{"id":712,"date":"2023-05-14T22:52:46","date_gmt":"2023-05-15T02:52:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/?page_id=712"},"modified":"2023-05-14T22:52:46","modified_gmt":"2023-05-15T02:52:46","slug":"laura-pariani-translation-of-il-paese-dei-sogni-perduti","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/laura-pariani-translation-of-il-paese-dei-sogni-perduti\/","title":{"rendered":"LAURA PARIANI: TRANSLATION OF IL PAESE DEI SOGNI PERDUTI"},"content":{"rendered":"

Selections of The Land of Lost Dreams<\/em> by Laura Pariani, translated from Italian to English by Mary Ritter and James Marks<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Il paese dei sogni perduti<\/em>, by Laura Pariani, is a collection of short stories that are based on conversations Pariani had with Argentine friends. Pariani is Italian but has spent extensive time in Argentina. Her knowledge of the region\u2019s history and her personal experiences there shine through in both her fiction and non-fiction works, which are often set in Argentina and explore the experience of Italian immigrants there.<\/p>\n

Translation of “La memoria cancellata” by Mary Ritter and James Marks<\/strong><\/p>\n

The introduction to the book, \u201cLa memoria cancellata,\u201d tells the story of the Italian \u201ceveryman\u201d in Argentina at the time. In this chapter, she tells of the experiences felt by many Italian immigrants to Argentina: leaving from the same Genoese port, enduring the same immigration procedures, feeling the same homesickness. By doing so, she unites their experiences into one cogent process of losing one\u2019s identity and memory. At the end of the chapter, she highlights the importance of memory.<\/em><\/p>\n

Cancelled Memory<\/strong><\/p>\n

There were some that left to\u00a0fare la golondrina<\/em>,[1]<\/a>\u00a0as they said in those days. They worked for a while on the other side of the ocean and then returned. We were children then, but we still remember their faces, even if we didn\u2019t understand if they were satisfied or desperate. Smiling yet disdainful, for they had seen the world, they subtlety flashed their golden pockets watches. Those who went to America could afford to act this way\u2013 surly, suspicious, asking about their fianc\u00e9s and wives who were at home, awaiting their return.<\/p>\n

Never did we think it was an act. The idea never even crossed our minds. On the contrary, it beguiled us; saving money for the trip cent by cent, rationing food, selling the little gold we had, causing the women to cry with its parting.<\/p>\n

From Genoa, we boarded fearlessly, with meager bundles. We watched with fury the lights of the city that became farther and farther away, and we cursed our damned destiny, the ungrateful homeland and the fleas. We intended to return and outlive the resentment for the\u00a0padrone<\/em>[2]<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0that had denied us a loan, the tenant farmer[3]<\/a>\u00a0that had sucked the soul from our work, the priest that wouldn\u2019t even give us a word of comfort, a State that only remembered us when it was time for the draft.<\/p>\n

Then the ocean, different from every river or lake that we knew, so frightfully vast. Thirty days of seasickness, vomit, stench from the cargo hold, wails of young children, nightmares of the ship sinking and being devoured by fish. Southward, always headed south. Finally, Buenos Aires was on the horizon.<\/p>\n

What had worried us from the beginning was the fact that no one knew what awaited us upon arrival. Enclosed by the enormous vaults of the\u00a0Hotel de Inmigrantes<\/em>,[4]<\/a>\u00a0we Italians asked questions amongst ourselves, and the response was always the same: \u201cthey say\u2026\u201d \u201csome friends wrote that\u2026\u201d \u201cI heard that\u2026\u201d None of us had actually seen this land with our own eyes. We relied on vague stories that spoke of a city bigger than the striking Genoa from which the\u00a0barco<\/em>[5]<\/a>left. An immense and empty country left in the hands of godless\u00a0indios.<\/em>[6]<\/a>\u00a0But it was difficult to understand what the truth could be in a land where they called that huge sea of murky yellow water that we had just finished crossing a\u00a0r\u00edo<\/em>.[7]<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"[8]<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[9]<\/a><\/p>\n

Then came the medical exam, and then we were divided according to our skills: only those with an artisan craft were permitted to remain in the capital of Buenos Aires. The others, us peasants, were sent to be\u00a0colonos<\/em>[10]<\/a>\u00a0of the \u201ccampo\u201d<\/em>[11]<\/a>\u00a0as the Argentines called the unwavering solitude of the plains that spread out from the city without end.<\/p>\n

Those of us who were a bit more cunning[12]<\/a>\u00a0could remain in Buenos Aires, fixing for ourselves a makeshift home in the neighborhoods on the outskirts with immigrants from our regions in\u00a0conventillos<\/em>[13]<\/a>\u00a0There, passing through the tall and narrow doorway, one finds a stone patio with a well in the middle. Around the patio, a portico with the room numbers of each family, assigned based on number of family members, no more than more two rooms per family. Dark and crowded\u00a0cuartos<\/em>[14]<\/a>\u00a0without any ventilation but the front door, two toilets for more than a hundred people, a basin for washing both sheets and children, a communal kitchen with a couple fires that the women competed to use, and a corral for the goats.<\/p>\n

