Alternate History: The Decapitating Revolution
In mid-1955, Argentina was a deeply fractured nation. Juan Domingo Perón had dominated the political scene for almost a decade, leading a government that had radically transformed the country since coming to power in 1946. From the perspective of the working class and the labor movement, the country was experiencing a period of unprecedented social inclusion. Perón had institutionalized labor rights, or, to put it more accurately, had convinced the population that labor laws originated from their own labor. Thus, a robust social safety net had been created, and workers had been empowered as key political actors. The Eva Perón Foundation, even after Evita's death, maintained its welfare-oriented approach among the poorest sectors of society. The economy, however, was experiencing turbulence: the exhaustion of the import-substitution industrialization model, external constraints, rampant inflation, and dwindling reserves were beginning to generate tensions. Even so, the union apparatus and the Peronist machinery maintained a strong capacity for mobilization and resistance. For millions, Perón was the legitimate leader who had dignified the people and embodied a new form of social justice.
At the other end of the spectrum, a significant portion of society—comprising sectors of the middle class, the business elite, broad sectors of the Church, liberal intellectuals, and a large part of the Armed Forces—considered Peronism an authoritarian, populist, and corrupt regime. They accused the government of having co-opted the state apparatus to consolidate a cult of personality, persecute opponents, control the press, and degrade republican institutions. Education had been subverted, transforming everything from kindergarten to high school into a full-fledged cult of personality surrounding the leader. The only ones who resisted were the universities, the intellectuals, and the scientists. Tensions with the Church, particularly after the elimination of religious holidays and the legalization of divorce, escalated to the point of severing a relationship that had been allied in the early years. The political climate became suffocating: newspapers were shut down, censorship was imposed, political parties were banned, and the discourse became increasingly militarized. For the opposition, the defense of the "Republic" justified the use of extreme means, and the most conservative sectors viewed the idea of a military coup as the only way out of the "Peronist onslaught" with growing sympathy.
In this tense and polarized context, the bombing of June 16, 1955, marked a point of no return. The failed assassination attempt, which left more than 300 civilians dead in Plaza de Mayo, demonstrated that the political struggle had crossed the threshold into violence. Three months later, with a military uprising consolidating from Córdoba and the country on the brink of civil war, Perón understood that his continued presence would only mean more bloodshed. On September 19, he submitted his resignation and went into exile, leaving a power vacuum that the Liberating Revolution would rush to fill with proscriptions, persecutions in the form of seeking justice for abuses, and an uncertain promise of "recovered republicanism."
The Flight and Aftermath
Juan Domingo Perón's flight in September 1955 was as dramatic as it was revealing of the political collapse gripping the country. After weeks of escalating instability, with military uprisings from within the country and increasingly weakened support within the Armed Forces themselves, Perón realized that his continued hold on power could trigger an open civil war. On September 19, he submitted his resignation in a letter to General Franklin Lucero, the Minister of the Army, invoking his desire to avoid a "fratricidal catastrophe." From that moment on, a silent but carefully executed withdrawal began.
The general who carried out the execution was Perón, as this clearly states.
Perón spent that night at the Unzué Palace, his official residence, from where he secretly departed at dawn on September 20. In another letter, to his aide-de-camp, he asked him to bring a list of items from his house, including photos of his 15-year-old lover. He was taken to the Navy arsenal in Río Santiago, where he remained hidden under naval protection, disguised in a sailor's uniform to avoid being recognized. From there, he was taken by launch to a Paraguayan ship anchored in the Río de la Plata—the Paraguay, a diplomatic gunboat—which transported him under political asylum to Asunción, with the approval of Paraguayan President Alfredo Stroessner.
Paraguay was merely a stopover. Perón spent a few days there in precarious conditions and under the constant threat of being handed over to the new Argentine military command. Determined to avoid that possibility, he quickly sought a safer destination. He first traveled to Panama, a country that traditionally offered asylum to Latin American exiles, and from there began a long journey that would later take him to Nicaragua, Venezuela, and finally to his longest exile in Spain, under the Franco regime.
In those early days, however, Perón's exile was neither comfortable nor safe. He traveled with provisional documents, without guarantees of stable diplomatic protection, and in many cases had to rely on the help of personal friends, contacts within the Peronist movement, and allied Latin American governments. Meanwhile, in Argentina, the so-called Liberating Revolution was beginning, promising to restore the "republic" but quickly adopting a systematic policy of proscription, persecution, and repression against Peronism, which would seal the country's political fracture for decades.
EMcL