In an earlier post, I contended that the virtual museum/memorial “shows you the exact same thing”. This, of course, is a blatant lie, it doesn’t. Nevertheless, the virtual museum is a remediation of the physical space, which in turn mediates other media (e.g. photographs, books, letters). Consider, for example, the two images below. The picture on the left shows the virtual remediation of the physical space on the right.

What kind of mediations are we looking at here? Does the virtual museum remediate the photographs on display in the physical museum, or does it remediate whatever is mediated by these photographs? Or should we think of the virtual ‘version’ as a remediation of the physical museum itself after all? A definitive answer to these questions all depends on how you look at it (see Van Dijk, 2007, pp. 48-52, for a discussion). In the most straightforward view on the virtual museum, one can think of the virtual space as ‘a way’ to ‘extend’ the physical museum into cyberspace, in which case the virtual simply remediates the physical (or, rather, ‘extend’ human senses through the use of digital technology, cf. McLuhan, 2001). On the other end of the spectrum, we’re entering a vortex of remediation in which one could consider the virtual museum a remediation of the physical museum. The possible remediating steps in this process are virtually infinite (see McLuhan, 2001, for a discussion).

What does this tell us about the difference between the feelings of authenticity this instills in both pictures above (and the physical space that both re-present)? Would you say that the remediation of this physical space in (a screen capture of) the virtual museum is ‘less authentic’ than the remediation of the same space in a digital photograph, even though the camera does lie (Roscoe & Hight, 2001, p. 11)? Or would you say they’re equally (in)authentic? What does this say about the photographs in the pictures? How ‘real’ are they? And, ultimately, how ‘authentic’ can any mediation be, and are all experiences equally (in)authentic, as they are all mediated through our own senses?

Authenticity is a (social) construction. Likewise, our realities are always constructed based on what we experience through our bodily senses. In a way, our bodies and minds ultimately mediate our environment as well (Van Loon, 2008, pp. 1-19). Our ‘traditional’ understanding of ‘reality’ is that it exists in physical space. Remediations of these realities into virtual spaces doesn’t make them any less ‘real’ – it exposes that what we have been calling ‘reality’ is in fact imagined as well. As Grosz phrases it: “[…] the computer and the worlds it generates reveal that the world in which we live, the real world, has always been a space of virtuality” (2001, p. 78).

The ‘real’ and ‘virtual’ should therefore not be conceptualized as two separate or even oppositional spaces for two important reasons. First, they are equally (in)authentic, as I have argued above. “The virtual reality of computer space is fundamentally no different from the virtual reality of writing, reading, drawing, or even thinking” (Grosz, 2001, p. 78). Second, virtual and tangible spaces are inextricably linked. The visitor may be aware that the virtual museum is ‘just’ a representation of the ‘real thing’, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that it lacks the emotional connotations that it could have had. Moreover, experiences in physical space potentially reflect on behavior in virtual space and vice versa.

There are some differences between both ‘flavors’ of reality, however. One important aspect of the virtual Tsitsernakaberd memorial complex seemed that it offered specific bits of information that were also presented in the physical museum, but put less emphasis on other things. Consider the difference in image resolution between both remediated (virtual) museum objects below (click on them for enlargements).

The readability of the image on the left is much better than the image on the right (while in the physical museum, both would be equally well readable). The sharper image shows the number of victims of the Armenian genocide in a particular region of historical Armenia. The right image shows more anecdotal materials to support these numbers. This implies a sense of political urgency behind remediating some specific museum objects, and to make them accessible to a larger audience. The Armenian genocide is acknowledged by many political and social groups, but it is still denied by some (notably Turkey), or the scale of the event is trivialized. Another clearly readable museum object in the virtual remediation is the United Nations definition of genocide. Presenting ‘factual’ information thus becomes a priority in the virtual museum. While the physical museum is very effective in communicating an emotion, the virtual museum is primarily effective in communicating ‘facts’ (especially when visited in combination with the institute’s website).

