And it is here that I am left with my moral conundrum. There is something exciting about diving into the archives. About being able to pick up and feel historical documents—to see the pen strokes of historical figures. I remember my time last year. I was in the archivos del ministerio de relaciones exteriores in Casco Viejo, Panama. My blue rubber gloves creating a thin pool of sweat to collect inside the protective covering. I was reading a letter from President Eisenhower to the President of Panama concerning to deal to construct the Pan-American Highway in Panama. The letter was signed by Eisenhower and notarized with the Presidential stamp. I took a minute to assess the blue pen strokes—pondering the mindset of the President at the moment of signing the letter. I could follow his hand movements as he created his signature. I then ran my fingers over the Presidential seal; wondering who laid the stamp, what did the stamp look like and in whose possession does it remain. All of these sensations made me feel like I was doing something important. As if I was uncovering some forgotten conversation. This was information that I could only find by putting my boots to the ground, gaining permission to enter the archives, and accessing these documents. 

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   With digitized documents, these sensations are missing. The pen strokes that I read are mere digital reproductions of the original data; the detail of which is limited by the quality of equipment used to scan them. True, the information contained within the documents is the same, but the sensation of handling them is absent—this is similar to the argument regarding the proliferation of digital books versus physical books.