28 Feb. - 6 March 2002
Issue No.575
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Al-Ahram Weekly Online 28 Feb. - 6 March 2002 Issue No.575 |
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Down but far from out
The dollar, which traded at parity with the peso in December, is now worth close to two pesos. Argentinians, however, are putting on a brave face, writes Hisham El-Naggar from Buenos AiresIt's summer in Buenos Aires, the city I call home.
Argentinian demonstrators protest the country's financial crisis (photo:AP)
Summer here is usually hot and muggy; everybody who can possibly afford it takes off for at least a couple of weeks. In the 1990s, an overvalued peso and an illusion of prosperity meant that many people could afford holidays in Uruguay and Brazil, and often in Europe or Miami.
The partial freeze on deposits, made necessary by a run on the banks, means just about everybody is short of cash. And the political situation doesn't encourage trips abroad, unless, of course, they are one-way.
The foreign press gives the impression that Buenos Aires is virtually in the grip of a civil war. Reading the New York Times or a European daily one is grateful that reality is nowhere near as bad as they say. Their reporters focus on the newsworthy. Everyday life, people struggling to hold on to their jobs and make ends meet without much fanfare, is just not newsworthy.
To be sure, there are numerous signs of crisis in the capital, as in the rest of the country. The price of some essential goods has gone up, with no prospect of wages following suit. There are occasional shortages, especially of imported items. Some shops go bust and remain boarded up; banks also huddle behind shutters designed to protect them against the wrath of depositors, who have taken to smashing their windows.
Still, the city is far from being one big battleground. Argentines have not lost their taste for night-life; even on a limited budget, they still flock to the cafés, virtually around the clock in some neighborhoods. The civic-minded in me at times rebels against what may seem as frivolity, but I must admit I also feel immense relief at seeing people trying to go on living, to savour what they can of life. Every smile people exchange, every young couple obviously in love and not ashamed to show it, I count as a small victory.
At any rate, it is not as if people are bent on ignoring reality. The hedonism of the 1990s is definitely passé. Café talk is of the need for change, of how a new Argentina must be refashioned out of the old, which has proved, to use US Treasury Secretary Paul O'Neill's colourful phrase, "unviable."
People show their rejection of corruption, the paralysis of the economy and attempts to accommodate the IMF with the usual recipe for austerity by demonstrating with a regularity which has alarmed politicians. While most appear, rather reluctantly, to have decided to give the current government the benefit of the doubt, it is plain that their patience has a limit.
"The time when they could line their pockets at will is over," a kiosk-owner says in reference to the ever-abominated politicians. It is now fairly common for politicians of all stripes, union leaders discredited for their complicity with the political élite and bankers to be booed, insulted and, on a number of occasions, physically harassed.
Amid the prevailing, and rather undiscriminating, condemnation of politicians is a new sense of responsibility on the part of many citizens. After being told that they, too, were accomplices in the despoliation of their country, having displayed little visible opposition during the 1990s -- when despoliation was peaking -- Argentines have discovered that they do love their wounded country. And this at the very time it has been forsaken by the foreign interests which once heaped praise on the "reforms" the country's rulers so speedily implemented.
The commonest form of protest and political participation -- completely novel and largely spontaneous -- is the "neighbourhood assemblies" which were born of the popular pots-and-pans demonstrations. Neighbours from all over the city have taken to meeting at least once a week, voting on the modality of protest and reminding politicians that they have not let their guard down.
"Modern age Soviets" is how a visibly nervous newspaper described these assemblies, echoing the beleaguered establishment's hysteria over the perceived threat these groups -- as a rule pledged to non-violence but far from low-key -- represent to their interests. Such slogans as "Make them go, make them go; may not a single one remain" or "Roadblocks or pots and pans; the struggle is one" have many a politician on edge. Roadblocks are the form of protest favoured by the near-destitute and unemployed; the banging of pots and pans, on the other hand, is a decidedly middle-class reaction to the freezing of deposits.
So is an alliance between the most economically disadvantaged and the impoverished middle class in the offing? Anything is possible; certainly the new patriotism is causing people from all walks of life -- except the jet-setting globalisers -- to reach out for "the other Argentina."
But it is too early to tell whether this social phenomenon will have major political implications; whether the neighbourhood assemblies and frequent marches will engender a new movement, untainted by the abuses of the old political caste. Some in the media warn of the risk of chaos and civil strife, or of a military takeover should public order collapse. Most politically active citizens -- a sizeable group of late -- do not appear to think that that is what the future holds; rather, they claim, it is change, badly needed change, that is at stake.
"I believe something can be done," said Matias, a 25-year-old student. "In the sixties people planted bombs and joined guerrilla brigades. Now, the challenge is to be useful. To work, in cooperatives, crisis committees or NGOs, to solve the problems the population has to contend with."
Some see an encouraging sign in the degree of artistic and cultural ferment. Despite hard times, the theatre is undergoing a renaissance of sorts; many a play, "committed" or not, is filling the numerous commercial and underground theatres all over the city. Literary cafés bring poets together to muse about the role of art and how they feel about the country to which they belong. "Workshops" of all kinds, covering such subjects as literary criticism and tango appreciation, attract people who have had to cut down on most luxuries to make ends meet.
There was a time when the traditional left -- in this country, often of the salon variety -- used to dismiss such "culturalism" as the swansong of a declining bourgeoisie. But the declining bourgeoisie is more politically conscious, more socially engaged than ever. They, along with protesters from humbler walks of life, are clamouring for a new direction for the society on which they refuse to give up. And that direction does not appear to point to globalisation-as-usual.
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