But for those who had neither skill nor purpose nor a patron saint to protect them, matters were even worse. Embarking on shoddy westward bound cart, or on a steamboat that chugged slowly up an enormous turbulent river that they called Paran\u00e1, we confronted a mysterious space: the earth that lay before us wasn\u2019t the imagined kingdom of gold and fortune we expected, but a savage horizon of empty plains. And, in the big green desert, the silence was broken, especially by the stifling screeches of big birds and the screeching howls of the wind, until the sun left the sky quickly bringing darkness, without however bringing peace. Could this foreign starry sky \u00a0ever calm us?<\/p>\n

We felt darkness in our hearts as we crossed a place without a soul because it lacked history. Forget a land to be conquered: we were just a bunch of scared people, terrorized by the distance and the emptiness. How can one start anew when they have abandoned their country, family, friends, festivities, and mother language? Did we leave behind the only things that mattered in life? It wasn\u2019t an adventure because we weren\u2019t adventurers, and once we arrived in \u00a0the\u00a0campo<\/em>, we found ourselves in the periphery of the world, in hamlets smaller than the ones we left behind, amongst huts and roads of mud, with little metal placards to mark the tiny parcels of land assigned to us. It all crushed our dreams.<\/p>\n

Because this is the truth: we came unknowingly from the other side of the ocean, almost as if we were only going to the market to sell produce from our vegetable garden, convinced that,\u00a0en el final<\/em>,[15]<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0at the moment of weighing gains and losses, we only wanted to be buried in the villages where we were born.<\/p>\n

Of course, we had to force ourselves to accept it,\u00a0al fin y al cabo<\/em>[16]<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0we accepted that we would never be rich, that it was merely an illusion, a dream that pulled us away from Italy. The dream that lured the first ones to make the voyage, in which we felt like we might own a land of our own with borders past the horizon. To ride on horseback through our fields with the same air of superiority that we envied of the noblemen in our land.<\/p>\n

But if life was tiresome every day and terrible for those of us who were destined to the\u00a0campo<\/em>, it also wasn\u2019t easy for those who secured themselves a spot in the capital. They had to play the accordion in the budding places of that\u00a0negrado<\/em>[17]<\/strong><\/a>rhythm that they called tango, sweating all night from the starch of the white vest under the mended black jacket. Otherwise they were constrained to\u00a0ganar moneda a moneda,<\/em>[18]<\/strong><\/a>cleaning tripe in the\u00a0frigor\u00edficos<\/em>[19]<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0at the\u00a0Riachuelo<\/em>[20]<\/strong><\/a>\u00a0with muscles stiffened by the cold and the damned smell of blood.<\/p>\n

Hell of a life\u2026 even so, we ate, we ate, we ate, that this was the only thing that proved to be true: that in Argentina, meat was abundant, and one could finally satiate the hunger that had been there for centuries. And around the\u00a0parrilla<\/em>,[21]<\/a>\u00a0we sang in our broken Spanish:<\/p>\n

Yo solo pienso en ser rico<\/em><\/p>\n

per decar de trabacare<\/em><\/p>\n

andarme con la familia<\/em><\/p>\n

a l\u2019Italia a descansare\u00a0[22]<\/strong><\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

We were young. At home, in Italy, we left our mothers, girlfriends, sometimes no less than a wife and little children. In the beginning, we wrote letters in uncertain handwriting, we wanted to know how it was going for everyone over there on the other side of the ocean. We wrote of the problems of our new lives, we praised ourselves for our gains and for our future possibilities. Our words did not hold the malice caused by a mistake but the shame of not being able to make it in America like everyone at home expected us to.<\/p>\n

Then, little by little, the tiredness of trying to create an impossible fortune beat us: we cut down on the letters, and in the end we stopped writing them all together. We learned the art of forgetting. The wonderful faces that were, the fondness that in the beginning of the separation made our hearts palpitate from nostalgia, the familiar places, even the words of the language we were raised speaking, all began to leave us little by little. We turned the page, and we became Argentine: with other women, under this different sky, with new words.<\/p>\n

Letter from the Author:<\/strong><\/p>\n

All of the following stories, aside from one, came from conversations with Argentine friends during the year 2003. I wrote them with the awareness that, without memory, the present transforms into a time without the possibility for change or rebirth. Therefore, in these pages I mixed the public memory with individual memory: because a society that forgets is condemned to its own ignorance. In Argentina,\u00a0el olvido<\/em>, that is\u00a0forgetfulness<\/em>, moved more quickly than\u00a0history<\/em>\u00a0in the last century, as was well said by Adolfo Bioy Casares.<\/p>\n

Notes:<\/strong><\/p>\n

[1]<\/a>\u201cFare la golondrina\u201d was an expression used to describe Italian farmers who migrated from Italy to Argentina every year, working the harvest season in each country. In Italian, the word \u201cgolondrina\u201d means barn swallow. Just as barn swallows migrate to South America in September and to North America in. April, to spend the warmest months in both areas, some Italian farmers would migrate every year, in order to spend the harvest months in both Italy and Argentina. George Epolito, \u201cGolondrinas: Passages of Influence: The Construction of National\/Cultural Identities in Italy and the R\u00edo de La Plata Basin of South America,\u201d Taylor & Francis, August 24, 2012, https:\/\/www.tandfonline.com\/doi\/abs\/10.1080\/14608944.2012.702743.<\/p>\n

