The Liberty Cap
I hope we all know who Papa Smurf is. In case you don't know, he's the gentleman in the picture above. What you see to the right of Papa Smurf is the official seal of Argentina. Let me walk you through it. You've got a rising sun representing the rising of the new nation. You've got laurels representing victory through struggle. You've got plenty of sky blue and white, the national colors of Argentina, which don't symbolize anything. But let's cut to the chase. In the middle you've got....two hands grasped over a stick with Papa Smurf's hat on it? I wondered the same thing.
I found out from the internet that the hands represent solidarity and union; the stick, much like a scepter or baton, represents rule; and the hat represents liberty. This all fits nicely with Argentina's national motto, En Unión y Libertad, meaning "In Union and Liberty." It turns out that the red beanie depicted on the seal is none other than the Phrygian cap, or liberty cap, made most famous during the French revolution. French revolutionaries would don soft red caps with the top pulled forward as a symbol of liberty, winning them the name of Red Republicans (perhaps the GOP's redness stems from WHA!? the French?). Bostonian revolutionaries also placed the red cap atop a liberty pole during the American Revolution, an image echoed in Argentina's seal. The symbol of the liberty cap dates all the way back to ancient Rome when freed slaves would wear Phrygian caps to exhibit their emancipated state. I don't know why Papa Smurf wears his.
I asked quite a few people about that hat while I was in Argentina and I couldn't get an answer out of anyone. One tour guide knew that it was a symbol of liberty, but didn't know why. As I mentioned before, the Argentine sky blue and white are not symbolic of anything. I found the country to be full of things defying explanation. For instance, I finished my last meal in Argentina at 1:30 in the morning. It was dinner, and the restaurant was still full as I asked for the check. The nightlife in Buenos Aires doesn't get going until about 2:00 am. It's an odd convention, the roots of which no one has been able to explain to me. One of my fellow travelers pointed out that the stray dogs of Buenos Aires are "nice dogs." They're collies and poodles, as though exclusively lost pets populated the streets. Soda siphons and manual door elevators are ubiquitous in the city, while they didn't survive the 20th century in the rest of the world.
Another travel companion wondered aloud how Argentina could exist in Latin America. He, being from Colombia, couldn't fathom how a country on the same continent as his could feel so foreign, be it demographically, meteorologically, or culturally. Buenos Aires doesn't feel like a colonial town, not because it feels established or permanent (even though it does), but because it really thinks it's a part of Europe. Somehow, this country found itself wedged between the colonies and the motherland. Its people didn't mix with the natives, and their traditions stayed startlingly close to those of Europe. The results are remarkable, kind of like a bizarro Europe. It has existed long enough that its mixture of displaced European cuisine, music, and traditions has become distinctly Argentine, but its roots are still plain to see, especially set against the distinctly less European customs of its neighbors.
—September 23 2004