Don't Cry For Me, Argentina (Elections on April 27)

Lamento a caida do povo que era uma vez, nobre.

"My guess is that the last disaster came with a Radical Civic Union President, but still..."

Can you explain what this means, Fbaezer?

There are two big historical parties in Argentina. The Unión Cívica Radical, which would be classified as a liberal party in American terms, and the Partido Justicialista, founded by General Juan Domingo Perón, who gathered around the controversial President's populist agenda, and which has many "currents", ranging from extreme right (the "Wizard" López Rega and Isabelita Perón, in the seventies) to extreme left (Montoneros guerrilla). Besides those two parties, there are a few Socialist parties, many of them trotskyte.

Last election were won by the UCR in alliance with Frepaso (a conglomerate of some left wing groups), and Fernando de la Rúa became President.
During his tenure, financial crisis exploded -the Argentinian peso was pegged to the dollar, and a deep recession was the prize for not having inflation- and the government decided to freeze all dollar deposits in banks (the "corralito"), panic ensued and peso deposits were also frozen. The economy plummeted and the Peronista controlled parliament overthrew -in a not very institutional way- president De la Rúa. Argentina had 4 presidents in two weeks, (De la Rúa, his vicepresident and Rodríguez Saá, the head of the lower house, and, finally, Peronista governor and big boss of the Buenos Aires popular suburbs, Miguel Duhalde). The Argentinian peso collapsed, and the IMF intervened to stabilize Argentina's economy, at the expense of more draconian measures.

I see - thank you.

First round results:

The next President will be Peronista.
Carlos Menem 24% and Néstor Kirchner 22%, go into the second round.

Some say giving Menem a chance is like if Americans gave Nixon a second chance in 1980. Only Menem was a Nixon on spying scandals, more than Bush on corruption scandals (illegal weapon sales to Croatia and Ecuador; unclear assignation of privatized industries), more than Clinton on sex-familiar scandals (his wife divorced him while in office, his son was killed in a strange accident; he is now married to a former Miss Universe) and a Hervert Hoover on economic performance (with a plus: public debt grew tenfold during his tenure).

Kirchner stands a bigger chance to win. But he knows that it will not be people voting for him, but against Menem.

I'm cheering for the counter vote.

I'm confident Kirchner shall win. But anyway, Menem rose from his ashes like a phoenix.

RELATED MATTER: ELECTIONS IN PARAGUAY

On april 27th Presidential elections were also held in Paraguay. The winner, with 38% of the vote, was Nicanor Duarte, from the officialist Colorado (Red) Party.
The Colorados have been in power since 1947 (including the long Colorado dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner). The opposition was divided. The Liberals got 23% of the vote, and the Independents 22%.
Duarte says his first task is to balance the budget.

Paraguay is one of the poorest South American countries (only Guyana, Ecuador and Bolivia fare worse), with a percapita GDP (at purshasing parity) of $4,600 a year (that's less than half than Argentina, for example).

MENEM RESIGNS, NO SECOND ROUND, KIRSHNER IS THE NEW PRESIDENT OF ARGENTINA

Carlos Menem managed to do the most harm to Argentinian institutions by withdrawing for the presidential ballotage due for next sunday.
Polls were giving Kirshner -second place in the first round of elections- a lead of between 40 and 56 points.
Now he's the new President with the 22% of the first round vote.

http://www.nytimes.com/2003/05/15/international/americas/15ARGE.html

Sigh, I doubt Argentina will see the sun...

Now there is talk that, since there was no second round, Congress has to approve Kirshner, and that Menem may be moving some puppets there.

(sigh)

Que lastima....