[2]<\/a> Italian for \u201clandowner.\u201d<\/p>\n

[3]<\/a>\u00a0It can be assumed from this passage that the immigrants would be working under a tenant farmer, who\u2019s goal was to produce as much as possible, without regard for the workers.<\/p>\n

[4]<\/a>\u00a0The\u00a0Hotel de Inmigrantes<\/em>, or the Immigrant Hotel in Buenos Aires, was a place for just-arrived immigrants to stay for a short time until they found housing.<\/p>\n

[5]<\/a>\u00a0 Spanish for \u201cboat.\u201d<\/p>\n

[6]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cIndians\u201d meaning \u201cNative Americans.\u201d<\/p>\n

[7]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201criver\u201d, which refers to the Rio de la Plata or the Plata River, in English. To Italians, it seemed as big as a sea, and the sentence goes to show how confusing it could be as immigrant in a place where they called what seemed like an ocean a river.<\/p>\n

[8]<\/a>\u00a0Rio de la Plata is a river system and area of the same name that flows into the Atlantic Ocean, image from – https:\/\/www.garmin.com\/en-US\/p\/154015<\/p>\n

[9]<\/a>\u00a0The Immigrant Hotel, image from – https:\/\/turismo.buenosaires.gob.ar\/en\/otros-establecimientos\/national-immigration-museum<\/p>\n

[10]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201ccolonizers.\u201d<\/p>\n

[11]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cfields.\u201d<\/p>\n

[12]<\/a>\u00a0The original term used here was \u201cg\u00e0bola,\u201d which denotes lies or trickery.<\/p>\n

[13]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201ctenements.\u201d<\/p>\n

[14]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201crooms\u201d<\/p>\n

[15]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cin the end.\u201d<\/p>\n

[16]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201ceventually.\u201d<\/p>\n

[17]<\/a>\u00a0Adjective form of \u201cblack\u201d in Spanish. There is a racial connotation that denotes the African roots of tango music.<\/p>\n

[18]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cliving penny to penny.\u201d<\/p>\n

[19]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201crefrigerators.\u201d<\/p>\n

[20]<\/a>\u00a0The\u00a0Riachuelo\u00a0<\/em>was a meat processing facility, a commonplace job in Argentina at the time.<\/p>\n

[21]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cgrill.\u201d<\/p>\n

[22]<\/a>\u00a0Broken Spanish, noted by some Italianized verb endings, roughly meaning \u201cI only think about being rich, To leave work, To go be with my family, To Italy to rest\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Translation of “Anni Settanta. I: I morti di Trelew” by James Marks<\/strong><\/p>\n

This chapter is based on a conversation between the author, Laura Pariani, and a woman by the name of Tanita whom she presumably encountered in Italy and conversed with while preparing for this book of stories and history. This telling is based on the Massacre of Trelew in which political dissidents of the government of Alejandro Agunst\u00edn Lanusse were killed in cold blood after a prison escape that did not go totally to plan. This was a time period in Argentina of many dictatorships, and this was not the last bout of killings to happen. The \u201cDirty War\u201d that came a few years after had approximately 10,000 to 30,000 killings, of both political dissidents and regular citizens.[1]<\/a><\/p>\n

The ’70s, I: The Dead of Trelew<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cI wasn\u2019t into politics at that point, it was 1972, I was too little. From my family I heard mentions of the\u00a0ERP, FAR,\u00a0<\/em>andMontoneros<\/em>[2]<\/a>,\u00a0<\/em>when my father talked about the newspapers. I barely knew who the guerillas were. They didn\u2019t interest me. Do you understand? Back then they all seemed crazy, I was thirteen, I still had braids\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

I still remember the voice of Tanita well: it was high pitched like that of a young girl. She had arrived in Italy in 1981, after some time in Mexico. We had in common a love for comic strips and for calla lilies, those white flowers shaped like a funnel that were always too rare to find at a florist shop.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen, that day in the middle of August, we heard the news from a Uruguayan broadcast: Radio Colonia<\/em>[3]<\/a>recounted that that morning, roughly thirty political prisoners escaped from a maximum-security prison, in Rawson. When they escaped, they were headed towards the airport in Trelew, about thirty kilometers away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[4]<\/a><\/p>\n

