Shila Vilker is the director of Trespuntozero, the public opinion consulting firm that was one of the most talked-about during the 2023 election campaign due to the accuracy of its predictions. With a bachelor’s degree in Communication Sciences and a master’s degree in Culture and Communication from the University of Buenos Aires, she spent years combining her academic career—with scholarships from the UBA and CONICET—with research applied to the political sphere. In 2011, she founded Trespuntozero after having been a member of Noesis, and since then she has worked both in Argentina and in other Latin American countries.
The conversation began with current events—the university veto, public opinion amid a climate of argumentative confusion—and gradually shifted toward deeper questions: how to study a society that can no longer sit together in the same room, what ethnography means in working-class communities, and why memes often arrive before the news. Shila spoke about her teachers, her thwarted ambition to become a librarian, and the day she entered a one-way-mirror observation room (known locally as a sala Gesell) for the first time and knew she wanted one of her own.
By Lucas Malaspina
The University Veto and Argumentative Confusion
What’s your take on the veto, and what do you think is going on with the university?
Well, let’s see—the first thing I’ll say is that the public opinion landscape is very confusing. I’d say it’s a climate dominated by argumentative confusion, and that even extends to those who advocate for a university system that’s both free and high-quality. The other factor to consider is that the university remains a major mechanism for social mobility. I’m a product of the public university system—the first in my family to attend college—and, of course, like many other students, I studied and worked very hard. But it’s possible to receive a quality education largely because there’s an institutional dynamic that allows access for less affluent sectors of society. I don’t know if these are the lowest sectors of society, but they are certainly sectors that otherwise would not have access. So, the value of the institution is not in question. I also believe that, generally speaking, the issue of public education in Argentina is a value, even for people who support the presidential veto. In fact, note that one of the arguments being raised today goes something like this: “Well, but we have to look at elementary school; we have to look at high school. Students aren’t getting there, or they’re arriving with a poor-quality education.” So, the discussion isn’t about public education itself—whether it’s a “yes” or a “no”; the veto is based on these different layers of argumentation that create a scene of great confusion.
Another factor to keep in mind is that a legislative victory isn’t necessarily a victory in public opinion. With the veto affecting retirees, what you saw was a triumph in Congress and a blow to the president’s image—which, incidentally, has already begun to stabilize again. In other words, he took a hit and is now back on his feet, finding a new footing. We’ll have to see if the same thing happens with the education sector. I believe that, for the government, the dispute with the university is more symbolic than financial in nature. There’s something there that has to do with staking out a position, a place on the chessboard. You see, words carry weight: conviction isn’t the same as stubbornness. But anyway, I’d say it’s a foothold in a certain place, and I think that’s kind of the main message.
I had three out of every ten Milei voters supporting the veto. So it’s a cost that’s going to affect one in four of his voters—it’s not without cost either. But there’s an area where what I was just mentioning comes into play, which is the convergence of many different arguments. A high-quality public university, yes, but what about transparency? High-quality public universities, yes, but what about elementary school, high school, and the politicization of universities? That’s where it all gets muddled. It’s a jumble of arguments—it’s chaotic.
A friend of mine has a quote on her WhatsApp that says: “If you can’t convince them, confuse them.”
Confuse them. In other words, taken in the abstract, all arguments can carry weight. They’re all worthy of consideration. The thing is, then you have to vote, right? So it seems to me that this organizing principle of “yes” or “no”—and the fact that political decisions often come at a cost, one way or the other—also contributes to widespread confusion. The issue is a difficulty in prioritizing arguments. It’s not that there’s a lack of arguments—on the contrary: there’s an overabundance of arguments in Argentina today. So, the problem is one of prioritization and perspective, and in part that has to do with the lack of alternative leaders, of new leaders, of leaders capable of crafting discourses that help organize the issues. I believe this is the newest phenomenon we’re seeing in the very substance of public opinion, which ultimately consists of words and arguments.
The university—and the UBA in particular—is supposed to be well-regarded in public opinion. Now, part of this decision, as you were saying, isn’t so much driven by budgetary considerations as by the government’s political convictions.
