José Manuel de la Sota, governor of Córdoba, is embroiled in a controversy after he questioned the handling of lawsuits surrounding the dictatorship in a recent interview.

Legislators and human rights organisations strongly condemned De la Sota’s proposition to negotiate with military leaders and reduce sentences for crimes against humanity in exchange for information about the location of the disappeared.

De la Sota expressed the desire for a “reconciliation cleanse” and the reduction of penalties for crimes committed during the military dictatorship.

“There are some that follow the politics of resentment, and have not made any human rights policy,” the leader told Canal 26.

The backlash followed quickly: Remo Carlotto, he head of the Human Rights Commission and brother of disappeared woman Laura Carlotto, said that “reconciliation in this case will only fuel impunity. This cynical reasoning comes from people who are not committed to the defence of human rights.”

National deputy for Cordoba Fabián Francioni rejected De la Sota’s plans, saying “De la Sota is a true reflection of Menemism, his position resembles the pardoning of neoliberalism of the ’90s, and it seems he did not realise that this political decision of impunity for genocidal leaders is a backward policy.”

The Córdoba Mayors’ forum released a statement saying “It is sad to hear this kind of position on a such a sensitive topic for the present and future of Argentina,” adding that “our country is an example to the rest of the world with regards to advances towards justice, which have allowed people to be judged and condemned, bringing the constitution and laws against murderers and torturers.”

The historic ruling against former Guatemalan dictator José Efraín Ríos Montt, where he was found guilty of genocide and sentenced to 80 years in prison, has been annulled by the country’s constitutional court.

The court ruled last night in a controversial decision to overturn Ríos Montt’s guilty verdict, and ordered the trial to be restarted from where it stood on 19th April. The annulment passed with a three to two ruling, thereby invalidating all case proceedings heard between that point and the announcement of the verdict.

The case was suspended on 19th April when Ríos Montt, 86, was left without a defence lawyer after a disagreement between judges and the defendant over who should represent him. The court ordered the former president to be represented by a public defence lawyer, which was rejected by the defendant who insisted Francisco Garcia represent him. Garcia had previously been removed from proceedings after accusing judges of ‘bias’, and was again expelled on 19th April for criticising the presiding judge for not hearing his challenges. Garcia was eventually reinstated after an appeal, and the trial recommenced on 30th April, with the historic verdict reached on 10th May.

Yesterday’s ruling stated that the trial should have been stopped on 19th April until the issues with Garcia had been fully resolved. The court announced that the statements heard before this point would still stand but closing arguments would have to be presented again.

Amnesty International said the annulment represents a: “devastating blow for the victims of the serious human rights violations committed during the conflict.”

The trial, which began on 19th March, was the first time a former leader had been tried in a national court for genocide, despite numerous delays and setbacks. Ríos Montt spend one day in prison before his lawyers filed an appeal and he was sent to a military hospital for medical tests after he allegedly fainted. Ríos Montt’s lawyers have since demanded his release from the hospital, and he will now return to being under house arrest, where he has been held since the case against him began in January 2012.

Ríos Montt was found guilty for the atrocities committed during his 1982-1983 dictatorship, where he ordered and oversaw the killing of around 1,771 members of the Maya Ixil population of Guatemala. Ríos Montt’s military rule occurred during the country’s 36-year civil war where 200,000 people of mostly indigenous descent were killed or disappeared.

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors and do not necessarily represent those of The Argentina Independent.

During my first trip to the country in 2007, one interviewee wryly joked that justice in Uruguay had two speeds: “slow, and very slow.” Since then, however, things have changed; so much so, that in the first four months of 2013 the flurry of events and developments regarding prosecutions for the crimes of the dictatorship has, at times, been difficult to keep up with.

In our earlier pieces on the transfer of judge Mariana Mota and the sentence of the Supreme Court of Justice in February and March this year, we voiced several concerns including possible delays to the numerous human rights cases that Judge Mota was in charge of, as well as the Supreme Court’s blatant disregard for international human rights law provisions. A further fear was that the traditionally conservative Uruguayan judiciary would adhere to these signals from the Supreme Court and passively resign itself to closing down all investigations and prosecutions into past human rights violations. Indeed, during the 1980s and 1990s, only a handful of judges and prosecutors dared to defy the structure of impunity embodied in the Ley de Caducidad amnesty law. Those who did paid a high personal and professional price, as in the cases of Alberto Reyes and Alejando Recarey, who were consequently transferred to different jurisdictions in 1997 and 2003 respectively.

