[stop-imf] 'IMF Go To Hell' - Naomi Klein in Argentina

[Robert Weissman]

Toronto Globe and Mail
Saturday, March 16, 2002

'IMF Go To Hell'
The people of Argentina have tried the<BR>
IMF approach; now they want it their way
NAOMI KLEIN



On Tuesday in Buenos Aires, only a few blocks from where Argentine
President Eduardo Duhalde was negotiating with the International
Monetary Fund, a group of residents were going through a negotiation of
a different kind. They were trying to save their home.

In order to protect themselves from an eviction order, the residents of
335 Ayacucho, including 19 children, barricaded themselves inside and
refused to leave. On the concrete facade of the house, a hand-printed
sign said: IMF Go To Hell.

What does the IMF, in town to set conditions for releasing $9-billion in
promised funds, have to do with the fate of these people? Well, here in
a country where half the population now lives below the poverty line,
it's hard to find a single sector of society whose fate does not somehow
hinge on the decisions made by the international lender.

Librarians, teachers and other public sector workers, who have been
getting paid in hastily-printed provincial currencies (sort of
government IOUs), won't get paid at all if the provinces agree to IMF
demands to stop printing this money. And if deeper cuts are made to the
public sector, as the IMF also is insisting, unemployed workers who
account for between 20 and 30 per cent of the population, will have even
less protection from the homelessness and hunger that has led tens of
thousands to storm supermarkets demanding food.

And if a solution isn't found to the "medical state of emergency"
declared this week, it will certainly affect an elderly woman I met
recently on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. In a fit of shame and
desperation, she pulled up her blouse and showed a group of foreigners
the open wound and hanging tubes from a stomach operation that her
doctor was not able to stitch up or dress due to lack of medical supplies.

Maybe it seems rude to talk about such matters in the context of the
IMF's visit. Economic analysis is supposed to be about the peg to the
dollar, "peso-ification," and the dangers of "stagflation" -- not
families losing homes and gaping wounds.

Yet reading the reckless advice that the international business
community is hurling at the IMF and Argentina's government, perhaps a
little personalizing is in order.

For weeks, Argentina has been scolded like a small child that shouldn't
get desert until it finishes dinner. Despite a commitment to slash 60
per cent from provincial deficits, Argentina apparently hasn't done
enough to "deserve" a loan. "The news is all on the surface," sniffs an
economist from Credit Suisse First Boston. President Duhalde warns that
Argentina's desperate population cannot support deeper cuts -- but some,
such as the National Post, call this procrastination.

The international consensus is that the IMF should see Argentina's
crisis not as an obstacle but as an opportunity: The country is so
desperate for cash, it will do whatever the IMF wants, the reasoning goes.

"During a crisis is when . . . Congress is most receptive," explains
Winston Fritsch, chairman of Dresdner Bank AG's Brazilian unit.

Rocardo Cabellero and Rudiger Dornbusch, a pair of MIT economists
writing in the Financial Times, go further. "It's time to get radical,"
they say. Argentina "must temporarily surrender its sovereignty on all
financial issues . . . give up much of its monetary, fiscal, regulatory
and asset-management sovereignty for an extended period, say five
years." The country's spending, money-printing and tax administration
should be controlled by "foreign agents," they say, including "a board
of experienced foreign central bankers."

In a nation still scarred by the "disappearance" of 30,000 people during
the 1976-1983 military dictatorship, only a "foreign agent" would have
the nerve to say, as the MIT team does, that "somebody has to run the
country with a tight grip." And that, with the Argentinians out of way,
the country could be saved by prying open markets, introducing deep
spending cuts, and, of course, a "massive privatization campaign."

It's obvious to anyone who has been paying attention to Argentina's
social upheavals that such an economic dictatorship could only be
enforced through terrifying state repression and bloodshed.

But there's another hitch: Argentina has already done it all.

As the IMF's model student throughout the 1990s, the country flung open
its economy (that's why it's been so easy for capital to flee since the
crisis began). As far as Argentina's supposedly wild public spending
goes, a full third goes directly to servicing the external debt. Another
third goes to pension funds, which have already been privatized. The
remaining third alone covers health, education and social assistance.
Far from spiraling out of control, these expenditures have fallen far
behind population growth, which is why shipments of donated food and
medicine are arriving by boat from Spain.

As for "massive privatization," Argentina has dutifully sold off so many
of its services, from trains to phones, that the only examples of
further assets Mr. Cabellero and Mr. Dornbusch can think of privatizing
are the country's ports and customs offices.

No wonder economists and bankers are in such a rush to blame the victims
of this crisis, to claim that Argentinians overspent, were greedy,
corrupt. Of course, it's true that the political system here is
contaminated with cultures of both payola and impunity. But the same
financiers that happily lined the pockets of politicians and army
generals in exchange for local contracts are hardly the ones who should
be trusted to do Argentina's house cleaning.

Argentina's housewives have a better idea. Last week, on International
Women's Day, hundreds took to the streets with brooms in hand and
announced that they wouldn't clean their homes until they had swept the
corruption out of Congress. Their protest was one tiny wave in a massive
tide of grassroots mobilization that has already brought down successive
governments and now is threatening to do something far more radical:
bring in real democracy.

Following the model started by the Piqueteros, Argentina's militant
unemployed, tens of thousands of residents are organizing themselves
into neighborhood assemblies, connected to each other at the city and
national levels. In town squares, parks and on street corners,
neighbours discuss ways of making their democracies more accountable and
filling in where government has failed. They are talking about creating
a "citizen's congress" to demand transparency and accountability from politicians.

They are discussing participatory budgets and shorter political terms,
while organizing communal kitchens for the unemployed and planning film
festivals in the streets. The President, who was appointed when his
elected predecessors resigned from the position, is scared enough of
this growing political force that he has begun calling these asambleas "antidemocratic."

But there is reason to pay attention. The asambleas are also talking
about how to kick-start local industries and renationalize assets. And
they could go even further. Argentina, as the obedient pupil for
decades, miserably failed by its IMF professors, shouldn't be begging
for loans; it should be demanding reparations.

The IMF had its chance to run Argentina. Now, it's the people's turn.

Naomi Klein is author of No Logo.