Lest we all forget that I’m here to work, I should probably
say something about this particular aspect of my stay in Havana. At the same
time, since this is my travel blog and most of you who read it aren’t terribly
interested in dusty archival finds, I’ll try to keep it brief. Really, I’m just
trying to prove that I actually do work.
As previously noted, my research got off to a bit of a rocky
start when it was confirmed that the IHC records are locked up for the next
five to ten years. I spun my wheels for a bit, waiting for permisos, but I eventually got into the National Archive last
Monday, with three full weeks left to accomplish something. At the rate I was
moving, three weeks was sounding like very little time, especially since the
National Archive doesn’t allow the use of cameras and I would have to type
detailed notes on everything.
My first day at the archive was rough. I was suffering the
resurgence of a cold that I thought I had kicked upon my arrival in Cuba. My
already sensitive nose was irritated by the dust in the archive and dripped
relentlessly the entire day. Having used up my supply of quality Kleenex during
my first few days here, I was in bad shape. For the record, Cuban toilet paper
is not something that should ever make contact with a person’s face. I toughed
it out until 3 pm that day, before I finally went running for the comfort of my
room, only to find that my nose dried up almost immediately upon exiting the
research room.
The next day, armed with a heavy dose of cold meds and
antihistamines, I made my way back for a second day. The drugs seemed to help
my nose, but they couldn’t do anything to make my research productive. The
fragments that I found at the National Archive were only of peripheral
interest, and I began to feel like I was spinning wheels yet again as I waited
to hear back from the archive that I expected to be the most productive for my
work: the Foreign Ministry Archive (MINREX).
When I still hadn’t heard back from them by Wednesday, a
full week after I dropped off my paperwork, I contacted MINREX only to find
that my permiso had been ready after
only a day, but I hadn’t received the message. Confident that I was finally
going to accomplish something, I headed out for MINREX the next day. Today was
going to be the day. Finally. I swear.
I arrived at MINREX and met with the lovely Damila
Hechaverria Argudin. What followed was the single largest communication
breakdown that I’ve experienced since I’ve been here. I brought my camera, as I
had been told that I could use my camera as long as I transferred the photos to
the archive as part of their efforts to digitize their collection. Or, at least
that’s what I thought I was told. I’m no longer sure. Damila took me to her
office, where she asked me if I had a USB drive with me. I thought it was for
the purpose of transferring my photos and assured her that we could just
connect my camera to her computer. She disagreed and undertook a massive
project of moving files, which I interpreted as clearing off the flash drive
for my use. It was a while before I realized that what she was actually doing
was moving files onto the drive.
It took a disturbingly long time for me to figure out that
all this time I had no idea what was going on. I wasn’t going to take photos. I
wasn’t even going to look at a single sheet of paper. The documents were already digitized and she was
transferring the entire collection onto the flash drive so that I could load
them onto my computer. Twenty-three years worth of communication between the
Cuban and Mexican foreign ministries was being handed over to me with almost
zero effort. When I finally grasped what was happening, I couldn’t believe it.
I kept asking Damila, “but what about the paper records?” I had to be missing
something. She assured me that this was everything that had been declassified;
that I was lucky to come at this time, because I didn’t need to spend weeks
searching through dusty records. When I couldn’t get it through my head, she
began to look at me like I’d grown a third eye.
After roughly two hours of transferring files, Damila sent
me on my way—probably much to her relief. I made my way home, shaking my head
all the way, still unable to believe what just happened. The most Cuban phrase
I’ve learned since arriving here is nada
es fácil—nothing is easy. After two
weeks of waiting—waiting for permisos, waiting
for the power to come back on, waiting for them to finish fumigating the
archive—followed by days of turning up nothing at all, in the space of two
hours I had everything that I came for without having to expend any more effort
than catching a cab to Vedado.
I took a cursory glance at the MINREX docs and realized that
there was likely a wealth of information contained in the files. That said, I’d
have ample time to sort through them upon my return. After my windfall, I
decided that the remainder of my time would be best spent trying to dig up
something, anything else at the
National Archive. With every day that passes, however, I turn up nothing and
find myself turning back to the MINREX files, wondering if my time would be
better spent combing through the digital files in the comfort of the IHC’s air
conditioned library.
This is where things stand today, as I sit here pondering my
best course of action. I’m becoming convinced that my search at the National
Archive is completely futile. With a week and a half remaining, I need to make
the most of my time.
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