Chapter 4 Value(s)

Measuring impact and value

As neatly summarised by Azzopardi and colleagues, ‘Value is a foundational idea in the heritage sector, where heritage values are understood in two different ways: the value of heritage objects and the values held for heritage objects. In both, heritage values are contextual values’ (Azzopardi et al. 2023, 371). Notions of value can be extremely broad – ‘For UNESCO anything considered important enough to be passed on to the future can be considered to have heritage value of some kind’ (Cameron 2021, 61) – or highly constrained, for example by the remit of a particular memory institution or the interests of a particular community or group. As Beel and Wallace acknowledge, ‘ “Cultural value” as a concept is both intuitively understandable but at the same time empirically difficult to tie down’ (Beel and Wallace 2020, 3). It can be contingent on locality, chronology, form, community and/or a range of other explicit or tacit assumptions and understandings. For Rizzo and Mignosa, ‘cultural heritage is a complex and elusive concept, changing constantly through time, combining cultural, aesthetic, symbolic, spiritual, historical and economic values’ (Rizzo and Mignosa 2013, xxiv).

This lack of certainty about what constitutes value is perhaps even more marked in relation to digital cultural heritage. This is a new form of cultural output, even though it exists within established narratives about cultural value and the systems that help to ascribe such value(s). One factor that influences how we respond to digital objects and data as cultural heritage is our awareness of risk, not just to highly specialised forms of digital cultural heritage but to any form of digital output. This will be discussed in more detail in Chapter 5, but as Fiona Cameron identifies, ‘Digital data is … the new cultural heritage of life, one that is increasingly threatened and therefore valued’ (Cameron 2021, 3). It is vulnerability rather than scarcity or rarity that is deemed relevant here.

Some digital cultural heritage is, of course, characterised by rarity or uniqueness. Much of the born-digital art and culture preserved by Rhizome, for example, falls into this category.¹ Its NetArt Anthology presents 100 ‘exemplary works’, a term that highlights preservation while also indicating wider cultural loss, from the 1980s to the 2010s. The uniqueness of the artworks is drawn out in descriptions of the complex process of remediation involved in preserving and presenting each of them. Eduardo Kac’s Reabracadabra (1985) is just one such example:

The data for the characters that made up ‘Reabracadabra’ were saved on an 8-inch floppy disk, but Kac lacked access to the proprietary Minitel editing platform necessary to run it. When the videotexto signal went dark in the mid-1990s, the work became entirely inaccessible … The work has now been reconstructed by the artist with the assistance of the PAMAL research unit at l’Ecole Supérieure d’Art d’Avignon – using a legacy machine and mimicking dial-up download speeds – but the network it was a part of is no more. (Rhizome n.d.)

Digital cultural heritage, however, is more often marked by scale, and indeed duplication. Web archives, for example, are characterised by high levels of duplication: writing about the Portuguese Web Archive in 2006, Gomes and colleagues noted that ‘over 25% of the documents kept in the archive were exact duplicates’ (819). Sophisticated deduplication strategies have since been developed, but as Pennock (2013) acknowledges, ‘There are cases where de-duplication is not desirable as it conflicts with the preservation intent and business case of the collecting institution’ (14). There is no one model of preservation that works in all circumstances and contexts.

There have been numerous attempts to quantify and measure the value of more traditional forms of cultural heritage (see, for example, Klamer 2013; Rizzo and Mignosa 2013; Wright and Eppink 2016), and that work is continuing in the digital sphere. Reflecting on the concept of value, both as a social and economic variable, in the digital cultural heritage sector, Lorna Hughes, in her edited volume Evaluating and Measuring the Value, Use and Impact of Digital Collections, suggests that ‘Digital collections are valuable to different audiences for different reasons. Value is subjective, changes over time, and has different meanings that are contingent on external factors’ (Hughes 2012, 5). Indeed, conceptualising and measuring the value of digital cultural heritage, using both quantitative and qualitative metrics, is an ongoing challenge.

Partly as a means to incentivise the adoption of digital work in cultural heritage institutions and attract corresponding funding, since the mid-2000s there has been a growing focus on assessing and showcasing the value that can accrue from digital cultural heritage in order to demonstrate the return-on-investment from its creation. Early in her book Digitizing Collections: Strategic Issues for the Information Manager, Hughes addresses the factors that make digital cultural heritage collections ‘valuable’ to different communities, focusing on access, supporting preservation, collections development and institutional and strategic benefit. On the other hand, she also highlights the impact of digital collections on institutions’ planning, including the need for new business models to support the development and maintenance of digital collections, the institutional costs and benefits of digital collections and the intellectual implications of changes to the way data is used and managed and of new forms of scholarship (Hughes 2004).

