L´shana tova

I just got back from going to a synagogue in Once, the historic center of the Argentine Jewish community. It was the same as the US, except that people talked through the entire Torah service. I guess, it makes sense though. Argentines are social people and so are Jews, combine the two and it´s surprising that the rabbi even paid attention to the service.

Paro

I always wondered what it would be like to live in a country where the right to strike was constitutionally protected. In my high school communist/syndicalist days, I saw unionization as the solution to all economic problems. Later, as I adopted a classical liberal perspective, I believed that they were a hinderance to the free market and hurt employers and workers alike. After a month in Argentina, I know both of these to be false. More than anything else, strikes are just annoying.

For the last two or three weeks, the University of Buenos Aires Faculty of Social Sciences (in which I take two classes) has had a combination strike/lockout. Some faculty members refuse to work, and some students "take over" the buildings, locking everyone out. They are protesting for more money and have had marches and demonstrations. But the result of their actions has not been a radical change in policy, or even a small reallocation in funds. The only result is that the university is closed. The same goes for every protest here (and there are many). They are not effective, they are not destructive, they are just obnoxious. Traffic is blocked, services are shut down and life continues with some minor inconveniences.

I understand that the right to collective negotiation is important, and after six weeks it is clear that protesting is an essential part of Argentine culture. Still after listening to professors lecture out in the street because we were locked out of the classroom and navigating alternate routes when protestors block major thoroughfares, I think the right may be slightly abused. Protesting and striking so often can only weaken a group´s message and, perhaps more importantly, severely interfere with life for the rest of us.

Hugh would be proud

I think I finally stumbled upon the Rosetta Stone of Argentine culture. Ironically enough, it was an ad broadcast during CNN´s coverage the DNC Convention. It started out with a woman wearing spandex and doing aerobics in an idyllic park-like setting. Suddenly she shatters the fourth wall, accusing the viewer of staring at her licentiously. "Don´t look at me like that! Stay five channels away!", she screams, tears filling her eyes. But the ad is not intended to create of the dangers of objectification or the destruction wreaked by a sex-crazed culture gone mad. Instead, it urges all watching to get a legitimate ogling experience from the Playboy Channnel.

This ad describes perfectly an essential part of Argentine pop culture. Women here (or at least on TV here) exist for the sole purpose of "beautifying" the world. Thus, it is perfectly normal for men to cruise channels looking for women to drool over. In fact some shows throw women in unnecessarily to attract the essential "lonely, horny men" demographic. It´s like Vanna White on "Wheel of Fortune" in every program, only with less clothes and more collagen. For anybody confused about what I mean, do a google image search for "Bailando por un sueño", one of Argentina´s most popular TV shows renowned mostly for scantily clad women. But first, make sure safe search is on. Otherwise you might as well just order the Playboy Channel.

Apparently they wanted to nationalize Aerolineas...

Last Thursday I was walking along Callao towards the subway stop at Congreso to go home and take a nap. Along the way, I ran into a protest group, which is pretty normal for Buenos Aires. For example, two days earlier twenty guys were banging drums and blocking traffic because of something involving Bayer (the aspirin guys). As such, I was initially dismissive towards the group, and kept walking.

Then I noticed the flatbed trucks and the fact that although there were only about five hundred people in the area, each had a banner that required two or three people to be carried. Before I realized what was happening, there were several thousand people marching next to me along Callao. Every Argentine labor union I had heard of (and several whose names I still wouldn´t recognize) was there, marching towards the Congress and, according to the woman in the flatbed, the government house at Plaza de Mayo. Interestingly enough, she declined to mention why the syndicalists were marching. They were present, and figuring out why was everybody else´s problem.

By the time I got to the subway, it was clear that one of the bigger protests of the year was unfolding in front of me. I couldn´t help but to think of the instructions my college in the US had provided for this type of situation: walk away before you get hurt. But I had played it safe all my life, and the only results were security and happiness. Instead, I stayed on the corner, next to a shameless politician handing out fliers, and watched thousands of union members march by.

I was transfixed by the colors and slogans, the sound from thousands of cars that had chosen the wrong day to attempt passage along Rivadavia mixing with that of fireworks barely visible in the daylight. But most interesting was that none of this interested the Argentines surrounding me. The police stood idly in their riot gear nearby, looking thoroughly bored. Some of the more curious Porteños paused for a moment to smoke a cigarette and watch before moving along. But most just dismissed the demonstration as part of everyday life in the capital. Indeed, when I made it back to my apartment the most important part of the news coverage was not that so many people had gathered in the plazas of Buenos Aires. Instead, the newscaster reported that they would probably leave within the day, but had created heavy traffic.

Upon hearing him speak, I thought of the reaction such a protest would provoke in New York or Washington. The inevitable counter protests, or at very least interest from spectators. At that moment, I began to understand what people mean when they talk about "culture shock."

A note on the title

Last week, I suddenly decided that I wanted a blog. However, being the sort of person I am, I agonized over what name my creation would take. Suddenly, I looked up at a poster, reminding students that speaking English is against program rules (technically). Confident that I had finally found an obscure enough title, I began writing.