Caroline Williams ’25 – Blog Post #3

I spent my final weeks in La Plata working with the Programa Salud Mental and the Programa de intervenciones complejas y colectivas (PICC). On my first day working with the Salud Mental team, I met with my direct supervisor, Melina. She is phenomenal.

In the previous weeks, I had mentioned that I wanted to work with the Salud Mental team, but as they are a very new aspect of the CPM, I did not know if that would be possible. However, in the final weeks, I had the opportunity to work with the Salud Mental team, and I could not be more pleased with my experience. The individuals encompassing this team -as true with all of the people I met within the CPM- were incredibly welcoming. Their kindness and patience helped me adjust to the often-heavy topics we covered.

In preparation for an interview, I researched a man diagnosed with schizophrenia. I read his information from past interviews and tribunal proceedings in Savit. His mother was significantly involved in his case and routinely visited the CPM to see how her son’s case was progressing. This man’s case exemplified faults within mental health care, especially how it compares to law. Victims are not receiving adequate treatment, and unless their families are heavily involved -outside of the CPM- there are no safeguards to enforce the Right to Mental Health Protection (law 26.657) and Patient Rights in their Relationships with Health Professionals and Institutions (law 26.529).

In this image, the courtyard inside the medium-security neuropsychiatric hospital that I visited can be seen. While it is well-maintained and beautiful, the hidden context is quite disturbing. This area is tended by those in the hospital who work as the gardeners of this area; however, no one who is being treated in the hospital is allowed usage of this space. The benches in the background have likely never been used. Some of the men in the neuropsychiatric hospital are allowed usage of another courtyard, which I saw in passing that is a concrete slab enclosed by a barbed wire fence.

The Salud Mental team is documenting how each case evolves, which is crucial in implementing change. By having longevity in their data recorded through Savit, the CPM can use this to institute necessary changes.

Two mental health team members and I visited Neuropsychiatric Hospital Unidad 34 to conduct interviews. This hospital was medium-security; inside, it looked and functioned like a prison. Upon arrival, the subdirector brought us into his office to discuss the hospital and our reason for being there. He said that this facility has no sobrepoblación (overpopulation). Everything I observed in the subdirector’s office, the hospital exterior, and the courtyard was well-kept and clean. This neuropsychiatric hospital is only for men, and the staff varies in gender. Inside the neuropsychiatric hospital was a waiting vestibule with numerous paintings and sculptures. While waiting for admittance into the interview room, my supervisors pointed out that the art and the courtyard were not accessible to those within the neuropsychiatric hospital.

The interview room was old and dirty; it did not have a sufficient door to ensure privacy. Similar to the interview room in the women’s annex in UP N૦ 8, the door to the interview room did not shut. Additionally, the window on the door had no glass, meaning the officers who sat just feet away were privy to every word.

During the visit, we could only interview one of the victims, as the man diagnosed with schizophrenia was with his therapist and was not present. The man we interviewed expressed his need for a specific diet as he had a colostomy (stomach bag) that sometimes made it challenging to eat solid foods. He wanted access to a liquid diet when necessary. Unfortunately, the staff were not cooperative with his needs as he had not yet been physically diagnosed with requiring this specific diet. Additionally, he mentioned that his room is very humid and experiences a range of extreme temperatures; this is concerning as it can create problems in sleep cycles, leading to mental health problems in the future. Therefore, the Salud Mental team keeps a detailed log of this man in Savit, as this case can alter, and he may require their aid.

Following the interview, I read the post-informe written by one of my colleagues on the Mental Health Team. I added information about the victim’s need for a liquid diet and how the team needed to maintain a close watch on that in the future; this will remain in Savit as formal documentation about this victim’s history. Since the Mental Health team was so new and made up of a small group, I could garner a lot of information and work directly with my supervisors, which was invaluable to me. I mentioned to my supervisor, Mercedes, that working with this team should be necessary for future internship cohorts as it offered a very engaging opportunity to see first-hand how mental health law functions in a different country.

My time with the PICC team (Programa de intervenciones complejas y colectivas) was short; however, very interesting. I read four ongoing case studies of victims and how they are being impacted by Argentina’s penal system. Of these cases, I recall one quite clearly. When an incarcerated woman went to the hospital to have her child, she was forced to leave her child behind since the child had a heart defect while she returned to prison. Another incarcerated woman was diagnosed with stage-4 cancer; she is in a lot of pain and has a nonexistent quality of life. PICC is working to get her released from prison to serve the rest of her life and prison sentence in her home.

