Friends.

This is common sense. Plus, FB Setting-awareness demonstrates understanding of information security regardless of rank. You don’t want to harm your employer, of course.

Higher up, senior-level officials already understand stewardship. They deal wisely with a complex suite of operational functions and trust issues. These require working with diverse internal and external stakeholders.

Note I don’t define junior and senior level thinking by on-paper rank, although often the two go hand in hand. You can be a good steward, as my sister was at NARA, as a team leader or supervisor, not just at higher ranks as an Executive. (The photo dates to 1995. Yes, as I did and still do, Eva liked to wear ties.)

Spontaneous outbursts of extreme anger or expressions of hatred can be harmful if you’re looking for a job or promotion. But comfort with spontaneous joy can help you online.

For me, as my Tweets show, the National Archives is surrounded by light. I wrote earlier this week about the agency’s mission (“Our values remain unchanged“). How NARA union officials characterize employees (“part of something bigger than themselves”). How David Ferriero describes them (“making it possible for future generations to study and learn from the past—the true gift of the work we do.”)

How much room do we have online to be our selves, to have fun or show joy? More than you might think! In a series of posts about Social Media, Don Lueders, a respected records management professional, looked at blogging and at LinkedIn. (He may also write about Twitter.)

Don offered thoughtful advice about social presence, including the image chosen for a LinkedIn profile. He suggested users select a photo that is professional but not too serious. And that they take a thoughtful approach to the textual narratives they provide about professional experience.

Let’s start at the top then! The most awesome LinkedIn photo I’ve seen is the one that David Ferriero uses. When a public event required organizers to set up temporary portable “facilities” on 7th Street, NW, NARA staff marked one near his office for AOTUS Use Only. David laughed and used the photo for his LinkedIn profile pic. Well played!

Ferriero’s work experience and job duties show major, I mean really major, adulting. But the Big Dude’s approach to LindkedIn shows balance–acceptance of challenging responsibility with recognition of the value of spontaneity. I’ve seen that myself, as when David turned to a photographer and said, “Look at her blue fingernails!” My laughter rang through the room as I acknowledged I didn’t have to be in risk averse dress-for-success uniform.

Whether you’re a GSLIS student, a job seeker, a mid-career archivist, librarian, or records manager, or close to retirement age, Social Media provides opportunities to show the different elements in who you are. That can help you in job searches, find opportunities to contribute professionally on and off the job, and even in your post-retirement contributions.

I wrote in my last blog post that there are people I follow on Social Media of whom I can’t say what brings them joy. Why do I think that matters? Because just as in real life, how we interact online tells others how comfortable we are in our own skin. Whether we are confident. Or arrogant. Secure. Or insecure.

When I say secure, I’m not talking about the absence of Imposter Syndrome, which can affect people at all stages of their careers. Admitting that this is the case actually can be good. It can point to self-awareness and honesty, key components in finding solutions to many workplace issues.

Confidence shows in many ways. If you delete comments from people who offer counter views to yours on Facebook, they can take that as you being thin-skinned. Or controlling. Or afraid of dissidents. Those things can be sorted through among friends. But in public space, at blogs, deleting comments can harm you as the content provider more than those you wipe out. If they disengage, that can limit your ability to learn from others. And to craft effective marketing or outreach strategies.

Whom and what you celebrate matters, too, as I noted earlier this year in “To lift up and make visible.” My post looked at Stacie Williams, Jarrett Drake, and at people I know at NARA. Other-centric qualities show regardless of rank or job. I’ve seen them as early as when people are in library school. Generosity has no pay grade limitations.

“I often speak of supervisory, managerial and executive responsibilities in terms of having people in your care. But beyond official Position Descriptions, we all have people in our care. Let’s use the skills and professional abilities of which we’re so proud not just to promote ourselves, but to lift and make others visible. To benefit them (and us) now. And our successors in the future.”

In January 2015, I blogged in “Who’s Open? about Wiser, a book by Cass Sunstein and Reid Hastie. What they wrote about spending professional currency applies outside Fedland, as well:

“Altruism and social norms can be useful here. In government, for example, people may well end up disclosing their doubts and the information that supports those doubts, even if they will not gain a thing from the disclosure. The reason? They are patriots. They want to do their job well.

