Deleted, Defunded, Disappeared: The Erasure of Our Memory
They don’t always burn the books.
Sometimes they just don’t fund the library.
Or digitize the archive.
Or renew the domain name.
Or train the next generation of keepers.
Sometimes they let memory slip quietly through the cracks—
and then they pretend it was never there.
I’ve spent years chasing ghosts across the internet.
Broken links. Missing videos. Journals that once existed but now lead to 404 pages. A PDF I know I downloaded—but can’t find anymore.
It’s not just frustrating.
It’s terrifying.
Because when you start to notice what’s missing, you also start to notice who’s missing.
Black scholars. Indigenous oral historians. Queer collectives. Local historians who never had institutional backing. Community organizations that folded when their grants dried up. Neighborhood elders who passed before anyone hit record.
Whole lifetimes of knowledge gone.
Not because it wasn’t important.
Because it wasn’t protected.
Erasure Isn’t Always Loud
Some of it is deliberate, sure.
We’ve seen the banned books lists. We’ve seen what’s happening in school boards and state legislatures. When they say “divisive,” they mean Black.
When they say “controversial,” they mean truthful.
But some erasure is subtle. Bureaucratic. Boring, even.
A budget cut here. A website never updated there. An archive moved to a new server that no one bothered to redirect.
And then it’s gone.
How Etherith Fights Back
This is where Etherith changes the story.
We’re building a decentralized library that can’t be quietly deleted or quietly defunded.
We’re giving people not institutions the power to preserve what matters.
Whether it’s a family recipe, a community zine, a research paper, or a radical sermon from 1987, you can stake your knowledge directly to the chain. It won’t be lost. It won’t be overwritten. It won’t be sold off.
And you’ll be credited.
Not just a footnote in someone else’s book. You become the source. The steward. The story.
We Remember Differently
What the traditional systems discarded, we protect.
What academia ignored, we uplift.
What history books sanitized, we keep in its rawest form.
Because this isn’t just about nostalgia.
This is about power.
And the right to say, we were here—and we still are.
Etherith is a digital memory spell.
We built it so we don’t have to beg for our stories to be remembered.
Want to protect a memory?
We’re building this library together.
Drop a comment. Share a resource. Tell us what you never want to lose again.
Let’s remember, loudly.