Join us for our next Webinar! Mark your calendars for November 28, 2017 and find more information below

BORDER

Están cordialmente invitados al próximo webinar de la serie Desmantelando Fronteras/Breaking Down Borders. Sylvia A. Fernández y Maira E. Álvarez, estudiantes de doctorado en la Universidad de Houston, en Texas, y creadoras del proyecto digital Borderlands Archives Cartography (BAC) serán las presentadoras invitadas. Ellas nos hablarán sobre la misión del BAC, un mapa digital que preserva y presenta una sintesis visual de periódicos publicados en la region de la frontera entre México y Estados Unidos.  El evento es en español y se llevará a cabo el martes, 28 de noviembre 2017 a las siguientes horas locales:

  • EEUU 14:00 horas EST / 13:00 CST / 11:00 PST
  • México D.F. / Honduras 13:00 horas
  • Quito / Bogotá / Lima 14:00 horas
  • Buenos Aires / Santiago de Chile 16:00 horas
  • Cáracas 14:30 horas

You are cordially invited to the next webinar event of the Desmantelando Fronteras / Breaking Down Borders webinar series. Sylvia A. Fernández and Maira E. Álvarez, doctoral students from the University of Houston and founders of the Borderlands Archives Cartography (BAC), are the invited speakers. Ms. Fernández and Álvarez will discuss the mission of BAC, a digital map that displays the U.S.-Mexico border newspaper’s cartography that records geographic locations of nineteenth and mid-twentieth century periodicals. The webinar is in Spanish and will take place on Tuesday, November 28, 2017 at the following local times:

  • United States 2 PM EST / 1PM CST / 11AM PST
  • Mexico City / Honduras 1PM
  • Quito / Bogotá / Lima 2 PM
  • Buenos Aires / Santiago de Chile 4 PM
  • Cáracas 2:30 PM

Presentador@s Invitad@s / Invited Speakers

Maira E. Álvarez

Ph.D. Candidate

University of Houston

Sylvia A. Fernández

Doctoral student

Hispanic Studies, University of Houston

 

Haga clic aqui para accede al evento en vivo

Click here to participate in the online event

https://fiuconnect.adobeconnect.com/rykdtgmlexf5

 

La sección de los Archivos de Patrimonio Cultural de Latinoamérica y el Caribe (LACCHA) de la Sociedad de Archivistas Americanos (SAA), en asociación con la Biblioteca Digital del Caribe (dLOC) y la Asociación de Bibliotecas Universitarias, de Investigación e Institucionales del Caribe (ACURIL), ha organizado Desmantelando Fronteras/Breaking Down Borders, una serie de seminarios por Internet recalcando proyectos archivísticos de Latinoamérica y el Caribe. Esta serie provee un espacio colaborativo para archivistas de Latinoamérica y el Caribe donde se pueden compartir proyectos, experiencias y mensajes principales y a la vez fomentar comunicación bidireccional entre profesionales a lo largo de las Américas.

The Latin American and Caribbean Cultural Heritage Archives section (LACCHA) of the Society of American Archivists (SAA), in partnership with the Digital Library of the Caribbean (dLOC) and the Association of Caribbean University, Research and Institutional Libraries (ACURIL), has organized a series of online events, Desmantelando Fronteras/Breaking Down Borders, a webinar series showcasing archival projects of Latin America and the Caribbean. This series provides a collaborative space for Latin American and Caribbean archivists to share their projects, experiences, and takeaways and fostering a two-way communication between professionals throughout the Americas.

 

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Archives Leadership Institute 2017

By: Liz Zepeda

I didn’t always gravitate toward leadership roles. Growing up I wasn’t necessarily encouraged to take on leadership roles and I never thought of myself as a natural leader. But when I started graduate school and started learning about archives and the immense power they held, I realized that I wanted to share this whole new world with everyone. More specifically, I wanted communities that traditionally have been underrepresented in archives to see themselves in history. Since then I’ve dedicated myself to exploring different ways of engaging the community in the archive whether it be through primary source materials or encouraging community members to think about their personal history as an archive.

I applied for the Archives Leadership Institute (ALI) after a few colleagues told me about their experiences. While writing the application, I reflected on where I saw myself in the field, what I thought a leader represented and how I wanted to change the field if not the world. We also had to think about a project that we would develop at the ALI. I did not know what to expect, and on my flight to the institute, I was intimidated. Once I arrived in Kentucky, everyone was nice, and it felt amazing to be with so many archivists. Everyone had a diverse range expertise and worked in different types of institutions.

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We stayed at the Boone Tavern for a week and took classes at Berea College on various subjects, but leadership was at the center of all of them. Before coming to the ALI, we all had to complete a survey from the book, “Strength based leadership: Great leaders, teams, and why people follow” by Tom Rath and Barry Conchie and learned our top five strengths. In our classes, we learned more about these strengths, how to lead with our strengths, how to work with our colleague’s strengths, about cultural competence, and how to manage our projects.

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In addition to our classes, we had collaborative activities and ice breakers. We got to know each other during breaks, lunch, dinners, and after classes. We also the opportunity to get to know the Berea College campus with a tour of the Special Collections, we made a broom in the Broom Making Studio, and we got to hear bell hooks speak. We also did some hiking on the Indian Mountain Trail at the Berea College Forest, and I have to say that it was one of the hardest things I did.

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All in all this experience changed my life. I met so many amazing people with so much insight. The classes broke down the nuts and bolts of leadership, productivity, and project management. I have also made lifelong friends. I am forever grateful to Rachel Vagts, Mark Nigro, everyone in the steering committee and my fellow ALI cohort 17 members for this experience. The Archives Leadership Institute changed how I see the world and how I see myself.

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Reference:

Rath, Tom, and Barry Conchie. Strengths based leadership: Great leaders, teams, and why people follow. Simon and Schuster, 2008.

Archivist Spotlight: Natalia Fernández, Multicultural Librarian, Oregon State University, Corvallis, Oregon

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Tell us about your beginnings in librarianship and archival science, what sparked your interest in the field?

I grew up in “The Old Pueblo” Tucson, Arizona, and attended the University of Arizona for both my undergraduate and graduate studies. As an undergraduate, I majored in Art History and Spanish Literature. During my undergraduate years, I began thinking about graduate school when a friend told me about the university’s master degree program in information resources and library science. I began working at the university’s main library as a shelver and pager, and I spoke to a number of librarians about their work. My first experience in a special collections and archives was during my honors thesis research process, and the type of work done by archivists fascinated me. As someone who naturally loves to organize and categorize materials, the concept of being able to do that as a career seemed too good to be true, and it also seemed like a good match for my undergraduate studies. In 2008, I became a part of the University of Arizona’s Knowledge River program, a program that focuses on community-based librarianship and archival work to serve traditionally underserved populations. In addition to the program, I interned with as many archival repositories as I could and, again, sought out advice from others within the profession. My supervisors’ commitment to using history as a means to empower communities, educate the public, and celebrate heritage inspired me greatly.

How instrumental was the Knowledge River program in your career?

The University of Arizona’s Knowledge River (KR) program focuses on community-based librarianship and partnerships with traditionally underserved communities, with a focus on Latinx and Native American communities. The program trains future librarians to have a better understanding of library and information issues from the perspectives of Latinx and Native Americans, as well as to be advocates for culturally sensitive library and information services. I am currently the Curator and Archivist of the Oregon Multicultural Archives and OSU Queer Archives, as well as an associate professor, at the Oregon State University Libraries and Press Special Collections and Archives Research Center in Corvallis, Oregon. The Knowledge River program was quite instrumental in securing my position.

The KR program offers a great combination of theory, practice, and network building. As part of the program, all KR scholars are required to complete the course “Information Environments from Library and Hispanic and Native American Perspectives” during their first semester. The knowledge gained in this course was fundamental for me as I then applied a more critical lens to my other courses that did not include non-traditional perspectives. As part of the program, I worked as a graduate assistant at the University of Arizona Library Special Collections, which has a wide variety of materials pertaining to the Latinx community. I also worked as a graduate assistant for a local tribal community’s summer early literacy program. Because of my employment experiences as a KR scholar, I obtained internships and student jobs at a variety of other archival repositories. In part, this job experience helped me secure my current position. The other piece of the Knowledge River program that was instrumental in starting my career was the network of Knowledge River scholars and the reputation of the program within the field. While at the University of Arizona, my supervisor at the time had also graduated as a KR scholar. She had worked for my now current institution and acted as a reference. Now in its 16th cohort (I was in cohort 7), it is incredible to think about the ever expanding network of amazing KR graduates.

What does your current position as Multicultural Librarian at Oregon State University, entail (types of ethnic communities you’re working with)?

In November of 2010, I began my job as the curator and archivist of Oregon State University Oregon Multicultural Archives (OMA). In 2014, I co-founded the OSU Queer Archives (OSQA). The mission of the OMA is to assist in preserving the histories and sharing the stories that document Oregon’s African American, Asian American, Latinx, and Native American communities. OSQA’s mission is to preserve and share the stories, histories, and experiences of LGBTQ+ people within the OSU and Corvallis communities. The majority of my job for both archives is to collect materials, from both individuals and organizations, to add to the archives. I also curate exhibits and collaborate with other organizations on special projects as well as with professors for their classes.

Talk to us about the Latinos en Oregón Oral History project, how it started, objectives, and response from the community?

As the curator and archivist of the Oregon Multicultural Archives, I develop relationships with communities of color to share information about the process of documenting their histories, the opportunity to do so, and the importance of ensuring that their stories are preserved and made accessible to current and future generations. In the summer of 2014, I took a variety of research trips across the state and spoke with museum curators and archivists about their current and future plans to document local area communities of color. One of the predominant topics of discussion was the need to connect with local Latinx communities and better represent their experiences in the historical record. According to the August 2016 report, “Latinos in Oregon: Trends and Opportunities in a Changing State”, Oregon’s Latinx population in 2014 was 12% of the state’s population, up from 8% in 2000. Various archival repositories in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, located in western Oregon, such as the Oregon Historical Society, Pacific University, and the University of Oregon, have oral history collections documenting the Latinx experiences in their areas. However, the institutions with which I spoke in central Oregon did not; they recognized the growth of the Latinx population in their local communities and the need to document the Latinx experience. In early 2015, recalling my conversations and the research I had conducted, I had the opportunity to connect with members of the Madras, Oregon, Latinx community, and I jumped at the chance. Madras is a small town in central Oregon with a population of about 6,000 people, 38.5% of which are Latinx. In the spring of 2015, I began the Latinos en Oregón oral history project in Madras, Oregon.

The purpose of the Latinos en Oregón oral history project is to document the Oregon Latinx community’s stories, from their perspectives. Through the OMA, I wanted to connect with local communities to document the stories of everyday life – the family stories, traditions, opinions, and diverse perspectives – of Latinx communities in Oregon. The project has various objectives including: creating an archival collection for public access to increase awareness of the contributions and challenges of Latinx community members in Oregon; honoring and celebrating the state’s Latinx communities; establishing and strengthening relationships with and within the Latinx community; and most importantly, providing the opportunity for Latinx communities to be empowered to share their stories and have them become a part of the larger Oregon historical narrative.

In central Oregon, the project’s first collaboration began with the Oregon State University Juntos program, a program that partners with schools to provide Latinx families across Oregon with the knowledge and resources to gain access to higher education. In collaboration with my community liaison, I developed a set of questions that were modified based on each individual’s needs; but overall, there were five main sections for each oral history interview: family/ancestors, immigration stories, life in Oregon, topics/traditions, and plans for the future. The oral histories I conducted included questions about the interviewees’ childhoods and educational experiences, opportunities to share the stories of why and how they moved to Oregon, as well as their thoughts regarding life in Madras and the connections, or lack thereof, between the Latinx community and non-Latinx community members. A large portion of each interview consisted of the interviewees sharing their thoughts on a range of topics covering a variety of life experiences: cultural celebrations and traditions, religion, values, hobbies, etc.

The community response has been amazing. In 2016, I expanded the project to Yamhill County in collaboration with the county cultural trust, the local historical society, and the Latinx community organization Unidos, along with a dedicated group of community volunteers. In Clackamas County, Oregon, I partnered with the Canby Public Library, and most recently I began a collaboration with the Hood River Museum to expand the project in that region. For each collaboration, I worked with community liaisons who have already established trusting relationships with community members and who can act as advocates for the project. Early on, I realized I needed to build project capacity and sustainability, but also that I did not need to be the only one conducting interviews. I developed a flexible project workflow where I could conduct interviews in some areas, and train local community members in others. The result is that oral history interviews are added to the Oregon Multicultural Archives, but this approach expands the scale of the project and allows for deeper engagement within communities.

How do you envision the field of Latin American librarianship (in terms of archival collection development and outreach)?

