Today we went to the Puente Puerrydon to commemorate the deaths of maxi and dario who were killed on June 26th, 2002 by police officers in the train station Avellaneda. Apparently they didn't even know eachother. Maxi was on the floor when Dario saw him down and went to help him and then the shooting began and they were both killed. Also, apparently there were dozens of witnesses and there is even a video of some of it. So, there is no doubt that they were killed by the police.
Since then, friends, family and piqueters have come every year to commemorate their deaths and also to decorate the train station. Today they were painting the roofs with maxi and dario's names. The train station Avellaneda has been unofficially renamed "maxi y dario" and all the signs have been taken down and replaced with "maxi y dario signs." Avellaneda is the first train station after the riachuelo which seperates buenos aires city from buenos aires province to the south. The southern part of the buenos aires provinces being generally considered the poorest areas.
The commemoration was quite calm, although there were a few moments of tension when the police seemingly did not want to let the protesters pass. It was quite clear, however, that at some point they would let us pass through since Cristina Kirchner's government has continued with her husband Nestor's policies of not repressing most protests. The polo obrero seemed to be interested in conflicting with the government in some form, but the frente dario santillan and the CCC, as well as the MTD Anibal Veron and the MTD Theresa Vive (amongst others and the factions of others, there are hundreds...) moved out of the mass with their flags and continued down another road which led an unblocked path to the bridge.
We reached the bridge where there was another blockade of police, but this time we stopped and stood for a few hours. Some people sat, the kids next to us who shortly beforehand had their faces covered with scarves and were beating the ground with steel pipes, decided it was time for lunch and unpacked large backpacks of bread and picadillo (sort of a meat concoction in cans).
A video from that day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c4-yKh6zMCU
jueves, 26 de junio de 2008
miércoles, 25 de junio de 2008
Mi novia es la basura y yo soy el cartonero
The title translates into something like "My girlfriend is the trash and I am the trash collector." Very romantic, I saw it scribbled on a trash can today.
I met with Fredi earlier this afternoon for a coffee. He is a member of one of the social movements here in la Matanza and a contact of mine for many years now. It was interesting to have another update on how his movement is doing and their dealings with the government and their position regarding all of the current uproar in the agrarian sector. Mostly it seems they have turned away from the government and consequently several of their projects have lost funding. The sewing association no longer functions and really their only major work is the clinic and a small kindergarden. What also drew my attention was that he told me that really they had no intention of changing Kristina for another president, that what they wanted was more financial support and for her to follow through, but that they had no interest in seeing her go. Their's is a struggle for the every day necessities and there seems to be no interest and no real desire to create a political project or any ideological backbone to their movement.
Fredi also told me that all the factions of his organization that didn't have any kind of productive aspect to them (clinic, kindergarden, soup kitchen, etc) were disbanding or disolving for lack of support and members. The only ones left were those that had some sort of productive aspect to them.
It was nice to see him and I think he was genuinly happy to see me again too. I might run into him tomorrow at the annual gathering for the anniversary of the death of maxi and dario at the puente puerrydon.
I found this great link made by some computer savvy piquetero (and blogger):
http://www.buscarjusticia.linefeed.org/
I met with Fredi earlier this afternoon for a coffee. He is a member of one of the social movements here in la Matanza and a contact of mine for many years now. It was interesting to have another update on how his movement is doing and their dealings with the government and their position regarding all of the current uproar in the agrarian sector. Mostly it seems they have turned away from the government and consequently several of their projects have lost funding. The sewing association no longer functions and really their only major work is the clinic and a small kindergarden. What also drew my attention was that he told me that really they had no intention of changing Kristina for another president, that what they wanted was more financial support and for her to follow through, but that they had no interest in seeing her go. Their's is a struggle for the every day necessities and there seems to be no interest and no real desire to create a political project or any ideological backbone to their movement.