History Repeating Itself?

The beginning of 2013 had begun to feel like a serious bout of déjà vu. Out of the fifteen unconstitutionality appeals lodged with the Supreme Court’s regarding law 18.831, the tribunal has already deliberated on eight, judging in all but one in favour of the crimes being subjected to statutes of limitations and therefore being shelved invoking the principle of non-retroactivity of criminal law. Supreme Court Judge Jorge Ruibal Pino, furthermore, stated in early April that none of the cases of past human rights violations would prosper and that they would face “a wall” in the Supreme Court. In addition, criminal judge Roberto Timbal managed to archive a 1978 political murder by applying the Supreme Court’s jurisprudence, which deemed it not a crime against humanity but a common crime. Judge Fanny Canessa likewise shelved another case of past human rights violations a few days later siding with the Supreme Court’s stance. All these developments were met with pithy mocking by one lawyer who, playing with the country’s official name – Oriental Republic of Uruguay – called it la República Impune del Uruguay (the Unpunished Republic of Uruguay), highlighting once again the consolidation of impunity for past atrocities.

Recent developments in the country were unsurprisingly met by a wave of international condemnations, including by Amnesty International, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, the Center for Justice and International Law, and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights. More recently, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights also unequivocally rejected the Supreme Court’s argument regarding the statute of limitations and went as far as saying that it constituted an obstacle to the full compliance with the 2011 verdict of the Inter-American Court in the Gelman vs. Uruguay case.

Domestic Challenges to Impunity

While international criticism of these developments is foreseeable, there are signs of apparent winds of change blowing from within the judiciary itself. In a significant twist in the fight against impunity in Uruguay, judges and prosecutors have begun to take a stand against the closure of investigations into the dictatorship’s crimes, throwing down the gauntlet the authority of the Supreme Court.

On the very same day the Supreme Court released its first sentence on the statutory limitations (February 22, 2013), the Appeals Court No. 1 unanimously argued that investigations into the crimes committed during the dictatorship should continue so that those crimes would not go unpunished; further, in a second sentence, the same tribunal contended that, the jurisprudence from the Supreme Court notwithstanding, Uruguay was obliged to prosecute and punish such atrocities in compliance with the Gelman verdict.

More recently, in the aftermath of Ruibal Pino’s combative statements, five criminal public prosecutors presented an appeal against four of the five Supreme Court judges calling for them to be put aside in future sentences relating to the crimes of the dictatorship. The prosecutors maintained that Ruibal Pino had “pre-judged” in the cases – violating the principle that bodies can review their decisions and listen to other arguments – and as such, he and the other three judges should no longer adjudicate on them. Such a direct challenge against the Supreme Court is an unprecedented step and it is unclear what will happen next; normally, judges from the Appeals Court are selected to temporarily substitute Supreme Court judges. However, this is the first time that four out of five judges are being called upon to recuse themselves from considering cases.

Over the past couple of days, two criminal court judges have also gone against the Supreme Court. Judge Beatriz Larrieu – who has taken over Mota’s tribunal – rejected the petition to close down the investigation into the death and torture of Norma Cedrés that occurred between 1975 and 1978. In her resolution, Larrieu had a two-fold argument. First, she claimed that those crimes amounted to crimes against humanity and were therefore not subject to statutes of limitations; second, the judge argued that the Ley de Caducidad had blocked all investigations into human rights crimes since 1986 and therefore the statutory limitation should only begin to be counted from 2009, when the law was declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. Just a few days later, judge Juan Carlos Fernández Lecchini – without deeming it necessary to deliberate on the issue of crimes against humanity – considered that the 1977 assassination of Julio Castro by the dictatorship had not expired given that between 1985 and 2005 the state had been unable to prosecute the crimes of the dictatorship due to the application of the Ley de Caducidad.