On occasion I saw some pictures of those two small towns in the province of Chubut, a Welsh enclave in the Patagonian territory: rolling hills battered by the wind, the Vald\u00e9s peninsula in the distance with its seals and walruses. A tranquil place that seem removed from history\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the moment I thought of the soldiers humiliation, of that General Lanusse who governed us.\u00a0M\u00e1xima seguridad<\/em>[5]<\/a>, yeah right! Serves him right this blunder\u2026 But soon after, the radio correspondent added that only four or five were able to reach the\u00a0Austral<\/em>[6]<\/a>\u00a0flight that some accomplices had hijacked as a means for escape. The others arrived at the airport too late: there, they barricaded themselves in for a bit, attempting to resist the siege of the military. In the end, they gave up their guns and surrendered.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was it. By then, they must have already arrived at the naval base \u201cAlmirante Zar\u201d in Trelew. In the meantime, a Chilean broadcast told of the hijacking of the aircraft and of six guerrillas (the most famous was Roberto Mario Santucho, founder of the ERP) who landed in Puerto Montt[7]<\/a>\u00a0with a request for political asylum.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[8]<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[9]<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cArgentine radio broadcasts however remained silent. Only the day after did they acknowledge a failed escape attempt, explaining that the fugitives, after being recaptured, were brought to a nearby naval base. Then, nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of the nineteen that surrendered there remains only a single photo from the airport, taken at the moment they surrendered their arms to the lieutenant commander, Sosa: with the face of someone in waiting, between life and death. The military didn\u2019t want to take hostages, unconditional surrender\u2026<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[10]<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cThree or four days after, as I was coming back from school, my mother told me that on the eleven o\u2019clock news, they said that one of the recaptured escapees tried to take a machinegun from a guard and fighting broke out: some had died. Gradually, as the hours passed, the number of dead told by the radio increased. On the five o\u2019clock news, they confirmed that the prisoners all tried to escape at once and were mowed down by bullets. You get it?\u00a0Hab\u00edan ca\u00eddo todos<\/em>[11]<\/a>.<\/em>\u00a0Nineteen dead for an impossible escape, as the naval base was in the middle of nowhere\u2026 So, an implausible story. So improbable that not even my mother would believe it.\u201d<\/p>\n

But six survived the massacre; they were in bad shape, on the brink of death: the military had let them bleed out until medical attention arrived. The doctors were only notified of them ten hours after the incident. Three recovered \u2013 Mar\u00eda Antonia Berger, Alberto Miguel Camps and Ren\u00e9 Haidar \u2013\u00a0 they would go on to tell the real story.<\/p>\n

\u201cI felt shocked. I never thought the military would do this.\u00a0\u2018Son simplemente bestias\u2019<\/em>[12]<\/a>\u00a0said my father, astonished by the fact that the authorities, instead of bringing them to justice, they would rather just kill them. I felt a sudden disgust growing inside me for the world, for our leaders. I couldn\u2019t understand how they ever came to do such a thing.\u00a0Cuesta pensarlo. No se entiende<\/em>.[13]<\/a>\u00a0The ferocity, the brutality\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

It is hard to even conceive that it would happen in a Roman Catholic and apostolic Argentina. Where all the members of the armed forces, without exception, made their first Communions, were married in the church, and surely confessed their sins regularly. Nineteen prisoners, both men and women, all young; Ana Mar\u00eda Villareal, wife of Santucho, eight months pregnant\u2026 They were thrown into\u00a0calabozos,<\/em>[14]<\/a>\u00a0beaten, stripped naked, to then be assassinated.<\/p>\n

In the end, to cover up the barbarities, they simulated an uprising, and the ley de fuga<\/em>[15]<\/a>\u00a0was invoked.\u00a0\u00a0<\/em>To top it all off, the Communique of the Navy were accepted and praised by the president for their actions, General Alejandro Agust\u00edn Lanusse, an honest and religious man as his biographies would claim.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

[16]<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cThe next morning at school they were talking about murder. Everyone was still in shock, and worn out from it, some cried. The older ones organized an assembly; they recited off the names of the dead and every one of us responded: \u2018Present!\u00a0Hasta la victoria siempre!\u2019<\/em>[17]<\/a>\u00a0One of my friends said that this was the second worst massacre of Patagonia. You know, after that one in the 20\u2019s with the\u00a0peones<\/em>[18]<\/a>\u2026 sometime later the bodies were brought to Buenos Aires, I think they wanted to organize a funeral vigil at the union headquarters in my neighborhood, on La Plata Avenue. That afternoon I heard sirens, gunshots, a crazy commotion, and then the riot control tanks appeared: the police assaulted the place where the\u00a0velorio<\/em>[19]<\/a>\u00a0was happening, they launched teargas, they beat the families and destroyed the facility. All to stop the people from accompanying the bodies to the cemetery.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then? The lieutenant commander Luis Emilio Sosa, and the frigate lieutenant Roberto Guillermo Bravo, the responsible parties of the\u00a0matanza<\/em>[20]<\/a>\u00a0at the aeronaval base in Trelew, were sent to the Argentine embassy in Washington to\u00a0hacer cursos<\/em>[21]<\/a>\u00a0with special indemnity.<\/p>\n

The tragic facts of Trelew came into my mind suddenly as I passed by a painting of mine, a little drawing that I drew while thinking of Tanita, many years ago. I believe that, on the back, there would also be a dedication to her and her memories from the seventies\u2026 It hangs in a corner, this little drawing: bodies torn to shreds, a baby with braids that stares at them, shocked and incredulous. Every now and then, I pause to look at it. Today inadvertently, I raised my eyes and Tanita came back to me, meeting me in the dark corridor that is memory. Who knows where she ended up? Her family moved to Germany, she wanted to graduate from a cinema school.<\/p>\n

