Posts By Manuela

Week 132 – January 24 to January 31

Michelle Deignan

Let us play

Single channel HD video, 1 min, 2023

Liza Dimbleby

Studio mountain range, Glasgow, January 2023

Dettie Flynn

Happy New !
Gesture of Care – Translate

To contribute to Anne Dubos’ collection ARCHIVES OF CARE

To Observe

One of the very first gestures of Care : to give one’s attention to something, to a thought, or to someone.

On the morning of 31 December, I took the children to the ridge line to observe the snow-covered summit of Mont Blanc, which can be seen in the distance on a bright blue clear day.

On the way, we found a beetle.

*

For this new year of 2023, besides wishing you all joy, I would like to ask my Crown Sisters to help me to collect gestures of care. Sisters of mine, what would be the gesture of care that you would describe for me, for inclusion in one of the Museum Of Care‘s contributing collections?

Kasia Ozga

Melt, Digital Video Diary, Aurora, New York, January 2022

I was making paper for a wall drawing for a show in Upstate New York and the steam from the boiler and the hum of the beater began to slowly melt the snow and ice on the outside of the greenhouse that I was working in.

Catherine Radosa

Témoins – Nous / Witnesses – We

Photography/digital collage made during the long-term film project Campagne de Paris, paysage triangulaire (2017-2023) on the Triangle of Gonesse (Paris region) – agricultural land in the process of artificialization (satellite view source – Géoportail.gouv.fr).

Katja Stuke

Sans Titre
Paris / Hauts-de-Seine, 2023

Ruth Maclennan

Saint Mary Axe

Yesterday I walked from Covent Garden to Whitechapel through the City of London. Not as quiet as I’d expected on a Sunday, but there seem to be a lot of tourists in London at the moment and it was sunny and bright. This tree with its concrete casing stopped me in my tracks: rings the only sign it had lived, trapped inside a small fortress. My eye was then drawn upwards, up the blue metallic cylinders of Lloyds of London, ‘the World’s insurance marketplace’, as it boasts on its website.

The building was designed by Richard Rogers and opened in 1986. Five years later Lloyds nearly went under, but was saved, although many of its so-called ‘names’ (often small investors who unwittingly invested with unlimited liability) did lose everything.  Insurance could be one of the ways to stop the madness of funding  fossil fuel extraction. Meanwhile the ice caps are melting and the physical world literally imploding, as permafrost becomes former-frost and ice sheets slide faster and faster into the ocean.  These shiny towers lean into each other – instead of trees – high up above me, reflecting themselves and the sky, completely out of touch. Of course that is the point. Anything could be going on in front of a screen, inside a steel and glass tube – I’m in front of a screen myself as I write this, looking at the picture of the steel and glass tubes. You could be insider-dealing or investing in windmills, selling mortgages or weapons, or all of those things. The little street across from here is called Saint Mary Axe, named after a medieval church that was destroyed in the 16th century. I’m glad the name has stuck although no one quite knows what it means. Whose axe? What was it used for? A name is a stubborn thing, that can keep on conjuring – haunting, stirring – even when no one remembers where it came from or who first used it.

Anne Brunswic

From my window, Paris, January 2023.

Guêpier 1

Je me fourre encore et toujours dans des guêpiers dont je sors confuse et furieuse contre moi-même. Cela m’a inspiré le recueil de nouvelles « Qu’est-ce que tu fais là ? » paru en 2001. La question est toujours d’actualité.  Bon sang, mais qu’est-ce que je fais là ?

Un taxi me cueille à la gare de Marseille. Il me dépose une demi-heure plus tard au pied d’un hôtel de luxe en bord de mer. Je pénètre dans l’espace épuré d’un magazine de décoration. Le volume de la chambre est démesuré, le lit de deux mètres de large inquiétant, ma pauvre petite valise noire me fait l’effet d’un cafard dans le couloir l’entrée. Je pressens que j’aurai du mal à trouver le sommeil. La baie vitrée donne sur une crique aux parois ocre rouge qui plonge dans des flots bleu indigo. De la Méditerranée souffle un vent printanier. Le ciel est d’un bleu irréprochable, transparent comme il n’est jamais à Paris.

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Manuela Morgaine

Cloud Stories – Paris river Seine 20/01/2023.

Valeria Troubina

Бурные водыTurbulent waters, watercolour, gouache, pencil on paper, 56 x 34 cm, January 2023

Week 131 – January 17 to January 24

Ruth Maclennan

Upended, Hilly Fields, London, January 16

Today the late afternoon sky glowed, after the hail flurries, while the winter street below lay in dark shadow. The idea of heaven as a place up above must have been dreamt up on a day like this.

