Information Retrieval in Digital Environments

Searching for information in digital environments can be a difficult task. There is an overwhelming amount of information available today. So much so, in fact, that information overload is a pervasive problem in society. This overload may be more related to cultural attachment to Internet technologies and multimedia information, but even work-related information tasks are characterized by overload to the degree that feelings of anxiety and uncertainty are endemic to the information search process. Choosing where to even begin a search online relies on careful evaluation of information retrieval (IR) systems. Evaluation is required in order to determine what an IR system’s functionalities are, and whether or not the system can provide relevant results to the user. Given the fact that there are literally hundreds of IR systems available, the feeling of being overwhelmed can exist at the beginning stages of the search process, and can persist throughout the experience of using an IR system.

In general, there are four different types of IR systems. These are online databases, web search engines, online public access catalogs (OPACs) and digital libraries. Each of these systems is designed to facilitate a user’s information requirements. The ultimate goal of each system is to satisfy a user’s request for information without the presence of an intermediary or help from a system consultant. The IR system is designed to be a standalone interface that can be used by individuals who have unique and specific information needs. This gives the user a fair amount of power to control their informational environment and find information that is not influenced or biased by the selection procedures of another person, namely a librarian.

Looking at each IR system in turn, it becomes evident that system design is a complex issue. Because users are interacting with a system instead of another human being, there is no way to readily assess users’ level of expertise or aptitude for information retrieval. Therefore, unlike a reference librarian, an IR system can not gauge a user’s skill set when they approach the system interface. This means that IR system designers need to consider a plethora of user competencies, search styles and search strategies. Digital literacy is an important consideration, because users need to understand how to use digital tools for information access and retrieval. Search bars, fields, limiters, sorting mechanisms; all these tools may seem simple to a digitally-fluent person, but the use of these tools is essential in the online information environment. Moreover, there is an underlying logic to these features as well. For instance, users need to be able to understand Boolean logic, truncation, wildcards, and phrased searching in order to narrow their results and get precision. Being able to specify or assess format, document type, publication, and scholarliness are also necessary skills for users in the information environment.

Interaction design has occupied a large chunk of the information retrieval literature. The features mentioned above are usually indicative of online database design. But the other information retrieval environments – web engine, OPAC and digital library – have begun to integrate more sophisticated digital tools like these as well. The result is that the lines are beginning to blur between the four types of IR systems. This could be problematic, as standardized interface design could encourage searching habits that are not appropriate for all systems and information needs. For example,  if all systems were based on the Z39.50 protocol, user searches would be limited to the Bib-1 Attribute Set. This would be adequate for known-item searching, like a bibliographic search, but this syntax might not be so good for multimedia information searching. In other words, based on the underlying database structure of an IR system, certain queries will work better than others. Identifying these strategies for information searching is complex, and novice users will not understand the nuances of system mapping and indexing.

The complexity of information retrieval is one reason why finding information online can be so difficult. Finding relevant documents is a skill, which is seldom taught to students with any real exactitude. There are also limitations to each system as well, which makes finding information difficult. For example, performing systematic searches for research is an exercise more suited to subject databases than web-based search engines. Finding information for research purposes is easier in an online database, because online databases will yield a smaller proportion of relevant documents than web search engines. Indeed, there are plenty of problems with web search engines. Bates et al. (2017) demonstrated that the basic principles of Boolean logic might not apply in web-search engines, as the order of concept groups are altered (p. 10). In other words, relevant documents will not be clustered with other potentially relevant documents as most web search engines are based on ranked results and search engine optimization, especially in the case of Google or Google Scholar. Because of these more restrictive algorithms, many advanced search functions are simply not available in web search engines, like filtering and automatic term mapping.

There are limitations with the other IR systems as well. Kumar and Singh (2014) identified a number of problems with OPACs. As bibliographic databases, OPACs generally do not provide users with adequate help for query formulation; they do not convert keywords to terms used in the catalog; and users are usually left trying to determine subject headings and call numbers based on their inquiry terms. Moreover, as OPACS serve as resource guides, they are more likely to provide geo-mapped content than intellectual content, providing information on where to find collections, but not more in-depth information such as table of contents, abstracts, or book reviews (p. 42). However, these features are increasingly becoming more common in WorldCat.

