On a rain-soaked Saturday in Buenos Aires, the heart of Argentina’s capital pulsed with echoes of a painful past and the tensions of a divided present. In the iconic Plaza de Mayo—long a symbol of both mourning and resistance—ex-military officers who once served in the country’s notorious dictatorship, along with their families and supporters, staged a rare and highly provocative rally. Their demand? The release of colleagues imprisoned for human rights abuses committed during the junta’s iron-fisted rule from 1976 to 1983.
This demonstration was far from an ordinary gathering. According to the Associated Press, the rally was seen as an open challenge to the national consensus embodied in the slogan “Nunca Más” (“Never Again”), which for decades has represented Argentina’s vow to never return to authoritarianism. The plaza itself carries deep meaning, having been the site where the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo—women searching for children abducted and disappeared by the regime—have circled in silent protest every Thursday for decades. Their white kerchiefs, embroidered with the names of the missing, have become a national symbol of the fight for truth and justice.
The ex-officers’ supporters, however, came bearing black bandanas—a pointed counter-symbol to the Grandmothers’ white kerchiefs. They sang the national anthem and hoisted banners demanding “freedom for imprisoned colleagues.” The message was clear: they believe the military, long vilified for its role in the dictatorship, deserves respect and moral vindication. “We demand the moral vindication of all the veterans,” said Maria Asuncion Benedit, one of the rally’s organizers, whose late husband, an army captain, helped lead a brutal 1975 campaign against guerillas in the northern province of Tucuman. “The Argentine people follow the official narrative. Whose narrative is it? The enemy’s, the terrorists’, those who fought against our soldiers,” Benedit told AP, sharply criticizing what she described as a militant and activist judiciary bent on punishing the military.
Not everyone in the plaza shared that view. Counter-protesters—many of them relatives of the disappeared, human rights advocates, and members of left-wing organizations—gathered nearby, separated by police barricades. Their signs bore slogans like “Never Again” and “the 30,000 are present,” referencing the estimated number of Argentines killed or disappeared during the junta’s reign. For Alejandro Perez, whose uncle was abducted and never seen again, the sight of ex-officers rallying under police protection was chilling. “It terrified him to see veterans like Nieto who participated in the deadly state repression 'here in front of the government house, protected by police, protected by fences, being able to hold an event to demand the release of the few imprisoned genocidal criminals,’” Perez said, his words echoing the deep anguish felt by many families of the victims.
The demonstration came amid a dramatic shift in Argentina’s political landscape under right-wing President Javier Milei. As reported by multiple outlets, Milei has frequently justified the dictatorship’s actions as necessary in a “messy war” against leftist guerrillas. His vice president, Victoria Villarruel, herself the daughter of an Argentine lieutenant colonel, has long advocated for recognition of military personnel as “other victims” of terrorism, pointing to those killed by left-wing guerillas. This reframing of the past has infuriated human rights organizations, who see it as an attempt to legitimize the military’s systematic extrajudicial killings and to whitewash the horrors of state terror.
In a move that further stoked controversy, Milei recently appointed Army chief of staff Lt. Gen. Carlos Alberto Presti as Minister of Defense—the first time since Argentina’s return to democracy in 1983 that a military officer has held a ministerial post. The president’s office declared that this appointment “inaugurates a tradition that we hope the political leadership will continue” and aims to “put an end to the demonization of our officers.” Supporters of this decision argue that the military has been unfairly scapegoated, while critics warn that it risks undermining decades of hard-won accountability.
Pedro Nieto, a veteran of the dictatorship era who traveled 36 hours from Salta to attend the rally, voiced a sentiment shared by many in attendance. “We are proud to have fought and eliminated the terrorists,” he said, reflecting a worldview that remains deeply divisive in Argentine society.
Yet, the rally also underscored the enduring power of memory and the persistence of those who refuse to let the atrocities of the past be forgotten. Unlike many other Latin American nations that granted amnesty to perpetrators after restoring democracy, Argentina has prosecuted and sentenced over a thousand army officials and officers for their participation in state terror—many to life in prison. Hundreds more await trial. This commitment to justice has been a cornerstone of Argentina’s post-dictatorship identity, but it is now facing new challenges.
These tensions have not gone unnoticed beyond Argentina’s borders. The United Nations Committee Against Torture recently issued a report raising alarm about the Milei government’s dismantling of programs investigating military actions during the dictatorship, as well as budget cuts to institutions dedicated to memory, truth, and justice. The committee also criticized the government’s lack of transparency regarding reparations for victims. According to the AP, Milei, a radical libertarian elected in late 2023, has made fiscal surplus a key goal—slashing spending on health and education while committing to boost the military’s budget.
Alberto Baños, Milei’s top human rights official, pushed back against the UN’s findings, insisting that the administration is committed to “complete, unbiased and unobtrusive historical memory.” In his words: “Whether you like it or not, the defense of human rights became a business, and we will not tolerate that.”
The dueling demonstrations in Plaza de Mayo, the government’s controversial appointments, and the UN’s pointed criticism all point to a society at a crossroads. On one side stand those who argue for a re-examination of the past and a restoration of military honor; on the other, those who insist that the wounds of dictatorship can only heal through remembrance, justice, and an unwavering commitment to “Nunca Más.”
As banners waved and voices clashed in the square, the struggle over Argentina’s soul was on full display—reminding all who watched that history, even decades later, remains fiercely alive in the present.
