Last night, Chile’s President Sebastián Piñera announced a series of reform projects to address the massive demonstrations rocking the country, addressing topics ranging from pensions, health care, to minimum wage. These measures will not resolve much in the short term because they do not address the principal complaint of most Chileans: the suspension of the Constitution and the imposition of martial law.
The big publications are making an absolute hash of this key point. The BBC writes of a “welfare package” to appease the “thousands [who] took to the streets over austerity and inequality.” The New York Times summarized the protests as “a broad reckoning about inequality, Chile’s economic policies under its center-right government and the aspirations of Chileans,” adding that “protestors are demanding a larger share of the nation’s prosperity.” John Authers of the Washington Post writes “The fact that Chileans have revolted against the cost of living, then, is alarming, and suggests a similar situation could more easily happen in the rest of the developing world,” only once mentioning the dictatorship, as a footnote.
Apart from the false thesis that this narrative pushes (’the entire country is looting and protesting because they want handouts’) it fails to grasp that it was the heavy-handed response of the government—harkening back to the era of military rule—that served as an accelerant and tremendously amplified the scale of the popular movement.
I actually doubt it’s possible to truly comprehend the rage that the common person feels at the government’s response unless you yourself are Chilean. If we wish to try, however, we have to look further back to the military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet from 1973-1990.
The police and the military were tools used to overthrow the government and terrorize the population
On September 11, 1973, a violent military coup led by General Augusto Pinochet overthrew the government of President Salvador Allende. Allende, a Socialist, wished to pursue an ambitious agenda of social reforms and desired closer links to the Soviet Bloc, which put him at odds with the right-wing within Chile and the United States. The coup followed months of unrest involving a failed coup attempt in June, widespread shortages of goods, and strikes orchestrated by opposition factions. Elements of the military and the Carabineros (national paramilitary police) seized nodes of communication and transport and laid siege to La Moneda, the presidential palace. After a day-long confrontation in which Allende refused to step down, he addressed the nation a final time before committing suicide.
Immediately following Pinochet’s rise to power, both the military and Carabineros were used to suppress real and perceived dissent and violent resistance. In the aftermath of the coup, thousands were killed or disappeared; tens of thousands were kidnapped, tortured, and/or imprisoned for political motives. These actions were published in the report of the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation (1991), commonly known as the Rettig Report. You may find an English translation here (PDF).
It is very, very difficult for me to describe the torture inflicted on over 40,000 people by during this period. The report of the National Commission on Political Imprisonment and Torture (2004), also known as the Valech Report (PDF, in Spanish), compiles many of the methods used, outlining specific examples in Chapter 5. Methods of torture used by internal security forces bear repeating here because, in Chile, they are common knowledge.
Sexual violence was used as a tool of intimidation and torture. Nearly all women interviewed by the Commission were victims of sexual violence. Electric currents, bottles, and live rats were frequently applied to or inserted into victims’ genitals. Children were sexually assaulted by their detainers. Women were forced into sex with parents, siblings, or dogs. Women were made pregnant as a result of rape. These women, as well as women who were pregnant prior to detention, often lost their pregnancies as a result of torture. (pp. 233-236, 242-244, 251-257)
Beatings under detention were nearly universal. Victims were subject to beatings using sticks, firearms, rocks, clubs, hammers, and “the telephone,” where both ears were simultaneously hit with an open hand. Beatings often provoked lasting damage. (pp. 226-229, 231-232, 235-237, 239-245, 249-250, 253-257)
Teeth and finger/toenails were frequently pulled out with pliers. (pp. 229-230, 243, 254-255)
The application of electric shocks to all parts of the body, including inside the genitals, was a recurring method (pp. 227, 231, 233-236, 254-257).
Detainees suffered humilitations and psychological abuse. These included being obligated to strip and to consume excrement. Detainees were forced to observe the torture and executions of other prisoners. Detainees were constantly threatened with further torture and execution; mock executions were frequently conducted, including a type of waterboarding and suffocation (pp. 237-242, 244-246, 249-250).
Detainees were hung, placed in forced positions, confined in “subhuman” conditions, and subject to sleep deprivation (pp. 230-232, 247-249)
The majority of apprehensions during the dictatorship were conducted by the Carabineros, followed by the DINA/CNI (state secret police) and the Army (ch. 4); torture occurred at police stations, military bases, and special detention centers. Of the organizations involved in detention and torture, the Carabineros, the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, and the investigative police (PDI) are still functioning mechanisms of the state.
