Aníbal Gordon: The Education of a Parapolice Officer

Not much is known about Aníbal Gordon , the protagonist of this book. Imprisoned for common crimes, he was released from prison on May 25, 1973, mixed in with the pardoned political prisoners. He became involved with the State Information Secretariat (SIDE), was a member of the Triple A, and—as he later stated—was responsible for the murders of Silvio Frondizi and Rodolfo Ortega Peña . In 1976, under orders from the Army, he directed the "Automotores Orletti" center, responsible for the detention, torture, and disappearance of "subversives. " He continued to command the so-called "gangs" until late 1983. Simultaneously, he led his own gang, dedicated to extortionate kidnappings and theft of works of art. Imprisoned in 1984, he died in prison in 1987 . In short, it was part of a world where state terrorism was intertwined with private crime, in which there was no shortage of military personnel, even high-ranking ones.

Remembering this information—perhaps unknown to younger generations—is essential to understanding this new book by Marcelo Larraquy, author of several notable texts on violence in the 1970s, such as Galimberti. From Perón to Susana. From Montoneros to the CIA —with Roberto Caballero—and López Rega. Peronism and the Triple A.

In that world, Gordon is an atypical character. Until 1972, he was a common criminal, a thief who tried to avoid violence whenever possible. Larraquy reconstructs the years leading up to his entry into the "big story": his childhood, his youth as a car thief, his first prison stay in 1951. The narrative thickens from his first major robbery: a bank in Bariloche in February 1971. He ends up in another prison in 1972, mixed up with political prisoners, when, unwittingly, he becomes involved with the world of spies and gangs.

Larraquy has a solid background as a historian—he graduated from the University of Buenos Aires —and extensive experience in investigative journalism, which has earned him significant recognition. Both traditions explain his meticulous and obsessive research, which is particularly complicated in these cases. He interviewed those who knew Gordon in the cities of Colón, Santa Fe—his coveted place in the world—and in various prisons. But above all, he relies on the court files for each of the cases he accumulated in different parts of the country, whose information the author weaves together with the precision of a craftsman.

With this book, a novel, Larraquy moves from the realm of journalistic investigation to that of fiction . Perhaps because the documentary material wasn't enough to put together a complete narrative. Perhaps to give free rein to a more relaxed and dramatic writing style, as already evident, and restrained, in his previous books.

But curiously, this novel suffers from an excess of documentation, facts, names, and documentary transcripts. The first three hundred pages drag on, describing a predictable, uninteresting criminal world, nuanced here and there by clues that, as in many detective novels, will later appear in the denouement.

Aníbal Gordon is a mid-level criminal. His most notable act was the robbery of the Bariloche bank in 1971, so spectacular that a colonel on duty in the Federal Police thought he saw the influence of a guerrilla organization, targeted Gordon, and assigned an agent to follow the trail. Gordon had planned it carefully, with few companions. It worked almost perfectly; the loot was substantial, but he left traces that would ultimately betray him.

He decided to change his identity, abandon his solitary work, and join an organized gang. He participated in a few robberies, did everything right, and even began to make his own way. But at some point, the organization failed, and he ended up in prison. At the police station where he was being held, in Villa Ballester, he organized his escape, but again, something unexpected caused everything to fail. Only this time, the same fate led him, by mistake, to the Villa Devoto political prisoners' cellblock, all of whom were important members of the ERP and other organizations.

Up to this point, March 1972, this Gordon that Larraquy introduces us to was a mature and thoughtful man, who aspired to string together a few successful projects and then retire, reunite his family, and live a peaceful life as a gentleman farmer in his beloved Colón.

Everything changes in the last sixty pages of this novel, where the Larraquy of Galimberti and López Rega emerges. Until then, he had accumulated, here and there, elements that suddenly converge: the colonel who has his eye on him; an agent of his transferred to the SIDE, inexperienced, intelligent, and tenacious; a young henchman who, in addition to being a criminal, sympathizes with nationalist Peronism. With these elements, in Devoto prison, in early 1972, things come together so that the nonviolent and apolitical criminal ends up, a year later, as a prominent member of the Triple A.

Larraquy has managed to discover and narrate something that many historians seek: the moment and circumstances in which human destiny takes a surprising turn, unleashing previously unknown potential. The events and their meanings merge in a dizzying dance. The petty criminal becomes a prominent part of a parastatal repressive apparatus, and simultaneously, a high-flying private criminal, with whom many of those who share his repressive work collaborate.

It could be said that, with Gordon and his mediocre, transfigured life, Larraquy combines a narrative achievement—closing a novel that had not gotten off to a good start—with a historiographical one: giving body and substance to a vast image of those exceptional and terrible years in Argentina, when so many “ordinary people” were incarnated in one of their “demons.”

LA Romero is a historian and member of the National Academies of History and Moral and Political Sciences.