Digital libraries are often built for browsing collections. For digital libraries, browsing is a more important function, because digital libraries are often created by individual libraries, or consortium, and are not vast collections based on a content management system. In other words, the digital library is an IR system that is suitable for very specific information requests. But it is important to have an understanding of the institution and it’s collections before using this type of IR system. Digital libraries generally do not have robust search functions, if they have search functionality at all.

This short essay hopefully demonstrates the complexity of searching for information in online environments. Each environment is unique and provides challenges to end-users. People do not always know how to conduct searches in IR systems. In fact, most searches for information are performed in culturally normalized ways. People will opt for the principle of least effort when seeking information, which often leads to natural language searches and perfunctory searches on the Web. Database documentation and help literature is often too dry or boring for the average user to consider. But different IR environments have different search functions and features. Matching a user’s query to the right environment, choosing the right search strategy, and using the appropriate IR tools can admittedly be very difficult. As with all good results, some determination is required in order to navigate the difficult terrain.


On the Importance of Personal Archives

A common thread in literature on personal archives is the use of these archives as memory aids. Two cases highlight this fact. One by Paul Ashmore et al. in Working With: Talking and Sorting in Personal Archives, and another by Jennifer Douglas in The Archiving “I”: A Closer Look in the Archives of Writers. In both the cases of Derek Ingram, a journalist and political commentator, and Lucy Maud Montgomery, renowned author of Anne of Green Gables, their personal archives were active sources of referral that led to the creation of new stories. In other words, their archives were frequently being recontextualized and reconstituted. Personal archives, when used, can be remade and reshaped in this way in many forms. Examples of these forms are ongoing diary entries, autobiographies, or even personal discussions through the social transactions of “working-with” domestic collections and donors. As such, personal archives are dynamic collections which take on many meanings and significations. The active fostering of a personal archive enhances memory rather than detracts from it, like when shapers of archives describe collections autonomously, without the support of donors and the subsequent sociality of the archive.

The tragedy of traditional archives is that, in many cases, archivists are not involved in building collections. Sure, they may be responsible for appraising some collections – and archivists are certainly responsible when it comes to making archives accessible to the public – but the initial decision to bring collections into an archive often lies with people with political clout; regents presidents, executive board members, etc. etc. With personal archives and archivists working-with donors, there is no longer this great cold distance between archivists and the material, where you have superiors telling you what is important and what is not important for an archival collection. The Working-With model for appraisal as outlined by Ashmore et al. thrusts archivists into active and affective/emotional roles. In other words, archivists are intimately involved in every step of the way when they are working with personal archives. Archives are imbued with stories from their creators, and when archivists have the opportunity to share in the relating of these stories, there is an emotional impact on the archives which can reverberate down through the ages.

Personal archives also subvert the traditional power relationships inherent in archival practice. The personal nature of diaries and letters, as shown by Douglas, allow the creators to wield representational power. For instance, diary writing can be constructed from the perspective of the historical “I” or the narrated “I.” When constructed from the narrated “I,” personal archiving for individuals with some claim to fame is a way and a means of controlling public perceptions of themselves when their archives are solicited for research. In this sense, personal archives can be disingenuous and contrived, because partial evidence is not always accurate evidence. But even if the donor is genuine, honest, and not given to any delusions of their own selfhood, their personal archives are still within their power to retain or destroy.

While the above concern regarding partiality has historically kept personal papers out of archives in favor of government or organizational records, the postmodern turn has given consideration to personal archives. Riva A. Pollard most convincingly demonstrates the value of personal archives and how they can be arranged and described in The Appraisal of Personal Papers: A Critical Literature Review. It seems that there is a greater effort to include personal archives in collections based on the information that is constituted in these personal archives, and how they accord with the collection policies of individual repositories and greater societal values. During the appraisal process, archivists help to bring in collections that have certain influences on what the collection can mean. Pollard cites Timothy Ericson, who mentions that the information constituted by the materials in a personal archive is more important than the record itself. I took this to mean that the decision to appraise personal archives should hinge on the intellectual content within given materials of a personal archive, and not on the reputation or influence of the record creator.