While it is still too early to say whether these attempts will be enough to guarantee that past crimes will not go unpunished, it is nonetheless important to recognise the significance of these developments, which suggest that things are changing in Uruguay. Following in the steps of judges Mota, Reyes, Recarey – as well as those of other individuals such as former prosecutor Mirtha Guianze and human rights lawyer Pablo Chargoñia who led landmark prosecutions such as that into the disappearance of Elena Quinteros in 2002 and 2003 – judges and prosecutors in Uruguay are no longer willing to silently tolerate impunity and are ready to fight for justice.

Dr Francesca Lessa is a specialist in issues of justice and human rights in Uruguay based at the Latin American Centre and St. Anne’s College, University of Oxford.

Pierre-Louis Le Goff is a research assistant at the Latin American Centre, University of Oxford, and a member of the committee for Crimes Against Humanity at the Permanent Assembly for Human Rights (APDH), Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Three former military officials during the 1976-83 dictatorship were found guilty of crimes against humanity yesterday in the first trial for such crimes in the northwestern province of Jujuy.

The Federal Court of Jujuy (TOF) sentenced two former military officials, Mariano Rafael Braga and José Eduardo Bulgheroni, to life imprisonment. Meanwhile, the third defendant Antonio Orlando Vargas received a sentence of 25 years in prison, according to the Judicial Information Center (CIJ).

The Court found the first two defendants guilty of numerous murders and the third one of illegal deprivation of freedom and aggravated torture in several cases. The heads of trial were judges René Vicente Casas and Marcelo Juárez Almaraz. Before reading the decisive part of the judgment, TOF rejected all the arguments presented by the defendants and considered the facts of the case as “crimes against humanity” and therefore impossible to fall under statute of limitations.

Human rights organisations, relatives and witnesses, were satisfied with the verdict – both in and out of the courtroom. After waiting for 35 years, some 30,000 people gathered around the Court House to celebrate a day of justice with hugs and tears.

Braga will be transferred to the Marcos Paz prison to serve his sentence, Vargas will stay in Ezeiza. Bulgheroni, for health reasons, will go to Prison Unit 7 in the city of Resistencia, Chaco.

Braga and Bulgheroni were military intelligence officers during the military dictatorship, and Vargas worked as a supervisor in the Jujuy Prison, which at the time was serving as a clandestine detention centre.

An estimated 130 people were disappeared in Jujuy during the dictatorship. Alongside this trial, the Ledesma case – investigating the kidnapping of workers at a sugar company based in Jujuy – is looking into civilian involvement in the disappearances.

Yesterday, on 24th March, the military coup of 1976 was commemorated as part of the ‘Dia de la Memoria’ (Remembrance Day). On this day, 37 years ago, the military took control of the Argentinean state apparatus, and in the seven-year period of violence and oppression that followed, around 30.000 people were tortured, killed and disappeared. The city of Buenos Aires was stage and witness to many violent events during the dictatorship and the public sphere could rapidly turn into a space of fear and terror. In the city today few visible traces of this past remain, but many places retain powerful memories from that period in history.

The city already has many museums, monuments, statues and other urban interventions like graffiti that serve to commemorate the victims of the junta. But what about those more regular, unmarked places we pass daily? Buildings, cafes, streets, corners and parks; the entire urban landscape was immersed in the dictatorial regime. What multitude of stories and memories can be attached to those spaces? What for one person is just a regular spot to drink a cup of coffee, might carry an intense or traumatic memory for the next. Aware of this fact, wandering through the city of Buenos Aires can be a totally different experience.

Ambiguous Public Buildings

The many public service buildings of the city are seen today as open spaces, accessible for practically every citizen. However, many of these places have an ambiguous history and were bases for military activities during the dictatorship. Though most references to its dubious pasts are erased, for many these buildings are no longer neutral meeting grounds, but unofficial memorials of a dark period.

An example is the Hospital Militar Central on Avenida Luis Maria Campos, which was inaugurated in 1939, and still functions as a hospital. During the dictatorship it was used as a clandestine maternity clinic, where imprisoned mothers were brought and separated from their newborns after giving birth. Most of these babies were fostered out and raised by military families, registered as if they were their own. There are certain hospitals that are known to have been clandestine maternity centres, and to be born in one of those hospitals raises certain questions. Not only does the hospital itself carry a murky history, it is also a place connected to a very tangible phenomenon in today’s society: with many babies still missing – now adults – people are still questioning their own or others identities.

