Potbanging

Regardless of how many people were actually out on the streets on Thursday, it was an extremely impressive sight. Landmarks and central avenues teemed with people, not just in Buenos Aires but all over the country, and the squares were full of pot-bangers. A friend of mine went to the Plaza de Mayo at 7pm, fully expecting a few hundred at most; by 7.50pm, it was full and the entrances were crammed full of people. Despite the political expression against the government, and the presence of some neo-Nazis, the atmosphere was amazingly positive – it brought to mind images of the bicentennial celebrations in 2010 or a carnival in a hotter neighbouring country. This celebratory protest was Thursday night’s greatest strength – and its fundamental flaw.

For all of its preaching, Kirchnerism, the name given to the constantly-shifting political philosophy allegedly guiding the actions of President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner and her followers, is not an inclusive political movement. Through its repeated insistence on a ‘national project’, Kirchnerism thrives on creating an ‘us’ v ‘them’ ideology. You’re with us, or you’re against us. In this context, it is an easy choice to make: become a Kirchnerite (or a K, as they are both referred to derogatively and proudly describe themselves), and accept and agree with what our leader says and does, even if you don’t.

Faced with that choice, it’s easy to be an anti-K. If you don’t like having to keep all your savings in a currency that is devaluating on a daily basis, albeit slowly, or if you happen to think that tax agencies shouldn’t really be keeping tabs on what you do in your spare time, then you’re against the government. If you think that continuous re-elections smack of autocracy, or that teenagers who can’t legally drive or stand for election should be forced to vote to choose a President is just plain preposterous, then you are firmly in the ‘them’ department. Realistically, it is hard for people who were born and at least partly raised outside Argentina to sympathize with a government who sees it as its right to nationalize private companies (including pension institutions, airlines, energy companies and football broadcasters) but doesn’t have the money to fix its trains.

However, within the polarized political arena known as Argentine society, opposition may seem like an easy option, but it isn’t. The political leaders nominally representing opposition to the government are lightweight, past it or undercooked, depending on which one you choose. It’s easy to tell which ones the government sees as a threat, because those are the people the Kirchnerites try to undermine financially (see Buenos Aires province Governor Daniel Scioli and Córdoba Governor José Manuel de la Sota) or legally (see Buenos Aires City Mayor Mauricio Macri). The rest, from the Radicals to the Broad Progressive Front (FAP) are doomed by their laudably high principles – they simply cannot give ground without losing moral strength. And they cannot form alliances with other parties, because their own parties are equally good at lamenting the present as remembering long-standing grudges.

Thus, there is no real opposition, helped by the government’s ability to position itself so that on any key issue, whether it be expropriation, re-election or giving teens the vote, at least some of each party will agree with the concept and back it accordingly. The people know this, and they are angry: those on the streets on Thursday were clearly aiming their ire at the opposition as much as the national government.

As far as I can tell, or based on what I’ve learned in four years here, this government exists to fight. Kirchnerism was born out of the ashes of the last major economic crisis in 2001-2, in which the middle class lost their future. Kirchnerism has provided the same victims of 2001-2 with the means of building something new, an Argentina that does not depend on outside influences and that generates its own strengths. A steady stream of enemies has assisted this growth process: both externally (the IMF, the British and the Spanish, to name a few) and internally (Macri and the farms, among others).

But, as last year’s election, in which Fernández de Kirchner romped home with 54 percent of the vote, clearly shows, there is no political opposition. There are no more real enemies outside Kirchnerism. This means that, sooner or later, the government was bound to start turning on itself. Kirchnerism will eat itself. If in doubt, just ask Vice-President Amado Boudou.

The real problem facing the thousands of people who filled the streets on Thursday night is that they have no single, unified goal. Their gripes, as justified as they are, are many. Their anger has one target, which is fine, but offers no solution.

Pot-banging has a sacred place in Argentina’s recent history, emblematic of the protests that brought down Fernando de la Rúa’s government in 2001 and that echoed during the Resolution 125 farm crisis in 2008. The difference in 2012 is that protestors have nothing to offer but anger, and therefore, at the moment they are likely to still go home empty-handed.  

60th

Recently I took a transatlantic flight with a well-known Brazilian airline. At Ezeiza, I bought legroom, which was quite reasonably priced considering they used to give it away for free. The Argentine ground crew rep paused, and then asked: “Do you speak Portuguese?” As luck would have it, I do, although I would be the first to admit that it’s quite rusty. When I asked why, the Argentine shook his head. “It’s these Brazilians,” he said. “Their air crews are 100% Brazilian, and are not required to speak Spanish or English. They’re so nationalistic. Can you believe it?”

An Argentine complaining about the nationalism of others. As anyone who lives in Argentina will testify, including a large proportion of locals, nationalism is a very Argentine trait. However, as someone explained to me recently, there is a clear difference between Argentine nationalism and Brazilian patriotism. Brazilians truly love their country and will continually gush forth about its wonders. Argentines, on the other hand, are both cynical by nature and fully aware of their country’s shortcomings – but will not countenance any criticism of their country by someone who is not from there.