In 2012, Simon Tanner developed the ‘Balanced Value Impact Model’ (BVIM), a systematic way to measure and elucidate the impact of GLAM digital resources and collections more accurately, by revealing at the highest level benefits such as ‘learning; research; consumption; strengthening communities; building collaboration and the British university brand’ (Tanner 2012, 21). This model and its principles have been widely used across the cultural heritage sector and especially in the development of the Europeana Impact Playbook (2017), which aimed to support cultural heritage organisations and professionals in assessing the impact and value of their digital cultural heritage activities. The Impact Playbook made the important case for assessing the impact of institutions’ digital cultural heritage practices by measuring changes in stakeholders and audiences. It foregrounded the concept of the ‘ripple effect’ to assess these flexible and ongoing processes, which usually take place over a long period of time: ‘each change creates the conditions for another change that leads to another change and another, and so on’ (Europeana Impact Playbook 2017, Introduction: What is Impact?). A practical way to assess impact is through the implementation of ‘value lenses’, originally proposed by Tanner in his BVIM to describe the ‘types of value that are most commonly connected with the experience of interacting with digital cultural heritage’ (Europeana Impact Playbook 2017).² The five value lenses approach, comprising the utility lens, the existence lens, the legacy lens, the learning lens and the community lens, was one of the first attempts to systematise and discuss the different kinds of value digital resources can have, but it was not widely adopted in the cultural heritage sector.

More recently, a Europeana report on ‘Measuring the instances and value of digital cultural heritage reuse’ introduced the concept of ‘reuse indicators’ to understand and assess instances of the reuse of digital heritage content and the (potential) value that this creates (Vasileva and McNeilly 2024). This report, with its introduction of the concept of ‘reuse’ as a value indicator, was published after more than a decade of initiatives such as OpenGLAM and the Collections-as-Data movement, and indeed Europeana itself, advocating for and promoting open access, open licensing and the computational reuse of digital cultural heritage data. The Europeana report makes two important comments around reuse indicators. First, while the general impact and reuse indicators tracked by cultural heritage institutions are often ‘simple’, quantifiable, useful for reporting metrics and focus on, for example, downloads, visits (logs), social media metrics or mentions in academic publications, they alone do not provide sufficiently rich information and bear no relation to the quality of the engagement and accrued value. Capturing reuse cases, both manually and, more recently, through automated (AI) tools, is crucial to gain greater insight into the value generated through the reuse of digital cultural heritage content. An additional way in which to improve processes for capturing the reuse of GLAM data is the documentation of GLAM datasets as research outputs via datasheets (Alkemade et al. 2023) and assigning them PIDs, such as DOIs, so that their reuse can be machine traceable. On the other hand, reuse audiences, the ‘who’ when considering reuse, and reuse scenarios for these audiences are often not well articulated or studied. The type of reuse – its purpose and context – differs across communities or industries: cultural heritage professionals, educators, researchers, cultural enthusiasts and the wider public, as well as comparatively new or lesser-known target audiences such as the gaming and tourism sectors, the media and the creative industries. As Vasileva and McNeilly argue in their Europeana report, ‘quantitative research is used effectively in the analysis of user segmentation that can help to better understand the purposes of data reuse, but not (yet) its value. There are thus opportunities to build more meaningful metrics for reuse in different industries and according to different user profiles’ (Vasileva and McNeilly 2024, 16).

Uzelac and Higgins (2025) have surveyed a range of work concerned with assessing the impact of cultural initiatives in the EU, exploring how data can be used to demonstrate impact and hence value. Their conclusion, that ‘despite decades of continuous investment in the development of digital cultural resources within an ever-evolving digital landscape, there is still no clear consensus on how to assess the impact of digital heritage resources and projects’, emphasises just how challenging work in this field can be. They identify failure to translate theoretical frameworks for impact assessment into practice as one of the key barriers to demonstrating value of many different kinds (12), a common thread in the initiatives mentioned previously. They conclude by highlighting the need for significant further research, which ‘should prioritize critical case studies that incorporate qualitative and quantitative data, comparative studies across different types of LAM [Libraries, Archives and Museums] institutions and longitudinal studies to identify trends’ (13).

