Veil of Silence: The Argentine Press and the Dirty War, 1976-1983 Author(s): Jerry W. Knudson Source: Latin American Perspectives, Vol. 24, No. 6, Argentina Under Menem (Nov., 1997), pp. 93-112 Published by: Sage Publications, Inc. Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/2634308 Accessed: 03-09-2019 00:45 UTC JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at https://about.jstor.org/terms Sage Publications, Inc. is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Latin American Perspectives This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Veil of Silence The Argentine Press and the Dirty War, 1976-1983 by Jerry W. Knudson First we will kill all of the subversives; then ... we will kill their sympathizers; then those who remain undecided, and finally we will kill the indifferent ones. -General Iberico Saint-Jean, May 26, 1977 Violence in Latin America seems endemic in the popular mind, but the stereotype became harsh reality in Argentina during the dirty war waged by the military regime against "subversives" between 1976 and 1983. Partly in reprisal against terrorist attacks by urban guerrillas of preceding years, the ruling military itself coined the phrase "dirty war," making clear that they deemed any means justified in combating threats-real or perceived-to Argentina's oligarchical social structure. This resulted in the most severe onslaught against the press by any government in hemispheric history, with 84 journalists among the 8,960 persons originally documented as killed or missing in 1983 after the military left power (CONADEP, 1984: 372-374). The true dimensions of this miniature holocaust, however, may never be known. Emilio F. Mignone, president of the Center for Legal and Social Studies in Buenos Aires, the most reliable source for human rights statistics in Argentina, believes that the number of the disappeared will reach 20,000 when all of the evidence is sifted and those in remote corners of the country-hitherto afraid to speak out-come forward (interview, July 25, 1990). When Adolfo Francisco Scilingo, a former lieutenant commander in the Argentine navy, admitted in 1995 that 1,500 to 2,000 live and drugged bodies of victims had been jettisoned into the Atlantic from planes, the Los Angeles Times (March 13, 1995) and other newspapers revived earlier speculation that the final toll would go as high as 30,000 persons.1 Jerry W. Knudson is a professor emeritus of communications at Temple University. He has published widely on journalism in Latin America, including Bolivia: Press and Revolution, 1932-1964 (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1986) and The Chilean Press During the Allende Years, 1970-1973 (State University of New York at Buffalo Council on International Studies, Special Studies 52 [1984]). LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES, Issue 97, Vol. 24 No. 6, November 1997 93-112 C 1997 Latin American Perspectives 93 This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 94 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES "One [victim] is too many," says Catarina Guagnini, of the Argentine human rights group Families of the Disappeared and Detained for Political Reasons, formed in 1976. She lost a daughter and two sons-one a corre- spondent for El Pat's, the distinguished Spanish newspaper (interview, July 5, 1990). Young men and women like her children were abducted from their homes or workplaces or on the streets, and most were never seen again. In the face of seemingly indifferent or uninformed public opinion, they were held incommunicado in clandestine detention centers, charged with nothing, tortured, and killed. Their bodies were buried in mass graves in obscure cemeteries, dumped in the ocean from navy planes, or thrown onto the streets-supposedly as victims of "shootouts" between the police and urban guerrilla groups.2 The victims of this military terror included lawyers who defended political prisoners and psychiatrists who treated those who had been tortured. Mainly they were students, labor organizers, members of human rights groups, and other community activists. Actors, singers, painters, and others in the arts and education whose voices of conscience deplored Argentina's unjust social structure also were targeted. As Clara de Israel, who directs a neighborhood center named for her disappeared lawyer daughter, Teresa Israel, puts it, "The best of a whole generation was exterminated" (interview, July 16, 1990). During this well-organized and disciplined political purge, the Argentine press was, at first glance, strangely silent. With two notable exceptions, the English-language Buenos Aires Herald, not deemed a threat because of its small circulation and foreign language, and La Opinion of Jacobo Timerman until his arrest in 1977, the print and electronic media simply did not report what was going on. A veil of silence dropped over the mainstream Argentine press in a country once known for its sharp newspaper criticism of authoritarian governments. Why this more recent know-nothing attitude on the part of the press? Was it fear of those military figures who seized control of the Argentine government in 1976? Some 400 journalists, along with many of their fellow citizens-those who could afford it-fled the country (Knudson, 1990). Others, such as Francisco Eduardo Marin of La Nacion, were dismissed from newpaper staffs because of their political views (Asociacion de Periodistas de Buenos Aires, 1987: 110). Was it simply indifference on the part of both the press and public, a matter of conveniently looking the other way? Communications scholars have long debated whether the media are influential in shaping society-for better or worse-or simply reflect the values of that society. When a BBC correspondent asked the news editor of La Nacio'n why his publication had nothing to say about the disappearances, he replied, "Our readers are not interested" (Index on Censorship, March 1980, 46). Or This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 95 was this silence out-and-out complicity between the military and the established Argentine press? Although fear and indifference were undoubtedly part of the equation, most of the Argentine press remained silent out of sheer self-interest. They were shielding their own social and economic flanks, whether protecting government advertising revenues or simply not wishing to disturb the social structure of which they were a part. Few in Argentina at the time could claim to be unaware that something was happening, given the magnitude of these events. As Juan E. Mendez of the Americas Watch Committee notes, the Argentine military conducted the dirty war on a scale "that finds no precedent in Argentine history and with a ferocity comparable