"Memoria is something that does not lie in the past, but in the present, and we are in the process of giving memoria a form. Memoria illuminates the dangers of the present for us. [...] It is therefore not in itself a concrete demand that something specific must never be repeated, but a warning to recognise the dangers of our time."

Elbio Ferrario

INTRODUCTION

Ferrario’s life is characterised by the ongoing fight for the freedom of the individual against a violent state apparatus, especially in times when this freedom is under the greatest threat.

THE STORY

When the ‘Museo de la Memoria’ opened in Uruguay’s capital Montevideo in October 2006, it was over 20 years since the end of the civil-military dictatorship. The fact that an institution of remembrance and confrontation with the crimes of the state apparatus during the dictatorship was made possible is an achievement of collective civil society endeavours. The fight for ‘justicia, verdad y memoria’ is the principle that gives a common identity to countless initiatives that serve to uphold human rights and come to terms with the country’s recent past.

Elbio Ferrario is an emblematic figure of the ongoing struggle against state injustice in his country. As Uruguay’s history has changed from the 1960s to the present day, so has the expression of his resistance, but not his goal: to prevent any form of authoritarian statehood that does not recognise the freedom and human rights of its citizens.

Ferrario is co-founder and director of the ‘Museo de la Memoria’ in Montevideo. The design of the permanent exhibition reflects Ferrario’s artistic provenance, who works primarily as a painter and illustrator.

El árbol de la vida, Print. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

The museum is located on the outskirts of Montevideo and is surrounded by an extensive garden. The contrast between the peacefulness of the garden and the contempt and cruelty with which the regime treated political opponents, which is impressively displayed in the exhibition, has an oppressive effect on the visitor.

As a prisoner for many years, Ferrario experienced abuse and human rights violations first-hand. The oppositional attitude that turned him into an opponent of the authorities developed at the end of the 1960s. At that time, the democratically legitimised government was gradually transforming the state into a totalitarian system, starting with the curtailment of civil rights such as freedom of assembly, freedom of expression and freedom of association. Ferrario was an art student at the time and was involved in the student movement, which influenced social discourse through posters, murals and public demonstrations. In order to structurally weaken the opposition groups, many of their supporters were already imprisoned during these years. Ferrario was also arrested by the police for the first time, but as a minor he was not taken into custody.

Mano Paloma, Engraving on a vinyl disc, 22/100. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

Golero, Woodcut. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

When Ferrario and a fellow student were kidnapped on the street a short time later by members of a right-wing paramilitary group, the so-called ‘death squads’, and violently pressurised to reveal the whereabouts of a fellow student, he knew that he was no longer living in a state governed by the rule of law. He had identified one of the kidnappers as a police officer he knew.

In 1970, Ferrario became part of the ‘MLN- Tupamaros’. He produced political communication materials, forged documents and set up secret hideouts in residential buildings. According to Ferrario, the group was primarily interested in armed propaganda campaigns. For example, they raided goods transports of large companies and distributed the goods to the suffering population.

After Ferrario became part of the armed units of the Tupamaros in 1971, he was arrested by the police along with two of his comrades-in-arms and his mother, who had also joined the Tupamaros. The ‘Medidas Prontas de Seguridad’ allowed the then President Jorge Pacheco to circumvent constitutional guarantees and, as in Ferrario’s case, to carry out arrests without a trial or hearing. From August to December, Ferrario was detained in the ‘Alvaro Cortez’ juvenile detention centre.

Released from prison, Ferrario continued the resistance struggle as part of the Tupamaros, was arrested again in 1972 and remained in prison for 13 years without interruption until the end of the dictatorship in 1985.

He was sentenced to 24 years in prison in a sham trial within the framework of military justice and in disregard of constitutional standards. He was charged with the offences of ‘attacking the constitutional order’, conspiracy and robbery.

During his detention, Ferrario was tortured using the ‘waterboarding’ method, among other things, to obtain information. At no point did he know if and when further torture would take place. Ferrario considered the length of his detention and the fact that he did not know whether he would ever be released again to be deep psychological torture.

After the coup d’état in June 1973, the opportunities to be artistically active and to produce products such as screen prints or leatherwork in joint workshops with other prisoners were largely restricted. This meant that an important means of communication with other inmates within the prison was cut off, and communication with the outside world was also made more difficult. Previously, it had been possible to send messages to acquaintances outside the prison by circumventing censorship through symbolic representations – Ferrario mainly used painting and woodwork. The production of art not only meant sending signs of life to the outside world and maintaining a source of finance for the families through sales, but also allowed the prisoners to maintain a spirit of resistance. Producing art meant escaping the complete heteronomy of the prison and preserving a piece of their own personality from the control of the guards.