Another example of an unofficial memorial is the library of the University of Buenos Aires. On 25th March, 1976 a group of armed men entered the Eudeba, the Editorial Universidad de Buenos Aires and confiscated over 80,000 books, photographs, images, and censored other stories. The material was seen as “subversive” and a lot of it was destroyed during organised book burnings. A supposedly neutral and liberal place of knowledge and possibilities became a place of limitations and censorship.

The headquarters of the federal police, located in Montserrat, is another public service building that for many carries a haunting history. For Sergio Gorostiaga, journalist and human rights activist from Buenos Aires, walking past the police department is not an everyday experience: “Right now I am not intimidated by the police, but a few years back, I would have walked around this block, instead of passing it.” During the dictatorship this building was the stage for endless interrogation, torture and imprisonment. Often this was just a stopover on the way to another clandestine centres.

Gorostiaga explains that he cannot detach the building from its history; the two will always be intertwined. His brother, Pablo, disappeared in July 1976, and Sergio has dedicated a great part of his life to investigating what happened to his brother as an active member of the Comision Hermanos de H.I.J.O.S. As Gorostiaga knows the city and its history by heart, he can easily point out numerous places, which, though unremarkable in the current landscape, were witness to events related to the regime. The city’s cafes are just an example.

The Cafes of Barrio Norte

The cafes of Buenos Aires – some of which date back to the 18th century – remain one of the most prominent characteristics of the city, forming a big part of its cultural, artistic and social life. A café is more than just a place for a drink, it is where businessmen close their deals, friends catch up, acquaintances talk of politics, and writers come to work.

Café La Paz, located on the corner of Avenida Corrientes and Montevideo, is one of those emblematic establishments. During the sixties it was a popular and significant place where politicians, writers and musicians gathered to drink, eat and talk – writers like David Viñas and Rodolfo Walsh were no strangers. It’s also the place where Gorostiaga’s parents met each other. But besides these more positive associations, Gorostiaga remembers its turbulent past. As intellectuals were still regulars at La Paz when the military took control of the country in 1976, the cafe was the target of several raids. The characteristic green Ford Falcon, used by the military police to kidnap people in those days, would park in front of the café’s door and the police would pull several ‘suspicious looking’ people from the café, and force them into the car to haul them off for questioning. Gorostiaga remembers La Paz as a place that you had to avoid in this period of time. Though the people frequenting the café today will not see any physical marks of this period, a drink at La Paz would not be a casual affair for many who knew of it back then. Gorostiaga says he tried it once, but a grim feeling came over him.

La Giralda, located on Avenida Corrientes 1453 and famous for its chocolate con churros, is another café with a similar background. Jose Orellana – wearing a dress shirt and a bow tie – has been working as a waiter at La Giralda for 17years, and before that in another nearby café. He can sum up a long list of famous intellectuals, tango dancers, and singers that visited the café and were part of the porteño counterculture. Orellana explains that often the police would raid the café and ask all the customers to identify themselves. If someone’s document was not in order, or simply didn’t satisfy them, the police would take the person to the nearby police station on Tucuman and Montevideo. If you were lucky it would not go further than a brief interrogation there, but some would never return. People who frequented the café rapidly started going to smaller and more hidden places, where the threat of the military was less present. As Gorostiaga points out “you did not even have to be involved with politics, having long hair was enough for the police to take you with them.”

Places of Resistance

For journalist Fernando Jasminoy Comas it’s the places where he heard the sounds of opposition to the military rule that still have a strong impact on him. By this he principally refers to rock music, a very strong and popular music genre that served as a voice against the military regime. Though still young when the dictatorship started, Comas regularly went to concerts and has strong memories of this period. His brother is also a desaparecido, and the dictatorship continues to have a great impact on his life.

Rock was already a strong movement before the military coup in 1976, but held more radical implications after. A new generation started to express itself and along with this many new establishments that hosted bands arose throughout the city. Examples include Zero Bar where bands like Sumo and Soda Stereo performed, Estadio Obras Sanitario where Charly García, Luis A. Spinetta played or La Esquina del Sol where Los Twist and Los Abuelos de la Nada performed. The latter was one of those mythical boliches, where there was a very liberal atmosphere and which contributed to consolidate the city’s rock scene. Bands that played at La Esquina del Sol criticised the military regime in either a hidden or straightforward fashion. Raids did take place at the concert hall, but Comas states that to him there is not a case known of somebody taken by the police from this place not to return. Most of all it was a place that he remembers for its free spirit, its own voice. Today the concert hall no longer exists, though its replacement, Club Moraes, is also a music venue.

