Sounds of a loud Argentine conversation

We emerged onto the the city's main artery, Avenida de Mayo, into the most impressive public display of political passion that either of us had ever witnessed. Members of various political movements, clad in matching hats and shirts, belted out their respective anthems as they marched in unison toward the central plaza in a spectacle that could be likened to a cross between the Boston Marathon and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Intermittent, resounding blasts erupted from the crowds as protesters set off fireworks in the middle of the six-lane avenue, which was closed for the day-long demonstration. The sidewalks were lined with rows of awed, craned-necked spectators, so fascinated they hardly cared that they were packed three rows deep.

My friend and I agreed that the last time we'd felt such a sense of collective camaraderie and excitement was at the Red Sox parade that followed the team's historic victory in the 2004 World Series. But this was politics, not baseball. Businessmen and homeless men, farmers and city slickers, even mothers with their babies, all flooded the capital city to do their part as active participants in a democracy. As I stood on the corner of Avenida de Mayo and Esmeralda, I could barely see the other side of the street through the flurry of flags and banners cluttered with block-lettered slogans. "Con Cristina: Argentina Unida" ("With Cristina: Argentina United") said one. "Luchamos con el campo" ("We fight with the countryside") said another.

The nationwide farmers' rebellion has been the topic of every news channel, classroom and cafe conversation since President Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner's administration raised export taxes on soybeans from 35 to almost 45 percent on March 11. As the heart and soul of the country's export-based agricultural economy, the farmers in the interior have staged a monumental retaliation against Kirchner's measures. The strike left restaurants and supermarkets devoid of chicken and beef, and commercial activity has been severely disrupted by the hundreds of human roadblocks created by the farmers in major thoroughfares throughout the country. The porteños, the local Buenos Aires inhabitants, have been quick to jump into the conflict on both sides.

In the various political discussions I've had with Argentineans, they've all expressed disbelief that in this day and age, their country has such problems with the government. My disbelief is of a different nature: I am blown away by the sheer magnitude and tangibility of the people's political fervor. Every night for the past week, Buenos Aires inhabitants of all ages have taken to the streets to take part in cacaroles, massive demonstrations where people gather together banging spoons and pots in the street, then march to the plaza in front of the presidential offices. Not since the peso collapse of 2001 has there been a cacarole.

Regardless of the fact that voting is mandatory in Argentina, popular culture bursts with political emotion. Argentine citizens uphold their role as democratic participants with a passion and responsiveness that has made the capital city feel alive with spirit and a sense of shared principles. Though the issue itself is extremely divisive between supporters and opponents of the government, there is an incredible and much less-noted sense of common purpose in the overwhelming humanness of physical participation. People here are quick to express their opinions, analyze Kirchner's public addresses or criticize opposing views, but nobody seems to sit back and take pride that the people of this nation are so politically active that an entire city will pour into the streets to take part. But then again, maybe this is normal for them and only exceptional to an outsider.

In the United States, we don't have these kinds of outward emotional responses when taxes are raised or economic policies are altered. Whether that's a blessing or a curse depends on how we look at it. Without a doubt, we are fortunate that the tenets of our political and economic systems don't usually lend themselves to drastic policy changes that provoke such momentous displays of political contention, let alone city-wide demonstrations that follow many weeks of unrest. But then again, the zealous responsiveness with which Argentines have answered their government has breathed a fiery enthusiasm and a sense of immediacy into the political push-pull between the representatives and the represented from which Americans could surely learn.

In the cafes lining Avenida Santa Fe, Argentineans will change the channel from a soccer game if the president is speaking. Turning off the Red Sox to listen to President Bush? Blasphemy.

Marya Stansky is a politics major from Weston, Mass., who is studying abroad this semester in Buenos Aires. She can be reached at mstansky@princeton.edu.