"Labor Modernization as the Destruction of Social Gains": a class by two labor lawyers at Liberté

From Unidad Penal N°15 in Batán — a maximum-security prison that is also Liberté territory — and simultaneously via video call, more than eighty people sat down on a Saturday morning to study the labor reform. The format was hybrid: around sixty-five connected by Zoom and twenty-three present in the room. The class was taught by two labor lawyers, Cynthia Benzion and Leonardo Elgorriaga, and the title said it all: "The Labor Modernization Law as the Destruction of Social Gains."

Pampa, president of Cooperativa Liberté, opened the session by thanking the speakers and the community: "Universidad Liberté is what people need, what we need." What followed was not a lecture but a nearly two-hour conversation — with questions from the room and from the chat — that traced a century of labor law to understand what is being lost today.

Watch the full class on EduTube.

A century of labor law, to understand what is being lost

Benzion proposed starting with history. "I think going back to what labor laws are and how we got to today helps us understand a little more" what is at stake, she said. She traced the arc back to the 1949 Constitution, which under early Peronism prioritized the dignity of workers and established what are technically known as minimum floors of protection: the baseline guarantees that any working person must have. That constitution was short-lived — the self-styled Revolución Libertadora intervened — and, paradoxically, it was during Aramburu's de facto presidency, in the 1957 reform, that Article 14 bis was incorporated into the Constitution.

Benzion shared that article on screen, breaking it down into three parts: the rights of each individual worker, the rights of trade unions, and social security — retirees and pensioners. But she asked the audience to pause at its very first sentence, in force since 1957 and never amended. The text of the provision reads: "Labor in all its forms shall enjoy the protection of the laws, which shall ensure workers dignified and equitable conditions, limited working hours, and fair remuneration." She underscored it this way: "This is not a dual protection for employers and workers alike. It is unidirectional. The law exists to protect the worker."

Protect workers from what? From an inequality that exists from the outset. "If I need a wage to eat and support my family, I don't have much of a choice," she explained. In a country with structural unemployment, subjugation to employer power becomes nearly total: "It's the 'if you don't like it, leave,' because there's a line around the block of people ready to accept what you aren't willing to accept."

From that trajectory — and from the surge of union activity in the seventies — came the 1973 decision to consolidate the scattered labor laws into a single body: the Ley de Contrato de Trabajo. The project was entrusted to a Mar del Plata labor lawyer, Norberto Centeno, who represented more than eighty unions in the city. Benzion read what Centeno had in mind when he wrote it: "Labor blends with the laborer." The law, she summarized, had to guarantee two things: the dignity of those who work and protection against abuse.

Against the conventional wisdom that labor laws are an obstacle to job creation, Benzion was blunt: "That is false. The highest employment levels in Argentina were achieved under laws that were absolutely protective and penalized employers who did not comply." That is why, she said, the current reform is on a different scale: "It is genuinely revolutionary" — a rupture "with a logic and an order built over more than a century."

The historical account led to the dictatorship. Benzion displayed a front page of Clarín from March 26, 1976. In large letters, the cover proclaimed that "the Junta is the supreme organ of the State"; in a sidebar, "the right to strike has been temporarily suspended"; and alongside it, life going on as though nothing had changed: "Primary schools will hold classes and banks will operate." The Military Junta was suspending the right to strike and union activity — workers' central tool for defending their rights. She noted that, according to CONADEP, more than thirty percent of the disappeared were workers, activists, and union leaders. And that a group of Mar del Plata labor lawyers — Centeno among them — was abducted in what became known as the Noche de las Corbatas: fourteen people taken to a clandestine detention center called "la cueva," tortured and killed. To close, she screened a fragment from the Juicio a las Juntas, featuring the testimonies of María Eva Centeno and Marta García Candeloro, and the phrase their abductors told them: "Now, we are the ones who administer justice."

