There are words that deceive. Or even better: they all deceive, only some do it from the beginning, from their roots; Its origin is a deception, its content is a deception. The word Argentina is one of them: original lie. It all started 500 years ago, there was still more to do. These brave, greedy sailors wanted to reach the shores awash with the spices they eagerly sought, but they kept running into this endless land: they had had enough. America crossed his path: it was already beginning to be the obstacle that would later become so great. They didn’t give up: they sailed on, further and further south, to see if this stubborn landmass would eventually give in to them and if they would be able to leave it behind and finally continue on to Cathay.
There were hopes, moments of hope: some had them. One of them was Juan Díaz de Solís, a confused gentleman who may have been born in Spain or Portugal around 1475 and who set out as a young man to sail, perhaps with the Pinzones – who were sailors. He insisted, he learned, and in 1512, after the death of the great forger Amerigo Vespucci, King Ferdinand appointed him chief pilot to replace him. Then, already an official, he married, had a son and left the Guadalquivir in October 1515 with three caravels, 70 sailors and a mission to sail as far south as possible to find that elusive passage.
They searched, they went down, they went where no European had ever been. So often the mouth of a river or a large bay seemed to be the desired passage – and everyone found that this was not the case. Until they found a very strange place: a tongue of fresh, muddy water so wide it could only be a sea that would eventually take them to the other side. They unashamedly called it the “Sweet Sea” and were so happy that they landed on its right bank to eat, feast and drink, if at all.
This land, which seemed so calm, was already beginning to deceive: within minutes, swarms of locals descended on them. The Europeans fled; Solís couldn’t and these charrúas invited him to a barbecue, theirs. Hence these sarcastic verses from the teacher about the day “when Juan Díaz fasted / and the Indians ate”. His companions looked at him in shock from their caravels.
This was the Spanish’s first contact with these southern coasts; The memory of anthropophagy made the next time take a while. But from 1536 expeditions began to visit them regularly. They already knew that this sea was only a river and did not reach the other shore, but their locals told them of incredible riches when they went up there, and they were dazzled.
It was the Eldorado trick: “Yes, Bwana, there, beyond it lie mountains of gold and princesses bathed in its dust,” they told them, let’s say, to get them to leave. Only the locals on the brown coasts were more modest: they didn’t talk to them about gold, but about silver – and many believed them.
And then some greedy person changed the name Mar Dulce to Río de la Plata, and some Culterano worded it in Latin and said argento, silver. That’s why all these pampas became known as Argentina, “the lands of silver.” It is clear that there was never a drop of money in these dirty places: the locals, of course, told them, Bwana, don’t be discouraged, it’s a little further away – and they managed to maintain the deception and get rid of the troublemakers.
This is how the word Argentina was put together, one of the most false: with the lie that there was something in the afterlife that never was, that will not be. There is something that defines a character. “If, as the Greek affirms in the Kratylus, / the name is an archetype of the thing, / in the letters Rose there is the rose, / and the entire Nile in the word Nile,” the teacher emphasizes. “That’s why such a tricky word / could only lead to this trap, / of lying and lying to each other that these pampas / would one day be a wasteful nation…”
One of Ricardo Piglia’s best books is called False Name. Argentina has it and defines it: a country that convinces you that it can be what it cannot be, that promises money and more money when it has no money. This Sunday, this country will once again elect its rulers, its destiny. But he can no longer remain true to his fallacy: the candidates do not offer a happy future, only fears. They no longer say that the money is in front of us; You’re more likely to say that my opponent is the one who took it, don’t even think about voting for him. And that’s how we are.
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