It’s finally over. I’ve dreamt of this day – hoped, waited, yearned for its coming, and now this dream can finally outshine what I once thought were insurmountable days lived in the shadows of nightmares.
The Juntas are finished. No more “National Reorganized Process” dictatorial bullshit. No more deaths. No more disappearances. No more hiding.
No more fear.
I hope that this 51.8% is what will forever separate us from the past, from the terrors of what I want more than anything to become Argentina’s yesterday, yet as I write these words I somehow know them not to be true; know that I – that our country – will never truly escape the mangled, hollow shell that Videla created. That was worked and reworked by Viola, by Galtieri. That tore apart families and destroyed lives with unrelenting, blackened hands of death.
Yes, democracy has returned. Yes, our constitution can now be revived.
But it will take years – decades – perhaps centuries for us to be whole again.
Raul Alfonsín is our President. Unión Cívica Radical holds Congress. And honestly, I can almost allow myself to smile again – to hope.
But no. I am afraid that our nation has been stained, polluted by the collective horror of these last 7 years. I can still feel the Juntas – feel Videla – squeezing. Dark, crumbling fingers surrounding both our minds and hearts.
And I am unsure if they – if he – will ever let go.