Ariel Dorfman on Obama's Upcoming Visit to Chile

Barack Obama and Sebastián Piñera

Ariel Dorfman has published an editorial today in Spain's El País on President Obama's upcoming visit to Chile titled "Obama y el dolor de Chile" ("Obama and the Pain of Chile"). In the editorial he suggests that Obama visit with former exiles and children of the disappeared; go to the newly inaugurated Museo de la Memoria and get to know Villa Grimaldi, the former detention and torture center that is now the Villa Grimaldi Park for Peace. This is the first paragraph, with my translation in italics.

Cuando Barack Obama desembarque en Chile el próximo lunes en una visita de 24 horas, algo crucial va a faltar en su agenda. Habrá mariscos suculentos y discursos que elogien la prosperidad de Chile, acuerdos bilaterales y encuentros con los poderosos y los pomposos, pero no hay planes, sin duda, de que el presidente de Estados Unidos tome contacto con lo que fue la experiencia fundamental de la reciente historia chilena, el trauma que el pueblo de mi país padeció durante los casi 17 años del régimen del general Augusto Pinochet.

When Barack Obama lands in Chile next Monday on a 24-hour visit, something critical will be lacking in his agenda. There will be delicious seafood and speeches praising Chile's prosperity, bilateral agreements and meetings with the pompous and powerful, but there are absolutely no plans for the U.S. president to come in contact with what was the key experience in recent Chilean history, the trauma that the people of my country suffered for the almost 17 years of General Augusto Pinochet's regime. 

Dorfman goes on to explain why he believes Obama must address Chile's dictatorial past while in Chile (again, my translation follows in italics):

Una razón por la cual tiene sentido que Obama haga todo lo posible por vislumbrar, aunque fuera a través de un vidrio oscuro, nuestra vasta y devastadora pena, es que los norteamericanos fueron, en gran parte, responsables de aquella tragedia. Washington ayudó, alentó y financió la caída del Gobierno democráticamente elegido de Allende y la trayectoria dictatorial de Pinochet.

 One reason why Obama must do everything he can to make clearer, albeit through a dark lens, our vast and devastating pain, is that Americans were, in large part, responsible for that tragedy [that of the overthrow of Allende and the installation of the Pinochet regime]. Washington helped, encouraged and financed the fall of Allende's democratically-elected government and the dictatorial trajectory of Pinochet.

Dorfman's editorial does not go so far as to propose President Obama apologize for U.S. involvement and support of the Pinochet regime. In fact, he expressly states that that gesture, in his view, is unnecessary. What Dorfman would like instead is all the more simple and brief, but full of symbolism nonetheless: he wants Obama to visit the tomb of Salvador Allende and observe a few moments of silence, a gesture Dorfman believes will send the message to Chile, all of Latin America and the entire planet ("y de hecho a todo el planeta") that the U.S. is ushering in a new era of relations with its Latin American neighbors.

I applaud Dorfman's intentions in his editorial column. Certainly, more people -- especially in the U.S. -- need to inform themselves about American support of right-wing dictators in Latin America. For doubters,  plenty of de-classified state documents exist -- some of which are linked on this blog -- to help illustrate the U.S. role in funding and aiding otherwise the military dictatorships of the entire Southern Cone. I don't think, however, that Dorfman is being realistic about the kind of president that Obama has thusfar shown himself to be.

In his editorial, Dorfman resurrects the name of Bobby Kennedy, citing him as an example for Obama to follow. In the 60s, Kennedy visited with Chilean president Eduardo Frei (leader of the Christian Democratic Party and president just prior to Allende) and met with Chilean miners and angry Communist students protesting the former's visit. In Robert Kennedy and His Times, Arthur Schesslinger recounts part of that visit, and quotes Kennedy's remarks after meeting with the Chilean miners: "'If I worked in this mine,' Kennedy told a Chilean reporter, 'I'd be a Communist too'" (p. 696).

