From Jet to JPEG: Documenting Black Life Before It's Lost

"So many people's lives were lost because there was no record of their existence. Paper is an important tool for maintaining a record of your existence."

Hello, my beautiful people -

Well, it's been a minute. I'd ask how y'all are doing, but I think collectively, we're all in some phase of "what the actual..." I'll let you finish that. There's so much chaos and uncertainty, and in living in DC and working directly with non-profits, it's hard to find a few minutes of escape from what's transpiring around me. My prayers and love go out to each of you. Friends are being laid off, companies are being boycotted weekly, social media is trapping us in echo chambers, and the news has something tragic to report every three minutes.

There's fear, rage, disbelief, and what feels like fleeting moments of joy. So I ask—how are you? How's your spirit? Where's your mind?

This week, my mind has been on paper. Well, the lack thereof. Let me explain.

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With this being Black History Month and those in power seemingly working to diminish its significance, the importance of preserving our stories feels more urgent than ever. As part of my creative side quest, I recently attended the Black Ink event at the Pyramid Atlantic Art Center in Maryland, where they had a paper-making demonstration.

As I watched the process unfold, the instructor made a statement that hit my spirit: "So many people's lives were lost because there was no record of their existence. Paper is an important tool for maintaining a record of your existence."

That statement stayed with me. For generations, the lack of paper trails meant the erasure of countless Black lives. Enslaved people were often denied the dignity of written records, their existence reduced to entries in ledgers, or worse, absent altogether. Imagine the countless stories lost, the families torn apart without a trace, the legacies stolen.

Paper, that seemingly simple material, has immense power in shaping our history—both as a tool of liberation and a weapon of oppression.

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The Power of Documentation

Black-owned spaces have always been more than just cultural hubs; they have been archives—living records of Black creativity, excellence, and resistance. The emergence of Black-owned newspapers like Freedom's Journal in 1827 was revolutionary, declaring to the world that our stories mattered. Think of the brave journalists of The Chicago Defender who, in the early 1900s, fueled the Great Migration by publishing train schedules and job opportunities in the North, literally guiding Black families towards freedom with ink and paper.

From publications like Jet and Ebony that captured our lives in full color to cultural institutions like The Apollo and Soul Train, these weren't just entertainment—they were archives capturing our movements, styles, and cultural shifts in real-time. Tulsa's Black Wall Street and Seneca Village in New York stood as testaments to the power of community and proximity. These spaces created a paper trail of Black life, visible and tangible.

Living in close quarters allowed for the organic spread of culture. The Harlem Renaissance wasn't just about individual geniuses like Hughes or Hurston—it was about a network of creatives sharpening each other. The same goes for 90s hip-hop and R&B, where artists came up together in tightly-knit environments, making music reflective of a shared experience.

But what happens when those spaces shrink? When our proximity to one another fades due to economic mobility? When the stories being told about us are filtered through systems we don't control?

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The New Threat: Digital Erasure in the AI Age

Today, our history faces a new kind of erasure. AI and data collection are shaping the records of the future, and Black people are being written out. Just like history erased many Black figures due to a lack of paper trails, AI systems erase us when we aren't represented in datasets. If our stories, dialects, and experiences aren't adequately recorded in digital spaces, algorithms won't recognize us. This manifests in everything from misclassified facial recognition to misinterpreted cultural expressions in AI-generated content. People like Nicole Hannah-Jones have started doing the archival work, but there's much further to go.

AI models are trained on existing narratives, and due to the hardships Black-owned media has always had in working to spread our stories or even get them published, and even further lack of engineers to re-enforce learning, the data lacks nuance and context. This results in algorithms reinforcing stereotypes rather than reflecting the complexity of Black experiences. AI-driven journalism and content moderation can misinterpret Black vernacular, culture, or activism, leading to censorship or misrepresentation.