Strange how there are certain things, that in the moment go unobserved. For example, in those times \u2013 it\u2019s been thirty years at this point \u2013 when I read Italian newspapers with superficial articles on the massacre at Trelew, I did not realize their importance. The unconceivable decision to kill the guerillas in cold blood \u2013 the \u201cfinal solution\u201d \u2013 to make them pay for the military\u2019s humiliation. Then the implausible account of the facts\u2026 it seems to me now that in those times, the incapacity to justify such criminal conduct of the Naval officials could have influenced\u00a0 the following decision to carry on in complete secret the repressive plan in the coup of 1976. Yes, the nightmare of the\u00a0Guerrasucia<\/em>[22]<\/a>\u00a0began the 22nd<\/sup>\u00a0of August 1972. Because not even the others, the refugees in Chile, could save themselves. Like Marcos Osatinsky, recaptured in \u201975 and tortured in the police headquarters in C\u00f3rdoba, and then \u2013 they say \u2013 skinned alive. His wife was also kidnapped in \u201975 and held in the\u00a0ESMA<\/em><\/a>[23]<\/a>\u00a0together with their fifteen-year-old son. The other of her sons, seventeen years old, was killed during his capture. Or like Roberto Santucho \u2013 a young man in bloom, who I chanced upon reading the diaries of Witold Gombrowicz, who had him as a pupil in 1951 in\u00a0Santiago de l\u2019Estero<\/em><\/a>[24]<\/a>\u00a0\u2013\u00a0<\/em>captured and killed in \u201976. Seven members of his family were killed, four vanished, nine took asylum elsewhere\u2026 Enough.\u00a0No quiero ricordar m\u00e1s.<\/em><\/a>[25]<\/a><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

<\/a>[26]<\/a><\/p>\n

Notes:<\/strong><\/p>\n

[1]<\/a>\u00a0\u201cArgentina Declassification Project – The \u2018Dirty War\u2019 (1976-83).\u201d Central Intelligence Agency. Accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/www.cia.gov\/readingroom\/collection\/argentina-declassification-project-dirty-war-1976-83#:~:text=During%20the%20Argentine%20government%27s%20seven,as%20well%20as%20innocent%20victims.<\/p>\n

[2]<\/a>\u00a0Ejercito Revolucionario del Pueblo<\/em>\u00a0– The People\u2019s Revolutionary Army,\u00a0Las Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias\u00a0<\/em>– The Armed Revolutionary Forces, and\u00a0Montoneros<\/em>\u00a0\u2013 Movimento Peronista Montonero, were all left-wing revolutionary groups.<\/p>\n

[3]<\/a>\u00a0Uruguayan radio station<\/p>\n

[4]<\/a>\u00a0See the top right center area for view of Rawson and Trelew. Image from \u2013 Busker, Felipe. \u201c-Map of the Chubut Province, Patagonia, Argentina, Showing the Location …\u201d ResearchGate, 2017. https:\/\/www.researchgate.net\/figure\/Map-of-the-Chubut-Province-Patagonia-Argentina-showing-the-location-of-the-Bajadadel_fig1_335293341.<\/p>\n

[5]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cmaximum security\u201d<\/p>\n

[6]<\/a>\u00a0An Argentine airline<\/p>\n

[7]<\/a>\u00a0A city in Chile<\/p>\n

[8]<\/a>\u00a0Almirante Zar Aeronaval Base in Trelew, Image from \u2013<\/p>\n

\u201cBases En Chubut.\u201d Avnaval – bases en Chubut. AccessedMay 13, 2023. https:\/\/www.histarmar.com.ar\/Armada%20Argentina\/AviacionNaval\/BasesAeronav\/BANChubut.htm.<\/p>\n

[9]<\/a>\u00a0Prison in Rawson, Image from – Rom\u00e1n, Emiliano. \u201cRawson.\u201d A Sala Llena, October 27, 2012. https:\/\/asalallena.com.ar\/rawson\/.<\/p>\n

[10]<\/a>\u00a0One of the last images of the prisoners at the airport. Image from – Caistor, Nick. \u201cMassacre at Trelew: 50 Years On.\u201d Latin America Bureau, August 22, 2022. https:\/\/lab.org.uk\/massacre-at-trelew-50-years-on\/.<\/p>\n

[11]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cthey mowed them all down\u201d<\/p>\n

[12]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cThey are simply animals\/beasts\u201d<\/p>\n

[13]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cIt\u2019s hard to comprehend, one cannot understand\u201d<\/p>\n

[14]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cjail cells\u201d<\/p>\n

[15]<\/a>\u00a0Extrajudicial killings<\/p>\n

[16]<\/a>\u00a0General Alejandro Agust\u00edn Lanusse – Image from – Barrio, Facundo Fern\u00e1ndez. \u201cLas Actas Secretas de Lanusse.\u201d El Cohete a la Luna, August 21, 2022. https:\/\/www.elcohetealaluna.com\/las-actas-secretas-de-lanusse\/.<\/p>\n

[17]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cAll the way to victory\u201d<\/p>\n

[18]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cpeasants\u201d<\/p>\n

[19]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cvigil\u201d<\/p>\n

[20]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cmassacre\u201d<\/p>\n

[21]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cto do coursework\u201d<\/p>\n