Has Dorfman been paying attention to American politics since Obama's election? First of all, Obama has largely disappointed the (true) left in this country, due to what they perceive to be his largely centrist position on nearly every important issue out there. Second, one of the rallying cries of the (extreme) right has been to call Obama a "Socialist" or a "Communist," often mixing the terms beyond recognition into a hodgepodge of McCarthy-era rhetoric (sometimes, unbelievably, these terms have been mixed with Obama as "Fascist" or even "Nazi"). So, let's imagine what Obama's visit to Chile would be like were he to follow Dorfman's suggestions.

Most likely, were we to see Obama at Allende's tomb, the right would immediately gravitate once more to the idea of foreign Obama, socialist Obama, radical America-hater Obama. Everyone knows Allende is a hero of the left. So, Obama linking himself to Allende, even in this brief appearance, would just feed into the right's fear-mongering machine. While the left might find the gesture laudable, they would also have reason to complain, for Obama has not demonstrated this kind of public presidential presence stateside. For example, the left might ask why Obama isn't standing with the Wisconsin workers protesting the end to their collective bargaining rights.

Nonetheless, as Dorfman reminds us, President Obama will be dining in the same Presidential palace where Salvador Allende died "en defensa del derecho de su pueblo a elegir su propio destino" ("in defense of his people's right to elect their own destiny"). It is difficult to imagine how his entire visit could go by with no mention of the tragic Chilean past. Unfortunately, however, the President's political identity has been shaped less by his risk-taking and more by his acquiescence to the ever-shifting Overton window. Like Clinton, Obama's desire to be "post-political" and "post-partisan," always seeking compromise, has only served to his disadvantage.

In Chile, Obama will be meeting with President Sebastián Piñera. Though perhaps not as visible a meeting as that between Obama and Hu Jin Tao, this encounter will be still put under a microscope, as will Obama's other Latin American stops. While Ariel Dorfman's position in his editorial is certainly understandable and reasonable, given Chile's recent past, it is highly unlikely that Barack Obama will acknowledge anything regarding Allende or the Pinochet dictatorship. In fact, the nuclear issue has already taken precedence, as The Santiago Times reported Wednesday that Pres. Piñera has announced a nuclear agreement with the U.S. (see also today's NYT, "Undeterred by Fallout Fears....").

"Nostalgia for the Light" (dir. Patricio Guzmán) opens Friday in New York

In my first few months of college, I met a Chilean graduate student that was studying geology. I wanted to talk about Neruda, and he was more than happy to oblige. Naturally, my friend was fascinated with rocks, so much so that when traveling, he often had to declare extra weight for the containers of earth he transported back and forth. The shelves in his office were lined with geodes, fossils and amber, but anything related to science intrigued him deeply. I often had the sense Ohio was incredibly disappointing to him -- geographically dull, relatively young in the grand scheme of things, and too populated with mall and parking lot lights to get a good view of the night sky. Nonetheless, I accompanied him on several excursions -- once, to keep watch for the comet Hale-Bopp, and later, during a field work expedition in Punta Arenas, near the Strait of Magellan. Though he was made of many things, earth and The Earth were integral parts of his identity. Sometimes, I have the feeling it is so for most Chileans. Maybe it has to do with the incredibly varied nature of the Chilean landscape, the frequency of earthquakes or the long, narrow boundary lines of the country itself. Earlier on this blog, I attempted to address similar questions after the miners were rescued.

Patricio Guzmán is one of Chile's most well-known documentarians, and his work is essential for anyone interested in memory and human rights. His most famous quote, also on the front page of his website, is "Un país sin cine documental es como un país sin album de fotografías" ("A country without documentary film is like a country without a photo album"). The trailer for his new film, "Nostalgia for the Light," opens by addressing the Atacama desert. A NYT review calls the documentary, which opens Friday in Greenwich Village, a "meditation on astronomy, archeology, geology and human rights."

For more information, see the film's official website here. I will report back on the blog after I've seen it, but in the meantime, if anyone would like to share initial reactions, please do so using the comment feature of this post.



