The Quest for Open Access: Control in Public Institutions & Why It Matters
The Warburg Institute’s original reading room, 1926 (image credit: The Warburg Institute)
Sneaking through a secluded door in the Tate Britain, I slip down a hallway and up the stairs. A passing security guard informs me I’m in a restricted area, but lets me through once I explain why I’m there. A door is unlocked, but before I enter, I must sign a form and sanitise my hands. Only then that I can approach the object of my journey: a slim and unassuming sketchbook.
Sadly, I wasn’t there to re-enact the plot of my favourite heist movie (next time). I had scheduled a private viewing of an artwork from the Tate’s vast archives. Arranging this was easy: all I had to do was send an email request the week before. In the thrilling moment before the archivist opened the book, I thanked my lucky stars. God knows, there are many treasures – both academic and artistic – kept well out of reach of the public, often for opaque reasons.
There are many treasures – both academic and artistic – kept well out of reach of the public, often for opaque reasons.
The Warburg Institute’s Zettelkästen (note boxes). (Image credit: The Warburg Institute)
Take the case of author and literary agent Andrew Lownie, who sought access to the diaries and correspondences of Lord and Lady Mountbatten – close relatives of the royal family and the viceroy and vicereine of India during its tumultuous path to independence – on whom he was writing a biography. Purchased by the University of Southampton with £2.8 million from public monies, the full release of the documents was blocked on advice from the Cabinet Office.
The Information Commissioner ruled that the papers should be made available, but the University appealed the decision, prompting a six-year legal battle where Lownie was forced to take on legal representation himself. Lownie was ultimately victorious, as the University released 33,000 pages, or 99.99%, of the Mountbatten papers. However, he wasn’t awarded his £500,000 legal costs as he’d expected, leaving him financially crippled, and begging the question: why weren’t papers bought with taxpayer money actually available to taxpayers?
Image copyright: Andrew Lownie
You might immediately envision imperial scandals and the like, but Lownie says this exercise in gatekeeping seemed unnecessary because, ‘There was nothing revelatory in the diaries.’ The documents which the government had fought so hard to restrict contained no official secrets. In fact, some of the redacted portions of the documents he’d been barred from reading had previously been published or quoted. New restrictions, however, meant less access for researchers. ‘We’re seeing a very worrying trend,’ Lownie says. ‘Not only is a lot of material closed which should be open, but a lot of material that was previously open is being reclassified and closed.’
When asked about Lownie’s case, the Cabinet Office referred us to a Parliamentary statement in which an MP said, ‘The Cabinet Office has worked with the University of Southampton to support the release of the Mountbatten archive, whilst ensuring sensitive and official information is handled appropriately and in line with the Freedom of Information Act and Data Protection Act’. The University of Southampton did not respond to a request for comment.
Lownie disputes the Cabinet Office’s statement, saying that he believes the restrictions on accessing the archives was caused by ‘incompetence and laziness to start with, and once they’d started telling lies, they had to continue.’ Rather than using exemptions to block public scrutiny, Lownie believes the spirit of the law – that is, transparency – should be upheld and principles of academic freedom prioritised. ‘I would like to be done with this censorship of our history,’ he adds.
‘I’d like more people to put their heads up above the parapet, because I can’t do this on my own.’
The Warburg Institute’s ‘Library of Exile’ exhibit. (Image credit: Hélène Binet, courtesy of Edmund de Waal)
Lownie's legal battle against this ‘culture of secrecy’ continues. He recently criticised his inability to access documents on Prince Andrew’s business dealings via the Freedom of Information Act, and is now pursuing legal action to view the correspondence between Lady Mountbatten and India’s first Prime Minister. Despite media attention and a successful crowdfunder, Lownie still has a battle ahead. ‘I’d like more people to put their heads up above the parapet, because I can’t do this on my own,’ he says. ‘It’s very easy to pick on people like me.’
Controlling access to information goes beyond investigations into major political figures; it affects casual researchers as well. In the world of academia, where scholarship is closely guarded in ivory towers, the high price of subscriptions to academic journals closes the door to independent researchers who cannot afford them. To access specialised knowledge, one must be attached to, or affiliated with, a university.
Tiffany Olgun, a recent PhD graduate in Literature, believes that if researchers cannot easily obtain peer-reviewed articles on platforms such as JSTOR, they’re more likely to use free but potentially unreliable sources, a worry in our current climate of misinformation. ‘If we want a more educated public, let’s give them the best research for free, or for a considerably lower cost,’ she says.
Olgun speaks partly from personal experience. Now that she has graduated, she’s lost access to her university’s resources, making it difficult for her to continue researching and publishing. ‘After you graduate, you feel excluded from the academic world. You pay all this money, you have your degree, and that’s it,’ she says.
