Archival Interventions and Agency: Irma McClaurin in Conversation with Emily Ruth Rutter about the Irma McClaurin Black Feminist Archive

Download PDF

I was first introduced to Irma McClaurin’s impressive body of work through the inaugural episode of the podcast Cite Black Women, which my friend and colleague Kiesha Warren-Gordon recommended.1 Particularly germane to this special issue on “Women and Archives” is the Irma McClaurin Black Feminist Archive housed in the Special Collections and University Archives at the W. E. B. Du Bois Library at the University of Massachusetts Amherst.2 The Black Feminist Archive is a trailblazing initiative founded by McClaurin in collaboration with the University of Massachusetts Amherst Special Collections and University Archives and the W. E. B. Du Bois Center and designed to ensure the collection, preservation, and safeguarding of Black women’s lives. McClaurin kindly agreed to speak with me over the phone about her Black Feminist Archive, and the following is the rewarding conversation that unfolded.

Emily: I know you began your career as a poet with a substantial body of published work and then became an anthropologist, publishing groundbreaking works such as Women of Belize: Gender and Change in Central America (1996) and Black Feminist Anthropology: Theory, Politics, Praxis, and Poetics (2001), which was recognized by Choice magazine as an “Outstanding Academic Title” in 2002. How does your background in poetry inform the work you engage in as an anthropologist?

Irma: In some ways, I see myself as possibly a reincarnate of Zora Neale Hurston in anthropology; she began her career in literature and then moved into anthropology. I think she was able to synthesize these fields and create what I consider some of the first examples of interpretative anthropology. Similarly, my creative writing has probably become more ethnographic, and my ethnographic writing is probably influenced by stylistic things I’ve borrowed from literature. For example, my first field notes in Belize were poems. Also, in Women of Belize, I included a poem I wrote in the field called “A Mother’s Day Blessing” that was a powerful success among Belizean women who immediately connected to it. A colleague doing fieldwork in the United Kingdom also shared it with women who were advocating for fair housing, and they used the poem in their activist work. In other words, the poem, which began as field notes, ended up honoring women’s experiences in a universal sense.

Emily: Right, and in the same way that the poem “A Mother’s Day Blessing” is an homage to mothers everywhere so the Black Feminist Archive is a tribute to women across the African diaspora.

Irma: That’s a good point in terms of the way I define the concept of the Black Feminist Archive, which has a dualistic meaning for me. It is a repository, so my mission at this point—and I really feel like I’m on a mis- sion—is to collect and preserve the contributions of Black women in the United States but also globally. I see myself as building a “home” for Black women. If we think about home as a place of comfort, safety, and security, I am building that for Black women.

The Black Feminist Archive is also about legacy because we don’t have a lot of legacies of Black women in the United States. This is my legacy that I will leave and that will endure. The only time we pay attention to Black women in this country is when they are famous, but what about everyday women? How do we preserve their experiences? The only way that can happen is if we do it ourselves. My archive will be a way that I can enshrine my mother’s life. She was born in Peachtree, Alabama, and there was no birth certificate. She was delivered by midwives. My father had to find his birthdate in a Bible. He had a second-grade education. We need to create a space for people like my mother and father to endure beyond their corporeal lives. I’m also planning to launch a Mother’s Day initiative in which Black women send in photographs of their mothers. If you look at television, the images of Black mothers are mostly negative. We need positive images, and I take as my point of departure the recognition that if we don’t collect and preserve all of this material culture through archiving, then someone will tell the story for us, and it may not be the story we want to be told.

Emily: What was the initial impetus for the Black Feminist Archive?

Irma: It was probably driven by my archival research on and writing about Zora Neale Hurston, though I have always kept drafts of my poems and correspondence. While digging in the archives about Zora’s life, I decided that I didn’t need to publish a biography or write academically necessarily, but I’ve been doing more “public” writing about my findings. For example, my first article on Zora, based on my research, “Belle Letters: ‘Dear Langston, Love Zora,’” appeared in FlaVour magazine, a Black life-style publication in Florida.3 In doing my research, however, what stood out for me was what wasn’t there in the archives—missing were her field notes. But I did find a treasure trove. In her letters to Langston Hughes, Zora is describing her ethnographic process, and these letters offer clues about her approach to fieldwork and also made me re-think the conventional narrative about Langston and Zora’s relationship. They had a documented falling out over their play Mule Bone (1930). But she is consistently writing to him, confiding in him, and even reporting back about the reception of his poetry among the working-class people with whom she was engaging in citrus and turpentine camps.4 You get a real insight into their relation- ship in these letters. Had I not read those letters, I might have followed into the standard interpretation of their falling out. Zora is often portrayed as “unreasonable,” with some male scholars of the Harlem Renaissance giving an unflattering portrait of Zora in discussing the controversy over authorship of the play.5 It is examples like this that have made me realize that the more stuff we put into the archives the more complex the story becomes. Some have described archives as the keeper of memories, secrets, and revelations.