In government, a number of civil servants Sunstein knew within the Office of Management and Budget had no obvious political affiliation, cared about the public interest, and were willing to tell political leaders (including Sunstein) that they were just wrong. One example is Kevin Neyland, the longtime deputy administrator of OIRA–political affiliation unknown, integrity unmatched, a kind and heroic soul with a willingness to ruffle feathers. Because Neyland often saw worst-case scenarios, Sunstein nicknamed him Eyeore, after the gloomy pessimist in Winnie-the-Pooh. For political leaders, the Kevin Neylands of the world are indispensable, even if they aren’t always a lot of fun.

The upshot is that if people are motivated by commitment or character to follow a sometimes self-sacrificing, helpful norm (‘tell the group what you know’), the absence of private benefits may not be a terrible problem. But in many groups, it is hazardous to rely on altruism, and prevailing group norms don’t always favor expressing your doubts.”

For me, effective Social Media use includes showing you are open. And involves willingness to take stewardship oriented risks.

That isn’t for everyone. Choices in online life as IRL are highly individual. But those who strive to be open shine a light along difficult paths. And I am grateful for that light.

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Posted in archival issues, cultural competence, NARA, People issues

Our values remain unchanged

Posted on November 12, 2016 | 4 comments

The 20-year old African-American woman walked briskly down a hallway in her medical garb, then stopped as she saw me at the door. “I hope you’ll be okay,” the certified nursing assistant said. Then she reached out and hugged me. It was her last day on the job. She was moving on to take a similar job in another medical facility.

We already had said our goodbyes (me hugging her) earlier in the day in the room where a family member was a patient. She was an exemplary caregiver, skilled and sensitive to the needs of the patient and of me as the patient’s relative. I learned a lot from her despite our age difference.

If you have a relative who requires medical care in an urban area in the United States, as I have with my father, my mother, my twin sister, many of the staff are People of Color, some born in the United States, some immigrants. The work they do often is grueling.

My twin sister, Eva, with whom I once worked at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), knew from the time she was diagnosed with cancer that her case was terminal. Eva was hospitalized on an emergency basis several times during the end of her life.

Each time, as Eva was released to go home with me (I was her primary caregiver), I watched as she thanked and hugged the men and women who had cared for her. One of the last times was the morning of Thanksgiving Day 2002, a couple of weeks before she died.

There are people I follow online for whom I couldn’t say what they love. I mostly just see what they hate or fear. For others, I see what brings them joy. And the positive impact they have on those around them.

Last July, as I followed the #BlackManJoy hashtag on Twitter, I saw Bergis Jules share a family photo. I tweeted of the picture,

“We aren’t who we *say* we are; we’re who we are reflected in the faces of those who know us, see us, look at us, and then out at the world.”

And then made that my Pinned Tweet.

The stories we hear within our families shape us as we’re growing up. For me, it was hearing how my Mother, a recent high school graduate, defiantly rejected an arm band that totalitarian forces demanded she wear. Foreign military forces occupied her homeland during World War II. The new rulers demanded that the subjugated wear armbands in a forced show of support at a rally.

A teacher, realizing the danger in which my Mom placed herself under a regime that tolerated no dissent, took the armband and put it on his arm. He took her by the hand, offering his protection to her by proximity. The homeland they loved was tiny, vulnerable to subjugation by hostile forces that destroyed its sovereignty and imposed rule by dictatorship.

My Mom survived oppression and came to the United States as a war refugee, as did my father. Last January, I wrote a post about the two African-American men who helped my Dad in Harlem, in one of his earliest jobs as a refugee. And the very different paths that brought the men together in New York City.

When Mom fled her homeland at the age of 23, she had to leave behind her parents and brother. Her father had been sent to a prison camp in Siberia, not for a crime, but simply because of the profession in which he had worked while his country still was a democratic republic.

I learned from the stories my parents told me about the ease with which powerful totalitarian forces can crush those who stand in their way. About man’s senseless cruelty to his fellow human beings. But I also saw in how my Mom and Dad lived their lives the power of resilience and warmth and love. They taught me the importance of standing up for others.

One of my sister’s archivist colleagues once jokingly called my Mother’s homeland a speed bump on the map of Europe. He and his parents had grown up in safety in the United States.

My sister, for whom he worked, laughed–the joke fit my family’s ethnic background. But she also knew that the agency where they both worked, the National Archives, holds records that show how complex history really is.

Among those records are ones that tell the stories of immigrants to the United States. Some fled political oppression or economic hardship in search of freedom and a better life.