Fredi also told me that all the factions of his organization that didn't have any kind of productive aspect to them (clinic, kindergarden, soup kitchen, etc) were disbanding or disolving for lack of support and members. The only ones left were those that had some sort of productive aspect to them.
It was nice to see him and I think he was genuinly happy to see me again too. I might run into him tomorrow at the annual gathering for the anniversary of the death of maxi and dario at the puente puerrydon.
I found this great link made by some computer savvy piquetero (and blogger):
http://www.buscarjusticia.linefeed.org/
martes, 24 de junio de 2008
A Father’s day filled with Blockades, piquetes and other kinds of night-time adventures
We departed by car from Buenos Aires late in the afternoon on Saturday on our way to see my friend Fede’s family in the small town of Embalce for Father’s day. Embalce is in the province of Cordoba and about 750 kms from Buenos Aires. On my way to meet Fede and his partner Luis, the taxi driver asked me where I was going. “Cordoba” I said innocently. He cackled loudly and turned on the radio to a station which was hysterically announcing all the highways which were being blocked by the farmers and piqueters across the country, finally abandoning its announcement and pronouncing all highways blocked. Not only were the highways now blocked, but apparently all the long distance coach drivers had also decided to strike and stop all bus service at 5pm the same day. The country was shutdown for business or travel, which was just what the protesting farmers had in mind.
The Father’s day weekend strikes were just a prolongation of a three month long battle between the farmers and the government. In March of 2008, just before the fall harvest, the new government of Cristina Fernandez Kirchner declared that it would raise the taxes on exports of agricultural goods from 35% to 44%. This brought the countryside to an uproar and protests as well as road blockades began to appear as a reaction to the increase in taxes. Kirchner, in turn, stalled the farmers until June refusing to budge on her decision to raise the taxes supposedly to spend on “new hospitals, schools and roads.”
The taxi driver told me I was crazy and that there was no way we would make it to Cordoba. I knew he was probably right, but I also knew that there was usually some kind of an alternative route in Argentina and that I was prepared to take the risk. Plus, what would be better than the open highways…no trucks, no buses, no cars. We could end up lucky…or not.
When I finally was on the road with Fede and Luis we speculated for the first hour about how far we’d come and what we might experience. At the first toll about 100 kms from the city, we were told by the toll woman that the roads were blocked 50 kms further on and there was no way we could go further. Nevertheless, we pressed onwards. 50 kms later we came upon a road block with five or six cars. We stopped for a little while and then decided to get out of the car and ask if they planned on letting us through at some point. Luis is a journalist and was very enthusiastic to go ask questions and take pictures. We approached the piqueters and they scowled at us, but we didn’t let it discourage us. Luis asked me for my camera and stepped back to take some pictures when one of the piqueters lurched forward and began yelling at him to put away the camera. He told us that it was prohibited to take pictures here and that we should be very careful because, although he was peaceful, some of the others might beat us to a pulp. Indeed, interestingly enough, he had a button with the words “Movimiento por la Paz y la No violencia,” a movement started by the Alisa Carrio a senator from the ARI party. http://www.movimientoxlapaz.org.ar/
Although he wasn’t unfriendly and spoke to us at length, I sensed a heightened tension amongst him and the rest of the piqueters. Every now and again someone would yell something and they would run over to another side of the blockade. As we were leaving a car was trying to drive through an open area of the blockade and the mass launched itself on top of it and started rocking the car until it stopped.
The man talked to us about various things. Mainly he talked about how he was not violent, but that the protesters couldn’t be trusted and that we should be careful. He told us that they were getting prepared to kill D’Elia and that there might be a revolution or at the very least a rebellion in the near future. “Do you know who the number 1 producer of arms in the world is?” He asked me. “Irak.” I nodded in agreement lest I contradict his point, “Do you know who the second producer of arms is?” “No” I said in anticipation of what he might come up with, “Chile” he told me “and these farmers are getting all their arms from the Chileans and soon there will be a revolution, this government will not last long.” That may be true, I thought to myself, but they definitely need to get their facts straight first.