Valeria Troubina

Зимнее окно, закат  Winter Window, Sunset, 56 x 38 cm, watercolour, ink on paper, January 2023

Katja Stuke

A Tree in Bachmut
(Google Street View 2016) Jan 8, 2023

Alisa Berger

Liza Dimbleby

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 9AC1DE94-8DB4-4866-AFCB-064B807EF842_1_201_a-1024x672.jpeg
Winter sun, December 2022

Letter from Glasgow: Still Refuge 
My best friend’s mother, who found refuge in London from Iran in the nineteen seventies, used to tell us how in midwinter, in Iran, the seeds of many pomegranates are extracted from their shells to make a glittery red heap, she told us it was to invoke the light of the sun on the darkest day of the year. I pictured vast metallic bowls of shining deep red seeds under pools of light in dark rooms. We never shared such a feast, but she did share her copy of the Persian poet Hafez, opening it at random to let it fall at lines that might have special wisdom or importance for us, which she would seize on with excitement or a resigned nod.

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Manuela Morgaine

Lullaby – Zan Zendegi Asadi زن زندگی آزادی
La la, La la, little flower,
Sleep peacefully, sleep peacefully
Sleep peacefully little flower,
This world will not remain as it is.
Lalalei – Persian Lullaby (by Paria)

Week 129 – January 3 to January 10

Luise Schröder

Aurelia Mihai

Steps in two, photography, detail. From the photographic series: Iarna pe ulita / LIFE — Performance

Anne Dubos

Observer

L’un des tout premiers gestes du Care : donner son attention à quelque chose, à une pensée, ou à quelqu’un.

Ce matin du 31 décembre, j’ai amené les enfants sur la ligne de crêtes, pour observer la cime enneigée du Mont Blanc que l’on peut distinguer au lointain par jour de grand beau. Sur le chemin, nous avons trouvé un scarabée.

*

Pour cette nouvelle année 2023, au-delà de vous présenter tous mes voeux de joie, je souhaite demander à mes Crown Sisters de m’aider à collecter des gestes de soin. Quel serait le geste de soin que vous pourriez me décrire en vue de le faire entrer au sein de l’une des collection contributive du Museum Of Care ?

Kasia Ozga

Anemone, Video Diary 12.30.22

Sea anemones are underwater creatures named after terrestrial flowering plants. A ring of tentacles surrounds a central mouth, brimming-no-gushing with life. This movement is uncanny and erotic, pulsating and repulsive. A fitting entrance into a New Year.

Manuela Morgaine

Spectra/ Epidemic variationsPhotography, Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris January 2021.

Katja Stuke

Move Paris, Boulevard Périphérique, 2022

 

 

Week 127 – December 13 to December 20

Neringa Naujokaite

un altro … di vento, di cielo – Video still.

Liza Dimblebly

Second Advent Shelter, December 2021

Anne Dubos

Carnets vocaux, carnets vidéo. Décembre 2005-décembre 2022

Quand j’y pense, cette histoire de Care, d’enfants ou de politique, remonte déjà à l’époque de mon second voyage en Inde. J’avais 24 ans quand je suis partie à la rencontre des enfants des rues de Madurai. J’y ai tourné un film que j’avais appelé Habemus Papam. Il recensait notamment, tous geste de soin prodigués aux enfants abandonnés. Il recensait aussi ceux des jeux d’enfants, de même que tous ces gestes de prières qui venaient rythmer plusieurs fois par jour leur quotidien à l’orphelinat. Comme écrasés par le système pyramidal de l’hindouisme, ces enfants nés Dalits avaient été abandonnés par leurs parents qui n’avaient pas la capacité de les nourrir. Recueillis par un pasteur d’obédience évangélique et sa femme, ils vivaient là tous ensemble, regroupés dans une maison de deux pièces, tels les enfants d’une seule et même famille. Je me souviens de cette visite de l’église pentecôtiste un dimanche. J’avais pu filmer les femmes entrer en transe. À travers la transe on lisait comme l’expiation de la difficulté, ou l’impossible douleur de l’être mère. Dans leur prière j’avais l’impression qu’elles exprimaient tout le poids de l’humanité qu’elles portaient comme comprimé sur le coeur.

