Organized by the neighborhood association, Vecinos de San Cristobal contra la Impunidad, this ceremony honored a desaparecido, Antonio Sosa, with a commemorative plaque ("baldosa") in the sidewalk outside of the building where he lived. The baldosas have been a major point of focus for the Vecinos, and a stroll around Buenos Aires is increasingly likely to lead the walker past one of these colorful memorials. We were fortunate enough to be invited to the ceremony.

The dedication, near the corner of Jujuy and Independencia, drew a crowd of roughly 50 people. The group ranged in age, from younger college students up through older survivors of the military dictatorship. On one case, we met a former Montonero and his son. That said, those not attending the ceremony seemed largely oblivious; at one point, two young boys walked right through the middle of the dedication, actually dragging their feet over the covered baldosa, partially knocking it off.

While marginal Spanish abilities combined with a distorted speaker did not facilitate comprehension, it was clear that the ceremony included an overview of Sosa's life, brief speeches from his friends, and a few comments from his nephew.

In explaining why the baldosas are so important, one speaker stated that street names in Latin America commemorate the conquistadors, and thus everyone remembers them. Perhaps, through the baldosas, the desaparecidos will also be remembered.

Watching the ceremony, I got a different feeling than might have been intended. Given that Antonio Sosa, like the thousands of other desaparecidos, will likely never be found, this was more than a dedication - it was a funeral. And, the baldosa is more than a plaque - it is a tombstone. As more baldosas are placed on the sidewalks of Buenos Aires, the city gradually becomes a cemetery, a monument to the victims of the military dictatorship.

And in that sense, the oft-used slogan of the survivors - "30,000, Presente!" - gains a very different meaning.