As I sat at a café enjoying a mid-afternoon coffee with an Argentine classmate, a toothless man approached us, placing down on our table the image of a saint on a card as tattered as his sleeves.
People in Buenos Aires regularly hand you trinkets, allowing you time to examine it before soliciting money in exchange, so I picked up the card. We looked at the saint, arms stretched out in offering, his face solemn yet welcoming.
"San Cayetano," my friend said without blinking an eye. "Patron saint of bread and work," he continued, munching mindlessly on his medialuna.
Although my friend never went to Mass and would call himself a Catholic only if he were pressed to categorize himself, he knew in a heartbeat that this was the Patron Saint of Bread and Work. Without missing a beat he could tell me that every year on August 7 thousands of people travel to the Church of San Cayetano in Buenos Aires, offering thanks for employment or, more gravely, appealing to the saint to grant it.
Catholicism weaves its way through the life of Argentina, acting as a thread of cohesion among a majority population. Although Catholicism rarely manifests itself in the form of high Mass attendance rates, it appears in routine life. As I walk from my house to the bus stop, I pass by María de la Paz Confitería. When I hop aboard the bus, rosary beads dangle from the rear-view mirror and a mini figurine of the Virgin Mary sits next to the driver. My Argentine friend could easily rattle off names of patron saints and how they appear on street vendors' cards.
Catholicism in Argentina is a binding force, a common cultural reference point among the people. People recognize the images and their meanings; they generally accept that Catholic beliefs softly permeate their legal system (as mentioned in my last essay, both abortion and the death penalty are illegal in Argentina).
However, Argentina's large non-Catholic immigrant population plays an important role in the society as well. Argentina has long been a place of heavy immigration. After an initial influx of Spanish and Italian immigrants helped form the early history of the Republic of Argentina, the tradition continued into the twentieth century. European Jews came to Argentina in search for a land without endemic anti-Semitism. Due to its neutrality during the Second World War, Argentina became a popular destination for ex-Nazis seeking to evade post-WWII Europe. Throughout the years immigrants from other South American countries and Asia also flocked to Argentina, bringing bits of their own culture to the country.
The great percentage of non-Catholic immigrants presents an interesting divide in the society of Argentina, a "them" to abut the predominant Catholic "us," as my friend from the café demonstrates. When I talk with him about religion, he mentions the large Hasidic Jew population near my school.
"You'll see them," he says, emphasizing the word with a head nod. "The girls wear those long skirts and shirts buttoned up to their necks; the men in suits even in the summer!" he continues, his eyes widening and hands grasping the air for some sort of reason.
The same sentiment of wonder and confusion emerged when I told an Argentine with whom I write for an English/Spanish publication that I had taken a number of classes on Islam. "I see them on the street, the women with the covered heads, but we in Argentina dont know anything about that," she replied. "Except pita bread."
The non-Catholic enclaves in Buenos Aires are growing and vibrant within themselves, not losing their identity despite the contrast to the dominant culture. The Catholic majority lives in peace with the minority religious groups, but the groups remain distinct; they do not integrate to form the Argentine culture. Catholicism remains dominant while minority religions and immigrant cultures flourish within themselves; to see them, one must simply look in the more hidden, isolated corners of the society.
"San Cayetano," my friend said without blinking an eye. "Patron saint of bread and work," he continued, munching mindlessly on his medialuna.
Although my friend never went to Mass and would call himself a Catholic only if he were pressed to categorize himself, he knew in a heartbeat that this was the Patron Saint of Bread and Work. Without missing a beat he could tell me that every year on August 7 thousands of people travel to the Church of San Cayetano in Buenos Aires, offering thanks for employment or, more gravely, appealing to the saint to grant it.
Catholicism weaves its way through the life of Argentina, acting as a thread of cohesion among a majority population. Although Catholicism rarely manifests itself in the form of high Mass attendance rates, it appears in routine life. As I walk from my house to the bus stop, I pass by María de la Paz Confitería. When I hop aboard the bus, rosary beads dangle from the rear-view mirror and a mini figurine of the Virgin Mary sits next to the driver. My Argentine friend could easily rattle off names of patron saints and how they appear on street vendors' cards.
Catholicism in Argentina is a binding force, a common cultural reference point among the people. People recognize the images and their meanings; they generally accept that Catholic beliefs softly permeate their legal system (as mentioned in my last essay, both abortion and the death penalty are illegal in Argentina).
However, Argentina's large non-Catholic immigrant population plays an important role in the society as well. Argentina has long been a place of heavy immigration. After an initial influx of Spanish and Italian immigrants helped form the early history of the Republic of Argentina, the tradition continued into the twentieth century. European Jews came to Argentina in search for a land without endemic anti-Semitism. Due to its neutrality during the Second World War, Argentina became a popular destination for ex-Nazis seeking to evade post-WWII Europe. Throughout the years immigrants from other South American countries and Asia also flocked to Argentina, bringing bits of their own culture to the country.
The great percentage of non-Catholic immigrants presents an interesting divide in the society of Argentina, a "them" to abut the predominant Catholic "us," as my friend from the café demonstrates. When I talk with him about religion, he mentions the large Hasidic Jew population near my school.
"You'll see them," he says, emphasizing the word with a head nod. "The girls wear those long skirts and shirts buttoned up to their necks; the men in suits even in the summer!" he continues, his eyes widening and hands grasping the air for some sort of reason.
The same sentiment of wonder and confusion emerged when I told an Argentine with whom I write for an English/Spanish publication that I had taken a number of classes on Islam. "I see them on the street, the women with the covered heads, but we in Argentina dont know anything about that," she replied. "Except pita bread."
The non-Catholic enclaves in Buenos Aires are growing and vibrant within themselves, not losing their identity despite the contrast to the dominant culture. The Catholic majority lives in peace with the minority religious groups, but the groups remain distinct; they do not integrate to form the Argentine culture. Catholicism remains dominant while minority religions and immigrant cultures flourish within themselves; to see them, one must simply look in the more hidden, isolated corners of the society.
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