Palm trees and a catastrophe

It is a running joke among Argentines that their vision of the entire United States is embodied by one city: Miami. In the Latino megalopolis of the United States, one need not speak a single word of English to get by. Hispanics make up a little over half of the 2.3 million residents living in Miami-Dade County, and Miami has more flights to Latin America than every other U.S. airport combined. However, the Argentine connection to South Florida stems deeper than a week sunbathing in South Beach. The early 2000s saw a spike in Argentine outflow due to the massive economic crisis, which commenced in 1999.

During this period, tens of thousands of Argentines left the country—relocating to countries like Spain, Italy and the United States. Many sought jobs and opportunities their home economy could no longer provide. Others hoped to escape the chaotic streets of Buenos Aires, congested with angry “piqueteros” (picketers) and outraged demonstrators.

This was also a time when Argentines still held the treasured dispensation of being able to travel to the United States without first securing a visa, making it—and Miami, the Spanish-speaking capital of the United States—one of the most popular places of refuge.

Today, there are approximately 100,000 Argentine immigrants in South Florida—it is the largest Argentine expatriate community in the United States. Situated within Miami Beach, “Little Buenos Aires” has joined the rankings of “Little Havana” and “Little Haiti” in creating a home away from home for its thousands of Argentine-born community members. The neighborhood is full of shops and bakeries that serve traditional treats and accommodate distinctly Argentine palates.

However, the Argentine escape to South Florida in the midst of economic turmoil is far from a fairy tale. Many of the Argentines who now reside in the United States—especially in South Florida—live here illegally and face the threat of deportation. They arrived without visas and never returned home after their 90-day authorized visit. In fact, it was because of this very increase in Argentine inflow that the U.S. State Department, in 2002, stripped the nation of its coveted travel privilege.

I chose to revisit the Argentine economic crisis of 1999-2002 from the perspective of emigration because I felt it articulated a specific kind of relationship between the United States and Argentina—a relatively unknown story; one that I felt warranted further telling.

The crash itself—though undeniably devastating—is truly fascinating. In 2002, after the government announced that it could not pay back part of its foreign debt and that billions of dollars in government spending would have to be cut, Buenos Aires went from being the most expensive to cheapest city in Latin America. By 2002, Argentina had experienced the largest sovereign debt default in history, and more than half the population was below the poverty line. As an American, recognizing the resulting outflux of Argentines into the United States makes both the economic disaster and its demoralizing effects tangible to me.

Although the exact cause of the crisis has been debated, almost every expert will point to the failure of Argentina’s fixed exchange rate policy (fixing the peso to the dollar)—an attempt to stabilize the economy after nearly a decade of hyperinflation where, in 1989 alone, inflation rose by 1000 percent. This created a serious problem between Argentina and its largest trading partners, Brazil and the European Union, during the economic boom of the 1990s. Because the value of the peso was increasing at the same rate as the dollar (a rate much higher than the real or euro), Argentinean exports, and therefore economic growth were halted, resulting in huge unemployment and economic hardships.

The social and emotional aftermath of the crisis overshadows daily life, from the “cartoneros” (cardboard people) on the streets to discussions in the classroom. I was inspired to write this column after a recent encounter with a taxi driver in Buenos Aires. After learning I was a student from the U.S., he eagerly recounted his 10 overstayed years in Miami between 1999 and 2009. Following the collapse of his painting business in Buenos Aires, he joined the thousands of others leaving the country. Although he never specified the reason for his return, he did mention that, due to immigration restrictions, it would be nearly impossible for him to return in the future. He spoke with a certain nostalgia for the United States as well as for a dream era in Argentina that no longer exists. Even 10 years later, the memory of the crisis is still very alive in the minds of the Argentines. And each week, I have found myself exposed to new facets of a crisis that, though defining more than a decade of Argentine discourse, has also implicated itself in issues abroad.

Sonia Havele is a Trinity junior and is currently studying abroad in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Her column runs every other Friday.

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