Berkley Center

“Podrán cortar todas las flores, pero no podrán detener la primavera.” –Pablo Neruda

(“They will be able to cut all the flowers, but they will not be able to stop the spring.”) 

For one of my classes, we had the opportunity to visit ex-ESMA, a space in the northern side of Buenos Aires that used to function as the Escuela de Mecánica de la Armada (ESMA), or rather the emblematic “secret” center of detention, torture, and extermination for thousands of disappeared persons during the military dictatorship from 1976 to 1983 in Argentina. It is now converted into an institution to preserve the memory, defend the human rights, and testify to the acts against humanity that were committed during the terrorism of the state.

To say it was a powerful experience is an understatement. For me before I arrived here in this country, the dictatorship in Argentina is something that I read in textbooks, and the 5,000 disappeared people is just a number that I memorized for presentations. But suddenly, in my time here, the dictatorship came to life, and the number of affected people became an intimate reality.

These were not just numbers, or faces on a cardboard sign; they were mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and friends. They were children of fighters, of brave resilience, and the deaths of these people existed right on the side of one of the busiest streets in Buenos Aires.

Throughout the guided tour, the guides told us that people knew. Some of the busiest buildings and businesses existed right next to the detention center, and it was not a secret. People went to work right next to it, and the prisoners said they could hear the school bells while they were tortured. People knew, and they said they had never felt more helpless.

The first thing that we encounter in ex-ESMA is what became known as the “symbol” of the terrorism of the state: the Ford Falcon, which was the car that was known to be used for kidnapping people after which they would never be seen again. But instead of just being the car, it was painted white, taken apart, and put on display in pieces in the middle of the room. That alone was powerful.

The people had taken back what was once theirs. They took what used to be their biggest fear and what used to make them scared and silent, and they took it apart and put it on display. The dictatorship may have taken away the lives of thousands, but it was not going to keep them from fighting. People stood up, the grandmothers of the lost children marched around a square until their grandchildren were found, and although for many years people remained silent and lived their daily lives right next to the torturers, men and women decided that enough was enough.

I remember one of the guides telling us that all we have is a memory, but that is not something to underestimate. The memory is powerful, and it spurred something within the hearts and minds of the Argentine spirit. Now, I can see it everywhere: in the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo who still march around the plaza demanding justice and equality; in the posters hanging in my university calling for change in the country’s economy; in my host brother’s insistence that there is more that can be done.

So in a way, the dictatorship may have cut all the flowers, but the spring is still coming. And in what I have seen in my past four months here, it is up the people to see if the spring will be here to stay.