" If anything is certain, it is that I, myself, am not a Marxist."
Karl Marx
Debates and all the political excitement currently happening, have a way of bringing back memories of one of the most crucial times in Chilean history, when a marxist man, by the name of Salvador Allende Gossens, assumed the presidency in one of the most controversial elections ever recorded.
It
also reminds me that there are always two sides to every story. I am
sure that some of my friends and relatives experienced this episode
in our lives in a much different way. But this post will tell my
side of the story, without minimizing the other, as I am very aware
that people, some of whom I knew well, suffered deep pain, lost loved ones,
parents lost children, children lost parents, and many perished in the process. So much grief, so
much devastation.... so much greed …
In
the 1970's I lived in Santiago, Chile. I was a happy-go-lucky
citizen, who got up each morning, left my home at sun-up, walked two
blocks to the bus stop, while enjoying the beautiful view of the
Andes mountains, and headed for work. We shopped at food markets,
felt free to walk to the park or meet with a group of friends in the
corner of our homes. This story takes place when I lived in a cute
street named 'Gerona'. My neighborhood was an example in civility and
tolerance. In this one block lived christians and Jews,
democrats, socialists, marxists, communists, British, Americans, Muslims, Spaniards and Turks, and we knew each others'
families. We held no animosity toward each other, regardless of our
political or religious views or social class status.
My
next door neighbors were a talented and lovely marxist and atheist
family. In contrast, I was Catholic and christian-democrat. She was
my art teacher. He worked at a bank, their children were my friends.
We all attended the same school. They never pushed their views on
politics or religion and we never pushed ours either. In the other
homes, across the street, lived a friend of Salvador Allende, in
fact his right hand man, an actress, a magazine editor, a newspaper
editor and other friendly folks. We all co-existed in harmony.
It
was around that time that presidential elections were held. I was a
new voter and proudly headed to the national stadium to cast my
choice. A right of passage. Unlike modern elections, we showed our
ID, were given a tiny piece of paper, put an “X” next to our
candidate's choice and it went into a box.
There
was a sense of uneasiness at the “possibility” of
having a Marxist president.
Unusual
things happened during that election. My information comes directly
from relatives and friends that belonged to the communist
movement, who told me that, on that election day, they had driven
buses filled with poor citizens, and for a few coins, were
transported from one place to another to cast their votes for
Allende. In the 1970's, computers were not a regular part of our
lives ...
For
some of us, it was a dark day when it was announced that Salvador
Allende would be the next president. Mother was concerned. It was
obvious that the new government was not amicable to US citizens. In
those days, my Chilean Father was a retired military, owner of a
photo engraving business, my American Mother, a teacher in a British
School for girls and I worked in downtown Santiago as a legal
secretary. My siblings were still in school.
For
a few months we all sat tight and waited to see what would happen. We
gave this man the benefit of the doubt. But slowly I started to
notice some changes. My Father would buy excessive amounts of flour,
sugar and non-perishables. I mentioned this to Mother, who said that
she suspected dad was “going down the deep end”. Little did we
know that, during the revolution that would come in just a few
months, when all the stores were closed, the food that he 'hoarded”
would come in handy. Obviously, Dad, being involved with the
military, was privy to information that the rest of us were not.
Food
became scarce very fast. There was talk that the airports would be
closed. Farms were forcefully taken from their owners. There was a
massive trucker strike from one end of the country to the other.
Schools and universities were also on strike. Political marches and
activities were beginning to develop and violence became a daily
occurrence. Dead people in the corners, covered with newspaper, would
greet me each morning on the way to work. Walls covered with blood.
The police cistern truck (those that spray water by force) would be
active, trying to control marches and political demonstrations. The
smell of tear gas was prominent. On one occasion I was stuck in a
little office while protesters were being ordered by police to stop.
They refused and I found myself in this tiny room, which quickly
filled with tear gas, making it difficult to breathe or see, a
horrifying experience.
