This week’s readings particularly moved me as I have come across questions of responsible archiving throughout the past few years. Jessica Marie Johnson’s “Markup Bodies” articulated a festering discomfort I have sometimes found myself feeling in archival spaces (ranging from curated museums to viral social media posts) with regards to the commodification and spectacle-making of trauma. “ The brutality of black codes, the rise of Atlantic slaving, and everyday violence in the lives of the enslaved created a devastating archive. Left unattended, these devastations reproduce themselves in digital architecture, even when and where digital humanists believe they advocate for social justice” – Johnson points to a lack of critical engagement that can occur under the guise of “archiving” that ultimately leads to a desensitized and disconnected consumption of trauma through media that continues to replicate and give power to it. As we engage with traumatic archives, it’s important to question and think critically about the desired impacts of archival engagement, potential unintended consequences, emotional labor of archivists, and imagine creative, responsible ways to archive in a way that does not make light of the deep brutality experienced by real people. I found two really interesting readings when looking for more about responsible trauma-informed archiving that I think might be good for folks interested in more: Love (and Loss) in the Time of COVID-19: Translating Trauma into an Archives of Embodied Immediacy and Safety, Collaboration, and Empowerment.

I was particularly moved by Mayukh Sen’s “Dividing Lines,” as I remembered the years I spent on Google Earth trying to find my grandparent’s home in La Cumbre, Colombia. From 2007-2018, I was unable to see my grandparents in Colombia, and I often yearned for memories of them. To this day, the unpaved dirt road that leads to my family’s finca remains un-mapped on Google Earth or Maps. Entire areas of the globe continue to be marked as “unexplored,” allowing for colonialism disguised as “new development” to take place. In “Visualizing Sovereignty” by Yarimar Bonilla and Max Hantel, they mention the map as “a technology of possession… promising that those with the capacity to make such perfect representations must also have the right of territorial control.” The act of mapping is political because of the ways in which it puts forth an objective, incontestable truth by those already in power. Mapping is more about drawing the world the way it appears, and there is no denying that desires of that appearance are inevitably embedded. What powers and experiences are “necessary” to justify oneself (or a county, company, etc.) as capable of creating an “authoritative” map? When I think about maps, I think about travel – so  who has the power to travel (as dictated by passports and visas, money, etc.), and by what means is this travel allowed (by air, sea, land)? A major mode of transportation for those in La Cumbre are the “brujitas” that utilize the otherwise abandoned railroad tracks. How are these experiences of travel not recognized by corporate maps? Why are maps created by local civilians not recognized with the same credibility when they more truthfully reflect people’s lived realities? I’m really intrigued by many of the questions raised by this week’s readings, and I hope to bring more critical thinking and questioning in my engagement with maps in many different capacities.