CULTURAL HERITAGE AT RISK
Today's Stewardship Challenge
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1. Stewardship • The Janus Factor
Nancy M. Cline
Stewardship is a word that is appearing with some
frequency in a variety of management contexts. Sometimes people ask
whether it is a "softer" (or perhaps more academically respectable) term
than "administration." I think not. Stewardship is the responsible use
of resources; it is synonymous with managing, administering. If
anything, the word implies that the responsibilities extend beyond the
tenure of one single individual, that stewardship extends "over time and
over generations," an appropriate expectation in the realm of cultural
resources.
In using the term "Janus Factor," I want to consider
the dual nature of stewardship. Most simply, the word "janus" means
"having a dual function or purpose." But it is for another reason that
I chose the image of Janusthe god in Roman mythology who is
represented with two faces, one facing to the front and the other to the
backto describe stewardship. For Janus was "the god of gates,"
the guardian of doors and gates, and is often considered to preside over
beginnings.
Like Janus, stewardship can be represented with two
faces, one looking back upon all that has been garnered over decades and
centuries and another that faces forward, anticipating, planning,
preparing, and thinking strategically. Likewise, the Janus image portrays
the need for security and preservation to work closely together in
presiding over our contemporary "gates," so that our institutions can
effectively provide stewardship of our cultural resources and ensure
that they will be accessible for future generations.
I have chosen Janus because I want to think about
this double-faced image in touching on some of the dichotomies we must
deal with in improving our stewardship. Our roles as stewards of
cultural heritage are full of both conflicting and complementary forces,
ranging from the expectations of those who work in our institutions to
those external constituencies whose expectations may affect public
policy, legislation, institutional priorities, and governance of
academic and cultural institutions.
Can most of us say that we know our role in
stewarding cultural heritage? Is it at the top of the list of your
administrative or managerial responsibilities? Do others acknowledge
this role? Where do preservation and security fit into your strategic
vision for your institution? Do you know the value of the collections
and facilities within your purview? Does your staff know their value? Do
you know the most valuable items or parts of your collections?
If an emergency forced you to abandon the majority of
your collections, is it clear which ones should be saved? Do you have an
idea what you would spend to restore or recover items? Do your budgetary
commitments for the care of these collections match your rhetoric about
how excellent or invaluable they are? Are there conflicts with internal
institutional expectations (such as saving money on security) and the
expectations of donors, scholars, or the broader public?
The Janus Factor is about leadership, about making a
difference and managing risk while dealing with ambiguity. It is about
maintaining focus in the midst of great cultural change. It is about
being prepared for various eventualities and about expecting the
unexpected. We all have strategic choices. We have the opportunity to
set the expectations for an institution, to convey principles, to direct
budget resources, and, perhaps most important, to raise a higher level
of attention to the critical areas of preservation and security. This is
not only a national priority. Given the many interrelationships among
cultural and educational institutions around the globe, our strategic
choices and our future actions will have an international impact.
But first, we must look at the context in which we
function. Libraries exist in the continuous tension generated by the
desire to provide access for users and the need to protect and preserve
the collections. In most libraries, we make every effort to welcome
users, though some private libraries may limit their services to a
defined group of users. In libraries, guards and other security
personnel generally are not evident in large numbers. Many libraries are
still regarded as quiet havens for readers, safe places for research.
Yet beneath a surface tranquillity, every day the collections are
exposed to use from hundreds of readers and researchers, whose habits
may be counterproductive to goals of preservation programs or who ignore
basic concepts of security.
The challenge is to balance conflicting goals, to
make materials as open and accessible as possible and at the same time
to ensure that they will last for future generations. Our collections
include not only books but also maps, microform materials, manuscripts,
photographs, electronic resources, prints, videos, compact discs, and
items in other formats. All of these formats present different
vulnerabilities, different risks. Together, they hold the continuum of
recorded knowledge of humankind, and, for any specific institution, they
constitute a great cumulative investment, a major asset of the
institution.