I
became active in the political movement. Joined La Guerra de las
Mujeres (The Women's War), I banged pots and pans, as did most of
women in the country, who opposed the current government. Each night,
at the same time, we would beat our pots and pans with a wooden
spoon, for months...protesting the lack of food. I joined a
neighborhood group, where we talked about what we would do if the
guerrillas would come and try to take our homes. We had a plan to
move the children away by climbing over walls to others homes and
kept ladders nearby, if we needed to escape. I learned to use a
nunchack and a gun. I marched in protest. We would throw chicken feed
in front of the military as they paraded in the streets and called
them “chicken” for not coming to the aid of the country.
It
was during those months that Fidel Castro came to visit Allende. He
was a huge admirer of Castro. He presented the, then Chilean
president, with a silver gun as a gift. I remember the
man, impressively tall, standing on an open army truck, with his green
uniform and full beard, gun on his holster. A commanding presence...
I thought to myself, as I was caught in the middle of a group of
communist supporters...who, in their right mind, would come and
visit a country, be greeted by it's people and wear a gun! I found
that disrespectful.
The
situation deteriorated fast. Production of goods had almost come to a
halt. Schools and universities were closed, or running at half speed.
Strikes were plaguing the country. Violence increased. Food became a
luxury.
I
remember Mother, waiting for a secret clandestine delivery of meat
from the local butcher, in the dark. He would deliver, she would pay
and the truck would quickly disappear.
When
Christmas came, it was ordered that Santas who would be ringing bells
on the street "were allowed" to wear the usual Santa attire, but they had to add
a Chilean poncho and spurs to their boots...Santa was a reminder of
American culture and that was not acceptable. Also Christmas trees
were outlawed. Dad hired a taxi cab to drive us to the florist
neighborhood, near the cemetery, where wreaths were made, bought a
Charlie Brown tree, hid it in the trunk of the car and rushed home.
We kept the curtains closed that season, so the tree would not be
seen from outside. Dad paid extra to the cab driver for his silence.
On
another occasion, Mother went to buy a liter of cooking oil. She
would bring a bottle and oil would be pumped from a large drum. This
time there was a long line. She stood there and waited. The line did
not move. There was a parallel line, of those who belonged “to the
party”. They would walk in and come out with bottles filled with
oil. A man at the door would explain that, if you signed with the
Marxist party, you would not have to make a line. Families who
signed were given unlimited supplies of bread... Mother was given
two pieces. There was no toilet paper...we used newspaper....
Sometimes we did not have hot water, as the delivery of propane tanks
would not be made due to strikes.
Fear
escalated. One morning, we woke up to find several homes marked with
a large black tar “X” on the fence. These were the homes of
military personnel or their relatives. Later on it was discovered
that the military living in those homes would be executed at a
banquet and their families arrested.... my home had a black X.
One
early September 11th morning, I took the bus to work. As we approached
the center of the city, I noticed barricades, military, police,
ambulances, arms. Then tanks, rushing through the Alameda, the main
street, amongst other military vehicles. Air Force jets and
helicopters were hoovering above our heads. A police man ordered the
driver of my bus to turn around and leave the vicinity immediately..
The driver did as he was told. As I arrived back to my neighborhood I
could hear the loud planes, the sound of bombs exploding and gun
shooting. I could see smoke in the sky. The earth shook under my
feet. I ran home. As I neared my home, I saw my next door neighbors
running too, hugging each other in front of their home, crying.
They disappeared inside their house and drew the curtains closed. I
have always remembered that instant of my life with much detail. The
Mother and Father hugging their children, their sobs, their fear.
Later on, I learned of my Father lending money to that family so they
could buy groceries, as the banks were closed and they had not
expected to be found in this situation. Now the roles were reversed and they were the enemy in
the eyes of others. My Father, a military man, who would have been
killed by the Marxist government, was helping a neighbor, in their
worst time... that is called humanity ... they were a family, just
like us...
It
was a long day. The radios in the entire country were seized by the
military, and only special bulletins were heard. The rest of the day,
classical music was played. The two television stations, each
belonging to the universities, were also seized. People desperately
rushed to get home.
