Ewing's call to extend "historical reverence" to family collections directly challenges the appraisal standards that have long governed what enters formal repositories — standards that were shaped by institutions built around documenting the powerful, the literate, and the legally recognized, categories that have historically excluded Black women by design. The physical act she describes, touching her grandmother's collections, mirrors archival processing in its most essential form: handling materials, assessing their fragility, and reckoning with what survives and what has already been lost to neglect or displacement. Her fear of "losing what I never knew I had" speaks precisely to the archival problem of unprocessed and undescribed collections — you cannot retrieve what was never catalogued, and communities cannot advocate for preservation of materials whose existence institutions never acknowledged. The term "fugitive archives" is particularly significant from a professional standpoint, as it names the vast shadow archive of objects, photographs, letters, and ephemera that circulate outside institutional custody, vulnerable to dispersal at every estate sale, eviction, or death without a will. Ewing's framing is ultimately a provocation to the profession: if archivists continue to define value by what has already been formally collected, they will keep reproducing the same exclusions, and entire histories will be lost not to time but to institutional indifference.

While I don't fully agree with the critique that institutional repositories are focusing mainly on preserving simple, text-based digital works rather than engaging with the full complexity of digital scholarship, I agree with the argument that that supporting true digital scholarship requires long-term commitment, institutional risk, and new preservation models. The rhetorical question at the end also highlights uncertainty about whether these efforts will succeed, rightfully suggestive of that scholars themselves will ultimately determine the value of these initiatives.

When I think about this passage alongside the rise of artificial intelligence (AI), Cook’s emphasis on context feels even more urgent. Terry Cook argues that records are shaped by the functional and structural environments in which they are created. In an AI-driven world, where systems generate, sort, and analyze massive volumes of data automatically, understanding that broader context becomes essential. AI can process content at scale, but without contextual grounding, it risks misinterpreting records or reinforcing surface-level patterns. I see AI as both an opportunity and a challenge for appraisal theory. On one hand, AI tools can help identify patterns across enormous bureaucratic systems, making macro-level analysis more feasible. They can cluster records, detect trends, and even suggest appraisal priorities. This could strengthen Cook’s top-down approach by giving archivists analytical support in mapping institutional functions. On the other hand, AI systems are trained on existing data, which may already reflect institutional biases and power imbalances. If archivists rely too heavily on AI-driven selection, we risk automating those biases. Cook stresses that archivists must actively and consciously shape the archival record. AI does not remove that responsibility—it arguably heightens it. I cannot simply defer judgment to an algorithm.

When I think about Terry Cook’s macro-appraisal approach, I appreciate how it forces me to step back and look at the bigger picture. Instead of just asking which individual records might be useful someday, I have to consider which institutions, functions, and power structures actually shape society. I like that this approach acknowledges that archives are not neutral and that archivists play an active role in shaping collective memory. It feels more honest and socially aware. At the same time, I find Cook’s model demanding. It requires deep knowledge of organizations and social systems, which can be time-consuming and complex. I also worry about the level of subjectivity involved. If I am deciding which societal functions matter most, my own biases could influence what gets preserved. That level of responsibility is powerful, but also risky.