For people like Comas passing the corner of Gurruchaga and Guatemala, in the centre of Palermo, today still provides a reminder of the freedom that reigned in the space and the atmosphere of saying and thinking what you want, in a highly censored society (pict.).

Making the Invisible Visible

Buenos Aires’ urban landscape underwent some remarkable changes in the last decade. The political, economical and social changes that have been initiated in Argentine society have made it possible for inhabitants to alter their surroundings and reshape their social environment when it comes to memory and commemoration. Since the election of Nestor Kirchner in 2003, more and more spaces have been turned into memorials, monuments and museums. Besides the state governed projects, and non-governmental organisations like the Madres de Plaza de Mayo and Memoria Abierta, ordinary citizens are marking their own sites of memory into the city’s landscape.

One of the projects initiated by citizens decorate the streets of Buenos Aires. The tiles, or baldosas, that Barrios x Memoria x Justicia is placing throughout the city can be found in nearly every neighborhood (pict. 4). Recently a tile was made to commemorate Gorostiaga’s brother. The making of the baldosa is a ritual in itself. In a small cafe in the neighborhood of Almagro a group of family and friends of the disappeared, and members of Hermanos meet to create the tile together. The tile for Gorostiaga’s brother is now placed on the exact spot where Pablo Gorostiaga lived and was kidnapped, on Cabildo 957.

By mapping these significant and traumatic places in the city, the past becomes present and ordinary spaces that we pass daily carry a different meaning. No longer only for those who were already aware of its history, but also for those who were not. By giving memories a physical place in the city, personal and specific events become part of a bigger story, of the collective memory and of the cityscape of Buenos Aires.

This past Sunday 24th March, tens of thousands demonstrated for Día de la Memoria, the 37th anniversary of the military coup which marked the beginning of Argentina’s last dictatorship, from 1976-83. Percussionists pounded their drums, children played in the streets, activists and theatrical supporters spontaneously performed stories of oppression and liberation. Thousands marched from the landmark Obelisk down Diagonal Norte and from 9 de Julio down Av. de Mayo to join the sea of people carrying posters with the images of the disappeared in Plaza de Mayo. Indy photographers Terra Borody, Simon Guerra, and Julie Catarinella dove into the crowd to get a more intimate perspective.

 

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors and do not necessarily represent those of The Argentina Independent.

A couple of weeks ago, we argued in an earlier piece that by transferring Judge Mariana Mota, Uruguay’s Supreme Court of Justice (SCJ) had shown itself determined to derail efforts to deliver justice for the military’s crimes, despite the revocation of a 25-year-old amnesty law in October 2011.

On 22nd February a sentence by the same court regrettably proved our assertion correct. The ruling judged as unconstitutional articles two and three of Law 18,831 – a bill enacted by the Uruguayan Parliament which, for the first time since 1986, allowed the judiciary to freely investigate the widespread and systematic human rights abuses committed by the dictatorship between 1973 and 1985.

With the recent sentence, the SCJ has unmistakably aligned itself with the closing down of all investigations into the atrocities of the dictatorship and, coupled with Mota’s transfer to a civil tribunal, it once again sends a strong signal in favour of impunity.

The Court’s verdict centred on its qualification of the abuses of the dictatorship as constituting ‘common crimes’ as typified under domestic criminal law and not amounting to crimes against humanity, as stipulated by Law 18,831 and numerous provisions in international human rights treaties voluntarily ratified by Uruguay. Due to the labelling as common crimes, the atrocities committed between 1973 and 1985 are again susceptible to the application of statutes of limitations, establishing a cut-off point of 26 years and 8 months by which crimes
could be investigated and brought to trial, that is to say before 1st November 2011. The sentence also invoked the principle of non-retroactivity of criminal law, which guarantees that a person cannot be accused of a crime that was not considered as such when the event took place.

Undeniably, the decision constitutes a significant step back in the struggle for truth and justice, showing a blatant disregard for international legal jurisprudence concerning human rights violations and international treaties to which Uruguay is party.