In
the early evening, the much awaited first communique by national
radio and television....the military junta had taken over, citizens
were ordered to stay inside their homes. In case of a medical
emergency, they were to stand in the street holding a
white flag and wait for military help. We could not meet as a group,
all stores were closed. Any group of more than 3 people would be
arrested or shot. Curfew was 24 hours until further notice.
The
Military Junta was comprised of a representative of each branch of
the arm forces, including the police. They selected Augusto Pinochet,
an army man, as their leader. I knew him, I knew his daughter Lucia.
In my humble opinion, we had no other choice but a military junta.
Things had deteriorated to the point of no return.
On
the 4th day, following the military coup, stores were
allowed to open for 4 hours. There was a pharmacy nearby and
Mother had a birthday. We rushed there and purchased whatever we
could find, Band Aids, sulfa powder, gauze, some mints....that was
Mom's birthday gift that year! Unfortunately, not all stores could
open. Four hours was not enough for a store owner to leave home, open
his or her shop and return home in a timely manner.
Allende's
house was raided. While most of the country suffered poverty, hunger
and lack of basic needs, his home was filled with niceties, food,
American whiskey.
It
was such a sad time. No matter which side you belonged to, suffering
was felt. People were arrested, tortured, killed, just as the previous government had done. Many disappeared,
some went to live in exile. Some of my schoolmates I never saw again. They went on to
become famous in other countries, as singers, painters, actors. It
pains me to think that I was never able share in their
accomplishments, their gift. I felt such a loss. They were so dear to me.
Around
this time, the police raided homes across mine. They found disturbing
evidence. Like a tunnel that was excavated and connected several
homes. The magazine editor, who so often would offer me a ride to
work in his chauffeured car, and who, each time I accepted,
would say the same thing: “would you like the magazine or the
newspaper?”...turned out to be Allende's right hand man. They
committed suicide at the same time. His house had a tunnel.
The
way to recovery was long. The breakage of family and society,
excruciatingly painful. Losses in every corner of the country.
The
curfew lasted for many months. Eventually it remained a night curfew,
but large gatherings were prohibited, which made Mass not an option.
I
know that this a simplistic account of that time in history. I could
go on and on and give facts and forwards with numbers and data. I
know all that. I also know all the rumors and misinformation in both
countries... but the emotional and human aspect is what is of
interest to me.
Over
the years I have had to listen to young foreign exchange students,
who have not a clue of what life was like during those years, speak
as though Allende was a hero, a savior, a saint who was done wrong.
They have fresh ideas, they do not know how it feels to live in
fear, to see death and be unsafe. I was even told once that the
pictures and books I showed of Chile before and after the marxist government, 'insulted their intelligence' ....
there is not much more that one can say to close minded people that
lack the experience of living in other countries.
Interestingly
enough, a modern statue of Salvador Allende is on a plaza in
Santiago. He is, after all, a part of Chilean history.
Writing
this blog made me remember so many friends, one in particular,
Homero. A simple guy, with Coke bottle glasses. With a voice like no
other. A humble young man, who sung in the circles of famous Chilean
folk artists. He went to France and I never heard frm him again. I was also prompted
to find my old dusty books sleeping on the bookshelf, written by
brave authors of those controversial days.
"Proceso a una Traicion" ~ Process to treason....
In
those books I found excerpts (below) that I had highlighted long ago....in those days we did not call it highlighted....we called it "underlined"...
---
On that grim day, around 4 pm, military authorities broadcasted
through radio chain, that “Salvador Allende Gossens, ex-president
of the Chilean Republic, has committed suicide, using the a weapon
with the following inscription: 'For Salvador, from his
comrade in arms , Fidel Castro' ---
And
from the fierce women's war... another book "La Epopeya de las Ollas Vacias" ~ "The Epic of Empty Pots"
---“Because
never, in any country, in the entire world, had women of such caliber
made drums out of the cooking pots in their hands
and...