The day after this, my cohort visited former Police Station N૦ 1 in Pergamino. This site of memory is for the seven men who died during a protest in which they lit a piece of their prison mattress on fire. Unfortunately, the bed was flammable, and the police officers did nothing to help and delayed calling for aid. All of the men in the cell died.

Following this visit marked the conclusion of my internship. It was bittersweet as I immensely enjoyed working at the CPM. During my time in Argentina, my Spanish fluency grew exponentially. I am very grateful to every member of the CPM who was so gracious and patient as I learned new vocabulary words and colloquialisms. Leaving my homestay was a tough goodbye; it felt like leaving my family behind. I adore them, and I am incredibly grateful for all they did for me during my stay and to William & Mary for allowing me to pursue this unparalleled opportunity.

Adiós Argentina, hasta la próxima.

This image portrays the asymmetrical government building, Casa Rosada, in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

The image of the church, El Ateneo, and Two Dancers in Yellow and Pink by Edgar Degas (exhibited in the National Museum of Fine Arts Buenos Aires) were all seen during a tour of Buenos Aires that the CPM took my cohort on.

As a collegiate rower at William & Mary, I searched high and low for a rowing club in La Plata, Argentina. Unfortunately, it was not until the last week when my teammate came to Argentina in the semester cohort that we were able to find one. Most interestingly, the club was in the shape of a boat.

Inside the Pergamino former police station, a site of memory to memorialize the seven men who died here due to state negligence. As you can see, the ceiling and outside the building are covered in soot from the deadly fire.

Outside, there were beautifully vibrant murals in the Pasaje de la Memoria that represented the history of Argentina

In my last week I got a haircut (at Alaska Peluquería) -the ultimate test in Spanish fluency. I absolutely love it!

My host family and I in front of the obelisk in Buenos Aires!

Caroline Williams ’25 – Blog Post #2

Visiting Pozo de Quilmes, a previous clandestine detention center, at the start of my second week in Argentina also marked the beginning of my internship with the Mecanismo.

Following an onboarding process in which I gained an overview of Argentina’s penal institutions, I began my work with the Programa Recepción de denuncias. Within this program, I worked with the team responsible for being the primary point of contact for individuals or family members calling on their behalf who were experiencing human rights violations while incarcerated. I quickly learned that “torture” is highly nuanced, and various situations can qualify as human rights abuses that, for me, have always existed beneath one umbrella word: torture. It is critical, however, to document all human rights violations so that when the presiding judge receives their case, they will be presented with substantial evidence and documentation, hopefully affecting a change.

Here is one of my supervisors, Melina, and me at the start of my internship with the Mecanismo unit. She was instrumental in my gaining a good grasp of Argentina’s penal institutions and answered any questions I had about the coming process.

Concerningly, aislamiento (solitary confinement) was among the most frequent human rights violations I saw while recording information into a computer program called Savit. Additional violations included unsafe or precarious electrical connections within cells and shared spaces leading to high electrocution risks; and little to no access to medical treatment. In some instances, anesthesia was withheld as a manner of torture.

This site of memory previously functioned as a clandestine detention facility. Located in an unassuming house, this facility was where numerous desaparecidos (disappeared individuals) were housed during the dictatorship. The atrocities committed here were exceptionally grave and included living in dirty conditions, being exposed to extreme weather, and having no medical care. Of the women held here, some were pregnant, and their children are among the disappeared. Following the dictatorship, Quilmes functioned as a detention center until 2016. The image is the opening of a cell; the ceiling above offers no protection from the elements. Written on the colored strips of ribbon are phrases of memory.

After working with the Programa Recepción de denuncias, it was time to move into the next stage of my internship: Programa Inspección de lugares de encierro. I read various Informes (reports) within this team and a writ of Habeas Corpus. Before visiting Unidad Penitenciaria N॰8 -a prison annex for women- I created a Pre-Informe, which included an overview of the prison’s past human rights violations and information about the women to be interviewed.