Emily: Can you give me an example of a recent acquisition of papers for the Black Feminist Archive?

Irma: We received the papers of Carolyn Martin-Shaw, who is one of the contributors to my edited book Black Feminist Anthropology: Theory, Politics, Praxis and Poetics. And, we just acquired the papers of my friend Larry Paros (1934-2019), who was a mentor to me during the time he was Director of the Yale Summer High School program in 1968. Had I not been in the program with Larry, I would have been lost in college. I am a first-generation college attendee, so there was no one in my family who could tell me what going to college was going to be like. I did all of my applications and financial aid by myself because my parents could not help me. Yale canceled Larry’s program the following year, even though this pioneering initiative changed the lives of over 140 underserved teenagers like me. Larry created a documentary about the Yale Summer High School program called Walk Right In: The Movie (2010).6 I was working at the Ford Foundation at the time he was working on it, and he interviewed me. Larry asked me, “Did this program make a difference?” And I was able to say, without any hesitation, “Yes, it did make a difference.” I chose to attend Grinnell College on a full scholarship partly after a discussion with Larry about my choices. He mentored me through that final selection process, even after the program was over.

Larry called me in March 2019 and said that he wanted to turn over all of the papers for the Yale Summer High School to me. I visited him at his home and spent several days packing up the materials, including all the raw footage and materials from the documentary. In the process, I came across a letter and postcard I had written to Larry in 1968 and 1969. All his materials are now located in the “Larry Paros Alternative Education Collection” within the Black Feminist Archive. On 3 July 2019, Larry passed away, but he went knowing that his papers were safe. They have a home now. Some people might ask, “What’s this Jewish guy doing in the Black Feminist Archive?” Well, if the truth be told, Black women are connected. We don’t live our lives in isolation. We are connected to a lot of people and a lot of places that often don’t get attributed to us because people want to look at one slice of our life. People need to look at the totality. And the archive will help them do that. Another part of what those experiences at Yale and beyond have affirmed for me is the African American cultural notion of “reach one, teach one.” In other words, the Black Feminist Archive is not just about me. It’s about all of these first-generation Black women who, if we dropped dead tomorrow, our families would come in and look at our papers and say, “We need to clean this up.” It’s not that they don’t think what we are doing is wonderful, but they don’t understand the value of it. This is what I call our “academic wealth,” the value of who we are as scholars cannot be measured in dollars. It lies in our intellectual property—our books, our articles, our lectures, our speeches, our service, our activism, our leadership development and impact—that is our wealth, our social capital. The same is also true for Black women activists. Those doing social change rarely have time to document it—and so the archive is aimed at raising awareness among activists to stop and take the time to write down the speeches, organize the photographs, and make sure they receive copies of all the radio and TV interviews they are called upon to do, so that these items don’t just disappear.

Emily: Talk about your choice in the name Black Feminist Archive.

Irma: This is a project that builds on my book Black Feminist Anthropology. I claim feminism not always in the way that it’s practiced but in its original concept, which was centering women as knowers, as creators, as theorists, etc. The use of the descriptive “Black” some may argue is an essentialist idea, but I claim that too. I have a right to be essentialist in terms of positioning my Black woman’s epistemology and my lived experiences as a Black woman at the center of my work and what I choose to preserve. I am not going to be apologetic about it; I’m going to be very proactive. That is not to say that white women cannot be in my archive. If they embrace a Black feminist perspective, then they can send their papers to the Black Feminist Archive.

And to circle back, this is why Larry Paros’s papers can be a part of my archive. Because of the small degrees of separation, because he practiced Black feminist strategies (even if he did not recognize them as such), and because of his trust in me to manage and preserve his intellectual performance as an educator, activist, scholar, and disruptor.