Perhaps it’s fitting that these thoughts are bouncing round my brain on the 60^th anniversary of the death of a person who, for better or worse, entirely transformed Argentina. Eva Perón’s short life and work have influenced this country for over half a century, and her mystique is a key allure to thousands if not millions of tourists to Argentina on an annual basis. However, her actual role in contemporary Argentina remains as divisive as her revolutionary labour politics and communication techniques were during her lifetime.

Exhibit A was provided last night, with yet another demagoguery-tinged speech by President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, with the portrait of Evita behind her. CFK yesterday announced that the highest legal tender in the country, namely the 100-peso bill, would now carry the face of Evita. Not Perón, her husband, the twice-President and in some respects the reason why she even had a platform to speak from. Evita. In broad terms, this would be the equivalent of putting a key figure of the last century on bills – say, Martin Luther King on a note in the US, or Princess Diana in the UK.

Naturally, this is a highly Marmite decision, and has accordingly split the country – just as the choice of Madonna to play her in Alan Parker’s 1997 film of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical did. However, Evita and her veneration or denigration plays into the hands of nationalists of all ilks, as her image can be skewed to represent…well, pretty much whatever you want. She is a symbol of struggle, an embodiment of virtue, the encapsulation of innocence or the permanent reminder of when exactly Argentina went down the tubes. Depending on who one talks to, she can be any of these things and many more.

That is a key aspect to Evita, and to Peronism. Yesterday, during the events to commemorate her “passing into immortality” 60 years ago, speech after speech was laid at her altar by worshippers of all political stripes – but, as several people pointed out, the majority focused on what she represented, an entirely different thing each time, rather than what she did. What Evita represents, in the eye of the beholder, will always be of greater relevance than what she achieved. That’s why Argentines grimace when troops of tourists file past her tomb in Recoleta each day, where she lies surrounded by the oligarchs who she despised and sought to destroy – only a true Argentine will really understand what she means, or what she has come to mean.

Although we are only seven and a half months into 2012, this has been a year of nationalism. Whether the issue is the 30th anniversary of a war, the 60th anniversary of a death or the veneration of 50 goals by a famous footballer, the message is clear: to the outside world, Argentina is united, taking all comers, especially those who seek to undermine or criticise - because by doing so, we can briefly forget that, on the inside, unity is fleeting, and the future is very bleak. 

Queues

Living in Argentina is experiencing the same events that the locals do and learning to shrink the divide between their reactions and your reactions. What this sounds like is cultural integration, immersion into another world. What this means in practice is getting annoyed in supermarkets and learning how to queue.

Just a few days ago, I experienced the former. Having picked a time to go to the supermarket that ensured I would not run into the heaving commuter mob (most weekdays, 6-9 pm) or the shuffling OAPs (bizarrely, Monday and Wednesday from 10 am-2 pm), I neatly traversed the aisles at 5 pm on a Friday afternoon, snatching the few items I needed and choosing a queue that was moving quite quickly. The woman in front of us was the only thing that stood between us and an entirely efficient, successful and rapid shopping trip. I mentally winked at cultural integration.

However, everything quickly unraveled. The woman in front of us, I noticed casually, had no items. All she had was a bill. It turned out that she was paying her supermarket credit card bill. Great, she has the cash, she’ll cough up, we’ll move along. But something was wrong. Things had slowed down. I was near and nosy enough to see how much she owed, a cool $650 in the local currency, and worryingly she was tipping out the contents of her handbag. It turned out that she was short – by $1.50. Not $150, but 1 peso 50 centavos.

The system ground to a halt. Both the woman in question and the teller recognized the folly of the issue, the woman pleading slightly while the teller looked around nervously for someone to pass the buck to. There was nobody. Eventually, a superior arrived. Her blank stares were not encouraging. Behind us, the queue stretched down the aisle and even into the cold meats and cheese section. A crescendo of mutterings began in the docile supermarket. The staff started to look worried. Mutiny was just around the corner.

The problem was fixed in the end, sort of. The woman escaped, never looking back, her shoulders shuddering with what we knew was shame. We had been in the queue for twenty-five minutes. Therein lies the issue: we were all in the same queue, all consumers, all with better things to do, all aware that all she needed was $1.50 – but did we lend her the cash to speed her on her way and make it easier for ourselves? Did we heck. The steely silence of the supermarket at 5:30 pm on a Friday resounded with the thought: this is your problem, you fix it.

This Argentine trait, the grim determination to let individuals struggle in front of our eyes, is neatly juxtaposed by the grim determination to recognize when we are being manipulated but to let it occur regardless. To illustrate this second trait, I present you with Exhibit B: the SUBE card.

