EsquireUK-June2018

(C. Jardin) #1

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manager César Luis Menoti later said in an
Argentinian documentary. “I was very loyal to
my team and to the people.”
For the football team, it was a turning
point. hey would go on to win again in 1986
and have retained footballing superpower sta-
tus to this day, with Lionel Messi continuing
to inspire hope of a third trophy in Russia.
he regimes in Russia today and Argentina
all those years ago are too diferent for direct
comparisons, but it is certainly pertinent
to remember the spell World Cups can cast;
diverting atention from where it might oth-
erwise be focused, strengthening control
domestically and if not presenting a cuddly
side, then at least sotening opposition to the
watching world. It’s a power football still has,
and may indeed be greater now than it was
back in 1978. he efects can also last for years.
For the “disappeared”, it took nearly 30
years before the perpetrators began to face
proper recrimination and trial. Slowly it
became one of the largest mass trials of crimes
against humaniy, before or since. Witnesses,
older and with fading memories, recounted
their testimonies of lost husbands, wives,
brothers, sisters and children. he madres had
become abuelas (grandmothers), still marching
every hursday.
Even then, intimidation of victims and
corruption still loomed. In December 2007,
Argentine coastguard officer Héctor Febres,
nicknamed “he Savage” for his vicious tor-
turing of dissidents at the naval school, was
found dead from cyanide poisoning in his
cell just four days before he was due to testiy
against former colleagues.
On 29 June 2008, Las Madres de Plaza de
Mayo arranged a commemorative match at the
El Monumental stadium for players and sur-
vivors of Argentina’s Diry War. An atempt
to provide at least some catharsis for the role
football had played in enabling the horror, it
was called “he Other Final Match — for Life
and Human Rights”.
For one of the event’s organisers, Mabel
Gutiérrez, “the 1978 World Cup was a gold
brooch for repression, a mundial [cup] that was
made to wash the faces of the murderers in
front of the world.” While many Argentinians
agree, others share Menoti’s view that the two
are separate, that it was the people’s victory, in
spite of the regime; it remains a subject many
don’t want to confront.
At he Other Final Match, the day began
outside the naval school, now a memorial to
the victims. In the stadium, where 80,000 had
celebrated their country’s first World Cup win
three decades earlier, a giant flag covered with
the names of 30,000 Los Desaparecidos was
placed where Videla and his cronies had sat
throughout the tournament. Only three play-
ers from the original squad showed up. The
stadium itself was half-full.

stadium were euphoric, but were nothing to
the party already unfolding on the crowded
streets outside.

in a world where almost every nation
claims to have the most passionate fans,
Argentina had a stronger case than most.
With a history of underperforming in major
competitions despite their status, from their
very first final in 1930 to their feeble elimina-
tion in West Germany in 1974, for their fans,
the 1978 victory had been a long time coming
and they were not going to let the opportuniy
to celebrate pass.
he horns, fireworks and songs could be
heard on the thronging streets outside the
Navy Petty-Officers School of Mechanics.
The guards were in celebration mode, too.
Around 20 prisoners had watched the game
with them, less than a handful of whom
would survive to tell the tale. hey had seen,
on a tiny black-and-white television, the tri-
umphant General Jorge Rafaél Videla and
his depuy Emilio Eduardo Massera handing
over the famous trophy to the Argentine cap-
tain Daniel Passarella.
Some of these prisoners were taken on
a macabre field trip by their guards, escorted
into a Peugeot 504 in which they were driven
among the jubilant masses, before dining
at a raucous pizza restaurant. Graciela Daleo
was one of them. She asked if she could put
her head through the sunroof of the car. “I
stood up on the seat and looked at that mul-
titude,” she recalled decades later. “hat was
another moment of terrible solitude. I was
crying. I was certain that if I began to shout
that I was a ‘disappeared’, then no one would
even notice.”

the ™unta stayed in power for five more
years. It’s estimated that a total of 30,000 peo-
ple were killed in its seven-year reign, with
5,000 abducted and held captive at the Navy
Petty-Officers School of Mechanics and an
unknown number going “missing” even as the
tournament was played out.
Many Argentinians, the players included,
would say that they hadn’t realised the scale
until much later. Ardiles for one admited to
believing the junta’s propaganda, with its care-
fully worded slogan to counter international
critics and play on football's innate patriotism,
“We Argentines are right and human”.
“There is no doubt that we were used
politically,” said Ricky Villa, who would
become the player most vocal in his regret.
Leopoldo Luque now believes the tourna-
ment should never have been played. Alberto
Tarantini made his own statement by shak-
ing Videla’s hand with the one he’d just used
to wash his genitals. “I have nothing to regret,”

Esquire — June 2018 93

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