This is a difficult task though because, historically, when archivists have appraised personal archives, they have been arranged in terms of the oeuvre of the individual (think personal papers and manuscript collections). In terms of literary figures, we have whole collections suitably arranged based solely on the person (i.e. the Virginia Woolf Collection; the Montgomery Collection, etc. etc.). I guess this still kind of makes sense when one is dealing with national, famous figures. But I think the Ashmore et. al. paper signified that personal archives belonging to more “common” people, like a Derek Ingram, can still be relevant culturally and historically based on their content. The information constituted in a personal archive can be linked intellectually to other archives and shown to have wider cultural associations. How? Through the help of archivists working-with donors of personal collections. This is why I think personal archives can enhance social memory as well.

Fonds versus Function: The Evolving Nature of Provenance and Original Order

For almost two centuries, the concepts of provenance and original order have been the hallmarks of archival thought and philosophy. These concepts date back to 1841, when the French historian, librarian and archivist Natalis de Wailly called on archivists to “respect des fonds.”[1] When translated from the French, respect des fonds means “respect for the collection.” As expressed by de Wailly and many others since the nineteenth century, respect for an archival collection emphasized respect for the individual, family or organization responsible for the creation of an archival source. The origin of this source became its provenance; a term which has been subsequently used by other disciplines such as archaeology, art history, and museology. A concomitant respect was reserved for how an archival source was originally conceived and organized by its creator. This was a collection’s original order; the order by which a creator decided to catalog their own materials. This ordering was deemed to be logical and conclusive by the archivist.

These two principles were subsumed into the idea of the fonds. More broadly construed, the fonds can be understood as a dual-ordered principle containing a certain kind of religiosity. For instance, traditional archivists would forever hallow the revelation of the archive, or how an archival unit or collection was revealed to them from the moment it came into their care. This professional calling, almost religious in its construction, meant that preservation was the archivist’s sole responsibility. In other words, collections were meant to stay fixed in their original form without being altered, rearranged or reinterpreted. In short, archives were never meant to be remade, according to the classicists of the profession.

Over time, however, the principles of provenance and original order have changed. In some cases they have been done away with entirely. But we can see how these concepts grounded the archive and led to the idea of recorded fixity, so crucial to the modernist-positivist stance on archival custody. This stance, if we recall, asserted that archives were these “building blocks” of historical narrative that lead to an elusive yet absolute value. Namely, the “evidentiary” value as articulated by T. R. Schellenberg. For instance, when considered in their aggregate or final archival form, records were believed to embody objective truth. Thereafter, nonintervention and preservation became the clarion calls of the profession. But if records are to be preserved in their original form, in accordance with the ideas of provenance and original order, then there can be no room for reappraisal.

With the especial intervention of postmodernism into the archival profession, archives have been subjected to criticism and the possibility of reappraisal. For instance, textual criticism released records from their ideological moorings and the considerably laissez-faire attitude which predominated during the modernist period. As Heather MacNeil writes: “[t]his scholarship argues in various ways that cultural texts – whether literary, artistic, or architectural – are not fixed or stabilized at one moment in time; rather, they are in a continuous state of becoming, as they are resituated and recontextualized in different environments and by different authorities.”[2] As MacNeil aptly demonstrates, archives are invariably cultural texts. Historically, however, archives escaped this appellation because they were presumed to have reached an apotheosis of meaning. Collections that were aggregated and well- defined, whether having originated from an individual, family or organization, were deemed absolute and unimpeachable. Indeed, in the modern tradition of Jenkinson and Schellenberg, provenance and original order were used as justifications to protect the concept of evidentiary value.