Whenever I work on the Latinos en Oregón oral history project, I am reminded of how much more there is to document, analyze, and to celebrate. Listening to the interviewees’ stories of migration and settlement, their childhood experiences and thoughts on a variety of topics and family traditions, as well as their hopes and dreams for their futures and those of their children, is truly inspiring. The oral history collection is available for the communities themselves as well as to the public so others can learn this rich history. The field of Latin American librarianship plays such a powerful role in fostering understanding that enables people to consider the positive impact Latinx community members have had in their local towns, how people have adapted, and how communities have changed as a result of their presence. Due to our current political and social climate, now more than ever it is essential that we document, share, learn from, and celebrate the stories of Latinx communities, as well as other traditionally underrepresented groups. In this way, I hope that these stories encourage people to speak with empathy in their conversations, and perhaps have a broader and better understanding of what it means to be an Oregonian, and to be an American.

Finally, what has been the most rewarding part of your career as a multicultural librarian?

Along with the value of archival collections, especially oral histories, for scholarly purposes and the edification of the public, creating an opportunity for a community to tell its story can offer benefits to the community members themselves. A common response I receive when I ask an individual or family to share their stories is that they feel they have no story to tell. They may say that they consider their lives too ordinary for anyone to want to hear or that their kind of life’s story is one that is not typically told. As an archivist, it is incredibly rewarding to speak with community members about how much their stories matter, and about the positive impact that their stories could potentially have to those who listen to them. For communities who have been traditionally marginalized in both the historical record and in historiography, oral histories can be a form of empowerment, a way in which they can literally add their voice to the narrative. In addition, the process of sharing their story can be a personal opportunity for self-reflection and appreciation for the struggles they have endured and their life’s accomplishments thus far.

Archivist Spotlight: Ximena G. Valdivia, Manager, Barry University Archives and Special Collections, Miami Shores, Florida

by Ana D. Rodríguez

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Tell us a little bit about yourself, how you started working in libraries

I come from a humble Chilean family, of which I am the only one who has earned a university degree. Overcoming cultural and economic barriers to success was not too difficult for me because I had a natural aptitude for reading; this is where I got a strong sense of equal rights, dignity, and the will to succeed. My aptitude for reading was also influential when I had to choose a career once I finished high school. After completing a BS in Library Science in Chile, I began to work on diverse projects in different types of libraries. I discovered that technical processing was the activity I liked the most and for which I had innate skills. I started working on cataloging projects for the Biblioteca Nacional de Chile (National Library of Chile), where I had the opportunity to work with wonderful professionals willing to share their knowledge and experience with me. I was sent out to organize and put into operation other collections, such as the library of the Museo Regional de Atacama (Regional Museum of Atacama) and the Archivo Niemeyer at the Museo Nacional de Historia Natural (Niemeyer Archives – National Museum of Natural History). Later, I was invited to work on the Chilean Memory Project (www.memoriachilena.cl), the first digital library in Chile and one of the most prestigious projects of the Libraries, Archives, and Museums National Department (DIBAM). Because of this project, in 2002 I was invited to the Congress of Latin American Cities organized by the University of Miami in Florida.

My arrival to the United States was like a new beginning, for a long time I felt anxious like a kid on the first day of school, not only in a personal way, but also in a professional one. My contact with the American library world showed me that libraries could fulfill their role as a supporter of both the cultural and scientific-technical development of human beings.

When I had reached an acceptable understanding of the language, I volunteered at the University of Miami Libraries. Soon I was hired as a library assistant at the Cuban Heritage Collection (CHC), where I had the opportunity to expand my knowledge in archives; processing important personal and institutional archival collections and working with a great team led by Esperanza de Varona, now retired. My main responsibilities included the creation of finding aids and basic preservation work; occasionally creating metadata for digitized materials or processing films and videos.

Knowing that I needed to complement the experience I gained at the CHC, I studied for my master in Library and Information Science at the University of South Florida. As soon as I graduated in 2009, I started working at the Barry University Archives and Special Collections, initially as an Assistant Archivist and later in 2012 I became the manager of the department.

Describe the mission of Barry University Archives and Special Collections

Our mission statement is very simple and straightforward; we are “committed to collecting, preserving, processing, promoting and providing access to primary source materials that support the research needs of the Barry University community and beyond.” Our collections comprise over 2,500 linear feet of manuscript materials, over 6,000 rare books, some of them dating back to the 17th century, tens of thousands of historical photographs, audio and video recordings, ephemera, architectural drawings, cartographic materials, works of art, artifacts, and digital materials.

A great deal of my time is dedicated to outreach activities to help promote Archives and Special Collections’ mission and services.

Which are some of the most noteworthy collections at Barry University?

Our holdings are particularly strong in documenting the University history, that is how this Archives started in 1991. A few Adrian Dominican Sisters who had retired from their faculty/administrative positions organized the department and did an excellent work in collecting and preserving University Records. Later, we began collecting paper collections and almost by chance.  I would say those collections came to us and we took the responsibility of processing and preserving them. Now I am insistent and not reluctant in asking people for their collections.

Some of the most interesting archival collections we have in our holdings are:

Monsignor Bryan O. Walsh Papers

This unique collection provides a thorough overview of Monsignor Bryan O. Walsh’s life and work providing context for historical and political events that shaped South Florida’s social and cultural landscape.

Monsignor Walsh is best known for his role in Operation Pedro Pan/Cuban Children’s Program, an initiative that brought over 14,000 unaccompanied children from Cuba to escape political indoctrination during the 1960s. Concurrently, serving as Director of the Catholic Welfare Bureau of the Archdiocese of Miami, and in the following 30 years he participated in numerous social initiatives to improve the living conditions of underrepresented groups including children, seniors, HIV/AIDS patients and political refugees from Cuba, Haiti and other areas in the Caribbean and Central America. In addition to working to achieve racial integration in Miami Dade County, he was crucial to fostering community dialogue during the aftermath of the 1980 riots in Miami.

William Lehman Papers

A United States Representative from Florida, 1973-1993. The papers document the various activities in which the Congressman was involved in, gives insight into how he accomplished his goals, and reflects his vision for the future.  The Papers include correspondence, research papers, pamphlets, ephemera, and other materials relating to legislative issues; committee and subcommittee reports, testimonies from hearings, press releases, newsletters, speeches, and clippings; personal correspondence, memberships, campaign materials, and travel materials, photographs, audiotapes, and video tapes.

Congressman William Lehman (1913-2005) was instrumental in transforming both South Florida and the country.  A proponent of mass transit, he secured funds to build Miami-Dade County’s Metrorail and Metromover systems and the Trauma Center at Jackson Memorial Hospital.  He revised regulations to facilitate the adoption of children from foreign countries and to enable federal employees to donate their unused sick leave to other employees. To help the State of Florida mitigate the financial impact of the influx of Cuban and Haitian refugees during the 1980s, Lehman joined forces with other Florida congressional representatives to obtain federal funding. In 1988 he met with Fidel Castro, secured the release of longtime political prisoners. He helped acquire funding for Israel and advocated for Soviet Jews seeking resettlement in Israel. Additionally, Lehman worked to pass legislation and secure funding to protect the environment.  He focused on issues directly affecting Florida including oil leasing and offshore drilling, acid rain, the Kissimmee River Restoration Project, the Miami River (Harbor) Project, Munisport/Interama (Dade County, Florida) Superfund proposal, coastal zone management and beach restoration, Everglades protection, traumatic injury treatment, and Hurricane Andrew relief.

 Patricia Minnaugh Puppet Collection

This collection documents Barry graduate-faculty Patricia Minnaugh’s professional work in puppetry from 1979 to 1991.

Although always interested in theatre, Minnaugh’s passion was puppetry. She was an accomplished playwright, who used to write, direct and design her own puppets. In 1990, Puppeteers of America elected her to its national board of directors.

The bulk of the collection consists of scripts, research material, collectibles, personal files and photographs. The collection also includes over a hundred of puppets collected by Mrs. Minnaugh. Puppets are still in process; and these are not available for research or view yet.

 Edouard Duval-Carrié Papers

This small collection documents the work of Haitian-American artist Edouard Duval-Carrié since 1989 through the present. Materials include biographical information, exhibit catalogs, exhibit programs, lobby cards, articles, and clippings.

I would say that the most important collection is Operation Pedro Pan/Cuban Children’s Program Records

Operation Pedro Pan was an initiative to help Cuban parents send their children out of Cuba to avoid Communist indoctrination. Through Operation Pedro Pan, over 14,000 unaccompanied Cuban minors arrived in Miami between December 1960 and October 1962. Of these, almost 7,000 received foster care via the Cuban Children’s Program.  This federally funded foster care program, was developed and headed by Monsignor Bryan O. Walsh in December 1960, and became the model for future nationwide initiatives that would provide federal support for locally administered social services, including those offered by faith-based agencies. The program ended by 1979.

Monsignor Walsh took a special interest in preserving the history of Operation Pedro Pan and the Cuban Children’s Program. Thanks to his efforts, 584 linear feet of records – papers, photographs, films and books – were gathered. These materials constitute the Operation Pedro Pan / Cuban Children’s Program Records (OPP/CCP).

In 1995, Monsignor Walsh deposited these records in the Barry University Archives and Special Collections Department. Since then we have been responsible of processing and preserving the OPP / CCP Records.  Catholic Charities of the archdiocese of Miami is still the owner of the collection and permission to conduct research requires their final approval. We do believe that expanding awareness of this experience for future generations is vital, so we have taken some initiatives in digitizing the collection and making it available to researchers and to the “Pedro Pans”, so you may find some materials available at the Digital Library of the Caribbean.

Collection-level finding aids are currently available online through the library research guides

How is the Latin America and Latin@x experience reflected in the collections of Barry University?

I think I already mentioned something about it. Most of the collections we have are related in some way to the Latin-American experience. I would like to add that for a long time there was no collection development policy to guide our acquisition. There was this idea that we only collected university records and my predecessors did a great work doing that, but we are focusing our work toward improving our holdings. We are working hard to strengthen our relationship with faculty to increase the internal use of these collections and we have some of our records available through the Digital Library of the Caribbean, which has enormously increased our exposure to the community.

How do you envision the field of Latin American librarianship?

I think that the field of Latin American librarianship in the United States is very promising, not only in terms of the number of Hispanics and Latinos dedicated to the profession, but also in terms of developing collections related to Latin America and the Caribbean Area. Now it is better understood that we Hispanics may speak the same language, but we have such a rich history and diverse culture that all those differences among us is worth to record. Being the largest minority in the United States not only gives us more influence in our day to day life, but also a more prominent role in our communities. And we Latinos are willing to contribute to this society in a positive way

What has been the most rewarding part of your career?

There are a few things for which I feel rewarded as a librarian:

  • The satisfaction of being able to assist users who are in need of information is the most important thing. There is a certain democratic principle to this profession and it is very exciting for me to see the difference that I can make in improving people’s lives by performing my work as a librarian.
  • As professionals, we -Librarians/Archivists- are unafraid of sharing with others our knowledge, experience, skills, etc. You can always find a professional who is willing to support any program or a project that will benefit the community at large.
  • And finally, it is very fulfilling to be part of a profession with such great values, our Code of Ethics is wonderful, comprehensive, inclusive… and the best part is that most of us believe in it.

 

Interview with Dr. Bonnie A. Lucero, Assistant Professor of Latin American Studies at the University of Texas at Rio Grande Valley

by Ana D. Rodríguez

Note: Fall 2017 Dr. Lucero will be starting a new role as Post-doctoral Fellow in Law and Society at the Newcomb College Institute at Tulane University

What motivated you to pursue a career in Latin American studies? 

My fascination with Latin American studies began as a quest to explore my own identity. Even as a very young person, I was drawn to discovering my heritage and understanding the changing community in which I lived. Growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was surrounded with cultural, ethnic, racial, and linguistic diversity, and I was enmeshed in a place thoroughly shaped by global connections. In my hometown of Richmond, California, diverse populations co-existed but remained geographically and socially separate. My family lived in working-class neighborhoods that straddled the boundaries of African-American, Latinx, and white areas of the city. As a mixed-race person, I struggled to find my place within this richly-heterogenous yet largely-segregated society. But what made it even more of a challenge were the powerful stereotypes conflating Latinx identity with Mexican and Mexican-American people, even though the community of Latin American immigrants and Latinx people in my city was very diverse in terms of national background. I grew increasingly curious about how Puerto Ricans fit into the broader Latinx category. I wanted to learn about Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans to understand that part of myself. And I wanted to explore Latin America and its relationship to the United States to figure out the social and historical forces shaping migration and immigration. Most of all, I wanted to understand how I and the evolving racial and cultural landscape of my community fit into broader global processes.

These goals steered me towards a bachelor’s degree in International Relations at the School of International Studies at the University of the Pacific. My college experience prompted new questions about my and my country’s relationship to Latin America. I was surrounded for the first time in my life by a wealthy, predominantly-white student body. Navigating this new environment forced me to reckon with the profound inequalities that defined my own country. So, when it came time to fulfill the study abroad requirement of my degree, I wanted to experience a society that approached inequality as a problem to be fixed, instead of a necessary and immutable part of life. I chose Cuba. Part of my decision was informed by the island’s historical and cultural connections with Puerto Rico. Yet, I was also interested in Cuba because I had read that the 1959 Revolution set out to dismantle class, racial, and gender hierarchies. I found the possibility of a more empathetic society profoundly inspiring.