It’s a symbolic gesture.
A symbolic gesture?
It’s about symbolic signaling. It’s a symbolic act. It signals a stance, showing the president’s conviction regarding the zero deficit and that course of action, whatever the social cost may be. I believe the novelty may also lie in the issue of the streets, because so far we’ve seen a government that feels very comfortable in conflict. We must acknowledge that there is a masterful ability to navigate conflict—even to generate it and provoke it. But until now, that conflict has had virtually no presence on the streets. The streets as a risky zone of conflict are almost unknown to this government, except for the April 23 march, which was quite large. Now you’re starting to see the healthcare and education sectors joining in. We’ll have to see how the government reacts to a dynamic on the streets that it hasn’t experienced so far. It seems to me that this is also a new development on the scene.
Trespuntozero conducted an analysis—I understand with Alaska as well—on the topic of social protest. What can you tell us about that?
There is social acceptance of protest when fundamental rights are threatened. It’s not that there’s a blanket rejection of everything. There’s a rejection of certain social actors: protest itself is still alive and well, but there’s a rejection of the labor movement and the world of social movements. Argentina today has a problem with trust in institutions in general. That’s why teachers and doctors are spared. And that’s why this is difficult for the government, because these are groups that still have a positive image. Now, if you ask about business leaders, journalists, politicians, Congress, pollsters, or YouTubers, there’s a widespread loss of trust in others—even in fellow Argentines. And that’s very characteristic of anti-political societies. Anti-politics and distrust go hand in hand. The more anti-political the sentiment, the greater the distrust of public figures and institutions. But protest as a mechanism of expression, in the abstract, still holds value.
Methods, one-way-mirror observation rooms, and ethnography in working-class communities
What is your work like in terms of the different methods used to gauge public opinion? There are surveys, focus groups, and variations depending on the medium and the age of the respondents. How do you ensure it works as well as possible, given that it’s not an exact science but rather indicates trends?
First of all, we enjoy conducting research. The researcher’s mindset is important because it involves setting aside prejudices. We conduct social research, and to do so, I believe the first step is to start with a clean slate—without prejudices, without preferences, without thinking, “I like this” or “I don’t like that.” We try to think without bias and look unflinchingly at what’s actually there. Sometimes you see things and say, “No, this can’t be.” Are you sure? Could it really be that way?
We work with all qualitative methods. Focus groups became very popular. They entered the Argentine lexicon as a category—a sort of magic. We heard Moreno say, “Enough with the focus groups.” In other words, they became part of the political landscape. It’s true that a few years ago, qualitative research was less prevalent, partly because it’s harder to present its results. Polls have the “horse race” analogy working in their favor. You see: How are they doing? Who’s winning? Who has the best image? These are easy to visualize. Polls earned their place as a social mirror long ago. Because, ultimately, well-conducted social research, when presented to society, holds up a mirror that reflects something no single individual thinks of in particular, but which all of them collectively embody. That’s something very valuable, especially for those who consume news about polls—which I know gets a lot of clicks.
It’s as valuable as looking in a mirror. Furthermore, the dissemination of information about what we think is part of democratic processes. Focus groups have become increasingly widespread over the past 15 years. Proof that they also existed before is that Buenos Aires had many one-way-mirror observation rooms, which is where they are conducted.
And were they used more for market research?
They were used extensively for market research, but also for political research. And I believe that qualitative research is very valuable for political research. Of course, it’s more artisanal. The design of the instrument, the moderation, the design of which segments you’re going to target, the interpretation, and the analysis—all of that is artisanal. There’s significant added value provided by the analyst and the team. Not all studies turn out the same. And then there are less widely used research methods, such as ethnography.
What is ethnography?
Focus groups are very much a lab-based approach. People go into a one-way-mirror observation room, which is like…
Like something out of Mad Men, it seems.
Absolutely. You have a lab scene there. People leave their neighborhood and enter that lab with its nonexistent fourth wall: a mirror on one side, glass on the other. Ethnography, in contrast, is where things actually happen. It goes to the here and now of people’s lives.
