"Nuestros Desaparecidos" /"Our Disappeared"

Yes, the disappeared of Argentina, 1975-83.

This new documentary, appearing in the LA Latino International Film Festival, brings you face to face with parents, children, and friends of a few of those who were kidnapped by secret military squads, tortured, and killed.

In any theater you sit down willing to have your mind and emotions taken on whatever rollercoaster the director of the film has in mind, but this film was a wrenching experience to watch.

Get more information at www.ourdisappeared.com. It will appear on PBS in spring of 2009, perhaps May. To be sure not to miss it, go to www.pbs.com and sign up for emails of upcoming shows. See also a review in the LA Times, "A dark chapter in Argentina's history" (9/2/2008).

If you're young or depressed, this is not the film for you, but if you identify as a world citizen responsible to know recent history and work for human rights, this film will help you to understand Argentina.

You will encounter the evil that humans and their goverments have done and are still doing. Director Juan Mandelbaum provides both human stories and political background on Peronismo, the military junta, los Montoneros, etc.

By hearing these people tell their stories, watching footage shot thirty years ago, and seeing the Escuela Mechanica de la Armada where much of the torture took place, I felt myself slipping into the feeling of terror that permeated Buenos Aires at that time.

One of the worst moments, however, was hearing Henry Kissinger say for the camera something like "We support the Argentine government's efforts to get their terrorism under control."

I was relieved to learn that when Jimmy Carter became president, US policy changed. The US Embassy in Buenos Aires began taking reports of disappeared persons and challenging Argentina's ruling junta.

Afterward the director and a young woman interviewed in the film spoke with the audience. Her parents had been killed shortly after her birth; in order to save her daughter's life, her mother had left the baby girl on grass at the Buenos Aires zoo when she saw military officers coming to arrest her.

I was too shaken up to linger and talk with these people. It was surreal to emerge from the theater into the noise of a live band and walk out on the red carpet in front of lights and cameras waiting for celebrities.

I was button-holed, however, as I stumbled out by a man who had also watched the film. He had noticed my bright blue Madres de Plaza de Mayo t-shirt proclaiming "30 anos de vida venciendo a la muerte" and struck up a conversation.

As we got acquainted, I learned that Juan Vicente Risuleo had himself left Argentina in about 1978; he too had been interrogated by police.

Now the owner of a couture bridal and evening salon in Beverly Hills, he was then a student of art history who worked in fashion design.

He described a moment thirty years ago when he had stopped briefly in a small news and snack shop one day. Looking at a fashion magazine, he felt a sudden tap on his shoulder from behind.

"Why are you looking at that magazine? Are you gay?" the apparent government agent asked.

Though he quickly talked his away out of being hauled off, it was a close call.

Today in Los Angeles he's an avid newspaper reader, alert to government deception and "inconvenient" news stories tucked into the back pages.

He recalls his professor of social history, Jose Luis Romero, saying "You need to clean the news like you clean a fish--eat it all away until you see the skeleton underneath."

More cherished advice from this professor: "Preserve your mind like it's a sacred space. Don't let anyone throw trash into your mind."

All in all, a mind-stretching night.

And then off into the chaos of tourist scene at the corner of Hollywood and Highland: two Marilyn Monroes dressed in white standing above air-blowers from under the sidewalk; a bronzed, nearly nude snake handler; noisy street music performers and their audiences.

Dazed, I tried to find my parking garage.