Traumas of Repression

In many ways the tragic experiences of repressive military governments in Argentina and Uruguay in the 1970s mirrored each other, and the two nations are suffering similar traumas as they deal with the aftermath.

In both countries repression came with all-out campaigns by military and security forces to end the violence and civil disorder caused by leftist urban guerrillas--the Monteneros in Argentina, the Tupamaros in Uruguay. In both countries the campaigns against terror became sources of terror themselves, claiming many innocent victims. In Argentina at least 9,000 people, and perhaps twice that many, disappeared into the military’s prisons and death houses. In Uruguay the number was smaller, with about 150 persons officially counted among “the disappeared.” But it was no less tragic, considering the nation’s small size and its history of democratic government before a military coup in 1973. Tens of thousands were detained during the crackdown in Uruguay, and many were tortured before being released.

On Tuesday the Argentine Congress approved a controversial proposal by President Raul Alfonsin that will end one phase of the human-rights policy for which his government has been justifiably praised throughout the world. Alfonsin wants to stop the trials in which several of the country’s former military rulers have been tried and convicted of gross human-rights violations during their years in power. Congress agreed, saying that any new charges of atrocities must be filed within 60 days of passage of the bill--an action that sent hundreds of protesters into the streets of Buenos Aires. In effect, the new law will spare from prosecution hundreds of current and former military men--mostly lower-ranking commissioned and non-commissioned officers who took part in kidnapings and torture during the so-called Dirty War.

Alfonsin argued that the bill was needed to lift “interminable suspicion” from the Argentine military and incorporate its men back into the mainstream of society. He got stiff political resistance from human-rights groups and opposition political parties. But when Alfonsin argued that the Argentine military has learned a painful lesson that may deter future attempts to seize power, he did not depend entirely on conjecture. Argentina conducted more than 35 trials against some of the country’s top military leaders, including three former presidents.

The same cannot be said for President Julio Sanguinetti of Uruguay. A week ago he hurriedly signed legislation passed by Uruguay’s Congress that grants amnesty to most military men and security personnel accused of human-rights violations. The bill was passed only after bitter debate, and under crude pressure from military leaders who said that they would not obey civilian courts if any effort was made to prosecute them. It was a shabby show all the way around, and it has tarnished the once-proud Uruguayan image as the Switzerland of Latin America--a nation of rational democratic government. The street violence that broke out after the law was enacted is a sign that, as much as Sanguinetti might wish to be done with the human-rights controversy, Uruguay has not seen the last of this difficult issue.

Some analysts suggest that the main reason Uruguay’s military was so insistent on amnesty was that its leaders fear the precedent set by Alfonsin in neighboring Argentina. If so, it was the more incumbent on Sanguinetti to make some effort to right the wrongs that were done in the name of national security. To let the generals and their underlings off now only invites them to repeat their bullying in the future. Cynics may argue, of course, that Latin American military men need little encouragement when they launch their coups d’etat. Perhaps. But at least if that happens again in Argentina, that nation has a powerful precedent to fall back on when democracy is restored, as it always must be. Uruguay has no such precedent, and without it will be a weaker, sadder nation in the future.