Weaving Our Digital Tapestry: Ethical Approaches to Documentation and Archiving

by Saki Bowman

Saki Bowman is a Consulting Producer with the Alliance for Media Arts + Culture, leading the Arts2Work Learning Hub community, hosting and producing the Arts2Work CONVERSATIONS podcast. Check it out on Spotify or the Alliance website

I really love listening to people zoom in on their niche. Watching their eyes fill with light, and their cheeks swell with excitement. That’s exactly what it was like listening to Martha Diaz talk about her lifelong passion for preserving Hip-Hop culture. Something she said really stuck with me: we’re all archivists now, whether we realize it or not.

Think about it. That photo you snapped of your kid’s birthday party. The Instagram story of that protest you attended. The voice memo you recorded at your grandmother’s kitchen table as she shared family recipes. We’re constantly documenting our lives, creating a massive, messy archive of… well, everything.

This summer, our podcast will feature conversations with two people who’ve got me thinking differently about all this digital stuff we’re accumulating. Martha Diaz, who’s been archiving Hip-Hop culture for over three decades, and Chihiro Wimbush, a documentary filmmaker whose work with Indigenous communities has fundamentally changed how I think about whose stories get told—and who gets to tell them.

I wanted to share some early insights from these conversations, because honestly, they’ve changed how I look at my own phone’s camera roll. Maybe they’ll do the same for you.

The Accidental Archives We’re Already Building

Martha Diaz isn’t just any archivist. She’s spent her career at the intersection of Hip-Hop, education, and cultural preservation. As founder of the Hip-Hop Education Center and the Fresh, Bold & So Def feminist movement, she’s fighting to make sure that the contributions of women and marginalized communities aren’t erased from cultural memory.

When we were talking about personal archiving practices, Martha leaned forward—I could tell this was important to her—and said:

“For us, learning about archiving, especially digital archiving, there’s so many ways in which we do that [preserve our digital IP’s]… there’s so many items that tell our story. We need to start thinking about digital archiving in a way where we have different storage places. In archiving there’s a standard of saving an item in seven ways; restock, cloud, drive, hard drive, creating copies, keeping copies in multiple locations.”

Seven ways! I’ll be honest—I’m doing good if I remember to back things up at all. But Martha’s point wasn’t about perfectionism. It was about intention.

Go ahead and pull out your phone right now. Scroll through your photos from the past year. What story are they telling? Who’s in those images? Who isn’t? What moments did you choose to preserve, and which ones slipped by undocumented?

I did this exercise myself last night and realized I’ve got approximately 4,000 photos of my cat and exactly seven of my mom. Yikes.

The thing is, we’re already creating archives. They might be haphazard and disorganized (mine certainly are), but these digital breadcrumbs we’re leaving everywhere will someday tell our stories—whether we intended them to or not.

Getting Started with Intentional Archiving (Without Going Crazy)

I asked Martha for some beginner-friendly tips for those of us who want to be more thoughtful about our personal archives. Here’s what I took away from our conversation:

First, context matters. Years from now, that random photo of a street corner won’t mean anything unless you remember why you took it. Was it where you had your first date? The spot where you witnessed a historic event? The place where you decided to quit your job and travel the world?

Some practical ways to add context:

Give your photos better names than IMG_5729.jpg. Even something like “Thanksgiving_Grandmas_House_2024.jpg” is a huge improvement. The University of Chicago actually has great guidelines on file naming.
Take a minute to jot down voice notes explaining why certain photos or videos matter to you
Keep a simple journal (digital or physical) with dates and descriptions of significant events you’re documenting
Actually fill out those fields in your digital photo albums—future you will be grateful!

Second, don’t put all your eggs in one basket. I learned this the hard way when my laptop died last year, taking with it the only copy of a video interview I’d done with my grandfather. Still kicking myself over that one.

Although Martha recommends saving in seven places, check out the 3-2-1 approach that’s accessible to everyone:

Keep 3 copies of anything important
Store them on at least 2 different types of media (like your computer and an external drive)
Make sure 1 copy is stored somewhere else (like cloud storage)

And lastly—this was the most eye-opening for me—think about format longevity. Remember floppy disks? Yeah, good luck accessing those now. The Digital Preservation Coalition maintains a fascinating “Bit List” of endangered digital materials.

Some formats have staying power while others become obsolete fast. Plain text files have been readable for decades. That weird proprietary format that only opens with that one app you downloaded in 2019? Not so much.

For really important stuff, consider:

Saving documents as PDFs
Using standard image formats like JPEG or PNG
Converting videos to widely supported formats
Maybe even—gasp—printing physical copies of truly irreplaceable photos

The Ethics of Pointing Cameras at People

The other day, I was at a traditional Teahouse and noticed someone filming a homeless man outside without his knowledge. It was uncomfortable to watch, and it got me thinking about the ethics of documentation in a world where anyone can record anything, anytime.

This is where my conversation with Chihiro Wimbush comes in. Chihiro’s documentary work has been nominated for Emmys and screened at festivals worldwide, but what impressed me most was his approach to working with all communities and specifically Indigenous communities for his film “Every Step a Prayer.”

When I asked him about the challenges of documenting communities that have historically been exploited by media, he shared this humbling story:

“[The grandmothers shared] ‘We want you to hear our vision for this. Every filmmaker that comes in wants to extract our story like they’re mining for gold, essentially colonize our stories. If you want to have any involvement in the story, that’s not going to happen here.’ It was a humbling moment of ‘Don’t lead with what I want, let them say what they want and work collaboratively.'”

He went on to explain that they used a consensus-driven model for the project. Was it slower? Absolutely. More complicated? You bet. But the result was something everyone involved could truly stand behind—not just Chihiro’s vision imposed on someone else’s story.

