@jonny@neuromatch.social @shibacomputer@post.lurk.org
I suppose the world is indeed a small place. I remember being one of those ArchiveTeam members in the 2010s and did a small amount of work on the Tumblr backup too. Tumblr was the one place at the time where you could be horny on main without getting banned, and I was grateful for the existence of a space where both sexual and non-sexual existence co-existed (imperfectly, sure; but nevertheless existed).
All that disclosure to say: I don't think the characterization here of ArchiveTeam --- or of the Internet Archive --- is particularly charitable. Tumblr is a public blogging platform. It is not designed to be a private space meant for small circles. Indeed, the sex workers cited in the HuffPost article were not lamenting a violation of consent with Verizon's adult content purge. They were lamenting the loss of income, of a lead funnel. They were forced to ground by Verizon, by FOSTA and SESTA, not ArchiveTeam or the Internet Archive.
The essay makes the case that digital archivists are "hoarding" rather than "remembering," that they are seeking permanence at the expense of forgetfulness. Which is odd, because archivists are well aware of the impermanence of their work, of its decomposition over time. Archival, digital and otherwise, is the management of this decomposition, not its prevention. The eventual loss of memory is a foregone conclusion.
The essay also (I think erroneously) contrasts digital artifacts with physical ones multiple times, over a couple different facets.
One facet is the involvement of capital: "Unlike other mediums [books are given as an example], Cyberspace requires capital just to exist." But that book too requires capital just to exist. The printing press that printed and bound the book is capital. The acid-free paper that delays the decay of the book into dust is also capital. The surroundings the book occupies must be friendly: not too hot, not too cold, not too humid, not too dry. Such surroundings too require active maintenance by someone, somewhere, continuously, forever. There is no such thing as an inert book.
Another facet is with regards to reality and signs: "But the jpeg is not the photograph, it is an analogue of a photograph." But so too is that photograph a destructive, constrained simulacra of its subject. The ePub and the novel, the jpeg and the photograph, the profile and the person, the filesystem and the memory --- *all* of these things are simulacra, are "crude analogues." It's turtles all the way down. Digital artifacts are not uniquely crude analogues of otherwise "real" things. They are all simulacra that are nevertheless useful enough for us humans to continue relying on them.
Ultimately, I think that memory is fundamentally a non-consensual thing. That's kind of its whole conundrum and what drives us human beings mad about it: remembering what we'd rather forget, forgetting what we wish to remember, remembering the "same" things differently, conflating "different" things as a single memory. Trying to build a culture, or a post-institution, or an exilic design, where memory *itself* is subject to consent, sounds like a recipe for frustration.