Though perhaps not in the ways I imagined, the semester I spent at the University of Havana changed my life. It cemented my love of Cuba and Latin America. It also motivated me to dedicate myself entirely to understanding how inequality functioned in the region, and how different Latin American societies had attempted to address social stratification at specific historical moments. Upon returning to my university, I researched and wrote about the abolition of slavery in Cuba, which I understood to be a key moment in which social change could have materialized. These experiences eventually led me to pursue graduate degrees in Latin American studies and later in History.

You got an M.Phil in Latin American studies from the University of Cambridge, what are some notable aspects and differences of studying Latin America from a European perspective?

One of the key reasons I applied to study at Cambridge was because the strained relations between Cuba and the United States complicated my ability to pursue my studies on the island. In fact, when I initially proposed to complete my study abroad in Cuba as an undergraduate, I was told that it was not possible because of the embargo. I actually had to transfer to a different university to make it happen. I remember the entire ordeal involved with traveling to the island for the first time. It was during the Bush years in the 2000s, and one of the first things I had to do was attend a “briefing” at the U.S. Interests Section in the Swiss Embassy. Over the course of an hour, I listened to a U.S. official justify her office’s efforts to topple the Cuban government as the only way to deliver Cubans from what she claimed to be a tyrannical police state that oppressed them. I listened to her defend a failed policy that I didn’t believe in, one that I knew only hurt Cuban people and separated families. Later, as an intern at the Organization of American States in Washington D.C., my naïve and optimistic hopes of bringing Cuba back into the organization after decades of exclusion were greeted with laughter. Both those experiences were very jarring for me as a student. I was determined to get another perspective.

Studying at the Latin America Studies Center at Cambridge afforded me an opportunity to escape some of the antiquated Cold War thinking that plagued area studies in the United States. Moreover, it pushed me to think beyond the comparative framework that implicitly poses the U.S. as the main point of reference. In that vein, one of the most transformative aspects of my M.Phil studies was being able to engaging with Cuba and Latin America more generally beyond the Cold War politics that dominate area studies in the United States. From this perspective, I was able to see Cuba for more than just the Cuban Revolution. Studying the history of race and ethnicity with my advisor Gabriela Ramos gave me new ideas about why Cuba captured my interest. It was more than just a single moment of revolutionary upheaval, but rather a much longer trajectory of struggle. This interest pushed me towards a historical approach to Latin American studies, with an emphasis on the evolving nature of social inequality.

I began to explore social inequality through the lens of race. My master’s thesis explored the impact of slave emancipation on ideas about race in Cuba. I sought to build upon this study during my doctoral studies in history at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, by exploring the ways imperial transition shaped racial hierarchies in Cuba at the turn of the twentieth century. Yet, as I studied the work of black feminists and delved further into the archival sources, I realized that a history of racial inequality in Cuba would be incomplete without accounting for its entanglement with gender hierarchies. My dissertation represented my first attempt to grapple with those issues. After obtaining my PhD in 2013, I devoted my scholarship to exploring the intersections of race and gender. I co-edited Voices of Crime: Constructing and Contesting Social Control in Modern Latin America (University of Arizona Press, 2016), a volume that explores how race, gender, and class informed ideas about criminality in the region throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. I also finished my first monograph, Revolutionary Masculinity and Racial Inequality: Gendering War and Politics in Central Cuba, 1895-1902 (University of New Mexico Press, forthcoming in 2018), which analyzes the ways Cuban soldiers and politicians employed ideas about masculinity both to challenge and reinforce racial hierarchy. The seminar on the history of race and ethnicity in Latin America at Cambridge empowered me to bring a scholarly and historical approach to my personal and experiential interest in social inequality. It allowed me to pursue personally and politically meaningful work that I believe provides a new perspective, which has the power to produce knowledge for change.

Tell us about your current teaching role at the University of Texas-Rio Grande Valley

When I got the job offer to work at the University (then called University of Texas-Pan American), my first thought was that this was the perfect job for me. Throughout graduate school, I had often questioned whether there would be a place for me in academia, where the odds seemed to be stacked firmly against women of color and people from working-class backgrounds. I had also felt torn about potentially taking a job that would isolate me from communities that I wanted to serve. The prospect of working at one the largest Hispanic-serving institutions in the country melted away these apprehensions. The job seemed to offer the best of both worlds—it afforded me a place in higher education while also enabling me to serve a community with which I truly identified.

Over the last four years, I have embraced this position as an opportunity to apply my areas of expertise in ways that validate and empower my students in the classroom and beyond. Part of that vision stems from my own experience as a student who struggled to identify with curriculum centered on a wealthy, white, male experience. I want my students to feel invested in the content and to see its relevance to their lives. Thus, in my courses on Latin American and the Caribbean, I purposefully center the historical experiences of social groups that are typically omitted from the historical record. Students learn about immigrants, African-descended peoples, indigenous populations, women, LGBTQ+, and religious minorities, among others. In this way, my courses empower students to see themselves in the curriculum, explore the common humanity of people across the Americas and beyond, and think critically about what they might reveal about our own society and experiences.

As a Latin Americanist, working with a predominantly Latinx student population has been a very fulfilling experience. Because of the working-class and immigrant backgrounds of many students, I have found that my teaching on historic social inequality and struggles for justice has resonated in unique and meaningful ways. I have proudly watched as many of them apply the lessons embedded in my curriculum to create change within their communities. I have also enjoyed working with a truly bilingual and bicultural student body and a borderlands community. In this context, the student population possesses a foundation of language skills and some degree of cross-cultural competency, which provides them a distinct advantage for studying Latin America. More than that, in this unique cultural context Latin American Studies is not merely a vehicle for understanding some far-off foreign society, but rather a mirror for exploring the dynamics that have shaped and continue to influence the borderlands.

For this reason, I have dedicated myself to rebuilding the Latin American Studies program at my institution. One of the initiatives I am most proud is Global Latin America, an Interdisciplinary Lecture and Engagement Series I founded in early 2016. As director of the series, I curate an enriching array of cultural and academic programming on the global connections defining the region and its borderlands. Some of the academic talks have focused on Mexico’s African heritage, Chinese Cubans, and this coming semester, Islam in Latin America. Because the Rio Grande Valley has remained geographically and politically isolated from the centers of elite knowledge production in the US, I envision Global Latin America as an important step towards connecting students and community members with internationally-recognized experts. Global Latin America also bridges classroom and community by recognizing the lived experiences of the borderlands as a valuable intellectual pursuit and forging connections between current and future generations of Latinx leaders. I see the series as a strong foundation for an academic certificate program, a minor, and eventually a major. Within an increasingly neoliberal academy and corporatized university, ensuring that students—particularly students of color in one of the most impoverished areas of the country—have access to this kind of liberal arts education is, in itself, a revolutionary act.

Which is your current research project?

Currently, I am finalizing my second monograph and looking forward to starting a new book project. My current book, titled Geographies of Power and Privilege: Urban Racial Segregation and Colorblindness in a Central Cuban City (under contract with University of Alabama Press), examines the gendered mechanisms of urban racial segregation over Cuba’s long nineteenth century. I explore how racial segregation was constructed and perpetuated in a society devoid of explicitly racial laws. By the late nineteenth century, Cuban law did not even recognize race, let alone prescribe racial segregation in the way Jim Crow did in the United States. Scholars have searched for indirect mechanisms of racial inequality, concluding that class was the principal mechanism of racial exclusion. However, the singular focus on class has perpetuated a male normative perspective, which obscures the myriad ways racial exclusion was bound up with gendered relations of power. Consequently, we have an incomplete understanding of the ways race functioned in Cuba and other supposedly-colorblind societies across the Atlantic World.

In the book, I argue that the key to understanding racial segregation in Cuba is recognizing the often-unspoken ways ideas and practices of gender shaped the historical production of race. Through a microhistorical case study of the central Cuban city of Cienfuegos, my research demonstrates that laws governing processes previously understood as neutral and ungendered—for instance slavery, emancipation, migration, urbanization, and property ownership—in fact shaped urban society in distinctly gendered ways. For instance, in mid-nineteenth-century Cuba, enslaved women in rural sugar districts cited their legal rights as mothers and wives to achieve freedom in larger numbers than their male counterparts. Many of these newly-emancipated women migrated to the city, where they found opportunities for wage work, which allowed them to take advantage of their legal right to own land independently from men. The way these women navigated urban space in turn shaped the city’s racial landscape. Most black women migrants settled on the cheaper and less regulated land located on the urban peripheries. But the relative autonomy of these black women property owners drew the scrutiny of local white male elites, who expanded policing and imposed new regulations to preserve urban order. Heightened state surveillance in turn helped institutionalize de facto racial boundaries. The gendered implications of the law were instrumental in producing and perpetuating urban racial segregation, without ever mentioning race outright.

My second project is a new book manuscript tentatively titled Malthusian Practices: A History of Pregnancy, Abortion, and Infanticide in Cuba. I became interested in this subject when I discovered over 300 newly-declassified abortion cases, mainly involving poor women of color, from the early years of the Cuban Revolution. This set of records seemed to contradict the revolutionary discourse of women’s liberation and racial justice. Thus, I began to wonder how laws regulating women’s reproduction perpetuated racial and gender inequality even in moments defined by intense social change. To address this question, I employ a reproductive justice framework to explore evolving interpretations of laws governing pregnancy and fertility control, and their consequences for women of African descent in Cuba. My intersectional approach to women’s health, bodies, and sexuality addresses a critical lacuna in the scholarship on Cuba—and much of Spanish America—by considering the way laws regulating women’s reproduction impacted the status of entire social and racial groups.

The study begins in the early eighteenth century, when colonial officials established the island’s first foundling asylum to care for abandoned infants and curb infanticide. By the early nineteenth century, precisely as Cuba transitioned from a white settler colony to a predominantly-black slave society, white Cuban elites excluded women and infants of African descent from accessing the asylum to ensure the institution could save white babies. I end with the consolidation of the Cuban Revolution in the 1960s, when the state again intensified its policing of women’s reproduction. The racially- and class-specific application of anti-abortion laws reinforced the racialized-gendered subordination of poor women of color within patriarchal family structures, while permitting expanded public roles of white women as symbols of revolutionary progress. Over all, this project illuminates how the regulation of women’s reproduction served as a key pillar of racial hierarchy, a continuity that endured through moments of social upheaval and revolutionary change. I am looking forward to engaging with and contributing to the growing body of scholarship on women’s bodies and reproduction in Latin America.

How do you envision the panorama of Latin American scholarship in the future?

One of the aspects of Latin American Studies that I particularly value is how deeply embedded the notion of intersectionality has been in much of the recent scholarship on the region, even if the theoretical influence has not been explicitly named. Latin Americanist scholars have long recognized the ways gender, class, and race have functioned as entwined system of inequality. In the field of Cuban Studies, Verena Stolke’s pioneering 1974 book Marriage, Class, and Color in Nineteenth-Century Cuba, created a strong foundation for future intersectional work. Recently, a new generation of scholars including Aisha Finch, Tiffany Sippial, Karen Y. Morrison, Camillia Cowling, and others have contributed some inspiring research centering women and gender in historical studies of social inequality in Cuba. As I move into my new role as Post-doctoral Fellow in Law and Society at the Newcomb College Institute at Tulane University, I look forward to contributing to this growing interdisciplinary collaboration between scholars of Latin American Studies and Gender, Women’s, and Sexuality Studies.

What is the most rewarding aspect of your career teaching Latin American studies?

There are many rewarding aspects of my career as a scholar and teacher of Latin American Studies. I think one of the things I have enjoyed most has been the ability to produce knowledge that has a direct bearing on the experiences of ordinary people and on struggles for social justice today. So much of my research and teaching has been dedicated to exposing the implicit and indirect ways race has operated in Cuba’s supposedly raceless society. In some ways, this research is specific to particular moments in the histories of Cuba and Latin America. However, I also see important parallels for the shifting landscape of race in the United States. Over the course of my life, colorblindness has become the unequivocal and unquestioned foundation for prevailing discussions of race in the United States, even as racial inequality and violence have not only persisted but grown worse. I see important parallels to Cuba; the consolidation of racelessness as a key pillar of national identity marked not the end of racial exclusion, but rather its mutation. Some of the worst episodes of racial exclusion and the most genocidal acts of racial violence occurred under the veil of racelessness. By understanding the way race operated in this context, my research potentially offers insights for combatting these abuses in the United States.