 

Aurelia Mihai

The Tower or Illusion under construction, photografie, 2022

 

Manuela Morgaine

Week 126 – December 6 to December 13

Anne Dubos

Not all those who wander are lost

Catherine Radosa

Témoins – Bernard et Christophe / Witnesses – Bernard et Christophe

Photography made during the long-term film project Campagne de Paris, paysage triangulaire (2017-2022) on the Triangle of Gonesse (Paris region) – agricultural land in the process of artificialization.

Aurelia Mihai

Universa Universis Patavina Libertas, Padua, Aula Magna, photography  27.11.2022, An interior design by Gio Ponti (1942)

The motto of the University of Padua from its foundation in 1222 until today is Universa Universis Patavina Libertas: The freedom of the University of Padua, everywhere and for all.
After 800 years, this humanist idea is more topical and programmatic than ever. 

Dettie Flynn

Feuilleton of spinning swinging wishing Girls XXXV

temporary measures for energy saving
des mesures temporaires pour des économies d’énergie

Liveful performance with camera –  2mins. 22 sec.

Kyoko Kasuya

Trailer – Silence Bleu, film, 13’53, 2022

Manuela Morgaine

… In full place is my desire. Photography of my face inside an Ice block.

From Rûmî,  the Persian poet, these words say that the face of Iranian women is frozen as long as it is surrounded by a veil that keeps them so far from their desire.

Anne Brunswic

Darwin, Falklands/Malvinas, december 2018.

Tondus

Le soleil, encore bas sur l’horizon, éclaire la cour d’une lumière oblique éblouissante. Un camion se gare en marche arrière devant le hangar. Le plan incliné métallique s’abaisse lentement à l’arrière de la remorque. La cargaison de moutons s’ébranle à peine car les plus proches des portes après avoir tâté le sol métallique d’un raclement de sabot se refusent à descendre. Le vent transporte l’odeur puissante de la paille, du suint et du crottin emprisonnés dans leur toisons. Le chauffeur du camion se hisse dans la remorque pour les pousser hors de l’habitacle. Deux aides endiguent le flot des bêtes dans la descente et les canalisent vers un couloir étroit bordé de barrières métalliques qui s’enfonce sous le hangar. Au passage, ils marquent et ils comptent. Dès que les moutons sentent la tôle du hangar au-dessus de leurs têtes, ils tentent de rebrousser chemin en lançant de furieux coups de sabots qui résonnent sur le métal. Ensuite, ils disparaissent dans un labyrinthe profond éclairé par des néons verdâtres. Ils bêlent sur tous les tons. S’ils pouvaient, ils pleureraient.

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Week 122 – November 22 to November 29

Natacha Nisic

 

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

11.11.2022 Friday sunny 23:23

Mahsa Jina Amini

burst into tears while presenting her work as she read aloud her own text to go with her drawings. She interrupted the reading aloud. Everyone was silent in the classroom while she wiped the tear with her bare hand and repeated “sorry I’m crying”.

Elisa, fellow student, sat next to her and tried to help her to read her text for her. Her voice also wavered from excitement as Mahsa did when reading aloud. Soon she stopped. In a bumpy wet voice, she said to everyone, “Sorry, I can’t either.” There remained the collective wordlessness in the room. The silence among us.

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Katia Stuke

A Tree near Przewodów
(Google Street View 2016) Nov 16. 2022

»Every day news from/about Ukraine. Still. Every day a new name of a village, town or city in Ukraine. Every day a screenshot-photo of a tree in that town. A tree to just hold in for a moment. A tree as a reminder. A tree as a witness. A tree as a metaphor for time.« Katja Stuke, Trees in Ukraine, since 24.2.2022

Liza Dimbleby

War (Shelter Series), November 2021

Postcard from Glasgow: Shelters

I started making these small drawings of shelters, and trees, last November, as the trees shed their yellow. They were about inhabitable spaces, in the mind’s eye, and in the drawing. I made them on torn up strips of old life drawings from twenty years ago, that I did not want to throw away, regretting the waste of good quality paper. The images kept on coming, as if wanting to be painted. When I taped them to the wall in the spring, they seemed somehow to fit the awful circumstances in which they were now situated. Not a direct depiction, but not unrelated to the bleakness. And at the same time they were about a sort of refuge, a waiting or suspension. It’s November again. And the war is relentless, still. And I am still painting shelters.

Manuela Morgaine

BLACK-OUT – sources of light to the people of Ukraine.

Catherine Radosa

Témoin (champs-contre champs)

Photography made during the long-term film project Campagne de Paris, paysage triangulaire (2017-2022) on the Triangle of Gonesse (Paris region) – agricultural land in the process of artificialization.

