December 10, 1983,
I am realizing how lucky I am. I am alive and my loved ones are too. As I have watched the triumph of mass mobilization sparked by the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, I think of this. They have figured out how to channel their deep pain, their gnawing sorrow, into a movement that has (in my opinion) contributed greatly to the end of the military dictatorship in Argentina. The fear of the streets that existed for so long has faded recently as a strong empowerment to take to them has taken hold here. About a year ago, Father insisted that we attend the People’s March for Democracy and National Reconstruction. I was reluctant to go but Father had said that we must move beyond the fear and discomfort that they want us to feel and instead fuel the collective strength of people in the streets. That day was very moving. We left early evening because Mother wanted me to bring Father home before dark. It is lucky that we did because what had been a peaceful gathering while we were there turned violent when protestors broke windows of the Casa Rosada and police responded by firing on the crowd. This violence only further ignites what feels like a long-repressed passion in most Argentines demanding justice and huge changes in our country.
Today we inaugurate Raúl Alfonsín, the candidate of the Radical Civic Union party. I’m not exactly sure about how to feel about him but he promises us that the armed forces will have decreased political power and will be subject to civilian government. There are talks of creating a Commission on the Disappeared and I hope that Father will be able to testify and offer his experiences as a way to bring his and other’s torturers to justice.