to any of the tragedies experienced by human kind subsequent to World War II" (Americas Watch, 1987: 1). And George A. Lopez, an expert on state terrorism, adds, "The systematic disappearance of large numbers of presumed adversaries (and often their relatives, who asked authorities about the whereabouts of their kin) by the Argentine military rulers of 1976-1981 constitutes an occurrence unprecedented in the Americas" (1988: 514). Publicly, the military only admitted shortly before leaving office in 1983 that 2,050 "terrorists" had been killed by government forces in 742 armed confrontations between 1973 and 1979. The final statement by the militaryuntil 1995-also claimed that "the strictest secrecy had to be imposed upon the information covering military actions" (Argentine military, 1984: 328-329). Privately, however, the military seemed to encourage rumors to implant terror, intimidation, and obedience to the regime. As a naval officer told Jacobo Timerman, the military was looking for a "final solution" so "there'll be fear for several generations." The military, he said, would eliminate not only those guilty of violence but "their relatives too-they must be eradicatedand also those who remember their names"(Timerman, 1981: 50). Perhaps the most balanced view of the dirty war, however, when the facts began to emerge, came from Ernesto Saibato, the well-known Argentine public figure selected by civilian President Rautl Alfonsin in 1983 to head the Comision Nacional sobre la Desaparicion de Personas (National Commission on the Disappearance of Persons-CONADEP): "In the years that preceded the coup d'etat of 1976 [in which the military overthrew Isabel Peron], there were acts of terrorism which no civilized community could justify. Citing these deeds, the military dictatorship unleashed a terrorism infinitely worse because the army, a gigantic power with the total impunity allowed under an absolute state, started an infernal witch-hunt in which not only the terrorists but also thousands and thousands of innocent persons paid with their lives"(Sabato, 1985: 5). This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 96 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES PERON AND THE PRESS Since no national press system exists in a historical or social vacuum, it is necessary to examine briefly the roots of the society that countenanced the dirty war and the print and electronic news media that did not object. The Argentine sociologist Gino Germani has identified as the two most important forces in the 20th-century history of his country the growing industrial bourgeoisie after 1930 and the concomitantly rising urban proletariat. Both wrested political power from the colonial and 19th-century oligarchy of estancieros (large landowners) (Germani, 1962). One of these "beef barons," Jose Clemente Paz, founded La Prensa, destined to be Argentina's bestknown newspaper, in dominant Buenos Aires in 1869. Established to referee in gentlemanly fashion the intramural elite political contests of its time, La Prensa was not sympathetic to social changes. Nevertheless, with its emphasis also on foreign news, La Prensa was an advance over earlier Argentine newspapers, which had been filled mainly with polemics and philosophical discussions. Ezequiel Paz, son of the foun- der, regarded the newspaper as a chronicle, emphasizing news rather than views. But it still remained implicitly political with elite agendas, on the model of U.S. newspapers, rather than the explicitly political orientation of much of the European press and some Buenos Aires newspapers. Actually, in contrast to most of Latin America, Argentina had wide freedom of the press after the Supreme Court decision of 1866 prohibited the federal government from enacting laws limiting that freedom. This decision was not reversed until 1932 (Whitaker, 1964: 76). By then, other forces were penetrating Argentine society, notably intervention by the military, always regarded as the "tutelary" institution in Latin America. The French scholar Alain Rouquie has amply demonstrated the development of a "military subsystem" in Argentina that allied itself with the urban middle class after the initial failure of Peronism (1946-1955). This alliance ensured the military's own prerogatives and fought off attempts at radical social change by Peronists or others. Rouquie sees the political instability and fragmentation of Argentina since 1930 as a "crisis of partici- pation" by those excluded from real political power (1986: 406-421). Partly as a backlash to dissident underground newspapers of the entire range of the political spectrum, mainstream Argentine publishers cast their lot with the military, viewed as preservers of law and order. In their view, what other choice did they have? Since the benchmark of 1930, when the tentative reforms of Hipolito Irigoyen triggered a military coup, Argentina has been wracked by five other successful military interventions. In fact, This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 97 when the elected civilian President Rauil Alfonsin was inaugurated on December 10, 1983, after the dirty war, Argentina had experienced only 13 years of civilian rule in the preceding 50 years (Muraro, 1988: 123). The established Argentine press, especially La Prensa and La Nacion (founded by Bartolome Mitre in 1870), feared the new group of military officers that came to power in 1943. Colonel Juan Domingo Peron, elected president in 1946, based his power on the laboring masses of Argentina's descamisados (shirtless ones) and recognized the importance of the press for marshaling them in his justicialista revolution. Peron's running battle with La Prensa, culminating in that newspaper's expropriation in 1951, is well known. Less well known was the Peronist Congress's closure of some 70 provincial newspapers and Eva Peron's purchase of three Buenos Aires papers, including Democracia, which became the government's spokesman (Pendle, 1963: 115). The expropriated La Prensa later served that function until Per6n's ouster in 1955, when it was returned to the Paz family. The threat of heavy-handed governmental interference with the press of this period caused the news media to be more cautious. Even before the return to power by Peron in 1973 after 18 years in exile, tighter press restrictions were evident. A decree of February 1970, for instance, made the Ministry of Government responsible for "orientation and control" of all radio and television stations in Argentina, which were also obliged to preserve "the national style of life" in all broadcasts (Sobel, 1975: 16). In his second term in office, which ended with his death in 1974, Per6n tried to make Argentina a hermetically sealed society, cushioning the shock waves of