Anne Dubos

Lately I’ve been reading David Graeber’s articles and books. I came to visit his online institute, one of whose projects is called: « The Museum of Care ».
I thought he belonged here. Or maybe my own archives of Care should be part of his museum.
Also I propose that my page of the Letter of the Crown, enters for a time, in the Museum of Care

Purpose & Values
What The Museum of Care IS
An idea
An art project
A collection of spaces to meet
A place to hide
A place that you can make your own by copying everything and taking it with you
A place to argue, and to be friends
A mailing list, a collection of links, a reading group or movie club.
Mostly it is the people themselves. Actually, there is nothing in it except the people.

What The Museum of Care IS NOT
A collection of goods and treasures that may be stolen and sold
A fundraising machine
A cemetery
A job centre
A political party
A lobbyist group

https://museum.care/about-museum-of-care/

Week 121 – November 1st to November 8

Ivana Vollaro

Brazilian elections / Ballotage, October 30 th, 2022.

Katja Stuke

Protest stops traffic, Düsseldorf Oct 2022
(on the occasion of #womenlifefreedom rally Sat. Oct 29, 2022)

Maithili Bavkar

Excerpt from a letter, To the unconceived, 2022

To the unconceived,

I write this letter to you, the unconceived child, unfolding for you, a world in which you have not yet been born. You have been looming over me in a spectral nature for my entire life. Yet, I do not know who exactly it is that I am addressing.

Where are you located? Are you just an idea, a thought, or the expectation of an entire community, not just my own?

I write this letter to you, to your potential existence, not only from my side. The wishes, desires and hopes of everyone else will be conveyed to you. The society, state, the nation, employers, doctors and priests are all interested and invested. For them, it is perhaps natural for you to be born, inevitable; anything else would be unnatural. They say that you cannot be forever unconceived, yet they put forth conditions for your existence in the same breath.

My body has been making possibilities of a child all my life.

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Manuela Morgaine

Nacimiento

In August 2012 I was traveling the roads of Andalusia. It was in this unique landscape that I saw for the first time a lamb being born. These are the few clumsy images I have left of this moving and sacred moment. The same evening I became pregnant with my son, born under the sign of the bull. Since then, I wondered if the vision was not in itself the birth of a form. If it was enough to see in order to bring forth.

In these infinitely barbaric times, I cling to this living memory, this time when we watched animals being born, when we gave birth in joy and carelessness, without imagining that our children would have to face such a present.

 

Week 120 – October 25 to November 1st

Katja Stuke

Total Energies, Macon Oct 2022.

Liza Dimbleby

Painting in progress (Shelter series), Glasgow, October 2022

Postcard from Glasgow for Sudha Padmaja Francis (Week 119)

You can never have too much yellow Pierre Bonnard

Sudha Padmaja Francis

Afternoon dream
that beckons through the train window
Me measuring distances through creases
on my kurta,
between what is around and what I wish for.
Trees are fool proof philosophers, always.
Just them standing tall, sometimes so still,
sometimes swaying to the lightest of the winds
have many a reminders to give me
lined alongside the railway track.
Train pulls into Tirur station
Afternoon light and the film on the train window
that puts a filter  to the  outside.
Such a banal afternoon it looks like
but
this afternoon..
it’s endless possibilities of being
presents itself
through the train window.

Anne Dubos

This morning again.
Tears blurred my sight.
« Il faut croire au bonheur, nous sommes faites pour ça »
Sent me a friend on a message.
I believe her.

Anne Brunswic

Solo conocido por Dios

Après deux mois passés en Argentine à sonder les cicatrices de la guerre des Malouines, j’atterris sur l’archipel. 52° de latitude sud. Falklands. Il faut s’habituer à ce nom,  passer d’un coup à la langue anglaise, à la livre sterling. Fin novembre, c’est le printemps austral. Ciel dégagé bleu lavande, vent féroce. Les hôteliers viennent chercher leurs clients devant l’aérodrome militaire. J’ai réservé à l’auberge de Goose Green (le pré aux oies ?). A bord du minibus, on parle tourisme, excursions. Mes voisins ont un programme chargé. Pingouins de différentes espèces, aigles, grues, oies sauvages. Ils sont lourdement équipés de matériel de prise de vue et d’enregistrement sonore, ils ont des vestes avec une dizaine de poches à zip et des bottes de sept lieues. Heureusement, personne ne me demande le but de mon voyage. Je l’ignore moi-même.

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Manuela Morgaine

WAR IS IN THE AIR – video 2’19 Paris La Défense, October 2022.

