One certainly feels something's being covered up. A bomb creating major damage on a Buenos Aires street last fall went unmentioned in the government-run media. In another attempt at pretense, the government has inadequately covered with cement several thousand machine gun holes in buildings where hundreds of rioting leftist students were massacred in 1975.

There is no way to ignore the situation while in Argentina, but one can't easily escape it either. Leaving the country is not an option for most people; in order to keep currency from leaving Argentina and to prevent political dialogue in other countries, the government is reluctant to let its citizens go abroad. Exit visa applications can wait as long as a year or two to be granted, but even then one cannot necessarily leave--passports still remain in government custody and often are not released. Frequently Argentines don't even bother to apply for one--out of fear. "I would do anything to go to the US or Europe, but what about my family?" laments one businessman. "I would endanger their lives if I sought political asylum elsewhere."

Is there any possible solution to this repressive mire, other than escaping it? Could the situation go on forever? According to one Argentine sociologist who lives in New York City, "Repression's been a tradition in Argentina since colonial times. We had dictatorships 25 years before Peron. People have known nothing else--they've been weaned on lack of liberty and learned to accept it."

And the lingering militant leftist underground is dwindling, said one active member. "Our forces have dried up, it is no longer possible to smuggle arms through Uruguay, Paraguay, and Bolivia. The paramilitary knows where we are; it's only time before they kill us all."

The possibility of a coup from the more moderate Peronists, with whom the military has been shuffling the nation's control since 1943, seems slim. Although the majority of urban workers and professionals are Peronists, many interviewed are afraid of participating in a violent insurrection.

A rightist coup is not very likely either. Last November, a group of officers to the right of Videla--the duros--or "hard ones"--failed miserably in an attempted takeover. Videla's loyal forces were just too omnipotent.

Perhaps the only remaining hope is an uprising organized from the outside. Mere international pressure doesn't suffice, as Carter's and the UN's condemnation of Videla's violation of human rights has shown. The only outcome of the long-standing disapproval was the release of newspaper editor Jacobo Timerman, his imprisonment in his apartment and a profusion of heart-shaped bumper stickers stating "We Argentines Are Human and Right."

Short of arming the revolutionary underground--an unattractive prospect for most Western governments--the only possibility for change in Argentina is an international economic boycott. But the USSR and West Germany, which conduct a significant amount of trade with Argentina, would no doubt be unwilling to cooperate as would the United States under a conservative president such as Reagan.

In the meantime, Argentines try to anaesthesize themselves from the stress, from the pain. The cafes in Buenos Aires are always full, the cinema always well-attended. People still buy their groceries and go to work, trying to ignore the underlying crisis. As one automobile worker said, "You keep on living. Despite the terror, despite the hysteria, life goes on in its contorted way."

The militant leftist underground is dwindling, said one active member. "Our forces have dried up. It is no longer possible to smuggle arms. The paramilitary where are; it's only time before they kill us all."