Taty Almeida and the struggle for memory in the Milei era

The death of Lidia ‘Taty’ Almeida not only leaves a huge void in Argentina’s human rights movement, it also silences one of the most active and forceful voices to challenge the President Javier Milei’s government in the battle over how the country remembers the last military dictatorship.

At the age of 95, the president of Madres de Plaza de Mayo Línea Fundadora died on Sunday at Hospital Italiano in Buenos Aires, after dedicating the final years of her life to confronting denialist narratives. She defended the policies of memory, truth and justice, passing on the legacy of the white headscarf to younger generations.

Since coming to power, Milei has promoted a narrative critical of the human rights policies developed since Argentina’s return to democracy. He has championed the idea of a “complete memory” and questioned what he described as a decades-old “narrative” surrounding the last dictatorship, thereby eroding the consensus built since the historic 1985 Trial of the Juntas. 

Almeida used her final public appearances to directly challenge the discourse emanating from the Casa Rosada.

“We are going to show Milei and company that they will not be able to erase memory. They are a completely denialist government,” she declared last March 24, during a mass demonstration to mark the 50th anniversary of the March 24, 1976 military coup.

The Plaza de Mayo once again became the central stage for that dispute. Ahead of the anniversary rally, Almeida spoke to journalists and renewed her criticism of the government’s stance on the dictatorship. 

Referring to discoveries linked to victims of state terrorism at the former clandestine detention centre La Perla, in Córdoba, she rejected attempts to relativise the crimes committed during the illegal repression.

“They can deny whatever they want, but look at those 12 people who were found over there at La Perla. Who are they? Milei’s little summer is coming to an end,” she said.

Hours later, before a packed Plaza de Mayo, Almeida delivered the closing speech of the anniversary event.

“We are the country of ‘Nunca más’ and the white headscarf,” she proclaimed, before asking those present to raise photographs of the disappeared towards the Casa Rosada.

“That state power that does not look for them while denying them. Thirty thousand detained-disappeared, present. Now and forever,” she declared.

On April 17, the University of Buenos Aires awarded Almeida an honorary doctorate. The ceremony, at UBA’s Faculty of Philosophy and Letters was far from a purely formal occasion. Before students, lecturers and human rights activists, the historic human rights leader leader used the platform to address those she regarded as the heirs to a struggle spanning half a century: young people.

“Activism is commitment. We must not be afraid of the word activism. To be politically active is to be committed, the same commitment assumed by the 30,000 disappeared, the same commitment already embraced by so many young people, and not-so-young people, who are our hope. You are the ones who will continue fighting for memory, truth and justice,” she told them.

The ceremony coincided with the deadline for the government to comply with the University Funding Law, amid growing tensions over higher education budgets. From the stage, Almeida criticised official manoeuvres to delay implementation of the legislation and praised the political commitment of younger generations.

There was even room for humour, when a ceremonial flag toppled over and landed inches from her head. Laughing, she responded: “That’s Milei!”

She also defended the dignity of the 30,000 disappeared: “Today there are people who say there must have been a reason they were disappeared. Of course there was a reason. They were not nobodies or fools. They were political activists.”

That same conviction ran through her final public interventions. Appearing before the Human Rights and Guarantees Committee of the lower house Chamber of Deputies, where lawmakers debated proposals to punish denialist rhetoric and expressions of hatred by public officials concerning state terrorism and crimes against humanity, Almeida urged lawmakers to accelerate discussion of the bills and warned of the dangers of relativising the horrors of the dictatorship.

“This was a genocide that we suffered, during the 1970s and part of the 1980s. More than ever, you, as representatives of the people, must urgently pass this law,” she argued. “These deplorable figures cannot be allowed to keep tarnishing the memory of [her disappeared son] Alejandro and the 30,000.”

Aware that fewer and fewer campaigners from those dark years remained alive, Almeida turned every rally, interview and demonstration into a call for generational renewal.

“Seeing so many young people gives us encouragement and hope, because you are our successors,” she would repeat.

She frequently emphasised the urgency of that transition: “There are only three Mothers left, and two Grandmothers. When we are gone, we will have passed the baton little by little. Despite the walking sticks and wheelchairs, we crazy women are still standing.”

Faced with a government that questions some of democratic consensus, Almeida focused on passing on a legacy to a new generation.  “There are very few Mothers and very few Grandmothers left, but we are at peace because we have wonderful activists among the young and the not-so-young.”