One of the astonishing things with history is how easily and how quickly information can disappear.  We are accustomed to an overload of data in our modern world, but even that information can vanish.  It isn’t a matter of erasing the data, it is a matter of forgetting why the data matters.  Photographs are the classic example.  

The photograph is fine, that data set is complete.  But it carries none of the ‘obvious’ information.  The photographer and the people photographed knew who they were, so why write it on the back?  (With the computer it is even easier to seperate a photo from the context) Maybe the person is a casual friend, their name forgotten after a few years; or maybe it is a close family member, but two generations on nobody is alive to recognize the only picture of Uncle Joe, even if they have heard stories about Uncle Joe.

Every historical society probably has at least one file drawer, or more, of unfiled photos.  Hundreds of people who were important to someone, somewhere, stare out at the frustrated archivists in silent anonymity.   And I daresay that the Facebook is probably beginning to accumulate ‘who is that guy in the back?’ photos as well.   Esperanza is no different, its photo archive contains many ‘who is that guy’ photos,  some are relatives, some long time guests, some here just for the day.  Those unknown people were important, there is a whole life story there, just outside the picture frame. 

In some ways the unfiled photographs can be the most haunting ones.  The disjunct between the desire of the person photographed to be memorialized and the anonymity that happened despite their efforts is sobering.  The silent voices of the millions that have gone before who have faces but no names.