Translating these insights into the classroom and beyond has been one of the most rewarding aspects of my career.  Like my research, my courses expose the implicit, unspoken, often unconscious ways in which racial difference and other axes of inequality are constructed in specific historical and cultural contexts. Discussing the implications of concrete historical examples across the Hemisphere, my courses empower students to see the United States, Latin America, and the borderlands between them in a new light, as they learn to question, analyze, and critique dominant narratives and find their own voice. I have watched as my students apply their new knowledge and critical thinking skills to create change in their communities, whether by engaging in discussion with the spouses or children, by conducting original research, or by emerging as local activists.

In discussing these intersections of race and gender, I have had the privilege of seeing other women feel validated in their lived experiences. I have particularly enjoyed mentoring several very talented women students of color on original projects that grew out of my courses. One of my masters’ students is doing a fascinating project on the forced sterilization of Mexican- and Mexican-American women in the Rio Grande Valley. And another student is conducting research on the experiences of women of color in higher education. To me, there is nothing better than empowering students to produce original knowledge that is meaningful to their own lived experiences and has the potential to create positive social change in their communities.

Un Archivo Audiovisual para Baja California Sur

Note: The following contribution is Lefteris Becerra’s text of the Desmantelando Barreras/ Breaking Down Borders webinar presentation from last March 27, 2017.

by Lefteris Becerra Correa, estudiante de maestría del posgrado en Ciencias Sociales, Desarrollo Sustentable y Globalización, Universidad Autónoma de Baja California Sur, México

La propuesta de crear un Archivo Audiovisual en Baja California Sur (BCS) surge en primera instancia de la práctica de la exhibición alternativa independiente en los cineclubes de La Paz, la capital. El reconocimiento de los límites de esa práctica (una función por semana en espacios no diseñados para esos propósitos, sin contar con recursos financieros para las actividades), y el hecho de que no existen instituciones locales dedicadas al cine y otros medios audiovisuales, son parte de las razones que me llevan a pensar en la propuesta de un Archivo Audiovisual (AA) local.

Aunque en México existen instituciones de preservación fílmica como la Filmoteca de la UNAM (fundada en 1960) y la Cineteca Nacional (1974), ambos archivos se encuentran en la capital de la República, muy alejados de nuestro estado. Además, pese a que en el capítulo VIII de la Ley General de Cinematografía, dedicado a la Cineteca Nacional, en su artículo 39 establece que es obligación de los productores o distribuidores depositar una copia de toda película exhibida en el país, esto parece no cumplirse del todo[1]; por ello es pertinente que la preservación de los materiales cinematográficos relacionados con BCS se realice de manera local.

La investigación propuesta tiene como objetivo identificar las condiciones de posibilidad de creación de un archivo que resguarde y difunda la cultura cinematográfica de BCS y del mundo. El archivo audiovisual sería de carácter cultural, así que la investigación se propuso también examinar el contexto más amplio del cine en México y BCS para tratar de entender las coordenadas sobre las que se podría instituir un AA.

El cine en cifras

En resumen: las producciones hollywoodenses ocupan el 90% de las más de 6,225 pantallas que hay en México. En BCS hay 75 pantallas (el 1.20%) y en 2016 se estrenaron 25 películas mexicanas, mientras en todo el país se estrenaron 90. La producción ha ido en aumento, en 2016 se alcanzó la marca histórica de 162 películas nacionales realizadas, de modo que no es la escasez lo que origina el reducido número de películas mexicanas estrenadas. Del cine del resto del mundo, sólo llegan cantidades marginales que no guardan ninguna relación con las cifras de producción del mundo entero. El casi monopolio del cine estadounidense ahoga al cine nacional que se queda sin ventana de exhibición, provocando lo que el realizador Paul Leduc (2016) llama la “invisibilidad del cine mexicano”; todo ello bajo el crecimiento sostenido del aumento de la asistencia a salas, 9.5% en promedio del 2009 al 2016, con la marca histórica del último año en 321 millones de entradas vendidas.

El espacio simbólico del cine en disputa

Para entender esta realidad, es útil revisar un episodio de la historia económico-política contemporánea relacionada con el cine, en los tiempos en que se empezó a instrumentar el actual modelo neoliberal: la Ronda Uruguay del Acuerdo General sobre Aranceles Aduaneros y Comercio (conocido por sus siglas en inglés como GATT), en específico las negociaciones multilaterales sobre la liberalización de los servicios audiovisuales (1990). Ahí se enfrentaron dos modos de concebir el cine: el de países como Francia vs. Estados Unidos. Una postura sostenía que debido a la dimensión cultural de los bienes y servicios audiovisuales, se debía ejercer una excepción, y permitir que los diferentes países adoptaran medidas para la protección de sus mercados e industrias, mientras que la otra, defendida por Estados Unidos, abogaba por un tratamiento del cine idéntico al de otras mercancías para las que ya se habían tomado acuerdos de desregulación mercantil.

Las dos posiciones en pugna revelan una confrontación que sigue viva hasta nuestros días (y que hunde sus raíces hasta los años de la Primera Guerra Mundial) aunque en los quince años posteriores a las discusiones en el GATT el argumento de la excepción cultural evolucionó hacia un consenso casi mundial a favor de la diversidad cultural promovida por la UNESCO (2005), sólo votada en contra por Estados Unidos e Israel. En México, el modelo que opera respecto del cine, a pesar de la adopción de la Convención sobre la Diversidad Cultural de la UNESCO y de la legislación cinematográfica vigente que reconoce el carácter cultural del cine, es el meramente mercantil con una clara inclinación a favor de los intereses empresariales estadounidenses.

Pese a ello, existen diversas instituciones y múltiples esfuerzos que ponen el acento en la dimensión cultural del cine. De hecho es en estas opciones en las que ocurren los atisbos de diversidad acordes con la Convención citada. La Cineteca Nacional, por ejemplo, con un millón de asistentes durante 2016, proyectó 50 de las 90 películas mexicanas estrenadas en todo el país, con un 24% de asistencia al cine nacional (el porcentaje de taquilla en todo el país fue de 9.5). Contar con una institución de ese tipo en BCS resulta relevante para una sociedad que no tiene opciones de exhibición cinematográfica fuera del acceso a las plataformas digitales que hay en Internet y que excluyen a grandes sectores de la población que no cuentan con acceso a la red.

Preservación fílmica latinoamericana

Por otra parte, si nos remitimos a la historia de la preservación fílmica en Latinoamérica, que aunque comienza en México en la década de 1930, cuenta con un capítulo de su historia que es central en la lucha por consolidar una cultura cinematográfica regional, cuya razón de ser era exhibir la producción propia y su objetivo contribuir a la lucha de las décadas de 1960 y 1970 por la liberación en los países en los que se padecía la opresión de las dictaduras o el neocolonialismo denunciado, por ejemplo, por el Grupo Liberación argentino en su emblemático film La hora de los hornos (1968).

Janet Ceja (2013) ha reconstruido parte de la historia de la preservación fílmica en Latinoamérica, centrándose en un episodio central que unió e involucró muchos de estos esfuerzos en diferentes países desde México hasta Argentina y Chile, pasando por Centroamérica y el Caribe, en la Unión de Cinematecas de América Latina (UCAL; fundada en 1965), que seguía un principio de preservación volcado por completo a la praxis social, afín con el modelo seguido en la Cinemateca francesa bajo la guía de su secretario general y cofundador, Henri Langlois, quien desde la década de 1950 había brindado ayuda a los archivos latinoamericanos de diferentes modos, sobre todo prestando filmes de la colección de la Cinemateca para su exhibición en tierras americanas. El cine que se produjo por parte del Nuevo Cine Latinoamericano (1967), con la contribución decisiva de las organizaciones miembro de la UCAL, estaba comprometido socialmente con las luchas populares, llevando a cabo una tarea de combate ideológico bajo diferentes posturas y propuestas, contra la hegemonía cinematográfica estadounidense, pues los intereses de las empresas de ese origen dictaban las condiciones de las diferentes cinematografías nacionales, además de que los filmes de aquel origen eran percibidos como una de las tantas estrategias de neocolonización.

Este hito en la historia de la preservación es digno de recordarse y recuperarse pues aunque el contexto político, social y cultural de nuestra actualidad en la segunda década del siglo XXI, ha cambiado respecto de las realidades vividas en Latinoamérica entonces, también se verifica la continuidad en muchas dimensiones y condiciones que han sufrido no una recomposición o desaparición sino incluso una intensificación gracias a la instauración global del neoliberalismo. Un ejemplo elocuente es la hegemonía cinematográfica estadounidense que en las décadas recientes sólo se ha reforzado en un proceso en el que anula o neutraliza la mayoría de los reclamos que los grupos de profesionales dirigen a sus respectivos gobiernos para que se adopten medidas de protección frente a las desregulaciones neoliberales.

Filmografía de BCS

Volviendo a la realidad contemporánea en BCS, la presente investigación se propuso elaborar un catálogo de identificación de las películas relacionadas con BCS, un requisito previo (y presupuesto en el señalamiento de la carencia de instituciones relacionadas con el patrimonio audiovisual del estado). El catálogo lleva hasta el momento 80 registros con filmes pertenecientes a cinco categorías posibles:

  1. Películas sobre BCS (sobre alguna historia que ocurre ahí, .
  2. Películas realizadas en BCS.
  3. Películas de creadores y artistas locales.
  4. La combinación de 1 y 2.
  5. La combinación de 1, 2 y 3.

La mayoría de los registros pertenecen a producciones del siglo XXI, aunque también hay otros de diferentes décadas del s. XX. La metodología aplicada para la elaboración del catálogo consistió en entrevistas a personas relacionadas con la cultura en BCS, consultas en los archivos fílmicos nacionales, en bases de datos de archivos de México y de otras partes del mundo, así como en fuentes hemerográficas y bibliográficas. De la visualización de poco más de la mitad de los registros se ha obtenido la noción clara de la valía cultural del material que configura una diversidad interesante y que puede ser del interés de los habitantes del estado, así como una fuente fértil para la investigación.

Por una globalización incluyente

La propuesta del archivo audiovisual estatal recupera de la historia de la preservación fílmica latinoamericana el énfasis puesto en la orientación social de los archivos o cinematecas agrupados en la UCAL, aunque considerando las transformaciones económicas, políticas y sociales que han sucedido en las últimas cuatro décadas. Un ejemplo de ello es el componente jurídico y las políticas públicas mediante las cuales el Estado mexicano le da forma y sentido a la actividad cinematográfica nacional, un campo de lucha también entre la postura del Estado neoliberal y la que defienden las agrupaciones de profesionales del cine; en resumen, estamos ante una economía-política del cine de carácter neoliberal, con trazas de la visión del campo cultural que se reflejan en asuntos como el apoyo del Estado a la producción y la política de preservación, siempre en riesgo de ser eliminados, de acuerdo con los intereses de los representantes en México de la Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), con el respaldo gubernamental mexicano.

La invisibilidad de las representaciones cinematográficas sobre BCS configura su inexistencia, que con un archivo como el formulado tendrían un espacio en el que los interesados podrían acceder a ese material cultural hasta ahora condenado al olvido. En el contexto contemporáneo de la globalización neoliberal es de primera importancia para las poblaciones de los países “subdesarrollados” como México, el que los grupos que las componen, cuenten con representaciones audiovisuales, de preferencia elaboradas por ellos mismos, que promuevan la memoria de su territorio y las formas de vivirlo; en el caso de Sudcalifornia, inextricablemente unido a las culturas que ahí se han desarrollado, amenazadas de despojo y con ello, de desaparición. La intensidad de los debates y las disputas desde la época de la Primera Guerra Mundial hasta el capítulo contemporáneo de la excepción cultural, denotan el ámbito de influencia estratégica que el cine representa para las partes en discordia.

El espacio del Archivo debería servir para practicar otro tipo de globalización, una no centrada en el dinero, sino en el intercambio cultural, una ventana a la auténtica diversidad cultural expresada en las creaciones de todo el mundo, panorama en el que BCS debe encontrar su lugar con sus producciones simbólicas, las representaciones cinematográficas portadoras de las identidades, valores y tradiciones que componen su sociedad en su diversidad y complejidad. Un espacio para que, como dice Godard, las películas dialoguen entre sí.

Mirando al pasado y al futuro

La relación del archivo con los filmes sobre BCS es la introducción de la perspectiva de la memoria,  un ejercicio de recuperación de la memoria cinematográfica. Además, el archivo también debería estar orientado hacia el desarrollo de las capacidades audiovisuales, aplicando la teoría del desarrollo humano de Martha Nussbaum (2012) a esa característica que forma parte de nuestra realidad y que algunos autores llaman “era visual” (Mirzoeff, 2003). Con ambas proyecciones temporales, una mirando hacia el pasado con la continua revisión del patrimonio cinematográfico local y mundial, y la otra volcada hacia el futuro mediante la creación de capacidades audiovisuales entre la población local, en especial la juventud. En la actualidad tampoco existen instituciones encargadas de ello, los jóvenes interesados en la producción deben salir del estado para desarrollar sus capacidades, como es el caso de César Talamantes, autor del reconocido documental Los otros californios (2008), quien tuvo que ir a la Ciudad de México a estudiar en el Centro Universitario de Estudios Cinematográficos de la UNAM.