Read more here:
Review in Reverse Shot
Review in Slant Magazine
Interview in Filmmaker Magazine 

View brief clips here:
Clip 1  
Clip 2
Clip 3

A Model for the Class I Hope to Teach

Professor Francie Cate-Arries is the author of the influential Spanish Culture Under Barbed Wire. Memory and Representation of the French Concentration Camps.1939-45 (2004). She also led what must have been an amazing class -- to teach and to take -- on memory in Madrid:



I am beginning to lay the groundwork for a similar project that has come out of the four-way intersection of post-dissertation research, a class I taught on contemporary literature and film of the Spanish Civil War, a Memory Studies honors seminar and the personal ties I have formed thanks to my Spanish blog. The class I envision will be taught partially in the United States and partially in situ. It will be interdisciplinary in nature and feature an extended, yearly field trip to one or several "sites of memory," which will vary. Hopefully, it will be team-taught. Perhaps, my teaching partner will alternate. I expect to bring together the study of literature and culture, psychology and history/politics.

As I outline the course, research locations and consider practical issues, I come back repeatedly to my concerns about memory tourism and how to prevent this sort of encounter or experience. Certainly, studying this issue will be essential prior to any potential interactions with survivors and/or their descendants, as well as the physical locations we might inhabit temporarily. I think that careful, frequent reflection will be key, as well as a clearly-outlined rationale and purpose prior to any excursion here or abroad.

Currently, I am reading Memory and the Future, because, as the editors state in the introduction, "For those who study memory, there is a nagging concern that memory studies is inherently backward-looking, and that memory itself -- and the ways in which it is deployed, invoked and utilized -- can potentially hinder efforts to move forward" (1). As I have used literature and film to discuss memory and amnesia, I have come to realize that scholars have neglected memory's future. What is the future of memory?

I will report more on developments in the above endeavor in the coming months.

February 23, 1981: "El 23-F"

Today is the 30th anniversary of the attempt to overthrow the democratic government in Spain, known as "el 23-F" for the date on which is occurred, February 23.  I have never known whether to call this day a "coup" or an "attempted coup," but I have seen both used with alarming interchangeability. On the one hand, it would seem right to call it an attempted coup. After all, no new government was installed and the attempt was, in the end, a failed one. Yet for a day, at least within the confines of the Congreso de los Diputados in Madrid, Spain was held hostage to the demands of the right-wing military golpistas that occupied Congress in their green uniforms and tri-cornered hats. Considering the fact that the attempted coup occurred just 6 years after Franco's death and 3 years after the new Spanish Constitution was passed, el 23-F must have been a terrifying reminder that the past was by no means past (see an overview of the events in this Guardian article from February 23, 1981).

On this day, Spain was about to elect a new prime minister, Leopoldo Calvo Sotelo (see obituary here); Congress was in session when suddenly, a swarm of civil guards, led by the lieutenant colonel Antonio Tejero, entered the building and began shouting for everyone to get down. Shots were fired -- Congress deputies dove beneath their desks, but a few remained seated (one of whom, Adolfo Suárez, helped provide the spark for Anatomía de un instante/Anatomy of a Moment, Javier Cercas's excellent dissection of that day).

At 1:15 a.m., King Juan Carlos I appeared on TV to defend the Constitution (this aspect of February 23 -- that is, the King's heroism -- has been a matter of fierce debate between those who support the monarchy and those who feel the King, who was put in place by Franco, needs to step aside). Order was eventually restored, and Tejero only served a year under house arrest. The date was a defining moment of the Spanish transition to democracy. The long-standing narrative of the harmonious, bloodless transition to democracy in Spain has been dismantled in recent years, but considered alongside some of the recent events in Egypt, Bahrain and Libya, it is hard not to marvel at the fact that Spain's young democracy was able to survive this day (of course, democracy had already been "in place" for several years in Spain).

Below, a few videos to help illustrate February 23, 1981. All are in Spanish only. I have yet to find a video in English on this day.

