misc.

This past Tuesday I learned how to not be scared of my sewing machine thanks to an Intro to Sewing course at Bits of Thread here in DC.

It was so momentous that I literally had the following clip from What About Bob? in my head:

I have slugged my grandmother’s old Singer sewing machine to my various apartments for over a decade now, yet been so scared of using it that I had only actually tried it out once or twice. I had literally become a Luddite, as I kept saying things like “it’s too fast” or “I can’t handle all those moving parts” whenever talk of me actually using it came up in conversation, as not only do I have it, but it sits permanently in my living room (it’s built in to a table).

So, I decided to face my crafty fear and go for it. Here are the results:

Ahoy! Now how I know how Bob felt in that clip and feel so triumphant for having mastered my fear of the moving needle!

Curious, do you have any crafty fears? And if so, have you mastered them?

So last week, we started our journey of 48 Weeks of Historical Craftivism! You can read all about it (and Gandhi spinning khadi!) here and over at #HistCraftivism.

The goal here is for me to share with you what I learned in two hours of research. I’ve decided to mainly go with words and photos that are linked to original sources, so you can either choose to read a little or a lot.

Hope you enjoy!

During the late 70s and early 80s in Argentina, there was what was known as the “Dirty War.” In short, the government didn’t like anyone who they possibly saw as a threat… and often killed anyone who fit in this category. A popular method of doing so included throwing them out of airplanes. That were in the air. Many of the individuals that were disappearing were quite young, those that were pregnant had their babies taken from them at birth and they were given to members of the regime.

Not getting any answers from the government as to where their children had gone, the mothers of the disappeared “Los Desaparecidos” in Buenos Aires met at a large public square, Plaza de Mayo, wearing handkerchiefs embroidered with the name of their disappeared loved one in blue every Thursday. They were the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo. Grandmothers met and came out as well in embroidered handkerchiefs, Abuelas de la Plaza de Mayo.

There is a lot to read about them, so if you’re interested, jump off into one of these amazing articles and papers linked below. The photographs are links to articles as well.

Within a terrorist state, those who spoke out put their own lives in danger. Yet, in the face of the disappearance of their children, in 1977 a group of mothers began to meet each Thursday in the large Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, the site of Argentinaâ€™s government. There they walked in non-violent demonstrations. As they walked they chanted: â€œWe want our children; we want them to tell us where they are.â€ The madres said, â€œNo matter what our children think they should not be tortured. They should have charges brought before them. We should be able to see them, visit them.â€

The â€œDirty War,â€ as it came to be called, arose out of a century and, to some extent, a tradition of political instability. According to Anne J. Barry, â€œThe political heritage of Argentina has always been mixed and somewhat unstable.â€ March 2

In their grief the Mothers found each other â€“ women who shared the same pain and anguish. At first they came together for mutual support, and then they demanded to be heard. It began with a silent vigil in the Plaza de Mayo, a public square in Buenos Aires that faces the Ministry of the Interior. The vigil became a weekly event. Each Thursday, scores of these middle-aged women, the Madres de Plaza de Mayo, stood silently, identified only by their white kerchiefs, and sometimes by the pictures they held of their missing children.

It was illegal to hold any public protest during the state of siege. But the generals did not know how to respond to this mute outcry. They resorted to ridicule; they called them the â€œcrazy women,â€ las locas de Plaza de Mayo. Then they resorted to bullying and terror. The Mothers began to receive threatening phone calls and letters. Several times the whole group of them was arrested, loaded onto buses, and detained overnight. Some of the Mothers were physically attacked by government thugs. Several of them were kidnapped and disappeared. But the threats only strengthened their resolve.

In 1986, the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo split in two.

One group, led by Hebe de Bonafini, became known as the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo Association. The second, became known as Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo Founding Line.

The main differences were ideological. Ms de Bonafini’s group was against receiving state compensation of $275,000 for each disappeared child.

“You cannot put a price on life. Also, to accept this compensation you have to sign a death certificate saying when your child died. I cannot sign this as it is the people who took them who know, not me,” she says.

They also reject the forensic work to identify the remains. They want efforts concentrated on bringing those who committed the crimes to justice.

But Ms Almeida does not agree. “I respect Ms de Bonafini’s opinion, but I need closure. I would like to touch Alejandro’s bones before I die.”