Phenomenal Justice

Violence and Morality in Argentina

Eva van Roekel

• Publisher: Rutgers University Press
• Year: 2020
• ISBN:
  9781978800281
• Topic: Politics & International Relations
• Subtopic: Politics
• Index: Politics & International Relations

How do victims and perpetrators of political violence caught up in a complicated legal battle experience justice on their own terms? Phenomenal Justice is a compelling ethnography about the reopened trials for crimes against humanity committed during the brutal military dictatorship that ruled Argentina between 1976 and 1983. Grounded in phenomenological anthropology and the anthropology of emotion, this book establishes a new theoretical basis that is faithful to the uncertainties of justice and truth in the aftermath of human rights violations. The ethnographic observations and the first-person stories about torture, survival, disappearance, and death reveal the enduring trauma, heartfelt guilt, happiness, battered pride, and scratchy shame that demonstrate the unreserved complexities of truth and justice in post-conflict societies. Phenomenal Justice will be an indispensable contribution to a better understanding of the military dictatorship in Argentina and its aftermath.

CHAPTER 1

Phenomenal Justice

A FEW WEEKS BEFORE the verdict on the five military officers that caused the considerable commotion at the federal court in Buenos Aires, Judge Carlos Espinosa received me in his despacho (office).¹ For almost four decades Espinosa had worked for the Argentinian justice system. He began in the lowest rank as a court employee and many years later he became a federal judge. With this career trajectory he knew the Argentinian judicial system very well. Espinosa said that in previous years he had presided at several trials for crimes against humanity, and he considered these trials very different from the earlier cases he had arbitrated. Our conversation that afternoon shifted continually between the technical hazards of being a judge in these large, complex cases of crimes against humanity—such as the lack of statute of limitations, little physical evidence, retroactivity, and direct and indirect offenders of the crimes amid a dense bureaucratic system—and the historical value of the current trials for new jurisprudence on international humanitarian law for Argentinian law but, most of all, for the Argentinian people, victims, offenders, and bystanders alike.

“This part of history is not closed yet,” Espinosa reflected, “it is an open wound in our society.”

Being a judge in these cases, where an important part of his own personal history was expressed, Espinosa could not be indifferent to such massive forms of suffering and said, “Being indifferent would make me not only a bad judge, but a bad person.”

As in many families in Argentina, state repression had affected the Espinosa family in diverse ways. Espinosa’s father had been a close friend of a now-indicted military officer, his niece disappeared in 1977, and his mother-in-law had been involved in the appropriation of various babies who were born in illegal detention centers. Judge Espinosa therefore had recused himself from various trials for those accused of crimes against humanity because his impartiality could reasonably have been questioned. Remaining true to his profession, Judge Espinosa hastened to say that he was still able to be objective in this trial, and he stressed that he did not consider all uniformed men in Argentina automatically guilty of the crimes. Later Espinosa reflected again on indiferencia social (social indifference) and thought it was instead culpa (guilt) people felt about what had happened during the 1970s. Espinosa considered culpa the main reason that many people in Argentina did not like to be explicitly confronted with this particularly painful past.

A DETOUR FROM TRANSITIONAL JUSTICE

For twenty months the courtrooms and legal offices at Comodoro Py Avenue in Buenos Aires were my physical point of departure. By openly addressing guilt and indifference and his intertwined professional and personal ethics, Judge Espinosa spelled out that afternoon what lies at the core of this ethnography: the significance of feelings and morality in transitional justice trajectories and their importance as driving forces for the truth, justice, and memory practices of the past four decades in Argentina. The trials for crimes against humanity in Argentina belong to protracted and complex social processes dealing with human rights violations committed during the last dictatorship that ruled from 1976 until 1983.

With two amnesty laws firmly embedded in a society that was largely indifferent regarding impunity and trauma, justice and truth for the victims was blocked for decades, during which accountability for human rights violations has been a major challenge, not only in terms of impunity and denial. Determining who is responsible for state repression remains a moral minefield today. The whole concept of human rights violations is constructed around state involvement, but at the same time human rights organizations also recognize the difficulty of establishing culpability within these blurred boundaries (Wilson 1997c, 140). But the hazardous legal and political practicalities of retributive trials about previous state-led crimes, the dynamic interactions between international humanitarian law, the international human rights movement, and Argentinian domestic law did not seem to matter the most to the people of Argentina. At stake for the Argentinians I had come to know were pain, guilt, fear, indifference, pride, revenge, shame, and remorse. Although more than thirty-five years had passed, these feelings concerning the violent past were still a flor de piel (close to the surface). The victims and the indicted military officers had not relegated their feelings to the past. In the courts people shouted and laughed, their cheeks flushed, their hearts pounded, and their eyes shed tears, as they simultaneously experienced and interpreted these reactions within a social and historical context. I therefore decided that the feelings of both the victims and the perpetrators had to be my intellectual point of departure in describing recent retributive practices in Argentina that often are called “transitional justice.”