And then there’s a film that was shown to me once—Daniela Barbieri and Augusto Reina showed it to me in their seminar—which was a film from Bolivia. I think it’s called Our Brand Is Crisis. It’s about Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada’s campaign—basically Bolivia’s De la Rúa—and he allowed the entire campaign to be filmed. So there are these focus groups when everything blows up, and people are saying, “I can’t make ends meet anymore.”
Yes, well. And ethnography, unlike that, is where things actually happen. We conduct ethnography in working-class neighborhoods because, in general, the lowest socioeconomic sectors of society don’t participate in focus groups—or it’s harder to get them to participate—due to the very dynamics of how speech is distributed, who gets to speak, and the scope of the discussion. Just as all quantitative methods have a slight bias, qualitative methods also face greater challenges in lower socioeconomic sectors. So that’s where ethnography comes in. And of course, you do ethnography when you want to find out specific things. A great ethnographer is Javier Auyero; for me, he’s the person who trained me and one of Argentina’s greatest ethnographers. The first ethnographic study I conducted was under his guidance, many years ago now, in Ingeniero Budge, where I was examining educational issues. Later, I conducted another study on the patience and waiting experienced by working-class communities in their dealings with the state, titled Pacientes del Estado—the book that emerged from that research, which draws on many hours of ethnographic fieldwork in social development offices.
People go there, take a number, and wait until someone calls them to try to address their need. And in the meantime, while they wait, things happen. It’s an exploration of the experience of that waiting situation—how the state is perceived and, conversely, how the state’s beneficiaries are perceived. These are things you can’t study unless you’re right there where it’s happening.
Culture, Politics, and the Problem of the Icon
How do you go about understanding the different cultural frameworks in such a diverse society? What is the role of culture in social or political research?
I believe that in political research, politics takes precedence. Politics takes precedence in the sense that there’s always a major organizing factor: the results of the last election. So, each election isn’t a complete reset. People develop their political trajectories, their thoughts, and their preferences based on their personal history. Looking at the most recent election results also helps you understand—or at least make sense of—that chaos. Then, of course, there are things that seem to have nothing to do with politics but have a tremendous impact. I don’t know—I’m thinking of how much speculation there was, back when it was all the rage, about El Joker, as if there were certain moods that cinema manages to express and convey. You can’t understand new politics in isolation from the transformation of the media, media consumption, and the explosion of alternative media. “Alternative” isn’t even the right word, because it’s a shift—a reconfiguration of the playing field.
On the other hand, politics desperately needs culture, because culture is more radical. It allows you to convey something that wouldn’t otherwise happen. Think about the visual arts, about design. What a visual artist or a director can convey. That also drives things forward, plays a role. Politics, especially in the pop democracy we live in, is very much about iconography. All our great leaders are iconic.
And those who aren’t iconic don’t really catch on.
And they face major problems. Being a leader means becoming an icon as well. And there’s nothing more pop than an icon. Our current president is very iconic—tremendously pop.
He’s very skilled at achieving that.
Yes, absolutely.
Media consumption: TV, the algorithm, and the meme that arrives before the news
Last year, you published something in the middle of the campaign about the sources of information used by different sectors. What can you tell us about that?
I don’t remember what I published. Last year was so fast-paced.
It was something along the lines of: certain sectors use YouTube; other sectors use digital media.
Things that come out of survey analyses where you can see consumption preferences based on profiles. In our line of work, the idea of profiling audiences and developing ways to reach them based on that is very much a part of what we do. I’d say that TV still reigns supreme in many ways. If I had to give you my take on it, I think what’s counterintuitive is that in a world that’s exploding with content, television still remains central. When you look at the Milei phenomenon, it was consumed on social media. But what were people actually consuming on social media? Clips from the television phenomenon.
And he first made it onto social media by appearing on TV.
