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.”

1 thought on “Reflecting on my past

  1. ssvolk says:

    Read, thanks.

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