Anna Allbritton, UCA Archives’ Summer 2025 Intern, rehouses material from Silas D. Snow’s presidency.
This summer, I had the ultimately reflective opportunity to intern in the University of Central Arkansas Archives, working closely with unprocessed materials from the presidency of Silas D. Snow. As I carefully opened each archival box, I expected to find straightforward administrative records about Snow’s presidency. Instead, what I discovered was much more complex–a story
told as much through silence and absence as through words and documents.
Some folders were filled to the brim with official reports, correspondence, and detailed minutes from campus meetings. But others, especially those that might have shed light on student life or dissent, were not nearly as robust. This contrast was striking and forced me to confront a hard
truth about archives: they do more than preserve history–they shape it. The stories that survive often reflect power, while others fade into obscurity. Working through the collection, I found myself making decisions that felt weighty–deciding how to title folders, which documents to group together, and how to describe materials for future
researchers. These choices are not neutral. Each label or organizational decision subtly guides how history is accessed and interpreted. It was humbling to realize that even the seemingly small steps in archival processing carry profound consequences for the stories we tell about the
past.
Processing Snow’s records brought me closer not only to the man–but to the practice of history itself. At times, the job felt like detective work–piecing together clues, reconstructing timelines, interpreting intent. But more often, it felt like storytelling. And the story was, dauntingly, mine to
shape.
In many ways, I noticed a parallel between Snow’s work as president and my own as student archivist. Both of us operated largely behind the scenes, shaping narratives in ways that go mostly unseen. Snow worked to project order and stability during decades of rapid change, while I organized the traces of his labor, creating a narrative that appears seamless only because of the effort behind it.
We both made deliberate, though often invisible, choices about what to highlight and what to leave in the background. His presidency and my archival work were acts of framing–arranging and interpreting complexity into something understandable. Beneath the calm surface lies much
unseen effort.
There’s something deeply human in this parallel. Most historical records don’t shout–they whisper. It takes quiet labor to hear them clearly.
Through this hands-on work, I gained a new appreciation for Silas Snow’s leadership and the campus climate during his time. Yet, I was also keenly aware of what the records left out–the silences of student voices, protests, and moments of unrest. These gaps are not mistakes but reflections of institutional power dynamics influencing which stories get preserved.
Beyond organizing papers, my internship culminated in creating a digital exhibit aimed at highlighting these tensions. The project challenged me intellectually and emotionally–prompting me to actively interpret and present not only what is there, but also what is missing in the
archival record.
I encourage you to explore archival collections with a critical eye–noticing not just what stories are told but also what’s absent. Think about the choices archivists make and how those choices shape our understanding of history. If you’re interested, you can visit Archiving Snow: The Making of History to see how these silences and stories come to life. Archives are not simply about preserving the past; they’re about engaging with power, memory, and the ongoing work of uncovering history.
I’m grateful for this experience, which has deepened my understanding of archival work as an active, ongoing conversation with history–not a neutral or finished product. I hope this exhibit invites others to see archives as dynamic sites of discovery and reflection.
Author: Anna Allbritton, Intern, UCA Archives