Despite their value, these collections may not be
treated as the major investment they are. Even if the collections are
closed to library patrons, staff members often work in areas located in
the very midst of valuable collections. We too often assume that all our
employees share a commitment to the collections and allow them to come
and go through collection areas whenever needed, despite the fact that
we know losses often result from internal theft. No one should be above
checking. No one, not even the director, should be exempt from basic
security practices.
All too often, in protecting our collections, we
assume that staff members know what to look for, how to anticipate
problems, how to intervene, and how to call for professional assistance
when their suspicions are triggered. Although this may be a comforting
assumption, staff can also be naive, anxious to assist researchers, and
unlikely to identify troublesome situations or to notice unusual
behaviors. Staff members may want to protect the privacy of library
users, to the extent that some may be liberal in the forms of
identification required in issuing privileges or likely to bend the
rules for passwords so users can work directly with databases. If they
do notice something odd, they may assume that security staff should not
be interrupted with minor issues.
Reference skills of librarians and specialists also
are likely to conflict with the need for controlling information at the
scene of a crime. The propensity to find everything, inform users, and
delve into details may run counter to the work of law enforcement
professionals or emergency response teams. And much as we do not want to
offend tourists and visitors, photography of building interiors should
be strictly forbidden. Visitors photographing architectural details
like doors, windows, and staircases could be documenting access, posing
a threat to security.
Is it a myth that library staff members are not the
best people to identify suspicious behavior? Miles Harvey in his book
The Island of Lost Maps documents the story of map thief Gilbert
Bland.
The author asserts, "He was no stranger to
libraries." Not only did Bland use libraries as sources for maps, but he
also used them as places to track down names of people who had died in
childhood so he could create new identities for himself. Eventually, he
was found out. His odd behavior and the materials he was using finally
caught the attention of staff members in the Peabody Library at Johns
Hopkins University. There, he had presented a fake University of Florida
identification card in the name of James Perry. Throughout his many
library visits across the country, he had also used the names James J.
Edwards, James Morgan, Jason Pike, Jack Arnett, Richard M. Olinger,
John David Rosche, Steven M. Spradling, James Bland, and Gilbert Anthony
Bland (his given name was Gilbert Lee Joseph Bland, Jr.). [1]
Bland had managed to blend in at many places, not arousing anyone's
concern. Even when finally apprehended, he was very nearly let go, for
the perception of what he had done struck the police very differently
from the way it did the librarians.
"No wonder the officers did not seem particularly
concerned about the meek and skittish man they found at the library.
Well-dressed, polite, and obviously humiliated, he looked about as much
like a menace to society as the Peabody Library looked to be a crack
house. And after all, what had he allegedly done? Taken a few pages out
of a book? Stolen four sheets of paper? There were dangerous
people out therecrazy, desperate, dangerous people with guns. This
poor guy hardly seemed worth the bother." [2]
When caught with the stolen maps, he offered to pay
the library to repair the damaged books, and the police seemed to think
this was a good deal.
Bland hit nineteen libraries, removing maps from
antique atlases, from Baltimore to British Columbia. No one at these
libraries had called the police, for no one had noticed their maps had
been taken. And Bland nearly escaped with his offer to pay for the
repairs.
When the discoveries were made known, people who had
met Bland described him as "clean-cut, quiet, polite, mild
mannered." [3] He was just like so many people who come and go
often in our libraries.
In library after library, neither the man nor his
handiwork had been noticed. Not only that, another astonishing thing
became clear. Not all the libraries from which he had stolen materials
had records of ownership. The security of collections begins with
accurate bibliographic records, ownership marks, and inventory
practices. Security is built on many routine tasks conducted in many
different parts of the library.
The work of many people can be destroyed in any one
instance when library or museum objects are stolen or damaged. Building
collectionsselecting, acquiring, and cataloging itemscan be
a painstaking process, continued over decades. Often, soon after books
are published, they may disappear from the marketplace, rendering them
irreplaceable, or nearly so. The value of an entire collection can be
greatly diminished when any one part is taken or mutilated. Destroying
years of investment can take only seconds.
As we consider our roles as stewards of our cultural
heritage, we must ponder not only how to secure our collections from
theft and mutilation but also how to preserve them. Preservation and
security are inseparable.
