On Dec. 19 and 20, 2001, Buenos Aires boiled.
Years of failed economic policies had left nearly 3 million people unemployed, and a feeling of powerlessness permeated all but the wealthiest circles. The government slashed salaries, then severely restricted bank withdrawals. Concerned about mass protests, President Fernando de la Rúa declared a state of siege and suspended constitutional guarantees.
“This was like kicking an ant’s nest,” recalled Gerónimo Molina, a student activist at the time.
People swarmed the streets, and several dozen died. But those 48 hours, and the ensuing months of unrest, gave rise to something new as grass-roots groups formed and grew with a rapidity and force never before seen in Argentina.
Sub CooperativeFamily maids brought everything needed for Silvina’s mother’s birthday party to the family apartment in Recoleta, an area in central Buenos Aires. They were expecting about 100 guests.
That’s how Sub, a photography collective based in Buenos Aires, was born. On Dec. 20, 2001, Nicolás Pousthomis snapped a frame that became the group’s foundational image. That night, he met another photographer, Sebastián Hacher. The pair soon befriended several others, and in 2004, five of them officially formed a cooperative. They would share the costs, split the profits equally and sign projects as one.
They also shared a political outlook.
“Before being photographers, and I believe I speak for everyone in Sub, we were militantes, activists,” said Mr. Molina, 34, who joined the collective in 2009. “I don’t think we wanted to amass journalistic capital from an objective point of view, but rather, we wanted to change our world in some way or at least intervene strongly in it.”
Sub’s work has focused on the subterranean — people living outside, or beneath, power structures. The photographers have explored the lives of Argentines living along the Riachuelo, a heavily polluted river, as well as the memory of Darío Santillán, a young man killed by the police in 2002. The group now consists of five photographers, one coordinator and one designer.
In 2011, they began discussing a desire to broaden their subject matter, to understand the complexities of a stratified nation by investigating the lives of those at the top. Members had recently attended several photography conferences, Mr. Molina said.
“It was often asked: ‘What is Latin America, exactly? Why always the same topics? Why always violence, prostitution, drug addiction? Is this all there is? Why does it exist?’ ’’ he said. “In the past few years here, there is a climate of looking in other directions, of seeking causes, even if they are not direct causes.”
So Sub turned toward the gated communities that dot Argentina: Wisteria Lane-like neighborhoods called “countrys” — a moniker ripped from the American “country club” — where the nation’s powerful residents live, learn, play, pray and often work in controlled, manicured, privatized ecosystems. The communities first took shape during a military dictatorship that lasted from 1976 to 1983. They spread in the 1990s, just as other Argentines were losing their jobs and savings.
It took two months to persuade a family to agree to the project. But eventually, six Sub members were welcomed into the home of Horacio and Silvina, who own a vineyard in western Argentina and real estate agencies in Miami and Uruguay. For two months, the group followed the couple; their three children, Mercedes, Horacito and Titi; and their three maids, Eva, Fatima and Liliana.
The goal of the project, Mr. Molina said, was not to indict a certain lifestyle, mock the family or create images that distorted reality. Instead, Sub wanted to present Silvina and Horacio in the context of their larger body of work. “I remember days in which we argued a lot over what to show and what not to show,” he said.
The project reached an emotional climax at an 80th birthday party for Silvina’s mother. The family invited the photographers and then presented a slide show of images that celebrated family members’ time in the military — the same military whose leaders ordered the torture and disappearance of tens of thousands of people during the dictatorship.
The group stayed professional and continued photographing. But it was a complex, revealing moment.
“It was a very concrete revelation of how this family had been constructed,” Mr. Molina said. “It was very difficult. But on the other hand, we said, ‘Well, we’re exactly where we wanted to be. Right? We’re showing exactly what we wanted to show.’ ”
Sub CooperativeTiti and Horacito in their living room.
Follow @fotojulie and @nytimesphoto on Twitter. Lens is also on Facebook.