When we told him we were trying to make it to Cordoba, he wished us luck and said, “Maybe you’ll make it the day after next.” Back in the car Fede was listening to the radio. Apparently at least 3,000 middle class portenyos had assembled in front of the residence of the president in Olivos and were undertaking a cacerolazo in protest of the government’s inability to control the piqueters and prevent the shutdown of the country. Luis received a text message from his mother that read simply “This thing is starting to become a problem.” Later that week, a friend sent me a great picture from the Olivos protest of an old wealthy lady with her maid outside the presidential residency. The maid was banging her pot for the lady. Apparently that is also part of the job description for Argentine maids!
An hour and a half later at 10pm, almost on the dot, they lifted the blockade and let us through. As we were driving through I could see the crowd gathered clapping loudly and yelling at us in admiration for our patience and peaceful adherence to their road blockade. In the crowds I could see our friend waving and singing with his suddenly cheerful piquete comrades. About 100 kms later we encountered another blockade. This time it was obvious we had to turn back. Dozens of trucks lined the highway and the piqueters had set up shop next to the local police station. I wouldn’t have believed it, but it said clearly on the building next to the piqueter’s white tent “Policia, Provincia de Santa Fe.” We had to turn back, but luckily there was another route. Sure it was about 60 kms out of the way if you didn’t get lost, but it was another route. We got lost. An hour and a half later we stopped on the side of whatever highway we were on and asked an older man who seemed to be attending to an abandoned piquete what the best route to Cordoba might be. He waved us to wait and ducked inside a makeshift tent which emitted the faint noise of music and chatter. Moments later he emerged with three other portly gentlemen who had obviously had one or two and they began to theorize what the best route might be for us to reach our destination. They racked their brains while I mused at the strange situation: asking piqueters for directions on how to avoid other piqueters in order to get to our destination. Ah, the idiosyncrasies of Argentina. Finally, nobody could really figure out how we might arrive, so we decided to turn around and find our way back to where we had gotten lost.
About half an hour later, we got on another highway heading in the right direction and I felt optimistic. It was only around 2am and we were having an adventure. By the fifth and sixth blockade, however, I was started to get annoyed. These blockades were not as forbidding as the others since it was already the middle of the night and we were the only car for miles, but in each instance we would pull up to the piqueter and he would give us indications on how to reroute in order to avoid his blockade. “Turn around and go for 5 kms, at km 184 go right onto the dirt road, when you reach the little school on a corner, under a tree, take another right for 30 kms and then once you cross another paved road with a blind man pointing to the sky (just kidding), go right and you’ll be back on this highway.” It was silly, they could have just let us go, but that would defeat the purpose, I guess.
There was one exception to the reroutes which was even more infuriating. It was around 3 in the morning and we were driving along when we arrived in a little village. Of course there was a group waiting for us, but this time there was no real blockade, no burning tires, no truck in the middle of the road, just a large empty tomato can in the middle of the road with a little fire burning inside it. We stopped the car and a man peered in and asked us where we were going. “Embalce” Fede explained, “ah, said the man, well, wait here 20 minutes.” “For what” said Fede, “just wait here 20 minutes.” So we waited 20 minutes on the highway while they chatted and smoked cigarettes and after 20 minutes, they removed the tomato can and let us go. It was quite incredible.
At the last blockade before we got to the Rio Cuarto, the biggest city before Embalce, we were low on gas and pleaded with them to let us through. They didn’t care and made us take another 30 km reroute which nearly left us without gas before Rio Cuarto, but we made it—barely. We pulled up to the first gas station in Rio Cuarto, no gas and apparently no gas in any of the gas stations in all of Rio Cuarto. We couldn’t believe it, with the little we had left we went from one gas station to the next, nothing…nothing…nothing. What to do? We were still 150 kms from Embalce and it was a little after 4am. Fede decided to call a friend of his in Embalce to see if there was any gas there that he could bring us. Luckily he was a really good friend and got up in the middle of the night, went to the gas station, got us some gas and drove 150 kms to bring it to us. By this time it was 7am and we were absolutely exhausted, but we still had 2 blockades to pass. This time they were a bit quicker, however, since Fede’s friend had already passed them and knew where they were and we could avoid pulling up to the piquetes and being told directions on how to arrive. All told, the 750 km trip took us 15 hours, quite quick considering all of our predicaments.
