The Abuelas created a movement. Their grandchildren are ready to carry the torch

It was April 1977 when the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, a group of women who were searching for their sons and daughters kidnapped by the dictatorship, began their weekly protests in the Plaza de Mayo square.  It was during one of these marches in October of that year when one mother asked if anyone was looking for a grandchild or a pregnant relative who was missing.  Twelve women stepped forward, the foundational act of the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo, a human rights group devoted to searching for the children who were stolen by the dictatorship between 1976 and 1983 that turned them into global icons.  Almost 50 years on since their creation, the grandmother’s mission is far from over. So far, they have identified 140 of the close to 500 who had their identities stolen.  The very same grandchildren they identified are ready to carry on the search. Read more of the Herald’s coverage of the 50th anniversary of the 1976 military coup here Inside a quest for life The Grandmother’s first official meeting was October 22, 1977, where they met to outline their search. They initially called themselves “Argentine Grandmothers with Disappeared Grandchildren” and later adopted the name used by the international press: Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo. In the face of a murderous dictatorship that denied the crimes they committed, the grandmothers faced the daunting task ahead with a defining question: what can we do to find our grandchildren? “The most generous gesture was to close ranks, hold hands, and walk together, defying fear, risks, and bad advice,” says María Landaburu, a current member of the Abuelas board, who is still searching for a nephew or niece.  Her sister Leonor Landaburu, who was kidnapped with her partner Juan Carlos Catnich in August 1977, was 7 months pregnant when she was taken. In 1980, after almost three years of tireless search, the Abuelas managed to identify the first two stolen grandchildren, Tatiana Ruarte Britos and her sister Laura Jotar Britos. The find solidified their struggle and helped them gain international visibility. Fifty years ago, restoring the identity of grandchildren who had been appropriated after being born in captivity was something entirely new — not only for the Argentine justice system, but for the world as well.  The Abuelas did not sit around for things to happen. “In many cases, they were the ones who brought information to the courts, since most cases originated from what is popularly known as an ‘anonymous tip,’” said Laura Ramírez, an assistant prosecutor of a legal unit in the Argentine judiciary tasked with searching for grandchildren. Another turning point came in 1987, when the Abuelas became one of the driving forces to create the National Genetic Data Bank.  The bank, unique in the world, stores samples of relatives who are looking for the children disappeared by the dictatorship and of all the people who suspect they are children of the disappeared. Since then, it has been in charge of resolving the filiation of the children stolen during the dictatorship. Over the years, the grandmothers’ board began to expand in order to include aunts, uncles, brothers, and sisters who were searching for their stolen relatives. The Civil Association Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo even amended its bylaws so that decision-making bodies would no longer be composed only of grandmothers.  “As the grandmothers grew older, a generational transition in the association and its leadership began to take place,” Ramírez added. The Abuelas understood that an institutional move  was essential for the search to continue. With this in mind, a group called “Nietes” was created — the children of the recovered grandchildren, in other words, the great-grandchildren. A new generation Guillermo Pérez Roisinblit was 22 when he learned that he had been stolen as a child and raised under a false identity. He was found after Abuelas received an anonymous tip in April 2000 saying that an Air Force civilian agent and his wife had registered a boy as their own child using a false birth certificate.  In 2004, the National Genetic Data Bank confirmed the young man’s biological relationship with José Manuel Pérez Rojo and Patricia Roisinblit families. He was born on November 15, 1978, during his mother’s captivity at the ESMA, where she had been detained while eight months pregnant. “It was difficult for me to accept and process, since I wasn’t searching for my identity,” Guillermo tells the Herald. Over the years, however, he began to get more involved.  “I’m a lawyer, and I can serve as a kind of link between Abuelas and Congress and lawmakers. Sometimes I take part in meetings related to international organizations and human rights treaties, supporting Abuelas’ legal team,” he explained. Guillermo experienced a unique moment in 2022 when his grandmother Rosa Tarlovsky de Roisinblit, the association’s historic vice president who was over 100 at the time, was appointed as honorary president of the board.  “At that same moment, and considering that I had already been participating, they offered me the honor of joining the board of directors,” Guillermo said. Things were different for Esteban Herrera Simerman.  “I grew up always knowing the truth about my identity,” he told the Herald. Esteban was a few months old when his mother, Georgina Sergia Simerman, was kidnapped in Cortinez, Buenos Aires Province, in May 1977. She was three months pregnant at the time.  “In 2012, CONADI (by its Spanish initials, National Commission for the Right to Identity) gave me the news that my mother was pregnant when she was detained,” he said, adding that it turned his world “upside down.” “This meant that there was still something of my mother that might still be alive, and that we had to look for my sibling,” he explained. Esteban became more actively involved when Ignacio Montoya Carlotto, the grandson of Estela de Carlotto, was found in 2014.  “There were more interview requests than they could handle, and we couldn’t miss that spontaneous momentum to keep spreading the message,” he said. Esteban is searching for a sibling born in November 1977, and he takes part in the work of the board, representing Abuelas at every event where they are invited.  “These are tasks related to spreading the message of Abuelas: that this struggle will not end until the last grandchild is found.”  To say “grandchild” is, in a sense, a convention — much like the word “kidnapped” when referring to adults who were illegally detained and later disappeared during the dictatorship. Together with Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo and Nietes, Guillermo and Esteban are searching for more than 300 grandchildren who, just like them, are now adults.  Cover image: digital representation of the Abuelas de Plaza de Mayo (courtesy Milton Javier Córdoba)