---“Chile showed the world an original way. This scrawny and poor
country, this country that we all believed helpless, won the honor of
twisting the hand of communism on their own, without help from
anyone, with purity of heart, with its civil resistance, with women
and their cooking pans and the courage of his soldiers, this country
was brought back from hell “
---“Chilean
women, whose suffering, humiliation and heroism, hoping for liberty
and enduring the Marxist government for almost three years, with
emotion, THANK the Armed Forces in the anniversary of our National
Independence. The country has returned to her freedom...”
"El Experimento Marxista Chileno", The Chilean Marxist experiment
---“Allende's
government was moving at hurricane speed, often acting outside the
law, to confiscate private property, with the hope that, by
transforming the economic structure of Chile, it could destroy the
financial base of the opposition parties and the free press”---
Finally, winning
comes from working together for the good of all.... winning comes
from civility and respect toward our fellow human beings. And winning
comes from exercising that right of passage that I feel so proud of:
“VOTING”. Don't be a by-stander, become actively involved in your
community, in your schools, in your government, in the betterment of
the neighborhood in which you live. But most of all, we need to raise
a generation of humans that know respect, that think of education as an
important part of their lives and understand the meaning of humility and acceptance.
I
am now getting off my soap box and reminiscing of a time gone by,
but very important, never-the-less.
***
And
on other news...
I
finished “The Wedding Quilt” for my niece, so beautifully pieced
by her Mother. It is now on it's way to North Carolina.
Mariner's Compass Quilt, made from silk dupioni... luscious... soft... delicious....
I
am preparing to participate in a craft show on November 17 at
Gloria Dei Church. A unique group of women who do tole painting,
sewing and other delicious crafts. This year we will offer goodies to
eat. Come see us if you are nearby!
***
And one quilt leaves the long arm and another climbs on...In
the works, a "demure" Oregon Duck pinwheel quilt for
friend in Cottage Grove.
Almost finished
The backing...
And in my sewing room, many
t-shirts await their place in two Memory Quilts for a friend who lost
much. I hope to make her proud with these heirloom pieces.
Also in my sewing room, a restoration job for a very old and tattered quilt from a beloved
friend. It will turn from a large piece to a lap quilt, but the love
that was poured into its original making will remain intact. Hope that it will
bring good memories and warmth to my friend. I will try to preserve
the style with which it was created.
***
Joe's
tomato trees are still producing juicy and delicious fruit and friends
Sally and Jim shared the fruits of their orchard....they brought purple corn, apples, pears and tomatoes.... thank you
friends!!!
I baked our usual gluten free focaccia, using these delicious tomatoes...
...and made a fresh tomato, onion, parsley salad from our garden, with oil, pepper and salt.... simple, yummy!
Tomato sauce and chicken stew.... mmm mmm....
***
Wednesday Church Night for Children has resumed it's music program, you can
find me on those nights playing guitar and dancing to the tune of
Father Abraham and other oldies with elementary age boys and girls. It makes my heart happy!
***
And
I continue to help students with editing their essays for
scholarships. I now do it via Internet, quickly and mercilessly....
and I visit all the high school English classes, once a year, to
discuss how to write good essays, where to find inspiration and
information and the etiquette to applying for scholarships. I hope
that, one student at a time, I can make a difference. The “Naggers”
at North Bend High School, is a program near and dear to my heart. I
am one of the 'original' ... (that means old) ... founders. It is actually
called the North Bend Career Advisers, but volunteers are lovingly
called “naggers' because that is what we do...we nag about
deadlines, nag about spelling mistakes, grammar and applications for
college....all that good stuff that turns our youth into productive
members of this country. It is not unusual to hear a student walk
in the Student's Services office and ask: “is my nagger here”???
***
The
weather is turning. Rain drops rock me to sleep or wake me up. Nature
shows its full spectrum of colors. There are many a
~Maria-kind-of-day~ on their way ...I love it! Good things to come.
Thanks
for visiting my little world.
And
remember, no matter what party you belong to, VOTE!
Maria
