Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Chapter 7-The Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo part 2
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Chapter 7-The Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo part 2
The day I went to the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo my legs were shaking. I went there with a friend who held me the last few meters to the door of the building. I made my “spontaneous presentation” at the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo-which basically means that I presented myself there saying that I had suspicions that I was the daughter of a disappeared person. Back in the days there were not many of us who did it. Back then, it was apparently unusual but changed with the Kirchner presidency that came the following years and today, thanks to a lot of campaigning, it is well known what to do if one suspects to be the daughter or son of a disappeared person and wants to go to Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo.For me it was like coming out of the closet. I made myself visible, according to my family to a possible enemy. As I mentioned before, at that time you only heard stories about how they persecuted people and once they suspected that they had found a son or daughter of a disappeared person, they did not stop until they got a DNA sample from that grandchild and incarcerated the family that raised them. And of course, they had reasons for doing this.
In most cases, these babies were the children of detained-disappeared women who were pregnant and who were kept alive in clandestine detention centers until they gave birth. Sometimes these women were even tortured despite being pregnant. The dictatorship had set up a secret regulation to establish the procedure in these cases and organized clandestine maternity hospitals inside or near the clandestine detention centers, with doctors and nurses under military command. Once the delivery occurred, the mother was murdered and false documents were made for the baby, erasing its original identity. The babies were then delivered to couples who, many times, were accomplices or accessories in the murder of the biological parents and the suppression of the identity of the children. On some occasions, the children were registered as their own by the appropriators and, on others, through illegal adoptions. (Wikipedia)
For some reason and logic that I still have a hard time understanding, it made perfect sense to kill the mothers, but not the newborn babies. From what I understood, they believed that newborn babies could be saved from the left-wing ideologies of their biological parents, if they were raised by right-wing people.I don't remember if I went to The Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo once or twice that year. I do remember meeting Estela de Carlotto, the president of Abuelas, Abel Madariaga, secretary of Abuelas, and I think even Claudio Carlotto, coordinator of Conadi.I remember being able to chat a bit with Abel and Estela and feeling that I was in the presence of great souls, people with integrity, who, because of the things they had experienced and seen, had courage in their eyes. They talked to me about identity, that it was my right and that we all need to know where we come from. For the first time, I felt like someone knew what was happening to me.They asked me to bring my birth certificate so they could start an investigation and determine if there could in fact be suspicions that I was the daughter of a disappeared person. If so, they would ask me for a DNA sample to compare it with the DNA samples from the National Genetic Data Bank (BNDG) where all the samples of the relatives who are looking for the children of the disappeared by state terrorism are stored, and from all the people who suspect they are the daughters or sons of the disappeared, and have already left their sample. At absolutely no time was there any talk of coercion.A few days later I asked my dad for my birth certificate and as I said before, I don't remember much about that day, except that it was probably Sunday because the entire family was at home, and the reaction of all of them consisted more than anything in screams, anxiety, chaos and threats. I, who was never a rebel, nor a person who would ever impose my will, nor one of those who don't care about starting a conflict, did not give in and insisted on having my papers.I left my birth certificate at Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo and soon after moved to Sweden, following that Swedish Viking I fell in love with. The one who seemed so brave, wise and sure of himself. The one who, unlike the world around me, advocated for human rights.I arrived in Stockholm on June 9, 2002, four days before I saw Argentina lose in the World Cup against Sweden, which added even more to that bizarre feeling of having moved to the other side of the planet. Shortly after I settled in, I received a message from my friend Dario who was my contact with Conadi. He had been contacted by them, telling him that they had important news and that I should call them. For those who do not know what the Conadi is, it´s the National Commission for the Right to Identity, which promotes the search for sons and daughters of the disappeared and