Language also matters when assessing the impact and value of digital cultural heritage collections. In her study on the impact of digitised special library collections in the UK, Christina Kamposiori argues that the language deployed in the impact definitions used by funders and institutions (especially university libraries), with its strong focus on research and the Research Excellence Framework (REF) criteria, ‘cannot always communicate the value and positive effect of the audience-focused strategies and activities led by libraries’ (Kamposiori 2020, 12). Indeed, GLAMs often use terms such as ‘engagement’ to refer to the impact and value of their digital or born-digital collections for their target and wider audiences and there is a strong and diverse body of research around capturing and enhancing user engagement with digital and born-digital cultural heritage collections (Bailey-Ross et al. 2017; Agosti, Orio and Ponchia 2018; Speakman, Hall and Walsh 2018).

While the reuse, impact and value of GLAM collections in advancing research and scholarship have been actively advocated for and assessed over the last decade, it is only very recently that the community has started to explore the commercial and non-commercial reuse of openly licensed digital cultural heritage data as a source of economic value (Valeonti, Terras and Hudson-Smith 2020). Moreover, a recent study from The Creative Informatics Programme at the University of Edinburgh showcased how mass-digitised cultural heritage content, underpinned by new data-driven services, produces and reconfigures value and economic growth within the creative industries, proposing ‘a framework for value creation, centralising GLAM data in value as co-created and value as the co-creation of meaning’ (Terras et al. 2021, 5). While such a reframing of digital cultural heritage content as a resource for economic growth within the creative industries could open a new chapter for the GLAM sector, especially at a time of growing economic crisis and constant shrinking of investment, it also requires an acceptance that

institutions will no longer be able to control value within data economies. The value of datasets are not predetermined, in a linear value chain, but open to co-creation by others in a value constellation … beyond the institutional context. In doing so, it is important to acknowledge the tensions that exist between innovative research and development, community participation and commercial imperatives, particularly in the cultural heritage space. (Terras et al. 2021, 10)

Speaking of the economic value of digital cultural heritage, it is well known that the development and maintenance of digital and born-digital cultural heritage content are costly and labour-intensive processes. What was not available, though, at least back in 2012, was a ‘definitive evidence base that could provide concrete numbers about the economic value of digital collections’ (Hughes 2012, 7). Almost a decade later, in 2024, a report was commissioned by the Towards a National Collection programme to estimate the Total Economic Value of a future unified digital collection of cultural heritage assets in the UK. Through a contingent valuation study, the report concluded that a Total Economic Value for the service would be £425.5 million, a figure derived from the general population survey results of an average willingness to pay (in terms of an increase in annual taxes) £8.02 per person to support the development, maintenance and free accessibility of a unified digital collection of cultural heritage assets for the UK (Alma Economics 2024, 15). How extensible this methodology is to other national, regional and international contexts remains to be seen.

The evidence gap is gradually being filled, but the landscape in which the value of digital cultural heritage is determined continues to shift. The rise of new technologies – specifically the recent developments in Generative AI – brings both opportunities and challenges in the cultural heritage space, particularly, as mentioned earlier, when it comes to openness and the ethical use of Generative AI. AI transforms how we can work on and with cultural heritage data and enables new forms of computational exploration and analysis. It can also contribute to the shaping of the social and economic value of cultural heritage institutions as trusted sources of data for computational exploration, analysis and synthesis. For example, AI presents an opportunity to enhance and curate digital cultural heritage collections in libraries by facilitating seamless exploration, analysis and interconnection for the research community and the general public (Colavizza et al. 2021; Jaillant 2022; Neudecker 2022). However, AI applications, particularly Generative AI systems predominantly controlled by large commercial entities, present significant ethical and legal challenges that we are only just starting to grapple with. The black-box nature of Generative AI systems exacerbates transparency issues, particularly regarding the sources and copyright status of their training data, while reliance on elite datasets risks excluding marginalised groups and perspectives, reproducing knowledge hierarchies and amplifying inherent biases in the datasets. Important community-based initiatives and communities of practice in the digital cultural heritage field, like Collections-as-Data, AI4LAM³ and BigLAM,⁴ have been actively trying to address current and emerging challenges, while highlighting the heritage community’s values of responsibility and care towards the adoption of AI.