foreign news and opinion. A decree of August 1973 prohibited international news agencies from distributing news about Argentina pro- duced elsewhere (Avellaneda, 1986: 129). The wire services UPI and AP were banned altogether in 1974, and, according to Franklin Rawson Paz, director of La Nacion (interview, July 4, 1983), Peron closed two newspapers-Noticias and El Mundo. Yet the return of Peron with his vice president and third wife, Maria Estela Martinez (Isabel), to the Argentine political arena sparked a flurry of publications. Every group aspired to have its say, from mimeographed newsletters to glossy magazines. Within a population of 25 million in 1973 there were 117 morning dailies, 54 evening newspapers, and 500 magazines (Graham- Yooll, 1984: 157). Authorities warned the established press to ignore or minimize terrorist activities, whether by the Peronist Montoneros or the Marxist-Leninist Ejercito Revolucionario del Pueblo (People's Revolutionary Army-ERP). The press of the left-whether the ERP's El Combatiente or the more widely circulated Montoneros' daily Noticias (150,000) or weekly El Descamisado (100,000)-was so vigorous that it brought down This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 98 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES official retaliation (Day, 1981: 1-13). In September 1974 a new antisubversion law provided up to five years in prison for any journalist disseminating information "altering ox eliminating institutional order" (Gillespie, 1986: 163 n. 25). One by one the opposition newspapers were closed during the administration of Isabel Peron (1974-1976), perhaps an object lesson for the mainstream press, which said nothing about the closures. In fact, they were forbidden even to mention the proscribed Montoneros or ERP by name (Gillespie, 1982: 127 n. 9). The veil of silence had begun to descend. THE CASE OF TIMERMAN When the Argentine military overthrew the figurehead government of Isabel Per6n on March 21, 1976, the way was opened for full-scale repression. The first prominent figure to feel the officers' wrath was Jacobo Timerman, publisher and editor of La Opinio'n, a liberal newspaper that had raised its voice against the increasing military terror. Timerman was no newcomer to Argentine journalism. He had founded the reviews Primera Plana in 1962 and Confirmado in 1965 and the morning daily La Opinion itself in 1971. On March 24, 1977, La Opinio'n published a supplement entitled "The Silence of the Politicians," attacking them for their compla- cency in the face of the increasing violation of human rights by the ruling military (Verbitsky, 1987: 26). When Timerman was arrested on April 14, the military claimed that his main partner at La Opinio'n, David Graiver-who had died a year earlier in a plane crash-had laundered US$17 million of Montoneros ransom money through the family bank. The implication planted by the military was that La Opinio'n had actually been founded with Montoneros money (Crawley, 1984: 429). The publisher himself never addressed this charge in his Prisoner Without a Name, Cell Without a Number, but he testified when finally brought before a military court that the media scandal against the Graiver family "could have concealed a maneuver to buy their holdings at a low price" (Camps, 1982: 197).3 Although anti-Semitism, always latent in Argentine life, undoubtedly played a part in the persecution of Timerman, the only Jewish editor in Buenos Aires, the main reason was his opposition to the dirty war. As Colonel Ramon Juan Alberto Camps, chief of police of Buenos Aires province, later tried and convicted of atrocities, declared in 1982, "If anyone had to be pointed out as one of those principally responsible for the cultural subversion which armed the consciences of the guerrillas, that would be Jacobo Timerman." Camps added, in defending the military's actions, "From its begin- This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 99 nings La Opinion was converted into an enterprise of cultural dissolution [which was] the most powerful that marxism counted upon in our country" (1982: 18, 211). One index of the close ties between the oligarchical press and the ruling military was that Maiximo Gainza, fourth-generation publisher of La Prensa, collaborated with Colonel Camps in writing the book Caso Timerman: Punto final (The Timerman Case: Full Stop) in 1982. They concluded, "In respect [to military excesses], we should remember that it is lawful in wartime to do whatever is necessary for the defense of the endangered public welfare" (Camps, 1982: 20). For Timerman, this meant being confined incommunicado in a tiny cell in one of the clandestine detention centers, charged with nothing and repeatedly tortured. He was held for more than 40 months, partly under house arrest, before finally being cleared by a military court and ordered released by the Supreme Court. He was freed only after enormous international pressure-which probably saved his life-including that by Secretary of State Cyrus Vance of the Jimmy Carter administration. Timerman was stripped of his Argentine citizenship and property without compensation and went into exile in Israel.4 Although he did not revive La Opinion when he returned to Argentina in 1983, he became editor in chief of the Buenos Aires daily La Razon. MAINSTREAM SILENCE The Buenos Aires Herald was the only other Argentine newspaper to speak out against the dirty war consistently as it unfolded. It had a small circulation- only 16,000 in 1983-and reached only an English-reading public. La Prensa did publish 2,500 names of the disappeared in an advertisement in June 1978 and again a pamphlet of 5,600 names in 1980, when the peak years of the terror from 1976 to 1979 had passed (Knudson, 1983). But few Argentine newspapers reported the disappearances or analyzed what lay behind them. As the Argentine journalist Eduardo Crawley has noted, "The rest of the press [other than La Opinion and the Herald] remained completely silent, as did the politicians, and the great mass of the population preferred not to know" (Crawley, 1984: 431). Andrew Graham-Yooll, a writer for the Buenos Aires Herald who went into exile in 1976, adds that investigative journalism was out of the question, because such a fragile balance between the military regime and the national papers or large provincial dailies permitted no delving into any issue (1979: 14). Was it complicity between the large newspapers and the military that invoked this silence? Rodolfo Audi, head of the 18,000-member Argentine This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 100 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES Federation of Press Workers calls it collaboration to preserve the status quo. The government