"El Londonazo":
Struggling Against Institutional Amnesia
in Post-Pinochet Chile

By Claudio E. Durán (AKA: Enrique "Quique" Cruz)


Mr. Durán is a Ph.D. Candidate in the Modern Thought and Literature Program at Stanford University. He's also visiting Scholar at the Center for Latin American Studies at Stanford, and is presently a Social Science Research Council fellow working on questions of Memory in the aftermath of dictatorial regimes in the Southern Cone.



"To open old wounds, bringing once again debates
that have been long forgotten, serves no purpose whatsoever!"
-- Augusto Pinochet Ugarte. (London 11/12/98),
From a public letter written in his hospital/jail.

"There is no way of judging the future but by the past."
-- From a Chinese Fortune Cookie, 1998.

The news this time came via the Internet. A long-time friend and journalist sent me an e-mail saying, three days before it actually happened, that Pinochet might be detained in London. He informed me that the long time Spanish effort was about to bear fruit. Of course, I did not believe him; it was publicly known that the ex-dictator had traveled freely to England on other occasions, without ever missing the opportunity to drink five o'clock tea with his dear friend Margaret Thatcher. I was also surprised, because, a few days before I had read the main article in the New Yorker and he had seemed so untouchable. In the large color photograph, he looked so good and immaculate, almost father-like, ready to retire with all his honors, undisturbed. It seemed almost like science fiction to even think that the former dictator and self-appointed senator for life, Augusto Pinochet Ugarte, who had walked above the mortals since the day he bombed the Moneda Palace and established himself as the owner of Chilean society, could ever be in danger.

What made it more unbelievable was the common history of both countries. England, I thought, should be the perfect place for him to be safe. His subordinates had used British-made Hawker Hunter planes to bomb the government palace that Tuesday morning of September 11, 1973. Furthermore, the Chilean navy had been buying war materiel from England ever since Chilean Independence in 1818. And it was the English who had trained the Chilean navy, which was instrumental in the taking of a large piece of territory from Perú and resulted in land-locking Bolivia. Chile grew almost forty percent in the War of the Pacific in 1879. Expansionism has been a mutual narrative of both governments. Also, Pinochet's record with post-colonial Britain was impeccable. He had been the only Latin American "head of state" that had lent full support to the English Armada for the retaking of their colonial possessions in the Southern seas: Las Malvinas (Falkland Islands).

"Impossible!!" I replied. "You must be dreaming, your memory is not working right, or have you forgotten what the General owes to the English elite!?"

"No nos olvidemos," ("Let us not forget") is a phrase that has become very familiar in Chile once Pinochet's arrest was confirmed. The whole event has unleashed a landslide of remembering, and many Chileans who have been silent are now digging into their traumatic pasts. For a great majority of Chileans, the whole Pinochet affair is ultimately about the ethics and the politics of remembering. By default, the "Londonazo" is articulating the possibility of looking at the past in ways that were never possible before. Somehow the neatly designed strategy for imposing silence and forgetting in Chile had been shattered in the middle of the night in an exclusive clinic in London, thanks to Spanish lawyer Baltasar Garzón.

Let us not forget...

The genesis of the problem started the very first day that the dictatorship began to rule the country with an iron hand in 1973. The systematic persecution of political opponents, their assassination, expulsion or disappearance was widely denounced by the international media throughout the years of the regime. The gruesome dictatorial behavior cost Pinochet's reign of terror a long period of international isolation and condemnation by the international community of nations.

It was during this time that the regime set in motion the hegemonic strategies for covering and silencing their murky past. First, the criminals gave themselves amnesty in 1978 by a dictatorial decree, making it almost impossible to bring to justice those who had committed "excesses of power," a euphemism used by their lawyers to describe their brutal behavior. "Amnesty" became the special safe conduct for those who had committed crimes against humanity in the days when the ghosts of Mengele and Klaus Barbie roamed the land hand in hand with the secret services that the dictator had created. According to a recently disclosed CIA report written in the early eighties, more than five thousand secret agents were part of the infamous DINA (National Defense Directorate). Last week, a Chilean newspaper said that there were more men in Pinochet's secret police DINA than in the Gestapo.

Furthermore, the new Constitution of 1980, written by the right-wing-lawmakers and Pinochet's cronies, assured the military that they would retreat to the barracks in peace and with full honors. In this fashion, the laws they had put in place during their reign of terror now protected the criminals for life, or so they thought.