Years of failed economic policies had left nearly 3 million people unemployed, and a feeling of powerlessness permeated all but the wealthiest circles. The government slashed salaries, then severely restricted bank withdrawals. Concerned about mass protests, President Fernando de la Rúa declared a state of siege and suspended constitutional guarantees.
“This was like kicking an ant’s nest,” recalled Gerónimo Molina, a student activist at the time.
People swarmed the streets, and several dozen died. But those 48 hours, and the ensuing months of unrest, gave rise to something new as grass-roots groups formed and grew with a rapidity and force never before seen in Argentina.
Sub CooperativeFamily maids brought everything needed for Silvina’s mother’s birthday party to the family apartment in Recoleta, an area in central Buenos Aires. They were expecting about 100 guests.
That’s how Sub, a photography collective based in Buenos Aires, was born. On Dec. 20, 2001, Nicolás Pousthomis snapped a frame that became the group’s foundational image. That night, he met another photographer, Sebastián Hacher. The pair soon befriended several others, and in 2004, five of them officially formed a cooperative. They would share the costs, split the profits equally and sign projects as one.
They also shared a political outlook.
“Before being photographers, and I believe I speak for everyone in Sub, we were militantes, activists,” said Mr. Molina, 34, who joined the collective in 2009. “I don’t think we wanted to amass journalistic capital from an objective point of view, but rather, we wanted to change our world in some way or at least intervene strongly in it.”
Sub’s work has focused on the subterranean — people living outside, or beneath, power structures. The photographers have explored the lives of Argentines living along the Riachuelo, a heavily polluted river, as well as the memory of Darío Santillán, a young man killed by the police in 2002. The group now consists of five photographers, one coordinator and one designer.
In 2011, they began discussing a desire to broaden their subject matter, to understand the complexities of a stratified nation by investigating the lives of those at the top. Members had recently attended several photography conferences, Mr. Molina said.
“It was often asked: ‘What is Latin America, exactly? Why always the same topics? Why always violence, prostitution, drug addiction? Is this all there is? Why does it exist?’ ’’ he said. “In the past few years here, there is a climate of looking in other directions, of seeking causes, even if they are not direct causes.”
So Sub turned toward the gated communities that dot Argentina: Wisteria Lane-like neighborhoods called “countrys” — a moniker ripped from the American “country club” — where the nation’s powerful residents live, learn, play, pray and often work in controlled, manicured, privatized ecosystems. The communities first took shape during a military dictatorship that lasted from 1976 to 1983. They spread in the 1990s, just as other Argentines were losing their jobs and savings.
It took two months to persuade a family to agree to the project. But eventually, six Sub members were welcomed into the home of Horacio and Silvina, who own a vineyard in western Argentina and real estate agencies in Miami and Uruguay. For two months, the group followed the couple; their three children, Mercedes, Horacito and Titi; and their three maids, Eva, Fatima and Liliana.
The goal of the project, Mr. Molina said, was not to indict a certain lifestyle, mock the family or create images that distorted reality. Instead, Sub wanted to present Silvina and Horacio in the context of their larger body of work. “I remember days in which we argued a lot over what to show and what not to show,” he said.
The project reached an emotional climax at an 80th birthday party for Silvina’s mother. The family invited the photographers and then presented a slide show of images that celebrated family members’ time in the military — the same military whose leaders ordered the torture and disappearance of tens of thousands of people during the dictatorship.
The group stayed professional and continued photographing. But it was a complex, revealing moment.
“It was a very concrete revelation of how this family had been constructed,” Mr. Molina said. “It was very difficult. But on the other hand, we said, ‘Well, we’re exactly where we wanted to be. Right? We’re showing exactly what we wanted to show.’ ”
Sub CooperativeTiti and Horacito in their living room.
Follow @fotojulie and @nytimesphoto on Twitter. Lens is also on Facebook.