Probably the most well-known video sequence of that day:


An interesting re-creation of what was going on outside:


Trailer from a new film on February 23 (official website here):


For more, see special in Público

"Desaparecidos" (Disappeared) displays the work of Gervasio Sánchez

The CCCB (Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona) is currently showing the work of Gervasio Sánchez, a Spanish photojournalist that has spent a large part of his career documenting the "disappeared":

The Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona, La Casa Encendida de Obra Social Caja Madrid and the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Castilla y León simultaneously present the exhibition “The Disappeared”, curated by photojournalist Sandra Balsells. This photographic show by photojournalist Gervasio Sánchez addresses the theme of forced disappearance in Chile, Argentina, Peru, Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala, Iraq, Cambodia, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Spain between 1998 and 2010.

“The Disappeared” represents a forceful document against forgetting and aims to salvage the suppressed memory of people disappeared during various wars and processes of repression. The presentation of the exhibition forms part of a major cultural action which, for the first time on the Spanish expository scene, involves the simultaneous exhibition in three cities (León, Barcelona and Madrid) of a macro photographic project centring on a single theme, by the same author.

Each centre will show a broad but completely different selection of photographs, making it a truly new expository proposal (MUSAC: 79 photographs and installation of portraits, "Cruelty and Pain", the joint work of Gervasio Sánchez and Ricardo Calero; La Casa Encendida: 73 photographs and 4 murals with 40 portraits; CCCB: 103 photographs and 4 murals with 40 portraits). The three exhibitions share the same narrative structure and thematic blocks, and all three end with a significant epilogue devoted to Spain, dealing with the present-day process of search for and exhumation of people who disappeared during the Civil War and the Francoist dictatorship.

In addition to photographic material, the exhibition includes two audiovisual recordings explaining the testimonies of the families of disappeared people and reproducing the ambient sound of detention centres and burial places.

In the framework of the exhibition, the three centres will also be organizing conferences to reflect on and debate the phenomenon of forced disappearance.

More information here (English) and at the photographer's personal blog (Spanish). Sánchez's blog, Los desastres de la guerra, which takes its name after the famous Goya grabado, contains detailed descriptions of some of the photographs displayed in the exhibit.

In this video, Sánchez describes his work on the "disappeared," the importance of documenting absence and the effects of forced disappearance on the victim's family members.He also discusses the world of (photo)journalism today.

January 28, 1986

Photos here

I have a mixed relationship with the sciences. Until high school, I loved participating in science fairs, contemplating black holes and listening to "2001: a Space Odyssey" and a National Geographic record called "Space Sounds." My scrapbook was full of newspaper clippings on new planetary moons, shuttle launches and supernovas. My sister and I would lie upside down on my canopy bed and pretend we were getting ready for lift-off. While most of my friends were busy seeing themselves as teachers or nurses, I proudly stated that I wanted to be a paleontologist, and then, an astronaut. In junior high, I participated in a science fair with a project on natural dyes. Another year, I made crystals. By the time I was ready for high school, I had won a few science prizes at my school and was really jazzed about the idea of studying biology. Unfortunately, chemistry and physics altered my earlier relationship with science, and although I still maintain a love for all things "outer space," I have long considered myself to be essentially a "language person," which is really kind of silly.

On January 28, 1986, I was not yet a teenager. That day, classes were cancelled due to snow -- as they often are this time of year in northeast Ohio -- and my mom had taken my friends and me to the ice skating rink where I had taken lessons for the past few years. At some point, I recall an adult coming to get us early, and being disappointed because we weren't ready to go. When I got home, my mom was crying and glued to the TV, which my father was also watching (a rarity, as he was not a big fan of TV). The space shuttle Challenger had exploded just 73 seconds after liftoff (video here). Perhaps because both my parents were teachers, they took this news especially hard; on the Challenger, teacher Christa McAuliffe would be making her first flight into space. In addition, one of the astronauts, Judy Resnick, was from Akron, just over an hour away from us. My reaction, outwardly, was measured. But inside, I just could not believe it. I felt crushed, as if I had been a partner in the same project as the astronauts -- space! Glorious space! How could this happen?