We always see the terms like “archive” or “feminist archive” as somehow detached from racialized thinking, but what is concealed there is an unspoken whiteness. If you look at what is represented historically in archives, you are generally seeing a white perspective. I think feminists need to own up to the fact that they too have practiced exclusion; they too have practiced citation omission; and they have also practiced appropriation of ideas from Black women in particular and scholars of color more generally.

Many people also misuse concepts like intersectionality, Kimberlé Crenshaw’s term.7 Her point was this: If we want to solve for inequality, we have to look at the intersection of multiple systems of inequality. How is my gender overlaid with my race, which might be overlaid with my class, which might be overlaid with my sexual orientation? These systemic structures that are designed to perpetuate our inequality are operating together. Intersectionality is not about identity; it is about navigating multiple systems of power and oppression that intersect in our lives. It’s really important to understand that in our personal lives we operate on multiple levels. We operate at the individual level, and that is where a lot of people get stuck; they can never move beyond the personalization or the idea that because that isn’t my experience it’s not real. Then there is the structural level by which I mean that there are systems of inequality in place. It doesn’t matter who is operating these systems of inequality; if people are operating within a given structure, it’s going to be problematic. Specifically, Black and other people of color can be in leadership positions and still perpetuate systems of inequality because of the structures that are in place.

In terms of archiving, the system has been predicated on inequality. Certain people’s lives are preserved, and certain people’s papers are pre- served. Archives have this tremendous power because they get to decide— this material is important, and this other material is not important. This is the power structure of archivists, a field that is like 87.7% white. The last report on diversity from the Society of American Archivists was in 2004—so you see how much attention is paid to diversity; at the time of the report, Blacks comprised 2.8% of professionals in the field.8 I suspect not much has changed in the last decade or so. As I travel to speak about the archive, I have on occasion (very occasionally) encountered Black archi- vists at elite institutions who tell me that they are leaving the field because there is limited professional mobility. Whites dominate and have seniority. It would appear that the people making the decisions are often looking to preserve the lives of people who look like them; they are working within their comfort zone.

Emily: In my view, access to archives is an exigent concern since so much valuable historical information is inaccessible to people outside of academe. In what ways does the Black Feminist Archive contend with these issues of access?

Irma: Once the Black Feminist Archive is ready to “activate,” meaning it has a set number of materials on hand, we will create a website landing page at University of Massachusetts Amherst. Some of my colleagues are already sending us their materials. And I am asking these contributors, as well as other colleagues, to consider making a financial contribution. Let me be clear, this is not a condition of becoming part of the archive, but rather the logical extension of our agency in preserving our lives as Black women. My thinking is that if we want it to be permanent, then we must financially support it.9 I also write grants and engage in fundraising on my own and in collaboration with the University of Massachusetts Amherst Library Development Office.10 More recently, to address your question about access, we have been working on a memorandum of understanding that will make clear that the archive will not just be available to scholars but to anyone who wants to conduct primary research, such as family members of contributors and people in the community. There should be no limits. The memorandum will clarify the principles of acquisition and usage.

Now some may question why I am donating my archive to a predomi- nantly white institution. I have held leadership positions at Shaw University, Fisk University, and Bennett College for Women, all Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs); unfortunately, HBCUs don’t have the structural capacity for a major archive because they lack resources. University of Massachusetts Amherst, where the Black Feminist Archive is located, is not only my alma mater but also the home of the W. E. B. Du Bois Center and is the repository for his papers, thanks to his wife, Shirley Graham Du Bois, who taught at the University of Massachusetts when I was a student in 1973. It is an iconic institution that can support the archi- val “home” I am building for Black women. The Special Collections and University Archive department is devoted to preserving materials related to social change.11

I am an alumna of University of Massachusetts Amherst three times, a former employee, and a former resident and taxpayer in Massachusetts. I spent eighteen years of my life in the state—it’s where my children were born, and many influential friendships and mentorships occurred in that space. Don’t I deserve to have access to the public resources that I have paid for with my taxes? Damn right! I have to give props to the late Rob Cox, the previous Director of Special Collections and University Archives because his approach to the Du Bois archive was to look at the whole person and all of the people to whom Du Bois was connected. Thus, the Du Bois archive contains not only Du Bois’s materials but also that of other people to whom he was connected. We are taking a similar approach with the Black Feminist Archive. It is not just about “me” but about the ways in which I can leverage my privilege to open up doors and resources for other Black women and non-white scholars and support the work at a public university.

