Juan Perón cast his ballot in the Argentine presidential election from Madrid. He had not set foot in his country for eighteen years, deposed by a military coup in 1955. On September 23, 1973, the results delivered a verdict more overwhelming than any poll: 62% for Perón, a margin of nearly five million votes. His running mate was his third wife, Isabel. The military junta that had ruled since 1966 permitted the election, calculating it could control an ailing, 77-year-old figurehead. It miscalculated.
The campaign was fought in a haze of myth and desperation. Peronist guerrillas had secured his return through violence and political pressure. The electorate—a coalition of left-wing militants, orthodox unionists, and a frightened middle class—sought a savior who could halt the spiraling violence between left and right. They voted for a symbol, not a platform. Perón’s plane landed in Buenos Aires two months later, greeted by a crowd of millions and sniper fire that killed at least thirteen.
His victory closed one cycle of Argentine history and violently opened another. He inherited an economy in freefall and a polity already at war with itself. The colossal mandate papered over fatal contradictions. His coalition shattered within months of his inauguration. Perón died nine months after taking office, leaving power to Isabel, whose incompetence precipitated a new and far more brutal military dictatorship in 1976.
The 1973 election is often framed as a triumphant homecoming. It was, in fact, a last-ditch exorcism that failed. The vote represented not a resolution but a final, peaceful attempt to reconcile irreconcilable forces. When that failed, the state’s machinery of violence consumed everything.