During the Jimmy Carter administration, soon after I started working at NARA, I brought one such immigrant, my Mom, to a holiday event at the White House. The photo of me with Mom and Eva is one of my favorites of my tiny family, separated from other relatives by war and authoritarian regimes oversees. Eva and I both found joy working for the National Archives and sharing the complex story of the United States with all who seek to understand it.

This summer, I shared here why Bergis Jules’s recent tweet formed the basis for my pinned tweet. The focus of my July 17, 2016 post, “The listening ability is key,” was a powerful National Archives forum on LGBTQ human and civil rights.

What I didn’t then say was that the #BlackManJoy photo of Bergis and his daughters brought me personal comfort at a challenging time. My Mom required emergency hospitalization in July. The light embodied in the photo of Bergis and his daughters comforted me this summer.

Now it is November. In just over a month, I’ll be marking the 14th anniversary of Eva’s death. She died right before Christmas, her favorite time of year. In 1994, when she was the civil national security classified records move coordinator for the National Archives’ move to a new building in College Park, she sought to brighten the lives of those with whom she worked. And not just by putting up holiday decorations, as for the staff, below.

Eva reached into her own pocket quietly and gave each of the laborers and truck drivers who worked with her on the records move a gift of $100. each. She hoped they could buy something for themselves or those they loved.

And she drew a sign to share her appreciation for a crew she said ranked Number One. One of the men gave her a small clock as a present in return. I have it on a bookshelf still. Batteries keep it going but I don’t always read the clock face well. Sometimes, my eyes blur with tears, thinking of her joy as she unwrapped the present long ago on Christmas Eve. Sis, I miss you and your wise, generous heart so very much.

My memories this time of year should be bittersweet but even at night, I mostly think of the light. The late afternoon drizzle had stopped as I walked through Washington Wednesday evening after attending an evening program at the National Archives. I paused at the Navy Memorial and looked out at John Russell Pope’s iconic building where Eva and I once worked together.

As my Twitter feed reminds me, when we express joy, what we cherish is highly individual. We own it, no one else can, because how we grew up, our experiences, whom we know, what our jobs require from us, all shape what we love. We can only hope others don’t begrudge us the joy we express, if its source varies from what they cherish. And recognize that what we do share is light, even when it shines from exquisitely different places.

The National Archives is my favorite building in Washington. At the core of the agency’s mission lies a commitment that its union officials described well in 2014: “NARA’s employees believe that they are part of something bigger than themselves, and view their labor, at times tedious and repetitive, to be part of the foundation of our democracy.”

AOTUS David S. Ferriero pointed to the same qualities in 2014, when he said of the NARA staff in his care that “These talented staff members have had ‘…a small, bright immutable part…’ in making it possible for future generations to study and learn from the past—the true gift of the work we do.”

David looked at NARA’s mission in the context of The Goldfinch, quoting a passage about “people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand. . . .”)

In a post this past week about “The Role of the National Archives in the Presidential Transition,” David Ferriero wrote,

“The peaceful transition of power and knowledge from one Presidential Administration to another is both a cornerstone and a cyclical event of American democracy. Yet even as we progress through that transition, our mission, our vision, our values remain unchanged. We will continue to do our best work on behalf of the American public and the records that future historians will turn to in understanding our era’s events.”

During a reception at NARA a few years ago, I asked David, whom I know in person, like, respect and admire, what led him to write “Burnout at the Reference Desk” in 1982, long before he became Archivist of the United States. He then was a Supervisory Librarian at MIT, just over a decade after serving as a Hospital Corpsman in the U.S. Navy during the Vietnam War.

Research for his essay, which David wrote to help those in his care at MIT but also other public service librarians (and later, archivists) included articles written about burnout among hospital staff, teachers, counselors, and social services providers.

When I blogged about Ferriero’s “Burnout” article in 2014, I noted its deeply humane approach to leading and managing people. David’s writing resonated with me in ways that didactic writing, using a broad brush, rarely does.

Towards the end of her life, as Eva’s hair fell out during chemotherapy, she wore wigs or scarves outside the house. As you see in this photo of us taken two months before she died, the wig I bought for her did not match her hair color, which was just like mine.

The stop we made in Huntley Meadows park in October 2002 was one of her last outings, along with a visit around the same time to see colleagues at the National Archives, that didn’t involve medical treatment during a journey we knew soon would reach its inevitable end. She enjoyed looking at the beauty of the birds and the trees and streams.