A continuación un demo (6’37’’) de Los otros californios (2008) preparado por César Gutiérrez, director de fotografía del documental de César Talamantes, un retrato de diferentes rancheros de Baja California Sur, que es un ejemplo de los materiales que forman parte de la filmografía de BCS.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnsFjd-hGtM

Referencias

Ceja Alcalá, J. (2013, Spring). Imperfect Archives and the Principle of Social Praxis in the History of Film Preservation in Latin America. The Moving Image, vol. 13, no. 1, pp. 66-97. Recuperado de http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5749/movingimage.13.1.0066

Convención de la UNESCO sobre la Protección y Promoción de la Diversidad de las Expresiones Culturales [versión electrónica]. (2005). Recuperada de http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0014/001429/142919s.pdf

Huerta, C. (2017, abril 17). México hace, estrena y desecha películas. El Universal. Recuperado de http://www.eluniversal.com.mx/articulo/espectaculos/cine/2017/04/16/mexico-hace-estrena-y-deshecha-peliculas#.WPONKfhbpew.facebook

Leduc, P. (2016, mayo 29). El invisible cine mexicano y la Secretaría de Cultura. La Jornada. Recuperado de http://www.jornada.unam.mx/2016/05/29/opinion/030a1soc

Mirzoeff, N. (2003). Una introducción a la cultura visual. Barcelona: Paidós.

Nussbaum, M. (2012). Crear capacidades: Propuesta para el desarrollo humano. Barcelona: Paidós.

Nota

En relación con una pregunta del público sobre si existe algún material relacionado con grupos indígenas de BCS, sí lo hay, se trata de un documental experimental sobre la celebración de la Semana Santa por parte de la comunidad yaqui de Santa Rosalía, Desierto indígena (2017) de Elti Alejandro, que será estrenada a finales de mayo de 2017 en la Ciudad de México y en el verano en La Paz. El autor, artista visual de La Paz, se acercó a la comunidad de yaquis de Santa Rosalía y solicitó su permiso para hacer su trabajo.

A la pregunta de si piensa mostrarles el trabajo, expresó que sí es de su interés hacerlo y que incluso intentó mostrarles el corte previo pero, aparentemente, la cuenta de Facebook por la que los solía contactar, ha desaparecido. Se le comunicó la inquietud de la pregunta formulada desde ¿Colorado, Arizona?, sobre la importancia de contar con el permiso de la comunidad y lo delicado de exponer una ceremonia sagrada en el trabajo documental, a lo cual respondió que la solicitud de hacer su corto había sido aceptada e incluso, comentó, ellos mismos solían compartir sus registros de la ceremonia en su cuenta de Facebook. Al ver el corte preliminar, quien escribe esto, identifica una aproximación respetuosa y dignificante de una comunidad tradicionalmente ignorada y despreciada. De cualquier modo será muy interesante poder conocer la opinión de la comunidad yaqui misma; el plan del artista es compartir el valioso documento —uno de los pocos que existen sobre indígenas en BCS— de forma libre en la red, de modo que todo interesado podrá tener acceso libre a él.

[1] Según nota periodística (Huerta, 2017), en el periodo 2010-2015 se realizaron 700 películas mexicanas, de las cuáles sólo 250 depositaron una copia en la Cineteca Nacional y 13 en la Filmoteca de la UNAM.

Reflections on a Getty Intern “Study Trip” to Photography Archives in Mexico

By: Charisma Lee, Getty Research Institute Graduate Intern, Vocabulary Program

From this past September through May, I had the privilege of working as a graduate intern in the Getty Vocabularies, at the Getty Research Institute at J. Paul Getty Trust. In addition to regular duties, interns are allowed time off for educational travel. The “study trip,” as it’s more informally known, encourages individuals to pursue their professional and personal research interests at a location of their choice. Some have used this opportunity to make advances in dissertation research, broaden their networks, or simply visit institutions and collections which for various reasons would be more difficult to access without Getty support.

I took my cue from the Getty initiatives Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA and Connecting Art Histories to craft a project that would explore visual heritage documentation in Mexico. Unsure of where to start, I contacted Natalie Baur at Colegio de México. Natalie suggested possible contacts and became a guide through the process. Karen Heller, an assistant curator in the Getty’s Department of Photographs, was kind enough to discuss my project and suggest additional collections, both in Mexico City and beyond. For reasons of length, in this blog post I am focusing on my visits with two different kinds of organizations: federally-supported and community based.

The Fototeca Nacional in Pachuca and the Chiapas Photography Project in San Cristóbal de las Casas provide an interesting comparison between a federally-supported institution and a community-based collection. First, The Fototeca Nacional is best known as the home of the Casasola Archives, the foundational collection comprising photographs taken and collected by Agustín Casasola and his descendants. The founder of one of the world’s first photographic agencies, Casasola saw it as his mission to document the history of Mexico, whether through his lens or others’. By the time the collection arrived in state custody in the 1970s, it included photographs by nearly 500 photographers.

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Sign for Casasola Archives at Fototeca Nacional in Pachuca, Hidalgo, México

The Casasola archives provide visual records of events from the late 19th century onwards, witnessed by the likes of Hugo Brehme, Antonio Garduño, and the Mayo brothers. Many more photographers were uncredited, and the Fototeca Nacional continues to work at identifying these individuals. The Casasola archives and the rest of the Fototeca’s collections can be combed through online via simple search by keyword. Typing “Casasola,” for instance, will yield more than 2000 photos as well as associated search terms that metadata technicians have captured. For more advanced inputs—e.g. photographic process and image format— the user has to create an account.

Given my interest in cataloging and discoverability, I spoke at length with the cataloging team. It was especially interesting to discover that the Fototeca maintains its own thesaurus. While similar in function to the Getty’s Art & Architecture Thesaurus, the Fototeca’s thesaurus is a monolingual resource for internal use only. It does not appear online, although the vocabulary terms are used in the metadata for each digitized photograph. The Fototeca’s website does provide a list of the types of descriptive and technical information that staff try to record when processing collections. Relationships between terms and concepts is reflected only in a list of searches by previous users, whether or not immediately relevant.

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Screenshot of search term “Casasola” on the Fototeca website. Note the “people also searched for” and “most frequent searches” sections.

 

The second institution I want to discuss is the Chiapas Photography Project (CPP). One can glimpse samples of work done on its website, but its complete inventory is offline. Founder Carlota Duarte maintains a three-ring binder, with texts outlining CPP history and activities since the project’s inception in 1992. There is an overview of the collection, and a complete list of works by participants, most of whom are Ts’eltal or Tzotzil Maya. Digitization activities are in another section; in some cases, the reasons for digitizing a photograph is given (e.g. for publication or an exhibition). The binder also includes press clippings about exhibits and excerpts from dissertations and theses, names of past staff and volunteers, and lists of CPP collaborations with other projects.

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Some of the first zines, or fotonovelas, as CPP calls them, of CPP work, at the Chiapas Photography Project in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas, México

I discovered CPP as I was leafing through a catalog of modern photography in Latin America. The blurb accompanying a piece by Maruch Santíz Goméz mentioned the artist’s involvement with CPP. Later I learned that the project uses photography to center the perspectives of local community members from various ethnicities and faith practices. For instance, when support for the CPP’s Archivo Fotográfico Indígena ended in 2012 (until then housed at the local social research institute), the participating photographers collectively decided that the original works would be returned to their creators. The CPP staff, themselves photographers, continue to assist community members with developing photography skills and exhibiting and publishing their work.

At the moment it is unclear where the holdings of this decidedly community-oriented project will find a permanent home. Whether this home will be in the U.S. or in Mexico is also undecided. Underlying this issue of affiliation are intersecting considerations of value and sustainability. Where might collections like those of the CPP find the optimal conditions for scholarly and financial support? Where might staff and users be located so such resources can be properly be cared for, promoted, and most importantly, utilized?

These concerns are central to the information professions, and I continue to reflect on them more deeply with time and distance. Truthfully, the photography fan in me was more immediately enamored with the mere existence of these resources, rather than academic questions. Still, speaking with individuals who are similarly excited was refreshing. Though at times I’ve questioned my involvement in libraries and archives, exchanges like those I had in Mexico assure me that I’m on the right path.

Interview with Gayle Williams, Head Librarian, Latin American & Caribbean Information Services Center at the Green Library of Florida International University

by Ana D. Rodríguez

Here in SAA LACCHA we strive to present and stay current of events and people in connection to Latin American and Latin@ archives and libraries, in and out of U.S. borders. Traditionally the focus has been on archivists advancing changes in the field or promoting their work. By adding this section we’re hoping to expand and diversify our archival focus to profile places and stakeholders who have carved also a pivotal role in the development of Latin American and Latin@ scholarship.

Last month of April I had the opportunity of sitting down with one of my colleagues, Gayle Williams, head librarian for the Latin American & Caribbean Information Services Center at the Green Library of Florida International University (FIU). My intention was to talk, know more about her career and life as a Latin American studies librarian, and professional ties with SALALM, and indeed, what an amazing career Gayle has had!

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My first question is about your genesis in the field, how you first became interested in Latin American studies?

It was like a lot of things, where I had taken on one interest and it can often converge with another interest. Just started with taking Spanish in the ninth grade. Much against my will, my mother and stepfather pretty much said, “well, we think you should do that.” I wanted to take Latin because I thought that would be cool, and they were like, “no Spanish is more practical.” And even though this didn’t make sense, I wanted to take Latin. I didn’t want to take Spanish because I thought it would be like mathematics which I’ve never been very good at, and I thought it would be one more group class where I will get a C. Instead, what I discovered was that I had a facility for languages, and then, kind of prophetically, my very first Spanish teacher in the ninth grade was Cuban who came into the US at age 17 in 1960. My school was his first place to teach after he got his college degree.

Did you grow up here in Miami?

No, I am from Oklahoma, and that’s where he got his degree, at one of the Oklahoma schools. It was just the fact that I did discover that I was good at languages, so I kept taking it all through high school. At the same time, in the seventh grade, I was returning to work as a volunteer in the library, so before I started college I knew I wanted to be a librarian. Then the question came up of what can I do, because I don’t want to give up knowing Spanish, and is there some way I can work with that? I started discovering there were these people in libraries called research librarians and subject librarians or bibliographers who worked precisely on one specific area. So that helped in all. Because in college was where my interest in Latin American studies came. In Oklahoma the usual reference people had with anything with Latin America are Mexicans, and not in the best light unfortunately.

And that was because of agriculture?

Yes, because of day laborers coming in. That was my point of reference when I started college at Oklahoma State University. I was going to the Spanish club meetings, and the students from Latin America attended this. We had mainly young men, only very few women, but essentially they were in the big programs at Oklahoma State, in petroleum engineering because they were from Venezuela and even Ecuador. A lot of guys in the agriculture school who were also from Venezuela but whose families had huge cattle ranches, and a lot of Colombians who were in different programs, a lot of them mainly in business. One of them was someone I got to know quite well, and he was in business because his father was a big executive in Avianca, the national airline. The idea was he was probably going to go back to Bogotá and follow in his father’s footsteps. What was interesting about that was meeting these guys who also spoke Spanish, but a little differently. It was also, of course, finding out that a couple, some of them, would not eat Mexican food. Because when they got to Oklahoma, ever again, everyone assumes if you have that accent and you speak Spanish we assume you’re Mexican. So people were, you know, it was the usual thing of, “I am going to invite you into my home because you are a foreign student” and then they serve them tacos. And then, some of the Venezuelan guys never saw a taco. So that was also news to me but it also got me, okay so there is a common language but there are these differences in culture and food that I don’t know anything about. And that was really what started my interest.

Then again by the time I started taking library science courses as an undergrad, I found out that I could focus and maintain my Spanish. Initially I thought I was just going to get my MLS at the University of Oklahoma’s program, but then I started going to Austin, Texas on spring break to visit a friend there, and she said “well you know, the University of Texas has one whole library that’s filled with books from Latin America” [the Benson Latin American Collection]. So that’s how I also discovered the library school program also had a Latin American bibliography track. My mother was a little shocked when I announced to her, “you know I am not doing OU, I want to go to University of Texas,” and that meant out-of-state tuition, and I convinced her that this was important to me for my career. She said, “well you know you’ll have to work while you’re in school,” and I said that’s fine. So that was really the start of where I got my interest in Latin American studies.

And when you started, the program was one year or it was still two years like now?

It was a two-year program. I started in spring of 76, and William Jackson, who taught there for many years and did the Latin American bibliography courses, was starting that fall. He was an interesting person, and I just found out he passed away about two years ago. A very nice man in many ways, but a little eccentric. For one thing, in the 1950s and 60s he apparently had a friend in the State Department who was always funding him to go on all these different kinds of fact-finding trips about the state of libraries in Latin America. He was also instrumental in helping build a library science program in Medellín, Colombia, that’s there to this day. Because in Latin America they realized they didn’t have formal library science training like in the states, so he was involved in that. So he was a good person to get to know.