"Preservation is the art of managing risk to the
intellectual and physical heritage of a community and all members of
that community have a stake in it. Risk management is dynamic, and, in
practice, preservation becomes an ever-changing assessment of value and
endangerment." Abby Smith, in The Future of the Past: Preservation in
American Research Libraries calls for collaboration between scholars
and librarians as "the best and most responsible way to ensure that the
legacy we have inherited, and to which we contribute, will survive into
the future." [4]
"Preservation becomes an ever-changing
assessment of value and endangerment." So what then is security but an
integral part of preservation? Daily, the running of a library involves
a continuum of choices and decisions (some conscious or deliberate, some
instinctive or accidental), and when all are put together, our
continuous involvement with both preservation and security is evident.
One set of issues emerges from the moment the doors open in the morning,
but the issues do not go away when the facilities are locked up at the
end of the day. Then, our attention segues to different concerns. When
the last janitor has shut off the lights and locked all the doors, one
is still not spared all the possible accidental, environmental, or
malicious threats. Pipes may leak or burst, vents can draw in fumes. The
voracious appetites of bugs and rodents always present a potential
hazard. Last, there is the threat posed by human beings
themselvessay, the explosive or glue thrown into the book return
slot.
Preservation and security frequently are set up as
separate programs in different parts of the organization, each
comprising many separate actions, policies, and processes. These units
may easily wind up with a gulf between them, motivated by different
pressures, staff working in different shifts, and competition for
budget, respect, and administrative commitment. Greater benefit,
however, may accrue to the institution if security and preservation work
together. As an example, the Harvard College Library puts preservation,
security, facilities, and information technology services under one
senior administrator. A strategic partnering exists among the several
units, so that they are called by one of my colleagues "the life support
systems for the libraries."
As we consider the stewardship of our collections, we
must incorporate risk management in our decision making. Risk management
is not just something for us to carry around in our heads. Rather, it
requires conscious and continuous planning, analysis of choices, and
documented procedures for action. Risk management is not an event that
you do and set aside, but it is a constant process and must engage the
various parts of the institution.
Recent renovations at one of Harvard's libraries
turned up an envelope full of important keys in a vault that had not
been used for several decades. Did someone assume that there would
always be someone else to remember that the keys were there and what
those keys unlocked? Suddenly finding sets of keys and not knowing what
they might still open made us realize that our organization had been
operating with various gaps in our security. I began to take stock of
what I had assumed about people around me. I had assumed they knew it
was important to care about certain things and to know whether or not
some procedure was important, even though we had never specifically
discussed, outlined, or defined all these things. Fortunately, we had a
shared understanding about security, but we recognized a need to
formalize and codify many of our commitments and priorities.
Managers should not assume that everyone accepts that
preservation and security are key priorities throughout the
organization. All too often, people in our organizations will readily
label these concerns as someone else's problem.
Who "owns" security and preservation? Neither a
preservation unit nor a security office can carry out its work as an
independent contributor. Instead, each needs the support, co-operation,
and behavioral and procedural change from everyone in the organization
in order to be successful.
Dramatic events raise awareness of security and
preservation issues. The big heists, the major cases, or the sensational
thefts bring attention, but what about the other less dramatic
incidents? Who cares about protecting against the small thefts, or the
student observed defacing a book by highlighting or writing in it? When
someone is apprehended with just a few books from our stacks that appear
to have been stolen, do we look the other way? Do we shrug and say.
"Well, at least they were not rare books?" Or, do we say. "At
least we got them back?" Do we prosecute? Do we insist that fees be
paid? Do we have any rules that matter? What do our reference librarians
do when someone reports suspicious behavior? Do staff know what to do in
such instances? Are they afraid to "bother" the police?
Likewise, do employees know how to respond when they
find damaged or wet books? Do they just shrug and say. "It looks like it
will hold up a bit longer?" Do they know whom to notify when they find
damaged items and where to send them for repair? Are they prepared to
explain to users that the condition of the book matters? Are shelvers
trained to watch for mold and to respond promptly? Ignoring small
problems can result in amazingly costly repairs at later stages. So it
is not only "preservation" staff members who have a role in the care and
well-being of the collections, but practically everyone in the
library.
