Hector Timerman recalls his late father's noble struggle against oppression and injustice in Argentina.
by Sue Garson
On a recent Thursday afternoon in the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, I spontaneously joined a crowd of placard-carrying Argentinians. They were marching with the Madres y Abuelos del Desaparecidos - "Mothers and Grandparents of the Disappeared." "The Disappeared" is the official euphemism for those murdered by the government during Argentina's "Dirty War" of the '70s.
The Madres have been appearing in the government plaza at the same time every Thursday afternoon for nearly 27 years. They continue to demand information about their children - many of them students at the time - who were kidnapped and murdered by the right-wing Argentine military junta. Some were kidnapped, I was told, simply because their surnames were Nussbaum, Waissman and Guinzberg.
Because these mothers are aging and dying, I wanted to hear their stories before there is no one left who remembers. These mothers spoke to me of the 400 "secret" concentration camps. Some of their children, they said, were tossed from airplanes into the sea. Official records claim that 9,000 died; the Madres and human rights groups say that figure is more than 30,000, including at least 100 journalists.
The Madres del Plaza de Mayo - and their signature white kerchiefs - are now a central icon in Argentinian culture. Even the current president, Nestor Kirchner, said recently, "We are all Madres y Abuelos of the Plaza de Mayo." Journalist Hector Timerman isn't entirely convinced of Kirchner's sincerity, but considers the Madres y Abuelos the conscience of the country. "They are the example of the pacifist fight against barbarism; they were a light of hope during the dictatorship," he says.
It was his father, journalist and publisher Jacobo Timerman, who first brought to light the atrocities of the Dirty War. The government shut down his newspaper La Opinión, (modeled after the French newspaper, Le Monde), and imprisoned and tortured him for 30 months. The Ukraine-born Timerman, who immigrated to Argentina with his family in 1928 when he was only five years old, became one of the world's most renowned political prisoners.
While Jacobo suffered, Hector traveled the world searching for humanitarian support for his father's cause and eventually sought political refuge in the U.S. There he gained the attention of Henry Kissinger, Jimmy Carter, Alexander Solzhenitzyn, and the Vatican who, along with the Anti-Defamation League, pressured Argentina for his father's release. An ardent Zionist, Jacobo had been accused of being part of an alleged conspiracy to set up a Jewish state in Southern Argentina. Thirty months later, the Argentine Supreme Court declared the charge groundless and ordered his release, stripped him of his citizenship and his property, and sent him to the airport with a one-way ticket to Tel Aviv. Within weeks, his wife and sons followed.
In Israel he completed his celebrated book, Prisoner Without A Name, Cell Without a Number. This unflinching account of his experiences was published in 1981 and a Hollywood film chronicling his experiences was released in 1983; it starred Roy Scheider as Timerman and Liv Ullman as his wife, Risha.
Unfortunately, Timerman arrived in Israel just in time for the Lebanese invasion that culminated in the massacres of civilians at Sabra and Shatila. Timerman denounced the atrocities and wrote a scathing book called The Longest War. "Psalm 137 says I should never forget Jerusalem. I have never forgotten her. With the same fervor and tenderness, I will never forget Beirut," Timerman wrote.
As he marched with Peace Now groups and continued to criticize the war, this lifelong Zionist inevitably became unpopular in Israel. After leaving Israel, he floated between New York and Madrid until democracy was restored in Argentina.
Timerman returned in 1984, testified against his torturers in 1986 and won compensation from the government. He edited another newspaper, La Razón, lectured, and wrote celebrated books about Cuba under Fidel Castro and about Chile under Pinochet. More recently, former Argentine president Carlos Menem sued Timerman for libel. These charges were also dismissed. Timerman was working on his memoirs in his Buenos Aires apartment four years ago when he died of a heart attack.
Hector is now 50 years old and bears a striking resemblance to his father. During the decade he spent in the United States, he received a graduate degree in International Relations from Columbia. "Before I came to the U.S., I believed that it was the principal enemy of humanity," he says. "Today, on the contrary, I believe it is the best society in which to live in freedom. I am a fervent admirer of your media.... Many of your journalists have become my role models."
Today Hector lives in Buenos Aires where he is a director of the Permanent Assembly of Human Rights, the oldest human rights organization in Argentina. He is also a co-founder of America's Watch Committee, which he founded while he was in exile in the States. He writes two weekly columns, lectures and has a weekly television program. His brother Daniel lives in Israel with his family. He was one of the first conscientious objectors of the war in Lebanon, for which he served time in an Israeli prison. Javier, the youngest brother, lives in New York with his family. He is director of America's Watch as well as managing director of Bear Stearns.
For the Timerman family, the '70s were rife with death threats and the occasional bombing. Hector recalls the day his father received two death threats by mail. "One was from the extreme right and the other from the extreme left. He published an article asking rhetorically which side would do it first - the Right or the Left," Hector recalls. "In Argentina, this was how we lived in the Seventies."
Like his father, Hector Timerman believes that in a country that has suffered under state repression, journalists have a responsibility to tell the truth no matter how high the risk. "He didn't want to be a hero, nor did he want to be kidnapped and tortured. But this was the price he was willing to pay for his ideals," explains Hector. "A week before he was kidnapped, he knew he was going to be arrested and he decided not to leave the country. My father viewed this as the opportunity to confront fascism - as Argentina's 'Spanish Civil War.'"
"Anti-Semitism is not like it was previously in Argentina but neither has it disappeared," continues Hector. "Even in a democracy, anti-Semitism is not always morally condemned." Today Timerman gets insulting phone calls and e-mails but there are no violent episodes.
On November 11, the fourth anniversary of Jacobo's death, I will join the Timermans in lighting a yahrzeit candle for Jacobo Timerman, passionate advocate of human rights, social justice and freedom of the press.
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