But beyond this, it represents an unequivocal statement by the Court regarding how it judges the dictatorship’s crimes. At worst, one could argue that it condones such crimes; at best, it serves to downplay their seriousness.

In order to put the decision into perspective, it is useful to reflect on exactly what the SCJ considers ‘common crimes’. First, it does not view as a crime against humanity prolonged torture, which during the dictatorship often involved the electrocution of various parts of the body (including testicles) as well as
sexual violence often in the presence of spouses or partners. Second, it does not consider a crime against humanity the forced disappearance of its own citizens, whose remains – in an unsuccessful attempt to deny not only the victims’ deaths but also their lives – were purposely hidden in unmarked graves or incinerated, never to be found by their families. Nor does the SCJ regard as a crime against humanity prolonged imprisonment, often in solitary confinement for years on end without charge or trial.

Uruguay’s highest legal body does not judge such abuses, committed in a systematic plan to destroy the country’s social fabric, as crimes that will have a profound and lasting effect on the whole of society. Rather, like other ‘common crimes,’ they should be swept under the carpet after a certain amount of time has
elapsed, to be officially forgotten.

The trouble is, as has been evidenced throughout Latin America’s recent history, such crimes are not easily forgotten. Just as the Court’s sentence minimises the abhorrent brutality of the dictatorship’s crimes, it simultaneously negates the legitimacy of victims’ demands for truth and justice. The Court makes no mention of well-recognised guarantees enshrined in international law, such as family members’ right to information about the fate and whereabouts of their loved ones; the right to legal redress and access to justice; and the right to reparations for their suffering.

It is extremely regrettable that the SCJ has delivered such a verdict just months after the infamous Ley de Caducidad was finally repealed. Worse still is the Court’s complete disregard for international human rights provisions since Nuremberg and in particular the condemnation Uruguay received just two years ago from the Inter-American Court of Human Rights regarding the regime’s crimes.

The SCJ is sending a strong message as to its view of the country’s past, its present, and the country’s future. If it continues down this path, Uruguay will find itself on the wrong side of history.

Pierre-Louis Le Goff is a research assistant at the Latin American Centre, University of Oxford, and a member of the committee for Crimes Against Humanity at the Permanent Assembly for Human Rights (APDH), Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Dr Francesca Lessa is a specialist in issues of justice and human rights in Uruguay based at the Latin American Centre and St. Anne’s College, University of Oxford.

Operation Condor, as it later became known, refers to the collaboration and exchange of information between right wing dictatorships in the Southern Cone. Implemented in 1975, its main participants were: Argentina, Chile, Brazil, Uruguay, Paraguay, and Bolivia. This clandestine information sharing fomented and indeed facilitated bloody campaigns against left wing dissidents, allowing them to be pursued, captured, rounded up, and killed across the territories. Its secretive nature means that it is difficult to arrive at an exact figure, but the numbers of deaths and/or disappeared is thought to be upwards of 60,000 people.

The oral proceedings, which began on 6th March, will see around 500 witnesses give testimony. Argentine dictator Jorge Videla, now 87, stands among the accused.

Amnesty International has said that, “the trial is a historic landmark in the fight against the impunity of crimes committed by authoritarian military governments during the 70s and 80s”. Almost 40 years later, Sabrina Hummel has a listen to what the people had to say.  Portraits by Jerry Nelson.

Yoel, 28, dentist, Almagro

I think it’s good that Videla is brought to trial, and that those involved are also brought to trial. If the judges find them to be guilty, they should go to prison. It’s like the Holocaust, there are people involved who are still alive today and have yet to be brought to justice. They ought to be put on trial, as Argentina is doing in the case of Videla. The AMIA trial however has still not arrived at or seen a definitive conclusion.

 

Maite Auzmendi, 18, student, La Plata

Those that were disappeared deserve justice, as do their families. Putting them on trial is the most democratic (and just) way to bring about justice. It’s important to bear in mind however that, during that time, the military leaders were not the only ones involved, and so they are not the only ones that should be punished. There are lots of murderers who are walking free, often hiding behind political careers where no one would dare confront them. They continue to rob and to be corrupt and no one says anything. Its good that military men like Videla are on trial, but I would also like to see the rest of them on trial as well.

