To see a video of this escrache taking place on May 21, 2008, click here. |
In her article “Postmemory Cinema and the Future of the Past
in Albertina Carri’s Los Rubios” Gabriela Nouzeilles explores the film “Los
Rubios” in relation to postmemory and the problem of discourse in
postdictatorship Latin America. Also, in
order to frame her reading, Nouzeilles brings up the topic of “the disappeared”
and describes how “the widespread acceptance the term ‘disappeared’, coined by
the military juntas, represents a second form of death, a symbolic one, for the
victims of the dictatorship’s mass killings” (264). Perhaps it is necessary to linger for a
moment on what Nouzeilles is implying here.
For “the disappeared” to take on a second, symbolic death is radical in
many ways—the first of which having to do with the concept of death as a term and within the human condition. Death is the most finite of
human states, an end to all possibility.
For the term “disappeared” to come about, a plurality must have come
into being—a questioning of the state of being dead, which also must apply in
parallel to the state of being alive.
The existential unhinging of both these concepts is brought about by
resistance in the face of dictatorship and also the uncertain question of what
it is to be alive or to be dead under dictatorship. Is living under dictatorship truly
living? In that case, what does it mean
to be dead under the same conditions—conditions in which you were never free to
live your life in the first place?
Nouzeilles describes how the formation of the activist group
HIJOS, an acronym for “Hijos por la Identidad y la Justicia contra el Olvido y
el Silencio (Sons and Daughters for Identity and Justice Against Forgetting and
Silence)” became one result and point of resistance in the wake of the
disappearances (265). This group was “formed
by sons and daughters of the disappeared” and “has defined itself through the
realization of estraches, performative
street events whose goal is to reveal the scandal of yet another public secret,
by denouncing the criminal behavior of those who collaborated with the military
regime (physicians, torturers, military officers, etc.) and who continue to
live among regular citizens unaffected by the consequences of their criminal
actions” (265). In this way, there is a
provocative turning on the term and concept of “the disappeared.” Through the estraches, these sons and daughters are forcing the opposite of a disappearance;
they are imposing a reappearance, a revealing, a spotlighting of the perpetrators
who erased their lost family members from their lives. This spotlighting has necessitated itself because
after the dictatorship, the military regime also attempted to disappear its
entire tainted population—the “physicians, torturers, military officers” that Nouzeilles describes—back
into society. For the regime to erase
its corrupted past and have a chance at rebirth, for their mistakes to simply
disappear, but their lives to go on, is at the core of the injustice that HIJOS
is pushing back against.
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You pose an interesting question when implying the reappearance of the "disappeared" through the new orphaned generation. I wonder how Albertina Carri's elusive portrayal of her parents fits into that concept given that her film concludes with the appearance of the false image of the blondes, that impossibility of reconstituting that which was lost during dictatorship. Also, this week's Los Planetas poses a similar question in keeping that evanescent memory constantly alive - but this time it's not of a parent but a childless friend.
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