people born during the captivity of their mothers, during the last Argentine civic-military dictatorship, in order to determine their whereabouts and restore their identity. They are basically the Grandmother’s detectives, the ones who do the investigative part.I took courage and called, like someone who wants to know but doesn't really want to know. They told me that the doctor who signed my birth certificate, Dr. Bartucca, was already being prosecuted-I remember that word "prosecuted" for other cases. Since this was a strong indication that it was very possible that I was the daughter of the disappeared, they asked me to leave the DNA when I was ready to leave it. Again, no coercion.I remember sitting in the living room of that huge apartment in Kungsholmen, the area of Stockholm where we lived, in a state of shock, not knowing what to do with myself. As soon as my Swedish boyfriend got home from work I told him what had happened, but he didn't seem to understand at all what the call I had had earlier with Conadi implied. It seemed there was a good chance that I would find a biological family. In other words, if I left the DNA, my identity would be changed and a process would begin to determine what role my father and mother played in my appropriation. “This is as far as my love for justice goes” I thought “Someday, if the laws change, if I can make sure that nothing happens to my parents, I will leave my DNA”.So years went by, convinced that if I left the DNA I was going to find my biological family and at the same time terrified that I would be forced to leave it and lose so much.In the years that followed, the Argentine government changed and awareness of what happened in the last military dictatorship grew. Also awareness of women's rights and social inequality. I'm not saying this because I sympathize with any political party. The reason why I noticed a change is that my mom began to talk to me about these issues when she would call me. My mother who did not read a book unless it was about cooking recipes, who at some point questioned whether the Earth was really round and who had television characters like Mirta Legrand and Susana Giménez as a cultural reference - If you don't know who they are, well without wanting to be cruel, I can say, they have not been banners of the high culture and sophistication of the country - well, one day she began to talk about the Grandmothers and feminism. If this information and change of attitude had reached my mother, then there really had been changes in the Argentine society! Without telling anyone, every so often I would send an email to Conadi, asking if the laws had changed. It was the only thing that worried me. Was there any way that I could restore my biological past without having to destroy my present? For me, and perhaps for many others in the same situation as me, the price to pay to obtain the truth of the past was very high. Losing my identity to impose another twice in my life sounds quite unnecessary. I wasn’t a little girl that had been appropriated by a couple for a few years and would go back to my original family when this was happening. When this started I was already 23 years old, a fully-fledged woman. With all the cultural heritage of my adoptive family. A rare cross between a German hybrid because of my dad, an Austrian because of my mom and an Argentine because of the country I grew up in and my genetic heritage. Carrying a last name impossible to pronounce for most Spanish speakers and a strange love for the North European.I always absolutely adored my family. Dysfunctional as it all was, despite the violence and neglect of my parents, I loved them with my entire being, as all children love their parents. When my mom passed away from cancer in 2013, I was by her side until her last breath. And when I hugged my dad before leaving for the airport on June 30, 2022, knowing that it would be the last time I would see him alive, inside I felt like I was dying.Giving up my last name, my history, my inheritance, my family, because at the moment of my birth the chaotic world that surrounded me made the decisions in accordance with an ideology of that moment and in this way forever determined the course of my life, is a lot to ask.I was not prepared to lose so much. Then there was the matter of possible consequences for my family. I couldn't imagine them going before a judge to testify and being mistreated as they surely would be, simply because they "got the wrong baby". As my dad told me: “If I had known where you came from, I never would have adopted you. I don't agree with that ideology."So I took my time. The desire to know my biological identity was interfered with my fear of all the things I would lose if I found my origin. The right to my identity came with a huge cost.
Besides, life in Sweden kept me quite busy,trying to survive as an artist and musician. And with all that trauma on top of everything that kept me awake at night and weak during the days. Trying to live my life beyond the hurts and pains. Trying to dream and find joy in the everyday. Such a hole in my soul, I can assure you, requires a lot of energy and managing.Still to this day, trying to be happy and feel grateful for this life, for me it's a full time job.So, that whole business of taking life changing decisions?