After 1986, it was clear that the dictatorship was on its way out. International opinion, especially in Washington, agreed that dictatorships were not the best governments for the new scenario of rapid globalization. Thus, new strategies of silence needed to be laid out, in order to assure a smooth transition to democracy in Chile. The negotiations for the new democratic transition took place behind closed doors and the military, the right wing parties, and some sectors of the opposition agreed that La Memoria de Sangre (Memory of Blood) problematized the pact. Therefore, the troubled past was to be once again covered, this time under the rubric of "Truth and Reconciliation." Questions of justice were erased form the new equation.

The Retting Report: Justice and Amnesia

In 1988, the dictator was voted out in the first free election in the country since 1973. Shortly thereafter Patricio Aylwin, the new Christian Democratic president who had been a major political foe of Allende's and who was in charge of formally declaring the Allende administration unconstitutional in 1973, created the Rettig Commission for Truth and Reconciliation in 1990. The Commission was to piece together what had happened with the executed and the Desaparecidos (disappeared). This was a strategy to deal with the Memory of Blood that the regime had created. The list of crimes is controversial and macabre: at least five thousand executed, two thousand Desaparecidos, more than a hundred and fifty thousand exiled. Not including the thousands and thousands who were imprisoned and tortured, as entire stadiums became detention and torture centers in the beginning of the regime. All of these figures are contested because there has never been the possibility to officially record them.

The Rettig Commission produced a two-volume report which established that the Pinochet regime had systematically repressed and killed its political opponents in Chile as well as internationally, mentioning the CIA-backed "Operación Condor," a coordinated effort by the Southern Cone dictatorships for the exchange of information and prisoners with the intent of totally suffocating any opposition to the antidemocratic regimes in the region. The Report also clearly established that there had been a systematic effort to silence all opposition and at the same time, denounced the creation of a state of terror for a large sector of the population, while a minority received all of the benefits. The Report's emphasis, nonetheless, was on Truth and Reconciliation. An important feature of the strategy in the Report was never to mention those who had committed the crimes. The Report, at the same time, never tried to account for how many had been imprisoned, how many had been tortured, how many had been forced to leave the country, how many had lost their jobs and were subjected to blacklisting, etc. It was a nicely mounted institutional decree to impose amnesia on the notion of Justice.

The Rettig Report was a nightmarish pathos because the victims were forced to relive the whole experience of violence imposed on their bodies and those of their sons, daughters, husbands, and executed and disappeared lovers. Nevertheless, the victims were never allowed to face their abusers, nor name them nor bring them to justice.

Many organizations, including the Families of the Disappeared, received the Report with reservations. They welcomed the efforts, but continued to emphasize the role of Justice. For them, and many of us, the question was about Truth and Justice, as we understood that there could be no reconciliation if all the pain and suffering was ours to carry. On top of that, we were supposed to behave as "good Christians" according to the prevailing Christian Democratic discourse. Therefore, we had to pardon our executioners and torturers and had to also reconcile with them. It was a treacherous moral duty imposed on those who had been victimized. Finally, the report never mentioned even a word of repentance or an apology from Pinochet or any of his subordinates. They could go about their business, as they had carefully protected themselves from ever being touched by the Chilean courts.

When the Rettig Commission completed its inquiry in 1991, the former foe of Allende read the main points on national TV. This time Aylwin shed tears, as he read: "...we hope that these kinds of atrocities will never happen again in our country." It was a clean deal; one of the main political enemies of Allende headed the pacted transition to democracy; the military went to their barracks with honor; the right wing parties which had enjoyed total privilege for the remaking of the economy in their image and likeness had finally sealed their constitutional arrangements.

The final blow was once again on Chilean people, since the reconciliation rested on our shoulders. Meanwhile, the victors roamed freely on the streets of Chile or went shopping in Miami or even London, for that matter. It was a moment of defeat and darkness that made it difficult to believe Bertold Brecht who had once eloquently said: "even in the darkest of times there will be songs. There will be songs about the darkest of times."

When the report appeared, I was in Chile doing research. With frustration, we commented about the treachery of the pact and how the institutional spectacle of remembering of the Rettig Report had further suppressed the possibility for Justice. I thought that we would never be able to bring justice to those who had enjoyed total power for sixteen years, while we had been hunted like criminals.