Finally, digital cultural heritage is increasingly included in wider discussions of and investigations into the value of heritage and culture broadly defined, but its separateness and difference remain acknowledged. In October 2022, for example, the AHRC and the UK’s Department for Digital, Culture, Media and Sport launched a funding opportunity to explore ‘Research culture and heritage capital with an interdisciplinary team’. The aim of the programme was to ‘help develop a robust and holistic approach for capturing and articulating the value of cultural heritage’.⁵ Digital cultural heritage was explicitly acknowledged, but in a separate strand focused on the ‘valuation of digital assets’. The guidance for applicants noted that there are further differences between the digitised and the born digital. The concern here is with monetising the value of digital cultural heritage to the public, but the gaps in evidence identified also pertain to other forms of value. Six projects were ultimately funded, of which one was duly focused on digital cultural heritage.⁶ ‘Valuing digital cultural heritage and assets’, led by the University of Portsmouth, aimed to ‘apply techniques from behavioural economics to assess the economic and cultural value of digital culture and heritage assets’.⁷ It encompassed both the digitised and the born-digital and was concerned with combining qualitative and quantitative data to inform cultural heritage valuation.

Values and ethical challenges

Conceptualising digital cultural heritage as a set of dynamic cultural and social practices and processes around remembering as well as understanding and engaging with the present, rather than a static entity defined solely by its economic or social value, reveals the intricate web of meanings and values inherited by the stakeholders and communities involved. Indeed, processes such as data selection, documentation, representation, interpretation, data visualisation, management and governance, as well as digital tools, innovative technologies, platforms, classification systems and standards used in any aspect and type of digital cultural heritage, are not just abstract concepts or simple checkboxes in a project proposal or a management board; they are amalgams of reflective, insightful, context-specific, dynamic and collaborative decisions and practices and carry a multitude of assumptions, implicit (or explicit) biases, complex dilemmas and, ultimately, deliberate choices. Furthermore, none of these processes and choices will have been adopted or made in a historical, cultural or institutional vacuum. What is digitised, and why? Who is represented in cultural heritage data? Who is missing or not included? What system or standard is being used? Who has made these choices? Of course, these questions are not new, but with digital technologies, and more recently the emergence of large, varied and complex digital datasets as well as advanced, public-facing computational systems and methods, these ethical challenges are even more amplified and pressing (Foka and Griffin 2024).

One way of engaging with ethical challenges and biases in digital cultural heritage collections is through acknowledging them and making them visible and present, instead of attempting to mitigate or eliminate them. Recent scholarship has focused on exploring and highlighting the existence of biased data in digital cultural heritage collections and the reasons behind it (Sever 2020; Kizhner et al. 2021; Ortolja-Baird and Nyhan 2022). Ethical risks are higher for disputed cultural heritage, particularly when its meanings, narratives and values are challenged, or in cases of communities who are historically and continuingly marginalised or, finally, when access to and the enjoyment and benefits of heritage are at risk. Many digital cultural heritage projects and initiatives have attempted to address historical inaccuracies, omissions or biases affecting various communities, including the adoption of the CARE principles (Carroll et al. 2020), as previously discussed. One such example is The Real Face of White Australia, originally called Invisible Australians,⁸ a project that aimed to showcase diversity in early twentieth-century Australia by exploring government records that document the life of Indigenous Australians and non-Europeans in the country, thereby giving digital visibility to their lives and stories. The Museum of British Colonialism, with founding members in Kenya and the UK, has the stated aim of ‘exploring suppressed histories’ and altering ‘the narrative around British colonialism and its legacies’.⁹

Powerful projects and initiatives are increasingly animated by communities to manage their own digital cultural heritage. An important early example is that of the Mukurtu content management system (CMS), ‘a grassroots project aiming to empower communities to manage, share, narrate, and exchange their digital heritage in culturally relevant and ethically-minded ways’.¹⁰ It originated as a collaboration between members of the Warumungu community and researchers at Washington State University to produce a Mukurtu Wumpurrarni-kari Archive. It subsequently developed into an open CMS that allows Indigenous communities to control access to their digital heritage according to cultural protocols. The CMS is structured to allow for the creation and sharing (or not) of multiple narratives associated with digital heritage items, so that communities ‘can tell your stories and your history, your way’.¹¹ It has been used by projects such as the Polynesian Photo Archives¹² at the Feleti Barstow Public Library in American Samoa and Gather,¹³ a project that seeks to connect Aboriginal communities with the collections that belong to them but are held in the State Library of New South Wales. As Roopika Risam notes, ‘The idea that information wants to be free has been an influential one … Yet, this approach to knowledge is grounded in epistemologies of the Global North’. Mukurtu, by contrast, ‘embeds Indigenous epistemology into its design’ (Risam 2018, 83).

