ARGENTINA, MARCH 24th 1976, BOOTS ON THE GROUND. Aide mémoire.

Text by Viviana Lombardi

BOOTS ON THE GROUND SHARP

The breathing air, the people, the disciplined pendulum of enforced enslavement to colonialism, they all united to come at a tragic catastrophe fold. By falling into the abyss in a joint lapse when man made savagery manifests in all its power.
An interruption of life liveable, a long feared ominous occurrence, an assertion on the inhumanity of radical evil had come about.
Some had known, many of us beforehand, whilst the majority learned only at early dawn that doomsday was about to happen.
But, as all children and human beings with a functioning pure heart, many of us had expected for it to be somehow deterred. And for a glorious miracle magicked up by some out of this world Utopians happening on the eleventh hour.
The episode dripped down as natural in a continent where the Monroe doctrine had prevailed. At the time Argentina was the only country in the South Cone under a democratically elected government. We were a danger to the masters pulling the strings of the deep state.

The now dilapidated USA empire’s strategies have always been grossly unimaginative throughout history; so much as we have mostly been complicit with the incantations of their fatal mermaids’ chants, no matter how off key vis-à-vis the human condition.

The prompt outcome was an indigestive unpalatable muck of ‘kiss of death’ Kissinger baby formula, which translates in being treated like undeveloped flaps of skin and flesh, an easy prey for subjugation and torment in all ways possible.
A routine so enormously fitting the ardent dalliances of a moral and sexual pervert like Old Uncle Harry who, when not playing god himself, entertained being on a pair with his macabre occult divinities. And who, like all rats, would leave behind his infectious droppings all over our precious continent.

So, next enter our local own domestic monstrosities, the sepoys –cipayos in our language–, who shortly before 1 a.m. –by stealth, as spineless low budget sellouts will always do–detained the sitting president Estela Martínez de Perón and took her in a helicopter to El Messidor, a Neuquén province government residence.
The woman had been herself a stooge of lesser sinister rivalling forces, who–with the IQ of a poached egg and the charisma of a hole in a sock–had taken office after President Juan Domingo Perón’s death.

What should have happened instead is just waiting until she was ousted in an election. But such had never been the plan. Pulling the wool over the people’s eyes & setting them against one another in a cut throat race towards self annihilation has always been the proven resourceful strategy of the agents of destruction at work. And pervy Uncle Harry had thoroughly specialised in sophisticated approaches to that end.

To Kissinger, massively weaponised military presence on every corner of our country, routinely daytime & small hours raids to intimidate and threaten, physically abuse, abduct and /or summarily execute the militants, the political opponents, the dissidents, the guerrillas & the innocent of any involvement , all of it spiced up with superbly stylised techniques of beyond medieval brutal torture in hell inspiring dungeons after capture, were a stern and yet indispensable road to truth-eliciting from the peoples of foreign countries. It sounds world reaching familiar, does it not?

So, on this anniversary, perhaps a quandary should haunt the collective consciousness of the Argentinean society, at present under a renovated quota of the SM game of master and slave, courtesy of the amoral mental incapacity of our sitting president.
A society where again the public discourse, the social contract, and the preservation of a national identity are being bomb shelled by a construct of intentional idiocy; where the cognitive incapability of president Macri itself is used as the perverse secret side of power.

Argentina is now a country that has been once again hijacked by the usual predatory leeches bleeding her life out to perpetuate criminals against humanity in power.
Plus all the salacious collateral damage thus forced on our nation and its culture, by making the dominant discourse a vanity fair, titillating with vulgarities and intimacy and decorum smearing via fallacious scandals.
Such is the heritage the present Argentinean society is mimicking from its master and handler, a USA ethically, politically and ontologically corrupted to its marrowbone.

Forty-three years on, the first military Junta communiqué that startled us all Argentineans at 3.10 a.m. on that Wednesday 24th March, 1976, still resonates as a kairos moment in our history. 
A state of siege, martial law, curfews and military patrolling would become part and parcel of our daily life, which by then had lost its significance for survival.
An apocalyptic outrage of mass detentions ensued, and hundreds of workers, students, unionists and political activists were abducted from their homes and workplaces or in the streets.

This account, just another historical precedent in this our mendacity-riddled world, where justice, democracy and truth have mostly been reduced to mere aspirations, is far from an attempt to bring forth inconsequential pity.
The struggle for justice is a proven permanent endeavour for us who aspire to solidarity, equality, decency and honesty as a life path.
And it also is a self interrogating exercise, whereby we ask ourselves whether forgetting and forgiving are possible.
In all honesty, we haven’t yet found a proper answer.

Perhaps we should revisit the School for the Americas’ democracy spreading techniques, where the military from all over Latin America participated in torture inflicting lessons. The courses, run by Mossad and CIA effectives, amongst other USA officers, used Latin American living inmates as victims of their practice.
Perhaps we should also ask the souls of those unborn babies tormented to death inside their mothers’ wombs, or those of the teenagers who were impaled to death in front of family members in the torture chambers of our country’s dungeons.
They certainly have not had a chance to mature until they could, like Hamlet, self-interrogate on what To Be human means.

Spanish translation