The color of the wig was too light and lacked the fine hues that made up our shade of natural blonde. Fine hues of real life.

I’ve noticed online among archivists, librarians, and records managers that some see subtle elements in fellow human beings. Stacie Williams’s exquisite post about Alzheimer’s impact on her Dad moved me to tears. (My Dad had Alzheimer’s, too.)

Others I follow fling paint at others with a broad brush. I’ve noticed that often goes hand in hand with lack of joy expressed online. The self on display defined by expressed opposition or hate, not support or love. I don’t know why.

When I attend receptions at NARA, I sometimes wish Eva were there but in a way, she is. In the memories of friends such as Rod Ross (pictured with me as Dara Baker chatted with David Ferriero in 2012). Rod remembers once seeing my Mom and Eva and me standing in line in front of him and his late wife Clara at the Folger Theater in Washington. This was shortly before any of us took jobs at the National Archives.

(c) Bruce Guthrie Dara Baker, Rod Ross, David Ferriero MCARTR_120216_010

Dara Baker, Rod Ross, Maarja Krusten, David Ferriero, February 16, 2012. Photo by Bruce Guthrie.

We hadn’t yet met but he and Clara noticed how the three blonde women in front of them spoke comfortably in a foreign language. Although I was born in New York City, as did Eva, I grew up bilingual.

Eva also lives on in the memories of those with whom she worked at NARA, such as Tim Mulligan, pictured with me, Fynnette Eaton and Bonnie Mulligan at the National Archives.

tim-mulligan-maarja-krusten-fynnette-eaton-bonnie-mulligan-nara-reception-101716

Tim Mulligan, Maarja Krusten, Fynnette Eaton, Bonnie Mulligan, October 17, 2016

And in her gift of service to NARA. And the gifts she gave to those through the hugs she shared. And the gifts they gave her. Ones I look back on at this time of year, smiling through my tears.

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Posted in archival issues, NARA, U.S. History

Send light into the darkness

Posted on October 29, 2016 | Leave a comment

What motivates people to act as they do? I’ve been thinking about that in the context of Documenting the Now. And the #BlkPowerMatters forum I attended Octber 19, 2016 at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

What about questions that arise in archives and records management circles at times about archival silences and knowledge? And the diverse elements surrounding those questions? What are the solutions, the best paths forward?

For me, the answer lies in a quote from Robert Schuman that my favorite violinist, Joshua Bell, recently posted on Facebook: “To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts–such is the duty of the artist.” As I read that, I recognized a common element in the tweets from archivists, records managers, and librarians who have lifted my spirits in Washington.

Washington is a complex place; navigating it requires working through the different elements. The process can be daunting. Sometimes, the elements with which we deal are little understood, or even seem to be deliberately distorted, by onlookers.

It feels at times as if we deal with realities others perceive very differently than we do. The same is true for many other archives and records management jobs in the public or the private sector, including in the academy.

What sustains individuals on and off the job depends on the person–what they value, what they seek, whom they know. For me, archives, like public service librarianship, is an “other-centric” profession.

When I write here about the people who inspire me, I write of giving. By archivists and records managers outside Fedland–Kate Theimer, Ashley Stevens, Eira Tansey, Bergis Jules, Jarrett Drake, Sam Winn, among many. And within Fedland–AOTUS David S. Ferriero and many other past and present members of the team at NARA whom I also know and admire, as I do David. And family, such as my late twin sister, Eva, with whom I shared a special bond when we worked together at NARA.

To be other-centric is to place those who may benefit from your work at the center of the picture. To think in terms of their needs, how you can help them. “To take pleasure in others’ accomplishments, as if they were her own,” as a NARA colleague said of my sister.

The gifts people give others can have an impact far beyond the room in which they work. I saw that two years ago, when @jmddrake tweeted about teaching writing to incarcerated students.

“. . . .What they have in common is insight into the human heart, an essential element in reaching others. And a fearless beauty of expression. Such as that which Jarrett M. Drake expressed last night, when he tweeted that he hadn’t eaten since 8 a.m. Friday morning:

“The students fed me. Their words. Their knowledge. Their humanity. It’s enough to feast on, and I am thankful for every bite.”

A tweet like that can lift my spirits so high after a week at work in Washington! And I thanked him for helping me.”