This image was taken inside Casa Mariani-Teruggi, a memory site that did not function as a clandestine detention center. There was not a space inside the house that was not touched in some way by State terrorism; through the wall, the victims of this attack are memorialized by photographs. The two large pictures are of Diana and Daniel, the parents of Clara Anahí, who is now amongst the desaparecidos. Daniel’s mother, Chicha Mariani, fought to find her granddaughter until her death in 2018.

When I first entered UP N॰8, I was met with a religious statuette. Outside of the Cathedral de La Plata, I had not seen many religious symbols or paraphernalia in the city; however, there were cross symbols in the doorways throughout the prison. I wanted to explore whether this was a common occurrence in other prisons or an exclusive circumstance. Upon further discussions with my host family, I learned that these religious symbols are not for those detained, but rather for those who work there -as they only exist within the entrance of the prison. Among those detained, Evangelism is more common than Catholicism; and is practiced more often in male prisons. A popular saint is Gauchito Gil who is present in many of the prisons; while he is not recognized by any church, he is a saint amongst people.

This image shows the entrance to UP women’s annex 8. Can you see the hidden doorway?

While waiting for my supervisor, Juan Introzzi -the Director of the Programa Inspecciónes, I watched as a police truck pulled up to the main entrance, and four SPB officers exited the vehicle and escorted a woman, in handcuffs, through the door. This scene was the first time in my life that I had watched someone in handcuffs escorted into prison.

I did not see a female doctor during my entire time in prison -over four hours. I did, however, see numerous male doctors, which struck me as odd since the prison’s only occupants are women.

Outside of the three women interviewed, I also met with a few women in the center for students. In this section of the annex, women can work towards achieving a degree through the local university while having access to at least four computers and numerous learning materials. For a moment, it was as if we were not in jail and these women were fellow students until we were interrupted by an SPB agent slamming open the door. Unfortunately, this interruption was not a one-off. While the interviews were being conducted, the shadow of an SPB officer could be seen -during the entire duration of the discussions- beneath the door. This door was completely insufficient for privacy. It was broken and not entirely flush with the floor and connected the interview room to the SPB agents’ breakroom. At one moment, a cup fell on the floor and rolled under the door. While the SPB agent vocally apologized, they reached under the door to retrieve the missing kitchenware, further disrupting the interview. Sadly, this incident did not startle the women being interviewed, as one of the women said, “Pasa todo el tiempo” (“It happens all the time”).

The next day, I wrote a Post-Informe detailing the interviews with the women and my interactions with the prison in general. Next week, I will begin the latter portion of my internship and begin work with the Programa Salud mental.

In my free time these past two weeks, my host family held an asado with the other William & Mary human rights interns and took me to a Santiago Motorizado concert! I visited the top of the Cathedral La Plata and the museum below. Fati and Lucho have been invaluable to me in terms of their aid in adapting to the culture and learning the nuances of Argentine Spanish. I am delighted to be immersed in this family and my day-to-day life here in Argentina; I am not looking forward to leaving.

Here I am at the top of the Cathedral La Plata. There were two stops on the elevator, and in this picture, I believed I was at the top only to step onto the elevator expecting to go down and going up once more! This was an incredible view, and in the courtyard was an enormous handkerchief symbolizing the grandmothers of La Plata who searched tirelessly for their disappeared family members. Additionally, our guide told us that the four statues in the courtyard below all represent a season. It just so happened that on the day this image was taken, La Plata was experiencing a “mini summer,” with a temperature of almost 80 degrees; most other days, it has been quite cold as it is winter here. Below the Cathedral is an art museum. I have included one piece of work by Felipe Gimenez called “En cada barrio hay muchos barrios” (“In each neighborhood, there are many neighborhoods”).

Of everything I have experienced in La Plata thus far, I have some key takeaways: undergraduate school is free here, as is healthcare -including abortions and birth control. There are exceptions to this, as living in the city where one’s university is can cost a considerable amount of money -especially if you are from a town far from the nearest university. Healthcare functions much in the same way, as even if healthcare may be free or available at a reduced rate, accessibility varies tremendously. La Plata has a fair amount of hospitals, pharmacies, and clinics; however, this may be nonexistent in a small town. There is still much that I need to learn here; I am incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to do so over the next few weeks.

Adiós for now!

Charlotte Visconsi ’25

Monday, August 21, 2023

Adios, for now…It’s hard to find words to describe the magic and the marvelousness that was my 6 weeks in La Plata, Argentina.

