When leaving Buenos Aires and returning to Atlanta I felt very tired, not from lack of sleep but from information overload.  I learned a lot.  And, a lot of this was very depressing.  It will be good to get a good night’s sleep in my own bed.  Maybe tomorrow I will be better able to process the whole trip. 

The Argentines believe that since these bad things happened, they cannot just look the other way.  They need to acknowledge the wrong doing and keep it fresh in the memory so that it never happens again.  We also need to recognize that these bad things that happen elsewhere can happen here if we don’t acknowledge it and keep them fresh in our memory.  

Our visit to Parque de la Memoria was a beautiful conclusion to our study of human rights in Argentina. As Fernando told us upon arrival, the park represents the duality of memory such that just as we must look back, so too must we look forward. The names of thousands of disappeared etched on walls in the park stand in contrast to families and students having picnics and taking a walk. 

statue at parque de la memoria

Located on the beautiful coastline of Rio de la Plata, we were able to look out to the water where many were disappeared and murdered via “transfers” – a euphemism for being drugged and thrown out of an airplane into the water. Such method of murder leaves no trace. The names of the disappeared are listed on long, sprawling walls in the park, with many slates blank and yet to be filled in. Large, unique sculptures are scattered throughout the park.

statue of a child in rio de la plata looking out to sea in memory of those who were disappeared

Throwing flowers into the water to commemorate and honor the disappeared

In remembrance of those who were disappeared, and in quiet reflection of our viaje, we placed the flowers that Fernando brought into Rio de la Plata. It was quiet, somber, and sobering.  

For me, trying to imagine grieving a disappeared loved one feels like a profound and enduring hunger. There is a need to be satiated that will never be met. Small actions like offering flowers or visiting names perhaps chip away at the famine, but never satisfy it. I feel privileged to have experienced this trip and motivated to amplify the voices of the disappeared and their families. Every story is worth telling and every loss worth grieving. Each story gives way to similar loss, grieving, and erasure that has happened and will continue to happen in our home country. However small my individual impact may be, hearing these testimonies and stories has animated me to do my part in preventing future cyclical violence in the U.S.  

“Fucked-up states”

Dr. Mary R. Harvey notes the following in Sources and Expression of Resilience in Trauma Survivors:

“Violence, abuse, tragedy, and catastrophe know no national boundaries. Indeed, they make themselves at home in nations, cultures, homes, and communities throughout the globe.”

Seems like one of those “no shit” kinda things at first, but really take a second to think about how terms like “genocide” and “ethnic violence” carry connotation in your head. What places and people come to mind? It’s going to be different for everyone; you might think Rwanda, I think Palestine, Bill thinks Sudan, etc.

Point is, you and I will be hard pressed to find estadounidenses whose first association with these terms is with the United States and other North American states. Between 400 years of slavery, genocide, invasion, developing the framework of concentration camps, and inhumane imprisonment, the US really should be everyone’s first, at least second answer.

Despite this, we’ve been enculturated through US media (manipulated by the state/oligarchy) to perceive our conditions as anything other than indicative of genocide. We came here to Argentina learning about how the repressors used euphemisms for things like torture and execution, but what about ours?

Here are some truly US euphemisms, with some translations I’ve provided. I think I get to say at this point I’m pretty alright at translating, cause I’ve been doing it the entire time:

• “Trail of Tears” – a death march against Indigenous Americans already weakened from invasion, plague, and treachery, which forced them and their descendents to live on reservations,
• “Reservation” – an open-air prison,
• “Forfeiture of one’s 13th Amendment rights” – forcibly enslaving someone,
• “Punishable by fine” – you can get away with it if you’re rich and white,
• “Died after police believed they saw a firearm” – murdered by an occupying military force with absolute impunity.

The list can go as long as we want it to, because this is a state and cultural entity obsessed with whitewashing. Why do you think we don’t have nationally-effective unions? Can we name a single unified student political front — and for the love of the Good Lord, don’t say the Young Democrats — that is able to effect change? Why is the US so different from Argentina, and why are the people who grow up buying into the US so different from those who don’t?

THE UNITED STATES IS A PRISON. It is a machine designed to create generation after generation of apathetic and complacent citizens, accepting the divine authority of the state before anything else. Sick? It’s your fault, pay for it. Arrested? Your fault, should have known better. House seized by the state with no compensation? Your fault again, should have paid for a better lawyer.

THE UNITED STATES IS A MONSTER. It feeds off of your blood, sweat, and tears and demands more until you’re dead and can’t say no anymore. It draws diasporas with hopes of an “American Dream” which will never come: it’s the bulb in front of the anglerfish — the only one who gets to benefit from the trick is the one doing the trick. You’ll spend your whole life’s savings trying to stay afloat here. Meanwhile your money is just going to line the pockets of some rich fuck in Hell’s Kitchen, who’s gonna spend your rent on blow and sashimi tonight.