The fonds has been the standard guiding principle for the arrangement of archival collections for many years. Arrangement, for just as long, has been a singularly significant act; an act with considerable socio-historical import. For example, as archivists took collections into their custody, each collection’s relative value went unquestioned. This was part and parcel of modern archival theory and praxis. Collections were considered to have an objective meaning that was unique in their particular historicity, and this objective meaning was meant to be preserved in perpetuity. But MacNeil shows how objective archival arrangement is a flawed starting point. For instance, the irony of arrangement is that the historical use of purportedly “evidential” archives relies on a certain degree of subjectivity. Indeed, no custodian or researcher is purely objective when using an archive. Even as archives are consulted for objective purposes, like writing a sanctioned state history, for example, their original order is slowly altered through the transference of custodial environments. MacNeil says: “[t]he orders given to the records by their various custodians – or at least what survives of these various orders – are as relevant to the present meaning and authenticity of the archive as the order given to the records by its creator.”[3]  This fact completely undermines the concept of original order.

MacNeil’s article is helpful in illustrating the point that archives do not have fixed meanings. Instead, archives accrue meaning depending on who is using them, whether that person is a researcher or a custodian. This phenomenon also underscores the postmodern idea of différance as articulated by Jacques Derrida; the important postmodern figure cited by many post-custodians, namely Terry Cook. Différance, for example, asserts that cultural texts only have meaning when individual readers come into contact with them. This idea applies to archives as well. Indeed, in order to truly guarantee preservation, archives must continually be used or activated. When archives are thusly activated, they invariably adopt new meanings through the process of being “resituated” and “recontextualized.” This is an important analysis, and it should be a clear objective for archival studies in the twenty-first century. Still, provenance and original order have historically codified archival schemas of arrangement which have privileged singular narrative representations. Out of the fonds, archivists have circumscribed historical narratives in a single act; the act of appraisal. Although archival collections may gradually lose their original meanings through the subjective nature of human activity, cultural hegemony can be sustained through certain normative and institutional fonds.

A safer approach to archival appraisal, arrangement and description can be found in the functional approach to archives. This approach is central to a post-custodial vision of archival care. For example, functional analysis treats records as distinct entities, stripping them of their ontological wholeness as presumed by modern archival theory. MacNeil concluded her article with a nod to functional analysis by stating: “…while an understanding of the functions records fulfilled in their original environment informs our understanding of how to treat them over the long term, such understanding should also remind us that the records no longer fulfill those functions.”[4] Here, MacNeil is saying that archives serve an originary function which is unique to the individual or entity responsible for the creation of that archive. For example, a personal letter may possess an emotional salience that only the author can understand. Likewise, a business contract may signal an obligation which is only applicable between two persons. When items like these are archived, however, they acquire cultural meanings which supersede the strictly personal meanings that were attached to the archive’s originary function. In other words, when time disassociates the archive from its creator, usually through the process of the creator’s own mortality, the archive undergoes a change. This change is not insubstantial. Indeed, either an archive can retain its original meanings by being sealed away after the creator’s death, or an archive can assume new meanings through the activations of a wider public.

The functional approach to archival management is promising because it holds the entities that create records at a critical distance. For example, archivists who subscribe to institutional functional analysis will research the institutions that fall under their scope. As Marcus C. Robyns’ explains: “…the archivist first determines what the institution does and how it does it. He or she then identifies and decides the relative value of the institution’s key functions and from this analysis resolves the location and relative value of the records that document these functions.”[5] Before, as archivists worked from the dual-ordered principle of the fonds, relative value was largely ignored in favor of evidentiary value. But functional analysis isolates the relative importance of an institution’s functional activities. From this starting point, records can be carefully selected for archival appraisal.

In institutional functional analysis, respect for provenance is still adhered to as records are linked to their creators. But instead of being described as part of a larger contingent of records, functional archives are considered worthy of description all the way down to the item level. In other words, singular archival records can acquire a life of their own in terms of context and representation. This is an important development because it allows for an archive to showcase other historical actors; not just a series’ owner like a government office or a “distinguished” donor.