repression during the dirty war, Audi believes, "was to eliminate the entire field of independent communication. The established newspapers became accomplices in this process" (interview, July 10, 1990). Jorge Lanata, director of Pdgina/12, the leading interpretive newspaper of Buenos Aires, agrees with this assessment, adding that the major newspapers were literally partners of the government at that time. Because Peron had once cut off the supply of paper or limited the size of editions to manipulate the press, Clarin, La Nacion, and La Prensa had joined with the government to form Papel Prensa, which regulated the flow of that vital paper for all publications (Jorge Lanata, letter to Committee to Protect Journalists, September 8, 1993). Thus, the three major papers of Argentina had a direct interest in the survival of the military regime. Moreover, since the regime still owned about 40 percent of industry before privatization began, government advertising was not to be offended. For publishing its pamphlet of the names of 5,600 disappeared in 1980, La Prensa suffered an advertising boycott by the military authorities in 1980-1981, according to Maiximo Gainza, the last of the Paz-Gainza family to direct the newspaper before it was sold after 1990 (interview, July 12, 1983). Other responsible observers saw links between the Argentine government and the Argentine press culminating in the see-no-evil attitude that made the dirty war possible if not inevitable. Early in the tragedy, the Argentine Commission on Human Rights in 1977 characterized La Prensa as "spokesman of the Argentine oligarchy and of the principal transnational enterprises." Although the newspaper did speak out against the wave of anti-Semi- tism unleashed by the unstable political situation, it was also described by the commission as "one of the most decided defenders [of the military]." The commission also condemned "the marked official tendency of the great newspapers," magazines, and radio and television, the latter two media having been nationalized in 1974 (Comision Argentina por los Derechos Humanos, 1977: 121, 117). JOURNALISM UNDER SIEGE Concretely, how did the military control and manipulate the Argentine press after gaining power in 1976? First of all, the military press director issued notices, with no letterhead or authorizing signature, to all news editors, disguising the fact that it was a notification of official censorship. It stated: "As of today [April 22, 1976], it is forbidden to inform, comment or make reference to the death of subversive elements and/or the armed and security This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 101 forces in these incidents, unless they are reported by a responsible official source" (quoted in Graham-Yooll, 1981: 93). This warning also proscribed news about missing persons and victims of kidnappings. The Buenos Aires Herald printed this notice on its front page in protest, but only one other newspaper mentioned it. Clari'n, indeed, ran a full-page story asserting that there were no restrictions on the press in Argentina. The purpose of this anonymous notice, of course, was to induce self-censorship.5 Can one blame the journalists who proceeded cautiously? As Graham-Yooll, who has shared the painful experience of his Argentine exile with us, described the situation in May 1976, "The immorality of self-censorship became less reprehensible with the growing number of journalists killed" (1981: 93). The mainstream press itself condoned the military repression. Clari'n, for instance (October 23, 1982), censured the "means of social communication ... [which print] disruptive preachments, pernicious and destabilizing, that aid the reactivation of subversive ideologies." Other major newspapers, directed to the middle and upper classes, also defended the economic interests of those groups, according to Lauro Fernan Laiiio, editorial director of La Razon (interview, July 7, 1990). Connivance with the military also occurred at a more personal level, as officials of the regime paid bribes or chivos (literally, goats) to individual journalists to get something into the media or to keep it out. An accepted custom in many parts of Latin America, this was another means of control wielded by the military over the press. For instance, Miguel Angel Lopez Ormefio, news director of a small radio station in Buenos Aires, augmented his meager US$400 monthly salary with US$150-200 in chivos (interview, July 10, 1990). Nevertheless, it was the major voices of the Argentine press that tended to be sycophants of whoever was in power, riding the crest of journalistic fads common to many societies. Robert Cox, former editor of the Buenos Aires Herald, whose own reporting of the disappearances won him the Maria Moors Cabot prize, awarded annually by Columbia University for courage in inter-American journalism, noted that Gente, for example, the most widely circulated newsmagazine in Argentina, essentially fawns upon whatever faction is in power. During the Isabel Peron government, Gente published stories and pictures designed to please officialdom, but when the military usurped that constitutional government the newsmagazine displayed marked enthusiasm for the military. Cox concludes, "To a greater or lesser degree, depending upon economic interests and political loyalties, the entire Argentine press does the same" (1983: 134-135). Moreover, the Argentine press reacted with delay-if it reacted at all-to the dirty-war story. As Cox also points out, "For some years now, reality in This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 102 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES Argentina has been possible only after the event.... Public indignation, therefore, is always being whipped into a frenzy long after the die has been cast. The media's coverage of [state] terrorism followed this pa'ttern" (1983: 134-135). Ritualistic violence was not for public view until it was safely in the past. At the same time, newspaper offices in much of Latin America are clearinghouses for human problems, and it was natural for family members of the disappeared to turn to the press for help in locating them-and not by paid advertisements. These free notices seeking information were published only in the Buenos Aires Herald and, before its confiscation, La Opinion. Ronald Hansen, then managing editor of the Herald, said that the established press shunted such solicitants to the never-ending labyrinth of government offices (interview, July 8, 1983). Robert Cox, editor of the Herald, personally tried to trace as many of these cases as possible before death threats ultimately forced him and his family to leave Argentina. Another pernicious effect of the silence of the mainstream press