Digital cultural heritage exists within a modern technological landscape marked by significant disparities in access and resources. So, although digital technologies have made access to cultural heritage, data acquisition and reuse potentially quicker and easier, this is not the case for all regions and communities (Kizhner et al. 2021). When source communities are, technologically or geographically, remote from the processes of selecting, presenting and interpreting their own heritage in the digital sphere, there is a risk that the outcomes will reflect the priorities and perspectives of external researchers, practitioners and institutions rather than those of the communities whose heritage is being digitised.

Unlike earlier digital projects concerned with the cultural heritage of the Global South, which often remained within the bounds of academic discourse and employed generalised ethical framings, a number of recent initiatives have taken a more situated and interventionist approach. These efforts not only highlight structural tensions – particularly in the Global South and among non-privileged communities – but also adopt more nuanced, diverse and context-specific frameworks of analysis. Crucially, they seek to move beyond critique towards actionable change, engaging funders and stakeholders in more socially responsive, impact-driven work that bridges research with real-world intervention.

Complementing and extending the work of the Oxford University Heritage Network (OUHN),¹⁴ the Endangered Cultural Heritage in the Global South Hub (ECHGS)¹⁵ provides a vital platform for research into the complex challenges facing cultural heritage in Official Development Assistance (ODA)-eligible countries, particularly in the Middle East and Africa. The Hub places a strong emphasis on the social science dimensions of heritage, critically engaging with the intersections of theory, politics, ethics and technology. It currently facilitates interdisciplinary research on how cultural heritage is created, identified, valued and protected by local populations, experts, international agencies and academics, as well as how it is threatened by conflict, climate change, development and tourism. These concerns are deeply intertwined with longstanding relationships between the Global North and South, making cultural heritage central to current debates around national and international ODA programmes. Recent activities include an international conference in Oxford (July 2025) and planned workshops, all aimed at strengthening networks among Global South and international heritage professionals to foster collaboration, influence policy and empower local communities. ECHGS also provides essential infrastructure to support research and capacity-building in these contexts, serving as a platform for multi-disciplinary collaboration. It acts as a key point of engagement with external stakeholders in both the UK and the Global South, including NGOs, the media, government departments, policymakers, funders and heritage communities (Rouhani 2025).

In a similar vein, a recent British Council report, developed through its long-standing Cultural Protection Fund (CPF) partnership with the UK’s Department for Culture, Media and Sport, offers valuable insights into safeguarding cultural heritage at risk from conflict and climate change. The CPF supports efforts that not only protect heritage but also contribute to sustainable social stability and economic prosperity. Taking the CPF as its foundation, the report draws on the experiences of twenty-five cultural heritage practitioners from Egypt, Ethiopia, Iraq and Kenya. Developed in close collaboration with the CPF community, it reflects both global and local perspectives, with the situated knowledge and innovative practices of contributors playing a central role in shaping its findings. Through its exploration of emerging technologies, cutting-edge case studies and practical recommendations across the digital cultural heritage pipeline, the report aims to support practitioners and funders in embedding technology in ways that are sustainable, inclusive and community led. Crucially, it also provides a foundation for the British Council and other funding bodies to design future programmes grounded in the lived realities and needs of the communities it seeks to serve (McKenna et al. 2025).

Community and professional values

Over the past three decades, the rise of community archives, accompanied by ‘community’ and ‘participatory’ turns in archival and memory practices, has opened up a new era for digital cultural heritage. Community archives can give space to previously excluded voices, allowing people to take control of their own histories and share their experiences and memories, developing shared interpretation and understanding (Popple, Prescott and Mutibwa 2020). Digital ecosystems and platforms have become an integral part of these community-driven heritage practices as people from marginalised groups and underrepresented communities, including LGBTQ+ communities, feminist networks, diasporic and Black communities, started to take ownership of their heritage and create their own digital archives, sometimes in collaboration with archivists, heritage professionals and academic researchers, in order to tell their stories and to ensure that the historical record is more representative, inclusive and diverse (Webb 2018; Giglitto et al. 2024). Such frameworks of co-creation and participatory practice in digital cultural heritage are leading to new modes of collaboration, interpretation and engagement around heritage and culture, as well as to a shared understanding of the ownership of and responsibility towards the sustainability and preservation of these vital collections, ensuring the enduring value of the communities and their contributions. An early and highly influential intervention was the set of resources developed by Documenting the Now, in response to the increasing use of social media to record and respond to historical events. Over time, it has developed ‘open-source tools and community-centered practices that support the ethical collection, use, and preservation of publicly available content shared on web and social media’.¹⁶ It works particularly closely with activist groups in the US, helping them to take control of their own archives and determine how and by whom they will be used. Many other initiatives have since focused on this area, for example the ‘Community Archives Digital Preservation Toolkit’ (Digital Preservation Coalition 2024), which is a key output from the Towards a National Collection ‘Our Heritage, Our Stories’ project.

