Behind the Wall of Silence

Nearly 60 years after the end of World War II, the capacity of that conflict to stir up strong feelings shows little sign of ebbing. It was a clear-cut struggle against evil. A new take on the nature of that evil is explored in an absorbing, meticulously-researched account of how the 1943-55 quasi-fascist regime led by Argentine dictator Juan Perón spirited thousands of wanted war criminals from Europe. The author of The Real Odessa (Granta, 382 pages), Buenos Aires journalist and TIME contributor Uki Goñi, manages to arouse a new sense of shock about this episode.

The existence of an organized South American escape network codenamed Odessa has been suspected for decades. Goñi, after five years’ quarrying in almost-forgotten archives in Argentina, the U.S. and a number of European countries, has discovered exactly how and why the rat-run was set up. Goñi reveals with forensic precision how the Vatican and the Catholic Church hierarchy in Argentina colluded to protect thousands of Croatian fascists wanted for acts of genocide. He also details how Swiss officials cooperated with a secret office set up in Bern by Perón’s agents to smuggle Nazis out of Germany. Perón’s support for Hitler, his contacts with Himmler and his hostility to the Nuremberg trials are documented, as is the shameful behavior of Argentine diplomats who connived in the operation while making ransom demands on Jewish families seeking visas. The logistical role played by KLM, the Dutch airline, is fleshed out. And Allied forces in Europe are shown to have turned a blind eye to what was going on.

Given some of those who took advantage of Perón’s hospitality, this last revelation is as deplorable as anything in Goñi’s investigations. The roll call of indicted Nazi war criminals who ended up living more or less openly in Argentina until Perón was overthrown in 1955 includes Adolf Eichmann, Josef Mengele, Eduard Roschmann, Klaus Barbie, Ante Pavelic, Gerhard Bohne and Erich Priebke. This may be a matter-of-fact account of a sordid incident. But by keeping emotion at arm’s length Goñi heightens the impact.

It is also a courageous book. At the outset Goñi, the son of an Argentine ambassador, asserts that Argentina is a morally-blind country with a “fabricated” history that anyone can tailor to their requirements. He compares Perón’s corrupt rule with the murderous 1976-83 military dictatorship that did away with 20,000 of its opponents. Both regimes, he argues, existed because Argentines opted for silence in the face of evil. Goñi has laid down a challenge to the “wall of silence” mentality that allowed Argentina’s history to be so sordidly stained.