When I arrived most recently in BA, in 2008, there was an extreme coin shortage. For a society whose public transport depended on coins, from $1.10 for a subway (Subte) trip to the bizarre 80 cents for a bus trip, a dearth of coins was little short of disastrous. A colleague, also a foreigner, kept a certain amount of coins in the third desk of his drawer at work. I’m not exactly sure how many coins he had, but it cannot have been much less than $200 worth. You can tell that society is in trouble when the $1 coin is much more valuable than the $2 note.

The powers that be reacted slowly to this situation. Rumours of money-laundering or coin smuggling rings with government ties abounded. However, by 2010 a solution had been identified and was created: first, the Monedero card, which allowed Subte users to purchase tickets in advance, and then the SUBE card, for both the Subte and buses.

The original concept was straightforward: if you want to make things easier for yourself, you buy the card. The majority of people actually purchased SUBE with this in mind. The commute became easier, coins almost obsolete.

However, at the end of 2011, with the ‘voluntary’ renouncement of subsidies on utilities, it became clear that public transport was going to get the same treatment. In January, a vague announcement from the Transport Secretary suggested that by February 9, all subsidies would be removed and the prices increased dramatically on public transport. He did not specify by how much, nor did he have to. The only way to keep receiving the subsidized prices was through using a SUBE card.

Widespread panic ensued. Everyone had to get hold of a SUBE card. Temporary outposts were established across the city, with consumers queuing to get their hands on a SUBE by February 9. January, of course, is the hottest month in Argentina, and one would have to queue for at least one hour in the heat.

With a nation’s desperation to queue becoming apparent once again, at no point did anybody stop to ask: by exactly how much is public transport going to rise? The City government already raised the Subte price by 125% to the whopping $2.25; many worried that the same would be true for the bus. However, no details were given. The people of Buenos Aires queued, because they had been told they had to, without total justification.

As the deadline neared, the inevitable happened: the Transport Secretary announced that it had been extended by one month. Data on the actual increase was still unavailable, but the Secretary promised that it would be made clear “some days before the subsidies are removed.” Forgive me for casting aspersions, but it appears that this government regulation is being made up on the spot.

There is another slightly unnerving aspect to the SUBE issue. In order to receive a card, you have to give your DNI or passport number. The positive is that only you can use the card, and that if it is lost it is easily replaceable. The less attractive part, which has been suggested recently by government sources and the Transport Secretary himself, is that once the subsidies have been removed, the administration has considered determining how much we pay for public transport based on our income.

I’m not sure which aspect is more disturbing: that the government could track my movements through public transport or that it could determine how much I pay for a (fairly average) service based on how much I earn. The implications are not good.

However, as a society, there is no opposition here; just a mad rush to queue in the impossible heat so as not to get caught out when an unspecified change is implemented. We move like sheep, to the beat of a drum that we can hear but not see, but we have no choice. If we want to participate in this world, we have to play by its rules; that is true cultural immersion.

Post Office

Every time I pass the national government’s Communications offices, a grand building situated near Puerto Madero and a stone’s throw from the most significant government buildings (the Labour Ministry, the Casa Rosada, et al), I am in awe. It reminds me of when I first saw it, years ago, before I understood the power of Communications, or rather, what the word meant, both for the world in general and for Argentina in particular. I always thought that it was a bit too smart to be a Post Office.

Communication, as a profession, is about the expression of meaning. Meaning is more often than not interpreted as truth, but real communications, I have learnt, it just about getting your point (or somebody else’s point) across effectively. The truth has little to do with it.

This is especially true in Argentina, a society that professes itself to be governed by opposites. You either support the government or you oppose it; you either like Boca Juniors or River Plate; we are colonialists or they are. This society is based on the demonstration of opposites as the only two certainties, but what makes the society strong is the weakness of the same opposites. There is no such thing here as truth or lie, good or bad, right or wrong; instead, what this society is based on is everything in between.

In terms of where that leaves public figures and their relations with ordinary people, there seems to be a tacit agreement based on the fact that politicians and the rest will always present their opinions in the most simplistic terms possible, couched within extremes, and the people will nod and vote in the knowledge that Othe extremes are a total invention. It is a fantastic example of democracy: in a world where no-one is ever really held accountable for anything, one can do or say exactly what one likes, so long as one is able to get one’s point across.

As a result, the machinations of Argentine politics (and indeed society as a whole) are like one enormous private joke, but a joke that is so complicated and convoluted that it only makes sense if you heard the beginning. There are people that know more of the joke than others, but for most it is a baffling web of multiple meanings sponsored by individuals or groups or movements, creating an endless conveyor belt of statements, facts, beliefs, messages. To say Communications is a vital industry here is an understatement: without it, Argentina as we know it would simply not be possible.

One obvious conclusion to draw is that in an environment where there is so much meaning it is almost impossible to discern the truth. However, we can rest assured that there are undoubtedly people in Argentina who have seen and heard the punchline in the private joke, and somebody somewhere is laughing.