One of my classmates on this program asked “if [I] hate America so much, if it’s so bad, then why do [I] even live there?”. We could unpack that a lot, but after these weeks here I’m gonna start charging for emotional labor by the minute — for now, let’s just keep it at that. We all know what that sentence leads to, and I thought it was pretty funny considering we’re abroad and not too far from “my country:.

To respond: something I stole from some anti-Charlie Kirk meme I saw a while ago.

“You hate feudalism? Yet you toil the lord’s land. Curious.”

To sum up this post, these countries are all damned from the start. We, as estadounidenses, just find ourselves on a different, more progressed branch of imperialism/capitalism. Is there hope? I hope so! Did I learn here? Of course! Was it worth it to come here? Absolutely. Was it easy? Fuck no. Does the constant cycle of micro/MACROaggressions, interpreting, undercooked meat, and big walks take a toll on your health? Yes, next time I’ll bring more vitamin C and DayQuil.

ALHAMDULLILAH IN ANY CASE

From Virrey Cevalles earlier today. These people were disappeared from nearby neighborhoods but weren’t taken to this specific site. I found it heartening that these people were honored even in places they didn’t necessarily step into. 

A lot of connections can be made between Argentine and American histories. Though the events themselves weren’t the same, there were repercussions impacting generations of families and the structure of society in general. One difference, though, is the effort going into pursuing justice on a more national level. When Néstor Kirchner was elected in 2003, he made strides to prosecute those responsible for human rights violations during the dictatorship. He annulled legislation that prevented the prosecution of military personnel. That step alone is huge in bringing justice to families of the disappeared and victims who were imprisoned/tortured. The United States never saw trials convicting slave owners of their crimes against humanity – and now it’s too late for that specific issue. But we see similar behavior when it comes to issues like police brutality against black and brown people. It seems much more difficult to convict such a police officer. Another big discussion in the United States is around reparations, which Argentina has been able to provide for children or grandchildren of the disappeared. We know that trauma is generational, and impacts every aspect of life. 

One thing we’ve learned is there is still a culture of silence in parts of Argentine society. “What’s worse than not wanting to know is wanting not to know.” This idea permeates American culture and is one of the greater barriers to social change. Younger generations seem to be pushing to break this, but it is difficult when people are advocating to not teach schoolchildren basic American history. We must know in order to not repeat the past. Nunca Mas. 

Argentine political culture is driven by the past and its horrors. It’s heartening to see and meet so many people dedicating their time and lives to change. The United States needs to face its past in totality.

This picture is not what it seems.  It is a picture of the room inside of D2 that contains all the photographs of the victims.  (See the faces on the door.) However, it is shot through the glass window which is reflecting the church across el Pasaje Santa Caterina.  The overpowering image of the church mimics the influence of the church in Argentina at the time.  How complicit was the Church?  Surely the clergy had to know about these atrocities since they were happening literally next door. Surely parishioners would have confided in them and asked for help.  Could they have done anything about it?  Did they help in the inquisition?  How do they deal with their guilt?

In E. Hammer’s Remembering the Disappeared:  Science Fiction Film in Post-Dictatorship Argentina the theme of institutional Catholicism’s complicity with the dictatorship is addressed in sci-fi movies Man Facing Southeast and K-Pax.  And, although Hammer’s article was about several science fiction films, it mentions that this theme is also present in La historia oficial which was not sci-fi.   (It also references an article that Fernando wrote in Latin American Literary Review on another subject).

One thing we can learn from this experience of abuse is that if you think something is wrong, you need to try to do something about it no matter what those who should be leading and protecting you are doing.  Do the right thing at the right time for the right reason.

The Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo have worked tirelessly since the late 1970s to reunite families torn apart by the Dirty War, focusing specifically on the children of pregnant women who were imprisoned and later executed. After they were born, many of those children were taken and given to families associated with the military regime.

“Provide your information here to help find the 400 missing grandchildren”

These extraordinary women have embarked on a tireless quest to find their missing grandchildren and to restore their identities. They have endured severe personal risk and fought against a culture of silence that sought to bury the crimes committed during the dictatorship. As Fernando told us, “worse than not wanting to know is wanting not to know.” The women actively fight against this sentiment. This active preservation of memory is a fight that can and should be applied to the U.S. We have much to learn from such organizations that continuously fight for justice, memory, and truth, especially as we reckon with the many human rights violations happened and continue to happen in our home country. 

The abuelas organized protests, held marches and vigils in the Plaza de Mayo, and fiercely advocated for human rights here in Argentina. They gathered and meticulously documented evidence, utilizing DNA testing and collaborating with international organizations to identify and locate the stolen children. They continue to do so today.

Memorial tree from the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo

At the D2 detention center, there is a courtyard with a tree in the center. Above the tree is a grid, from it hang down extension cords. Some of the cords hold lightbulbs and many do not. We learned that this display is a visual representation of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo’s search for the taken children. Every child that has been found is marked by a bright lightbulb. The rest who have yet to be found have empty cords.

Somewhere in the former detention center lies a collection of lightbulbs waiting to be plugged in to a cord; somewhere in the world are the taken children, now grown up, who have yet to be found by the abuelas.

lightbulbs represent found children