His work outside his paying job as an archivist at Princeton University represents gifts of time and knowledge. But there are secondary beneficiaries in inspiration, beyond those with whom he interacts face to face. The same is true for what many others I write about do.

Archivists increasingly are looking beyond traditional means to ensure preservation of under-represented voices. In 2015, Jarrett organized the Cleveland Righting the Record Oral History Project, for a peoples’ archive which grew out of “a response to the May 2015 acquittal of officer Michael Brelo for his role in the 2012 killings of Malissa Williams and Timothy Russell.” You can find the interviews for the crowd-funded project here.

Last summer, I posted a link on the Archives and Archivists Listserv to Bergis Jules’s powerful blog post about documenting Ferguson and Black Lives Matter (BLM). I’ve also shared information there about Documenting the Now, for which Bergis is the Community Lead. Among the people on the Advisory Board are Jarret Drake and Meredith Evans, along with others from whom I draw inspiration on Twitter, such as Natalie Baur and Stacie Williams.

A gift can be something we give or receive from others. But it also can be a skill or quality that stands out, as I explained last December in a post that featured Jarrett and other archivists. I especially liked his use of the image of double-dutch jump rope in explaining when to jump in and when to jump out. To give to a community, you have to understand it. To listen. To inspire others to join you.

To explain needs to others isn’t always easy or possible. Stacie Williams’s powerful, beautifully written essays remind us of the choices people have to make online and in person when among people unlike themselves. Her words inspired me to protest against exclusion and lack of empathy earlier this year in “Loud.”

Jarrett Drake also writes eloquently about human identity. In a Keynote at a Community Archives forum last week, posted in two parts on Medium, he spoke about perceptions of belonging. And of the impact when people cannot project beyond their own lived experiences or move beyond the reductive.

The fellow students in college who on meeting him invariably would ask what sport he played. The security guard who required that he show an i.d. when he arrived for freshman orientation in a majority white meeting room. But who let white students walk in unchallenged. The prison officials who demanded he remove his orange polo shirt when he came to teach prisoners. And to speak in a jacket in an 80-degree prison classroom.

“I could give you these stories for days, but suffice it to say that according to its common definition, I haven’t belonged in many of the spaces I’ve occupied and still occupy. But to accept the common definition of belonging is to undermine the word’s capacity. Its Middle English origin reveals a richer perspective: a simple contraction of the verb ‘long’ and the intensifier ‘be’ — as used in bewilder, bemoan, or bespeak. Quite literally, to belong is to intensely yearn or pine for something; as if yearning or pining wasn’t already intense enough.

I yearn and pine to teach in a prison because I serve students who, on that 80-degree teaching day, volunteered the shirts off their backs so that the sweat would stop running down my face like a leaky faucet.

I yearn and pine to teach in a prison because I learn from students who, in the midst of sharing stories of their personal loss of immediate family members, prayed for the health and welfare of my immediate family members.

I yearn and pine to teach in a prison because I know students who, despite the inhumanity they’ve encountered inside and outside the wall, dare to retain their dignity.

Seen through the eyes of my past students, to belong is to show empathy, to exude compassion, and to feel freedom. This definition of belonging invigorates and liberates, and it challenges us — has challenged me — to imagine the world for what it might be and not just for what it already is. This new understanding has invariably increased my capacity to imagine and, just as importantly, belong.”

Where people gather, the behaviors they model, tell us about their choices but not always why they made them. In the early days of the Web, I mostly read newspaper comment boards. Then as now, they draw a disproportionate number of angry, aggrieved, and resentful people who often turn to reductive terms.

People I follow often tweet of various web sites, “Don’t read the comments.” They can be dispiriting. Yet there’s a lot to be learned from how people see each other and the world. The choices they make tell us something about who they are.

Whether they use fine brush strokes. And paint word images that leave room for diverse readers to see themselves. To agree, disagree, agree to disagree, as needed.

Or reach for thick markers, depicting their own group as “good,” people unlike themselves as “bad.” And dehumanizing others.

Positive or negative framing also can have an impact when used in professional discussions, in the workplace or online. Someone who uses images that excoriate people broadly by group (race, gender, gender identification, political affiliation, profession) limits their reach to the like-minded. But actions based on positives can achieve results that negative framing may not.