In a bizarre, antiquated, and inverted model, institutions are draining their own coffers to see work they created.
The Institute’s library. (Image credit: Hufton+Crow)
The status quo of exorbitant digital platform fees is driven by the financial pressure universities are under to maintain their renowned journals, a longstanding issue. A 2012 article in The Atlantic details the mind-boggling world of academic publishing, where universities sell the rights to their research to platforms like JSTOR, who then digitise it and sell it back to the university through pricey subscriptions. In a bizarre, antiquated, and inverted model, institutions are draining their own coffers to see work they created.
This also means that individuals and general libraries face a significant barrier, as they often can’t cover the cost of subscriptions. Despite many universities being publicly funded, they effectively shut out the public. Olgun vehemently disagrees with this practice: ‘All libraries, academic or not, should be democratic spaces. I support open access.’
‘We’re seeing a very worrying trend,’ Lownie says. ‘Not only is a lot of material closed which should be open, but a lot of material that was previously open is being reclassified and closed.’
Olgun’s hope is that more institutions will adopt the model of the British Library, whose rare collections are open to anyone with a free reader’s pass. She places a unique value on physically interacting with the older books, which digital platforms cannot replicate. ‘You get historical context from that touch,’ she explains. ‘You absorb extra information that you wouldn’t be able to get online. It’s a magical experience.’
The Institute’s new Kythera Gallery (image credit: Hufton+Crow)
Whilst many institutions close their doors, there are rare cases that demonstrate reversing the course is possible. In 2024, the Warburg Institute, as part of an extensive renovation, installed a public gallery to showcase cultural artefacts and texts that had previously only been accessible to researchers. Before, you could barely walk into the foyer, even as a journalist with an appointment made months in advance (something we experienced). Now, anyone can wander in from the street, and view the newly created gallery space or inquire about a pass. It's a heartening example of steps that can be taken to democratise learning.
Opening up comes with its challenges, and the process prompted some soul-searching: ‘Giving access to the Warburg Institute as a space of teaching and a place of thinking is what drove the whole thing,’ says Bill Sherman, the Institute’s director who spearheaded this incredible renaissance. ‘Now that we have a more public-facing programme, do we want to rethink how public the actual library is? Are we happy with our current approach to gatekeeping around the collection?’
The Institute’s refurbished courtyard (image credit: Hufton+Crow)
To use the Institute’s archive, you still need a letter of recommendation from an academic or professional source. Sherman attributes this requirement to practical concerns: the number of researchers the Institute can comfortably fit, the need to ensure visitors are handling fragile materials safely, and the costs of improving physical or digital access.
Upon my visit, he pulled out a copy of Walter Raleigh’s History of the World, published in the 1600s, so brittle that its spine creaks when opened. It became clear why access to these materials is so carefully managed. ‘The V&A doesn’t automatically let everybody touch the Leonardo manuscripts that they hold,’ Sherman says, by way of comparison.
Opening up comes with its challenges, and the process prompted some soul-searching…
There is obviously a need for careful balance. Delicate documents shouldn’t be pawed so often that they degrade and disappear, but equally, those in positions of authority shouldn’t be forcing private citizens to face ruinous legal fees in the pursuit of knowledge. Humans – and those in power – often find it hard to strike a healthy equilibrium.
Aby Warburg’s Bilderatlas Mnemosyne, a visual map of cultural memory (image credit: The Warburg Institute)
I am so fortunate—I say to myself, as the archivist at Tate Britain opens the book before me. The Fire at Sea Sketchbook contains drawings in watercolour and chalk by the painter J.M.W. Turner: brief strokes tracing maritime scenes, from ships foundering in a storm to a peaceful jetty at Margate. I’m not allowed to touch the pages or take photos directly above them; the assisting archivist turns them by lifting each fragile corner with great care.
Turner’s paintings may be on display throughout the Tate Britain, but nothing quite compares to being inches away from his work. Brusque strokes of colour convey the glitter of lightning on water or the movements of tides; ships silhouetted against storms glow like auroras. The vibrancy of these images sets the pages on fire. Another curator tells me that it’s not just academics who visit the collections, but people from all walks of life, sometimes booking sessions months in advance.
The vibrancy of these images sets the pages on fire.
Sat in front of a book that’s nearly two centuries old, I wonder what other gems might await in the archives of museums and universities across the country. Some might be important documents or pieces of research that would allow me to develop a niche in my career. Others might simply be beautiful objects worth admiring in person, that elevate the spirit in some intangible way. All of us have the right to explore what is safeguarded and made accessible to us by the principles of free speech. So, here’s a challenge for 2025: visit the Tate or one of the many other museums that offer viewings by way of appointment – and bring yourself face to face with history. Who knows how long such luxuries will be around.