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I am not a hypochondriac. Nor a fatalist. No matter what my sister says. Yes, I know already, she is a nurse. An excellent nurse whom I have seen in action: efficient, quick and friendly. But she’s wrong. Her opinion, I suspect, is more related to the numerous board games…
My daughter, Paula, is a fourth-generation immigrant. She was born here in the United States. I, her mother, was born in Venezuela. Estela, her grandmother, was born in Argentina. Aurelia, her great grandmother, was born in Italy. The war and two dictatorships were the causes…
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In his new book, Argentina Betrayed: Memory, Mourning, and Accountability, the Dutch scholar Antonius C.G.M. Robben seeks to establish a conceptual thread that will lead us through decades…
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When I woke up my last day in Argentina, I was overcast, unlike the beaming sun that morning. My basically packed bags were splayed open in the middle of my room nearly-not-room anymore. I tucked the…
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I spent a week of my month in Argentina in a northern province called Santiago del Estero. There, I lived at the Universidad Campesina de Santiago del Estero, the UNICAM, one of eleven territorial bases of the Movimiento Campesino de Santiago del Estero (MOCASE)…
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