[22]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cDirty War,\u201d refers to the many extrajudicial killings in Argentina in the mid-70\u2019s to early 80\u2019s.<\/p>\n

<\/a>[23]<\/a>\u00a0The Argentine Naval Mechanical School which doubled as a clandestine detention center.<\/p>\n

<\/a>[24]<\/a>\u00a0A city in Northern Argentina<\/p>\n

<\/a>[25]<\/a>\u00a0Spanish for \u201cI don\u2019t want to remember any more.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/a>[26]<\/a>\u00a0The Argentine Naval Mechanical School, which is now a memorial for the human rights abuses of the final dictatorship. Image from \u2013 UNESCO. \u201cEspacio Memoria y Derechos Humanos (Ex ESMA) – CIPDH – UNESCO.\u201d CIPDH. Accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/www.cipdh.gob.ar\/memorias-situadas\/lugar-de-memoria\/espacio-para-la-memoria-y-para-la-promocion-y-defensa-de-los-derechos-humanos-ex-esma\/.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Translation of “Anni Settanta II: E di notte la paura” by Mary Ritter<\/strong><\/p>\n

This chapter, \u201cAnd at Night, Fear,\u201d features a conversation with Noem\u00ed Ulla (1940-2016), an Argentine writer, who discusses her experience of being a writer during the years of the dictatorship. She also references the experiences of other Argentine writers who experienced great persecution under the civic-military dictatorship that ruled Argentina from 1976-1983.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a> \"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopedia. “Rosario.” Encyclopedia Britannica<\/em>, March 7, 2023. https:\/\/www.britannica.com\/place\/Rosario-Argentina.]<\/p>\n

[Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopedia. “Paran\u00e1 River.” Encyclopedia Britannica<\/em>, March 14, 2019. https:\/\/www.britannica.com\/place\/Parana-River.]<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The ’70s, II: And at Night, Fear <\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cI arrived in Buenos Aires at the end of the 60s. I came from Rosario \u2013 not a small city but still provincial \u2013 with big dreams.\u201d The voice of Noem\u00ed Ulla scratches in the dim light of the living room of her apartment on the eleventh floor on Moreno Street, two steps from the Casa Rosada.[1]<\/a> Photographs and paintings hung on the walls. The blinds, as always, were lowered to block out the reflection of the January porte\u00f1o.<\/em>[2]<\/a> \u201cI had just released a novel, Los que esperan el alba<\/em>[<\/strong><\/a>3]<\/strong><\/a>. It was the winner of a competition in Santa Fe, and the prize was its publication. Then an essay, Tango, rebeli\u00f3n y nostalgia<\/em>,[4]<\/a> with the lyrics of songs of tango.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[\u201cNoem\u00ed Ulla.\u201d Editorial Municipal de Rosario. Accessed May 14, 2023. https:\/\/www.emr-rosario.gob.ar\/autor\/noemi-ulla\/.]<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\u201cBut why did you leave the province?\u201d I ask, sipping a very sweet Turkish coffee that Noem\u00ed had served me with a plate of little cookies.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho knows?\u201d Short light hair, a white gown with a brooch pinned on the breast; her- delicate face gives the impression of fragility, which is decidedly negated by the tone of her voice, with which Noem\u00ed shares her thoughts, ideas, desires. A special atmosphere hangs in the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cSurely at the time Buenos Aires enchanted a young person: it was a splendid city. The publishing houses prospered, translating many works and producing magazines.\u201d<\/p>\n

I sensed nostalgia in her words. I understand you<\/em>, I want to tell her. I also remember Buenos Aires at the end of the \u201860s. Frequently, the memories would flood my mind all of the sudden: illuminated window displays of Calle Florida,[5]<\/a> afternoons at the Confiter\u00eda Richmond with my mother, purchases from Harrod\u2019s, the theaters of Corrientes surmounted by neon signs and overflowing with people. How is it possible that all that fervor, that progress that one sensed in this capital could disappear so suddenly? It seems incredible to compare the city of my memories with its actual decline; and something in my heart hopes that Buenos Aires could resurrect itself.<\/p>\n

\u201cI began to work for the Centro Editor de America Latina,\u201d continues Noem\u00ed, \u201cand then I supported myself by dedicating my life to teaching. But what I really loved was something else: my deepest love was, above all, for creative writing, especially magical realism. But in those times, no one wanted that: the dominant idea was that literature must focus on political commitment and social engagement. It was considered immoral to let the imagination run free. Therefore, my first collection of fantasy tales, Ciudades<\/em> \u2013 that, amongst others, was liked very much by Silvina Ocampo[6]<\/a> \u2013 came under ferocious attack. \u2018But how?\u2019 a Peronist friend asked me once. \u2018How can you settle on fantasy as a person who has written an essay on the letras de tango?<\/em>\u2019[7]<\/a> So the book, which was ready in 1974, waited for years, until 1983, to be published.\u201d<\/p>\n

She poured me a little glass of marsala. There was peace. The apartment is silent, yet vaguely resonant, almost overtaken by the humming of the city that surrounds it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey were the years of the dictatorship. A horrific experience for all. But the intellectuals suffered a particularly strong persecution: certain books were banned, taken from libraries and destroyed, and many writers and journalists were imprisoned or vanished.\u201d<\/p>\n