Small problems can grow into larger ones with
security as well. Even the largest security budget can be compromised if
the mailroom employees leave doors ajar to make it easier to push the
cart in and out or if everyone is tolerant of Sam from the acquisitions
department. We all know that he loves these collections. His loyalty is
unquestioned. He works late every Fridayyou have to almost throw
him out of the place.
Have we factored issues such as these into our
security and preservation plans? Beyond defining them as a priority, we
must also ensure that all parts of the organization understand and
contribute to the security and preservation of the collections. If
preservation already benefits from the collaboration among preservation
experts, curators, bibliographers, faculty, and others, then why should
not security benefit from broad collaboration within the
organization?
Libraries must deal with the inherent conflict
between creating access for users and keeping their holdings secure, and
they must achieve a balance between trust and watchfulness.
When faced with a theft, how do you measure the loss,
and how do you set a value on the damage? How do you deal with the
perception that it is "just a few pages" when the missing maps or
illustrations are integral to the value of the book? When you first
acquire an item for a collection, do you know whether it will become a
valuable item? Perhaps the value is known to be high so it goes to a
rare books area, where it is shelved with thousands of other valuable
items. But the value of many items, such as collections of leaflets from
Tiananmen Square, political posters from Israel, and manuscripts and
correspondence from literary figures, can change dramatically over time.
The prices of rare books seem to rise dramatically, making it difficult
to set an economic value on a stolen item. Yet when a theft occurs, this
question must be faced, even though the greatest impact is beyond the
economic value.
The cultural value of these types of losses is
described in an article in the 1999 Gazette of the Grolier Club,
"The Cultural Value of Books: United States of America v. Daniel
Spiegelman, Defendant," by Judge Lewis A. Kaplan, relating to a
theft of manuscripts from Columbia University. [5]
In her introduction to the article, Jean Ashton notes
that courts frequently fail to recognize the impact of such thefts, and
that these are serious crimes having consequences that could extend well
beyond any monetary loss to the institution. She cites the 1998 opinion
of Judge Kaplan in the Columbia case, an opinion that begins, "Great
research libraries are repositories of our social, cultural, and
scientific heritage. Their rare books and manuscripts are vital to
understanding the world and often are irreplaceable objects of study for
scholars who add to our knowledge of ourselves and our environment.
In a section on the impact of the Columbia theft,
Kaplan goes on to say. "The theft of these items concededly caused
economic loss to their owner, Columbia University. But the theft had an
impact different in kind from a loss of money or other easily
replaceable property, for these materials have value to the Columbia
academic community and other scholars and, through them, to society at
large that cannot be measured in economic terms alone."
I encourage you to read this article. Ashton was
called upon at the hearing to elaborate on the value of an item, and she
said, "The auction or appraised value is a value that is put on it by
people who deal in the buying and selling of manuscripts, and that value
fluctuates according to what happens to be fashionable at the time . . .
scholarly value would be entirely separate."
When a loss occurs, setting the value of the missing
materials is difficult. At Columbia, "appraisers were unwilling to give
detailed appraisals because the materials were not there for them to
examine." We are dealing now with a similar situation at the
Harvard-Yenching Library. The setting of values in a theft like this
becomes almost theoretical. Who knows what someone might pay for some of
these rare items? Further, how do we determine the impact upon scholars
and their careers?
Historically, libraries and archives have often gone
to great lengths to keep silent about thefts, or to suppress information
for fear of causing concern to donors. Greater openness has its
benefits, however. Susan Allen in a recent article on library theft
states, "Law enforcement personnel know from experience that publicity
about a case will stop a thief from stealing further. The question is no
longer a question of whether to notify." [6]
It is now considered good practice to get the word out promptly because
it may benefit other institutions, prevent additional thefts from
occurring, and help one's own staff to deal with the loss. In some
instances, however, advice from law enforcement professionals may argue
to the contrary, where there may be reason to recommend maintaining
silence or confidentiality for a period of time to build a case.