Well, I decided to leave it for much, much later.
View all episodes
By Natalie KThe day I went to the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo my legs were shaking. I went there with a friend who held me the last few meters to the door of the building. I made my “spontaneous presentation” at the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo-which basically means that I presented myself there saying that I had suspicions that I was the daughter of a disappeared person. Back in the days there were not many of us who did it. Back then, it was apparently unusual but changed with the Kirchner presidency that came the following years and today, thanks to a lot of campaigning, it is well known what to do if one suspects to be the daughter or son of a disappeared person and wants to go to Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo.For me it was like coming out of the closet. I made myself visible, according to my family to a possible enemy. As I mentioned before, at that time you only heard stories about how they persecuted people and once they suspected that they had found a son or daughter of a disappeared person, they did not stop until they got a DNA sample from that grandchild and incarcerated the family that raised them. And of course, they had reasons for doing this.
In most cases, these babies were the children of detained-disappeared women who were pregnant and who were kept alive in clandestine detention centers until they gave birth. Sometimes these women were even tortured despite being pregnant. The dictatorship had set up a secret regulation to establish the procedure in these cases and organized clandestine maternity hospitals inside or near the clandestine detention centers, with doctors and nurses under military command. Once the delivery occurred, the mother was murdered and false documents were made for the baby, erasing its original identity. The babies were then delivered to couples who, many times, were accomplices or accessories in the murder of the biological parents and the suppression of the identity of the children. On some occasions, the children were registered as their own by the appropriators and, on others, through illegal adoptions. (Wikipedia)
For some reason and logic that I still have a hard time understanding, it made perfect sense to kill the mothers, but not the newborn babies. From what I understood, they believed that newborn babies could be saved from the left-wing ideologies of their biological parents, if they were raised by right-wing people.I don't remember if I went to The Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo once or twice that year. I do remember meeting Estela de Carlotto, the president of Abuelas, Abel Madariaga, secretary of Abuelas, and I think even Claudio Carlotto, coordinator of Conadi.I remember being able to chat a bit with Abel and Estela and feeling that I was in the presence of great souls, people with integrity, who, because of the things they had experienced and seen, had courage in their eyes. They talked to me about identity, that it was my right and that we all need to know where we come from. For the first time, I felt like someone knew what was happening to me.They asked me to bring my birth certificate so they could start an investigation and determine if there could in fact be suspicions that I was the daughter of a disappeared person. If so, they would ask me for a DNA sample to compare it with the DNA samples from the National Genetic Data Bank (BNDG) where all the samples of the relatives who are looking for the children of the disappeared by state terrorism are stored, and from all the people who suspect they are the daughters or sons of the disappeared, and have already left their sample. At absolutely no time was there any talk of coercion.A few days later I asked my dad for my birth certificate and as I said before, I don't remember much about that day, except that it was probably Sunday because the entire family was at home, and the reaction of all of them consisted more than anything in screams, anxiety, chaos and threats. I, who was never a rebel, nor a person who would ever impose my will, nor one of those who don't care about starting a conflict, did not give in and insisted on having my papers.I left my birth certificate at Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo and soon after moved to Sweden, following that Swedish Viking I fell in love with. The one who seemed so brave, wise and sure of himself. The one who, unlike the world around me, advocated for human rights.I arrived in Stockholm on June 9, 2002, four days before I saw Argentina lose in the World Cup against Sweden, which added even more to that bizarre feeling of having moved to the other side of the planet. Shortly after I settled in, I received a message from my friend Dario who was my contact with Conadi. He had been contacted by them, telling him that they had important news and that I should call them. For those who do not know what the Conadi is, it´s the National Commission for the Right to Identity, which promotes the search for sons and daughters of the disappeared and people born during the captivity of their mothers, during the last Argentine civic-military dictatorship, in order