Three pillars of the same plan

Benzion situated the current reform within a sequence. "It's not just this latest labor reform," she warned: there are three interconnected measures enacted since the start of Javier Milei's government. First, DNU 70/23, from December 2023, which amended more than two hundred laws. Benzion recalled the photo of Federico Sturzenegger next to a stack of papers and hinted at who had written them: "They were the law firms of the major economic groups that had spent years dreaming of the elimination of labor rights." But, she said, the decree "backfired": the Labor Court of Appeals, following action by the CGT, declared it null and void on labor matters because there was no necessity or urgency.

"They learned their lesson," she said wryly, "and said: we'll pass a law and get it through Congress." That gave rise to the other two pillars: the Ley Bases, in force since July 2024, and the Ley de Modernización Laboral — Law 27.802 — in force since March of this year, which "delivers the final blow."

The law that steps back

Elgorriaga took over to go deep into the latest reform and individual labor law: the employment contract. For him, the single thread running through the entire reform is this: "The State withdraws, protective labor law withdraws, and leaves workers alone, face to face with their employer." He illustrated it with a name: "We have a Ministry of Deregulation — I'd say that couldn't be clearer."

He also paused on the label "modernization." The argument about adapting the law to new technologies, he said, is a pretext: "When you look at the actual content of this reform, you find there is very little, if anything, relating to new technologies." Where technology does appear, it serves as a key to let the law step back. The clearest example is platform work: the reform declares that the Ley de Contrato de Trabajo does not apply to that group — delivery workers mediated by apps — and creates a framework for them that does not recognize their work as dependent employment. "Extremely precarious," he summarized. The same, he said, applies to remote work: the law passed during the pandemic is repealed with nothing to replace it. And to maritime workers, who are also removed from the Ley de Contrato de Trabajo.

When the law excludes people who work in prison

This point struck directly at the community present. Elgorriaga explained that the Ley de Modernización Laboral expressly states that the Ley de Contrato de Trabajo does not apply to incarcerated people who work inside detention facilities. And it goes further: it amends the Prison Execution Law itself. "By reforming Article 107 — which previously stated that work in prisons must comply with labor and social security legislation — that requirement is eliminated; and while they're at it, they eliminate the right for that work to be remunerated." The summary was stark: "I'm no longer going to protect you." And the contradiction was plain to see, given that Article 14 bis opens by stating that labor "in all its forms" shall be protected by law.

That contradiction ran through the contributions from the classroom. Marcelo Pereyra shared his own case: he worked for more than three years as a health promoter and, as he described it, was made to sign payslips but was never paid what he was owed. "What can you do to claim that?" he asked, raising the difficulty of pursuing it "without a labor lawyer." Elgorriaga responded that, since the debt predates the reform, his case is still covered by the protection of the old law; and that, in any scenario, the right to a wage is a fundamental human right: "Work can never be unpaid."

Benzion added a technical reading. Even if one accepted that incarcerated people had been excluded from the Ley de Contrato de Trabajo, she said, the reform is poorly drafted and left loose ends. It repealed the provision requiring that work be remunerated, but left another article untouched. She read the legal text: "The work of the incarcerated person shall be remunerated, except in the cases of Article 111" — which provides for a single exception: general maintenance tasks within the facility itself. "So where does that leave us?" she asked. Her position was clear: there are grounds to fight. "What should not happen is failing to fight back against this assault."

Later, Augman raised a specific question about the funds that incarcerated people accumulate and collect upon regaining their freedom: whether this whole financial "package" could affect them. Pampa clarified the differences between regimes and cited figures that landed in the room like an indictment: in the province of Buenos Aires, the wage fund amounts to "two pesos and nineteen cents per day," while the federal system pays by the hour; he mentioned that in Corrientes it comes to around 4,500 pesos per month and in Santa Fe, 6,500. "Slave labor — that much is crystal clear to us at Liberté," he said.