For me, it was a time filled with happiness, joy, curiosity and real deep emotional connections.

Put simply, I have fallen head over heels in love with Argentina: the culture, the people, the history, and the dulce de leche. Even now, as I reminisce in writing about my days there, I am drinking a nice hot mate.

It has been about a week after my return to the Unites States, and it is now abundantly clear that the mark Argentina has made on me isn’t going away – though the Argentine snacks I brought back certainly are.

Here is what I’m bringing home with me:

  1. The pure joy and happiness that radiates through the streets, the plazas, and the social gatherings of Argentina.
  • The greeting beso – and perhaps more generally the warm, enthusiastic, and open attitude applied equally to meeting new people or old friends.
  • The Dulce de Leche. Obviously.
  • Cuarteto: Especially Rodrigo, whose soulful voice brings me right back to La Plata every time I hear it.
  • The mate and the simple joy of sharing a hot drink with friends.
  • The deep and beautiful friendship I made with my host mother/sister/friend Valentina.
  • And most importantly, the fierce and passionate commitment to public memory and social rights.

I am bringing back so many memories, so many revelations about living a happier life, but also a newfound understanding of how history affects our contemporary social rights and political issues. Before I arrived in Argentina, I knew very little of the country’s complex political and social history. I didn’t understand the severity of la dictadura. I’d never been taught the atrocities that have spanned the country’s history, with and without the protection of a fragile democracy. I didn’t even know about the thousands of families left incomplete and broken in the aftermath of so much economic, political, and social chaos in the 20th century.

It was only in researching and writing the story of Clarisa Adriana García Delorenzini de Cassino’s life, that I fully understood this complex chapter of history. Clarisa’s life, Clarisa’s story, Clarisa’s disappearance, all of which I discovered in La Plata, came together to teach me the sordid history of her homeland. It was, perhaps, the interviews that I conducted with Clarisa’s family and friends that most significantly opened my eyes to the story of la dictadura in Argentina. I first spoke to Viviana Balbi, a college roommate and friend of Clarisa. And then a few days later, I interviewed Julio (and his wife Myriam) and Clarisita García, Clarisa’s younger brother and niece respectively. These interviews were unlike any project I’ve ever conducted: intensely emotional, touching, and very illuminating. Through these testimonies, Clarisa García was brought to life before my eyes, and I am eternally grateful to the four wonderful people who opened themselves up to me. Their vulnerability and their commitment to remembering Clarisa made my project – and the personal intellectual growth that I gained from it – possible.

In the end, after six weeks of in-depth research, interviews, site visits, and a little bit of arts and crafts, I finally completed a biography of Clarisa Adriana García Delorenzini de Cassino. Filled with photographs, quotes from Clarisa’s close friends and family, and a comprehensive look into her personality and life, the project is something that I am immensely proud of. The reason? Because it’s a product that matters. It isn’t just a piece of writing that proves a thesis, or an assignment completed and forgotten. This biography is a
gift — at least according to my intentions for it. A gift to Clarisa’s family, friends, community,
and really to Clarisa herself. It’s also a history lesson. A lesson for the visitors who will pass
through Pergamino’s Comisaría 1a, where the physical biography will be kept. It’s a microhistory that illuminates a dark and scary part of the country’s past, while also
highlighting the importance of democracy and activism today. This biography that I’ve
written is also a part of me now. Clarisa, and her story, will always have a place in my heart
and mind. She will exist there as a reminder to me, a hopeful historian in the making, of why
the subject of history matters. And how to do it justice.

Below is an excerpt from the last page of the biography both in the original Spanish and translated by me into English. I feel that it sums up neatly (if that’s possible) what this internship experience has taught me and is also the section of which I am most proud:

Recordamos a Clarisa “con amor, porque así fue…siempre recibió lo que dió.” Recordamos a “Clarisa alegre, Clarisa cantando [y] Clarisa llena de vida.” Recordamos a Clarisa como “una persona que impactó, con su corta vida, impactó la sociedad e impactó y marcó a determinada gente.” Recordamos a una Clarisa profundamente querida. Y de esta manera, el odio pierde.

