Conclusion

Whatever you’re doing, it is not neutral. It is either challenging what’s going on or normalizing it.

—Jessica Price (http://bkaprt.com/eia/07-01/)

I wish we could forget Walter Plecker, but, unfortunately, we can’t forget the impact of his choices. Among the many dehumanizing outcomes of changing Virginia’s racial categories was this: he obliterated the documented identities of thousands of indigenous people. Wiped from government records, they lost the ability to prove who they were—for generations.

Chief William P. Miles of the Pamunkey tribe later described it as “statistical genocide” (http://bkaprt.com/eia/07-02/, PDF). It wasn’t until 2018 that Congress passed a law reinstating and recognizing the identities of the first peoples of Virginia (http://bkaprt.com/eia/07-03/).

Let me say that again: Walter Plecker changed a label in 1924, and nearly one hundred years later we needed a federal law to begin repairing the damage.

Information isn’t neutral; neither are the choices we make about how to present it, structure it, write it, juxtapose it, or classify it. Every design decision makes an impact; it’s just a question of whether we can stand up and own that impact.

That’s tough to do if structures like sitemaps and section labels are treated as a matter of course—elements of our work that just happen en route to more exciting decisions about art direction or functionality. But information architecture can help us bring more care to our decisions. We can, and should, be deliberate about choices that help people—real people—find, understand, and use information in the world.

The way we organize web content might help someone get a job, pay their bills, write their representatives, connect with a loved one. It might make them feel seen—or feel silenced. It’s up to us.

When we organize information, we change it. Let’s change it for the better.