Jorge Nardini, 63, electronic technician, Villa Crespo

Thirty years or so have passed since Plan Condor. They were tough times, lots was going on but very little was known. It was a dark period for Argentina. For me those involved were criminals. Anyone who kills, whatever the reason needs to be brought to trial. Those who commit crimes must pay for what they have done. If there is a way to make those involved pay, it should be done. It is important the final sentence reflects the gravity of the crime. I don’t know anyone personally affected, but it was a terrible war, and at the end of the day no one wins. It would have been better if the whole thing had never taken place to begin with.

Martin Nass, 25, law graduate, Balvanera

I think it is totally correct. I think that is laudable that the trials are fighting to get rid of the Full Stop Law and that these crimes, committed years ago, are being re-examined and investigated. Argentina has taken a step forward in that it is bringing the accused to trial. In countries like Chile and Peru there is much more resistance to put the accused on trial.

 

Liliana, 19, student, Lomas de Zamora

I don’t know much about what is going on exactly, but I believe it is a good thing. It is a good idea of how to move forward. It shows that things that happened in the past will not be overlooked. It is a good example for anyone who thinks they can commit such acts and get away with it. It is an example for the world to follow. It is a pledge to Argentina and to the wider community that what has taken place will not be forgotten.

Jean-Claude Duvalier, Haiti’s former dictator, appeared in Port-Au-Prince’s Supreme Court for the first time yesterday after avoiding previous summons. A panel is to decide if he should be charged with human rights abuses during his brutal regime from 1971-86.

Many have called for Duvalier, known as “Baby Doc”, to be brought to trial and activists and opponents applauded as the former ruler arrived for the hearing.

“The fact Duvalier is in court is an important victory for his victims who never gave up hope of seeing him in court and for the Haitian people who have the right to know what happened during the dark years of his dictatorship,” said Reed Brody, counsel and spokesperson for Human Rights Watch.

After ignoring three previous orders to attend court, Duvalier arrived yesterday after the judge warned that he would be jailed if he failed to show up for a fourth hearing. “I have a positive record and this is in all areas,” Duvalier, who often mumbled responses, told the court. When asked if he was aware that political prisoners were locked up, tortured and killed under his regime, he said, “Murderers exist in all countries.”

Attorneys for plaintiffs also asked if he knew about the political prisoners at Fort Dimanche, a notorious prison. “All kinds of delinquents were there,” Duvalier said. Thousands were imprisoned, tortured or killed for opposing the regime. Duvalier became president at the age of 19 following the death of his father, “Papa Doc” François Duvalier. “Baby Doc” was uprooted in 1986 after a popular revolt. He has spent the last 25 years in exile in France.

Uruguay has won international plaudits of late and gained the image as a bastion of progressivism in the Americas. Last year abortion was legalised, making it only the second country to do so; proposed legislation to legalise marijuana places it at the vanguard of the so-called war on drugs; and then there is President José ‘Pepe’ Mujica, whose folksy, down-to-earth form of leadership and position as the ‘world’s poorest president’ places him as a refreshing contrast to the vast majority of the globe’s leaders. As such, Uruguay is becoming again ‘the Switzerland of Latin America’ as it was once known.

This positive image took a significant step backwards on Wednesday 13th February 2013, however, when, without explanation, the country’s Supreme Court of Justice decided to transfer Judge Mariana Mota from her criminal jurisdiction (tribunal 7 in Montevideo) to a new position as judge of civil tribunal 1 in Montevideo. For the past several years, Mota has been at the forefront of investigations into the vast human rights violations, including executions, torture, disappearances, and prolonged imprisonment, committed by the military dictatorship which ruled from 1973 to 1985.  Until a few days ago, she had been in charge of more than 50 cases of the dictatorship’s crimes. In February 2010 it was Mota who, in a historic verdict in Latin America, sentenced former dictator Juan María Bordaberry to 30 years in prison for his part in leading the 1973 coup d’état.

Throughout Uruguay, Mota is well respected, and considered to be well trained, competent, qualified, professional, and responsible. In the aftermath of her transfer, several political leaders expressed their indignation and surprise. Uruguay’s Foreign Minister Luis Almagro for instance labelled Mota an “extraordinary judge” and declared that Uruguay is likely to lose its international standing as a result of this event. Deputy Felipe Michelini expressed his surprise and indignation for the lack of explanations behind the Court’s decision as well as his preoccupation for the stance of the Supreme Court in terms of fighting impunity for the dictatorship’s crimes. Lastly deputy Luis Puig asserted that the judge’s transfer amounted to “a real triumph of impunity.”

