By 1948, President Perón’s first economic program was yielding results and enjoying broad political and social support while strengthening an expanding state infrastructure. The consolidation of this nationalist and anti-liberal model had an impact on cultural production, particularly on an expanded literary field. Between 1948 and 1949 several works that became canonical were published, offering a diversity of perspectives on the debates that crisscrossed Argentine culture: the novels Adán Buenos Ayres (Leopoldo Marechal), El túnel (Ernesto Sábato), the essay Muerte y transfiguración de Martín Fierro (Ezequiel Martínez Estrada) and in the short-story collection El Aleph (Jorge Luis Borges). Differences arose not only out of divergent political positions but also, and perhaps more poignantly, out of the disparate conceptual frameworks around which intellectual debates took place: ideas of order and chaos, organization and entropy, community and disorder. Terms like “pueblo” and “popular” became essential and unavoidable to discuss fiction, literary language, the role of literature, and literary institutions that grouped writers.

This chapter shows how the Peronist party in Buenos Aires, Argentina, stifled police reforms, tolerated or benefited from police illicit rent extraction, and, for most of this period, controlled the drug market through coordinated protection rackets. While the PJ governed Buenos Aires uninterruptedly between 1987 and 2015, drug regulation shifted in the late 1990s, as bitter factional disputes loosened the provincial government’s grip over the police, exacerbated particularistic negotiations between police and criminals, and increased police and criminal violence. In the mid-2000s the government restored its politicized control of the police. The Bonaerense’s coordinated protection regime contained the advance of drug gangs through Greater Buenos Aires, the vastest metropolitan area in the country, while criminal violence plateaued at the same time it ballooned in Rosario.

This chapter illustrates how police regulation of drug markets in Rosario, Argentina, mutated from a relatively non-violent source of rents controlled by the police and successive administrations to a blend of splintered corruption and unprecedented violence. The Peronist government’s low fragmentation and entrenchment initially enabled it to politicize the police, using it to run coordinated protection rackets that centralized corruption and mitigated violence. However, starting in the mid-1990s, turnover and fragmentation increased due to factional disputes within the ruling Peronist party, triggering multiple police reform cycles. The arrival in power of the Socialist party in 2007 further increased police autonomy and destabilized the local drug market. Police corruption fractured; practically every police precinct ran its own racket. This chaotic drug market made Rosario one of the most violent cities in the country. Despite three consecutive terms in office (2007-2019), Socialist administrations were unable—and perhaps ultimately unwilling—to reform the police, stabilize the drug market and significantly reduce criminal violence.

Argentina was one of the richest countries in the world in 1900. Its GDP per capita, according to the Maddison Project database, was $4,583. At the same time, Germany’s GDP per capita was $4,758, Sweden’s was $3,320, and Japan’s $2,123, the same as South Africa one year earlier, while Indonesia ($1,151) and India ($955) were comparatively poorer.1

More than a century later, in 2018, the situation was very different. While Argentina was four times as rich in 2018 as in 1900 ($18,556 vs. $4,583, adjusted for price increases), Germany was ten times richer in 2018 than in 1900 – a country, one must remember, that had suffered defeat in two world wars. Sweden was fourteen times richer. Indonesia was ten and India seven times richer.

Raúl’s decline and disappearance constitute the sadistic climax of the posthumous stories. Storytellers linger with relish over their accounts of his descent, after 1930, into poverty, illness, homelessness, alcoholism, police detention, and finally madness, institutionalization, and death. So enthusiastic are they about ushering Raúl to his end that they begin to declare him dying or dead decades before his actual demise in 1955. His death was permanently useful to tell and retell as part of a tragicomedy about the foolishness of persisting in being a Black person in a country that had outgrown them (or, in its great wisdom, had arranged never to have any). In this sense, storytellers merely conscripted Raúl into the broader narratives of always-impending (but never quite complete) Black disappearance that had circulated since his grandparents’ day. “Deaths” shows how the defamatory stories about Raúl’s decline and death, circulating since the 1930s in the press and popular culture, sped him to the sad ends storytellers envisioned for him. Between 1930 and 1955, Raúl’s trajectory as revealed by the archival record converges, in many important details, with the denigrating tales that took shape around him. But this chapter tells that story very differently. In part, Raúl’s difficulties in these years had to do with extensive transformations in Argentine society – economic depression, a military coup, intensified police repression, and the renewed vigor of eugenics and scientific racism. In part, too, his struggles reflected the fact that the journalists, photographers, police officers, physicians and psychologists who encountered Raúl during the last decades of his life were themselves informed by preexisting narratives about class, citizenship, and Blackness in Argentina. Using press coverage of Raúl, photographs, his police record, and his medical records from a hospital and two psychiatric institutions, I reconstruct these last decades of his life and demonstrate how they were deformed at every turn by narratives of Afro-Argentine death that were only strengthened, in storytellers’ eyes, by what they saw as Raúl’s sorry state. Finally, building on highly suggestive clues in his psychiatric file, the chapter closes with an alternative, or rather intersecting, re-reading of his life through the lens of queerness and same-sex sexuality.

