Tales from the Dirty War

Knowledge of the human genome adds another layer of complication to family relationships.

A billion-dollar inheritance, a swaggering media conglomerate, newspaper rivalry, an incompetent government rankling over criticism, the open sores of past savage political oppression – and DNA tests. It’s the stuff of chunky airport novels -- and it is one of the biggest political stories in Argentina this year. More significantly, it is a reminder of how wedded we all are to our genetic heritage. 

At the height of Argentina’s dirty war with left-wing guerillas in the 1970s, Marcela and Felipe Noble Herrera were adopted by Ernestina Herrera de Noble, owner of the Clarin media conglomerate. Mrs Herrera de Noble, now 84, claims that the two heirs of the Clarin Group, which controls Argentina's largest newspaper and cable network, and one of the largest television stations, were foundlings left on her doorstep.

Advocates for victims of the military junta which “disappeared” thousands of its foes, especially the Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, say that Marcela and Felipe might be two of the 400 children of los desaparecidos who have not been accounted for. To get closure on the issue, they insist that the two should have DNA tests to determine their parentage. In December Marcela and Felipe gave blood samples to a private laboratory which matched their DNA against two possible families. But they refused to give samples to the government because, they said, the matching process was tainted.

The Clarin group’s outlets have been harsh critics of the incumbent president, Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, so the issue has become politically polarised. If the children are the offspring of victims of the dirty war, it is even possible that Ernestina could be jailed for an illegal adoption. Settling the identity of Marcela and Felipe could allow the President both to settle political scores and crush a nettling critic.

So last year the government passed a law authorising compulsory DNA testing in cases relating to crimes against humanity in addition to a law which could be used to break up the Clarin group. On May 28, police raided the home of Marcela and Felipe, strip-searched them, and seized underwear and toothbrushes for DNA sampling. Subsequent testing showed that the DNA had been contaminated, so the case is still not settled.

The highly emotional case raises interesting questions. "Our identity is ours. It's a private thing and I don't think it's up to the state or the Grandmothers to come and tell us what is ours," Ms Herrera has said. "There is not a single concrete fact showing that we were taken from the junta's imprisoned enemies." Her brother felt the same but was more detached and pragmatic. "Whatever the result, for me it's just one more sheet of paper, one more fact in my desk," Mr Herrera said.

Although the government’s argument has obviously been fabricated for the most venal political motives, it is not altogether ludicrous. The Justice Minister, Julio Alak, fulminated that “This denies the families of los desaparcidos, the Grandmothers and all the Argentine people the right to the truth”.

Here the right of the public to know the truth of who you are collides with the right to privacy. Nearly everyone would agree that refusing to be fingerprinted or refusing to give one’s name to the police is wrong. “The Man With No Name”, Clint Eastwood’s character in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, was the last of his kind. In today’s interconnected world, your neighbours not only want to know who you are, they need to know.

Disturbing this norm rattles people. It is one reason – or at least one excuse – why the French government wants to ban the face-covering burqa worn by Muslim women. Not just because the figure hiding beneath the tent-like garment might be a thief or a terrorist, but because showing one’s face is a necessary part of participating in society. The days of the Phantom of the Opera are over.

There are practical benefits as well. For instance, allowing police to stockpile DNA samples helps them to convict criminals where there is little other evidence. It is still controversial, because it can lead to racial profiling or a presumption of guilt based on inadequate evidence. Critics argue that jurors, in the words of an Australian judge, might be “overawed by the scientific garb in which the evidence is presented and attach greater weight to it than it is capable of bearing”. 

But the critics are finding the case for privacy ever harder to make. In July, based on DNA evidence, Los Angeles police found the “Grim Sleeper”, a man who may have killed ten young women. The initial link came from his son, who was picked up on a felony weapons charge. Forensic experts in the police realised that his DNA appeared to be linked to the serial killer. This astonishing success is bound to convince many people that DNA data banks are crucial for fighting crime.

Furthermore, coming to grips with a genetic heritage is a psychological necessity for many people. Many adoptees spend years looking for their birth mothers. Lobby groups representing the children of anonymous sperm donors are describing ignorance of their origins as little short of a crime perpetrated by IVF clinics. Even if they grow up in loving families, many still feel like “genetic orphans”. On a medical level, knowing one’s biological origins is needed to manage genetic disease or avoid unwitting incest with siblings conceived from the same man’s sperm.

On the other hand, forcing people who have committed no crimes to confront the truth about their origins can be the source of trouble as well. How many marriages have been destroyed by the revelation that a child was born of a different father? How many people are shattered when they discover that their parents are not their real parents? In cases where personal identity is needed to solve a crime, the least damaging option may be silence. When ignorance is bliss, surely we have a right to it.

Even to this there may be exceptions. What about a mother’s right to find her own child?

Another heart-rending story from Argentina’s Dirty War illustrates this. Left-wing political activist Sara Méndez was kidnapped by right-wing soldiers in 1976 and her 20-day-old baby Simon was snatched away and adopted out. “Don’t worry, Senora,” the commando told her. “We aren’t fighting a war on children.”

Miraculously, she survived years of prison and torture and began searching for her son. She looked for years. In 1991 she located him, now named Gerardo Vázquez. But he refused to undergo a DNA analysis. She insisted for nine years. Finally he agreed. But he wasn’t Simon. It must have been devastating for both of them.

In 2002, after 26 years of anguish, Sara did find Simon. It was a painful meeting, as the young man had just discovered that his adopted parents were not his real parents, his adopted father was not his real father, his biological father was dead and his biological mother’s husband was not his father. For him it was a shattering experience. He severed all ties with the couple who had raised him and changed his name. Who can say whether he was better off now knowing the truth?

What these heartbreaking stories remind us is how lives can be wrecked when children are torn from their biological parents. As the genetic heritage of children gets more and more scrambled with IVF, same-sex parenting, surrogate motherhood, and sperm donation, the dilemmas posed by the experiences of Marcela, Felipe and Simon will seem simple. Adoption is painful enough. What sorrows await a generation of children born through artificial reproductive technology?

Michael Cook is editor of MercatorNet.

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