was that seven years slipped by with no adequate chronicle of Argentine history. Divorced from reality, whether by choice or ineptness, the press buried its head in the sand, hoping the unpleasantness would go away. Resurrecting the facts after 1983 has proved as difficult as identifying the bones. As GrahamYooll comments, "With the end of dictatorship, [Argentina] is trying to reconstruct a history of which it has kept no records" (1986: 173). MEDIA BREAKTHROUGH By default, it was the international media that first brought world atten to the plight of the disappeared, and it was a "media event" of the highest order that did so. In April 1977, shortly after the arrest of Timerman and the confiscation of La Opinion, a group of mothers and other relatives of the victims of the dirty war began marching for an hour every Thursday afternoon in front of the Casa Rosada, the government executive offices. They de- manded to know the whereabouts of their loved ones, and their remarkable persistence-they also marched against the pardons of convicted offlcers after 1983 and in protest of the fact that others were never brought to trial, and they are still demonstrating to this day for those unaccounted for-caught the television camera's eye. Known as the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, they were derisively called "the Mad Women of the Plaza de Mayo" by officials at the time (Bousquet, 1983). One of the Mothers claimed in 1990 that 90 percent of the judges who sat during the military period continued in their posts (Juana Meller de Pargament, interview, July 18, 1990). This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 103 There are no secrets in the global village. Because of the publicity generated by the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, a decisive breakthrough came in 1978, when the Organization of American States sent its Commission on Human Rights to Argentina for a three-week investigation at the request of the Argentine government. More than 2,000 persons waited to testify in a line stretching five blocks from the building where the hearings were being held (Bousquet, 1982: 155). Still, the Argentine press did not give wide currency to the proceedings and would not cover the story until state terrorism was in sharp decline after 1980. As Argentina reaped an increasingly bad international press, regime officials sought to divert attention from domestic matters by hosting the World Soccer Championship games in 1978 and later occupying the Malvinas/ Falklands in 1982. An Argentine observer called these "the two most detestable mass manipulations of the regime" to divert attention from a shattered economy and the rising storm over human rights abuses (Duhalde, 1983: 67). Government by public relations was nothing new in Latin America, and the press generally did not see through it. The regime of Fulgencio Batista in Cuba (1934-1959) hired Edmund Chester, a former CBS executive, to prop up its sagging image (Knudson, 1978: 9), and Rene Barrientos in Bolivia (1964-1969) allegedly paid US$280,000 in 1965-more than the entire budget for the Ministry of Mines and Petroleum-to the U.S. public relations firm Hamilton Wright Organization to burnish his military image (Penia Bravo, 1971: 139). An Argentine researcher has found that the military regime there counted on the resources of five national public relations or advertising agencies after the Department of Psychological Action (Propaganda) was created under the Secretariat of Public Information. Two of these firms were associated with U.S. agencies-Ogilvi and Mather, and Grey Advertising Inc. Young and Rubicam also operated independently in Argentina. Between 1975 and 1976, money spent for publicity increased 60.2 percent, and in 1979 alone US$1,060 million were spent on national advertising and public relations (although it is not clear how much of this went to promote national industry and how much for political purposes) (Terrero, 1982: 35). Taking a cue from public relations advisers, General Albano Harguin- deguy, minister of government, held a series of "dialogues" with the Argentine press that extended more than four months in 1980. Partly as a result of these exchanges, the military announced in May 1981 that, as a move toward decentralization, each government office would deal directly with the press (Conviccio'n, May 20, 1981). Some took a jaundiced view of such proceedings, however. When the minister of government called 18 women journalists to his office for a conference, one of them, Monica d'Anvers, said, "I think This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 104 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES that in Argentina we are not speaking the truth because we are afraid, beca we shut things up" (Clarin, July 13, 1980). It was defeat at the hands of Britain in the South Atlantic, however, that finally forced the military to step down. With strict censorship imposed during the war, most Argentines had believed that they were actually winning the Malvinas conflict. The people learned only what the government wanted them to know through the four nationalized television channels and 90 radio stations. Once again, the regime sought to manipulate the press totally. Only one Argentine journalist, Nicolas Kazantzew of Channel 7, was allowed to go to the scene of the fighting. As Juan Carlos Romero, subdirector of Salta's El Tribuno, noted, when their fighting men began coming home as released prisoners of war, Argentines were astonished and embittered (interview, July 6, 1983). After being discredited in the Malvinas defeat, the military called for elections on October 30, 1983, the first in ten years, but before turning control over to civilians it sought to cover its tracks. At first, in 1979 the military decreed that no one had disappeared-there were simply "unregistered deaths." This law allowed a judge to declare someone "presumably dead" after an absence of three months rather than the three years prescribed in the civil code, allowing not only relatives but the government itself to close the books on the disappearances. The cover-up gained momentum when General Roberto Eduardo Viola declared in May 1979 that those who had disappeared were "absent forever." Again, Viola told the armed forces in May 1980 that they had nothing to fear. "The tribunals of Nuremberg were only for the conquered," he said. "One does not ask for an accounting from a victorious army." On August 12, 1980, some 175 Argentines from all walks of life signed a newspaper advertisement condemning the violation of human rights in Argentina. But in April 1983 the outgoing military decreed that all measures used during the campaign against "subversion" were "acts of service" carried out in