Even though a selection of objects is shown (in a readable way) in the virtual museum, and these are not politically neutral, I am not implying that this is a distortion of reality. Physical museums have been criticized for taking objects out of their ‘original context’, which would make their representation less neutral (i.e. ‘anxiety of influence’, see Bloom, 1997; Bolter & Grusin, 1999, p. 49). Digital media (such as the virtual museum) may seem to be even more easily manipulated than ‘conventional’ museums, because people in today’s Western societies have mastered (general) tools for digital image manipulation themselves (the existence of the verb ‘to photoshop‘ in internet slang proves this very point, see Van Dijk, 2007, pp. 48-52). ‘Analogue’ media usually require skilled professionals in order to ‘distort’ reality. Nevertheless, the physical and virtual museum are potentially equally subjective in their representation of the Armenian genocide.

The walls are grey, the room makes me shiver. The first thing I see is a huge map, nine meters wide and five meters high, engraved in stone. It portrays the Armenian settlements in the Ottoman Empire before 1915, before the genocide had set in. Statistics illustrate the number of Armenian churches and schools. Pictures show happy people, peaceful lives. Carefully I enter the second room. The absence of windows prevents the daylight to spread. The single light in the room comes from behind the crosses that give the room the appearance of a graveyard. The emotions that stem from the exposed objects are overwhelming. Eyewitness reports, photographs that portray sufferings, portraits of victims and documentary films.

Because I can see their handwritings, can hear their voices and touch their letters I feel an inextricable link between my own life and that of the Armenians whose lives are displayed in this museum. These museum objects mark the continuation between the time of the event and the time in which I live, and are therefore able to write the experiences of the Armenians into my personal biography, into the ‘personal experience’ of the audience (Handler, 1986, p. 4; Linnekin, 1991, p. 446). Furthermore, the fact that I am able to touch the letters written by an Armenian during WWI is not only a proof that the letter exists and that this particular Armenian has existed, but also proofs the existence of – in this case – the Armenian genocide. Therefore, such ‘authentic’ objects are able to create a direct relationship between the self and the particular event (Handler, 1986, p. 4).

On the one hand the authentic objects in the Armenian genocide museum apparently enable and sustain a relationship between the audience and the Armenians that lived during the genocide. On the other hand the curator of the exhibition aims at authenticity instead of replicas because authentic objects embrace the quality of being unique (Eberbach & Crowley, 2005, p. 317). They are chosen by the curators because they have something special to say to the visitors; they are ‘historical evidence’ for what they are supposed to symbolise (Kavanagh, 1996, p. 6).

It is not only by authenticity that museum objects have the quality of being historical evidence. Museum curators also aim at portraying the ‘real’ or at least, at achieving the ‘illusion’ of reality. Real then is defined in terms of the immediality of the viewer’s emotion (Bolter & Grusin, 1999, p. 57). In the Armenian genocide museum this has been done by the use of documentaries and photos. Both objects bear the assumption that their images have a direct relationship with the socio-historical world, the so-called “assertive stance” (Roscou & Hight, 2001, p. 8 ). “[…], the image and the record of that image are seen as being one and the same, […]” (Roscou & Hight, 2001, p. 6). This is especially the case when the photographer or documentary maker takes an observational mode, in which they depict everyday life. Because this mode is not that centred around an argument, the images are presented as “a window on reality” (Roscou & Hight, 2001, p. 19). The viewer simply forgets that photos and documentaries are made by people, and are therefore by definition selective and subjective.

And so it was when I was looking around in the second room of the genocide museum. The photos told me not only that the event had actually taken place; they also convinced me of the emotions involved in this historical event. With the cultural belief in mind that ‘the camera does not lie’ (Roscou & Hight, 2001, p. 11), I observed the undernourished women, destroyed families, and crying children. Furthermore, the documentaries and photos gave me the feeling to be in direct contact with eyewitnesses. In some sense, eyewitnesses have similar qualities as have authentic objects; the direct link with the particular event. By seeing and hearing the stories of the eyewitnesses, I gained direct access to the Armenian genocide, because of the idea that they “have seen it with their own eyes” (Roscou & Hight, 2001, p. 16).

It is especially because of these qualities of authenticity and reality that physical museums mediate collective memories in a very convincing and emotional way.