The Black Feminist Archive’s collaboration with the Du Bois Center is very much public-facing, and because the Black Feminist Archive will be digitized, it will be open access. The Du Bois Center works with schools and community colleges and does public programs. We want the Black Feminist Archive to follow that same public access model and find ways of highlighting what is in archives through virtual exhibitions and program- ming. Our goal is to ensure that anyone who has a computer or a smart phone will be able to tap into these rich, archival materials that document, preserve, and raise the profile of Black women’s lives. I have heard from Black people interested in looking at primary materials held at a white institution who call about gaining access to a unique Black collection and never have their calls returned. That will not happen here. This is why I am so actively engaged.

Emily: Another thing that your work makes me consider is the myth of neutrality that shapes the discourse of archives. Might you talk about the personal dimension of archiving?

Irma: I recently clipped out a quote from a book review of the novel On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (2019) by Ocean Vuong. Vuong was quoted as saying, “Every person is an archive and we often forget that.”12 That is what I’m finding. I presented a talk on the Black Feminist Archive to 125 Black women law professors in 2017, and I asked them, “How many of you have thought about archiving your work?” Only one hand went up and the only reason she had thought about it was that she had been approached by her university library about preserving her papers because she one of a small number of women deans of law schools who is Black. There I was among all of these women writing these amazing journal articles and law reviews and teaching courses on law and social justice who had never thought that they were worthy of being archived. Wow. Yet, as Vuong is saying, each one of us carries that archival space inside. So, part of the creation of the Black Feminist Archive, is about asserting our power as Black women to control the narrative spin of our lives—to archive the materials that shape the story we want to tell about who we are and what we have done. And, I am finding for myself, as has my colleague Kesho Scott, that the process of organizing and curating your life before it goes into boxes to be shipped is highly personal, complex, sometimes difficult but also revealing about how much one has contributed.

Emily: In your view, what is missing from current discussions about archives, both in academe and beyond?

Irma: I want to be clear that I do not claim to be a professional archivist; I am an outsider and novice, so I have to turn to the experts. Let me reference an article by Canadian archivist Rodney G. S. Carter entitled “Of Things Said and Unsaid: Power, Archival Silences, and the Power in Silence.” What Carter says is in alignment with my own thinking on the matter:

The notion that archives are neutral places with no vested interests has been undermined by current philosophical and theoretical handlings of the con- cept of the “Archive”; it is now undeniable that archives are spaces of power. Archival power is, in part, the power to allow voices to be heard. It consists of highlighting certain narratives and of including certain types of records created by certain groups.13

The point he makes is that we presume archives to be sites of neutrality. In truth of fact, this is a false narrative. First and foremost, archives were established to publicly present power. They were shrines to those who had resources and wanted to be remembered. And archivists are historically, and today, complicit in this enterprise. So, what gets into archives is vetted, both today and yesterday.

Birds do it, Bees do it—Everybody’s doing it. Since I began this project, the concept has caught fire. Archives have suddenly become top of mind and on everybody’s list. I have seen people who are not Black feminists appropriate the idea of the Black Feminist Archive without giving any attribution as to where the idea came from. There is still an intellectual dishonesty, even within feminist scholarship, whereby Black women are being omitted as the generators, the architects of our ideas, of our experiences—all the more reason for my archive.

I think in the past conversations about archives were missing trans- parency and honesty about the origins of archives. Just like museums, archives were created to preserve the lives of people considered to have value and other people were left out. I think we need to hear more about these problematic origins and the remedies. I know museums are talking about “empathy” and libraries are talking about engagement, so what are archivists talking about?14 I know from my interactions with people that Black archivists, particularly women, feel marginalized in a field that is still overwhelmingly white. We need to be transparent about that too. But that is changing inside the archive field with discussions about archivists as advocates and activists.15

Emily: I’m also thinking about activists whose sociopolitical impact is not always visible in print.

Irma: Yes, we especially need to be thinking about activists. Where are all of those speeches and posters and recordings? We need to preserve these elements in the Black Feminist Archive because activists are in the business of doing the work rather than documenting the work. My agenda is to make the process of archiving Black women a collective effort and to preserve the labor of activists in a way that highlights what is really important to remember about their work and who they are as individu- als; they are more than what they do, and the complexities of how they have navigated their lives must be preserved. My archive also recognizes the power of the visual. Right now, there are almost 400 digital records of photographs I took between 1974-1990. To illustrate, these photos include images of James Baldwin, Sonia Sanchez, and Jessie Jackson on his first presidential campaign. What do they tell us about life in Amherst where most of my photos were taken? We will see. Already, I have uncovered some “hidden figures.”