Benzion clarified that the new Fondo de Asistencia Laboral applies to private companies, not the State, and that the distribution of earnings within the Servicio Penitenciario is governed by its own separate regime. But she drew a firm line of ownership: "The money belonging to the incarcerated person is theirs." If the person is released on parole or definitively, they have the right to claim it and take it with them. Elgorriaga added that there have already been rulings declaring the unconstitutionality of those deductions, and that the general principles of labor law — starting with wage integrity — apply equally to incarcerated people: "This is work and it must be protected by law."

Resignations, fraud, and the "dynamic wage"

Elgorriaga went through, one by one, the classic provisions that the reform amends in a regressive direction. The waiver of rights: until now, Article 12 prevented workers from giving up recognized rights; under the reform, a person may waive improvements they individually negotiated above the legal and collective agreement floor. Labor fraud: there used to be a presumption that any working relationship constituted an employment contract, and it was the employer who had to prove otherwise; now that presumption collapses when invoices or service contracts are involved — "precisely the typical form of labor fraud that has been practiced historically in our country" — and the burden of proving the employment relationship falls on the worker.

Outsourcing: previously, when someone appeared as the employer on pay stubs but the work was actually performed for another company, the law treated the real company as the employer. The reform reverses this: now "the employer is always whoever registers the worker," even if that party is an insolvent front, and the company for which the work is actually done becomes merely a jointly liable party. And the "dynamic wage": behind a name that "sounds appealing," he said, the reform allows agreeing on variable wage components tied to performance — in other words, making wages flexible and potentially reducible. Here Elgorriaga articulated the idea that ran through the entire class: "Whenever there is room for freedom and face-to-face bargaining between employer and worker, the employer is the one who will come out on top."

The Fondo de Asistencia Laboral: "a pension fund for dismissals"

Elgorriaga devoted a substantial stretch to one of the newest and, he said, "most perverse" provisions: the Fondo de Asistencia Laboral, regulated that very week, with a scheduled entry into force on November 1. How does it work? A portion of the employer contributions that currently fund pensions is redirected into a per-company fund, managed by financial institutions, to pay severance. It creates no new cost for the employer — it merely redirects contributions already being made — but, he explained, it defunds social security and sets up "a business" for the financial sector using retirees' money. And it undermines the very purpose of severance pay, which exists to discourage dismissal: "It's taking from retirees to finance layoffs."

Most seriously, he noted, the employer retains control of the fund: they decide whether or not to use it to pay a dismissed worker, and the fund is exempt from seizure, meaning the worker cannot enforce it in litigation. If the company closes and declares it has no debts, the remainder — including financial gains — reverts to the employer: "Not to retirees, not to workers."

From the classroom, Juan Carlos C. asked for clarification on this fund: whether the contribution came from the worker or the company, and what happened if the firm closed with no outstanding debts. Elgorriaga distinguished it from the Ley Bases system — more similar to the construction industry severance fund, which was never actually implemented — and confirmed the concern: since the fund remains under the employer's control, the "guarantee" promised to workers is not really a guarantee at all. Someone in the room compared it to the old AFJP pension funds. Elgorriaga agreed: "It's a pension fund for dismissals."

Working hours and lawsuits: the Hours Bank and installment payments

Two more points closed the individual labor law section. The Banco de Horas allows overtime worked in one week to be offset by fewer hours in another: the employer avoids paying the overtime premium and, above all, can permanently adjust schedules "according to the company's needs." Elgorriaga connected this to a historic gain: the eight-hour workday, for which the Chicago martyrs were executed — remembered every May 1st. "That gain has been lost, or at least is in a vulnerable position."

The other point: the payment of labor judgments in installments — up to twelve for a small or medium enterprise, six for a large company. In jurisdictions like the City of Buenos Aires, where a labor case takes an average of five or six years, this means waiting even longer to collect what has already been awarded. For Elgorriaga, it is "outrageous" and functions as "an invitation not to pay": a non-compliant employer is better off waiting out the lawsuit and then paying in installments than paying severance on time.