A link I shared this week on the Archives & Archivists Listserv led to a discussion of documenting advocacy and social justice movements. We discussed traditional methods (records management, collection strategies, scope of donated materials). And community archiving.

As I followed the discussion, I recognized an essential element in preserving under-represented voices. Here’s how I explained the need to give in order to save.

“…it takes courage, vision, and a generous spirit. I admire and respect the heroic efforts of people such as Jarrett Drake and Bergis Jules and their allies (people such as Ed Summers) who have tapped into their knowledge of archives, of the communities they seek to document, of technological solutions to preserve Social Media output.

I understand why the best known Social Media archiving movement in part grew out of BLM, which centers on that most critical of questions for humankind, life and death. Perhaps that explains the essential beauty of unofficial efforts such as Documenting the Now, ones that showcase the gifts archivists and records professionals are willing to give. Those gifts shine because they seem driven by love, by a desire to shed light, to share and give.

Gifts of time. Gifts of money. I’ve given both for archival causes unrelated to my paying job. We all can do that. I don’t sit back and ask “who’s going to do something?” I act. Isn’t that how many of us react to people we know well and causes we care about? Reach for our wallets? Block out time before or after work to work with them?

Knowledge is a key part in community archiving. Both in preserving on the record knowledge of under-represented communities. But also in making sure outreach to members is effective. Especially important for oppressed communities–it takes deep understanding of a community whose voices–as well as very lives–are at risk and warrant saving for the record, as with BLM.

You can’t parachute into a community, you have to work with those within and allied with it who can provide guidance. That’s one area where we can [contribute], by giving time. And by listening.

Community sensitivity is critically important. It can’t be assumed or imposed from outside a community. This is why the decisions to act, or not, by archives and records professionals who are part of a community, grew up in it, understand it well, are so important. They best see and understand the barriers between community members and us as privileged professionals. The perceptions of outsiders. The perceived risks in engagement.

Those who have listened to a community’s voices for a long time and are willing to act as bridges between archives and the under-represented can make the difference in effective initiatives. Whether they are willing to use that knowledge, give time or money, is an individual choice. It takes a lot, much more than is visible.

If you look at the Advisory Board for Documenting the Now, you see many archivists donating their time freely outside of their jobs. In their work on Documenting the Now, they’re not working at the behest of, or as paid by, the employers listed. But on their own time. That’s a choice to give a gift to archives, which I often describe as an “other-centric” profession.

The team and advisors for Documenting the Now have been so open about sharing the technological means of saving those voices. That can be adapted to saving any other voices, as well. Willingness to act as a bridge to a community to which you belong or understand well, to explain archives and archival ethics to people unfamiliar with our profession, is not limited to any race, gender, gender identification, ideological identification, or political affiliation.

Everyone on this Listserv, including all who are taking part in this thread and in prior ones about documenting current events, previously had, or now has, the option that the Documenting the Now team models.

All it takes is love and a desire to shed light in darkness.”

Give what you can!

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Posted in archival issues, cultural competence, U.S. History

Shadows and light

Posted on October 20, 2016 | Leave a comment

How do people look at the past? What filters do they use? Who provides insights into history and how it affects the present? Do they stand in the shadows? Or help others move forward into the light? What is the impact of individual choices on how people interpret present events?

During a panel about “Revolutionary Movements Then and Now: From the Black Panthers to Black Lives Matter” Wednesday evening at the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), journalist A’Lelia Bundles asked about public perceptions of revolutionary social justice movements.

Panelist Alicia Garza (at left in my iPhone photo) pointed to some of the unwarranted comparisons of Black Lives Matter to the White Supremacist group, the Ku Klux Klan. And erroneous rumors that George Soros provides funding for the movement formed after the killing of an African-American youth, Trayvon Martin, in 2012.

People can use history to distort, obscure, obfuscate, or illuminate events. Viewing Black Lives Matter as equivalent to the Ku Klux Klan is a sobering distortion. But benevolent compression of historical events also can affect how people view the present.

Garza, a co-founder of Black Lives Matter, pointed to how simplification affects history. She noted during the panel in NARA’s McGowan Theater that many people forget that during the Civil Rights Movement, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks were not universally admired by supporters of social justice.

Of all the points made by the panelists during a powerful discussion, this one stayed with me most strongly as a historian, as an archivist. A nuanced view of the past recognizes divisions among Civil Rights activists (and their supporters) and debates over movement priorities and tactics.

