Chile notes 3: la lucha sigue

10/22

Italia Square

Damn. Tear gas round three. This is getting old. Saw my first water cannons. But I'm dry. 

Another day of what they call manifestaciones in Spanish.  The morning is quiet. Could pass for normal. Even the hostal artesania shop is open. Although a friend sent a video of a shootout in front of the US Embassy. An attempted carjacking led to the US guards racing in guns blazing. Colleagues in the group Por vida y dignidad (for Life and Dignity) are planning an action for this afternoon.  An ecumenical group of faith leaders is planning on going to the President’s office at La Moneda and presenting him with a carta abierta, an open letter.(Still trying to get the text…) I’m thinking of going. The metro is obviously closed.  Bus? Leaving soon from Plaza Italia. Uber? Looks cheap. Walk? Over a mile. Well….

Once outside, seeing the line of olive green vehicles and people filling the street, it’s walk or nothing. As I near the Plaza Italia, streets impassable. Thousands and thousands of young people filling the plaza, overwhelming the heroic equestrian statue of Manuel Banquedano, who reformed the military and did not seek political power.

No military in the streets

A rare true patriot. Bouncing in rhythm. Chanting. Singing. A bus arrives with indigenous people. Cheers. Down the street gas. A young woman and friend get my attention …caballero…and offer me a surgical mask sprayed with water. It helps. White coated young media volunteers.

medical volunteers

A marching brass band in the center of bouncing bodies.There’s that buoyant spirit I remember from Occupy Wall Street. With bodies, barricades and fires its a stand off between army and people in city center. They are all younger than me. 

a proposal

I get a posting that two of the  Vida y dignidad people will be given audience with the president. I am far away but start to walk that direction. That’s when I see the water cannons. I walk for awhile past burned out bus stops and parks. Not sure where I’m headed. Talk to my son from Berlin. (Millenial) He disagrees that young people don’t know. Dad, he says, they haven’t experienced it, but they know. Of course they know. And given what they see as this future, it’s worth the risk.  The issues are embarrassingly American. Health care. Student debt. Consumer debt. Cost of living. Minimum wage. The one percent. Corruption. We know. We know. Still the tanks have chilling effect on older people. My son knows young people can only sustain this stand off so long. Tomorrow is the real test. A huelga general, general strike, has been called. If the workers stay home, new ball game.I’ve received a document from a broad based coalition,”Pais de paz: Estrategia para un Nuevo Pacto Social” (“Country of Peace: a strategy for a new social pact..” Looks like they’ve bene working on this for awhile. Waiting.It’s time. I walk a little further. 

You get a few blocks away, it’s like New York City on protest day. A major protest goes on and just a few blocks away life goes on. Like normal. Or maybe not.  All the banks are closed. Most retail shops. Restaurants mainly are open. I stop for a hot dog. "German style.”  And a pineapple lemonade. I’m tempted to try a “Brooklyn” but I’m full. This stand would go over well in New York, I think. Mini markets sell their wares from behind metal gates. As 4 o’clock nears, restaurants begin to roll up the sidewalk.  No one’s sure how this is supposed to work. It’s been a long time. 

Time to walk back. Down one side street, muchachos en negro…and masks and hoodies…are prying up rocks and pelting a tank with stones. This can’t end well. A rock hits my shoulder, unintended. I walk out of the line of fire into, damn, tear gas again. Bright flames fill the street.

fire in the street

Volunteers came to me with a wet bandana and fresh lemon to bite into. Why does that work? Don’t know but it does.

thanks, guys....

One cafe has a sign, “Best prepare for war. Best do so with coffee!” Their window invokes freedom for Palestine.

coffee shop poster

They’ve clearly been doing this awhile. 

Last time I had tear gas was in the streets of DC in 1969 at the Moratorium Against the War gathering. The next May, it was National Guard on the downtown rooftops of my college town. The night after Kent State. When I learned that peace and love doesn’t always stop bullets.  As I looked up singing a protest song, I thought, damn they’re here for me. 

There are mimes and clowns and a bonfire in the center of Avenida Vicuna Mckenzie. Almost back to my hostal. I bite my lemon.            

                                                              ****           

Just saw a post: 'The difference between 1973 and now? Now everyone has cameras in their pockets. 
The miners have agreed to join the strike.