Thank You As Always, Tomás

February 1st, 2010

In the spring of 1997 I found my way, pretty much by accident, into an upper-level college course at Rutgers University, called “Historical Fiction in Latin America”. I knew little about the instructor, other than the fact that he wrote critically-acclaimed fiction himself, often about two singular figures in the history of Argentina: Juan and Eva Perón.

Little did I know that until my graduation and for many years to come, Tomás Eloy Martínez would single-handedly influence, give shape and inspire my obsession with journalism and my desire to practice it in Latin America. With his patience and kind and humble wisdom, he encouraged me every step along the way.

We read books and short stories voraciously, discussing them long after the class period ended. “Arráncame la Vida” by Angeles Mastretta was a particularly memorable one; Tomás knew her personally and reveled in sharing with us a mix of unofficial and scandalous truths and fictions about her life. We also read “The Kiss of the Spider Woman”, by Manuel Puig, and “Operación Masacre” by Rodolfo Walsh, which still sends chills down my spine every time I think of it, and which opened my eyes to the important role of journalists as champions of human rights, critics and witnesses.

Like Rodolfo Walsh, Tomás had been a victim of political persecution in his native Argentina. But unlike Walsh, he made it out alive, and went on to write about the injustices of the military dictatorship for years. Tomás was a film critic, reporter, editor, teacher and mentor to many, having been involved in the creation of newspapers in Argentina, Mexico and Venezuela.

But his greatest passion was reserved for writing novels about real-life characters – whether they were Juan and Eva Perón, his beloved Buenos Aires, or even himself. In our last email exchange in June of last year, Tomás told me, “I’ve been writing a lot, and have published 3 novels in the last 5 years.” I knew he was sick at the time because he also mentioned recurring doctor visits, but I didn’t believe he would leave so soon; he had many more books left in him, and I’m sure he knew it.

I am having a hard time imagining the future of journalism and literature in Latin America without Tomás. At a time when the media and publishing worlds are undergoing such an identity crisis, and we’re all scrambling for ways to keep newspapers and books relevant, Tomás personified the best advice: perseverance. I, for one, will do my best to keep that little obsession alive. Thank you as always, Tomás, you will be missed.

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