Cultural heritage is a universal good; it is not called the heritage of all humanity without reason. Nevertheless, as a product of the global organisation UNESCO, it is a brand, often embattled and associated with not inconsiderable monetary activity. And even if participation plays an increasingly important role in heritage management, the direct involvement of the immediate heirs is often only idealistic and less real. Traces of colonialism can still be found when it comes to preservation and development, but interpretation finds expression in the concrete approach, even if it is merely museumisation, which makes actual and above all natural, uninfluenced, unencumbered use difficult or even impossible. Here, digitisation offers possibilities to counter this dilemma in two ways. On the one hand, dealing with cultural heritage can be done completely virtually, not only non-invasively, but above all asynchronously and heterogeneously from completely different perspectives, thus also with completely different cultural premises. On the other hand, in a form that goes beyond the concrete and searches for possible motivations, intentions, aims of the creators, not only verbally as usual, but also visually. The focus on visuality quite literally opens up new perspectives, it allows for the targeted consideration of even individual aspects of cultural heritage, the universality of which only becomes visible in scientific representations such as those developed in the Digital Humanities, namely when other aspects are deliberately masked out. For such a form of focussing on the architectural structure, namely the spatial layout, the authors, in cooperation with the respective cultural and scientific institutions, have developed the method of the visualisation of uncertainty. In this, instead of buildings, the spatial architectural design idea is shown with a clarity that gives architecture a universality that neither the surviving fragments nor a speculative life-like representation could ever achieve. In this way, ethnic distortions or folkloristic misinterpretations are being avoided. An undistorted view of architecture enables marginalised groups in particular to highlight the qualities of their cultural heritage. Examples are the royal city of Naga in Sudan, the metropolis of Ctesiphon in Iraq, the metropolis of Pergamon in Turkey and, in comparison, the imperial palaces on the Palatine in Rome as well as the German former Roman metropolis of Cologne around the building history of Cologne Cathedral. The paper will use these examples to illustrate how abstraction can bring architecture of different cultural contexts into a state of architectural comparability. The projects shown were created in collaboration with the institutions responsible for their preservation or their research and were exhibited partially as permanent installations in Cologne Cathedral, the Pergamon Museum in Berlin and the Egyptian Museum in Munich, among others.

(Please note that there should be a strikethrough the character "r" in every instance of the word "Whrite," including in the title of this abstract.)

In this paper, I argue that we—digital humanities (DH) scholars, practitioners, educators, and especially those of us in dominant groups—must engage in symbolic projects to rename information and communication technologies (ICTs) in ways that announce their racial politics. Language describing ICTs deployed by Big Tech, turning on reductive and misleading metaphors, often enacts real harm on minoritized individuals. By way of renaming, we can recast ICTs in terms of what they do to individuals as opposed to what Big Tech maintains they do for individuals.

My specific intervention is to rename Google’s word-prediction AI, called Smart Compose, as “Whrite.” While it alludes to the AI’s function—writing— Whrite also draws attention to the identities the AI privileges. I make this argument based on a counterdata project I carried out with Whrite in my doctoral work. Counterdata projects challenge assumptions that data collection and datasets are generally complete (D’Ignazio & Klein, 2020). Rather, they acknowledge that data collection is often done by dominant groups for dominant groups (D’Ignazio & Klein, 2020). As such, they “cal[l] out missing datasets… and advocat[e] for filling them” (D’Ignazio & Klein, 2020, p. 34). My counterdata project consisted of transcribing more than 30,000 words from five texts into Google applications, meticulously documenting where and how Whrite intervened. The results of this work corroborate claims Rashmi Dyal-Chand (2021) has made about autocorrect and Halcyon Lawrence (2021) has made about Siri: language technologies make implicit suggestions about the communities for whom language technology is designed, and to whom language belongs.

As such, symbolically renaming ICTs serves as one important step toward an anticolonial technology praxis. When we—members of dominant groups for whom technology is best designed—continue to work, without resistance, with ICTs as they are marketed and deployed, we become complicit in and tacitly accept their politics. I argue that DH community members belonging to dominant groups with a stated interest in social justice have a responsibility to intervene in normative narratives surrounding ICTs. Symbolic renaming is one way to carry out this intervention.

References

D’Ignazio, C. & Klein, L. (2020). Data feminism. MIT Press.

Dyal-Chand, R. (2021). Autocorrecting for whiteness. Boston University Law Review, 101(1), 191-286.

Lawrence, H. (2021). Siri disciplines. In T.S. Mullaney, B. Peters, M. Hicks, & K. Philip (Eds.), Your computer is on fire. MIT Press.

The isolation and distance created during the COVID-19 pandemic have increased the use of distance learning services worldwide. According to UNESCO (2020), the education system found over 1.5 billion children and nearly 60.2 million teachers out of their classrooms globally. Despite the initial struggle, institutions adopted remote learning services to continue educating students. Post-pandemic, these services remain highly important, particularly in remote communities that lack education resources and funding. This paper documents the design of a culturally appropriate distance learning platform for students from the Tlicho region of the Northwest Territories.

Existing literature on distance learning, design, Tlicho and Indigenous research practices provided background research. In addition, three case studies were conducted on current distance learning services in remote communities as examples of practical adaptations. Furthermore, I identified gaps in knowledge and a lack of a specific design problem. For instance, I did not precisely know the community's technological conditions, target audience or subjects they wanted to be taught. Lastly, the visual design of the platform required inputs and insights to create a suitable design language that connects with the community.

The solution to these gaps required the involvement of Tlicho citizens in the design process. A human-centred design (HCD) approach was adopted since it prioritizes human needs, capabilities and behaviours and then creates designs to accommodate those factors. HCD uniquely avoids narrowing the pain points for as long as possible but instead iterates upon repeated approximations. This design process involves rapid testing of ideas and building upon the feedback of each test to constantly modify and improve a solution (Norman, 2013, p.8-9).

I conducted three user testing sessions for 90 minutes each (distance learning model, medium fidelity mockups and high fidelity prototypes) with four participants from the Tlicho Government. Various design alternatives were shared with the participants, and they offered their insights and selected their preferred approach. As a result, problems were discovered and narrowed through repeated trials, producing a distance learning service that genuinely meets the needs of the people. The research showcases the design and development of 50 interfaces of a Distance Learning platform, Hoghadeeto (learn in Dogrib). The website was built with the support of personas, scenarios, wireframes, sitemaps and low/medium and high fidelity prototypes tested at every stage by Tlicho Government representatives.

I was aware of the hesitancy and stress that comes with studying online for people who are not comfortable working in a digital environment. However, from my first experience speaking with the participants, they were deeply enthusiastic about creating a Distance learning platform as a means to preserve Indigenous knowledge for future generations. This study documents the insights offered throughout the research, such as; the importance of sustainability, accessibility and visual storytelling through symbolism. Lastly, this research discusses the importance of establishing trust with the community through active listening and flexibility in the design process.

References

Norman, D. A. (2013). The design of everyday things. MIT Press.

Education: From disruption to recovery. (2020, March 4). UNESCO. https://en.unesco.org/covid19/educationresponseˆ