Reflecting on my past

Though my parents were German (and my father was even a Nazi), I am Argentine.  My experiences under the dictatorship sealed my identity forever.  As my Argentina bled, so I did.  As my country struggles to understand, I do as well.  A started as a journalist; now I’m a writer of books.  In fiction, I try to come to terms with the history this nation has seen; given where we are today, sometimes the junta seems like a faraway memory.

And maybe it was, because we have been free from dictatorship for over thirty years.  But still, I see the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, and I walk by addresses where people were tortured.  Thirty years is a lifetime, but I remember it, and now, our duty is to keep remembering.  We must write, teach and talk; we must ensure that the crimes that I lived through are known for generations to come, so that we may say, as they say of the crimes of my own father, “never again.”

One thought on “Reflecting on my past

  1. ssvolk says:

    Read, thanks.

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