Ten years ago, a group of Argentine army officers staged the "colonels' revolution" that brought Juan Perón to power. Since then, yanqui-baiting Dictator Perón has become the most familiar Latin American figure to the U.S.—and in some ways the most alarming. How is Perón doing after a decade in power? Last week TIME's Buenos Aires Correspondent Ramelle MaCoy reported:
The casual visitor to Buenos Aires is not likely to see many outward signs of a police state. The people are well fed and well clothed, and the look on the faces of afternoon strollers on Calle Florida is not one of misery. But the police state can be evident, even to the casual observer. One Saturday afternoon late last year, some engineering students threw a handful of anti-Perón leaflets from an upper-story window on a busy downtown street. Within 15 minutes, ten plainclothes policemen had arrested everyone caught reading the leaflets. Thirty-nine people were jailed.
Since the army's abortive revolt in September 1951, the country has been, by presidential decree, in a "state of internal war." While this does not affect the ordinary businessman or worker who keeps his mouth shut, it has a very real meaning for people suspected of being enemies of Perón. It means that the police may legally arrest any resident of Argentina and hold him indefinitely, without ever bringing any charge against him. (There are now an estimated 80,000 cops in Buenos Aires alone; New York City, with a population nearly three times as large, has 20,000.) While in jail at the "disposition of the executive," political prisoners are treated reasonably well. In "interrogation" sessions, however, police often use torture. The accepted procedure is to strap the nude victim to a marble table, douse him with a bucket of cold water, and prod the eyelids and other sensitive parts of the body with a hot electric wire.
Psychological forms of torture are also used. This month a released political prisoner reported that in front of his cell block, in view of some 40 prisoners, a pair of bloody, severed human hands was left lying all one day on a piece of newspaper.
Fear & Bread. Fear pervades all levels of Argentine society, from cabinet ministers to cab drivers. Argentines have learned never to discuss politics on street corners, in restaurants or in the presence of strangers, servants or children. Fear often saves Perón the trouble of taking overt action. The once great independent newspaper La Nación theoretically is still independent. But in practice the editors of La Nación know that if they should print one or two outspoken editorials, the paper would be closed.