One may wonder how the functional approach can commence when it’s point of departure for arrangement and description is item-level analysis. After all, it is well-known in the profession that describing archives at the item level is grossly impractical in terms of staff time and resources. This reality was overwhelmingly demonstrated by Mark A. Greene and Dennis Meissner in their seminal article More Product, Less Process.[6] But functional analysis is misunderstood if one believes that the functional approach necessarily means dissecting every sheath of paper that enters into an archive. Instead, functional analysis is a forward-thinking strategy. For instance, after writing and revising institutional or administrative histories, archivists can determine which of the functions of an institution will be more likely to produce valuable archives. This was the process undertaken by Robyns and Jason Woolman at the Central Upper Peninsula and Norther Michigan University (NMU) Archives. After identifying various administrative functions that fit into the overarching mission of the larger academic institution, retention schedules were created to help guide the selection of records with relative importance. However, the authors of the NMU study warn that effective functional analysis requires cooperation and good working relations between archivists and the creating entities within their scope. This dynamic is not always guaranteed. Still, the functional approach to archives is a method that helps ensure meaningful collections. Through functional analysis, new meanings can take shape as well as new revelations that were previously hidden in the initial reveal of the fonds.

While functional archives certainly present a promising alternative to the dogmatism inherent in the modern view of the fonds, there are legal issues that arise in terms of access. For example, Steven Bingo illustrates that archival donors seldom wish for their collections to become destabilized in meaning. By way of Helen Nissenbuam, Bingo writes: “[c]ontextual integrity… is violated when information divulged within one context is recast in another context, particularly of how the information is allowed to flow in radically different ways.”[7] This idea of contextual integrity can problematize the creation of a postmodern, functional and interactive archive. Indeed, the concept of provenance often revolves around aspects of donor privacy, such as confidentiality and agreements to donor rights. In short, there are moral and legal parameters to allowing the context of an archive to change. Bingo offers some helpful suggestions for mitigating donor risk while at the same time enhancing collection value. Fruitful conversations can come from donor/archivist collaborations, where the donor can be apprised of provenance and functional analysis, and the archivist can determine how to best provide prudent access. But privacy and access are issues which will continue to be of paramount importance for archivists, especially as the profession moves away from modern theories of appraisal, arrangement and description.


Bingo, Steven. “Of Provenance and Privacy: Using Contextual Integrity to Define Third Party Privacy.” The American Archivist Vol. 74 (Fall/Winter 2011): 507.

Greene, Mark A. and Dennis Meissner. “More Product, Less Process: Revamping Traditional Archival Processing.” The American Archivist 68, (Fall/Winter 2005): 208-263.

MacNeil, Heather. “Archivalterity: Rethinking Original Order.” Archivaria, The Journal of the Association of Canadian Archivists 66, Fall (2008): 1-24.

Millar, Laura A. Archives Principles and Practices. Chicago, IL.: ALA Neal-Schuman, 2017.

Robyns, Marcus C., and Jason Woolman. “Institutional Functional Analysis at Northern Michigan University: A New Process of Appraisal and Arrangement of Archival Records.” The American Archivist 74, (Spring/Summer 2011): 241-256.

Internal Citations

[1] Laura A. Millar, Archives Principles and Practices (Chicago, IL: ALA Neal-Schuman. 2017), 45.

[2] Heather MacNeil, “Archivalterity: Rethinking Original Order,” Archivaria, The Journal of the Association of Canadian Archivists, Vol. 66 (Fall 2008): 2.

[3] MacNeil, “Archivalterity,” 17.

[4] MacNeil, “Archivalterity,” 21.

[5] Marcus C. Robyns and Jason Woolman, “Institutional Functional Analysis at Northern Michigan University: A New Process of Appraisal and Arrangement of Archival Records,” The American Archivist, Vol. 74 (Spring/Summer 2011): 244.

[6] Mark A. Greene and Dennis Meissner, “More Product, Less Process: Revamping Traditional Archival Processing,” The American Archivist, Vol. 68 (Fall/Winter 2005): 208-263.

[7] Steven Bingo, “Of Provenance and Privacy: Using Contextual Integrity to Define Third-Party Privacy,” The American Archivist, Vol. 74 (Fall/Winter 2011): 507.

