Only the most deluded of individuals could deny that the 54-year-old inherited an economy on the edge of ruin. In his first year, he implemented austerity measures and slashed government spending, cutting through Argentina’s bloated bureaucracy. His dollarization plan, while controversial, brought a semblance of stability to a currency afflicted with hyperinflation.

These are no small feats. His economic turnaround has earned him the respect of millions, both in Argentina and abroad. In a country where decades of corruption, reckless spending and mismanagement had left its people battered by runaway inflation and crippling debt, disillusionment ran deep. Successive leaders promised change but delivered little, as the gap between the rich and poor widened and basic essentials became luxuries for many. The economy was like the Titanic, already taking on water, and Milei stepped in just before it struck the iceberg. His bold, unorthodox approach seemed to offer a lifeline to a nation desperate for something—anything—different.

To stop the analysis there, however, would be intellectually dishonest. His success in economic reform does not absolve him of his deeply troubling authoritarian tendencies. […]

Just as Xi’s Great Firewall stifles dissent and controls information flow, Milei’s administration has rolled out measures designed to choke transparency and limit public access to critical information, with Decree 780/2024 standing out as a particularly egregious example. This decree grants the government sweeping oversight over media content under the guise of protecting public order and national security. It empowers authorities to monitor and penalize journalists for reporting that is deemed “subversive,” an ambiguously defined term that leaves ample room for subjective interpretation. Under the decree, headlines critical of the administration can be flagged as destabilizing or harmful, leading to fines, forced retractions or even criminal charges against journalists and media outlets.

“The Secret Painter” here is Joe Tucker’s uncle Eric, apparently the most unaesthetic of men, inhabiting the most unaesthetic of places, the industrial town of Warrington, Lancashire. He kept his trousers up with a rope; his habitual bomber jacket was patched with sticky tape, as was the cracked rear window of his car. He worked as a labourer and his regular haunts were Warrington pubs, the rougher the better, and the local Betfred.

But when Eric Tucker died, aged 86, in 2018, more than 500 paintings were found in the small council house he had long shared with his mother. The works, of the highest quality, depicted mid-20th-century working-class northern life. Many showed blurry, smoke-filled pub interiors, beautifully composed and full of slightly grotesque figures, typically side-on to show their strange profiles. They often look pale (except for red noses) and pensive, but they all have one another, and here is the first of many paradoxes about Eric Tucker.

He depicted scenes of sociability yet he himself was an uncommunicative loner with few close friends.