The Washington Post, March 30, 2008
A celebration of Argentina’s beauty—and an interweaving of Argentina’s political history with my own evolution.
Once in a while, at mutton barbecues in Patagonia, the sheep farmers would mention something they’d heard about a certain campesino’s daughter’s friend who had been taken by the police in Buenos Aires. The air would go quiet and everyone would become still, saying nothing — as if even here, in the most remote spot on Earth, the walls or sky had ears. But this was rare. Usually, Buenos Aires seemed far off…
…”Lagrimas,” tears, that’s what Argentines call the drips that flow down the inside of a glass of swirled wine. Argentina, it seemed, has been able to weep—and now, to smile.
…Like Argentina, happenstances have allowed me to transform tyranny into something kinder.
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