Striving to present history in its rich complexity, not as an inexorable journey with known outcomes, but as events unfolding in the chaos of real time, can lead to better understanding of the challenges of the present day. And deepen understanding of the choices we face today.

We can strive for nuance in sharing historical narratives. But sometimes there are barriers to getting people to listen. A year ago, historian Taylor Branch stood on the same stage where the panelists spoke on Wednesday. I watched from the same seat as Branch received a Records of Achievement Award from A’Lelia Bundles and AOTUS David S. Ferriero.

For me, reading Branch’s Martin Luther King, Jr. trilogy was a key part of studying U.S. history. But in 2006, a history professor described at a history site a college student who disdained study of the Civil Rights Movement. And complained that he spent four sessions on the topic, one a classroom visit from Taylor Branch. “I don’t know where he’s getting all this, we never discussed any of this in high school,” she complained of her professor. She added, “I’m not a Democrat! I shouldn’t have to listen to this stuff!”

In August, I looked here at why teaching civics in school shouldn’t be something “scary.” And the impact of not teaching it in high school, as it was when I was a student. I applaud the focus of the National Archives’ educational efforts on history and civic literacy.

NARA’S “Say it Loud!” employee affinity group sponsored Wednesday’s “Revolutionary Movements” program, at which David Ferriero gave opening remarks. After David spoke, NARA employees Tina Ligon and Netisha Currie of Say it Loud! introduced the panelists: Alicia Garza; Princess Black; Ericka Brown; Jakobi Williams.

The panelists spoke about strategic choices, sensitivity to community impact, the effect of state surveillance, the complexities and obligations that surround philanthropic support, different perceptions of white and black gun ownership, and generations of civil rights and social justice activists. Over the course of the evening, the NARA event’s hashtag, #BlkPowerMatters (Storified here) began trending on Twitter.

Online pre-registration for the Revolutionary Movements event resulted in a full house. I had registered early but still arrived in the McGowan Theater well before the 7 p.m. start time. In my rush to get there, I forgot to bring a book to read as I waited. But my enjoyable chats with Tish Currie, David Ferriero, NARA Equal Employment Opportunity chief Ismael Martinez, and others, helped me pass the time until 7:00 o’clock.

A’Lelia Bundles, Alicia Garza, Princess Black, Ericka Brown, Jakobi Williams, David S. Ferriero, National Archives, October 19, 2016

Records from the 18th century through the 21st century held by the National Archives often reflect complexity, risk, and struggles. “Know Your Records” talks, such as the one Tina Ligon gave in 2015 about Bloody Sunday and the 1965 march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, demonstrate the range of information held by NARA.

Last summer in the McGowan Theater, the presentation of a film award to Stanley Nelson included clips from some of his works. One was his 2003 documentary film, The Murder of Emmett Till. Another was Freedom Riders (2010). Archival footage and interviews powerfully conveyed what was happening in the United States of America during the 1950s and 1960s. Nelson described on stage his use of rich resources at the National Archives and the Library of Congress.

As black and white film footage rolled of white Southern men standing on a street corner, an older African-American man recounted how “you had to step off the sidewalk” when a white woman passed by. He said of the white men in the South in the Jim Crow era that they looked as if they constantly were on alert against threats from African-Americans. And added that it was racist white men who represented the greatest threats against their fellow countrymen.

The content of some records held by NARA is inspiring, some sobering. The agency shares archival materials online and at its facilities. As I listened to Jakobi Williams advise movement scholars to listen to, not just instruct, current activists, I thought about the individual choices that records professionals and historians face in our professions, too.

What are our obligations outside our workplaces, as archivists, librarians, records managers, historians? The simple, easiest, answer, at least for those who are drawn to understanding history–we can choose to share the light of knowledge. Point to the records (now increasingly shared online by archives) that researchers can use to study the past.

And explain how we do our work. Archivists but also the records managers whose actions affect what is saved for history and what is deleted. “Who lives, who dies, who tells your story.” Yes, Lin-Manuel Miranda, too, recently spoke of archives and history in the McGowan Theater.

Eric Foner pointed to some of the challenges in a lecture at NARA in 2015 when he spoke about “Reconstruction and the Fragility of American Democracy.” He observed that polls show Americans as a whole know little about Reconstruction yet such knowledge is necessary to understand current and recent events.