You wake up one morning on the river Seine in Paris. You hear the sound of a helicopter coming and going. You know that the war is there but yet it has not yet reached your country. You open your eyes and you see this scene repeating itself for several hours. The same. You understand that this is special forces training. You ask what they train for when they take off in the air from the river at eight or ten. While touring Paris. Then returning to land on the boat again. You are told that these special forces are training in case of a terrorist attack on the boats during the 2024 Olympic Games, the opening of which will take place on the river and will transport all the athletes. You think: – wherever you are now, war is in the air.

Week 119 – October 18 to October 25

Ivana Vollaro

The forest of breath. Sometimes darker, sometimes lighter.

Katja Stuke

A Tree in Merefa
(Google Street View 2015) Oct 17. 2022

»Every day news from/about Ukraine. Still. Every day a new name of a village, town or city in Ukraine. Every day a screenshot-photo of a tree in that town. A tree to just hold in for a moment. A tree as a reminder. A tree as a witness. A tree as a metaphor for time.« Katja Stuke, Trees in Ukraine, since 24.2.2022.

Anne Brunswic

School drawing, Argentina, May 1982

Cher soldat de ma patrie !

Buenos Aires, 5 mai 1982. Cher Soldat de ma Patrie. Cette petite lettre est pour te transmettre que tous les Argentins, nous sommes tous fiers de voir comment vous défendez notre République argentine. Je m’appelle Maria Cecilia, j’ai 7 ans, et je suis en 2eB de l’école publique du district n°2 de la capitale fédérale. Je prie tous les soirs et je demande à Dieu qu’il vous bénisse et vous protège. Reçois beaucoup de baisers de ta jeune amie. Baisers. Cecilia. Je t’envoie du papier et une enveloppe pour que tu puisses écrire à qui tu voudras à part moi. Bisous. Ceci.”

6 mai 1982, à un soldat argentin. Cher frère, nous sommes très petits mais très argentins et nous espérons que tu vas bien. Tous les soirs, nous prions pour que Dieu vous aide à défendre la patrie. Rappelle-toi que je pense à toi parce que nous savons les moments difficiles que vous passez et nous désirons que vous rentriez bientôt dans vos foyers, nous savons très très bien qu’il fait très froid et qu’il y a du brouillard presque tout le temps. Merci de nous défendre. Vive la Patrie ! Martin, San Cayetano, Province de Buenos Aires”

Cher soldat argentin, je m’appelle Patricia, je suis en 7eA. Ici, nous avons été en alerte rouge mais c’est fini. Nous avons mis une boîte dans le préau et nous avons mis des chocolats et des bonbons pour vous aider à supporter le froid. Les copains et moi, on est très contents de ce que toi et les autres soldats vous êtes en train de faire pour défendre ce qui nous appartient et nous appartiendra toujours. Moi, j’aide en travaillant bien et en écoutant mes maîtresses. Tous les soirs, je prie pour que toi et tes camarades, pour que vous puissiez tous retrouver vos familles et leur raconter tous les moments que vous avez passés aux Iles Malouines. Maintenant, je te dis au revoir avec un gros bisou pour toi, pour tes camarades et tes supérieurs. Quand tu reviendras des Malouines, viens nous voir. J’espère faire bientôt ta connaissance. Patricia C.”

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Manuela Morgaine

PAURA NON ABBIAMO – THE FEAR WE DON’T HAVE. Song of Italian peasant women on strike.
Excerpt from NOVECENTO by Bernardo Bertolucci (1976)

Anne Dubos

Les Biberons

À n’importe quelle heure du jour ou de la nuit, savoir compter.
Diluer le lait,
Toutes les trois heures,
Par leur répétition, les biberons des mois sont un genre de torture.
Plus tard, ils deviennent un moment de tendresse. Un temps de réparation.

Sudha Padmaja Francis

Yellow

Right now, a yellow has shrouded the courtyard and everything beyond.
I don't know if it's nostalgia, memory or the characteristic of reminiscence; this used to be yellower when i was a child.

I used to go out through the main door, as a little girl and get underneath this shroud in the courtyard. It was my entry into an-other world.

Today I also happened to be wearing a yellow t-shirt. I do not think my mother ever dressed me in this bright-a- plain yellow. I dressed according to her, for her. I lived according to her, for her. Even attrition  that came later was fastidiously designed for her.