The other nice thing when I got to UT, since I already knew Spanish, I wanted to learn Portuguese which I hadn’t been able to do at Oklahoma State. The course at UT had a whole immersion course for grad graduate students only, and even though it wasn’t going to count for my library degree, I took it. It was a lot of fun because, of course, about 85% of us in the class already knew Spanish. Once you know Spanish, learning Portuguese is very easy since they are both romance languages, and I called them cousin languages. Our language instructor said, “well you have to go to language lab, but most of you already have good pronunciation, and you are understanding things, so I’m going to leave a bunch of my Brazilian music records and you can listen to those instead of all those dumb tapes.” That was really nice that I also got to bring in Portuguese as part of the background, and again just having that opportunity.

For a lot of my coursework that the classes actually took place at the Benson Latin American collection. I eventually started working there. My first job at UT I worked my first semester shelving books at the main old library where the tower is. That didn’t last very long. Then I got a job for a year as a filing clerk position that no longer exist, filing the cards into the card catalog at the Humanities Research Center, the preeminent research collection at the University of Texas with strong emphasis on American and British literature, 20th century culture theater and so on. I was also spending a lot of time, as we said “up the hill” at the Benson, and when a clerical position came open there I was able to apply and get it. It was also really nice and I got to work at the Benson.

It was an interlibrary loan position with a very fancy title, the Benson liaison interlibrary loan clerk, which meant the main interlibrary loan department on campus sent over all the requests that were for things that were held at the Benson. The librarian who I reported to would leave those books in my box, so it was up to me to prepare the things that needed photocopying or microfilming, and pulling the books needed to go out in interlibrary loan, and she would approve which could and couldn’t. It was a great job because I got to know the collection inside out—that was one way that I started learning more about the rare book collections and archives, especially since rare books don’t circulate. I often had to go to the rare books room and asked them to bring out a copy of something so I could get an estimate on how much it would cost for photocopy or microfilm, and one of these requests was for quite a large set of early 19th-century Mexican government documents. One day when I walked in, and it was a bad day because the clerical staff were out sick, and the head of the rare books room was really frazzled, she had all kinds of people there. When I told her what I needed she thought about it very carefully, looked at me and said, “Gayle, I think I can trust you. You worked with us for a while now. I just don’t have time to bring everything out to you the way we normally do, I’m going to let you go into the rare book stacks and work with what it is you need to get so you can keep working on the estimate.” It was a rare privilege because she was a very wonderful woman but very strict, so she almost let no one else in who wasn’t in.

So then from UT Austin, how did you land here at the Green Library?

Boy, that’s quite a few different jobs. Actually, my first job as a librarian was at UT. I got my library degree, my MLS at the end of 1977, so I was starting to apply for jobs, not just as a Latin American specialist, but also just anything general. I knew I needed to get some experience, and during sometime in spring 1978 the head of the Benson collection, Laura Gutiérrez Witt, as I was walking by one day, and she saw me and she gestured for me to let her approach her. She said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet that we just got this big federal grant from the Department of Education that involved cataloguing the backlog.” It was an immense catalog backlog over the main library of the Latin American books, more than anyone could do.

Was that because of a lack of specialized staff?

Oh no, they had one full time monographs cataloger working just on Latin American books and, probably books about Spain as well. There were just way more than she could keep up with. They had approval plans for acquisitions. The Benson still gets massive donations and gifts because a lot of people out there in the world think it’s very highly prestigious to have their books sitting in the Benson Latin American collection. Part of this grant was both to do some special acquisitions and micro-filming, but the other part of it was to try to keep up or just dispose of some of the cataloging backlog. They were going to hire the first year three librarians, two to do monograph cataloging, and one for serials. She said naturally if you apply you’d really be reporting to the cataloging department of the main library, and I really encourage you to because I know this is what you are interested in. So I applied for the position and I had really no background in terms of being a cataloger except I taken the usual cataloging courses including an advance class on LC classification and OCLC had just started. So yes, we had an OCLC terminal in the library school and they would let us go and have time to sit down and play with it, but I still wasn’t exactly sure how to use it fully.

So basically you started your career at that point when the card catalog was being replaced by computers?

The card catalog itself still took a few years for it to be replaced. It was the cataloging process that was being replaced, with OCLC of being able to share cataloging records from throughout the country. It meant that the days of also having a clerk typist who typed out cards sets, which is something I have also done, was going to end. You’re sitting in a terminal, and you do all your work with preparing a cataloging record through OCLC, then, everything batches, you get these long boxes of cards in the mail, and you file them into the catalog. UT was pretty standard with a lot of places, but it was still taking about 10 to 15 years to the real transition of having an online catalog. But that really started in the late 1970s, and that was the end goal.

I was happy with the idea of cataloging because actually, the other position I’ve had for years while I was in library school was as a clerk in the main library’s reference department. And again, this was when the main library on campus was still in the big administration building that has the famous Texas tower where the guy went up and unfortunately shot and killed people in 1960s, 1966 actually. But they were running out of space in that building. So in 1978 the Perry Castañeda Library opened on campus which is now the main library. So that had already opened and, what I discovered when they hired me, was they like to hire people from Library school because it would give us an experience with dealing with the public. Since I’m still at that point fairly introverted and shy, I did discover that I didn’t really like working with the public that much, based on that experience. Whether they were students or faculty members, people came in wanting everything, blaming you if we didn’t have the latest addition of a reference book that we would sometimes point out, that we don’t even know if there is a newer edition than this. A lot of people don’t like cataloging because it’s very detail oriented, it is away from the public, but I was satisfied to go into it. Also, just because it was a way to start having a Latin Americanist librarian job, so that was fine with me.

What a very interesting beginning, I’m pretty sure that cemented your foundation as a librarian, definitely.

I think every reference librarian should do cataloging for a year. I think every cataloger should be a reference librarian for a year, even if they each come out of it saying I’m never going to do that again. I think it would give them each a better perspective of what’s involved. Catalogers tend to think that reference librarians are the ones buying all these weird books that no one ever reads, and then sit in their offices to drink coffee all day. Where we are the ones that have to get the stack of books catalogued in and out constantly, it never stops. And, reference librarians think, well these catalogers all they’re hipped on is they want to get periods in the right place, instead of getting our advice on good subject headings to use, they don’t listen. They want to use these stupid subject headings that don’t make any sense. I still feel that way to this day, because I was a cataloger for the first ten years of my career. To me it was an invaluable foundation for understanding bibliography, understanding how to find things and why things are organized the way they are.

On the first year of this Department of Education Title II-C grant, the position was only going to be for a year and it only needed one librarian for cataloging serials. At the end of my first year, the other cataloger they had hired with me had already left for a permanent job, and so had the serials cataloger. We had already met our goal of cataloging backlogged monographs as it was projected in the grant, so for the last month and a half of the job I was kind of afraid, and my boss said, “well since we met the goal on the books and the serials cataloger left, we are going to have you work with Oscar, the Benson’s main serials cataloger so you’re going to expend the last part of your time cataloging serials.” It meant I learned how to catalog serials because a lot of catalogers really, when I was a cataloger most catalogers, just like people are right-handed and left-handed, most only fit into one format of it. Monograph catalogers and the serials catalogers, or maybe once in a while I am a music catalog, even rare or AV catalog. I thought I was the ambidextrous cataloger because I could catalog in two different formats, which I thought was good.

At the end of that year I had applied for the next job in the meantime, just to be on the safe side. I had interviewed for a position elsewhere that I didn’t get and I was waiting to interview for the new grant for the serials cataloger position. I thought I will have a good chance of getting it as I have already gotten some experience. They had hired someone temporary to come in who had a lot more serials cataloging experience. Also, there was a position I saw for a cataloger at the College of the Virgin Islands on St. Thomas at the US Virgin Islands. I vaguely knew what the Virgin Islands were, that, you know, that is clumped over somewhere around Puerto Rico, and I knew where Puerto Rico was. I was just trying to figure out how I could work as a librarian in Latin America. I looked into it and it turned out that it was really not that easy to do because, of course, I would’ve been a foreign national.

And you probably needed a visa?

Yes, just all the things that I was young and just not understanding that, but here’s this position in a U.S. territory in the Caribbean, and I thought, why not go for that? So, I applied for it and they flew me down to interview me; it was my first time going to the Caribbean. I’d been outside of the United States a few times, like the summer I turned 17 I got to go on one of these big high school five-week trips to Europe. Also, with my family, we had been over the border into Mexico about three or four times starting when I was age 5. I wasn’t a neophyte to being outside of the U.S., but I was not an experienced traveler either. Essentially, I interviewed for the job, came back to work, and a couple weeks later I was walking into my department from a meeting, and everybody was kind of jumping up and down, “you got a message from the Virgin Islands and they said they want you to call them back.” That was when they had made me the offer, and then my boss said, “well you know,” she just talked to me confidentially, “I really think you should go ahead and take that, as you know the other person is more experienced with cataloging serials even though you’ve been doing a good job, so probably this should be a good opportunity, although it’s not quite Latin America but it’s the Caribbean and this is something you want to do, I think this would help you.”

So, then I had to figure out how you moved to the Virgin Islands? In terms of not just getting on a plane that I discovered that most airlines have airfreight, air cargo and that was how you could move, cause back then I didn’t have a lot in the world. I had just my clothes, but I did have some boxes with few books, and little kitchen goods I had. I couldn’t take it all in the planes, and that was when I discovered what you could do.

I’m imagining you in your process of moving…

I didn’t have anyone that I can really call to say, how you move to an island? Especially because I was in Austin and my family was up in Oklahoma, and as my mother thought it was kind of crazy that this is something I wanted to do. After I moved to the Virgin Islands, as soon as I got there within six weeks she is calling saying, “can we come for a visit?”. Meaning her and a longtime friend of hers that I grew up with who I considered an aunt, and I said sure.

So again, now the College of the Virgin Islands is now the University of the Virgin Islands, I got there and that was a very different experience. The first thing I discovered was people spoke a different kind of English. Just because in the West they had their version of a West Indian accent. How they spoke, how they pronounced certain things, they talk fast. I talk fast as an English speaker but they did it with a different rhythm, so I was wandering around in my first week there, when someone would say something like “can I help you today?” Every so often someone would say, “well, that’s a pretty Americanized place, so it probably wasn’t a big deal for you.” It’s a U.S. territory that is still part of the West Indies where you have a predominantly African descent population, and they can be a little suspicious of newcomers on the island. There are different ways of doing things, and you have to learn, and if you want to get along with people you have to take up a little bit of how they do things and not always think that everything you know is always best or superior.

There was a humbling process with it. The first six months were the hardest. I got there just after a big hurricane, and it meant that when I went to apply for phone service, the hurricane had just downed most of the power lines. It took six months before I got a phone in my first apartment, and luckily it wasn’t an apartment complex on the highest point of St. Thomas, and I had a phone booth. I had to go out and call my mother collect just to let her know how things were going, and that I was okay. One month she complained because my sister had just moved to New York and was doing the same thing, and the collect calls were adding up pretty quickly, and she said, “maybe you don’t need to call for every little thing unless it’s an emergency. Maybe you could wait to call me every couple of weeks.”

It was an interesting position because I was one of three full-time librarians. The director of the library, who’d been there since the college was founded in 1962, and therefore, he was one of these people who thought it was his library only, and that he knew everything to do best. Then, the full-time reference librarian and me as the cataloger. My title really should have been head of technical services, because I cataloged but I also was in charge of getting the cards filed. That job was also living catalog history because after having been used to using OCLC for cataloging and name authority, then I get to a place where we don’t have it, and we still were doing the old-fashioned thing of ordering our card sets from the Library of Congress and then, typing in the headings often. I wasn’t managing serials or acquisitions; the director took care of those.

For how long did you work at the Virgin Islands?

I was there for two and a half years. The first day on the job he said, “well, I don’t know anything about cataloging, so whatever you do back here is fine.” My predecessor left a whole shelf of books along one wall that were waiting for me to take care of, because apparently CIP, cataloging in publication, was still fairly new. She had books sitting up there waiting for the card sets, and it was like, we don’t have to wait for cards sets. This is revolutionary when I told my boss, “you know I can go ahead with a lot of these if we’re still waiting on the card sets. The CIP gives you enough information to put a call number on it, to label it, and get it out of the shelf.” He just thought that was wonderful, but it was also living cataloging history because every time we got a new supplement of the national union catalog, I would go through it. For anything that I needed to order, or to see if they had it in there, so that I could go ahead and photocopy and also start making cards.

It was very different but I also got into the early steps in terms of collaboration because it turned out that the public library system there did a catalog of Virgin Islands documents holdings. That would show which of us had the Department of Health annual reports, the police department statistics. I found out about it because one day I got a phone call from the woman at the public library who coordinated it [the Virgin Islands documents]. Because when I walked in, my predecessor had left no notes or anything about where things were, and again, I had a boss who had no idea what cataloging was.