Ultimately, reflection on values and ethics in digital cultural heritage helps us to explore and evolve how all stakeholders – including cultural heritage practitioners, researchers and data scientists – can be critically active and self-conscious in their professional practices on a daily basis. This ‘ethics as practice’ perspective (Rutherford et al. 2024) emphasises enduring values such as respect, trust, empathy and responsibility towards both human and non-human actors, underscoring a commitment to other communities, as well as to the environment. Digital cultural heritage is created and consumed within complex interdisciplinary networks of human production and collaboration, encompassing different forms of knowledge and different kinds of contribution from various stakeholders and professionals. Consequently, it is essential to explore new modes and forms of recognition, evaluation and credit attribution across the field, challenges and practices that have already been widely explored and addressed in digital scholarship and digital humanities (Nowviskie 2012; Graban et al. 2019) through initiatives such as the Contributor Role Taxonomy (CRediT).¹⁷ Following Smith’s claim for heritage, digital cultural heritage offers a platform ‘through which people can negotiate identity and values and meanings that underlie that, but through which they challenge and attempt to redefine their position or “place” in the world around them’ (Smith 2006, 7). It is important to emphasise (re)negotiation and redefinition here, as the values associated with digital cultural heritage are and should not be static or determined by single groups or cultures. Perhaps, however, we can aim for a set of core values for digital cultural heritage that can help ‘to tackle the challenges of sustainability, accountability and inclusiveness that are central to [its] long-term societal and cultural worth’ (Schafer and Winters 2021, 129), while remaining responsive and adaptable.

Notes

1.   Rhizome, described as ‘the home of born-digital art and culture since 1996’ is affiliated to the New Museum of Contemporary Art in New York, https://rhizome.org/ [accessed 26 September 2024].

2.   Europeana Value Lenses, https://europeana.atlassian.net/wiki/spaces/CB/pages/2261712897/Value+Lenses [accessed 30 January 2025].

3.   AI4LAM, https://sites.google.com/view/ai4lam [accessed 30 January 2025].

4.   BigLAM: BigScience Libraries, Archives and Museums, https://huggingface.co/biglam [accessed 30 January 2025].

5.   ‘Research Culture and Heritage Capital with an Interdisciplinary Team’, https://www.ukri.org/opportunity/research-culture-and-heritage-capital-with-an-interdisciplinary-team/ [accessed 30 January 2025].

6.   ‘AHRC/DCMS Culture and Heritage Capital Research Call – Bid Recipients’, https://www.gov.uk/guidance/ahrcdcms-culture-and-heritage-capital-research-call-bid-recipients [accessed 31 July 2025].

7.   ‘New Projects to Measure Value of Culture and Heritage to Society’, https://www.ukri.org/news/new-projects-to-measure-value-of-culture-and-heritage-to-society/ [accessed 31 July 2025].

8.   The Real Face of White Australia, http://www.realfaceofwhiteaustralia.net/ [accessed 30 January 2025].

9.   The Museum of British Colonialism, https://museumofbritishcolonialism.org/our-work/ [accessed 5 August 2025].

10.   Mukurtu CMS, https://mukurtu.org/ [accessed 30 January 2025].

11.   Mukurtu CMS, https://mukurtu.org/ [accessed 30 January 2025].

12.   Polynesian Photo Archives, http://feletibarstowppa.org/ [accessed 5 August 2025].

13.   Gather, https://gather.sl.nsw.gov.au/ [accessed 5 August 2025].

14.   Oxford University Heritage Network, https://www.heritagenetwork.ox.ac.uk/ [accessed 1 August 2025].

15.   Endangered Cultural Heritage in the Global South Hub, https://www.arch.ox.ac.uk/echgs-hub-0#tab-5362806 [accessed 1 August 2025].

16.   Documenting the Now, https://www.docnow.io/ [accessed 30 January 2025].

17.   Contributor Role Taxonomy (CRediT), https://credit.niso.org/ [accessed 30 January 2025].