I remember the first time I saw a polished prototype from a cultural-tech startup — an elegant interface that promised to “democratise access” to remote collections. It was irresistible: high-resolution images, immersive narratives, instant discoverability. But as someone who spends a lot of time working with museums, communities and custodians, the seductive gleam of technology always hits a set of friction points. What happens when a tech startup like Artstack (or any similar platform) partners with Indigenous custodians? The question is less hypothetical than it seems: at stake are stories, rights, and the future of cultural knowledge.

The promise: visibility, revenue and audience

Startups bring things communities often need: reach, technical skills and new funding avenues. Platforms can help translate oral histories into multimedia formats, map cultural landscapes, or create virtual exhibitions that visitors around the world can explore on their phones. For many custodians, this can mean:

  • Increased visibility and platforms to tell their own stories in their own words.
  • New revenue streams through licensing, paid exhibitions or e-commerce tied to cultural goods.
  • Digital preservation of fragile materials — high-resolution scans of textiles, recordings of languages at risk, or photographic archives.

    • When done respectfully, tech partnerships can amplify voices that have long been excluded from mainstream narratives. I’ve seen initiatives where communities used digital tools to revitalise language learning, or to create virtual tours that supported cultural tourism without exposing sensitive sites to physical visitors.

    The hazards: extraction, misrepresentation and loss of control

    But the hazards are acute. Tech ecosystems are built on data: collection, aggregation, metadata, monetisation. For Indigenous custodians, the risks include:

  • Intellectual property and cultural appropriation: Traditional knowledge, ceremonial imagery or secret-design motifs are not just “content” — they are living cultural property. When these assets are digitised, they can be misused, misrepresented or monetised by third parties.
  • Loss of contextual integrity: Cultural items make sense within relationships, protocols and stories. A platform’s metadata fields and discoverability algorithms can strip that context, reducing complex practices to searchable tags.
  • Consent and one-off permissions: Many agreements are framed as single transactions. Without ongoing consent mechanisms, communities may find their materials used in ways they didn’t foresee.
  • Data sovereignty: Where is the data stored? Who governs access? If a startup stores a community’s cultural archive on cloud servers in another jurisdiction, legal protections and control can evaporate.

    • Questions I ask before supporting a partnership

    Whenever I advise groups or write about these collaborations I insist on asking practical, often uncomfortable questions. They should be central to any negotiation:

  • Who owns the digital files and the metadata?
  • How will decisions about access be governed — and who sits on the governance board?
  • What rights does the startup retain to reuse or commercialise the material? For how long?
  • Where will the data be stored, and under which legal jurisdiction?
  • How is sensitive or restricted knowledge identified and protected in the interface?
  • Are there mechanisms for revocation or for updating consent as community norms evolve?

    • Models that respect custodianship

    There are promising models. They tend to share a few core features: community ownership of data, co-design processes, transparent benefit-sharing, and local capacity-building. Some examples and practical approaches include:

  • Community-controlled repositories: Instead of handing over files, communities host or co-host repositories with granular access controls. The tech partner provides tools and maintenance rather than ownership.
  • Tiered access interfaces: Public-facing content is clearly separated from restricted or sacred material. Interfaces can incorporate cultural protocols — for instance, gender- or initiation-based access gates.
  • Revenue-sharing agreements: Clear contracts that allocate earnings from licensing, exhibitions or merchandising to community funds or cultural programs.
  • IP and customary law recognition: Agreements that recognise customary laws — sometimes backed by legal frameworks or memoranda of understanding — rather than forcing everything into Western copyright models.
  • Capacity exchange: Rather than extractive “training” sessions, collaborative projects embed long-term knowledge transfer so communities can manage and adapt their digital assets.

    • Tech design matters — not just the business model

    Design choices can reinforce or undermine custodianship. I’m interested in projects where the interface anticipates cultural protocols rather than treating them as an afterthought. That can mean:

  • Metadata fields that allow for multiple layers of meaning, including oral histories and community-defined keywords.
  • Local language support, not just translation into English, so nuance is preserved.
  • Opt-in publishing workflows where community curators must approve public releases.
  • Audit logs and traceability so communities can see who accessed which files and why.

    • Examples — promising and cautionary

    In recent years I’ve seen both responsible experiments and worrying missteps. Collaborative digital repatriation projects that return digitised items to community-run platforms are inspiring because they prioritise control and context. Conversely, there have been cases where global aggregators scraped museum catalogues and reproduced Indigenous imagery without community consent — a clear illustration of extraction being reframed as “access”.

    Startups such as Artstack can occupy a middle ground: nimble, user-focused and willing to experiment. But their agility must be matched by humility. Tech teams often underestimate the time required to build trust, the layers of consent needed, and the ethical complexity of cultural materials. Short timelines and VC pressures can push products toward fast growth at the expense of careful stewardship.

    Practical steps for communities and startups

    If you’re an Indigenous custodian considering a partnership, or a startup proposing one, here are pragmatic steps I recommend:

  • Start with listening: host multiple workshops where community priorities, red lines and aspirations are documented in writing.
  • Draft a clear Memorandum of Understanding that covers ownership, governance, revenue, data storage and dispute resolution.
  • Include sunset and revision clauses so agreements can adapt as relationships and technologies shift.
  • Invest in local capacity: fund community archivists, digital stewards and legal advisors as part of the project budget.
  • Test the interface with community users before public launch and iterate based on feedback.

    • When technology is offered as a tool rather than a takeover, and when startups accept that their role is to enable rather than own, partnerships can be transformative. But this requires more than good intentions: it demands contractual clarity, culturally literate design and a commitment to long-term reciprocity. Otherwise, the shiny promise of digital visibility can end up repeating the same patterns of extraction that communities have endured for centuries.