Our job is to know well before an event occurs which
individuals must be involved in a response and what their respective
roles are to be. It should be clear who will handle communication with
the media, who is in charge of the investigation, and who needs to know
which level of detail about the incidentand then to have all those
people work together. By anticipating various scenarios in advance,
there will be less likelihood of inept handling of the media or of the
relationships with other parts of the institution, donors, or others. The
actions taken in the first few hours after you realize a theft has
occurred can be critical to the long-term impact on the institution.
There is a stigma attached to having been a victim of theft. Often, the
institution wants to avoid the negative publicity, but as many can
attest, it is better to be prepared for publicity and, if possible, use
it to your advantage.
How important is stewardship? To return to the
cultural value of these collections, we see that the Kaplan decision
states, "Spiegelman intentionally or knowingly risked inflicting, and
inflicted, substantial harm not only upon his immediate victims,
Columbia University and its professors and students, but also upon the
greater academic community and society as a whole. In callously
stealing, mutilating, and destroying rare and unique elements of our
common intellectual heritage, Spiegelman did not simply aim to
divest Columbia University of $1.3 million worth of physical property.
He risked stunting, and probably stunted, the growth of human knowledge
to the detriment of us all."
If a member of the judicial system and curators of
rare collections can so well describe the impact of such thefts, how can
we not raise our own efforts to a higher level? This calls for
leadership from within each institution and for greater attention within
the various professions that work in our libraries. There is much to
learn from the past, yet we also have new issues to face, particularly
in the digital environment, where there are growing concerns about
network security and protection of digital content.
Much work needs to take place within each
institution, framed according to its mission and responsive to its
constituencies. We must first make security and preservation strategic
priorities for our organizations so that managers and staff can carry
out their responsibilities accordingly.
If the collections are among the institution's most
valued assets, does the budget reflect appropriate levels of funding for
preservation and security? Do you have policies for dealing with staff
as well as with users whose behavior or actions are suspicious? Are you
prepared to act when faced with evidence of altered bibliographic or
order records? Do you have a plan for dealing with reports of theft or
mutilation? When thefts occur, is the first telephone call to the
police, or the university, or legal counsel, or the media? Will you
allow photographs or video of the crime scene? Are staff allowed to give
interviews? What do you do when a trusted book dealer calls with an
item that has raised suspicion? What do you do if someone offers to
recover your missing items for a "finder's fee?" What is your plan of
action when an employee loses a key to the building? What are you doing
to create solid working relationships with other institutional and law
enforcement offices prior to needing them in an emergency?
Are your collections marked for ownership? Is there a
record of those marks? Is there a catalog or other source through which
you can verify ownership? Do you have records of inventories? Do you
know where the rarest and most vulnerable materials are within your
collections? Do you have a plan for transferring items from the stacks
to locked areas when their value increases? When did you last assess
the facilities? Who is aware of their strengths and vulnerabilities in
the event of a disaster, including theft?
Well-trained, observant employees are key players.
They are often the first ones to notice patterns or unusual behavior. If
someone appears at an odd time claiming to be with "HVAC," elevator
repair, or fire safety, will employees know the forms of identification
to expect?
Yes, these are tedious detailsbut it is on the
smallest of details that the success of preservation and security
programs are built. It brings to mind the words of Benjamin Franklin,
writing in Poor Richard's Almanac in 1757: "A little neglect may
breed great mischief.., for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want
of a shoe the horse was lost; for want of a horse the rider was
lost."
These times call for bold leadership, new vision, and
strategic thinking. The stewardship of cultural resources may be the
epic challenge for the new millennium. We strive to have libraries,
museums, and other cultural institutions that are both inviting and
secure, that can foster access and use for education and research while
preventing theft and malicious damage to some of the world's most
valuable assets.
As stewards of the cultural past, we are answerable
to future generations.
Our actionsas well as our inactionform
the basis for others to judge how well we are succeeding at our posts.
As stewards of some of the most significant collections of accumulated
knowledge and culture in the world, we must improve the ways in which
our institutions manage risk.
We must provide the leadership that will make a
difference, leadership that will provide focus in the midst of great
cultural change. We must set high expectations and develop strong plans
for our own institutions and, at the same time, work to increase the
commitment to preservation and security among other cultural and
educational institutions, for none of us can succeed alone.
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