the line of duty. A self-proclaimed amnesty in September 1983 sought to prohibit prosecution of any military person for acts committed during the reign of terror (Bousquet, 1983: 141-183). TRIALS AND PARDONS In the face of mounting international condemnation of Argentina, President Rauil Alfonsin, installed in office in December 1983, immediately submitted proposals to raise the sentence for torture to life imprisonment, put military courts under civilian rule, and repeal the amnesty the military had This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 105 granted itself in September (New York Times, December 17,1983). Even more significant, on December 15, 1983, Alfonsin established the National Commission on the Disappearance of Persons (CONADEP), headed by the respected statesman Ernesto Sabato, to investigate the matter. Given eight months to complete its work, CONADEP's 50,000-page report urged the prosecution of 1,351 military men and police who had conducted their illegal activities in 365 clandestine detention centers (Dahl and Garro, 1987: 320). Meanwhile, the Argentine press had clambered aboard the new bandwagon of uncovering atrocities and reporting the subsequent trials. It seems reasonable to assert that most Argentines were surprised only by the scope of the CONADEP findings and later trials. As CONADEP reported, "The whole country knew that detentions were being carried out, but it was prohibited to know how many there were, who they were, and where they were taken" (CONADEP, 1984: 368). Rumor is always more damaging than fact, but it had been to the advantage of Argentina's military rulers to let rumors proliferate to implant terror in the general populace. With worldwide attention riveted on Argentina, some 700 journalists descended on Buenos Aires to cover the trials. The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo declared, "We Mothers ... [have] suffered in our own flesh the vileness of that despicable press that today pretends to be democratic but only wants to make business with our pain and with the horror of the tragedy of the 'disappeared' " (quoted in Varela-Cid, 1984: 83). The trials began on April 22, 1985, and lasted 78 days. The nine junta members during the early military regimes were charged not with "genocide" or "crimes against humanity" but with 711 specific violations of Argentine law. Five of the nine-including former military presidents Jorge Rafael Videla and Roberto Eduardo Viola-were found guilty, with sentences ranging from life imprisonment to four and a half years in prison (El libro del diario del juicio, 1985: 532-542). In a separate trial, Ramon J. Camps was sentenced to 25 years in prison for human rights abuses (Dahl and Garro, 1987: 327). These successful prosecutions caused other trials to proliferate, to the great distress of the Argentine military, sparking three abortive uprisings against the civilian administration of Raull Alfonsin. Under this pressure, he began accommodating the military with the Ley de Punto Final (Full Stop Law) of December 1986. Under its terms, there were to be no new prosecutions after 60 days. The government expected no more than 30 or 40 new cases to be brought during this grace period, but actually there were more than 400. Secondly, the government of Alfonsin approved the Ley de Obedi- encia Debida (Due Obedience Law) of June 1987, which exempted from This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 106 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES prosecution for violation of human rights all lower-ranking officers and others following orders (Americas Watch, 1987: 64-72). Because of the catastrophic slide of the Argentine economy, Alfonsin stepped down five months before the expiration of his term. He was followed by Carlos Saul Menem, a Peronist elected in 1989 and reelected in 1995. Intermittently imprisoned by the military himself, Menem issued his first pardon on October 6, 1989, for all those "in process"-awaiting trial or being tried. And on December 29, 1990, he wiped the slate clean by pardoning all those in prison, more than 200 military men and 60 alleged guerrillas who had never been brought to trial (New York Times, October 11 and 12, 1989). Human rights groups in Argentina were outraged, and an independent poll revealed that 63 percent of the Argentine public opposed these pardons (Americas Watch, 1991: iii, 66-68). Carlos Zamorano of the Argentine League for the Rights of Man, for example, called the pardons "a grave injustice to the judicial power" (interview, July 20, 1990), and Alfredo Pedro Bravo of the Permanent Assembly for Human Rights denounced the final pardons as "a barbarity" (interview, July 12, 1990). Enrique Pochat of the Ecumenical Movement for Human Rights, an alliance of Catholic and Protestant churches formed in 1976 to meet the social needs of families of the disappeared, said that two goals were driving these human rights groups: the quest for truth or reconstructing history-the deep-seated need to find out what had happened to every one of the disappeared-and justice, not vengeance. "The Argentine people suffered the law of the jungle," he maintains. "We cannot walk away from that" (interview, July 23, 1990). The pardons brought back the foreign journalists, prompting Catarina Guagnini to declare, "Now there are heaps of journalists here. Where were you when we needed you?" (interview, July 5, 1990). The difficulty with crisis reporting-whether of the dirty war itself or of the ensuing trials and pardons-is that attention is focused on something only when it surfaces, and in this case the deep undercurrents of Argentine life remained hidden from public scrutiny. As for the Argentine press itself, it should come as no surprise that not one of the leaders of these eight human rights groups interviewed in Buenos Aires in 1990 looked to the Argentine press for help. On the contrary, they charged that the country's press had merely seized upon the trials and pardons for sensational exploitation. CONCLUSIONS The dirty war in Argentina was not, as some have indicated, a hysterical response by the military or ideological intoxication. It was a coldly calculated This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 107 policy to obliterate those active in seeking a better life for all Argentines. As General Jorge Rafael Videla declared in 1975, "As many people will die in Argentina as necessary to restore order" (quoted in Pion-Berlin, 1989: 97). The simplistic military mind, which sees force as the ultimate solution to all problems, had its roots deep in the Peron era, when the Argentine press experienced governmental force and manipulation. As Secretary of State Dean Acheson once phrased it, "Peron was a fascist and a dictator