Military enforcement of law and order in Chile is unprecedented since the transition to democracy outside of the context of a natural disaster. The deployment of troops to quell domestic unrest is not just that to Chileans who know of the past abuses of these organizations. For many, the sight of troops in the streets triggers memories of detention, torture, and murder—memories that, to date, have not been adequately addressed at a societal level.
Efforts at “Truth and Reconciliation” failed in Chile
In 1978, as the initial <<Estado de Excepción Constitucional>> (“State of Constitutional Exception”) during the dictatorship wound to a close, a general amnesty was granted to military and civilian personnel who participated in criminal acts while enforcing the <<Estado de Sitio>> (“State of Siege”). In part, the law declares (my translation):
“Amnesty is granted to all persons who, as authors, accomplices, or accessories may have participated in criminal acts while the ‘State of Siege’ was in effect, between 11 September 1973 to 10 March 1978, provided they are not currently under criminal investigation or convicted of a crime.”
This law is still in effect.
For eight years following the 1990 transition to democracy, no prosecutions took place due to this law. Only in 1998 did the Supreme Court declare that it would not enforce the law in cases of violations of human rights, coincident with the arrest of Augusto Pinochet in London. Since then, several attempts to repeal the law since 2006 have consistently failed to advance in the Senate.
As of 2018, only 174 had received prison sentences for crimes against humanity; the specific identities and charges of these people is not open knowledge. The vast majority of those responsible for killings, tortures, and disappearances are still at large. Although there is no pertinent statute of limitations for crimes against humanity, the sheer amount of time elapsed makes it very difficult for successful prosecutions to take place. The general feeling is that victims walk the streets side by side with their torturers, who can publicly confess their crimes with impunity without any punishment whatsoever.
A bizarre and horrific event occurred at the end of 2015 that illustrates the waking nightmare survivors face in this atmosphere. “The Sentimental Joker” (<<el Chacotero Sentimental>>) is a popular daytime radio show where callers discuss difficulties and misadventures of their love lives with the host, Rodrigo Artiagoitía, popularly known as “el Rumpy.” On this day, a caller identifying himself as “Alberto” engaged in a rambling 25 minute dialogue with Rumpy, heard across the nation, which was later characterized as “a psychotic history of romance, marked by the executions of prisoners.” After first briefly discussing problems he had with his current partner, “Alberto” suddenly and unexpectedly veered into a detailed and graphic description of various atrocities he had committed as a conscript in the Chilean Army during the 1970’s. Among other crimes, he confessed to executing at least 18 detainees in the north of Chile (including the husband of his current partner) and blowing up their bodies in the desert. He additionally discussed his struggle with feelings of pleasure at killing, at one point claiming “[the feeling] was better than marijuana,” and surreally advertised a book he had already published (also here) about his experiences. The extremely detailed account permitted a good deal of fact-checking, and in addition to identifying “Alberto” as one Guillermo Reyes Rammsy, cross-referencing Reyes’ account confirmed the veracity of at least some of his claims.
The theme of military draftees during the dictatorship, such as Guillermo Padilla and Guillermo Reyes, is an incredibly complex emotional topic that defies simple explanation. On the one hand, there is a great degree of sympathy for draftees, who were overwhelmingly from poor backgrounds and are understood to have been compelled to participate in atrocities under threat of execution. In many cases, such as that of Reyes, the draftees are clearly suffering from mental illness, considered to be linked to their experiences in the military. On the other hand, the ability of perpetrators to essentially boast about their actions is viewed with widespread disgust, and any forgiveness one can feel for these people is tempered by the perception that those giving the orders have completely escaped justice.
The perception of immunity for those at the top was not dispelled by the failure to prosecute to conclusion Augusto Pinochet prior to his death in 2006. Meanwhile, those indirectly associated with the dictatorship have risen to the top levels of the present government. When Piñera named his cabinet two years ago, the Guardian highlighted the dictatorship ties of both Hernán Larraín (Minister of Justice and Human Rights) and Andrés Chadwick (Minister of the Interior and Public Security). Both Larraín and Chadwick had publicly apologized for their actions and words in support of the dictatorship when they were part of Piñera’s previous cabinet in the early 2010’s. Their past apologies, however, have not prevented Chileans from associating both Chadwick and Larraín—especially Chadwick—as responsible parties in the current crisis. #RenunciaChadwick is currently trending; at the time of writing #RenunciaChadwik [sic] has a greater footprint on Twitter than #RenunciaPiñera.