The other front: unions, the right to strike, and the labor courts

Benzion returned to address collective labor rights, starting from a premise: for companies, labor law and unions are a problem. She began with the Ley Bases. That legislation removed fines for unregistered employment — "off-the-books work" — on the grounds of reducing labor costs. Benzion compared it to an absurdity: "There are many traffic accidents; let's remove the traffic lights, let's remove fines for running red lights." The Ley Bases also extended the probationary period — in an "outrageous" way in the case of domestic workers — and enabled dismissal for going on strike and discriminatory dismissal: previously, a dismissal for being pregnant, HIV-positive, for one's political or union views, or for being an immigrant was null and void and the person was reinstated; now it is resolved with a special severance payment. "It'll cost a little more — no big deal."

On unions, Benzion pointed to the objective of defunding them: the Ley de Modernización caps their funding at no more than two percent of wages, with no connection to job creation. In collective bargaining — where a union and an industry's employers agree, as a sector-specific framework, on working hours, job categories, leave, and minimum wages — the reform requires renegotiating "everything from scratch," with a one-year deadline, in the middle of a recessionary environment. And it restricts the right to strike: until now, only activities whose interruption puts lives at risk — hospitals; electricity, gas and water; air traffic controllers — faced limitations; now nearly all sectors must guarantee a minimum level of service under categories such as "essential services" and "services of transcendent importance," which extend to the production of exportable manufactured goods. "The bare minimum of the bare minimum of the bare minimum," she summarized.

And the judicial avenue? Benzion said that, faced with a reform they consider unconstitutional, the State's response has been "the dismantling of the National Labor Courts." She recalled that labor judges are not neutral: they have a mandate to protect workers — to rule in the worker's favor in cases of doubt, to bear in mind that workers do not have the same access to evidence as companies — and that social justice as an interpretive rule has also been removed. That is why, she said, there is now real doubt about whether there will be judges willing to push back against the reform.

At that point, Benzion opened the floor: "I can see faces, for example at Punto de Paz, who are listening very closely. We'd love to hear from you — questions, comments, or whatever you'd like to share." The conversation widened. From Puerto Madryn, Susana Elba López — a lawyer with fifty-one years of experience — noted that provincial and municipal labor secretariats provide assistance to those facing these kinds of conflicts. From Necochea, Emilia asked what happens to a worker when a small company dissolves; Elgorriaga explained that the worker can file a claim against the employer and, if there is a bankruptcy proceeding, join it, and that today it is crucial to be able to extend the claim to partners and managers, as happened during the 2001 crisis: "That is exactly what is happening now — workers being dismissed as companies shut down." Toward the end, Augman raised another front — precarious, renewable contracts within the State itself — and Benzion closed that thread: the Ley Bases also struck at the heart of public employment, namely job security, which is no longer near-absolute.

"We are beginning a friendship"

Before closing, Augman addressed Benzion and Elgorriaga to celebrate the beginning of a friendship between them and the Liberté community: "we are beginning our friendship," he said. He recalled that the pursuit of dignified work was the driving force behind Liberté's formation — first as a project, then as a cooperative — with a stage of producing and selling goods "at fair prices" so that workers could earn fair wages. He thanked the speakers for what they had shared — "invaluable, rich, wide-ranging" — and announced they would be invited back to explore what had not yet been covered. He acknowledged Benzion's effort: "You could hear your voice breaking, but you gave it everything you had."

Diana Márquez then proposed something she said this community is not accustomed to: applause. The applause rang out. And Miguel Ángel M. closed the gathering on behalf of Universidad Liberté and Víctimas por la Paz: they had explored "the Ley de Modernización Laboral as the destruction of social gains" through a historical and contemporary overview, in what he described as "a cultural and educational act." "Until the next EnClave Libre, from the prison in Batán and from Liberté territory."