The backpack rests in the closet. Always ready. Neither dust, nor time, nor the skepticism of others alter its purpose. That luggage is the heart of their activity. The certainty that, at any moment, normality may be just a mirage. No one knows this better than Leandro Azzolin, Argentine pioneer of prepper movementwho learned to see in the cracks of the present the shadow of the catastrophes to come.
For years, those who warned of the world’s collapse were seen as eccentrics. The marginal character of dystopian films. The “bunker men” obsessive, waiting for nuclear war, the fatal meteorite. Until the planet suddenly shut down in 2020: the entire world locked up, eyes on the television, breathing fear and bleach. The coronavirus pandemic changed the logic of the possible: it transformed preppers from anonymous crazy people into involuntary oracles. Then came more signs: the war in Ukraine with the nuclear specter, floods that devastated Bahía Blanca, general blackouts, earthquakes that split cities in two. The line between improbable disaster and everyday threat dissolved to the rhythm of the news.
The origin of the transformation of Leandro Azzolin It is a trivial scene, one of those that can be lost in the noise of an ordinary day. University classroom, year 2009. A professor mentions the Mayan prophecies, with that tone halfway between irony and fear. “What if it’s true?” the teacher releases. And that phrase—delivered as a joke—has the effect of lightning on Azzolin. Nostradamus’s visionary destruction was not necessary: it was enough to accept fragility.
The first thing was literal: he put together a survival backpack. “I always have it prepared in my closet. And then my partner and my children also joined in. Each one has their own,” reveals Leandro in a telephone conversation with Infobae.
Each item in that light bag fulfills a precise function: elements to light a fire, purifiers capable of cleaning three liters of water, compact rations that last five days, a first aid kit. “Also a small tent or a tarp to make a shelter,” explains Azzolin. “In addition, a sleeping bag can be an option or a fleece blanket. In the case of my children, it is a much lighter backpack with attachment toys and some treats, for example.”
The next, more ambitious step becomes almost quixotic: filling an entire cupboard. “I have enough food to last me for up to six months without buying anything,” says the prepper. “I also have packets of seeds to make gardens and be able to sustain myself in case of a more serious food crisis.”
“I couldn’t find groups in Argentina,” says Azzolin, remembering those days of loneliness. Thus, he decided to found the first prepper group in the country on Facebook: “It was the first page in Latin America. There, from that network we exchanged ideas and training proposals.” The forum is used to tell stories, preparations, fears and solutions.
In this digital space, links are strengthened in the heat of urgency. When Leandro meets his current partner, he fears the inevitable confession: the accumulated food, the obsession with what lurks. But the answer comes simple: “She told me she also had cans saved. “He took it naturally and immediately joined in.”
Preparing children without spreading panic is a delicate art. “The idea is not to do it all together to prevent them from getting scared. They already have their own backpack.”
Azzolin sees an era marked by “technological ease”where digital comfort dulls risk awareness. For him, preparing his children means taking them away – even for a few minutes each day – from screens that promise artificial security.
“They have to have a moment to read or have fun with traditional toys. This way you realize that if the power goes out they don’t get bored,” says Azzolin. The prepper life is built on small everyday gestures: teaching a child not to be afraid of the dark, making silence meaningful after a blackout.
Leandro identifies the dangers of Argentina, far from nuclear wars but vulnerable to other calamities. “In the country there is no tornado zone, nor are we a military objective for the great powers. We are far from suffering from the chance of a Third World War. We can have social crises due to economic problems, floods like those that already happened in La Plata or Bahía Blanca,” he explains.
Living as a prepper is an art of planning to the extreme. “I have a plan B and C to evacuate my house, in case of problems. The first option is always to stay isolated at home,” explains Azzolin. Each decision obeys that logic: reduce the margin of the unexpected.
The family does drills. Escape routes and meeting points are designed. Leandro does not reveal his neighborhood in the Buenos Aires suburbs: protecting information is the first step to survival. “My family and I do drills so that everyone knows what they have to do in case of an emergency. We tell the kids that it is a test so they don’t get scared.”
Plan A involves surviving in the main house. Plan B contemplates a second home on the outskirts of the city, also equipped for prolonged isolation. “To get there, I have several paths planned to avoid blockages in case there are problems on the routes,” he details.
But the real blow of hard fiction comes from plan C and the bunker: a top secret enclave in some remote part of the country. “It is in a more remote place that I will not reveal. And it has capacity for about 150 people,” Azzolin reveals. “In these spaces, each group has its sector in which it stores everything necessary to survive isolated for several months if necessary.” The image is almost literary: several families, each with their area, their reserves, their knowledge, waiting for some disaster to happen.
Azzolin watched the El Eternauta series and was marked by a maxim: “the old works.” That Favalli phrase that resonates like a prepper mantra. The protagonist, without searching for it, reveals the secret: accumulating useful objects and knowledge, surviving without the help of the most modern technology. “This character is a prepper without perhaps knowing it. He accumulates objects and has knowledge that allowed him to use them in times of emergency,” summarizes Azzolin.
“Sometimes we take it as something natural to turn on a light,” highlights the prepper. “The key is to be able to survive in case of losing these types of tools. Whether it is being able to make a fire without gas, having lighting or even a simple compass to locate yourself if the GPS does not work.”
Being a prepper does not imply superhuman talent. “It’s much simpler. For some people, it may be enough to learn how to fish or how to canned food so that it lasts longer in good condition, for example,” explains Leandro. The secret is in the small, the prudent and almost invisible detail.
March 2020: While many are desperately buying toilet paper and hand sanitizer, preppers are simply opening their cupboards. For Azzolin, the coronavirus worked as an accelerator of history: “I had the information before. The prepper groups in Europe were already talking about the virus that originated in China during 2019. In addition, through other contacts I already knew of cases before the first contagion that was reported in Argentina,” the man recalls.
The logistics were oiled from the beginning: “I had already bought masks, 15 liters of gel alcohol and food for six months. At a certain point, before the government’s quarantine decision, I told my family ‘we are isolating ourselves’. We sent a letter to the school to let them know that the kids were stopping going due to the situation,” explains Azzolin. For many it was the end of the family world. For them, a drill executed according to the manual.
“We had everything planned in advance. At that moment, it was clear that the planning was useful.” While anguish and confinement overwhelmed the majority, the Azzolins found in their customs the visa for relative peace.
What was previously an object of ridicule suddenly becomes a rare commodity: knowing how to anticipate emergencies. With the authority of someone who crossed that threshold, Azzolin now offers courses and advice to individuals and companies who They look for insurance for the apocalypse.
“Some are powerful and realized that when faced with these types of problems they are as vulnerable as anyone,” he explains. In the workshops he shows the basics—how to pack a backpack, preserve food or manage fear—and also the subtle: identifying danger when it is still a rumor halfway between fiction and a weather alert.
The prepper movement in Argentina is growing: around 25,000 peopleAccording to Leandro, they are already part of this new tribe that does not trust chance. The community flourishes in small forums, online courses, specialized social networks.
The mantra never changes. Check the backpack, check the stock in the pantrytalk to other preppers from Europe and the United States about the situation. “I contact colleagues from Europe and the United States who provide me with information,” he explains. “You have to be prepared for everything.”
Living under the premise that the impossible can happen, and that in that moment the difference between anguish and hope depends, perhaps, on having at hand a simple rope, a flashlight, a first aid manual or a handful of seeds. “That’s the prepper philosophy.”
