Curbside Memory

I have continued to take photographs of Ford Falcons around the city, haunted by the image of these symbols of state terrorism (more on this phrase in a later blog) cruising down the same streets, a quarter century after they were literally vehicles of death.

My new friend, Patricio Larrambebere, an artist and encyclopedia of knowledge about Buenos Aires, told me that the model during the time of the dictatorship was characterized by boxy headlights that were instantly recognizable. (For car maniacs, you can see more than you would ever want to know about Ford Falcons here).

My wanderings around the city have led me, sometimes accidentally and sometimes purposefully, to the sidewalk plaques to those kidnapped and murdered by the terrorist. They are meant to mark the birthplaces and homes of those who were taken -- los desaparecidos (a name, incidentally, invented by the military). But also seem to mark the parking spot, where these green, plate-less Falcons stopped. It is a meeting of the murderers and the murdered, with memory having the last word.

These curbside shrines are so simple -- sometimes just bronze letters set in stone; many also have colorful mosaic frames -- that they are often missed. Even when I have sought out a particular memorial, using my new guidebook to the city -- Memorias en la ciudad -- I have had trouble finding them. But when I come across them, I am moved again and again. It is a dirty city and the streets are routinely defaced by dogs and trash. So, to come across these small acts of love and defiance, and pure loss, is powerful.

Please note the phrase in the last image, as it is commonly used and says a lot about political discourse here: "por el terrorismo de estado" -- "by the terrorism of the state." I am struck by the very sound of the words, and their meaning.

In a lecture I just read by Jorge Borges, he notes the first time he began reading works in English with his students. He notes that "what always happens, when one studies a language, happened. Each one of the words stood out as though it had been carved, as though it were a talisman."

So, too, this phrase -- "terrorismo de estado" -- has an effect on me because as a beginning Spanish speaker I hear and see each letter anew. There is a directness in that phrase that is devastating, but also refreshing in its honesty and clarity, especially as on this very day I read about Dick Cheney's defense of torture and the continuing euphemisms the press and political leaders use to describe the system violation of our Constitution. It feels as if here there is a clarity -- at least among many -- about what happened.

I am not suggesting an equivalence between our national torture scandal and what happened here -- the system kidnapping, torture, and murder of upwards of 30,000 people under the direction of a dictatorship.

But I am impressed and struck by the honesty and succinctness of the words used to describe the tragedy. It was simply that -- state terrorism -- and it is proudly carved into granite (at the Parque de la Memoria) and into the humble curbside memorials.