Eastwood on Appraisal

In Currents of Archival Thinking, Terry Eastwood delineates the history of archival appraisal in a similar fashion to how Blouin (1999) and Hohmann (2016) described the historical arc of the profession. Eastwood gives an overview of the very stark paradigm shift that occurred as traditional positivism and essentialism yielded to postmodernism. As Eastwood explains, over time the profession’s most respected figures gradually moved away from viewing history and truth as uniform and objective to understanding these concepts as being much more relative and destabilized in meaning.

Eastwood goes back further in time than Blouin or Hohmann by exploring the nineteenth-century of archives. He demonstrates how records were couched in terms relating to natural law. Like Blouin, who mentioned that archivists have traditionally been neutral agents of nation-states complicit in perpetuating established powers, Eastwood demonstrates that records were assumed to have more authority the higher up they were on the hierarchical ladder. For example, organizational records were seen to be more “authentic” than private papers. Public archives were deemed more important than private ones. So, there was a natural order to records that very much mimicked the hierarchical orders of society.

Eastwood also discusses the rampant growth of records and how this changed the practice of archival science. If the postwar era of Jenkinson’s time was the first moment of fragmentation in documentary history, the next moment of major disruption, according to Eastwood, occurred during the advent of the welfare state. The first fragmentation occurred as a result of increased efforts to secure national security by figuring out how to optimally mobilize industrial resources and manpower, which created reams of records usually in the form of memos and correspondences. The second fragmentation occurred due to government intervention into just about all areas of human activity, creating paper trails for all citizens. Finally, this emphasis on human activity forced archivists into realizing that all records are products of human activity, and that the use of records will change because human activity is a mutable thing. This observation made it imperative for archivists to get a hold of records basically from the moment of their creation in order to understand and describe their original purposes, because provenance itself changed meaning. Instead of having a fixed meaning as being the result of some original and special dispensation, provenance itself  became “mutable and multifaceted”

Eastwood demonstrates his allegiance to postmodernism by stating that archives are not sources of truth, that they only have meaning relative to the user or reader of the archives. In this way, archives represent “traces of thought, expression, and activity.” Eastwood would immediately have archivists give up any conception of records serving as evidence of reality (being of “evidentiary value”), and instead have archivists focus on contextualizing memories that are triggered when readers select and use the archives.

The Heart of Archivy and Social Memory

As an interested student, it is perhaps difficult to arrive at a study of archives when the current literature, written by some of the profession’s most respected faculty, explicitly denies the authority of archival records. But many authors working from the postmodern perspective argue that such denial is necessary for becoming a good archivist. These authors also assert that, far from being nuggets of objective truth, archives are often sources of misinformation and intellectual deceit. As Francis X. Blouin, Jr. notes in Archivists, Mediation, and Constructs of Social Memory, archivists have been agents of the modern nation-state, complicit with dominant cultural and political aims for many generations. In more recent times, however, – owing to the growth of the Annales as a method of historical inquiry, as well as the emergence of counter-cultural thinking in the latter half of the twentieth century – academics have moved to study archives not as a place where study originates, but as an “object” of study.

In the modern era, archival thought was dominated by Sir Hilary Jenkinson, or Jenkinsonian ideology. Jenkinson was against the idea of archivists determining the value of documentary records. In other words, he was against the appraisal process, so important to the profession today. But Jenkinson was against appraisal for admittedly pragmatic reasons. For instance, he surmised that the bulk of records coming into archives from the many bureaucratic entities of the WWI postwar era could not be adequately processed by archivists. It was, Jenkinson reasoned, far too much work for such a modest field and its practitioners. Therefore, instead of intentionally stripping archivists from a very important duty, Jenkinson attempted to alleviate a burden; the burden of record inundation and the administrative suffocation that would result. Still, Jenkinson had mistaken thoughts about the nature of records. He believed that records were these “building blocks” of historical, objective truth. That is, historical truth was not to be found distilled into any singular document, but would instead eventually be revealed through the aggregation of records. This was believed to be a natural sequence, requiring patience and good stewardship from archivists. Therefore, Jenkinson’s attitude toward appraisal was considerably laissez-faire. The principle he exercised was absolute nonintervention into the war-tested process of records management. This positioning of the profession ultimately stripped archivists away from appraisal, which was a task deemed more suitable for records managers.