As a TV panelist. So, it’s true that it’s a digital phenomenon—driven by social media and algorithms. There were things we observed, such as security guards working the night shift saying in focus groups: “Today we’re going to do the Milei marathon.” They’d send WhatsApp messages to coworkers keeping watch in other buildings and say: “Hey, let’s put this on, let’s watch this, come on.” Now, the “Milei marathon” is made up of TV clips. You look for the first one, then the algorithm—you don’t know what it’ll show you next. But the raw material is still TV; it’s still the raw material of the news. The major media outlets remain the primary gatekeepers. So you have a phenomenon of severe fragmentation in the media system, and at the same time, live TV and the news broadcast continue to play a central role, still setting the agenda.
Then there are new developments. Young audiences consume the news in reverse. They see a meme and don’t understand it. They see another meme and don’t understand it. By the third one, they say: “Well, I don’t know what happened here; I’m going to look up the news.” So the meme ends up serving as a news trigger. It’s not the news that draws people to the meme; rather, it’s the meme that draws people to the news.
Incidentally.
Absolutely. I mean, you enter social life, political life, through memes, through criticism. That’s also a hallmark of the new political subject. I remember when I was little; we bought three newspapers at home. It wasn’t a particularly political household—it was a family of shopkeepers, where you had to kill time. And we’d read the newspaper from back to front: we’d start with the jokes, a bit like with memes—you know what I mean? We’d start with the joke and then work our way forward. I think there’s something to the idea that if you don’t start with the joke, you can’t digest it. Those things also play a role in terms of access to public life.
From a UBA scholarship to her own one-way-mirror observation room
You talked about your childhood and about someone who played an important role in your development. I’d like you to tell me how you came to do what you’re doing now—and whether you imagined it when you were a girl.
No, I didn’t imagine it because I wanted to be a librarian. I had a brief academic career focused on research training: I held UBA scholarships and later a CONICET scholarship. In fact, Truculencia, this little book you mentioned, grew out of a research-training grant from the University of Buenos Aires. The impulse toward curiosity and the vocation for research were there from very early on. I applied for my first scholarship in ’94, so it was many years ago. And then, ten years later, I had that career in research and teaching. I was fortunate enough to enter a one-way-mirror observation room in the middle of a campaign. When I walked in, I said, “Wow! I want a laboratory like this for myself.” Two years later, I had my own observation room and started working. That was in 2007. We partnered with several university professors—friends, enormously talented and brilliant people. We threw ourselves into the work and then, as with everything in life, it began and it ended. We care deeply about one another, but it ended. And in 2011-2012, I struck out on my own with Trespuntozero.
Noesis came before that. And I was already on my own with Trespuntozero in 2011.
Yes, around 2011-2012.
And what was it like to start a business on your own?
Not alone… you’re never alone.
There’s always a network.
I don’t know if it’s a network, either. It’s true that you have to have an entrepreneurial spirit. The observation room I have now is the third or fourth one I’ve built. They’re challenges, too. Research involves a lot of hands-on work. It’s not just sitting down, reading, and writing—though that’s part of it—but it has a practical dimension; research is grueling. And running a business is grueling, too. It requires you to throw yourself into it. But well, the more you do, the more you do. The less you do, the less you do.
That’s what my mom says.
I don’t know how it works, but I think that’s how it works.
Latin America and a society that no longer sits together
You work in other countries besides Argentina. What’s that like?
You’re brought in by strategists who trust your numbers, your ability to analyze the situation, or the capabilities of your teams. We have a large team of very talented people. They trust what we see, what we say, and our predictions have been very accurate. Polls alone aren’t enough. Even the best pollster makes mistakes sometimes. Errors are generally due to misinterpretations of the situation. If the work is done well, the method is applied correctly, and the interpretive framework is sound, it should work. In the areas where we perform best, what we do is combine methods: we analyze the data from this method, that one, and another; and if we see shifts, we go out and conduct qualitative research to try to understand them. It happened to us in the last general election, when there was a shift in the final week: Massa was gaining ground and Milei was losing. They hovered around 33, 32, and 34 for almost the entire campaign, and toward the end, Milei dropped to 30 and Massa rose to 36. We had him at 36, and he actually ended up a little higher than that. How did that shift happen? You can see it in the numbers. It’s not statistically significant, but you see it once, you see it the next day, and you see it the day after that. So you have to go out and validate it using another method.