Last year I shared links to Bergis Jules’s blog posts about Black Lives Matter on an archivists’ Listserv administered by the Society of American Archivists. As I observed here, “With nary an acknowledgement of the black experience in the United States, a ball was batted back” by a List subscriber. A challenge? Or an opportunity?

I miss the voices of people such as Bergis Jules, Jarrett Drake, and Maureen Callahan on the archivists’ Listserv (their absence diminishes our ability to work through complex issues). But I understand why they now engage primarily on Twitter, at blogs, at selected conferences. Still, for me the List subscribers’ reaction opened a door to explain how state entities’ records management works–I used J. Edgar Hoover’s FBI as an example–and how archival silences occur.

Any records manager faced with what I saw on the Listserv after I wrote about Bergis Jules’s post should be able to speak about gaps in records and the resulting archival silences. This can be done using examples at the state or local level and explaining the basics of records retention scheduling and disposition.

Or by drawing on examples from abroad, such as the destruction of colonial records–and in some cases the manufacture of parallel files–at the end of the British Empire. The powers-that-be can turn to an “Operation Legacy,” as occurred in the 1940s and 1950s. Oppressed people don’t have that ability.

I’m lucky in that I’ve worked on the records, archives, and history sides of research and enjoy connecting the three professions. Political, social, economic, and cultural issues affect archival silences. Discussion of these elements need not become a grievance competition or a distracting hijacking by false equivalence, as sometimes happens on Listservs, Twitter, or blogs.

We also need to be aware of different perspectives of and on history. To overcome the seeming reluctance of many archivists, records managers, and historians to look at what affects the entire records life cycle and access to knowledge about past events.

Some of that may reflect silos, specialization–the way archivists and records managers make their names online or in the workplace. Or the focus of busy professionals on the day-to-day. More so than reluctance to look at issues holistically.

Dependencies, how our choices on the job affect what others do, aren’t easy to recognize or acknowledge. But we need to be more willing to discuss in our professional space the impact of each others’ actions throughout the records life cycle.

Let’s look for opportunities to reach out to historians to discuss archival silences and the impact of appraisal, collections development, and records management. And what affects under-represented communities whose members face risks and hardships, including in the very inclusion (especially without their consent) of their voices. And to explain the importance of Documenting the Now.

I support Jason Steinhauer of the Library of Congress in his call for history communicators who “will stand up for history against simplification, misinformation, or attack and explain basic historical concepts that we in the profession take for granted.” But I rarely see the content of history books or articles mentioned in archives and records management forums.

We point to an ideal of making knowledge available in archives through traditional or new means. But the forums I follow show little discussion of the diverse ways researchers use it. Does that affect our ability to serve their needs?

What of the readers of history? For some members of the public, Bill O’Reilly’s books or Bob Woodward’s books are history. For others, authoritative works by Robert Caro. Or Taylor Branch.

We bring our own sensibilities to that spectrum. For me, the way presidential and diplomatic historian Luke Nichter approaches history resonates. Nichter, who spoke at the National Archives in 2014, presents information in a way that is thoughtful, balanced, not drawn to speculation or hyperbole.

Nichter embraces clarity and depth but seems unafraid of ambiguity, laying out what is known through research and what is not. Archivists and records managers can build on that by explaining records appraisal, retention, disclosure review, and what affects archival silences.

Acknowledgement of ambiguity and archival knowledge gaps is an essential element of history for me. But it also points to the challenge of looking at complex issues in public space where some readers seek certitude.

History has many strands–social, political, governmental, national, international, religious. Charles Marsh’s God’s Long Hot Summer: Stories of Faith and Civil Rights, demonstrates in the stories of Fannie Lou Hamer, Sam Bowers, William Hudgins, Ed King, and Cleveland Sellers how activists used faith on opposite sides of civil rights activism.

Walking outside one’s own neighborhood, expanding comfort zones, listening and learning, isn’t always easy. But doing so is essential to connecting history, civic literacy, archives, records. Worth the effort–there’s a lot at stake. Garza’s comment about unwarranted comparisons of Black Lives Matter to the Ku Klux Klan reminds us of the damage done by ignorance or misuse of history.

The people with whom we interact online and in “real life” absorb information and impressions from many sources. Let’s look for opportunities to do what we can to explain how we work and its impact on history. And to shine light at the shadows we see around us. To brighten the path we walk on together.

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Posted in archival issues, NARA, U.S. History

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