Later on in the day, we had to go to the store for something. It was a store with audio equipment of some kind and there were TVs playing. One of my vivid recollections is seeing and hearing the TVs playing the story. That night, and in the coming weeks, I did nothing but write in my journal about the Challenger disaster, recording details about the flight and the astronauts and my reaction to the new information being revealed. Even though I was still a child, I had the sense that something major had occurred that would change what happened in years to come. I wanted to be able to say, "I wrote about this when it happened and here are my reflections."

The Challenger disaster changed the face of the entire space program in the United States. It meant the end of this sort of golden era of space exploration (or at least, what we had seen as such) -- and this feels quite evident in my childhood scrapbook, when there are no longer any newspaper articles on new moons, photos of planetary rings or shuttle launches. As a professor, explaining this change (in terms of memory) can be a challenge.

In several of my classes, when we've spoken about photography and collective memory, I show a series of well-known photographs with no captions and ask students to identify the event depicted in the photo and also, to provide an approximate year or time period for the image. To me, the trails of white smoke against a dark blue sky (seen in the photo at the start of this post) are immediately identifiable as the Challenger explosion. Yet quite often, students are unsure what this is -- some recall the 2003 Columbia disaster instead.

It is unbelievable to me that today marks 25 years since the Challenger disaster. Though so much time has passed, it is easy to recall the pit in my throat that day when I learned about the explosion and what it meant for the seven astronauts and their families. In some ways, Challenger was my first real experience with death. It is one of those moments where I will "never forget where I was" when I heard the news.

Since 1986, space exploration, though it may have evolved considerably in some ways (the Hubble telescrope, the International Space Station, no moon exploration, suggestions of going to Mars, etc.), is still very much influenced by national and transnational politics. In the U.S. January 28, 1986 was a defining moment of 80s history (in addition to the images of the catastrophe, think of Ronald Reagan's "heroes" speech that night -- "a day for mourning and remembering"). The space program was suspended for several years. We no longer pursued shuttle launches and explorations with the same frequency or sense of "news-worthiness." In some ways, this is evident even in the manner in which the Columbia disaster was covered in February 2003. Today, it is difficult to say what is in store for NASA or future shuttle missions, particularly after proposed cuts by the Obama administration.

Wilderness vs. Wal-Mart

First, let's be blunt. I hate Wal-Mart. And let's be honest. I do shop there, less out of a desire to do so, and more because it is one of the only places to get what I need in the small town in which I live (the Wal-Mart here is of the old-fashioned early Sam Walton variety: it stocks the basics. The very basics). I hate Wal-Mart for the reasons that people everywhere hate it. It's the epitome of the postmodern corporation: it gives us cheap (finanically and materially), shoddy merchandise made in China by exploited workers, while promoting a carefully-constructed mythology of American values: helping out the working class, being "good for the community" and allowing mom to stay within her budget. In reality, the economic behavior of Wal-Mart in the United States and elsewhere should make them the enemy of the working class, particularly if we look at their atrocious record of workplace gender and racial discrimination (women and other minority groups missing out on promotions), and denial of health care to its workers by re-defining what "full-time" meant. For more, see Robert Greenwald's 2005 documentary Wal-Mart: the High Cost of Low Price.

Since the end of the Bush era, Wal-Mart has invested in a healthy dose of re-branding. Let's take a look at the "military industrial complex" Wal-Mart (original photo here):

The red, white and blue (and cement gray), clearly meant to emphasize the patriotic nature of shopping (as promoted by George W. Bush in 2007), fit nicely with the pretty star-cum-hyphen between Wal and Mart:

Of late, we have seen a move to this cleaner, more environmentally-conscious looking logo:

No matter how it defines itself to the public, Wal-Mart still has the reputation for deciding to set up shop where it is least welcome. Claiming that it will provide impoverished communities with a healthy supply of jobs, it seems to nearly always get its way when all is said and done. Its idea of "living better" is being able to do "one-stop shopping," where you can get groceries, prescriptions, clothes, a burger at McDonalds, an oil change for your car, a lawnmower and perhaps a bookcase or two all under one roof. On the way out, stop at the Wal-Mart gas station for some extra cheap gas too! Wal-Mart made other kinds of shopping -- the pharmacy, the clothing boutique, the family-owned hardware store -- extinct, turning town squares into a bunch of empty storefronts and making small business owners and employees largely unnecessary.

