He liked to be referred to as Carlos “H.” Acuña (for his middle name, Hugo), convinced that otherwise people might confuse him with the many other Carlos Acuñas around.
Carlos studied Political Science at the Universidad del Salvador (USAL), a venerable Jesuit institution that became a refuge for progressive intellectuals during Argentina’s darkest political decades. He graduated in 1975, at the threshold of Argentina’s political self-destruction, and later pursued postgraduate studies in methodology at the University of Belgrano (UB), supervised by the famed epistemologist Gregorio Klimovsky. In those troubled times, he began his career as a teacher and researcher––hardly surprising that his country’s social and political upheavals became central to his lifelong intellectual curiosity.
In the years leading up to the collapse of Argentina’s last and most brutal dictatorship, Carlos worked alongside fellow intellectuals to create institutions that would become cornerstones of democratic life, such as the Centro de Investigación y Acción Social (CIAS) and the Centro de Estudios Sociales of the Servicio Paz y Justicia (CES-SERPAJ), led by Nobel Peace Prize winning Adolfo Pérez Esquivel. These efforts reflected his commitment to and activism for human rights, which later led him to join the Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS) from 2001 onward.
With the democratic transition of 1983–84, Carlos became a key contributor to the Centro de Estudios del Estado y la Sociedad (CEDES), the leading hub for Argentine social scientists, where he worked until 1997. From the mid-1990s, he also served as a researcher at CONICET, Argentina’s national scientific research body, where he remained for 25 years.
In the early 1980s, he earned a scholarship for a PhD in Political Science at the University of Chicago, in the USA, which he earned after a stay at the Kellogg Institute at the University of Notre Dame. He got his PhD relatively late, in 1995, when a doctorate was still more a coronation than a rite of passage for many Latin American intellectuals. During those years, he developed lasting friendships with Guillermo O’Donnell (Kellogg Institute’s Director at the time), Adam Przeworski (his mentor at the University of Chicago), and other renowned scholars. His thesis reflected a lifelong passion for the political sociology of Argentina––a country he loved, yet whose tragedies never ceased to produce his inquisitive mind. What complex of social and political tragedies made a country like Argentina head in the direction it was heading?
Carlos belonged to what might be called the “Old School” of social science, in the best sense of the term. He only wrote when he truly had something to say, when he was sure he was contributing something original and doing justice to the work of others. In an era of endless, serial paper production, his writing stood out for its clarity and substance. He published about Argentina’s ruling classes, state and government, public policies (in areas such as health, disability, water and sanitation, security, and transitional justice), and on conceptual and methodological issues in political science and public policy research.[1] His CV lists around 90 publications, widely cited (over 5,000 times, according to Google Scholar), and many have become classics in our field—works to which we return with the pleasure of conversing with a friend, over coffee.
Today, hybrid careers, between science and practice, are seen as professionally unsustainable—or intellectually disqualifying. But for Carlos, intellectuals had a responsibility (not a right) to engage with politics: to mentor, to share knowledge, to help solve problems. He was uncompromising in this. Tasks––intellectual, administrative, or political––had to be done well, and on time. All institutions needed to be respected in this, from international organizations (he participated in numerous programs financed by the Interamerican Development Bank) to the humblest municipality requesting support to understand and rethink policies. Alongside close colleagues and friends such as Oscar Cetrángolo, Mariana Chudnovsky, Laura Golbert, Roberto Martínez Nogueira, Fabián Repetto, Marcelo Saín, Catalina Smulovitz, or Mariano Tommasi, he worked tirelessly to investigate public issues and inform policy, often challenging the very institutions that commissioned the studies. Amid Argentina’s recurrent crises, Carlos was a rock.
Though perhaps, above all, he was a remarkable teacher––the kind students remember for a lifetime, the standard against which all others are measured. His classes radiated passion, but behind his performance lay countless hours of preparation, care, and a quest for perfection. Generations of students cherished the privilege of learning from him.
He was, too, a generous and beautiful mind. He gave his time freely to anyone who asked for feedback. When he commented on a paper, he did so with more dedication than the author could have hoped for, and his insights were always useful. He was patient, tolerant, and democratic in discussion––listening carefully, synthesising arguments, and proposing respectful compromises. His “Habermasian” style of dialogue made him a natural builder of institutions.
At the Universidad de San Andrés (UdeSA), he led the creation of one of Latin America’s most successful Master’s degrees in Public Policy and Administration, mentoring generations of scholars and public officials (1998–2012). In 2012, at the Universidad de Buenos Aires (UBA), he co-founded the Instituto Interdisciplinario de Economía Política, a pioneering unit combining CONICET and the university. And from 2012 until his passing, at the Universidad Nacional de San Martín (UNSAM), he was the driving force behind our shared projects: the State, Administration, and Policy research unit, the Master’s in Public Policy Planning and Evaluation, and the PhD in Administration and Public Policy.
On a personal level, Carlos was a warm, deeply loyal human being. He had quirks––such as his obsessive need to clear his email inbox immediately––that his friends forgave with affection. He was a companion for both celebration and despair: interested, curious, always ready to share his Parisiennes and his Johnnie Walker Black Label with his colleagues and friends through the highs and lows of life. He was also a devoted husband and father, constantly referring with love and respect to his wife, Elsa (“Elsi”), and his daughter, Malena (“Male”).
Never mind, you stay with us, querido pibe.