LA CASA DESAPARECIDA

Fito Paez

Madre ponme en la chaqueta las medallas
los zapatos ya no me los puedo poner
mis dos piernas se quedaron en Malvinas
El mal vino no me deja reponer de la nítida y oscura pesadilla
de Valeria Mazza besando al cordobés
que murió estaqueado, solo, entre los cuervos desangrado
En Resistencia aquí en los dos de abriles brindamos por él

Argentinos, argentinos
Que destino mi amigo, argentinos
nadie sabe responder
Argentinos, argentinos
caminando siempre al lado del camino
la ventaja de no pertenecer

Abrazada en la tribuna con cualquiera
cuando Boca está en mi boca
en mi boca de mujer
Entre el tetra hirviendo, el porro y las anfetas
dale Boca, dale Boca, dale Boca
dale Boca tenga fe
que la guerra está perdida y de esto ya hace tiempo
y esto todos lo sabemos, que le vamos a hacer
Te regalo la bombacha transpirada
si hoy ganamos la copa 4 a 3

Argentina, Argentina
que pasó en la Argentina
es la casa desaparecida
Argentina, Argentina
bienvenidos a casa Argentina,
a la desaparecida

Soy paragua de la villa 21
yo te la mamo, yo te hago todo lo que vos querés
El sargento Ibarra se me ha enamorado
los domingos paga el whisky y el hotel
y yo le robo la pistola cuando duerme
y me voy a Godoy Cruz, a Godoy Cruz y Santa Fe
a cuidar de la Ramona y de los pibes
que te besan, te roban, te cuidan entre las vías del tren

Entre Rosas y Sarmiento, Don Segundo y Martín Fierro
la barbarie y los modales europeos
el país de los inventos, Maradona,
los misterios del lenguaje metafísico del gran resentimiento
Bienvenidos inmigrantes a este paraíso errante
ya se sabe que el que no arriesga no gana
Y esa casa que dejaron escapando entre las balas
era el caldo del cultivo a la nostalgia
En el reino del silencio cavernario de oropeles
un concilio de miserias, de rodilla en los cuarteles
Y hubo una fiesta de todos, embriagada, delirante
no te metas, algo habrá hecho ese maleante
Yo volví con Onganía y la cosa aún seguía
Aristócratas patricios y Patricias de Anchorena
tan católicos mamones, protagonistas sin roles
yento tras de un socialismo patriotero, indicalista
preparados todos para aterrizar en pista
ya vacíos los aviones, transformados en camiones
de intereses, balas tristes
y vecinas que no entienden que ha pasado
en este barrio tan tranquilo, tan callado y quien dió la orden de cambiar el
mundo
de leer Antena en la peluquería
a jamás volver a sentir alegría
Madres muy desesperadas cocinaban y planchaban
hoy sus hijos son caníbales fantasmas
Los cadáveres se guardan o se esconden en el río
en palacios de memoria ensangrentada
Y tenemos pijas grandes, largas como mil facones
y anacrónicas arengas, melancólicas uniones
La bandera enloquecida, maten a los maricones
que los hombres van de putas para sentirse varones

Siempre el padre omnipresente de mirada contundente
que escondía un seductor muy asexuado
Gracias papi por las flores, por las reivindicaciones
vos sabés los hijos nunca te fallamos
Y si mami aún viviera, hoy sería jardinera
en el Cementerio Club de las pasiones
Yo que nunca anduve en nada, nunca me metí en política
simplemente fuí un muchache hedonista
y chiquitos y chiquitas inocentes con un arma
por el odio mas brutal descuartizados
El mas fuerte penaliza, pega duro, te hace trizas
nada personal, naturaleza humana
Los poderes organizan cual será la repartija de los bienes de la época

Nadie se puede salvar, nadie se puede salvar

Sigo vivo, sigo atento, y observando con el tiempo
esta extraña enfermedad inclasificada
que te afecta muy deprisa, que te quita la sonrisa
cuyo síntoma es que ya no importa nada

Argentino hasta la muerte,
la patilla de Facundo recortada de la Gente, de la Caras

Y seguir comiendo mierda, cada día, cada noche
y explicarle al mundo entero nuestra nada de la historia universal
de la argentina ensimismada
que contiene enciclopedia de uno mismo
y encender con la birome palabritas en el cielo,
en el campo las espinas
y en el centro de mi pecho hay un bicho que camina

