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The Power and Politics of Memory

Writer: Maryam IftikharMaryam Iftikhar

Updated: Mar 23

Memory is the foundation upon which societies build their identities, values, and future aspirations. Yet throughout history, the deliberate erasure or suppression of certain narratives has been used as a tool to control not just how we remember the past, but how we understand ourselves and each other in the present.


At Meeting at the Margins, we recognize that building a more just and peaceful world requires us to first acknowledge and amplify the voices that have been systematically silenced. Through our commitment to preserving and sharing marginalized stories, we work to create a more inclusive collective memory that actually reflects the full spectrum of human experience.


The Architecture of Memory

The stories we tell about ourselves and our communities form the bedrock of identity. These shared narratives help us make sense of who we are and where we come from. But memory is not a neutral archive; it is actively shaped by those who hold the power to decide which stories are preserved and which are forgotten.


The architecture of memory extends far beyond individual recollection, it encompasses the complex systems, institutions, and practices that shape how societies remember their past. Like physical architecture, these memory structures are deliberately designed, serving specific purposes and reflecting the values and power dynamics of their creators.


Memory institutions – museums, archives, libraries, and monuments – function as the physical embodiment of this architecture. Research by Trouillot demonstrates how these institutions don’t simply preserve history; they actively produce it through decisions about what to collect, how to categorize, and what to display. The empty pedestals where colonial statues once stood across Europe and the Americas reveal how this architecture is constantly contested and rebuilt.


Educational systems serve as another crucial pillar in this memory architecture. Curriculum decisions determine which narratives become “official history” and which are relegated to the margins. For example, the long silence around the Tulsa Race Massacre in American education meant that many learned about this devastating event only recently, despite its profound impact on Black communities.


The intergenerational trauma of these unequal structures for recording and preserving memory continues to reverberate through communities today, highlighting how attacks on memory become attacks on existence itself.


The Politics of Forgetting

Sometimes, the most powerful stories are the ones we’re encouraged to forget. In Argentina, the military dictatorship of 1976-1983 attempted to erase all traces of its estimated 30,000 disappeared citizens. The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo refused to let these memories fade, turning their weekly demonstrations into a powerful act of remembrance that eventually helped bring democracy back to their nation.


Consider the systematic suppression of Indigenous languages and cultural practices in residential schools across North America and Australia, which aimed to erase memories, identities, and ways of being that didn’t align with colonial narratives.


The destruction of cultural heritage sites in conflict zones, from the ancient city of Palmyra to the libraries of Timbuktu, represents attempts to erase collective memory and rewrite history. Japanese textbooks’ treatment of World War II events continues to strain diplomatic relations in East Asia, showing how contested memories can affect international relationships decades later.


These examples are just a drop in the ocean of history’s legacy of systemic suppression, where critical histories are erased, and memories are unequally recorded.


Memory as Resistance

But remembering, especially the memories others would have us forget, is a profound form of resistance and hope. It affirms that every voice matters, that every story deserves to be heard, and that true peace can only be built on the foundation of honest engagement with our past.


At Meeting at the Margins, we know that memory work is critical to peace work. When we create space for suppressed stories to emerge, we build bridges of understanding between communities. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa showed how confronting difficult memories can lead to healing and reconciliation.


Furthermore, modern technology has revolutionized how marginalized communities can preserve and share their stories. The Documenting the Now project, born from the Ferguson protests, demonstrates how social media archiving can preserve contemporary social justice movements for future generations. Similarly, the Palestinian Oral History Archive digitizes thousands of hours of testimonies, ensuring that displaced Palestinians’ memories survive despite geographical dispersal.


As we move forward, let us commit to being active participants in the preservation and sharing of memories, especially those that power structures would prefer to erase. For in these margins of memory, we often find the most powerful tools for building a more just and peaceful future.


 

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