A P-shaped crack in the earth

The past few days it’s been made known to me that it’s currently an amazingly interesting time to be in Chile. Sunday afternoon, at 14:15 to be exact, this country crawled out from under one long, skinny rock and promptly split in two.

Pinochet took power on September 11, 1973 in a golpe de estado that ousted democratically-elected Salvador Allende, and remained Chile's dictator until 1990 when he was voted out of office. Today, the stubbornly apathetic political climate still sparks itself to life along this one very devisive issue. In the past five months, I've witnessed a very small number of political discussions, and those that I have seen have been quite brief (they inevitably yield to the price of potatoes per kilo, I've found). However, that's not to say that politics have been completely absent. It's been interesting living in a staunchly right-wing, Pinochet-supporting household and getting a chance to listen to the perspective that I definitely do not see in my history and sociology classes at the U. de Valpo, or in Minnesota or Denver. I never really got the whole "we like dictators" thing; it's just fairly counter-intuitive, I guess. I would never join the ranks of Chileans who blindly throw all their support behind the cause of resurrecting Allende, but I am certainly less perplexed by that latter tendency. The fact that the referendum that finally ended the general's 17-year rule was decided by a margin narrower than 4% still astounds me--and I've gotten to see that demographic split snap itself to life these past few days.

My host mom, for one, has been moping around in her slippers since "her general" died—the stress has gotten so bad it’s actually manifested itself in physical stomach pain. Meli, the in-house hairdresser commented that she was glad that Pinochet would finally be able to rest peacefully and not have to be bothered by obnoxious investigators bent on pestering an old man about torture and murder allegations. My mom's leftist friends, however, have been having fun teasing her about the recent events; much in the same way my dad and aunt enjoy calling each other after each Ohio State/Michigan game, my mom was receiving a large number of "sympathetic" phone calls on Sunday.

Later that night, I went over to my friend Juan’s house for some long overdue lasagna and met his dad and aunt, both of whom were practically giggling with excitement. Juan himself was decked out in his best socialist outfit, beaming to the ears. Along the way, cars honked their way down the busy avenues, arms and heads flailing out of the open windows as shouts of glee spilled onto the street.

This, of course, was a few days after sitting through lunch which included bits and pieces of her guerrillera years as a gun-toting Armada employee, as well as a tangential tirade against those who fled the country and have since returned as well-off izquierdistas, holding the power and future of Chile in their hands. At some point, someone mentioned the fact that no one ever talks about those on the other side who also died during the golpe, meaning, I gathered, those who initiated the armed, bloody overtaking of the government. It was insisted upon that there were some who had lived through the “truth,” that one mustn’t believe what the outsiders say, what the left-wingers say. My mom’s mom cursed the lone Allende statue that stands in Santiago and they all hailed “mi general,” swearing they’d go to his funeral should he ever die.

This usually politically quiet country is suddenly bursting with things to say and with audiences waiting to hear it. Never before have I seen so many people willingly glue themselves to the TV to listen to President Michelle Bachelet give a press conference. In class, clever and not-so-clever remarks get thrown around by students and professors alike, and the U. de Valpo's lonely four right-wing students lower their eyes sheepishly. In the streets, the kiosks that are usually plastered with news about celebraties or small-scale crimes now show various blown-up pictures of the deceased general (either the sickly-looking, post-heart attack Pinochet, or the medal-bearing Pinochet, depending on the paper) and pedestrians cluster to read the headlines. Even in the micros there's a political message being sent over the radio as the dj's give their two cents between songs.

Onces at Graciela’s house before taking her to the bus station on monday was animated by her host dad’s indoctrinating monologue about the “real” Chilean experience in the 1970s. Even though they had friends who were hunted down and killed, they all seemed to think that the CIA (which was completely warranted and simply looking out for US business interests [pure capitalism is the all-justifying gospel, of course]) was practically a god-send for intervening in the country’s affairs. Somehow, he also started talking about the horrendous communist/socialist tendency to always walk around armed to the communal teeth. I found this odd, given the undeniably armed nature of the Pinochet golpe, but I chose not to say anything. He also began talking about how different Chile is from its neighbors, how unsuited it is for communism because of cultural reasons. “There’s more culture in Chile,” he said a few times. “In what sense?” I asked, honestly just trying to understand the man. “Analfabetismo,” he responded without pausing. “Tenemos mucho menos analfabetismo. Eso implica más cultura.” Illiteracy? You’ve got to be kidding me. No one actually uses lower levels of illiteracy to implicate greater levels of culture and therefore a country unfit for socialism. At least not outloud.

Today my own host dad came into my room and starting muttering about something having to do with Pinochet. He remains one of the now relatively few people in this country that I honestly can't understand a word of--it's something about the way he never actually says anything, but also manages to never stop talking. It's kind of like an eight-year-old boy, except with more modismos and huevones sprinkled in. Anyway, he seemed to be saying something about my interesting vantage point of the entire situation. As an outsider with no vested interests, I get to observe impartially, weigh the various sources and slants of information, and come to my own, holistic conclusions (okay, so the fact that he gets really excited about his point and then precedes to repeat it five or six times helps me to understand the muttering). Even though I think the weight he gave to my all-virtuous, extranjera status was a bit overdone, it was an interesting point. I sit here and I listen to people of whatever political leaning, and it sounds like they've been utterly indoctrinated. And more than that, there seems to be a desire to propogate the indoctrination (though this tendency is usually subtle because everyone is so ridiculously apathetic). A few months ago in my grammar class we watched two movies about the Allende/golpe years, one skewed to the left and the other to the right. They both included a scene that was almost completely identical in both--the same images, same poem, similar music--except for the message each film was trying to get across. So I think about all the things I've seen and heard, and about the reaction to Pinochet's death, and I keep coming back to the thought that it's so similar to the United States. Obviously, there's a difference in scale when it comes to talking about the 17-year dictator, but in terms information sources, or variant "truths", of profound ideological divisions, there's a lot that seems to coincide. It also makes me think about the incredible influence environment and conditioning can have on person's thought process and conception of the world. This is where I know that my host's dad's excitement about my privileged perspective is completely false; even if I weren't American I would have preconceived notions about Pinochet, about dictatorships, about socialism, about political messages. And given the fact that I hail from the home of the CIA, it's even more the case. But I suppose that the fact that I at least recognize my lack of objectivity is something--and given the fact that today is my first official day of summer vacation, I'd call it a fairly decent day's work.