Hoy la casa de mi infancia ya no existe ni hace falta
yo la llevo bien adentro en mis entrañas
toda llena de colores y de desapariciones
muy tempranas, muy profundas, muy amargas

Nada ha desaparecido
ni la casa con 10 pinos
ni mi amor, ni la zamba de mi esperanza
Es que el mundo es muy cretino
pero puede ser divino, si yo quiero
porque nada en este mundo me hace falta
Nada mas que algunos trucos
un conejo, una galera, un colchón, un tocadisco y una mesa
Y es posible que los hijos puedan cambiar lo que hicimos
y la casa nunca mas desaparezca

Argentinos, argentinos,
Qué destino mi amigo, argentinos
nadie sabe responder
Argentinos, argentinos
caminando siempre al lado del camino
la ventaja de no pertenecer

Argentina, Argentina
que pasó en la Argentina
es la casa desaparecida
Argentina, Argentina
donde todo es mentira, Argentina, la desaparecida
bienvenidos a la casa de todos
a la casa desaparecida
bienvendos a aparecer en este mundo
Argentina la desaparecida

Coitados.....

THE DISSAPPEARED HOUSE

Fito Paez

Mother, put my medals in the jacket,
I can not put my shoes on anymore,
my two legs remained in Malvinas (Falkland)
The bad wine does not let me be cured of the sharp and dark nightmare
of Valeria Mazza kissing the Cordoban
who died at the stake, alone, bleeding to death among ravens.
Here in Resistencia we toast in his honor every April 2nd.

Argentinians, Argentinians,
What a destiny, my friend, Argentinians
no one knows how to answer
Argentinians, Argentinians
always walking at the other side of the road,
the advantage of not belonging

Embraces in the stands with anyone,
when Boca is on my mouth
on my womanly mouth
Among the boiling tea, the joint, the amphetamines
go Boca, go Boca, go Boca
go Boca have faith
that the war is lost and a long time gone
and we all know it, what can we do.
I give the perspired t-shirt
if today we win the cup 4 to 3

Argentina, Argentina
what happened in Argentina
it is the dissapeared house
Argentina, Argentina
welcome home, to Argentina,
to the dissapeared one.

I'm a male hooker on villa 21
I'll suck it to you, I'll do anything you want
Sargento Ibarra fell in love with me,
he pays whiskey and hotel on sundays
and I steal his pistol in his sleep
and I go to Godoy Cruz and Santa Fe
to take care of Ramona and the children
who kiss you, rob you, take care of you among the railways

Between Rosas y Sarmiento, Don Segundo y Martín Fierro
barbariousness and European manners
the country of inventions, Maradona,
the mysteries of the metaphysicial language of big resentment
Welcome, inmigrants, to this wandering paradise
it is known that to win you must risk it all.

And that house somebody left fleeing from the bullets
was the cultivation disc of nostalgia

In the caveman's tinsel realm of silence
a council of miseries, kneeling in front of the military quarters
And there was a party for every one, drunk, delirious,
don't peep, the sccoundrel must have done something.

I came back when Onganía and things were still the same.
Patrician aristocrats and Patricias de Anchorena
so Catholic and conceited, featuring without a role
going behind a patriotistic socialism, unionism.

Everyone ready for landing
with the planes gone empty, turned into buses
of interests, sad bullets
and neighbor women who don't understand what's happened
in this neighborhood so quiet, and who gave the order to change the world,
to read Antena at the barbershop,
to never feel happiness again.

Very desperate mothers cooked and ironed.
Today their children are cannibal ghosts
Corpses are retained or hidden in the river,
in palaces of bloodied memory.

And we have long dicks, long as a thousand killing knives
and anachronical speeches, melancholic unions.
The maddened banner, kill the faggots,
men go to whores to feel they are male.

Always the everpresent father of bruising glance
hiding a very sexless seducer.
Thank you daddy for the flowers, for the social demands,
you know your children never failed you.

And if mommy was still alive, today she'd be a gardener
in the Cemetery Club of Passions.