At the same time, people in positions of power like Musk and Trump, along with corporations, are ditching their prior commitments of leveling the playing field and increasing efforts to erase Black history in the following ways:

• Book bans targeting Black authors who write about our experiences

• The rollback of DEI initiatives and federal funding to HBCUs that ensured Black representation

• The consolidation of data control under figures who control massive media platforms and news outlets

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The Digital-Physical Balance: Why We Still Need Paper

As we rush towards a "paperless" society, we must remember that a digital-only existence carries its own risks. While cloud storage and digital archives offer convenience, they also make our history vulnerable to new forms of erasure. A deleted database, a crashed server, or a changed algorithm can instantly wipe out years of records. Digital footprints, despite their seeming permanence, can be surprisingly fragile.

This is why maintaining physical documentation remains crucial. Think about it: the few surviving documents from enslaved ancestors—freedom papers, family bibles, handwritten letters—have outlasted countless digital platforms and defunct websites. Physical documents resist the kind of instant erasure that digital records face. You can't "ctrl+delete" a paper deed, a printed photograph, or a handwritten journal.

Consider also how physical documents serve as immediate proof of existence and ownership:

• Property deeds and titles that establish generational wealth

• Birth certificates and marriage licenses that document family ties

• Diplomas and certificates that validate achievements

• Printed photographs that capture moments in time

• Personal letters and journals that tell our stories in our own words

These tangible records aren't just documentation—they're insurance against digital volatility. When websites shut down, social media platforms change hands, or digital archives become inaccessible, physical documents remain. They provide a parallel record of our existence that can't be altered by a system update or erased by a corporate decision.

This isn't about choosing between digital and physical preservation—it's about understanding that we need both. Just as our ancestors kept careful records on paper while embracing new technologies of their time, we must maintain physical copies of our most important documents while building our digital legacy.

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How We Fight Back: Preserving Our Legacy

Now, you may have read all that and said, great, another thing I feel helpless about - don't fret, there are many steps you can take! If AI and digital records are the new paper, let's work to do our part in owning our narratives and that of our families. Here's how we can help preserve Black history:

1. Become a Digital and Physical Archivists

• Create comprehensive family archives with both physical and digital copies of:

  • Important documents and certificates

  • Family photographs, letters, and memorabilia

  • Records of major life events and achievements

  • Significant correspondence and property records

• Support collective preservation efforts by:

  • Contributing to Black-owned archives like the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture and Black Joy Archive

  • Engaging with local libraries and historical societies

2. Support Black Media and Creators

• Subscribe to Black-owned news outlets like TheGrio, Blavity, Rolling Out, and creator channels like Don Lemon, Joy-Ann Reid, and a personal plug of one of the smartest people I know - Big Poppa Code (these were just a few top of mind!)

• Encourage independent Black creators to store their work beyond social media

• Support Black-owned bookstores like Source Book Store, For Keeps Book, and Mahogany Books

3. Take Control of Our Digital Presence

• Support initiatives training AI models on Black stories, dialects, and history

• Follow and contribute to projects like Black in AI and Data for Black Lives

• Get our children involved in STEM camps and online coding programs (there are many free options). We need all the help we can get, as we only represent 7% of the tech workforce!

• Explore decentralized networks like blockchain as it operates as an immutable ledger, and any changes made to it will be shown

4. Build & Support Physical Community

• Engage with and invest in Black-owned spaces, both digital and physical

• Create reading spaces to share and discuss banned books

• Foster connections that allow for organic cultural exchange

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The fight to preserve Black history has always required deliberate action. Whether through newspapers, magazines, or television, we've always found ways to document ourselves. Now, as we enter the AI era, the responsibility is ours once again.

As we enjoy the last few days of Black History Month, look to not just celebrate the past—let's protect our future. Let us face this challenge with the same resilience, creativity, and joy that has always defined us. Take a breathe, get your house in order, dance it out and tap in when you're ready.

Your existence matters. So does your story. If you have some other ideas you care to share, email me, or reply at the bottom and let me know. We're all figuring this out together!

With love always,

Jamie ✈️ 🌎