Argentina State Terrorism

Santiago Mitre's feature film about holding the perpetrators of dictatorship accountable in Argentina humanizes a pivotal moment in Latin American—and world—history.

Decades after the return to democracy, the children of dictatorship-era human rights abusers have ignited a new movement for truth, memory, and justice throughout Latin America and beyond.

The struggle to hold the military to account for crimes against humanity are a part of Argentinian identity. A group of grandmothers leads the story of that struggle.

By 1979, much of the southern cone had fallen to right-wing military dictatorships in an era defined by militarist anti-communism, the defeat of the working class movement, and the emergence of neoliberalism. From our 50th anniversary issue, available open access for a limited time.

The election of Pope Francis has brought many issues to the fore that represent not just the complexity of a person, but the complexity of the Catholic Church. This was especially true at the time the most controversial chapters in his history were being written. 

The United States has long used the Vatican as an instrument of foreign policy in Latin America. As the first pope from the Americas, the election of Jorge Mario Bergoglio could signal a new direction for the Catholic Church.

Most are in their 80s. They include an optician, a pilot, a teacher, a bank clerk, and a lawyer. Privately, they all suffered the loss of a son, daughter, or, in some cases, two or three children, during the repression of the military dictatorship that ruled Argentina from 1976 to 1983. And during this year's 34th anniversary of the 1976 coup, Argentine president Cristina Fernández de Kirchner honored four of them for their human rights work during the past three decades.

Patricia Isasa has fought for justice and transparency for over 30 years. At the time of her kidnapping, July of 1976, architect Patricia Isasa was 16 years old. She was abducted by an Argentine commando group of the provincial police and taken to one of the 375 clandestine detention and torture centers set up during the dictatorship.

Even in safe and serene Denmark, Luiz Urquiza could not shake off the trauma inflicted by his ex-colleagues. His new line of work, taxi driving, caused the daily aggravation of his most painful wound, sustained when his tormentors fired several bullets into his left leg. Danish doctors and psychologists did what they could, but recovery was never more than partial. For two years in the 1970s, Urquiza had been jailed, mocked, beaten, suffocated and, on one occasion, taken before a fake firing squad—all because he dared study at a university before entering the Argentine police force, and was, therefore, considered "subversive."

Argentina has opened several high profile criminal cases charging former military officers for human rights abuses during the 1976-1983 military dictatorship. For the first time in the nation's history, an Argentine court sentenced a military officer to life for crimes against humanity earlier this month. As the South American country re-evaluates its dark history, new skeletons in the closet have reappeared.