So when I picked up the newspaper on October eighteenth and read on the front page that Scotland Yard had taken Pinochet into custody, I was happy to find I had been wrong. My doubts about my own philosophical tenets regarding hegemonic power had not materialized. For a long time, I have believed the notion that power is never total, that in the quest to create total hegemony, somehow a counter hegemonic move can take place. So let Bertold Brecht sing again from the darkest hour, illuminating the possibility of change.

Immediately after the arrest, Margaret Thatcher came to the defense of her friend and partner in the construction of the unfair neo-liberal economic model. She recalled what a good friend of England he had been during the Falklands War. Thus, how could England repay its allies in this harsh and unfair way, especially those who had helped in maintaining Englnd's residual archaic imperial possessions?

Soon, Pinochet's lawyers and friends started to appeal to the international community to liberate the self-appointed Senator-for-Life. Their appeal was based on humanitarian grounds. It was almost a joke in bad taste. How could they appeal a case on humanitarian grounds for a man who had maintained himself in power by the pure force of violence? Pinochet and his friends are desmemoriados --they have lost their memories, or their memory selection has never included the Memory of Blood that they inscribed in our psyche.

I remember...

In August of 1986, in the middle of the dictatorial period, I received a letter from Chile from my dear friend, journalist José Carrasco Tapia. He wanted to visit the United States to talk about his work so he asked me to get him a couple of invitations from journalist associations here.

José Carrasco Tapia and I had spent a long year in different concentration camps and torture houses during 1975 and we were both finally exiled in 1976. José had returned to Chile in 1984. Soon after his arrival, he had been elected president of the National Association of Journalists and had become a very prominent voice of dissent. The government didn't want him to return, but they could not stop international pressure and his journalism had become a thorn in the side for the regime.

I was never able to put José in touch with journalist associations in the U.S. because a month after he wrote, at the edge of dawn on September 8, 1986, the "Special Personnel"--as they used to call themselves--came for him once again. They dragged him outdoors in his pajamas, and took him away in a van as his wife watched helplessly. It was around 5:00 AM.

At dawn these state-paid kidnappers stopped in the outskirts of Santiago, and walked towards a wall that was along the road. Some people whose houses faced the wall heard the van and peeked through the windows. They later declared that they saw a group of armed plainclothes policemen who took a man out of the van. The men shouted at him, insisting that he keep his pajama shirt over his head. They put him against the wall and hit him, forcing him to kneel and threatened him not to look around. Then one of the men put a machine-gun to the back of his head and pulled the trigger. Thirteen bullets were shot into the back of his head. All this happened ten blocks from his brother's house, who had no idea that the horrific scene was taking place.

José Carrasco Tapia left three sons, his wife, and a legacy of brave journalism. Now, the people in the neighborhood where he was killed have built a shrine and keep flowers and lighted candles in it at all times. He used to live in that neighborhood when he was a boy. Now people come to pray and to ask him for favors. My friend has become a saint.

José Carrasco's widow and sons, and many of the relatives of the thousands of victims have never been able to bring the perpetuators to a civil court and try them. This basic democratic right has been denied by the Chilean justice in a "pacted democracy."

In a couple of days, Pinochet's fate will be decided by the Lords in England. A strange travesty of justice, a self-appointed senator and ex-dictator judged by Lords who have enjoyed their power since medieval times. It seems that the verdict is no longer important, because the "Londonazo" has opened a Pandora's box of memories that had been preventing a healthy transition to true democracy in Chile. The whole event has unleashed suppressed memories and finally exposed institutional efforts at concealing the past.

This morning I received another e-mail from a friend who works at La Fundación Villa Grimaldi, the infamous torture center where José Carrasco Tapia and I spent time as Desaparecidos. With the effort of ex-political prisoners and their friends, the place has been converted into the "Park of Peace," for remembering what happened to thousands of Chileans in those dark times. My friend tells me that they are asking people to send them stories, paintings, songs, poems, or whatever we have so they can post everything on their Web Site --
http://members.xoom.com/grimaldi/. They plan to later publish a book on remembering Villa Grimaldi and the "Special Personnel" of the DINA.

As a epilogue

It does not really matter any longer if Pincochet goes free, or if Margaret Thatcher's colonial plea is upheld by the Lords. What matters is that the "Londonazo" has begun to create the possibilities for the formation of a strong discourse on the Memory of Blood which has problematized the seamless historical narrative of a "moderm" Chile. I hope that this accident of history creates also the possibility for Justice for thousands of Chileans who have endured the institutional silencing of their pain for one too many years. José Carrasco Tapia wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

 

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