People Power

As Buenos Aires approaches Spring, the weather is improving rapidly. This week has seen the temperature rarely drop below 20 degrees Celsius, remarkable when considering that officially until September 21st we are still in Winter. With the improved weather, certain unmistakably human and Argentine societal traits are becoming more apparent: girls are wearing fewer clothes, people are happier, and there are more mini-revolutions on the street on a daily basis. And, with the start of the new school and university term, several high schools and universities have been taken over by their students.

[Why doesn’t this happen in Blighty? Is it because we live in a police state where students are terrified of taking over classrooms for fear of being pelted by rubber bullets? No. And in the US, students don’t take over classrooms: they shoot each other. The Argentine version is long-term, non-violent and nationwide.]

Yesterday from the office I heard the explosions first. Mini-fireworks. Sounds like mortar fire. I looked out of the window with a weary sense of anticipation: who could it be today? The cooks? The teachers? The parents? One simply never knows. But no. It was a group of about ten people standing next to a yellow building, identified as a possible customs building, waving indecipherable flags and generally having a rather good time. It was hot, sunny – why not organize a protest?

The relentless grind of demonstration on demonstration on a daily basis is at first intriguing but quickly boring. The results are almost the same every time: nothing ever happens. I suppose the reason this doesn’t happen in the UK is that, while we exist in a democratic state and are all perfectly content to air our opinions and aware of our civil rights, protest just isn’t in our blood.

Blood.

Yesterday two events occurred to remind the people of this great city that reality, beyond the people power, is still there just behind the pantomime backdrop, waiting for its chance to re-establish the balance of power.

Someone was run over crossing the road. Or riding a bike; it wasn’t clear. What was apparent, and there for all the world to see, was the blood stain stretching from the middle of the wide and busy road all the way to the pavement. What had happened to this person was unknown; the outcome was all too evident.

And then a nightclub roof in Palermo collapsed last night. 50 people were dancing; two were killed, which isn’t really a bad return when compared with the Cromañon disaster. But it is bad enough, and real enough. Ours is a city that never sleeps.