detested by all good men-except Argentines" (quoked in NACLA, 1975: 26). He took on an oligarchical press and rode roughshod over newspapers from La Prensa on down, establishing a subservient role for the press from which it has never recovered. The circulation of La Prensa, which largely ignored social problems, fell from 400,000 when it was expropriated in 1951 to 80,000 in 1983 (Gainza interview, July 12, 1983). The silence of the mainstream Argentine press during the dirty war itself raises some disturbing questions for which there are no easy answers, but the links of the Argentine press with the military authorities may shed some light on the problem. First, how could a nation as cultured as Argentina, which has produced world-renowned writers and humanitarians and has more libraries than most other Latin American countries, fall into the trap of the dirty war, countenancing torture, murder, and other widespread abuses in the name of a higher good? The public seemed not to want to know what was happening, and in this regard it was as culpable as the press itself. In view of this indifference, little by little the failure of the Argentine press to unmask these crimes metamorphosed from complacency into complicity. And those journalists who would not go along were targeted. As the report of CONADEP pointed out: "It was not by coincidence or error that the number of victims is so high [in the press] in relation to [other] professionals. By attacking the vast field of culture, always viewed with jealousy by dictatorships, it is evident that [the military] aimed to silence a social group of great importance in order to pull up by the roots any public questioning" (CONADEP, 1984: 367). Although on a smaller scale, this amounted to the "political and economic cleansing of the press" that Oron J. Hale has traced in the Third Reich (1964: 169-228). He also noted that Hitler himself singled out for destruction what he called "overeducated intellectuals" (1964: 320, n. 49). As in Germany, the breakdown of communications in Argentina led to a breakdown in society itself. While the Latin American press in general has not realized its potential adversarial role toward government, this was not entirely true in Argentina, where a significant portion of the press had opposed Peron. The military in 1976 inherited a press to be reckoned with, which is why it co-opted the major newspapers and radio and television This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 108 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES stations, stressing their common ideological grounds. Dissident journalists were purged by the news media themselves, and self-censorship imposed by very real threats kept others in line. The mechanism for accomplishing all this was quite simple-exaggerating the threat of the "terrorists" so that people would accept harsh military measures to combat them. How real was the guerrilla threat to Argentine society? The Center for Legal and Social Studies maintains that at their peak the insurgent forces did not number more than 2,000, of whom only 20 percent were armed. Facing them were armed forces and police of 200,000 effectives backed up by one of the most sophisticated military machines in Latin America (Frontalini and Caiati, 1984: 72). Others also believed that the guerrilla threat was a straw man used to eliminate peaceful reformers. Carlos Zamorano of the Argentine League for the Rights of Man states flatly, "War against the guerrillas was a lie. Terror wasn't necessary. The military themselves did not believe in any threat" (interview, July 20, 1990). Walter Little of the University of Liverpool has described the strategy of the Montoneros and the ERP as follows: "On the whole it has been instrumental, selective violence and has not been terrorist in the proper meaning of the term. Terrorism by the left consists of attacks upon civilian innocents, not so much with the object of demonstrating to the regime that their will to resist is undiminished, but rather to demonstrate to the citizenry that the regime is not capable of protecting their lives or property" (quoted in Graham-Yooll, 1984: 10). Thus, after the "terrorists" were annihilated, the military turned to the social groups believed to sympathize with them-journalists, unionists, students, creative artists, and community activists-because they would provide the peripheral support for future attempts to change Argentina's lopsided social structure. One may ask why the clash between the Argentine military and those who disappeared was so severe in relation to other Latin American confrontations. Right-wing death squads wreaked havoc in Guatemala and El Salvador, and many died in retribution against the Shining Path in Peru. But the answer is the overwhelmingly higher technology at the command of those who made up the military subsystem in Argentine society. The country was divided into military zones, and the slaughter was thoroughly systematized. Nevertheless, the military in Argentina needed the cooperation of key sectors of society-including journalism and the church-to carry out its social-economic "purification." Many of the officers were sons of the elite who saw their status threatened. And the military was exceedingly thinskinned about its class status. One issue of the magazine La Semana was confiscated, for example, because it published a cover photograph of a This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 109 woman TV personality wearing an officer's cap (Guarescha interview, July 13, 1983). Finally, there were the economic interests of the press itself. Publishing newspapers is big business. Some do it for political power, but most entrepreneurs go into it to make money, and they do not want to see their multimillion-dollar investments threatened by societal change or have government-sponsored advertising withdrawn. The audience of any mass communications system must also be taken into account. Those who read, listen, or watch- or decline to do so-determine in part what is presented to them. The Argentine press during the dirty war was so effective in a massive cover-up that it took 13 years for any commanding officer to admit-even after the trials and pardons-that abduction, torture, and murder had indeed been carried out on a wide scale. It was not until 1995 that General Martin Balza, chief of staff, admitted in a television interview that the army had "employed illegitimate methods, including the suppression of life, to obtain information" (New York Times, April 26, 1995). But what actually caused the dirty war itself is open to question. There was a confluence of currents of thought and action at a deadly time. On the one hand was the Argentine military's desire for revenge against those