"sense of insecurity"
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The Buenos Aires Herald posts 2 stories and an editorial each day, or at least they are supposed to. The daily updates have been more like every other day recently, making me wonder if the webpage is about to evaporate, like XAZ.com did after we paid them $100 to give life to this website.
Anyway, the Herald has been my main link to Argentine news in the past few months. Today’s 2 articles are not likely to be highlighted by the BA Chamber of Commerce, if there is such a thing.
The first details evidence that former president Carlos Menem took around $30 million, not $10 million as previously suggested, to cover up Iran’s involvement in a 1994 bombing that killed 85 people at the AMIA Jewish Community Centre. The second talks about a recent court decision that resulted in the release of 3 convicted murderers when, as far as I can gather, a judge applied a technical change to a law retroactively, not realizing the revisions to laws do not apply ex post facto. To quote the Herald,
“the case further fuelled the issue of insecurity in Argentina, where a four-year recession has contributed to a steep increase in crime, namely, the so-called “flash kidnaps.” This form of crime, consisting in swift kidnappings for a low ransom, mushroomed after banking restrictions in force since December left people almost empty-pocketed and with strongly limited withdrawals from ATMs.”
Sounds rather primitive, doesn’t it? Once again (see this item) I have to hope that the papers are focusing on pockets of chaos amid a larger, more orderly city. Still, it makes me appreciate State Street, where our biggest problems are diesel garbage truck engines every other morning.
Of course it’s crazy here, too. I still remember my first visit, arriving alone to Penn Station, moved by a pack of people towards the spinning yellow teeth of the 1-way gate that let me out of the Amtrak area and into New York City. Down into the subway (with the help of my now-lost friend Sarah) where there was a track fire, forcing us onto the street where there were no cabs because it was rush hour, then onto a bus that took us across what may have been the Williamsburg Bridge and quickly took a number of turns and confused Sarah, prompting us to get off the bus. We eventually hailed a cab whose driver didn’t speak english and didn’t know where Brooklyn Heights was, so we got out after maybe 10 blocks, finding ourselves under an el where Sarah tried payphones until one worked, allowing her to call for rescue. I remember the phone had a red “for a good time call…” sticker on it. I was carrying a suitcase, wearing a trenchcoat, and generally provoking laughter from the staff of the local bodega.
Somehow, that day, I knew I wanted to move here.
antes era oven
despues tenés jodido pero contento
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