We are interested in photographs of activists, especially with their fami- lies and communities. We often see, write about, and represent activists in isolation, as if they don’t have families. We see them out there on the platform, and then we speculate about their lives. I’m asking people to give us access to those private moments with direction and intentionality and agency.

Emily: Any further thoughts about the Black Feminist Archive that you want to share with our readers?

Irma: Archives are the way that historians write history. If those archives are partial, we will always have partial histories. Just as I saw my book Black Feminist Anthropology as an intervention into the field of anthropology, I see the Black Feminist Archive, in its totality, as an intervention into the way in which history gets written—be it traditional history, gender and women’s studies history, or African American history. If Black women are not integral, then it will ALWAYS be a partial history. I am also fascinated with the ways in which material cultural gets preserved.

To advance the Black Feminist Archive, I intend to leverage whatever privilege I have acquired over the decades as scholar, former university president, award-winning author, etc., to preserve the lives of Black women of the African diaspora. When I give talks about this archival project, I always ask Black women, “What are you doing to preserve your life?” Not unlike the Black Lives Matter movement, we have to emphasize self-preservation—and archives make that possible.

I’ll close with a message that is really a call to action. If you (Black women who are activists, artists, academics, and every day folk) have access to materials that you believe are important to Black feminism and to lifting up the extraordinary and the ordinary experiences of Black women, and you want these to be preserved and kept safe, indeed, if you want these materials to have a “home”—a Black feminist, Womanist, Black community “HOME”—please contact me:

IRMA MCCLAURIN, Ph.D., is the founder of the Irma McClaurin Black Feminist Archive at the University of Massachusetts Amherst ( She is also an activist anthropologist and diversity consultant. Past leadership roles include president of Shaw University, Deputy Provost at Fisk University, Chief Diversity Officer at Teach For America, Program Officer at the Ford Foundation, and Senior Faculty at the Federal Executive Institute. She also held tenured positions in anthropology at the University of Florida and the University of Minnesota. An award-winning writer, McClaurin is editor of Black Feminist Anthropology: Theory, Politics, Praxis and Poetics (2001), an “Outstanding Academic Title,” and in 2015, she was named “Best in the Nation Columnist” by the Black Press of America. She is a columnist and culture and education editor at Insight News. Forthcoming is an essay collection: “JUSTSPEAK: Reflections on Race, Culture and Politics in America.”

EMILY RUTH RUTTER is Associate Professor of English at Ball State University. She is the author of Invisible Ball of Dreams: Literary Representations of Baseball Behind the Color Line (2018), The Blues Muse: Race, Gender, and Musical Celebrity in American Poetry (2018), and Black Celebrity: Contemporary Representations of Postbellum Athletes and Artists, forthcoming from University of Delaware Press in fall 2021. Along with Tiffany Austin, Sequoia Maner, and darlene anita scott, she coedited Revisiting the Elegy in the Black Lives Matter Era (2020).


1 Christen Smith and Irma McClaurin, “Citation and the Black Feminist Archive with Dr. Irma McClaurin,” season 1, episode 1, Cite Black Women, pro- duced by Smith and Michaela Machicote, 40:37, accessed 10 November 2020,

2 The Irma McClaurin Black Feminist Archive is being compiled and is not fully available yet. There are some collections within the Black Feminist Archive that are accessible now, such as the Irma McClaurin Papers, Digital Commonwealth Massachusetts Collection Online, tions/commonwealth-oai:6w92c383g, which consists of 397 black and white photos taken by McClaurin of people like James Baldwin, Sonia Sanchez, and Toni Cade Bambara; the Carolyn Martin-Shaw Papers, 1962-2017, MS974, W. E. B. Du Bois Library, University of Massachusetts Amherst; and the Larry Paros Papers, 1964- 2014, MS 1081, W. E. B. Du Bois Library. For more information about the Black Feminist Archive, see

3 Irma McClaurin, “Belle Letters: ‘Dear Langston, Love Zora,’” FlaVour: Black Florida Life and Style, Autumn 2000, 16-19. FlaVour was published by Paul Jerome, a writer for the St. Petersburg Times. According to McClaurin, “He was aiming for a general audience of Black professionals who wanted to know about the unique con- tributions of Black people connected to Florida. Hurston was at the top of the list.”