Transitional justice refers to the set of transnational and local judicial and nonjudicial measures that are implemented by different countries worldwide to redress the legacies of massive human rights abuses. Transitional justice aims at the so-called healing of societies after collective violence and state atrocities, by embracing practices of truth, justice, and memory. Transitional justice, as a practice, has grown over the past two decades into a normalized and globalized form of intervention after civil war and political repression (Teitel 2003). Ideologically grounded in a liberal utopia, these practices aim to prevent new violence from breaking out, to establish a rule of law, and to raise respect for human rights and democratic values in these countries.²

Trials, memorial sites, truth trials, truth commissions, monuments, financial reparations, and commemorative days all contribute to the way transitional justice looks today. These different truth and justice practices have been largely categorized in restorative, reparative, and retributive justice.³ Restorative justice focuses on mediation between the victim and the perpetrator. Reparative justice focuses mainly on compensations for victims. Retributive justice generally involves prosecution. Trials have had a central place in discussions of transitional justice. For example, perpetrator-oriented trials ignore victims’ needs and subsequently harm them (Nino 1996, 122–123). Trials enable the construction of an unmistakable wall between old and new (Teitel 2000, 29). This definite “before and after” in legal accounting for atrocities has been widely challenged; a trial is just one transitional justice procedure (Arnould 2006, 156). This still growing body of literature contains greatly diverging views on methodology and epistemology, and the myriad practices of truth, memory, and justice have simultaneously been celebrated and discarded either for being too “forward-looking” or too “backward-looking.” A sense of justice (or injustice for that matter) is always lived and imagined through memories and in spaces where ideals and desires continue to meet with practical limitations (Brunneger and Faulk 2016). Ethnography of human rights practices in a broader sense also demonstrates that existential problems continue to bedevil human rights as the world continues to be marked by disjuncture and particularity (Goodale 2009, 13–16; see also Wilson 1997b). Analyses of transitional justice therefore require insights into local and alternative perceptions and experiences in the long term.

Disconnections between international legal norms and local priorities and practices frequently mark transitional justice practices, and transitional justice has itself undergone a shift toward the local (Hinton 2010; Shaw and Waldorf 2010, 3–4). Without neglecting the transnational dimension of human rights and international humanitarian law as well as the influence of globalization on local communities and societies, there now seems to be a consensus about the diversity of transitional justice trajectories around the globe; this has favored a culture-sensitive approach in the analysis of truth, memory, and justice practices. Over the past four decades, experiences and practices in Argentina have been key to localizing this debate on transitional justice.⁴ In Argentina new norms and practices have been continually invented and implemented to provide more accountability for human rights violations. Despite structural impediments that have blocked accountability for crimes, the creative and innovative force of the truth, memory, and justice practices of the human rights movement for the disappeared and their relatives has even identified Argentina as both “an instigator of the justice cascade” (Sikkink 2010), and an important contributor to global trends in transitional justice practices (Sikkink and Booth Walling 2006, 301).

Within transitional justice debates and practices not only “revenge” but also “remorse,” “forgiveness,” “trauma,” and “guilt” are often used to address the feelings of people whose lives have been affected. But how and why people experience and interpret these feelings are mostly absent in this body of literature.⁵ To my knowledge this is the first ethnography addressing the feelings of both the victims and the perpetrators of state repression in Argentina. A universal approach to feelings in transitional justice literature and reports tends to formulate a set of norms that would apply to all cultures equally. My phenomenal detour mainly aims to denaturalize these taken-for-granted ideas about feelings in transitional justice. With firm grounding in the anthropology of emotion and social phenomenology, I show instead how the nature, scope, and meaning of the feelings that underlie transitional justice practices and the lived experiences of the structural impediments and setbacks vary greatly among the victims and the now-convicted military officers in Argentina.

The pages that follow therefore contribute to the interdisciplinary debate of transitional justice and human rights violations by focusing on the recent “retributive turn” in Argentina (Skaar 2011; Varsky 2011), but the affective stories definitely go beyond that. They build further on the recent debate on post-transitional justice that allows us to study the underlying social processes of retribution and restoration in post-conflict societies (Collins 2010; Davis 2013; Laplante and Theidon 2007). Post-transitional justice mainly looks at the ways in which transitional justice and long-term injustice are felt, experienced, interpreted, and shaped by multiple actors. This allows discussions on the underlying causes of structural injustices and inequalities that belong to long-term processes of social, economic, and political configurations and relationships and the ways they shape local transitional justice trajectories. This emerging debate is a welcome move away from limited analyses of political transitions from authoritarian regimes and toward more democratic societies to understand how people live with large-scale violence and protracted suffering.