who had dared challenge its authority in the 1960s and early 1970s. On the other hand, as in much of Latin America, the Argentine military regarded itself as the tutelary institution or custodian of the national destiny. In the mid- 1960s the concept became prevalent among the Argentine military that national security was inextricably coupled with economic development, as formulated in the National Security Doctrine. Thus, the role of the military became tied to the regime's preservation against "internal enemies" no matter what the cost (Rudolph, 1985: 293-294). General Balza's statement reopened old wounds and caused the human rights organizations to press harder for a full accounting-and no pardons. As Hebe de Bonafini, current head of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, declared, "Pardon is divine for those who still believe in God, but we don't pardon" (New York limes, March 25, 1995). In the last analysis, how can the historian quantify silence? How does one measure words unspoken? Robert Cox has titled his personal observations of the tragedy of the Argentine press and the country as a whole during the dirty war with the philosophical concept of The Sound of One Hand Clapping (1980). Despite the perseverance of a few courageous voices, Argentina is still waiting for the other hand to clap. This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms 110 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES NOTES 1. Robert Cox, former editor of the English-language Buenos Aires Herald, estimated in 1983 that at least 10,000 to 12,000 persons died at the hands of the military or paramilitary forces (1983: 128). Teodulo Dominguez, then editor of Clarin, the largest-circulation daily in Argentina, has placed the figure at 15,000 (Dominguez and Day, 1985: 2). But U.S. scholar David Pion-Berlin points out that to this figure must be added 5,000 more who were murdered but identified and therefore not counted as missing (1989: 97). 2. In 1995, the Argentine government promised to release a new list of 1,000 additional names of those disappeared. Family members had come forward to claim the compensation then provided by the government to relatives of the victims. According to the New York Tines (March 25, 1995) the count then stood at 4,000 documented dead and 9,000 still disappeared. 3. The U.S. scholar Marvin Alisky does not mention the Graiver affair in discussing Timerman (1981: 187-189). Robert N. Pierce does but without drawing any conclusions (1979: 17-18). The Argentine journalist Eduardo Crawley dismisses the charges as "fantasy" (1984: 429). They do seem to have been a smokescreen to impugn Timerman, who was arrested only 20 days after the investigation into the Graiver case had begun. 4. Timerman later published books denouncing the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, The Longest War: Israel in Lebanon (1982), and deploring abuses of human rights in Chile: Death in the South (1987) and Cuba: A Journey (1990). 5. In recent years official censorship of the Latin American press has largely been abandoned as those in power keep a wary eye on their international image. But some Latin American editors express privately their preference for official censorship, under which they know where they stand. In the gray area of self-censorship, they point out, where there are no limits or rules, more might be withheld than is actually necessary (Knudson, 1989). REFERENCES Alisky, Marvin 1981 Latin American Media: Guidance and Censorship. Ames: Iowa State University Press. Americas Watch 1987 Truth and Partial Justice in Argentina. New York. 1991 Truth and Partial Justice in Argentina: An Update. New York. Argentine military 1984 "The Argentine military junta's final report on the war against subversion and terrorism." Terrorism 7: 323-339. Asociaci6n de Periodistas de Buenos Aires 1987 Con vida los queremos: Periodistas desaparecidos. Buenos Aires: Uni6n de Trabajadores de Prensa de Buenos Aires. Avellaneda, Andr6s 1986 Censura, autoritarismo y cultura, 1960-1983. Vol. 1. Buenos Aires: Centro Editorial de Am6rica Latina. Bousquet, Jean-Pierre 1983 Las locas de la Plaza de Mayo. Buenos Aires: El Cid. Camps, Ram6n Juan Alberto 1982 Caso Timerman: Puntofinal. Buenos Aires: Tribuna Abierta. This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms Knudson / THE PRESS AND THE DIRTY WAR 111 Comisi6n Argentina por los Derechos Humanos 1977 Argentina: Proceso al genocidio. Madrid: Elias Querejeta. 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Laurence 1981 "Extremist media and the rise of terrorism: the Argentine case." Paper presented to the International Communications Association, Minneapolis, MN. Dominguez, Teodulo and J. Laurence Day 1983 "Thunder on the left, lightning on the right: a study of Latin American working journalists and terrorism, pt. 1, Argentina and Guatemala." Paper presented to the Association for Education in Journalism and Mass Communication, Memphis, TN. Duhalde, Eduardo Luis 1983 El estado terrorista argentino. Barcelona: Argos Vergara. Frontalini, Daniel and Maria Cristina Caiati 1984 El mito de la "guerra sucia. " Buenos Aires: Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales. Germani, Gino 1962 Politicaysociedad en una epoca de transici6n: De la sociedad tradicional a la sociedad de masas. Buenos Aires: Paidos. Gillespie, Richard 1982 Soldiers of Per6n: Argentina's Montoneros. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1986 "The urban guerrilla in Latin America," pp. 150-177 in Noel O'Sullivan (ed.), Terrorism, Ideology, and Revolution. Brighton: Wheatsheaf Books. Graham-Yooll, Andrew 1981 Portrait of an Exile. London: Junction Books. 1984 The Press in Argentina, 1973-1978, with Additional Materialfor 1979-1981. London: Writers' and Scholars' Educational Trust. 1986 A State of Fear: Memories of Argentina's Nightmare. London: Eland. Hale, Oron J. 1964 The Captive Press in the Third Reich. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Knudson, Jerry W. 1978 Herbert L. Matthews and the Cuban Story. Association for Education in Journalism Monograph 54. 1989 "Self-censorship in the Venezuelan press." Times of the Americas, February 22. 1990 "Argentine press: 'dirty war' hangover." Times of the Americas, October 3. El libro del diario del juicio 1985 Buenos Aires: Perfil. 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Verbitsky, Horacio 1987 Civiles y militares: Memoria secreta de la transici6n. 2nd ed. Buenos Aires: Contrapunto. Whitaker, Arthur P. 1964 Argentina. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. This content downloaded from 205.153.156.220 on Tue, 03 Sep 2019 00:45:25 UTC All use subject to https://about.jstor.org/terms
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