This got me thinking about all the casual documentation we do. The family gatherings we film. The street performances we post to social media. The protests we livestream. The way we disregard the personal space of the houseless. How often do we consider the perspectives and wishes of the people we’re capturing?

The Center for Media & Social Impact has some powerful resources on ethical documentary practices that have me reconsidering my own casual recording habits.

Some questions I’ve started asking myself before hitting record:

Would I be comfortable if someone was filming me in this situation?
Have I asked permission—or at least read the room—before documenting?
What’s my purpose in documenting this moment? Whose story am I really telling?
How would I feel if this recording was shared in contexts I didn’t anticipate?

Practical Ethics for Everyday Documentation

You don’t need to be making a feature documentary to benefit from some ethical guidelines. Here are some approaches that work whether you’re recording family history or community events:

Ask first, record second. This sounds obvious, but it’s amazing how often we skip this step. A simple “Do you mind if I take a photo/video of this?” goes a long way. And be prepared to respect a “no.” Organizations like the Whose Knowledge? collective have pioneered frameworks for ethical knowledge documentation.

Give context when asking for permission. “I’d like to take a photo to share with our family group chat” is different from “I’d like to take a photo to post publicly on Instagram.” Be clear about your intentions.

I’ve started showing people photos or videos I’ve taken of them before sharing them anywhere. It’s a small courtesy that builds trust. Plus, they might actually prefer the other shot you took!

Think about power dynamics. There’s often an imbalance between the person holding the camera and the person being recorded. Are you documenting someone in a vulnerable position? Are you from outside a community you’re recording? Be extra thoughtful in these situations. The Complete Guide to Ethical Storytelling for Documentary Filmmakers from Documentary Film Academy is a great article on this.

Share the results. If you’re documenting community events or family gatherings, make sure to share the results with the people involved. It’s a simple way to practice reciprocity.

Chihiro told me about how he makes sure to provide copies of his documentary work to the communities he films. “It’s not my story to keep,” he said. That really resonated with me.

Tools That Might Help (Without Overwhelming You)

Look, I know how it goes. You read an article like this and think “I should really get my digital life together!” And then… you don’t. Because it seems overwhelming.

So here are some tools that actual humans (not just professional archivists) might actually use:

For personal stuff:

Google Photos or Apple Photos already organize your pictures better than you think. Take 10 minutes to explore their features—you might be surprised.
Day One is a journaling app that lets you combine text, photos, and location data. Great for contextualizing your memories.
Voice memo apps on your phone are ridiculously underutilized. Try recording a quick explanation when you take important photos.

For community projects:

Check out Omeka if you’re creating a more formal digital archive. It’s used by libraries and museums but is accessible for community groups too.
StoryCorps has a free app specifically designed for recording and preserving oral histories. Super user-friendly.
Remember that sometimes the best tool is the simplest. A shared Google Drive can work wonders for community documentation projects.

For those interested in more advanced preservation, the Digital Preservation Coalition offers an excellent handbook that breaks down complex techniques into approachable strategies.

When Personal Archives Become Cultural Heritage

One thing that struck me in my conversation with Martha was how the line between personal and cultural archives is blurrier than we might think.

Martha’s work with the Hip-Hop Education Center isn’t just about preserving well-known artists or major cultural moments. It’s about making sure that the contributions of women, people of color, and other marginalized groups aren’t erased from Hip-Hop’s history.

“The stuff in your grandmother’s attic might be cultural history,” she told me. “Those flyers from local shows, those mixtapes, those photos of neighborhood events—that’s all part of our collective story.”

It made me wonder about the documentation I’m creating or not creating. Those everyday moments I don’t bother to record because they seem mundane—what cultural significance might they have that I’m not seeing? The Roy Rosenzweig Center for History and New Media has fascinating resources on how personal archives shape our understanding of history.

Similarly, Chihiro’s approach to documentary filmmaking challenges the traditional extractive model of documentation. By centering the perspectives of Indigenous grandmothers rather than imposing his own narrative, he’s helping to create a more accurate and ethical historical record. Organizations like Local Contexts are developing practical tools for more ethical engagement with Indigenous knowledge.

I asked both Martha and Chihiro the same question: What do you wish everyday people understood about documentation and archiving?

Martha’s answer was simple: “Start now, start messy, but start somewhere.” She emphasized that perfect archiving systems shouldn’t be the enemy of actually preserving what matters.

Chihiro focused on intention: “Always ask yourself who this documentation serves. If the answer is only you or your audience, but not the people being documented, rethink your approach.”

What Now? Some Questions to Sit With

I’ve been thinking about all this nonstop since recording these conversations. Here are some questions I’m asking myself—maybe they’ll resonate with you too:

What aspects of my life am I documenting thoroughly, and what am I neglecting to record?
Whose perspectives are centered in my personal archives, and whose are missing?
How might my everyday documentation contribute to a fuller understanding of our shared history?
What responsibilities do I have when I document others, even casually?

I don’t have perfect answers to these questions. I’m still the person with 4,000 cat photos and only seven of my mom. But I’m trying to be more thoughtful, more intentional, more ethical in how I document my world.

Our full conversations with Martha Diaz and Chihiro Wimbush will be available on our Arts2Work Conversations Podcast this summer. I hope you’ll tune in—they’ve got so much more wisdom to share than I could fit in this blog post.

In the meantime, maybe take a few minutes today to look through your phone’s camera roll. What story is it telling? Is it the story you want to preserve? And most importantly—whose story is it?

I’d love to hear from you: What’s one thing you wish you had documented better in your life? Or what’s something you’re grateful you took the time to record? Drop a comment below to join the conversation.