Recent acts echo those of the dictatorship
The multiple declarations of <<Estados de Emergencia>> across the country take a sinister tone (my personal characterization) when considered in light of the historical links between the dictatorship and members of Piñera’s cabinet. <<Estado de Emergencia>>, literally “State of Emergency,” actually has a very specific meaning in Chile, as it is one of four possible States of Constitutional Exception (pdf) in which certain individual rights may be suspended. Of these four states, a State of Emergency is one of only two states that have can be declared based on civil unrest alone, the other one being the State of Siege; the last time either was declared was under military rule.
The State of Siege shares the same name with the first period of the dictatorship, although it’s current incarnation is defined by statutes established later during the dictatorship. It is like a more draconian State of Emergency, where in addition to the ability of the government and military to restrict freedom of movement and activity, also permits the government to detain individuals in their homes or in special detention centers, and establishes wartime military law in affected zones if “the State of Siege is declared due to internal war” (Article 15, Ley 18.415).
This last factor is key to understanding why Piñera’s declaration that “We are at war against an implacable, powerful enemy” was viewed of as extremely problematic, and was likely why the General in charge of the Emergency in the Metropolitan Region was so quick to dispel that notion. The return of martial law through the States of Emergency at the hands of past ideologues of Pinochet—as well as the recent invocation of the dictatorship-era “Antiterrorist Law”—is seen as a prelude to a return to military rule. If the States of Emergency change to States of Siege, then Chile will have returned to military rule in a very literal sense.
If this is all seems a little abstract, then consider this widely-circulated video:
In the video, a young man is seen being detained by two Carabineros and an employee of the metro inside the Baquedano metro station. The woman filming asks the Carabineros “Where are you bringing him?” as he is brought down the stairs, eventually to a private passageway. As the door is closed in front of her, the woman says “What are you doing? You are kidnapping [him]. This is a kidnapping.”
I can’t adequately describe the kind of power this otherwise pedestrian video possesses—the image of Carabineros dragging a youth into a dark passageway directly evokes memories of the dictatorship. The video was one of several pieces of evidence that led to accusations of torture in the station, which were discounted this afternoon. To explain why a simple video of a detention—one of hundreds—led to panic, it is absolutely essential to consider the crimes and abuses committed by instruments of the state during 17 years of military rule in Chile.
Chile has never fully come to terms with the impact of the dictatorship
Source: Carlos Figueiroa Rojas
I live in the same neighborhood as the Estadio Nacional Julio Martínez Prádanos, where the Chilean national football team plays. Inside, two dozen banks of stands are kept perpetually empty in honor of those victims who were murdered or disappeared during the dictatorship; in spirit, it is the closest thing Chile has to a national shrine. The memorial is especially poignant given the use of the Estadio Nacional as a detention facility following the coup (by some estimates over 40,000 people were detained here). Above the bleachers is inscribed the phrase: “A people without memory is a people without a future.”
This idea of memory is deeply connected to the dictatorship in the minds of Chileans. Those who would ‘remember’ are those who maintain that the psychic wound suffered under the dictatorship still has yet to heal. Those who would ‘forget’ are those who see preoccupation with the past as an impediment to progress: spiritual, social, and national. More prosaically, the ‘rememberers’ want justice for the guilty not yet prosecuted; the ‘forgetters’ implicitly exonerate them.
People remember when Piñera declared in 2013, “The time has come, after 40 years, not to forget, but to overcome the traumas of the past.” People remember not so long ago when the Consejo Nacional de Educación delisted History as a required course for 11th and 12th graders. People remember, when a full-page spread defending the dictatorship appeared the 11 September edition of El Mercurio, an act labeled by employees of the same publication as <<negacionismo>>: the denial of past crimes against humanity (pdf).
As much as some may wish the legacy of the dictatorship not reach into the future, the response on the streets can’t be explained without considering the ongoing battle within Chilean society to acknowledge its shadow.
EDITED 25.10.2019 for grammar.