One of the
mightiest South American waterways – Rio Paraguay – is forming a
national frontier between Argentina and Paraguay, two countries with
similar cultures but diametrically different political systems.
Argentina is
socialist, with free medical care and mostly free education. It has a
progressive government. It sent its creditors, the World Bank and
IMF, packing. It defaulted its debt, which was accumulated during the
right-wing and pro-Western governments (Greece should study and
follow Argentina’s model). It is increasingly close to other
socialist Latin American countries, and also to non-Western powers
like Russia and China.
Paraguay is
a divided country. Even according to the BBC, fewer than 2 percent of
the landowners are said to control 70 percent of its arable land.
Other sources put the number to 75 percent and higher. Periodically,
indigenous people demand their land back, and periodically, they get
murdered.
Paraguay
used to be the second poorest country in South America, right after
Bolivia. But with enormous positive changes taking place in Bolivia
during the last decade, Paraguay is now hitting the continent’s
rock bottom.
The elites
backed by the U.S. had orchestrated a “constitutional coup” and
ousted President Fernando Lugo, a progressive liberation theologian.
It happened on June 22, 2012. The country's short romance with
socialism ended. Fascism returned. Paraguay fell back to its terrible
historic role: once again it became a place that hosts the U.S.
military bases, which promotes Western imperialism; a place from
where all of South America is being spied on and manipulated.
Paraguay is,
after all, where the deadly Operation Condor was launched from, and
where the “Archives of Terror” were unveiled.
There is
great misery all over Paraguay. Slums come right to the back walls of
the monumental government buildings and banks. Hospitals are huge,
but hopelessly inefficient and overcrowded. Broken roads and narrow
sidewalks lead to malls and skyscrapers of Asuncion. There is hardly
any public transportation. Floods are devastating entire communities.
Across
Paraguay River, the small Argentinie town Clorinda is unpretentious,
good-natured and endlessly touching. Its leafy streets are wide. Its
main square had been converted into one huge playground, used by both
children and adults. Sidewalks are wide and food is honest and good.
It is very egalitarian, and much richer than that flashy and socially
divided Paraguayan capital just across the river. It has lesser than
50,000 inhabitants, but it is fully self-sufficient.
Before I
managed to cross the river on makeshift barge, few Paraguayan truck
drivers were chasing me, stones in their hands, for my attempt to
photograph the port. Apparently, almost next to the customs post,
corruption, contraband, and black market have been thriving.
But in
Clorinda, at the Argentinian side, it had been peaceful and quite.
My contact,
Carlos, was waiting for me. My passport got stamped and we began
driving toward the city. Just two minutes from the border post I
spotted wooden structure, on the shore of a swamp.
“It is new
school for Paraguayan children,” explained Carlos. “As you saw,
parts of Asuncion are terribly inundated. Many poor people there lost
their belongings, but also their ability to send children to school.”
I could not
comprehend what he was saying:
“But how
can this school help poor Paraguayan kids?”
“Well, the
Paraguayan parents bring their children here, to Argentina. There are
several schools that opened in the border area.”
“You mean,
they are taking care of foreign children, here?”
In front of
my eyes I still had those crushed refugees from Africa, who have been
harassed in Italy, Malta and Greece; refugees from unfortunate
countries that were destabilized and destroyed by the European Union
and by the Empire. These people could count on no support, no
sympathy! Their ships were towed away. Some were prevented to land.
Those who managed to land, ended up in despicable camps.
And here, in
Argentina…
“Children
are children,” replied Carlos.
“Is it how
most of Argentines see it?” I asked.
“How
else?” he said, firmly.
Few minutes
later we arrived at Clorinda’s public Hospital named Dr. Cruz
Felipe Arnedo, the final destination of my short journey.
I went
straight to the administration office, and was welcomed there by Sra.
Miriam. I introduced myself and went straight to the point:
“Is it
really true that hundreds of Paraguayan citizens are crossing the
border to Argentina, in order to get free medical care in local
hospitals?”
“Yes,”
replied Sra. Miriam. “But I think there are thousands, not
hundreds...”
“And they
are all treated for free?”
“Of
course.”
Earlier, I
asked my friend in Asuncion, a doctor, what happens if the case is
complicated? What if it is a cancer? Would Argentines still be
willing to help? He explained, that smaller hospitals like that in
Clorinda simply transfer seriously ill patients to much bigger and
better equipped medical centers like those in Formosa. Free of
charge? “Naturally,” I was told “They really mean it in
Argentina ... They are convinced that education and health are basic
human rights.”
While I was
talking to Sra. Miriam, a doctor came in, carrying steaming cup of
coffee.
I was
impressed, moved to tears. But I still could not believe what I was
hearing:
“I
understand that Argentina has free medical care ... But people who
cross the river are not Argentinian citizens, they are Paraguayans.”
The doctor
looked at me with his mocking, tired but very kind eyes. He put one
hand on my shoulder:
“To me,
they are not Paraguayans or Argentines. They are people who feel
pain, and who need my help. They are patients and I am their doctor.”
“And this
is Latin American socialism,” I thought. “And to hell with anyone
who tries to undermine it!”
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