By removing Mota, the Uruguayan judiciary has shown itself determined to derail efforts to deliver justice for the military’s crimes, despite the revocation of a 25-year-old amnesty law in October 2011.

In the 1970s and 1980s, Uruguay became known as ‘the torture chamber of Latin America,’ reflecting the repressive techniques used by the military dictatorship.  Between 1973 and 1977, the dictatorship boasted the highest percentage of political prisoners per capita in the world, who were subjected to prolonged imprisonment, and physical and psychological torture.  Over 200 civilians were forcibly disappeared during the 12-year rule while thousands were brutally tortured and illegally detained.

Following the return to democracy in 1985, the administration of Julio María Sanguinetti established the Ley de Caducidad de la Prevención Punitiva del Estado (Law on the Expiry of the Punitive Claims of the State, or Expiry Law), an amnesty law which granted complete impunity to military and security personnel for the crimes they committed during the dictatorship.

The new democratic government took a position of ‘no truth, no justice’ to calls for accountability and information about the whereabouts of the disappeared. As such, silence and oblivion because institutionalised, and the Expiry Law became the cornerstone of a culture of impunity.

There have been sustained challenges to institutionalised impunity since the adoption of the Expiry Law, always spearheaded by civil society organisations. Two referenda triggered by human rights groups failed to overturn the law in 1989 and 2009. Some high-profile prosecutions were achieved after 2005 with efforts by lawyers to circumvent the parameters of the law; nevertheless, the preservation of the amnesty meant that all attempts to investigate abuses had to be approved by the Executive.

A decision by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (IACtHR) in the case of Gelman vs. Uruguay in February 2011, finally led to the revocation of the law by Parliament in October 2011.

Overturning the Expiry Law means that Uruguay’s Judiciary is free to investigate and hold to account those responsible for abuses carried out a generation ago.  However, Wednesday’s decision suggests that the culture of impunity that existed for over 20 years still exerts its influence and is much harder to eradicate than initially expected. As many, including lawyer Pablo Chargoñia and activist Raúl Olivera, have previously stated, impunity in Uruguay goes well beyond specific laws such as the Expiry Law and has transformed itself into “factual impunity”.

Mota’s involvement in high-profile cases had previously generated attempts to oust her from her position. In 2011, she was forced to explain to the Supreme Court allegations in a news article that she had attended a March of Silence, a yearly demonstration organised by the human rights community to demand information about those disappeared by the dictatorship. Last year, she incited the wrath of many individuals, including former president Jorge Batlle and current president Mujica following an interview with an Argentine newspaper in which she criticised the Uruguayan government’s efforts to shed light on the crimes of the past.  Once again, Mota was forced to explain her actions to the Supreme Court.

Given previous efforts to undermine her position, it appears unlikely to be a mere coincidence that the Supreme Court should decide to remove her from her post.  Although the Court is permitted to do so according to Uruguayan laws, its failure to provide an adequate explanation points to something more calculated.  As Mota explained in an interview with La Diaria newspaper, ‘it is strange for a judge to be transferred without having made a request, nor having demonstrated malpractice.’

What is worrying is that the Court should decide to remove a judge who has proved herself as competent, efficient, and well trained in the cases in which she is involved.  Even worse is that such a development should arise only months after the Expiry Law was finally overturned. With Mota’s removal, it is highly likely that the 55 cases of abuse by the dictatorship she was investigating will cease to develop and be subject to lengthy delays.  With the advanced age of many of the defendants, such delays can dramatically reduce the likelihood of them standing trial and produce further impunity.

If Uruguay is to retain its continued regaining its image as the Switzerland of Latin America, it is fundamental that the independence of judges such as Mota, as well as the rule of law, is respected. Judges like Mota should be supported and accompanied in the fight for justice, not ousted and removed from their jobs. Without this, the dark years of the dictatorship will continue to cast a long shadow.

 

Pierre-Louis Le Goff is a research assistant at the Latin American Centre, University of Oxford. Dr Francesca Lessa is a specialist in issues of justice and human rights in Uruguay