The Andinia Plan: The return of the old Zionist dream of taking over Patagonia

In August 2002 , in the midst of Argentina's economic crisis—one of many— The New York Times published an article that resonated like an uncomfortable echo: "Some in Argentina See Secession as the Answer to Economic Danger."

Copy of the publication of August 26, 2002, made by The New York Times.

Written by Larry Rohter, the report explored Patagonian discontent with Buenos Aires centralism and the temptation of independence forged by the region's oil, hydroelectric, and mineral wealth.

Today, in a radically different but equally polarized context, that text resurfaces in public debate, now linked to President Javier Milei's controversial agreement with Israel, which includes facilities for the settlement of Israeli citizens and companies in Patagonia .

Rohter's article portrayed an exasperated region: supposedly 53% of those surveyed in 2002 supported secession, a figure that rose to 78% among young people . Resentment toward Buenos Aires, accused of plundering resources with no return, mingled with a distinct Patagonian identity, fueled by migratory diversity (Spanish and Italian, but also Welsh, Croatian, and German) and geographic remoteness. "They take oil, gas, and timber, and they only bring back problems," declared Elfo Kruteler , a French teacher quoted in the report.

Two decades later, the terms of the conflict have changed, but have not disappeared.

The recent agreement between the Argentine government of Javier Milei and Israel, led by Benjamin Netanyahu , signed amid global condemnation of the Israeli attacks on Gaza, has raised alarms about a possible foreignization of Patagonia. For some, the ghost of 2002 revives: the region, once again, as geopolitical spoils. "We are always the forgotten ones," said Alicia Rosa, a then 54-year-old Patagonian, in the article . Today, that phrase could be read alongside questions about the agreement with a state accused of systematic human rights violations.

Javier Milei's meeting with Benjamin Netanyahu on June 10; the Israeli prime minister looks at a map of Argentina, centered on Patagonia.

In 2002, Eduardo Duhalde's government dismissed the independence demands as "pure idiocy," although it recognized the need to reformulate federalism. The governor of Neuquén at the time, Jorge Sobisch (of Croatian descent), denied secession but demanded autonomy: "Why be prisoners of an inefficient system?"

The privatization of YPF and the sale of land to Benetton and Ted Turner fueled distrust of Buenos Aires . Today, the fear is no longer the sale of national parks—a rumor in 2002—but the establishment of military bases and foreign capital in a context of economic crisis and adjustment.

The parallel between the two eras reveals a constant: Patagonia as a disputed territory, between historical marginality and strategic potential. In 2002, Rohter quoted a military teacher who warned against military plans in the event of a hypothetical secession . Today, it is the clauses on cooperation in education and defense with Israel that generate suspicion.

The question the Times posed in 2002 resurfaces now , with new players: Could historical neglect and mismanaged wealth turn Patagonia into a powder keg? Rohter 's report ended with a warning from Patagonian editor Rubén Reveco: "When a family is in debt, it sells off its expendables. That's what we are to the central government."

Two decades later, in a country once again on the brink of collapse, the metaphor still hurts.

Written by Larry Rohter , the report explored Patagonian discontent with Buenos Aires centralism and the temptation of independence forged by the region's oil, hydroelectric, and mineral wealth.

Two decades later, the terms of the conflict have changed, but have not disappeared.

The agreement with Israel, signed amid global condemnation of the Israeli attacks on Gaza, has raised alarms about a possible foreignization of Patagonia. For some, the ghost of 2002 revives: the region, once again, as geopolitical spoils. "We are always the forgotten ones," said Alicia Rosa, a then 54-year-old Patagonian, in the article . Today, that phrase could be read alongside questions about the agreement with a state accused of systematic human rights violations.

Two decades later, in a country once again on the brink of collapse, the metaphor still hurts.