to determine their whereabouts and restore their identity. They are basically the Grandmother’s detectives, the ones who do the investigative part.I took courage and called, like someone who wants to know but doesn't really want to know. They told me that the doctor who signed my birth certificate, Dr. Bartucca, was already being prosecuted-I remember that word "prosecuted" for other cases. Since this was a strong indication that it was very possible that I was the daughter of the disappeared, they asked me to leave the DNA when I was ready to leave it. Again, no coercion.I remember sitting in the living room of that huge apartment in Kungsholmen, the area of Stockholm where we lived, in a state of shock, not knowing what to do with myself. As soon as my Swedish boyfriend got home from work I told him what had happened, but he didn't seem to understand at all what the call I had had earlier with Conadi implied. It seemed there was a good chance that I would find a biological family. In other words, if I left the DNA, my identity would be changed and a process would begin to determine what role my father and mother played in my appropriation. “This is as far as my love for justice goes” I thought “Someday, if the laws change, if I can make sure that nothing happens to my parents, I will leave my DNA”.So years went by, convinced that if I left the DNA I was going to find my biological family and at the same time terrified that I would be forced to leave it and lose so much.In the years that followed, the Argentine government changed and awareness of what happened in the last military dictatorship grew. Also awareness of women's rights and social inequality. I'm not saying this because I sympathize with any political party. The reason why I noticed a change is that my mom began to talk to me about these issues when she would call me. My mother who did not read a book unless it was about cooking recipes, who at some point questioned whether the Earth was really round and who had television characters like Mirta Legrand and Susana Giménez as a cultural reference - If you don't know who they are, well without wanting to be cruel, I can say, they have not been banners of the high culture and sophistication of the country - well, one day she began to talk about the Grandmothers and feminism. If this information and change of attitude had reached my mother, then there really had been changes in the Argentine society! Without telling anyone, every so often I would send an email to Conadi, asking if the laws had changed. It was the only thing that worried me. Was there any way that I could restore my biological past without having to destroy my present? For me, and perhaps for many others in the same situation as me, the price to pay to obtain the truth of the past was very high. Losing my identity to impose another twice in my life sounds quite unnecessary. I wasn’t a little girl that had been appropriated by a couple for a few years and would go back to my original family when this was happening. When this started I was already 23 years old, a fully-fledged woman. With all the cultural heritage of my adoptive family. A rare cross between a German hybrid because of my dad, an Austrian because of my mom and an Argentine because of the country I grew up in and my genetic heritage. Carrying a last name impossible to pronounce for most Spanish speakers and a strange love for the North European.I always absolutely adored my family. Dysfunctional as it all was, despite the violence and neglect of my parents, I loved them with my entire being, as all children love their parents. When my mom passed away from cancer in 2013, I was by her side until her last breath. And when I hugged my dad before leaving for the airport on June 30, 2022, knowing that it would be the last time I would see him alive, inside I felt like I was dying.Giving up my last name, my history, my inheritance, my family, because at the moment of my birth the chaotic world that surrounded me made the decisions in accordance with an ideology of that moment and in this way forever determined the course of my life, is a lot to ask.I was not prepared to lose so much. Then there was the matter of possible consequences for my family. I couldn't imagine them going before a judge to testify and being mistreated as they surely would be, simply because they "got the wrong baby". As my dad told me: “If I had known where you came from, I never would have adopted you. I don't agree with that ideology."So I took my time. The desire to know my biological identity was interfered with my fear of all the things I would lose if I found my origin. The right to my identity came with a huge cost.
Besides, life in Sweden kept me quite busy,trying to survive as an artist and musician. And with all that trauma on top of everything that kept me awake at night and weak during the days. Trying to live my life beyond the hurts and pains. Trying to dream and find joy in the everyday. Such a hole in my soul, I can assure you, requires a lot of energy and managing.Still to this day, trying to be happy and feel grateful for this life, for me it's a full time job.So, that whole business of taking life changing decisions?
Well, I decided to leave it for much, much later.