A composite photograph of surgical gloves and masks discarded in Cardiff, UK, in December 2020.
Credit: Matthew Horwood/Getty
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On 30 January this year, the World Health Organization (WHO) sounded a global alarm when it designated an outbreak of respiratory illness a ‘public health emergency of international concern’. On the same day, the US National Library of Medicine (NLM) launched a
web archive for the incipient pandemic. “The disease didn’t even have a name yet,” says Susan Speaker, a historian at the NLM in Bethesda, Maryland. “We collected the tweet in which the WHO named it.”
Since then, the NLM has archived thousands of websites and social-media posts from governments and non-governmental organizations, journalists, health-care workers and scientists around the world. That’s in addition to all the COVID-related publications in its literature database, PubMed.
Efforts to document the pandemic for posterity have been under way everywhere since early in the year. Government agencies such as the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in Atlanta, Georgia, and scientific institutions including the Pasteur Institute in Paris weren’t far behind the NLM. Their archives are being complemented by those of museums, libraries, historical societies and community groups. The global frenzy of collecting has even prompted talk of curatorial burnout.
Museum curators are on the lookout for discarded ventilators and failed prototype COVID-19 tests — but they must choose the moment they ask with care. “We can’t just say to busy people, ‘Would you stop developing the vaccine and talk to me about collecting stuff?’” says Natasha McEnroe, keeper of medicine at the Science Museum in London. “We have to tread very, very carefully.”
Others are storing souvenirs of people’s lived experience — video diaries, mask fashion, recordings of the quiet of locked-down streets. Or they’re salting away objects that the pandemic has rendered iconic: the signage around the lectern from which UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson spoke to the press; a wooden spoon that a little girl broke while banging her family’s cooking pots in support of medical personnel. For the first time, a pandemic
Archivists are aware that it’s not for them to decide what future historians will consider relevant. In 1918, many people doubted that the first wave of the pandemic, which resembled seasonal flu, was caused by the same pathogen as the much more lethal second wave (it was). As evidence comes in, new connections are made while others fade. The tendency today has therefore been to collect everything, within each organization’s broad remit. Hence the ocean of data — and the pandemic rages still.
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Pandemics pose logistical problems — one reason they have tended to leave such light archival footprints. “Collecting infectious disease is a real challenge,” says McEnroe, speaking from her son’s bedroom. Many museums have closed, and archivists have been working from home. Physical collecting has health and safety risks, and raises ethical concerns. Samples of infected lung tissue taken from patients in 1918 were used in 2005, controversially, to bring the virus back to life
2 — something that nobody in 1918 would have dreamed possible.
What are COVID archivists keeping for tomorrow’s historians?
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