It turned out that there was a large amount of Virgin Islands government documents just sitting in the back. She was very upset because they actually coordinated getting the copies to our library and into the library on St. Croix CVI campus. She said, “if you are not going to really catalog these, or add your holdings so we can put it into the catalog, I think we need to stop sending them.” So, I said to her, “now let me look into it.” And, so I did. My boss tended to say, “those things are not worth that much, and I don’t want you to spend a lot of time on it.” But, I already looked through them and they’re all serials. I said, “all I have to do is add these to the holdings record in my shelf list, and that it really is not to take much time.” I didn’t tell him that a couple of cases that I was going to have to do some more cataloging because there were names’ changes. I made that my little secret so he would approve.

I also worked reference there one evening a week, so that meant I had a day off where I could go get errands done, and that was really good. It was a good position in a lot of ways that I was interacting, because again in terms of both the local Virgin Islanders, there were populations of people from other neighboring islands like St. Lucia, St. Kitts, and Nevis, visitors from places like Barbados. I was getting a real sense of West Indians. You always think there’s the Pan West Indian, Pan Latin America, everyone coming together because of the commonalities of language, of geopolitical situations. But, you also realize one among all the different groups how they can also differ. I liked to joke that by the time I lived there, I could tell by accent, I could distinguish a native St. Thomian from a second-generation St. Lucian. I just started to pick up on slight differences in how they each spoke.

It was a job that I knew I wanted to move on from because it got to a point where I had done everything there that I could do. There were no real new challenges, and as much as I liked living there, and my mother would, if I had just stayed there permanently, my mother would have moved down and bought a house. But I realized, the longer I’m down here, I’m going to miss out on—I was mainly thinking of myself still as being a Latin American cataloger—in missing out on everything going on with OCLC because it was still relatively a big deal. And, the other part of it was realizing too, when I got my MLS, I realized that to be a Latin American subspecialist, I really didn’t have a great background. My B.A. was in Humanities, which was a great do-it-yourself degree because you could take courses from a variety of areas, and I think they like you to choose two major areas, and mine were Spanish and an undergraduate library science. I was only one course shy of having the equivalent of what it would’ve been a B.A. in Spanish in Oklahoma State. I knew I didn’t really have the subject background. When I was finishing my MLS at UT, I was looking into the Masters in Latin American studies program there, and wondering, should I go ahead and start thinking about enrolling? But at the time, because I got right in from my undergraduate to my graduate degree, I was 21 when I started my MLS which is very young since it’s usually a secondary career for a lot of people.

Gayle, how competitive was the field of library science back then? Now we have many librarians with multiple graduate degrees, but back then, how rare was that?

It was not that rare really. Some of the earliest people in SALALM that I met were doing this. Didn’t always have a PhD but they usually had, at least a Masters in Spanish literature as opposed to actual Latin American studies. But know this, in my area I have always contended, we are actually one of the narrowest job specialties for which there is a high rate of competition. If you look at ads for other positions that can go begging better but still very valuable especially science librarians of all disciplines, those positions can be very hard to fill. Again, it’s a very narrow pool because you do need the educational background. So, I decided that I was tired of being an overworked and underpaid student. I wanted to get out, start working, and get a little experience. My sense was for myself that by the time I was 30 I needed to be somewhere that had a good and a strong Latin American studies graduate program that I could get in. That was part of the other reason that I knew I wanted to leave St. Thomas.

That’s what worked out. After two and a half years there, I went to the University of New Mexico. I was there for seven years, and again, I was hired primarily as a cataloger but the librarians in New Mexico back then were also tenure-track faculty. As I remembered seeing job ads for them in the late 70s, it would have been black type “faculty status obligatory,” in that it would blacktop boldface, it would say, “Publish or Perish,” to make people understand they were serious about that. So, I was hired there as a librarian for the, what we call the Ibero-American cataloging team, and actually was a split position. I was working both in monographs and down in the serials department, on their serials cataloging team as their Latin American specialist. Because again, I could catalog in two different formats.

The other opportunity I had at New Mexico was that because of the faculty status, most librarians there, not just the people in public services, had a subject selection assignment. So, they were asking me would that be something of interest, because it’s changed now in New Mexico but at the time subject selection was actually spread out with the person who had been considered the head bibliographer. Then, there was a reference librarian who was also a Latin American specialist, and so was the team leader for the monograph cataloging team. They were very interested to see if that was something I wanted to be part of, and I said very much so. The woman in reference, she’s been doing literate language and literature because she had an MA in Spanish literature from Duke. Since that was really my strongest area in terms of subject preparation, she wanted to give it up and work more on some of the social sciences assignments, especially women studies. Because, again, kind of the growing thing, it was a new discipline within libraries to look at for collecting. So, I was also able to get my feet wet with collection development in New Mexico as well as being a cataloger, which was really good and it was also where I started learning how to work with faculty as their liaison.

Forging ties and collaborating with faculty…

Yes, and also because New Mexico, just as Texas, had a very robust collection. There was the Institute of Latin American studies, that was a Title VI program, and the director there was a strong advocate and supporter of us at the library. He freely gave us funding for our work and for travel. When I first got there he was like, “we want to take you over to Miguel Merck because he will give you travel money as well as the library to go to SALALM.” So that was really great.

Did you become a member of SALALM from your work at New Mexico?

I was already a member, because when I was in library school, again Bill Jackson, my professor, he was president of SALALM around that time for the 1978 meeting that got held in London. He was encouraging the group of us that he was teaching in the Latin American bibliography courses. This was an organization we should all belong to and it had, of course, the usual student rate that made it less expensive. So, I think I joined as a student, and I don’t really remember anymore, but certainly by the time I finished my MLS, I had joined SALALM. My first SALALM meeting was in 1979 when I was a cataloger. Because of my position as a cataloger, we were actually over at the Benson, because even though the Perry Castañeda library was new, the cataloging department was already out of space for adding three new people. The Latin American serials cataloging unit was already over at the Benson because it also had an acquisitions module. So, they just put us under the supervision of the woman who was in charge of that unit. Even though for the two of us doing monographs, she said, “no, monographs are not my thing.” And this was to help us with the monographs cataloger back at PCL [Perry Castañeda], they put in a phone that only went to her office number. You couldn’t even dial it. If we picked it up, it would ring, and if Anna was sitting at her desk and she would answer it, “Hi, this is Anna.” “Hi Anna, this is Gayle, I have a question about this kind of subject heading,” and that was how it was, part of how we learned.

So, in 1979 SALALM, like ALA, used to have midwinter meetings. It no longer does. UT and the Benson Collection was hosting the 1979 SALALM midwinter, so they were encouraging me to sit in on the meetings, and Laura Gutiérrez Witt, she had a reception at her home for SALALM members, and good people volunteered to pick them up at the hotel and drive them to her house, and I did that. You know, that was my first meeting with Peter Johnson who was the bibliographer at Princeton for many years until he retired in 2002; and with Margarita Anderson Imbert, who was the bibliographer at Harvard for a long time. Her husband was the famous Enrique Anderson Imbert, who if you studied or took any course in Latin American Spanish literature, you would’ve used his textbook. It was the standard in the field. That was my first exposure, and actually, my first SALALM meeting was in 1979 when it was held at UCLA. Then, it being at the Benson was a tremendous advantage because people would look at my name tag that said, University of Texas. I was just part of, as far as I’m concerned – part of the group. “Oh come on over, come with us, we’re to go out of the patio, we’re going to have a beer, why don’t you join us.” “So tell us what Nettie Lee is doing these days.” I didn’t know Dr. Benson that well. She was retired but she was still at the Benson working with the last of her doctoral students, and then using the library on her own.

And that was a funny thing too because I was never formally introduced to her [Nettie Lee Benson]. She made it her business to knew who everybody was working there. So, when I finished my MLS and I was job hunting, she came up to me one day and said, because I applied for a half-time position in the reference department at PCL and I didn’t get it, she said, “well, are they going to hire you for that or not?” because she had a very strong Texas accent even when she spoke perfect Spanish. I said, “I haven’t heard yet,” Then she said, “well, you know there’s that job at Florida, did you apply for that? Do you want me to call Rosa? You know Rosa Mesa, the head of the Latin American collection there?” And I went to Laura Gutiérrez Witt, a couple of years later, I was telling her that. I said “I didn’t even know if she knew who I was,” to Laura, because Laura had been Dr. Benson’s protégé. Laura just smiled and said, “oh believe me, she had her own way of finding out everything about everybody.” She said, “yes, from when you were hired, she would have found out who you were, she would’ve found out that you were in graduate school of library science and everything that she could about you.” So that was kind of strange but a good thing.

I got to know Dr. Benson a little, which really is something I’m very happy about. That is because some of the other leaders of SALALM, the women at the time, the woman from Florida, Irene Zimmerman. She only passed away in about 2005. She was already retired but I never had the pleasure of meeting her. There was another woman, her name escapes me now, but who is actually Brazilian who married an American. She had been working up at Northwestern. They had this early-on cataloging project called the “Venezuelan project” where they were helping create an online catalog for the national library in Venezuela. They had a grant and they were thinking about trying to hire one more person. That was another job I applied for it, but I can’t think of her name, just terrible. Because I never got to meet her in person but I talked to her on the phone. Emma Simonson, that was her name, and people in SALALM just sang her praises. Because they had Nettie Lee who tended to be very opinionated and strong-willed. They also had Marietta Daniels Sheppard who was one of the women who kind of brought SALALM out of under the wing of the OAS (Organization of American States) as an independent organization. Marietta would run these meetings to tell everybody what to do.

I have five more minutes

Okay, sorry

It’s okay. You have a very interesting career, and I didn’t know you worked at the Benson and the Virgin Islands too.

Okay, so I can compress it from there. So, New Mexico seven years. I started my Masters in Latin American studies, finished it, and there was an ad for a job at the University of Georgia as a Latin American studies bibliographer. My colleague Russ Davidson at New Mexico, who was pretty much our chief bibliographer for Latin American and Iberian collections, encouraged me to apply. Russ gave me many reference letters over the years. It was a brand-new position. It was just time to go in some ways. So, I moved on. I was at the University of Georgia for 13 years which is actually a little bit longer than I would’ve preferred. They had a small Latin American studies program there, and the library administration didn’t necessarily support what I could’ve really been doing. I had a very small budget but, on the other hand, Georgia was where I really started doing much more in terms of information literacy at the risk of bibliographic instruction. That was something I worked on. So, there were things about Georgia that were not great but, the great thing that I really worked on with Georgia were my relationships with the faculty. I had an advantage. The person who is now in charge of Portuguese at Georgia had been there for about three years. She got her PhD in New Mexico where I knew her. We knew each other, we weren’t good friends but we became and we’re still very close friends to this day. Because I had Brazilian literature as one of my big areas in my Masters, but I also had gotten to know the Latin Americanist in the history department. So there were people that I started finding out, who were the ones offering classes and wanted me to do instruction for them, and they’d bring the class over to the library.

And then, the other thing that happened towards the last about three years at Georgia that was really exciting to me was the Latin American Research Resources project, LARR, had been in existence for about not quite ten years. They had gotten one of these Department of Education grants with an even crazier acronym that I will not go into. Essentially, it was a grant to help enhance what they were doing with building a periodicals table of contents database. They had started it as a pilot with just journals from Mexico and Argentina but they wanted to expand it. They wanted to have a coordinator who could actually work with different libraries in Latin America, train them to input into the database. So, they wanted someone to do it on a half-time basis and, Georgia was only too happy to do some salary savings. So, from 2000-2002 I was half-time at my job in Georgia and, half-time in LARR as the Latin American partners’ coordinator.

I was doing about two trips a year, but first we had to find a partner had a good regional collection of Latin American journals. We did CIRMA in Guatemala, the big research Institute, rather than just one of the Guatemalan universities that would only have Guatemalan journals since CIRMA had a regional collection. That meant part of my duties were spending about a week to ten days with the different partner libraries, to show them how to input the database. That part was really easy but, then also, talk to them about what their selection assignment should be for the titles they needed to put in. We wanted them to avoid duplication with HAPI, the Hispanic American Periodicals Index. That was really a great part of my position because it strengthened my Spanish for one thing, because I was doing training all in Spanish except when I went to Trinidad for the University of the West Indies.

I was really proud when we brought in the University of Puerto Rico as a partner. The library director, you know, UPR can be somewhat bilingual but some people really don’t speak much English. Then, the director who was fairly new, I convinced him to let them be part of this. If he knew English I never could figure it out but, he wanted me to meet with his technical department heads, because some of them when they heard about this project they had nightmares about what it meant. The head of interlibrary loan sitting at the table across from me said, “so you’re telling me I am going to get hundreds of interlibrary loan requests now from libraries in Chile and I have to fill them.” And I said, “no, it’s nothing like that.” I was doing all the speaking in Spanish and, the woman who is head of cataloging said, “I just want to tell you that I speak English and I speak Spanish, and that I could never do what you’re doing right now in English,” she said. And believe me, I’m still not really a fluent Spanish speaker.