Chapter four examines how followers’ attachments survive after the disappearance of the founder. Specifically, I argue that the symbolic narrative initially crafted by the founder helps turn these ties into a resilient political identity that shapes followers’ worldview, perpetuates the cleavage between followers and their opponents, and reaffirms their faith in the founder’s mission of transcendence. When the founder dies or can no longer physically maintain his personal connection with the followers, this narrative serves as a scripture that, like the New Testament for many Christians, upholds the founder’s identification with the movement. To illustrate this process, I turn to focus group discussions with followers of Peronism and Chavismo, who reveal how their preservation of stories and material possessions connected to the founder perpetuate their affective connections to the movement and provide an opportunity for new politicians who portray themselves as heroic reincarnations of the founder to win the followers’ loyalty.

Chapter seven integrates the perspectives of followers and leaders to investigate the trajectories of charismatic movements starting from the moment when their founders disappear. To begin, I explain how, while generating tremendous political and economic volatility, the fitful pattern in which these movements develop reinforces, rather than dilutes, the personalistic nature of the movement. Subsequently, I trace the history of the Peronist movement from Perón’s exile in 1955 until 2015, when Peronist candidate Daniel Scioli lost the presidential election to Mauricio Macri, a non-Peronist. The analysis illustrates the endogenous nature of charismatic movement revival and explains how, paradoxically, such movements generate periods of political strength and coherence as well as periods of recession and political fragmentation, the latter of which, in turn, help prepare the ground for the movement’s re-emergence. The chapter concludes with an analysis of the fifth revival of Peronism in 2019 under Cristina Kirchner and her handpicked presidential candidate and running mate, Alberto Fernández.

Chapter eight summarizes key empirical findings of the study, draws theoretical conclusions about the potential for charismatic movements to bypass routinization and live on in personalistic form, and reflects on the challenges these movements pose for democracy. It also extends the analysis to cases beyond Argentina and Venezuela where charismatic movements persisted or reemerged after the disappearance of their founders, including Fujimorismo in Peru, Forza Italia in Italy, the Pheu Thai Party in Thailand, and Maoism in China. The chapter also explores the broader implications that my theory of personalistic revival holds for the potential staying power and consequences of charismatic populist leaders, who are on the rise in countries across the world.

Chapter five investigates how citizens’ charismatic attachments can be politically reactivated to facilitate new politicians’ consolidation of power. In particular, I argue that successors must depict themselves as symbolic reincarnations of the founder to reanimate the political significance of the followers’ attachments and garner support as new standard-bearers of the movement. Specifically, new leaders must implement two strategies: (1) bold, initially impressive policies and (2) symbolic associations with the charismatic founder. Face-to-face survey experiments conducted with movement followers in Argentina and Venezuela indicate that political candidates who implement these two strategies cause citizens to express stronger emotional attachment to the movement and increased support for the new leader. The results further challenge the notion that charismatic attachments are short-lived and underscore the potential of new leaders to resurrect the political intensity of those attachments.

Chapter one introduces the puzzle of charismatic movement survival and proposes the explanation I advance in this book. First, I summarize the conventional wisdom, which suggests that charismatic movements must transform into institutionalized parties. Next, I present my alternative theory – that these movements can survive by sustaining, rather than discarding, their personalistic core – and argue that this new explanation better accounts for the spasmodic, stubbornly personalistic trajectories of Peronism and Chavismo. Subsequently, I introduce the multi-method research design this book uses to analyze the persistence and revival of charismatic movements in Argentina and Venezuela, which incorporates public opinion data, focus groups, and survey experiments with movement followers; interviews with leaders and political analysts; and archival research documenting each movement’s history. I then clarify and discuss the relationship between three concepts central to this book: charisma, populism, and charismatic movement. Finally, I justify my selection of the two cases of Peronism and Chavismo and lay out the organization of the book.

Borges declared that a writer’s political views were circumstantial and should not interfere with his or her literary creation and reputation. However, the cases of Argentina and Cuba from the mid-1940s on illustrate the influence of context on the reception of his work. The chapter focuses on three periods: the mid-1940s, the mid-1950s, and the first decade of the Cuban Revolution of 1959. In Argentina, the failure of the jury to award Borges the National Literary Award in 1942 was politically motivated. In Cuba, the first critical text on Borges appeared in 1944 and was influenced by the attitude to culture of the Origenes group, led by J Lezama Lima. In the following decade, and after the overthrowing of Perón, Borges’s work was criticized for being out of touch with Argentine realities, whereas in Cuba, a new literary magazine, Ciclón, expressed support for his work. After the Cuban Revolution, Borges’s name continued to be mentioned; however, after 1968, he would be censored in the island for two decades. The chapter concludes that writers and c ritics tend to read other writers in relation with their own cultural credos or projects.