Diego R. Nunez
The 9th of December marks the International Day of Commemoration and Dignity of the Victims of the Crime of Genocide and of the Prevention of this Crime. Many similar symbolic dates exist around the world and, when related to tragedies, they all seem to rely on the belief that acknowledgment and remembrance might help not only to process these experiences, but also to prevent their repetition. Peace, some argue, can only be constructed upon the knowledge of the past, but the link between these two concepts – ‘memory’ and ‘peace’- remains unproven. In fact, today’s geopolitical tensions and the deepening polarization of politics often suggest the opposite: memory can ignite conflict as much as it can quell it. As memorialization initiatives become increasingly common tools for confronting past violence, it is crucial to reflect on their scope and impact – particularly within the framework of transitional justice.
In post-conflict societies, memory processes are intended to preserve, articulate, and transmit accurate and comprehensive accounts of past human rights violations, helping citizens emerge from cycles of violence and hatred. Memorialization is often understood narrowly as a synonym for commemoration – ceremonies, rituals, monuments, or other artifacts dedicated to remembering people or events. Yet this view captures only part of what memorialization entails. Truth commissions, widely used across Latin America to confront past abuses and identify perpetrators, are themselves exercises in memorialization, and their significance extends well beyond historical documentation. In Argentina (1984), Chile (1991) and Perú (2001), for example, the findings of these bodies laid the groundwork for civilian-led trials against state officials, reparations programs, and institutional reforms – initiatives now commonly grouped under the umbrella of transitional justice. Seen in this broader light, memorialization can function not only as commemoration but also as an accountability-oriented and preventive strategy. Through archival and documentation efforts, educational programs, and symbolic or ceremonial practices, it seeks to address the contemporary challenges that stem from past violence. Ideally, such initiatives create the conditions for a society to live more peacefully despite their past: they aim to foster a shared and coherent understanding of history and to cultivate a democratic culture grounded in respect for human rights. Yet the current crisis surrounding memory politics in Latin America – and the growing scepticism toward human rights discourse -raises pressing questions about the transformative potential of these measures.
Argentina stands out as a peculiar instance of success. With the creation of CONADEP in 1984, the country helped lay the foundations for what is now recognized as the contemporary transitional justice model. Despite resistance from certain sectors, Argentina has long maintained a broad public consensus around its official interpretation of the past and remains one of the few Latin American countries with an explicit state-policy on memory. Nonetheless, President Milei’s government has begun to dismantle certain structures that have supported memory, truth and justice programs for decades. The investigations unit that helped find dictatorship-era abducted children was dissolved, and the Defense Ministry recently shut down a state program investigating archives from the Armed Forces which was key for trials processing dictatorship-era crimes. The government has also openly reinterpreted history by framing the period of dictatorship as a war between equal parties where human right violations were merely instances of “excess”, marking a turning point in the official narrative established after the end of the military regime. Considering the potential attributed to memory, it is striking that in a country with such a deeply institutionalized memory framework, a government so openly at odds with this narrative can enjoy such broad public support.
The crisis of memory policies is not limited to Argentina though. In November 2025, during budget debates, the Chilean Senate rejected funding allocated to various initiatives safeguarding historical memory. While human rights organizations denounced this as a strategy to promote denialism, the opposition argued in favour of allocating these funds to sectors with more urgent needs, such as healthcare. President’s Boric government has failed to fulfil its promise to present a bill that would address the sources and methods of financing for the memory sites that today suffer from precarious, discontinuous funding, institutional instability and structural deterioration. In line with the recommendations from its truth commission, Perú drafted the ‘Plan Nacional de Memoria’, whose main goal is establishing public policy guidelines for commemoration, memory-site creation, and the prevention of violence. It aims at recognizing existing community-driven projects, promoting participatory governance, strengthening symbolic reparation, ensuring state recognition and support for bottom-up initiatives. Yet, the plan has not been deployed and remains in a preliminary form: only in 2024 concrete actions began taking place to guarantee its implementation.
Setbacks or lack of progress in matters of memory, truth and justice are symptoms that highlight a larger crisis in Latin American democracies. In August 2025, the executive promulgated an amnesty law for security forces for crimes committed in 1980-2000 in Perú. The law, which contravenes the country’s international obligations, has been sharply criticized for undermining progress in prosecuting human rights violations and weakening efforts to strengthen the rule of law. In Argentina, various media outlets have reported that the General Archive of the Navy has begun a relocation process that includes “purging” the documents in its possession. Despite judicial rulings aimed at protecting these records, some materials related to crimes against humanity may already have been destroyed, with obvious consequences for ongoing trials. Coupled with the appointment of Carlos Alberto Presti -the current commander-in-chief of the army- as Minister of Defense, these developments have been denounced by human rights organizations as a provocation to victims of the military regime. Since the return to democracy, the post had consistently been held by civilians as part of the broader guarantees of non-recurrence. On the other side of the Andes, the right-wing candidate in Chile, José Antonio Kast, has been criticized after suggesting a possible pardon for people convicted of human rights violations during the military dictatorship (1973-1990) and the so-called “social uprising” of 2019.
In the three cases discussed so far – Argentina, Chile, and Peru – dealing with the past has been pushed to the margins, as public attention is drawn instead to concerns such as organized crime, irregular migration, and economic stagnation. This becomes particularly evident when “bukeleism” is being scrutinized in the rest of Latin American countries due to the effects of its security policies, and despite the high cost they represent in terms of constitutional guarantees. Transitional justice aspires to foster more democratic, peaceful, and stable societies, yet it appears increasingly disconnected from the very structures that sustain those ideals. A transitional justice process may cease to be a priority for the population if the economic or social conditions decline and people are unable to cover their basic needs. Some even argue that a robust engagement with memory of human rights violations might have injected undemocratic elements in the political culture by perpetuating the ‘us-versus-them’ mentality. The lack of strategic planning and political leadership has created a discrepancy between the decisions of political leaders and the priorities of ordinary citizens, leaving a void where the power of divergent memories can be harnessed for political gain.
It is undeniable that mechanisms of memorialization have helped clarify the truth about the past, offered reparative measures to restore victims’ dignity, and, in some cases, delivered justice. In this way, memorialization has long played a vital supportive role within transitional justice. Yet it remains uncertain whether, beyond this role, it can fully realize its transformative potential. The Rettig Commission kindly reminds us that no normative or institutional reform, on its own, can guarantee non-recurrence. Symbolic dates and memorials, however meaningful, have not prevented new atrocities or conflicts from occurring. Then, what is the true causal relationship between peace and remembering? This question – one that also touches on the broader issue of when a transition truly ends – feels particularly pressing today. Despite a proliferation of mechanisms, transitional justice has struggled to fulfil its more idealistic ambitions. Our understanding remains limited, and many core assumptions, including the link between memorialization and peace, are still largely untested. How, and to what extent, can memorialization genuinely contribute to peacebuilding? As democracies face mounting threats, the need for rigorous data collection and systematic analysis of transitional justice efforts becomes ever more urgent. Yet one lesson is already clear: none of these mechanisms can achieve their promise unless they are grounded in, and accompanied by, effective and accountable governance.