It has been tempting to label the current trials for crimes against humanity and the ongoing truth, memory, and justice practices among established and emerging groups in Argentina as “post-transitional justice.” But post-transitional justice still implies that the recent developments of retribution and memorialization in the courts of Argentina are transitory. This is not the way transitional justice is felt in Argentina. Many Argentinians involved in trial proceedings had never heard of transitional justice or were skeptical about it and linked it to concepts of impunity (Figari Layús 2015, 13). By looking at feelings from “within” and “in-between,” we become aware that transitional justice in Argentina does not mean closure or a movement away from violence and suffering (Van Roekel 2018a).

The logic of transition is deeply embedded in contemporary theorizing about violence and suffering, including transitional justice. Transition implies the act of passing from one state or place to the next and comes from the Latin word transire, which means crossing over or passing away (Oxford English Dictionary 2015). I noticed that many Argentinians experienced truth and justice practices in contrasting ways: their truth and justice acts were to keep the violence and suffering in the ongoing present, because both have not been achieved and never will be achieved. The legacies of impunity and denial will always remain and are entangled with an existential incompleteness of truth and justice creating logics aimed at continuance of memorialization, compensation, and retribution. Truth and justice are instead ongoing moral practices aimed at keeping the violence and suffering in the here and now. Obtaining justice for crimes that were committed during the civil-military regime in Argentina, for that matter, is not intended to close the past; it is an enduring practice for “justice to come” (Vaisman 2017). In other words, truth and justice have been unachieved for decades not only because of underlying structural impediments causing widespread impunity and denial but also because, existentially, truth and justice are ongoing processes of becoming.

The significance people attach to feelings should never be taken for granted in such high-stakes environments. How and why people experience feelings like remorse, anger, pain, and guilt (or not) should always be looked at from an integrated view of social mores and personal feelings both within oneself and in one’s relations with others (Jackson 2017, 7). Exploring the feelings of conflicting individuals who are drawn into truth and justice practices confirms this intersubjectivity of engaging with and in the world. The way one feels always belongs to ambiguous affective spaces within oneself and in between others and objects.

FEELINGS

This ethnography on feelings complements growing academic interest in emotions. This intellectual interest belongs to a renewed Western inclination that is highly appreciative of the affective dimensions of human life and prefers a romantic, self-reflexive, and emotional person, to a cold, calculating, and rational figure.⁶ No longer dangerous and irrational, feelings are now often valued as indisputable and as communicating one’s true self (Davies 2010, 1). From this perspective “feelings never lie” (Lupton 1998, 89). This is not a natural fact of life though. The universality of this contemporary notion of affective authenticity is rather a bourgeois invention (Jackson 1995, 130). Feelings, like any aspect of human behavior, are subject to appraisals people attach to them.

Notions such as “emotion work,” “display rules,” “constitutive rules,” and “cultural scripts” have been introduced to analyze affective life in practice, and still greatly influence the way we think and theorize about feelings in much social science research.⁷ But feelings in everyday life do not easily adhere to rules.⁸ Such conceptualizations leave too little room for variation and contestation, and they explain even less the ways people experience feelings on their own terms. The significance and locus of feelings in social life vary widely—some feelings are more significant than others, depending on context. In response, the anthropology of emotion looks at the inconsistencies, ambiguities, and transformations of historical, social, political, economic, and moral determinants of people’s feelings in everyday lives.⁹ For example, Nora Ortega de Sánchez, whose son is “disappeared,” often felt that she was not doing enough to actively “work through” her pain and guilt (see chapter 4). She definitely had trouble sticking to the “emotion work” done by many mothers whose children disappeared in Argentina.

The choice of an affective lens through which to study transitional justice was not only academically fashionable. The field itself pulled me toward feelings, which I noticed were very important to the social glue in Argentina as well as highly appreciated and socialized. In 2010, as I began my second stint of fieldwork, an Argentinian acquaintance said, “Feelings are the only truth.” His statement did not surprise anyone that night, except me. I also observed that “subjectivity” and “interiority”—notions that obstinately circle in social scientific views about feelings—were much more social and exterior in Argentina.

My Argentinian interlocutors and friends do not consider feelings individual or inward; instead feelings are vibrant social matters. From an early age many Argentinians are socialized so that feelings are easily expressed, highly valued, socially shared, and carefully analyzed on a daily basis. Despite variations in the ways Argentinians experience feelings as a result of the widespread presence of psychoanalysis, military education and training, gender ideals, migration, Catholicism, urban and rural backgrounds, and Mediterranean ancestor...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Series Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Map
• Contents
• List of Abbreviations
• Prologue: The Verdict
• 1. Phenomenal Justice
• 2. Things That Matter
• 3. Time
• 4. Trauma
• 5. Disgrace
• 6. Laughter and Play
• 7. Where Justice Belongs
• Acknowledgments
• Glossary
• Notes
• References
• Index
• About the Author