Another thought, offered by Paige Hohmann in On Impartiality and Interrelatedness: Reactions to Jenkinsonian Appraisal in the Twentieth Century, is that Jenkinson was simply a product of his time. In the postwar era, for example, there was great nationalism rooted in society with concurrent strong belief in government and presidential morality. This background made it easy to subscribe to a prevailing empirical positivism. The culture was also characterized by a nascent Weberian economy whereby, in the words of archival scholar Fiorella Foscarini in Understanding the context of records creation and use: ‘Hard’ versus ‘soft’ approaches to records management: “labor was rationally divided and fixed sets of responsibilities were assigned to every individual office in accordance with written rules and regulations.” In other words, this development in the society allowed for an increasing divergence of “specializations” or “departments,” where people adopted rigid work roles and were meant to act as distinct working units in a rather industrial machine.

The history of archives is very much the history of established powers. The elite groups of history are always comprised of select men or women. This leaves out a plethora of other histories, namely folk histories, which have escaped thousands of years of human documentation. But this did not go unnoticed in the latter half of the twentieth century. Leading postmodern figures such as Jean-François Lyotard and Jean Baudrillard, as well as poststructuralists like Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida, moved away from viewing history as an empirical study, focusing instead on cultural institutions and social interactions with various power structures. The idea of social memory began to take precedence over authoritarian history, and more abstract notions of individual pasts were considered over and above any unchallenged acceptance of a uniform past. This allowed for the possibility of recontextualizing or imagining when thinking about history (an important concept when talking about the activation of archival records). Derrida, in particular, spoke of archival gaps in the historical record when he wrote about the absence of archive. To summarize this concept of absence, records which are not made are often more important than the records that are made, because gaps represent a wider conception of thoughts and feelings in historical time and thus a more accurate glimpse of social memory. It is also imperative to think about gaps in terms of “silences,” demanding to know who has been silenced.

Power often obscures truth, and because archives have traditionally been the products of political power, archives cannot be assumed to be coterminous with social memory. If an archives is filled with records that obscure truth, it behooves the archivist to redirect the means of archival study. Instead of being neutral agents of obscurantism, archivists need to provide space for the effective mediation of records. Unfortunately, this is difficult in a capitalist economy where archivists exist within larger business structures and are forced into “dealing with corporate goals, standard requirements, and technological constraints on the one side, and records creators… on the other” (Foscarini). This problematizes the ability to provide uninhibited mediation. But archivists should be mediators. They should connect individuals with opportunities to activate records for recreation, social justice, rituals of healing and commemoration, etc. etc. If this objective comes up against corporate restraints, mediation becomes impossible, and archivists are made to exist in a vacuum.

Terry Cook has written in ‘We Are What We Keep; We Keep What We Are’: Archival Appraisal Past, Present and Future: “appraisal is the very heart of archivy, what gives it life, allows it to survive, from which all other functions follow, and that appraisal has been absent for too long from the archival corpus of ideas.” Cook, as a stalwart defender of social memory and justice, maintains that archivists must not lose out in claiming the right to act as appraisers of record history. For if anyone can determine the value of cultural products, there would inevitably be a culture war where groups would seek to elevate themselves and destroy others. Because creators of the historical record have traditionally had power, archivists must stand as a last line of defense in tempering the kind of power that marginalizes and silences others, considering in that wake politics of class and ethics, as well as principles of nondiscrimination and inclusive democracy. Indeed, archival records are not static or fixed. They are relational and suspect. Physical archives require activation. Archival absences require imagination. Where the latter is concerned, the process of imagining history needs to rely on an established critique of archival processes, which goes straight back to the appraisal question; a question thoroughly mired in democratic philosophy.