4 Turpentine, refined pine resin, was extracted from trees beginning in the mid- 1800s and continuing through the 1920s. The product was used to repair naval ships initially, and slave labor was the primary source of workers. After emancipa- tion, newly freed slaves worked seasonally in turpentine camps to augment their meager income from sharecropping, sometimes working alongside prisoners, who were not paid, and were mostly Black as well. Over time, Black communities developed in proximity to the camps. The interest in timber extraction eventually killed the turpentine industry, which was brutal work with significant health risks. See Dan Hughes, “The History of Florida Turpentine Camps,” Herald-Tribune (Sarasota), 15 March 2004, News/605205566/SH. (Access unavailable at time of publication).

5 For example, Arnold Rampasad—a definitive Harlem Renaissance authority— characterizes Zora in the following way: “Hurston’s suspicion of [an affair between Hughes and Louise] Thompson seems to have been based on little more than a gen- eral sense of insecurity with a woman younger, prettier, more poised, and, although in a more orthodox way, as intelligent as Hurston herself”; see Rampersad, The Life of Langston Hughes, vol. 1, 1902-1941: I, Too, Sing America (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002), 196; cited in Julie A. Mangoff, “The Bone of Contention: Mule Bone and the Friendship of Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston During the Harlem Renaissance” (honors project, Illinois Wesleyan University, 2013), 53,

6 See Lawrence Paros, “‘Walk Right In,’ The Movie, Classroom Version,” 8 April 2018, See also UW Video, “Walk Right In—Larry Paros,” interview, 14 November 2013,

7 Kimberlé Crenshaw, “Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex: A Black Feminist Critique of Antidiscrimination Doctrine, Feminist Theory and Antiracist Politics,” University of Chicago Legal Forum, No. 1 (1989), 139.

8 Victoria Irons Walch, “General Data Analysis” (PowerPoint presentation, Society of American Archivists Annual Meeting, New Orleans, 19 August 2005),

9 According to McClaurin, “Financial contributions will ensure that the archive is sustainable and that contributors are a part of that process. Asking people to consider making a donation follows the adage of putting our money where our mouths are, but it is absolutely not a condition of being included. I make an annual contribution and have one contributor who is planning to put the Black Feminist Archive in their estate plan, something I also have done.”

10 In April 2020, McClaurin was awarded a $15,000 Historical Archive grant by the Wenner Gren Foundation to organize her papers and photographs, transport them, and work with the University of Massachusetts Amherst to prepare descriptions of the materials for digitization. The grant does not support the actual digitizing.

11The University of Massachusetts Amherst Libraries Special Collections and University Archive collections policy reads in part:

In pursuit of our mission, the Department of Special Collections and University Archives collects materials of enduring historical and cultural value relating to four major thematic areas: the history and experience of social change in America; the histories and cultures of New England with an emphasis on Massachusetts; innovation and entrepreneurship; and the broad community associated with the University of Massachusetts Amherst.

See “What We Collect,” University of Massachusetts Amherst Libraries Special Collections and University Archive, accessed 2 January 2021, http://scua.library.

12Ocean Vuong, “Acclaimed Poet Ocean Vuong’s Novel is a Beautiful, Complex Vantage on Motherlands and Mothers,” interview by Jessica Q. Stark, Indy Week, 5 June 2019, gorgeous-interview.

13 Rodney G. S. Carter, “Of Things Said and Unsaid: Power, Archival Silences, and Power in Silence,” Archivaria: The Journal of the Association of Canadian Archivists, 61 (2006), 216, article/view/12541.

14 See Elif M. Gokcigdem, ed., Fostering Empathy Through Museums (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2016).

15 See Richard Pearce-Moses, “Finding Our Voice: Pleading the Value of Archives,” Provenance: Journal of the Society of Georgia Archivists, 31, No. 1 (2013), 4-6,

Mary Wollstonecraft Sojourner Truth Margaret Atwood Abigail Adams Amy Tan H.D. Simone de Beauvoir Zora Neale Hurston Frances Burney Virginia Woolf

"The white saxifrage with the indented leafe is moste commended for the breakinge of the Stone."

— Turner, Herbal, III, 68 [1568]