Clarisa es una de 30.000 personas desaparecidas. Pero para su familia, sus amigos, sus maestros y sus compañeros Clarisa era un rayo de sol, una fuente de alegría y una parte irremplazable en sus vidas. Para ellos su vida es más que la tragedia que la terminó. Su vida era alegría. Música. Amor. Cariño. Existen 30.000 Clarisas. Existen 30.000 familias
dejadas incompletas. Existen 30.000 vidas hermosas que tenemos que recordar por su belleza además de su sufrimiento. Con esta, la historia de la vida profunda y hermosa de Clarisa García Cassino, nos acercamos a este sueño

Clarisa es una de 30.000 personas desaparecidas. Pero para su familia, sus amigos, sus maestros y sus compañeros Clarisa era un rayo de sol, una fuente de alegría y una parte irremplazable en sus vidas. Para ellos su vida es más que la tragedia que la terminó. Su vida era alegría. Música. Amor. Cariño. Existen 30.000 Clarisas. Existen 30.000 familias
dejadas incompletas. Existen 30.000 vidas hermosas que tenemos que recordar por su belleza además de su sufrimiento. Con esta, la historia de la vida profunda y hermosa de Clarisa García Cassino, nos acercamos a este sueño.

We remember Clarisa “with love, because that’s how it was…she always got what she gave.” We remember “Clarisa happy, Clarisa singing [and] Clarisa full of life.” We remember Clairsa as “a person that mattered, with her short life, she impacted her community and impacted and marked the lives of many specific people.” We remember a Clarisa deeply loved. And in this way, hatred loses.

Clarisa is one of 30,000 disappeared people. But for her family, her friends, her teachers, and her classmates Clarisa was a ray of sunshine, a source of happiness, and an irreplicable part of their lives. For them her life is more than the tragedy that ended it. Her life was happiness. Music. Love. Kindness. There are 30,000 Clarisas. There are 30,000 families left incomplete. There are 30,000 beautiful lives that we must remember for their beauty along with their suffering. That’s the ultimate goal; and with this, the story of the deep and beautiful life of Clarisa García Cassino, we come closer to it.

Thank you to all those who have followed along with this life-altering journey of mine. I hope my writing has at least partially expressed the pure beauty and magic that is Argentina – as well as the vital importance of my beloved major, history. I can’t wait to share a mate with you soon.

Un abrazo re fuerte, Charlotte

Mathieu Changeux ’25: Week 2

My friends in La Plata in front of the Catedral in Plaza Moreno… candid photo!

Someone should have reminded me that being French was going to solicit funny responses from the country of World Cup champions I was visiting soon after the exhilarating tournament, because immediately as I entered Argentina I knew this was a country of passion.

My plane, coming from Houston, had many Argentine people in it, and next to me, I was already able to speak in Spanish—albeit with an accent very different from my own Andaluz—with an elderly couple from Mar del Plata next to me, a man behind me from Corrientes, and a woman from Córdoba. They gave me their Whatsapps, and as the plane descended into Buenos Aires, I felt calm and comfortable looking ahead to my first time in South America.

This passion continued as I visited the CPM. Apart from a warm welcome, my start with the local torture prevention mechanism teams made me learn more about Argentina’s economic and social intersections through law and first-hand prison visits than I ever could have read in a book. One of these foremost experiences in my first two weeks was our group visit to the Pozo de Quilmes site of memory, a police station with dictatorship-era torture abuses still in use until, you heard it, 2017.

What struck me about La Plata when I got there was how temperate the July day was—seventy-ish degrees, beautiful skies, gentle warm sun on my skin. My roommate for a couple weeks, Alex, and my host mom, Silvi, said that this would not last but that winters were relatively mild compared to my often-snowy New Jersey. However, as I entered the cells of the former clandestine detention center (CCD in Argentina), I imagined the people—labeled “subversives” in the prominently-displayed mass surveillance documents in the former DIPPBA headquarters at the CPM—eking out their existence in the extreme cold and heat, exposed to the weather’s mercy but not able to even wear different clothes than the ones in which they were kidnapped.

But even then, in the cold, deep depths of human misery, signs of solidarity emanating from human spirit really endured. This is not even an embellishment on a blog post, but my true feelings about the victims of torture during democratic and dictatorship times a like. Walls were filled with messages about love, about loved ones, and about when prisoners could see their partners, their kids, their families, and their friends again. They were just humans, like us, taken on a street while walking to school or doing some other human activity, put into a truck or inconspicuous car, and thrown into one of 800 camps to await their future fate at the hands of a militarized government that thought it was fighting the Third World War.