When we finally were able to return from Cordoba four days later, our trip only took 7 hours. That day Kristina announced that she would send the tax increase to a vote in congress, thus easing the protests and giving the farmers hope for future negotiations.
The Father’s day weekend strikes were just a prolongation of a three month long battle between the farmers and the government. In March of 2008, just before the fall harvest, the new government of Cristina Fernandez Kirchner declared that it would raise the taxes on exports of agricultural goods from 35% to 44%. This brought the countryside to an uproar and protests as well as road blockades began to appear as a reaction to the increase in taxes. Kirchner, in turn, stalled the farmers until June refusing to budge on her decision to raise the taxes supposedly to spend on “new hospitals, schools and roads.”
The taxi driver told me I was crazy and that there was no way we would make it to Cordoba. I knew he was probably right, but I also knew that there was usually some kind of an alternative route in Argentina and that I was prepared to take the risk. Plus, what would be better than the open highways…no trucks, no buses, no cars. We could end up lucky…or not.
When I finally was on the road with Fede and Luis we speculated for the first hour about how far we’d come and what we might experience. At the first toll about 100 kms from the city, we were told by the toll woman that the roads were blocked 50 kms further on and there was no way we could go further. Nevertheless, we pressed onwards. 50 kms later we came upon a road block with five or six cars. We stopped for a little while and then decided to get out of the car and ask if they planned on letting us through at some point. Luis is a journalist and was very enthusiastic to go ask questions and take pictures. We approached the piqueters and they scowled at us, but we didn’t let it discourage us. Luis asked me for my camera and stepped back to take some pictures when one of the piqueters lurched forward and began yelling at him to put away the camera. He told us that it was prohibited to take pictures here and that we should be very careful because, although he was peaceful, some of the others might beat us to a pulp. Indeed, interestingly enough, he had a button with the words “Movimiento por la Paz y la No violencia,” a movement started by the Alisa Carrio a senator from the ARI party. http://www.movimientoxlapaz.org.ar/
Although he wasn’t unfriendly and spoke to us at length, I sensed a heightened tension amongst him and the rest of the piqueters. Every now and again someone would yell something and they would run over to another side of the blockade. As we were leaving a car was trying to drive through an open area of the blockade and the mass launched itself on top of it and started rocking the car until it stopped.
The man talked to us about various things. Mainly he talked about how he was not violent, but that the protesters couldn’t be trusted and that we should be careful. He told us that they were getting prepared to kill D’Elia and that there might be a revolution or at the very least a rebellion in the near future. “Do you know who the number 1 producer of arms in the world is?” He asked me. “Irak.” I nodded in agreement lest I contradict his point, “Do you know who the second producer of arms is?” “No” I said in anticipation of what he might come up with, “Chile” he told me “and these farmers are getting all their arms from the Chileans and soon there will be a revolution, this government will not last long.” That may be true, I thought to myself, but they definitely need to get their facts straight first.
When we told him we were trying to make it to Cordoba, he wished us luck and said, “Maybe you’ll make it the day after next.” Back in the car Fede was listening to the radio. Apparently at least 3,000 middle class portenyos had assembled in front of the residence of the president in Olivos and were undertaking a cacerolazo in protest of the government’s inability to control the piqueters and prevent the shutdown of the country. Luis received a text message from his mother that read simply “This thing is starting to become a problem.” Later that week, a friend sent me a great picture from the Olivos protest of an old wealthy lady with her maid outside the presidential residency. The maid was banging her pot for the lady. Apparently that is also part of the job description for Argentine maids!