What trends do you see—at least from a Latin American perspective—that represent broader shifts in how citizens, consumers, or voters behave?
Well, I think that getting involved in campaigns is different from working systematically in another country, where you begin to understand a culture in depth. Interpretation ultimately comes down to picking up on cues, and it’s easier when you have an in-depth understanding of a country. There are commonalities across different Latin American countries: the impact of the pandemic—regardless of what you did during it—has generally led to discontent. The pandemic marked a turning point in social life. Anti-political sentiment, which you see everywhere. The rise in distrust of institutions.
Democracy as one option among others.
I wouldn’t put it quite that dramatically. I wouldn’t say democracy is just one option among others, but I would say there is less adherence to democratic values among younger people.
Exactly.
As a topic. Let’s focus: this is a sensitive issue. It’s not chaos yet, but it is something that’s lurking beneath the surface. There are instances of political violence in many parts of Latin America. There are concerns about the drug trade. In some cases, traditional political parties are falling apart, and outsiders are emerging. There are common signs: societies that feel somewhat stifled and exhausted. The transformation of news and media consumption isn’t unique to Argentina; it’s a global phenomenon.
It would be irresponsible of me to claim that I have an in-depth understanding of other cultures. You can do outstanding work with what you know and what you do, but the finer-grained work—understanding small cultural shifts—is another matter entirely. Here, I can tell you about some of those small shifts. For example: when we first started our research, it was really common to conduct focus groups segmented by gender and educational level—it wouldn’t have occurred to anyone to do anything differently. Today, I can’t put together a group without political segmentation. And I think we were one of the first to start doing that. Now, looking back on it, what I think is that this ultimately marks the end of integration. The impossibility of bringing people together is the end of integration.
You say that very calmly, but it’s staggering.
Well, that’s professional know-how. Yes, it’s staggering. Our society has undergone intense changes in recent times. We left the society of integration behind a long time ago. In the 1990s, the concept of social exclusion emerged. It didn’t exist before. In the late 2000s, the political divide emerged. Things are emerging—changes in the landscape accompanied by a new social structure, new sensibilities regarding politics, and the implosion of traditional political parties. Who are they speaking to?
Readings
I’d like you to tell us what you’re reading or what you’ve read lately, or what kinds of things are important for you to revisit from time to time. It could be about politics, research, society, culture, literature—whatever it may be.
The most beautiful things I’ve ever read, in general, I read with Leónidas Lamborghini, an Argentine poet with whom I studied for many years, back when I was most interested in becoming a librarian. With Leónidas, we read the classics, and later I continued reading classics as part of a book club with some friends, which is amazing.
Which one, for example?
Well, one very basic one is En busca del tiempo perdido. You don’t need to go all the way back to the Greeks. It’s enough to read magnificent, wonderful works from the early twentieth century. En busca del tiempo perdido is an extraordinary, incredible novel in seven volumes. I have to say I have no idea who the author is.
Marcel Proust. A Frenchman.
A person who was isolated for a long time, now that I think about it. He was also very worldly. Part of the social life he describes—French society in the early years of the century—has to do with the worldly life Proust led. Worldliness, socialité, the exchange with peers on the topics of the time. It’s a spectacular novel. That’s where the image of the madeleine comes from, doesn’t it? The madeleine that transports him back in time.
I have no idea. I have no idea. Now I want you to explain it to me.
There’s a moment in the novel when he explains that all of this begins because he is eating a madeleine—we might call it a cupcake—and suddenly the taste transports him back to his childhood, to the countryside where his grandmother had her house, to that church. It’s a beautiful novel. I used to enjoy reading novels, but I can’t anymore: now I read theory.
What have you been reading lately?
Right now I’m reading Grimson’s little book on the libertarian phenomenon. It’s very interesting. I’m also reading a book on political equality by Robert Dahl. A little current affairs, a little classics. These are difficult times for reading. Something in the psyche makes it harder to sustain attention for so long. The connection to reading. But I can do it, and I do. I acknowledge the difficulty.
Thank you very much, Shila, for accepting this invitation. I hope you had a good time.
It’s a pleasure talking with you, Lucas. Thank you.