But there is the fact that you understand it, and you have an interest in improving yourself.

And the library director said to them, “I haven’t heard her speak English once since I met her. We’d only spoken in Spanish on the phone.” And speaking Spanish on the phone is often, you know, “can you speak very slowly please.” Or, the other thing I find when I travel to Latin America, I never have a problem making myself understood but, I always seem to find when I’m out on the city street and I’m a little lost, it always seems like I find the people to ask directions from are usually people who have dental problems. So it’s like a little old man with no teeth, so probably even the locals in that vicinity can’t understand that guy.

Do we have to wrap it up?

I have to go, but I have a couple more questions. You don’t mind if I send you an email? They are very important but, it has been a pleasure talking to you. I have learned so much from you right now.

***********

Five more minutes with Gayle

Can you tell me, again (share with me) how you first became interested in Latin American Studies?

Let me finish here. I left the University of Georgia in 2003 and became Emory University’s first Latin American & Iberian Studies Librarian that same year. I was at Emory for four years and very content there. However, when I saw the Florida International University vacancy, I evaluated my future career, and thought FIU might provide some new challenges. I was right!

How long you have been associated (part of) with FIU Green Library?

I started working at FIU in September 2007 so I’m just a few months from my 10th anniversary.

Which current subjects you deal the most? Areas of expertise?

I work most often with history and literature but have provided assistance for sociology, international relations, political science, anthropology, African diaspora studies. Cuba, Venezuela, and Haiti are currently the countries I get asked about the most. My MA in Latin American Studies emphasized Brazilian literature and history. I’ve developed a strong knowledge of Brazilian Cordel poetry, Latin American cinema, and Caribbean history.

How do you envision Latin American librarianship in the future?

Latin American librarianship for the foreseeable future has its feet in both the waters of traditional acquisitions/collection development, and an increasingly virtual environment. Buying print material that’s not available in another medium is still crucial to providing a good research collection. At the same time, we need to chart which publishers and creators are switching to fully digital delivery. The potential for digitizing heritage collections and employing digital scholarship methods to research also provides a rich and exciting future for the Latin Americanist librarian.

 How is your involvement with SALALM? Your history with SALALM?

I became a SALALM member by the time I received my MLS, and have become increasingly more active over the years. I have the honor of being a Past President, twice elected as SALALM Executive Board member-at-large, and have served as Local Arrangement host/co-host for 2 meetings: Athens, Georgia in 1995, and Miami, Florida in 2013.

I founded SALALM’s official listserv, lala-l in 1991, and continue to serve as its listowner. I have chaired numerous SALALM committees and task forces. I have been editor of the SALALM-published Annual Bibliography of Latin American & Caribbean Bibliographies since 1992. I have moderated several panels and delivered papers at annual meetings. I helped broker getting the University of New Mexico Libraries to host the SALALM Secretariat in the 1990s. Because SALALM is a small organization, members get to know one another very well plus there are always new attendees which means I meet someone new every year. SALALM is my top professional priority, and attending the annual meeting is like being at a family reunion.

What’s the most rewarding aspect of your job?

Sharing my expertise with students so they can best utilize our great resources at FIU and beyond is what means the most to me. That process often puts in me the territory of new research demands which means I’m often learning from them while sharing what I know.

How much has the city of Miami changed in terms of Latin American populations?

The Latin American populations were pretty much in place when I arrived so I can’t say I see much that’s different over ten years, especially when I compare it to my time in Georgia where I did witness massive demographic shifts of Mexican and other Hispanic populations, first in north Georgia, and then Atlanta, when I went from UGA to Emory.

Finally, do you have any words of advice for incoming (future) Latin American librarians?

Understand the balance between the subject expertise and technical skills needed in the workplace. I’m not going to be impressed by a resume with a whole page of software programs and apps someone’s mastered if they can’t speak to the subject needs for a particular collection. Maintain flexibility when it’s necessary to expand your subject expertise. You may have an MA or Ph.D. in Mexican history but if you’re at an institution where Mexico isn’t a priority, put your skills to use in learning the rigors of a new region and/or discipline. The best thing a new librarian can learn is the art of building a professional network to draw upon for support and guidance. That’s where a professional organization like SALALM can come into play.

Archivist Spotlight: Elvia Arroyo-Ramírez, Processing Archivist for Latin American Manuscript Collections, Princeton University

(editor’s note: Elvia was recently elected to the SAA 2018 Nominating Committee)

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Elvia Arroyo-Ramírez, at Calle Londres, Mexico City, in front of Frida Kahnlo’s “Casa Azul.”

Please give a brief introduction of yourself and your interests in Latin American and Caribbean cultural heritage archives.

Hi there, I am the Processing Archivist for Latin American Manuscript Collections at Princeton University. Prior to my current position I was a project archivist at the Center for the Study of Political Graphics, an independent grassroots archive that collects social movement posters with strong concentrations in the Vietnam War era and 20th-21st century Latin America.

As a daughter of Mexican immigrants, my interests in Latin American and Caribbean cultural heritage archives stem from a very personal place and are closely tied to my identity. I feel very privileged to lend my labor to—and make accessible—the archives of Latin American and Latinx individuals and communities. It is also a privilege to put my language skills to use and work with Spanish language materials on a daily basis.

Tell us about your work at Princeton University Library Rare Books & Special Collections Department as the Latin America Processing Archivist. What are some of the collections you’ve worked with?

Princeton has extensive holdings of literary correspondence, manuscripts, and personal papers of contemporary Latin American authors, critics, and other intellectuals, with special emphasis on authors of the Boom (1960s-1970s) era. We have about 70 author archives and related collections that are processed and readily available for access.

Since I’ve started my position in June 2015, I’ve mostly concentrated on the backlog of unprocessed collections. These include the organizational and editorial files of the Mexican literary journals Plural (1971-1976) and Vuelta (1976-1998), both edited by Octavio Paz; the papers of Argentine poet and human rights activist Juan Gelman (1930-2014); and numerous other smaller collections and new additions to existing collections. I am currently processing the papers of the late Ricardo Piglia (1941-2017) who just passed away earlier this year, and the papers of Edgardo Cozarinsky (1939- ).

I am also working on an audiovisual migration project to digitize the audio cassette and reel-to-reel assets found in our Latin American collections. We have collections that feature audio recordings of authors such as Pablo Neruda, Elena Garro, Julio Cortázar, Gabriel García Márquez, José Donoso, and many more. I am very excited about this project as it is a pilot project that will help inform the start of a reformatting program to digitize other AV materials held in our manuscript collections.

You recently presented at the Preservation and Archiving Special Interest Group (PASIG) this fall, and posted your comments on medium at https://medium.com/on-archivy/invisible-defaults-and-perceived-limitations-processing-the-juan-gelman-files-4187fdd36759#.u2k2zc6nc. How do you see the future of archives, especially digital archives, in relation to traditionally marginalized groups?

There seems to be a tendency to fully endorse technologies as egalitarian and democratic. That thanks to current technologies, information can now not only be immediately accessible, it is also accessible to a wider audience, and more folks can create and contribute content. Yes, there is truth to this; however, we cannot simply rely on this blanket promise without holding accountable those that are building the tools or otherwise making this information accessible. There has been recent critical scholarship (OLITA spotlight talk at the Ontario Library Association, 2015) about the implicit biases in the way technologies are built and how they simply mirror the biases and perspectives of those that build them. This argument elucidates that the same systemic structures that exist and oppress minority or marginalized groups in society are perpetuated in the technological tools we use to access information because the industries that make these tools, and related industries that purpose them, are created and used by the majority white and the majority male. Understanding this, how does that affect the preservation and access to digital archives of those from traditionally marginalized groups?

In my talk I argue that it takes critical awareness, consciousness, and ethical responsibility to uphold the cultural and political integrity of archival collections that are located outside of the majority, which I called the (in)visible default of “western, white, straight, and male”   and collections that are not in English. Without active intervention to uphold the cultural and political integrity of archival collections of creators that are not English speaking, western, white, straight, or male, we run the risk of projecting this default onto them in the ways that we preserve and provide access to them.

What has been the most rewarding aspect of your work? The most challenging?

The most rewarding parts of my day are getting to learn about individuals I never met through the ways they lived, wrote, thought, and interacted with others felt vis-a-vis the traces they left behind. When I was a child I liked to scavenge through my mother’s purse while she and my father were out dancing during family parties. I liked to pull everything out of her purse to figure out what everything was and why my mom needed to carry it. I think there’s something in this weird childhood pastime that has endured in adulthood. My work is part detective, part psychologist and getting to figure out and preserve the puzzle of a person or an organization’s records and projecting this out to the world for access is still the coolest and most rewarding part of what I get to dedicate my 9-5 to.

What I find the most challenging in this field is remaining critical and constructive about the silences or deliberate obstructions in archival representation, in particular when it affects the representation of marginalized communities. The majority of archival collections I currently work with come from the established literary canons of Latin America; this is a fact that does not escape me. Though through my writing, presentations, and other outlets I try to contribute critical thought and perspective to these issues in the field.

Finally, what advice and words of wisdom would you give to new and aspiring archivists?

Even though I have about 6 years of post-MLIS experience working in archives, I still consider myself an early career professional so I am learning with everyone who is getting started in this field. I’ve recently offered some advice to students and new professionals in the SAA SNAP blog. Beside what I said there, all I can offer is my experience—what has worked and not worked for me. For both grad school and taking the job at Princeton, I’ve had to move away from my family and friends which is part of the challenge of working in archives. If you are able to pick up and relocate to gain the experience you need to get your foot through the door, do it. I recognize that because I did not have any geographical limitations or familial responsibilities of taking care of an elderly parent or children of my own, that I could do that easily.

Caribbean Scholarship in the Digital Age – Webinar 3

caribbeanscholarshippic

Caribbean Scholarship in the Digital Age is a webinar series showcasing digital and/as public research and teaching in Caribbean Studies. The series provides a collaborative space for professionals to share on projects and experiences to foster communication and support our shared constellations of communities of practice.

Please join us for an upcoming event featuring innovative digital work with Colony in Crisis, April 11, 2017, at 11am (Miami Time).

Presenters: Nathan Dize and Abby Broughton (Vanderbilt University)

 Click here to participate in the online event: http://ufsmathers.adobeconnect.com/Caribbean

 About the Presentation:

A digital project created in 2014 through the collaboration of two graduate students and a librarian, A Colony in Crisis (CiC, https://colonyincrisis.lib.umd.edu/) exemplifies interdisciplinary and interdepartmental research in the contemporary, media-enhanced age of humanities scholarship. Working through the framework of the grain crisis of 1789 in colonial Saint-Domingue, CiC provides English translations and introductions of original French pamphlets in hopes of promoting a glimpse into one of the many alternative histories of the Atlantic World in the years preceding the Haitian Revolution. With the goal of curating archival documents in order to offer students and scholars alike the possibility of working with archival texts across language barriers, the team partners with instructors to implement the project in the undergraduate classroom. Fall 2015 saw the implementation of CiC in an upper-level French literature course. One year later, the team reflects on their first foray into the classroom and where to steer the project over the years to come.

 About the Speakers:

Abby R. Broughton is a PhD student in the Department of French and Italian at Vanderbilt University, where she specializes in 20th century queer literature, body and identity politics, and the intersection of illustration and text. Abby is a co-author, translator, and editor of A Colony in Crisis: The Saint-Domingue Grain Shortage of 1789.

Nathan H. Dize is a PhD student in the Department of French and Italian at Vanderbilt University where he specializes in Haitian theater, poetry, and revolutionary poetics during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Nathan is the content curator, translator, and editor of A Colony in Crisis: The Saint-Domingue Grain Shortage of 1789.

About the Caribbean Scholarship in the Digital Age Webinar Series:

The Digital Library of the Caribbean (dLOC), in partnership with the Association of Caribbean University, Research and Institutional Libraries (ACURIL), the Graduate School of Information Sciences and Technologies of the University of Puerto Rico, the Latin American and Caribbean Cultural Heritage Archives roundtable (LACCHA) of the Society of American Archivists (SAA), and the Seminar on the Acquisition of Latin American Library Materials (SALALM), has organized a series of online events, Caribbean Scholarship in the Digital Age, a webinar series showcasing digital and/as public research and teaching in Caribbean Studies. The series provides a collaborative space for professionals to share on projects and experiences to foster communication and support our shared constellations of communities of practice.

Other upcoming webinars in the series include:

·        May 10, 11am Miami time, Dr. Sara Gonzalez on 3D printing services

Recordings of all webinars will be available in dLOC soon after the webinar.

Please join us for next stage conversations from the webinars, to take place at ACURIL’s 2017 annual conference, focusing on Interdisciplinary Research in the Caribbean: http://acuril2017puertorico.com/

Twitter: #digcaribbeanscholarship

Twitter: @dlocaribbean