John Lennon, Engraving on a vinyl disc, 23/100. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

Yoko Ono, Engraving on a vinyl disc, 23/100. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

Ferrario remembers cellmates who began to write down forbidden books in tiny print on scraps of paper in order to keep them in circulation.

Ferrario remained in prison until the amnesty was granted by the new democratic government in March 1985. People formed a trellis for the released prisoners from the prison to the city; Ferrario remembers it as a highly emotional moment of sympathy.

After regaining his freedom, Ferrario continued his artistic work, presented his first exhibitions of works from his time in prison and worked in various roles at the traditional Teatro El Galpón in Montevideo. He also began to study architecture.

With the end of the dictatorship, the existence of the ‘MLN-Tupamaros’ as an armed group came to an end. Ferrario continued his activist work as an autonomous component within the ‘Frente Amplio’, an alliance of left-wing parties.

He also began to collaborate with the writer Mauricio Rosencof, who had also been imprisoned for political reasons and continued to write in prison. Ferrario illustrated some of Rosencof’s books. As there was no immediate will among the population to come to terms with the recent past, it took some time for his publications to find a wider public resonance. ‘There was a moment of silence’ and it was even difficult for families to talk about their experiences.

La salida de la fábrica, Lino printing, 16/100. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

In 1996, the ‘Marcha de Silencio’ (‘March of Silence’), which has since become an institution, took place for the first time, publicly commemorating the disappeared and calling for their fate to be clarified. Two years later, Ferrario was commissioned by the initiators of the ‘Marcha de Silencio’ to design a fitting finale for the rally. Other artists were involved in the design process and the ‘Marcha de Silencio’ ultimately ceased to be a conventional demonstration and became a ‘performative act’. Art and memory began to merge and art became an ‘expression of memory’. It was in the context of the ‘Marcha de Silencio’ that the idea of creating a museum of remembrance culture finally emerged.

However, the plans for the museum did not materialise until 2005, when Mauricio Rosencof became the cultural commissioner of the new Frente Amplio government. The public and interest groups were involved in the planning, resulting in the development of a ‘collective project’.

In 2006, the final decision was made to build the museum and Ferrario was put in charge as acting director. Ferrario combined his architectural and dramaturgical experience in the design of the museum and curated the exhibition into a ‘narrative construction’.

Ferrario explains that all the exhibits were brought to the museum by the citizens themselves and therefore everything that the population considered worth remembering became exhibits. The museum management later only took over the artistic and exhibition organisation.

The design of the museum was based on the concepts of ‘critical museology’ and an attempt was made to understand the museum as a place of trust where social change could materialise. The signs with the faces of the missing originate from the very first ‘Marcha de Silencio’; they are taken out of the museum every year for the rally by the relatives and later brought back to the exhibition.

Ferrario recognises fluctuations in the work of remembrance; there are constant advances and regressions, which is why it should be understood as something continuous and to be pursued with perseverance. Memoria in Uruguay is a playing field of constant political conflict; there is a constant battle for the sovereignty of interpretation of recent history. For Ferrario, the rise of the far-right party ‘Cabildo Abierto’, which questions previously undisputed certainties about the responsibility of the state’s repressive rule, shows that the struggle for an appropriate representation of recent history will continue.

Ferrario calls for a clear response to such partly revisionist tendencies and the trivialisation of the crimes, stating that the crimes of the civil-military dictatorship have affected and continue to affect society as a whole. The answer must lie in a policy that creates an awareness of this. The prosecution of state crimes is also part of such a policy. Even if the legal statute of limitations has already expired on the offences, no further criminal charges can be brought and a trial is therefore symbolic in nature, it is important for the state to signal that injustice is recognised and disapproved of as such. It is up to the population to persuade the legislator to act. A law on the establishment of ‘Sitios de memoria’ (‘Places of Remembrance’) that recently came into force was largely the result of pressure from the museum.

It is in line with Ferrario’s philosophy to invite citizens to engage in dialogue and to incorporate their collective experiences into the museum’s work. On the other hand, the integrative work gives the museum the opportunity to pursue an active politics of remembrance without itself being a political party. Ferrario states that the community is already beginning to produce its own culture of remembrance based on personal and family experiences.

Nevertheless, the museum should not be seen as a place turned away from the present. On the contrary, the value of memory only becomes apparent in the lessons learnt for dealing with current developments.
Ferrario emphasises the aptness of Benjamin’s image of the ‘lightning bolt from the past that illuminates the dangers of the present’. His form of memoria is therefore a memoria activa.

Niños músicos latinoamericanos, two-colour linocut print. © Elbio Ferrario, “Penal de la Libertad” (1976-1978)

Author: Yannik Holsten

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