In between my work for the CPM and the nerding out on human rights in Argentina and the world, the boliche experience, hanging out with my friends, and getting Gimnasia bucket hats while attending a game against Estudiantes crystallized this passion even further. There is nothing more gratifying than a society where enthusiasm radiates across all levels of society. Whether it be the cult of personality of Madonna to my host mom’s family’s long discussions of Peron and Evita, there is just a hype culture in Argentina that knows no boundaries. Even though this can lead to more riot police presence in soccer games due to fighting breaking out, I believe that Argentina expresses its human spirit more than any place I have ever been in, and this explosion of passion has welcomed me and my French loser self to the scene. Ever since the dictatorship, it seems, people have been eager to express themselves and break with the past from eclectic architecture to music and art. As I enter my next few weeks in La Plata, I am bubbling with new ideas and excitement for the friends I have made and the history I am learning.

Caroline Williams ’25 – Blog Post #1

Week 1

Coming into this internship, I wanted to gain experience in a field I am passionate about while being immersed in the culture of another country. Thus far, my time in Argentina has blown these expectations out of the water.

Following a whirlwind of two full days of travel, my first week has consisted of learning about the complex history behind the Provincial Commission for Memory (CPM) and how the building where I work is both a site of memory and a space for memory. This concept “of” and “for” memory permeates the entire city of La Plata, the capital of the Buenos Aires Province. No matter where I walk, I am presented with memories from the prior dictatorship in a tangible way. On the sidewalk, white tiles mark the Desaparecidos – individuals taken between 1976 and 1983 during the past dictatorship. An important distinction I learned this week is that the disappeared people are not presumed dead; instead, they are considered alive until proven otherwise. However, the most poignant and omnipresent symbol throughout the city is the white handkerchief; memorialized in various art forms, it symbolizes the mothers and grandmothers who tirelessly searched for their missing children. Originally the handkerchief was constructed from a diaper; it later evolved into the white handkerchief known today. This symbol of courage and perseverance in the face of tremendous anguish and adversity is commemorated across the city and will never be forgotten. In the coming weeks, I hope to visit Buenos Aires to gain a first-hand account of Plaza de Mayo, where the women first began their protest.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have the homestay family that I do. Fatima and Luciano are both lawyers at the CPM within the Mecanismo Unit -otherwise known as the Local Committee Against Torture. Fati works within the Investigations Unit, which monitors the prisons in the Buenos Aires Province and advocates for those incarcerated that are experiencing forms of torture. Lucho works within the Police Violence unit, which is responsible for monitoring instances of police brutality and advocating for its victims. Before receiving his law degree, Lucho was a chef -suffice to say, I am eating very well.

What excited me most about this internship -speaking Spanish in a professional capacity- was also a source of anxiety prior to beginning my work. As someone who has learned the Spanish language solely in an academic setting, I really wanted to gain outside experience. This internship offered both a professional and personal capacity for growth not only within the language, but in the field I aspire to enter. I am double majoring in Sociology and Hispanic Studies and plan to attend law school after graduation; for this reason, I was interested in working within the Mecanismo. However, I would be remiss if I did not mention the internship choice that was a very close second, and had I been in the semester-long program, I definitely would have done also: Jóvenes y Memoria. This section of the CPM focuses on including the next generation in the preservation of memory. I loved the idea of helping young people navigate the creation of their chosen memory project whilst learning their account of the past dictatorship, formed gradually from the influences of parents, grandparents, and their surroundings. For me, inspiring passion in the next generation is second only to ensuring that no human, regardless of circumstance, feels voiceless.

So far, my time in Argentina has been nothing short of remarkable. I cannot wait to see what is to come.

The pañuelo (handkerchief) is a symbol deeply embedded in Argentine history and the symbolism is intrinsically linked within La Plata.

Other pañuelos around La Plata. These were found in Plaza San Martín; the 30,000 represents those who were disappeared during the dictatorship.

On a nightwalk with my host family we found María Claudia Falcone and María Clara Ciocchini who were disappeared on the night of September 16th, 1976. This night was known as the Night of the Pencils because it was when young visionary Argentine students were disappeared.