Argentina Is More Than the Worst Things Said About It
The author responds to the campaign of criticism against the country in the context of the World Cup; he urges people not to be swayed by prejudice and invites us to acknowledge our failures and continue to grow
Celebrations in Buenos Aires following the victory over England in the World Cup
Esteban Bullrich
LA NACION
There are moments when silence becomes a form of surrender.
In recent weeks, I have watched as my country—and our national football team—became the target of accusations that go far beyond criticism of unacceptable behaviour. Argentina has been portrayed as a racist nation. Some have even suggested that our national identity is somehow intertwined with Nazism.
Those words hurt.
Not because Argentina is perfect. It is not.
Like every country, we have racism, prejudice, ignorance and intolerance. We have people who say offensive things, people who discriminate and people who fail to recognise the dignity of another human being. We should never deny that reality. We must confront it honestly.
But honesty also requires us to tell the whole story.
I have admired Samuel L. Jackson for decades. His work has entertained and inspired millions of people around the world, myself included. I also respect every public figure who chooses to fight racism. Humanity needs more such voices, not fewer.
Admiration, however, does not remove the responsibility to disagree when disagreement is justified.
When public figures reduce Argentina to a caricature, they overlook a history that deserves to be known.
In 1813, when much of the world still accepted slavery as normal, Argentina passed the Free Womb Law, which declared the children of enslaved women free. Forty years later, our Constitution of 1853 abolished slavery entirely.
Those decisions came half a century before Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation and a decade before the Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery throughout the United States.
This is not a contest in moral virtue.
History should never be used to declare one nation superior to another.
The point is simpler.
Facts matter.
A nation should not be judged solely by its darkest chapter, nor by its loudest voices.
Critics often point out that Nazi war criminals fled to Argentina after the Second World War. That happened. It is a stain on our history that no serious Argentine seeks to erase.
But history also tells us that many countries—including the United States, Canada and several European nations—admitted former Nazis through various immigration programmes or intelligence operations during the Cold War. Evil exploited political circumstances across several continents.
To conclude from that reality that Argentina is ‘a Nazi country’ is as unfair as saying that the United States is defined by slavery or that Europe is defined by colonialism.
Civilisations are always greater than their mistakes.
Perhaps what saddens me most is that these accusations have emerged at a time when the world desperately needs less contempt and more humility.
Humility begins by acknowledging our own failures before condemning those of others.
Every society carries wounds.
Some countries struggle with antisemitism.
Others struggle with Islamophobia.
Others with xenophobia.
Others with police violence rooted in racism.
Others with discrimination against Indigenous peoples.
No nation has completed the task of recognising the equal dignity of every human being.
Argentina certainly has not.
But neither has anyone else.
As someone living with ALS, I depend on the kindness of others for much of my life. I can no longer speak in my own voice. I can move only my eyes. The disease has stripped me of every illusion of self-sufficiency.
It has also taught me something unexpected.
When the body becomes fragile, people cease to look like categories.
There are no conservatives helping me into bed.
There are no progressives adjusting my wheelchair.
There are no Catholics, Jews, Muslims or atheists offering me comfort.
There are only human beings serving another human being.
That is where dignity begins.
And perhaps that is also where leadership should begin.
Leadership is not the ability to win arguments.
It is the willingness to seek the truth rather than applause.
True leadership rejects racism without turning entire nations into stereotypes.
It condemns hateful words without forgetting the humanity of those who spoke them.
It remembers that justice without mercy can easily become moral self-righteousness.
Football, like politics, often magnifies our worst instincts. Passion can become arrogance. Celebration can become insult. National pride can become exclusion.
When that happens, we should apologise without making excuses.
But an apology should never require us to accept false identities imposed upon us by others.
The Argentina I know is not built on hatred.
It was built by immigrants who crossed oceans carrying little more than hope.
It was built by grandparents who escaped wars.
By Jewish families who found refuge.
By Syrian and Lebanese shopkeepers.
By Italians and Spaniards who rebuilt their lives.
By teachers, doctors, farmers, workers and volunteers who quietly serve their communities every day.
That Argentina rarely makes international news.
It should.
The deepest lesson of my illness is that none of us will be remembered for the arguments we won on social media or for the insults we directed at strangers.
We will be remembered for whether we lightened another person’s burden.
Countries deserve to be measured by the same standard.
Judge Argentina by the truth.
Judge us by our entire history.
Judge us by our willingness to acknowledge our failures and continue to grow.
But please, do not judge us by stereotypes.
The world has already suffered enough because of them.
