I have been back in the United States for a while. In the beginning and for a long time, I believed I didn’t really have much to say about my week in Buenos Aires. While it was interesting and fun, it paled in comparison to the other weeks in Argentina.
However, having spent the past month working on the curriculum project required by the Fulbright grant (this is the price you have to pay when given a free trip to Latin America — they actually expect you to do some work when you come home!), I have discovered that I do, in fact, have a few things to say about my experiences in Buenos Aires.
Of course, there were the usual experiences that I’m sure everyone who has ever been to Buenos Aires has had — there was the small tango bar where we went to observe “real” people dancing tango; there was the youth hostel with barely functional plumbing and a really disturbing architectural design that made you certain at any moment you would be falling through the floor (or that someone else would be falling through the ceiling and landing on your head); there was the trip to the local soccer stadium; there was the Buquebus (ferry) ride across the Rio de la Plata (a river that was so wide it more resembled the ocean) to Colonia, Uruguay; there was snow our final day in Buenos Aires, snow for the first time in Buenos Aires since 1908, how did we get so lucky? and of course, there was shopping, shopping, shopping.
Frankly, Buenos Aires seemed to me to be like many other big cities of the world — noisy, corrupted by McDonald’s, extremely busy and easy to get lost in. I much preferred Salta, Jujuy, Tucuman and Villa Maria. Somehow the real culture of a place never seems to be found in the largest of its cities, but rather in its smallest towns and in the homes of its people (and it’s always easier to gain access to these homes when away from the big cities).
My one lingering impression from Buenos Aires however, remains the image of the peaceful march of the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo one quiet Thursday afternoon. I suppose there are many who are unaware of the history of the dirty wars waged throughout Latin America during the 1970s and 1980s. I do not really want to go into a full history lesson here, particularly because it would become so easy for me to derail into a discussion of our own country’s culpability in these wars.
I will try to restrain myself.
In Argentina’s case, in 1976 a military coup d’etat was waged and won. What followed was a military dictatorship that maintained its power through torture and murder. From 1976 to 1983, the military dictatorship waged a “dirty war” against all known and suspected dissidents and subversives. During this time, thousands of innocent people were disappeared in the middle of the night. They were taken to detention centers where they were tortured and eventually killed. Reported casualties range from 10,000 to 30,000.
Many of those disappeared had young children. Others were pregnant. These children were disappeared as well, in most cases adopted into the homes of the very people who tortured and murdered their parents.
On April 30, 1977, fourteen women gathered for the first time at the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, in front of the Casa Rosada, or presidential palace. They marched in protest, demanding their children’s freedom. This was the first march of what would later become the organization of the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. These fourteen women became its founding members. Of these fourteen women, three were eventually disappeared themselves.
The Madres de la Plaza de Mayo continue to march every Thursday afternoon. They wear white scarves on their heads, as a symbol of the white dove of peace. They march in complete silence.
I suppose the facts speak for themselves. I have never seen anything so eloquent or heartbreaking as these elderly women marching in complete silence, demanding justice for their lost children, los desaparacidos.
I am humbled by their suffering, their dedication, their unswerving love.