For some time now, Wal-Mart has been involved in a dispute in the state of Virginia over whether the former should be permitted to build near an historic battle site of the American Civil War. Wal-Mart argues, once again, that the construction will bring many new jobs to the area. It also states that it would be building in an area already dotted with retail locations. Those involved in the local tourism industry claim that what visitors desire is familiarity, convenience and access, which Wal-Mart can provide (see video). Historical preservationists are concerned by the shopping center's proposed proximity to the site of the Battle of the Wilderness, a turning point of the war. For a change, Republicans and Democrats have, together with historians and celebrities, teamed up to keep Wal-Mart out. This week, the case goes to court. It is hard to overlook the irony of the battle's name in its confrontation with the corporate giant. It is getting harder and harder to imagine any wilderness in this country.

When I was growing up, in 1980s Ohio, my parents took my sister and I on many exciting "one tank trip" vacations. We got to know our state parks, in other words. But three of the most thrilling summer trips were going from Ohio-Florida (in a brown Valiant with vinyl seats and no air conditioning!), Ohio-Great Smoky Mountains and Ohio-Maine. There were no Wal-Marts to stop at along the way. And yes, a certain amount of "wilderness" was involved -- we were never sure where we would end up and what we might find there. We had to pack for the unexpected. We drove all day, until my parents were too tired to go any further -- and then we found a hotel. We always had enough gas, because we were never sure where the next gas station would be -- it's not like now, where there is one at every highway exit. The littering of the American landscape with Wal-Marts and other similar structures makes our universe always 24-7, always within reach. We don't have to rely on ourselves, because Wal-Mart will always be there to help us out of a jam, as this 2008 map from Wal-Mart Watch suggests:

The impact of Wal-Mart construction is not only environmental and cultural, but, as the case in Virginia demonstrates, historical. Does it really matter, as some claim, that the proposed store location would fall outside the actual core of the Civil War battlefield, where some 30,000 were killed, injured or disappeared? Does building a perimeter of commerce -- with Wal-Mart at the helm -- around the battle area defame or re-shape this "site of memory"?

There are those who argue -- including the Pulitzer prize-winning historian James McPherson -- that the building site that would be occupied by Wal-Mart was in and of itself part of the battle area:

McPherson is expected to testify that the store's site and nearby acres were blood-soaked ground and a Union "nerve center" in the battle. Grant's headquarters and his senior leaders were encamped near the site of the proposed store and Union casualties were treated there or in an area destined to be the store's parking lot, McPherson wrote in a summary of his testimony.

"Among other things, thousands of wounded and dying soldiers occupied the then open fields that included the Walmart site, which is where many of the Union Army hospital tents were located during the battle," McPherson wrote.

The pro-Wal-Mart side claims, on the other hand, that "'There is no indication that any significant historical event occurred on this land.'"

It will be interesting to see how this story develops, especially given the upcoming commemoration of the Civil War. The interest in "historical preservation" in the United States is very uneven. On the one hand, this country seems to favor a "throw away" architectural practice -- build one, build more, and if it doesn't work, tear it down and build it again. Or, if it's old, it's no good. The U.S. is a largely forward-looking society -- rather than honoring "tradition," it likes to see "progress," which often means the building and opening of new, often unnecessary, stores. But at the same time, it is also a country -- like others, I suppose -- that engages in a very selective monumentalization -- Mt. Rushmore, the Statue of Liberty, the new World Trade Center.

The American Civil War is a defining piece of U.S. history. Why does Wal-Mart need to build right there, near the battle site of the Battle of the Wilderness? Surely, it is not the only location available. It seems more likely that the company hopes to capitalize on the challenges of the current economy -- perhaps, by linking itself to perceived demands of local tourism as well.