Argentina Caught in a Revolving Door

By Jill Smolowe.

At 2:30 a.m. last Wednesday, a bomb exploded in the posh Belgrano district of Buenos Aires, shattering the windows of an apartment building. Less than 19 hours later, President Raul Alfonsin gazed somberly into a television camera and addressed the people of Argentina. "Professionals of violence," he claimed, were attempting to undermine his government by "creating insecurity, the sensation of impunity, generating the idea that democracy is incapable of defending its citizens." Over the previous six weeks, he charged, these "demented phantoms" had been responsible for 1,806 bomb warnings and 42 explosions. But, he warned, they would not prevail. The 60-day state of siege that he had imposed a week earlier, the President declared, would thwart their efforts. Some 30 minutes later, Alfonsin received a pointed response: bomb No. 43 exploded on a street in Palermo.

The violent retort came on the second anniversary of Alfonsin's spectacular electoral victory, which heralded Argentina's return to democracy after nearly eight grueling, and often bloody, years of military rule. By all rights, Alfonsin should have spent the day celebrating. A recent opinion poll shows that he enjoys a popularity rating of 74%. Argentina's inflation rate, which reached 30% last June, was pared down to just 2% in October. Moreover, Alfonsin's attempts to restore public confidence in the rule of law have met with success. Indeed, last week Argentina was about to hold its first midterm congressional elections in 20 years, and all signs indicated that Alfonsin and his ruling Radical Party would do well. But any feelings of euphoria were upstaged by jitters over the mysterious rash of bombings. In addition, there was concern that by imposing a state of siege Alfonsin risked damaging Argentina's fledgling democracy.

Alfonsin's latest headaches began on Oct. 22, when he ordered the arrests of six military officers and six civilians on charges of right-wing subversion. The men, he claimed, acted "with a common aim of violence against democratic institutions and the people." What resulted was the spectacle of a revolving prison door. Before all twelve suspects could be rounded up, a judge pronounced the arrests unconstitutional and ordered the release of those who had been detained. Alfonsin replied by proclaiming a state of siege, suspending for 60 days all constitutional guarantees against arbitrary arrest. Again several of the suspects were rounded up--and again judges set them free, arguing that the government had not presented sufficient evidence to justify the arrests. An appeals court then stepped in and ruled that no evidence was required during a state of siege. At that point, five of the military officers, understandably baffled by the legal wrangling, turned themselves in at army bases to await a judicial resolution likely to go to the supreme court.

Even if the supreme court decides in the government's favor, it will be a long time before Alfonsin's suspicions are allayed. Two of the civilian suspects remain in hiding. So does former Army General Guillermo Suarez Mason, | whom Alfonsin believes to be the ringleader of the alleged conspiracy. Government spokesmen said that Suarez Mason has a home in Florida and that Argentina has asked for his extradition. A U.S. official, however, said he knew nothing of such a request.

Despite some lingering reservations about the legality of Alfonsin's actions, most Argentines have come around to endorsing the state of siege. The President's actions even became a rallying cry in the congressional campaigns. "Support Alfonsin," read one handbill for the ruling Radical Party last week, "because with the state of siege the people defend themselves from terror." When the decree was issued, however, there were angry murmurs in military circles, reportedly because Alfonsin had not first consulted his generals. The President made amends last week by inviting the joint chiefs of staff for a chat at his suburban official residence. The next day, Navy Admiral Ramon Arosa described the session as "completely positive."

Despite occasional rumors of another military coup, there seems little evidence that the army plans to come charging out of the barracks anytime soon. "There has never been a coup in Argentina that does not initially enjoy wide popular support, and there's no reason to suppose the rules will change," said Argentine Sociologist Jose Miguens. "The circumstances are simply not present." The public seems to agree. Trading on the Buenos Aires Bolsa de Comercio stock exchange, a clear barometer of public confidence, continued at normal levels last week. The political campaigns also proceeded at a giddy clip.

The campaign for 6,100 elective offices included contests for half the 254 seats in the lower house of congress. The Radical Party, hoping to build on its two-seat majority, tried to cast the election as a plebiscite on Alfonsin's presidency. "If we said Alfonsin is not part of the election, we'd be lying," said Marcelo Stubrin, 34, who headed the Radical slate in the capital. "Alfonsin changed the history of our party, and these elections are part of that."

The labor-dominated Peronist Party was not expected to pose a serious challenge. The Peronists are so badly divided that some of the party's leading figures originally threatened to sit out the elections, arguing that they must devote the next few years to "rebuilding our democratic alternative" in anticipation of the 1989 presidential elections. Still, the Radicals were unlikely to capture the two-thirds of the 254 seats they sought. ^ With that wide a majority, some Radical chieftains hoped to push through a constitutional reform that would enable Alfonsin, now limited to one six-year term, to succeed himself for four more years. Whether the President would agree to such a scheme is another question. After six years, he has said, "the body can go on no more."

With reporting by Gavin Scott/Buenos Aires