I think about Nunca m\u00e1s<\/em>,[8]<\/a> about the desaparici\u00f3n<\/em>[9]<\/a> of many intellectuals of that time. Oesterheld,[10]<\/a> for instance, the author of Eternauta<\/em> who was kidnapped. The government circulated misinformation to cover their tracks, saying that he was in Europe to receive an award. Haroldo Conti[11]<\/a> and Rodolfo Walsh[12]<\/a> come to mind too, who preferred to be shot than imprisoned. 36,000 desaparecidos[13]<\/strong><\/a> <\/em>is a huge number, a quantity of bodies that I struggle to imagine.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn those years, I happened to send one of my short stories to a contest with a panel of judges that included Onetti.[14]<\/a> The story won second place. And you know the advice some friends gave me? \u2018Don\u2019t tell anyone that Onetti was on the panel!\u2019 they told me, because he was a writer despised for his political ideas, disliked so much that he had to take refuge in Spain. We felt powerless, dispossessed of our own life. Every word that you said had to be carefully weighed because someone could denounce you … At that time, I was teaching, and during an inspection, a colleague denounced me as subersiva<\/em>[15]<\/a> Fortunately, I had the support of the director, who called that her and confronted her: \u201cWell, now we\u2019ll have a meeting between her and Noem\u00ed Ulla.\u201d It was a real face to face. He asked her why she accused me, but the only thing that she told him was that I had friendships with intellectuals from the left and that I worked with left-wing publishing houses. Yes, this was true, I couldn\u2019t deny it. But the director fearlessly defended me, keeping his composure, and he finished by ridiculing her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd then?\u201d I asked with bated breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing. Nothing happened. It was a miracle. But for a long time, I expected a car to come in the night and take me away. It had happened to other people that I knew. So, every time that I was reminded of the incident, the fear returned.\u201d<\/p>\n

I heard many others repeat this same feeling of apprehension: the racing heart, night after night, the perked ear, the muscles tensed from anxiety, the silence of the telephone, getting sleep only in the morning, when the radio started its brief and monotone messages on the reorganizaci\u00f3n nacional<\/em>[16]<\/a> A nightmare that lasted for years. A fear of speaking, thinking, writing. Years of silence just to survive. I think of the last scene from the novel Fuego a discreci\u00f3n <\/em>from the Italian Argentine writer Antonio Dal Masetto,[17]<\/a> when the protagonist, a boy living in the years of the dictatorship, ends up locked up in an empty cistern and, in an almost ritual act, kills a dove and uses its blood to write on the walls: amor ya no es una palabra, ahora la palabra es fuerza<\/em>.\u201d[18]<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you never thought of leaving Argentina? I know that many intellectuals escaped …\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I thought about it. But I didn\u2019t have money. I remember I wrote to another Argentine writer who had taken refuge in Spain, asking for advice. He told me sincerely that Spain was just recovering from its own dictatorship and that living there was its own complicated situation. But, in the end, it was a still question of money: I didn\u2019t have enough to get there.\u201d<\/p>\n

The streetlights were slowly turning on outside the window as night fell. After the afternoon pause, Buenos Aires comes to life, as the oppressive heat of the day mellows. The pulled-up blinds reveal a multi-colored sunset of yellows and reds. A lilac-colored cloud unravels on the top of a skyscraper. It\u2019s impossible to not compare the peace that is now with the terror that was in those years.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[Asokan, Ratik. \u201cAn Argentinian Novelist, out of Oblivion.\u201d The Nation, August 22, 2016. https:\/\/www.thenation.com\/article\/archive\/antonio-di-benedetto-zama-out-of-oblivion\/.]<\/p>\n

\u201cFor me, things definitely turned out alright. Others\u2019 lives were broken. For example, Antonio Di Benedetto,[19]<\/a> one of the greatest Argentine writers. It was Juan Jos\u00e9 Saer,[20]<\/a> my friend from Santa Fe and also a writer, that made me read, many years ago, El Silenciero <\/em>and Zama<\/em>. The stories shocked me, so much so that I wanted to a write an essay about Di Benedetto. In Buenos Aires at that time no one knew him yet because here in the capital they had always looked down on the province, and Di Benedetto, being from Mendoza, suffered the consequences. But I insisted: I began to collect news and reviews because I really wanted to write the essay. I also started a long correspondence with him. I finally meant Di Benedetto here in Buenos Aires when he visited the capital. I was struck by the news that he had been interned in a concentration camp. He was released after a year, following a large media campaign during which many public figures, like Victoria Ocampo[21]<\/a> and Bioy Casares,[22]<\/a> signed a petition. But by then, he was a different man: destroyed by torture, crushed by terror, with a sense of universal guilt that resulted in paranoia. He exiled himself: France, Spain, Germany… He returned in 1983, when democracy was first reinstated: they gave him a job that was not enough to live on, so much so that it made him deeply ill. So, after a little bit of time, he died. It was 1986.\u201d<\/p>\n