I who was never into nothing, never mingled with politics,
and was only a hedonist boy
And innocent little boys and girls with a weapon
torn to pieces by the most brutal hatred

The strongest one penalizes, hits you hard, tears you to pieces,
nothing personal, human nature
The powers organize the division of the epochal goods.

No one can be saved. No one can be saved.

I am still alive, attentive, and observing with time
this strange unclassified illness
that affects you very fast, takes away your smile
and whose sympthom is that you don't care at all

Argentinian to death,
the sideburn of Facundo cut from the people, from the faces

And to keep on eating ****, every day, every night,
and to explain to the whole world our nothingness in the universal history
of selfcentered Argentina
containing enciclopedias of oneself
and to light with the writing pen little words on the sky,
the thorns on the fields,
and inside my chest a crawling insect.

The house of my childhood does not exist and is not needed
I carry it well inside my entrails
all full of colors and dissapearances
very early, very deep, very bitter.

Nothing has dissapeared,
not the house with ten pines,
nor love, nor the dance of my hopes.
The world is very stupid,
but it can be divine if I want to,
because I need nothing in this world
except a few tricks,
a rabbit, a shelter, a matress, a record player and a table
And it's possible that our children can change what we did
and the house will not dissapear anymore

Argentinians, Argentinians,
What a destiny, my friend, Argentinians
no one knows how to answer
Argentinians, Argentinians
always walking at the other side of the road,
the advantage of not belonging

Argentina, Argentina
what happened in Argentina?
It is the dissapeared house
Argentina, Argentina
where everything is a lie,
Argentina, the dissapeared one
Welcome to everyone's home,
to the dissapeared house.
Welcome to appear in this world,
Argentina, the dissapeared one


[This is the main song of the best selling record in Argentina in 2002]

It is so sad that even the Brazilians felt bad for them.

A Tango, we are going to need an Argentinean who explains this
CAMBALACHE

Que el mundo fue y será una porqueriá, ya lo sé . . .
En el quiniento seis y en el dos mil también.
Que siempre ha habido chorros, maquiavelos y estafaos,
contentos y amargaos, varones y dublé.

Pero que el siglo veinte
es un despliegue de maldad insolente
ya no hay quien lo niegue.
Vivimos revolcaos en un merengue
y en el mismo lodo
todos manoseaos . . .

Hoy resulta que es lo mismo ser derecho que traidor . . .
ignorante, sabio, chorro, generoso o estafador.
Todo es igual.
Nada es mejor.
Lo mismo un burro que un gran profesor.
No hay aplazaos ni escalafón,
los inmorales nos han igualao.
Si uno vive en la impostura y otro roba en su ambición,
da lo mismo que sea cura, colchonero, rey de bastos, caradura o polizón.


Qué falta de respeto.
qué atropello a la razón.
Cualquiera es un señor.
Cualquiera es un ladrón.
Mezclao con Stravinsky va Don Bosco y La Mignon,
Don Chicho y Napoleón,
Carnera y San Martín.

Igual que en la vidriera irrespetuosa
de los cambalaches se ha mezclao la vida
y herida por un sable sin remache
ves llorar la Biblia contra un calefón.

Siglo veinte cambalache
problemático y febril.
El que no llora no mama
y el que no afana es un gil.
Dale nomás! Dale que va!
Qué allá en el horno nos vamo a encontrar.
No pienses más,
sentate a un lao.
Que a nadie importa si naciste honrao.
Es lo mismo el que labura noche y día como un buey
que el que vive de los otros,
que el que mata,que el que cura,
o está fuera de la ley.

Enrique Santos Discépolo

I'm no Argentinian, but "Cambalache" is a classical.

There no happy tango. "Cambalache" is no exception.

Some of the words ("dublé, "calefón", "gil") are in Lunfardo, the Buenos Aires slang. One just imagines what they mean, according to the context.

"Cambalache" is cheap barter. The cheap barter of values in the XX Century ("problematic and feverish").

"Life is crap and will always be...

no one cares if you were born honorable.
Tthe one who works day and night like an ox
is the same than the one who lives from others,
the one who kills, the one who heals
or the one who is outside the law"