An hour and a half later at 10pm, almost on the dot, they lifted the blockade and let us through. As we were driving through I could see the crowd gathered clapping loudly and yelling at us in admiration for our patience and peaceful adherence to their road blockade. In the crowds I could see our friend waving and singing with his suddenly cheerful piquete comrades. About 100 kms later we encountered another blockade. This time it was obvious we had to turn back. Dozens of trucks lined the highway and the piqueters had set up shop next to the local police station. I wouldn’t have believed it, but it said clearly on the building next to the piqueter’s white tent “Policia, Provincia de Santa Fe.” We had to turn back, but luckily there was another route. Sure it was about 60 kms out of the way if you didn’t get lost, but it was another route. We got lost. An hour and a half later we stopped on the side of whatever highway we were on and asked an older man who seemed to be attending to an abandoned piquete what the best route to Cordoba might be. He waved us to wait and ducked inside a makeshift tent which emitted the faint noise of music and chatter. Moments later he emerged with three other portly gentlemen who had obviously had one or two and they began to theorize what the best route might be for us to reach our destination. They racked their brains while I mused at the strange situation: asking piqueters for directions on how to avoid other piqueters in order to get to our destination. Ah, the idiosyncrasies of Argentina. Finally, nobody could really figure out how we might arrive, so we decided to turn around and find our way back to where we had gotten lost.
About half an hour later, we got on another highway heading in the right direction and I felt optimistic. It was only around 2am and we were having an adventure. By the fifth and sixth blockade, however, I was started to get annoyed. These blockades were not as forbidding as the others since it was already the middle of the night and we were the only car for miles, but in each instance we would pull up to the piqueter and he would give us indications on how to reroute in order to avoid his blockade. “Turn around and go for 5 kms, at km 184 go right onto the dirt road, when you reach the little school on a corner, under a tree, take another right for 30 kms and then once you cross another paved road with a blind man pointing to the sky (just kidding), go right and you’ll be back on this highway.” It was silly, they could have just let us go, but that would defeat the purpose, I guess.
There was one exception to the reroutes which was even more infuriating. It was around 3 in the morning and we were driving along when we arrived in a little village. Of course there was a group waiting for us, but this time there was no real blockade, no burning tires, no truck in the middle of the road, just a large empty tomato can in the middle of the road with a little fire burning inside it. We stopped the car and a man peered in and asked us where we were going. “Embalce” Fede explained, “ah, said the man, well, wait here 20 minutes.” “For what” said Fede, “just wait here 20 minutes.” So we waited 20 minutes on the highway while they chatted and smoked cigarettes and after 20 minutes, they removed the tomato can and let us go. It was quite incredible.
At the last blockade before we got to the Rio Cuarto, the biggest city before Embalce, we were low on gas and pleaded with them to let us through. They didn’t care and made us take another 30 km reroute which nearly left us without gas before Rio Cuarto, but we made it—barely. We pulled up to the first gas station in Rio Cuarto, no gas and apparently no gas in any of the gas stations in all of Rio Cuarto. We couldn’t believe it, with the little we had left we went from one gas station to the next, nothing…nothing…nothing. What to do? We were still 150 kms from Embalce and it was a little after 4am. Fede decided to call a friend of his in Embalce to see if there was any gas there that he could bring us. Luckily he was a really good friend and got up in the middle of the night, went to the gas station, got us some gas and drove 150 kms to bring it to us. By this time it was 7am and we were absolutely exhausted, but we still had 2 blockades to pass. This time they were a bit quicker, however, since Fede’s friend had already passed them and knew where they were and we could avoid pulling up to the piquetes and being told directions on how to arrive. All told, the 750 km trip took us 15 hours, quite quick considering all of our predicaments.
When we finally were able to return from Cordoba four days later, our trip only took 7 hours. That day Kristina announced that she would send the tax increase to a vote in congress, thus easing the protests and giving the farmers hope for future negotiations.
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