An exercise in hope

Born raised, and educated in the last century, I am envious of young students and budding historians because they literally have primary sources at their fingertips—or should I say, at the flick of a mouse. These were not readily available when I first visited the National Library and the National Archives 40 years ago. Frankly, I would sell my soul to be young again, but only with my mature, data-filled mind. Oscar Wilde was correct to lament that “youth is wasted on the young.”

Every week, I patiently reply to student requests for help with assignments for the basic undergraduate course “Readings in Philippine History.” From these messages, it is clear that the course required by the Commission on Higher Education kills enthusiasm for historical research and learning. Its acronym is quite apt: “RIP-H” (Rest In Peace, History).

The assignments come in two forms. The first is the classroom debate, where students are divided into two opposing groups to argue controversial issues in Philippine history: the authenticity of Rizal’s handwritten Retraction from Masonry, the site of the first mass (Limasawa or Masao), or whether Balintawak or Pugad Lawin is the true site of the “First Cry” of the Philippine Revolution in August 1896. While the issues are indeed debatable, I believe teachers should provide instruction in basic research and analysis.

During debates, students must argue from fact rather than opinion or conjecture. Finally, the debate should end with some form of resolution.

The second form of assignment is the submission of a recorded interview with a historian presented in a short video. The questions asked often spoon-feed the answers and analysis that students should accomplish on their own. When I ask what background research they did before the interview, students admit they did no library or online research because they did not know where or how to look for primary and secondary sources. The end product is just a video. I always require a written component to an oral or video report, complete with citations and footnotes—the hard evidence of actual research and analysis.

Navigating a library or archive trains the mind to think and plan how to locate physical books. I do not harbor nostalgia for the card catalog in the age of the Online Public Access Catalog (Opac), which allows a researcher to locate a book before even stepping into a library or archive. While Opac gives you the location and data for a book, the card catalog is a lesson in patience. You have to physically sift through cards by author, title, or subject. It takes going through many other cards before finding what you are looking for, but in the process, you get a lay of the land and sometimes find relevant materials you did not know existed.

Over the years, I have also come to realize that research is an exercise in hope. When you are handed a bundle or box of documents, you do not always find what you are looking for. You spend days with nothing to show, but then there are days when you have a eureka moment with the very first folder. On the days I go home empty-handed, I am not discouraged; I return another day in the hope that what I seek, I will find—eventually.

I recently saw a copy of the prewar Graphic in a pile of books meant for shelving at a university library. I brought it to a librarian and asked who had borrowed it—that’s the “maritess” in me. I asked where it came from because I had never seen it on the shelves before. When the librarian checked her computer, the bound prewar Graphic did not appear on Opac. She dug deeper and found a list of prewar Philippine periodicals not accessible to researchers unless requested. I was looking for a specific issue from December 1936. It was on the list but could not be immediately located. I declined a microfilm copy because it was in grayscale and I needed to take a photo from the actual physical magazine. At the photoduplication department, I chatted with staff and praised their work preserving brittle materials. The “missing” Graphic magazine was eventually found in another part of the library.

See Also

A shorter life

Teaching at the University of the Philippines (UP) Diliman long before proper salary adjustments were made was not lucrative, but I stayed on because of two things: the students who challenged me to be better at my craft, and access to the UP Main Library. Faculty members were allowed into the stacks of the Filipiniana section. While mere mortals had to request books, I was able to browse shelf by shelf, book by book, stumbling upon many things that ended up in my columns and lectures. I have been granted this same privilege in many other libraries since. Going shelf by shelf gave me an education in the physical state of books and their various editions—firsthand knowledge that guided the collection of materials that now form my personal reference library. This firsthand experience comes in handy when I discuss rare Filipiniana with librarians in the libraries abroad where my work has taken me.

I sound like an old man these days, but sharing my experience may help the next historians who will eventually replace me.

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Comments are welcome at ambeth.ocampo@inquirer.net