Fuerza Bruta

The problem with being a slacker when it comes to updating a blog is that you start to forget things. It's already October and I'm still writing about May, for goodness sake! But I'm going to do my best to get caught up. Life isn't really all that interesting right now anyway, at least in the realm of adventure, so you all are probably getting a better story from me remembering back five months than if you were getting an up-to-date play-by-play (nice, two hyphenated words in a row!).

The final night of the festivities for the Bicentenial of the May Revolution, the government pulled out all the stops. A local acrobatics group (think Cirque du Soleil) called Fuerza Bruta (brute force) put on a parade of acrobats and musicians and dancers that was absolutely incredible. There were hundreds of performers that acted out scenes from the history of Argentina, from its indigenous cultures, to independence, to Perón, the Malvians/Falkland Islands War, the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo, etc. I'm including some photos my roommate took (my camera had, unfortunately, was no longer with us at this stage). The first photo is of the tango scene. The musicians were perched on top of taxi cabs as the dancers tangoed in the street. It's a bit hard to see in the photo, but if you look closely you can make it out.

Granted, I couldn't actually see anyone but the musicians on top of the cars from my vantage, but apparently my roommate had a much better view. I had gotten lost from the crowd that day, and was watch the parade by myself, positioned in the middle of a bush with a few other spectators trying to get away from the push and shove of the crowd.

This next photo is of the scene of the Mothers of the Disappeared, the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. The are famous for protesting the military dictatorship during the military period. Tens of thousands of people disappeared during the dictatorship that ran from 1976 to 1983, some of whom were linked to "subversive" leftist organizations, others who were targeted for economic reasons (military and police officers often forced detainees to sign over deeds to land, homes, cars, etc.), still others were kidnapped and tortured and murdered for the sole purpose of creating fear or because of mistaken identity. It was illegal to loiter in the plaza, so in protest of the disappearance of their children, a group mothers began to march around the monument in the center of the Plaza de Mayo, the plaza in front of the presidential palace (the Casa Rosada). These mothers demanded (and still demand) that the government give them back their children. As a symbol of their roles as mothers, they wore white cloth diapers as kerchiefs on their heads, a symbol that is now synonymous with the Mothers of the Disappeared. In this interpretation, the actors wore headpieces that glowed white and marched in simulated rain, a striking image and one that moved many in the crowd.

There were many impressive scenes played out in the parade. San Martín's army crossed the Andes in the snow; soldiers in the Malvinas were shot, buried with crosses over their graves (when the soldiers lay down their backpacks turned into grave markers), and rose again to march on; bankers fought over cash in a high-wire maelstrom in the economic insanity of the 1990s; immigrants ran about on ocean liners from Europe; demonstrators shouted slogans and carried banners for Perón; and a woman dressed in white and blue representing Argentina swung over the heads of the crowd, dancing on the end of a boom. It was, well, impressive.