Notes:<\/strong><\/p>\n

[1]<\/a> The office of the Argentine president.<\/p>\n

[2]<\/a>Porte\u00f1o <\/em>means \u201cport city person\u201d in Spanish. It refers to people who come from port cities, including Buenos Aires, Argentina. But in this sense, it personifies the heat of the summer sun in Argentina, where the seasons are reverse of the Northern Hemisphere.<\/p>\n

[3]<\/a> Ulla\u2019s first novel, which she published in 1967. \u201cNoem\u00ed Ulla,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023, https:\/\/es.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Noem%C3%AD_Ulla<\/a><\/p>\n

[4]<\/a> An essay published in 1967. Ibid.<\/p>\n

[5]<\/a> A major street in downtown Buenos Aires popular for its shopping centers and street performances. \u201cFlorida Street,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Florida_Street<\/a><\/p>\n

[6]<\/a> Silvina Ocampo (1903-1993) was an Argentine short story writer. She is considered to be one of the greatest Argetine writers of all time, so it would be a great honor for her to enjoy one of Ulla\u2019s books. \u201cSilvina Ocampo,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Silvina_Ocampo<\/a><\/p>\n

[7]<\/a> Spanish for \u201clyrics of tango.\u201d<\/p>\n

[8]<\/a> A report produced by the Comisi\u00f2n Nacional sobre la Desaparici\u00f3n de Personas (National Commission on the Disappearance of Persons) in 1984. The report was based on the commission\u2019s investigations into the Argentine government\u2019s forced disappearances of thousands of the country\u2019s citizens. \u201cNational Commission on the Disappearance of Persons,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/National_Commission_on_the_Disappearance_of_Persons<\/a>.<\/p>\n

[9]<\/a> Spanish for \u201cdisappearance.\u201d<\/p>\n

[10]<\/a> An Argentine journalist and writer. His graphic novel, El Eternauta<\/em>, is one of his most famous works. His comics acted as social commentaries on the dictatorships that plagued his native country, but unfortunately, as a result, he disappeared in 1976, likely kidnapped and murdered by the government. \u201cH\u00e9ctor Germ\u00e1n Oesterheld,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023, https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/H%C3%A9ctor_Germ%C3%A1n_Oesterheld<\/a>.<\/p>\n

[11]<\/a>An Argentine writer who disappeared in 1979. \u201cHaroldo Conti,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023, https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Haroldo_Conti<\/a>.<\/p>\n

[12]<\/a> An Argentine investigative journalist who was killed by a group of Argentine soldiers in 1977. His most famous work is \u201cCarta Abierta de un Escritor a la Junta Militar\u201d (Open Letter from a Writer to the Military Junta), which criticized the economic policies of the Argentine dictatorship. \u201cRodolfo Walsh,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023, https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Rodolfo_Walsh#Death<\/a>. \u201cCarta abierta de un escritor a la Junta Militar,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/es.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Carta_abierta_de_un_escritor_a_la_Junta_Militar<\/a><\/p>\n

[13]<\/a> Spanish for \u201cdisappeared\u201d or \u201cmissing\u201d persons.<\/p>\n

[14]<\/a> An Uruguayan novelist who was imprisoned by the Argentine dictatorship. \u201cJuan Carlos Onetti,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Juan_Carlos_Onetti<\/a><\/p>\n

[15]<\/a> Spanish for \u201csubversive.\u201d<\/p>\n

[16]<\/a> This refers to the \u201cProceso de Rorganizaci\u00f3n Nacional\u201d (National Reorganization Process), the military dictatorship that controlled Argentina from 1976-1983. \u201cNational Reorganization Process,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/National_Reorganization_Process<\/a><\/p>\n

[17]<\/a> A writer born in Italy who moved to Argentina and eventually settled in Buenos Aires. \u201cAntonio Dal Masetto,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/es.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Antonio_Dal_Masetto<\/a><\/p>\n

[18]<\/a> A phrase in Spanish that translates to \u201clove is no longer a word, now the word is strength.\u201d<\/p>\n

[19]<\/a> An Argentine writer who wass imprisoned and tortured in the 1970s by the Argentine dictatorship. \u201cAntonio di Benedetto,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Antonio_di_Benedetto<\/a><\/p>\n

[20]<\/a> One of the most important Argentine writers. \u201cJuan Jos\u00e9 Saer,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Juan_Jos%C3%A9_Saer<\/a><\/p>\n

[21]<\/a> An Argentine writer. \u201cVictoria Ocampo,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed may 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Victoria_Ocampo<\/p>\n

[22]<\/a> An Argentine writer. \u201cAdolfo Bioy Casares,\u201d Wikipedia, last accessed May 13, 2023. https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Adolfo_Bioy_Casares<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Selections of The Land of Lost Dreams by Laura Pariani, translated from Italian to English by Mary Ritter and James Marks Il paese dei sogni perduti, by Laura Pariani, is a collection of short stories that are based on conversations Pariani had with Argentine friends. Pariani is Italian but has spent extensive time in Argentina. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4151,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-712","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","post","no-featured-image"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/712","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4151"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=712"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/712\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.dickinson.edu\/italian-diaspora\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=712"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}