All our truths and secrets

They say the three most difficult things in life are making the most of your time, forgiving a wrong, and keeping a secret. But imagine if the matter goes beyond confidences and personal communications: everything is on sheets of paper, there's no way to press a "save as" key, and storage options range from a binder or a cardboard box to a cabinet full of drawers. Even more impressive when such papers and documents tell the story of a nation and it's possible to access all kinds of secrets and obvious truths. That's why, dear reader, today is a day to celebrate when all those writings were finally gathered and organized in one place, under one roof.

History tells us that the process was long and that it all began in 1790 when the second viceroy, Count of Revillagigedo, Juan Vicente Güemes Pacheco y Padilla, decided to request authorization from the Spanish Ministry of Grace and Justice to create the General Archive of New Spain and house the files in Chapultepec Palace. The idea was brilliant. On Chapulín Hill, the documents would be kept safe from the city's frequent flooding, and so much memory could be accommodated comfortably and neatly. The reason for his request, the viceroy stated in his letter, was to impose order on "archives that were extremely confused due to incompetence or disorder in their placement, and in all the large volumes of old papers," all with the enlightened goal of "meticulously and carefully preserving old documents" and thus achieving a place "where one can go and easily find the document one requires."

The location and the objectives were perfect, but such a magnificent project—as is often the case with the most illusory dreams—was never realized. The documents, belonging to what was once the most precious jewel conquered by the Spanish Crown, ended up being moved to the Royal Viceregal Palace, very close to Revillagigedo (just in case any information was urgently needed).

It was Lucas Alamán—the sesame of all moles, a civil servant, a noted expert on Mexican history, and three-time Minister of Foreign Affairs—who did everything possible to ensure that the National Archives were inaugurated on August 23, 1823. No one objected to its continued operation in the aforementioned Palace, now no longer a viceregal one, but rather a national one. But things, as you might have guessed, weren't arranged as they should have been, nor with the required logic.

It was in 1872 that Francisco P. Urquidi took charge of the project and set about classifying 18,480 files as much as possible; placing them neatly on the shelves; binding 3,460 volumes; compiling 19 maps and classifying 100; indexing 4,678 volumes of the main branches and beginning the index of the Bonds branch; counting, separating, and appraising the works for sale; separating and organizing the works reserved for the use of the Supreme Government; and compiling 13 volumes of transfers of deteriorated old documents. All of this was to compose the General and Public Archive of the Nation.

Time passed. The Reform and the Revolution came, and in 1918, the collection of so many papers finally changed its name to the current General Archive of the Nation. A presidential decree established that it would be financially dependent on the Ministry of the Interior for its organization and operation. Because secret documents should be archived in the best possible locations, some of the documents were preserved in the Church of Guadalupe, also known as the Yellow House, a building that graced the Tacubaya neighborhood.

It wasn't until 1977 that the archive changed its destination again: the collection was moved to the Lecumberri Penitentiary, inaugurated by Porfirio Díaz in 1900 and known as the Black Palace. Perhaps so named for the tragic events that occurred both inside and outside its walls: from the assassinations of President Francisco I. Madero and his vice president José María Pino Suárez, to the many dashed hopes and unspeakably bitter hours endured by its prisoners.

Although some said the building should be destroyed, many voices were raised speaking of the importance of preserving the building, arguing that its bricks were not responsible for the blood, death, and fire that had flowed through it and affirming the need to preserve monuments that, in one way or another, were part of a city's history and shaped its identity.

In addition, a magnificent renovation was carried out, allowing this space to reopen to all those curious, scholars, or interested parties on August 27, 1982.

You can already attest, dear reader, that we have a double reason to celebrate this month. The Archive, with all its ancient dust, its journey through disorder, order, and harmony, remains the most valuable cultural repository of our history. What's important isn't its birthday, but that it preserves and safeguards not only our past but all our truths and secrets.