This is why the third clause of the workers’ offer showed great wisdom in asking for drovers to be selected from among family men, “with preference given to family men in proportion to their number of children, which will encourage population growth and the country’s development.” What a shame that none of this was ever implemented and was instead drowned in blood and crushed by the logic of lead and steel.
All in all, there was nothing outrageous about the workers’ demands, and later on we shall see that the ranchers largely recognized this. Their reformist motives could be seen in the seventh clause, in which the Workers’ Society “commits to immediately endorse regulations and instructions for its members that are designed to bring about greater harmony between capital and labor…”
Here we can detect the hand of Borrero at work, and perhaps that of Viñas. We say this because Borrero was always eager to show that the Workers’ Society was not an extremist organization. As for Viñas, the phrase “harmony between capital and labor” hints at the Yrigoyenist mindset that Perón would later inherit. Of course, this harmony would be torn apart by gunfire and end up crucified on the posts of Patagonia’s endless barbed wire fences.
The Workers’ Society accompanied their list of demands with a manifesto titled To the Civilized World, again showing that they only sought to win a series of concessions and had no revolutionary aims:
To the civilized world:
A general strike has been declared in the countryside. It will be total and absolute: no work will be done, not even the transportation of livestock, which is the region’s sole resource.
We cannot yet tell what the consequences of this strike will be nor the dimensions it may assume, especially as urban workers are standing firm in their support for their rural comrades, showing solidarity with their just and legitimate aspirations.
And so the Río Gallegos Workers’ Society wishes to absolve its membership of all responsibility for any later developments, placing this responsibility into the hands of the ranchers south of the Río Santa Cruz. With the honorable exceptions of the Clark brothers and Benjamín Gómez, they have displayed what is either the crassest ignorance or the most refined malice, accompanied by an utter lack of humanitarianism, altruism, fair-mindedness, and equity. They propose to carry on treating their workers with the same brutality they have shown up until today, confusing them with serfs or slaves and treating them as just another vulgar product on the market, like mules, sheep, or horses. At the present time, ranchers feel that one man can always be replaced by another, at no cost to themselves, while the replacement of an animal constitutes a financial setback and pains them more than the loss of a fellow man or the needs of a family in distress.
It is shameful to have to say such things in the twentieth century, but since these are the conditions that can be observed by anyone visiting the region’s ranches, even the ones closest to Río Gallegos, we must expose this situation to everyone who considers themselves to be civilized and let opprobrium and shame fall on the heads of those responsible.
And, lest it be argued that our claims are exaggerated, allow us to recount what has happened so far.
As part of the labor negotiations occurring in the territory, the workers put forward a list of demands on November 1st, and it took the ranchers a full sixteen days to respond, and only then after a great deal of maneuvering.
Consistent with their desire to harmonize the interests of the parties involved, the workers put their own demands on hold and studied the ranchers’ offer. They then decided to draw up their own capital-labor agreement, which is transcribed below.
This was then followed by the list of demands signed by Antonio Soto. The manifesto concluded by stating that the eighth clause was “imbued with humanitarian sentiments, sacred and sublime. By requiring both parties to refrain from reprisals, it puts into practice the greatest of precepts: love one another, forget your resentments, discard your hatreds, and set aside your ill will.” And then it made an appeal:
WORKERS:
Now, more than ever, we must display our unyielding will to assert our dignity and be regarded by society as the most efficient champions of progress and civilization. We must marshal our forces, move forward and staunchly defend our vulnerable and unrecognized rights. Whenever we see a comrade who is fearful or hesitant, let us not burden him with reproaches or threats, but instead strive to strengthen his resolve, lift up his spirit, and offer him the fraternal and loving embrace of his fellow unfortunates.
Now, more than ever, we must display our cultivation and education, of which so few proofs have been offered, by setting aside violence and coercion and neither using nor abusing the use of force. Let the latter become the final symptom of the lack of conscience on the part of the bosses, as it is widely known that whenever they are presented with the just demands of the workers, they see a terrifying specter and immediately turn to bayonets, rifles, and men in uniform. They cannot be too certain of the justice of their cause when they resort to such measures.
Let us counter the strength of arms with the strength of our arguments, the righteousness of our conduct, and the integrity of our actions, and victory shall be ours. —The strike committee.
The manifesto speaks for itself. It tells workers to “love one another,” and leaves the use of force, of “bayonets, rifles, and men in uniform” to the bosses, who of course will use them, surpassing all expectations. Such as when Commissioner Micheri bends his saber out of shape by beating chilotes who speak of nothing but love for their fellow man. And when Varela orders his men to open fire on this shapeless mass of wretches, let us then remember the phrase about countering “the strength of arms with the strength of our arguments.”
As the days slip by, the atmosphere south of the Río Santa Cruz becomes increasingly tense. The strike shows no sign of lifting and the landowners continue to worry. On November 24th, the latter head down to the port to receive two “wealthy landowners and influential businessmen,” as La Unión refers to them. They are none other than Mauricio Braun and Alejandro Menéndez Behety, stopping by on the steamship Argentino on their way to Punta Arenas for the unveiling of a monument to Magellan donated by Don José Menéndez.
They come bringing good news: workers recruited in Buenos Aires are on their way to replace their disobedient counterparts.
La Unión pompously announces the establishment of the Free Labor Association, a sort of union of right-thinking, deferential workers:
A large number of workers from throughout the region have taken the initiative to found a Free Labor Association, allowing the working man, currently tyrannized by the absurd sectarianism of malicious, belligerent gangs, to exercise his freedom to adjust his conduct to his circumstances and interests.
Antonio Soto is unsettled by this offensive, but he has someone to cover his back: that mysterious individual known as El 68, who fluently speaks the language of gunfire.
So when the first “free” workers arrive from Buenos Aires and head towards the Douglas ranch to replace the strikers—traveling under police escort—they are met by armed horsemen at a place along the road to Punta Arenas known as Bajada de Clark. The horsemen fire into the air, disappearing and reappearing like guerrillas. The scare is so great that the tractors carrying the strikebreakers and their police escorts immediately turn around and head back towards Río Gallegos. Correa Falcón immediately orders Commissioner Ritchie to patrol the area with four cars and fifteen policemen. But they simply waste gasoline—there’s no trace left of the rebel gauchos.
Soto is amused, but deep down he knows that to some extent