The streets of Buenos Aires are cold. Colder than they should be in April, 1977. Because people—students and young adults, in particular–are missing. Snatched by military officers of the regime and never heard from again. Their absence is colder than the harshest winter storm. Their si lence louder than the most violent thunderclap or shot from the soldier’s submachine gun. Mothers search desperately for their children. They visit the police. Government offices. People in uniforms just shake their heads. They find no answers. The mothers decide they must do something.  And so, on Saturday, April 30, 1977, fourteen women meet in the plaza in front of the Casa Rosada, Argentina’s presidential palace. They demand to know where their children are.  “By ourselves, we will achieve nothing,” says Azucena Villaflor. Her son and his girlfriend were kidnapped exactly five months before.  But this is the Argentine dictatorship, installed just a year before, on March 24, 1976, and meetings in public of more than two people are banned. A police officer approaches. He orders them to keep moving. And so… the women take each other arm in arm, and, two by two, begin to walk around the obelisk in the center of the square. One small, iconic act of resistance, in the face of so much darkness… so much pain. The mothers decide to return each week.  But instead of on a Saturday, they will march on Thursdays, when there are people in the square. People who will witness their suffering, their pain, and their simple yet brazen act of resistance, in the middle of a harsh, cold, violent dictatorship. Within a few months, they will begin to wear white pañuelos on their heads as they march—the baby diapers of their lost children—as a way to recognize each other in crowds. But they, too, are targeted. In December 1977, three mothers—Azucena Villaflor, Esther Ballestrino, and María Ponce de Bianco—are themselves kidnapped and disappeared. Still, the mothers march. “We were not heroines,” says Taty Almeida. “We did what any mother would do for her child.” “They called us crazy,” she says. “And we were crazy. Crazy with pain, rage, and helplessness.” And so begins the five-decade-long struggle of the Mothers and Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo. A struggle that lasts until today. They will become one of the most iconic groups of resistance in Latin America, continuing to demand the return of their children and grandchildren, alive, until today. The mothers will inspire similar groups across the Americas. They will demand justice and memory. 30,000 people were disappeared in Argentina under the US-backed military dictatorship, which lasted from 1976 to 1983. Babies of the disappeared were stolen and raised by military officials as their own.  The Mothers and Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo have, today, found almost 140 of their grandchildren, and given them back their true identities. The Mothers and Grandmothers are still marching today—every Thursday around the obelisk in the center of the Plaza de Mayo. Like they did that first time in 1977. Five decades ago. Today is March 24… the anniversary of the 1976 coup that led to the brutal Argentine dictatorship. In Argentina, it’s known as the National Day for Memory and Truth and Justice. It honors the victims of the military regime. Each year, big marches and demonstrations are held in Buenos Aires to mark the date. The Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo are always front and center. In fact, the center of the events is usually the Plaza de Mayo, which thanks to the mothers and grandmothers, has become the iconic image of the struggle against the Argentine dictatorship and the fight for truth and justice. Today, under the government of Javier Milei, these acts of resistance have become even more important. Milei has criticized the country’s policies of justice. His government has defunded memorial sites and closed investigations into the crimes of the past. His allies have vocally backed former military officers serving time for torture and crimes against humanity. The demands for justice and the resistance, defending the true memory of the past, continues as acute and as important as ever.  This is the eleventh episode of Stories of Resistance—a new podcast co-produced by The Real News and Global Exchange. Each week, we’ll bring you stories of resistance like this. Inspiration for dark times. If you like what you hear, please subscribe, like, share, comment, or leave a review. You can also follow Michael’s reporting, see his pictures of the Plaza de Mayo, and support at www.patreon.com/mfox. Written and produced by Michael Fox.Michael is currently working on Season 2 of his podcast Under the Shadow, about Plan Condor and the U.S.-backed South American dictatorships of the 1960s and 70s. It’s expected to be released in 2026. You can listen to the first season, here. ...read more read less