My father walks in the yellow courtyard, almost as if he is floating on top of the shroud, with a mobile phone pouring out music. Malayalam film music that is. That one vehicle of expression for the whole range of emotions that exist in the world for him. For me

A friend, who is more of a sister, just sent a voice note to me which said she found the most balance in the world with me. She had thought about it when she witnessed a performance involving a see saw and she told her friend as they returned home, apparently.

As I stood outside on evenings then, entering into the yellow shroud each day, I never dared to imagine company to gaze up at the sky, wondrous and lost all at the same time.

I am grateful, at this very moment.

Week 117 – October 4 to October 11

Catherine Radosa

F.V.L.
(HD video, 1’25” Women, Life, Liberty, in hommage to Iranian women)

Maithili Bavkar

फणी | Comb,
Textile, 2020

Care

Care (for)

Care (about)

(Take) care

(Take) care (of)

(With) care

Care(free)

Manuela Morgaine

Viola’s hair – آزادی زندگی زن, Zhan, Zhian, Azadi, Woman, Life, Freedom.

Kasia Ozga

Milk Bar, participatory art installation, 52 bars of soap produced from breast milk, September 25-30, 2022.

In September, I flew to France alone for a week to hang a solo show Œkoumène (Ecumene) at l’Angle, an art center in La Roche-sur-Foron in the Alps. I have a 9 month-old baby that I usually breastfeed multiple times a day. I collected all of the breast milk that my body produced as I was preparing my exhibition and turned it into soap. The bars of soap were given away for free to the public during the show’s opening night. My action came from a desire to foreground the relationship between my body right here (right now) and the neutral white cube of the exhibition space.

Anne Dubos

Emma’s circus.

Je pense toujours à l’Ukraine. Aux enfants surtout. A tous ces enfants déportés qui vivent désormais séparés de leur famille. J’espère qu’ils tiennent bon. Je voudrais faire quelque chose. Je ne sais quoi.

Alisa Berger

Excerpt from unwavemenot – Without regular operation.

Dettie Flynn

Feuilleton of spinning swinging wishing Girls XXXIV

Responding bodies in water
Corps dans l’eau en réponse

J’envoie cette lettre de sérénité à notre trois fois vaccinée, Crown Sister, qui joue à nouveau les hôtes du virus,

I send this serenity letter to our trice vaccinated Crown Sister who is playing host again to the virus,

I know for a fact that she is an incredible host.
Je sais de source sûre qu’elle est un hôte incroyable.

Liveful performance with camera –  3mins. 58 sec.

Anne Brunswic

Cincuenta pesos, banco central de la Republica Argentina.

Hourrah !

Chacun connaissait l’épopée du libertador Antonio Rivero (1808-1845), vaillant-gaucho-qui-défendit-la-souveraineté-de-la-patrie-sur-les-îles-en-1833 et lutta-pour-les-droits-sociaux-des-travailleurs. On l’avait entendue cent fois depuis son entrée à l’école primaire. La leçon était inscrite sur le billet de 50 pesos. Copier la carte demandait des heures de labeur. Crayon, gomme, crayon, on transpirait sur la dentelle des contours. On dirait des poumons rongés par la maladie ou bien de grosses taches d’encre, ou peut-être des chiffons tout déchirésqui flotteraient sur la surface bleu pâle de l’Atlantique sud. “Nulle terre d’outre-mer n’est plus chère au cœur de notre patrie”, répétait le maître.

Au début du mois de mars 1982, les garçons âgés de 18 ans révolus reçurent chez leurs parents des ordres de mobilisation. La junte militaire en mal de popularité les appelait à chasser l’usurpateur britannique et à libérer les pauvres fermiers. Le peuple répondit d’une seule voix « hourrah ! ». D’immenses foules se massaient sur les places publiques. Des opposants en exil se pressaient dans les consulats pour s’enrôler. Las Malvinas son argentinas. Hourrah ! Après un bref séjour dans les casernes, les chicos furent transportés par avion dans des bases improvisées au sud de la Patagonie. On découvrait l’avion, on découvrait le froid, on découvrit bientôt le chaos qui se dissimulait derrière la discipline militaire. Le 2 avril, le premier contingent fut débarqué sur les îles si chères au cœur du peuple argentin. Sur l’archipel que les Anglais appellent Falklands, l’hiver austral commençait. Les pingouins s’ébrouaient sur les grèves rocheuses, les moutons broutaient la lande pelée. Pas un arbre à l’horizon, le vent et encore le vent. La boue commençait à se figer en glace. Les chicos grelottaient dans leurs uniformes de toile. On leur ordonna de creuser des tranchées

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