Give us a sample of blood, and we’ll find your loved one

On Thursday afternoon and during the day on Friday we had one of our “educational excursions.” It was one of the most powerful “educational” experiences of my life. It wasn’t a typical field trip where a class visits a museum, fills out a worksheet about the items at the museum, eats their lunch at a designated “group” area, and then takes the bus back to school continue with another class, maybe math or something.

This experience asked me to think deeply, feel strongly, and develop questions.

It started will a discussion with Julia Urquieta one of the few human rights lawyers in Chile. I had assumed we would be meeting with a young, 20-something women who was passionate about creating a more just Chile. Instead, a older, shorter, stout women stood up and began by asking us what we think of as “human rights.” She told us the history of human rights in Chile by telling us the history of Allende, the 1973 coup, Pinochet, post-dictatorship, the disappeared, the tortured, the ways in which families worked to holding Pinochet accountable…

The history was told in a matter-of-fact kind of way. I had read this history a number of times and was surprised to hear a Chilean speak of their own history in such a practical manner. That’s not to say that she’s not incredible at the work she does—because she is. She continues to fight for the families who lost members to Pinochet’s dictatorship, including working on a campaign (see photo below) that sorts threw the hundreds of bodies that have been found since the end of dictatorship and matches their bodies with DNA from a family member’s blood.

(Title: You live in us) Note: The people on the post are all individuals who had a “disappeared” during Pinochet’s regime.

And then Friday came.

I’d had been looking forward to this day since I saw this event on our itinerary. As someone who loves reading history and seeing history, this day would put the books, stories, and articles into a physical context.

First, we went to The Memorial for those who were arrested and disappeared and the executed political activists (the translation doesn’t really work that well…you get the idea though). We had taken a long bus ride ride to one of the largest cemeteries in Santiago where the memorial is. I didn’t know what to expect. I knew, from the reading we had, that the names would be listed. I assumed it would be something like the Vietnam Memorial.

The bus parked and we all go out. We were all chatting, but more quietly now. And we began walking in the direction of the memorial. And then I was there.

And I began crying. I’m not a crier. I have nothing against people who cry…I’m all supportive of displaying emotions, talking about emotions. But I usually don’t cry. I get angry, but not teary. And I cried. Not just tears in the eyes that I could wipe away, droplets and droplets fell from my eyes.

In front of me was a large concrete slab with names. Names. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Babies. People my age. Grandparents. Neighbors.

Names of people who were tortured to death by military personal who used torture techniques they had learned at the School of Americans in Atlanta, Georgia. Names of people who were killed because Pinochet rose to power will the financial help of the U.S. government. Name of people who were working for a more just world who were murdered because my government, my tax dollars, wanted to spread capitalism and wanted a country to friendly-relationship with.

They were angry tears. frustrated tears. disappointed tears. sad tears. confused tears. overwhelmed tears.

And they we got back in the car to drive to another part of the cemetery. In the car we had a short conversation…I said, “The thing that makes me the most upset is knowing that these aren’t the only people have lost their lives at the hands of the U.S. government…it’s happening right now in Iraqi and Afghanistan. We’re still doing it…”

The cemetery is so large that there are street names to navigate your way around the place. Each street is named Patio-- (followed by a number). Patio 29 is one of the places where Pinochet and his army threw bodies of the people he murder. Right now the government is turning Patio 29 into a more appropriate memorial.

A few steps down from Patio 29 is the original place where Victor Jara (the Pete Seeger or Woody Guthrie for the U.S.) was buried. He was picked up by the military on Sept. 11, 1973 and tortured in the National Stadium. He was murdered on Sept. 16, 1973 a few days before his 41st birthday.

A few years ago, people gather to hold a funeral for Jara. Hundreds of people gather to celebrate his life and a more appropriate site was found for his body.

At this point, the tears were coming less frequently but I still had no control of when they’d fall.

Then we got back on our bus and moved to the other part of the cemetery. The place where the “founders” of the country are buried, the people who have the busiest intersections named after them, rulers of the country…

We passed the plot where Gladys Marín, leader of the Community Party in Chile. In 1998, she was one of the first people in Chile to charge Pinochet and members of his junta with murder, torture, and abuses of human rights.

Then we got to Allende’s memorial. A modern memorial surrounded by more antique looking plots. I wonder if that’s because he didn’t exactly “fit” in with some of the other presidents of Chile…

We were carrying carnations with us to all of the respective place. I had placed one on the Memorial, we had first gone to. I place a red carnation here as well.

I asked Roberto if there was a specific reason why he was also on Patio 29. He said it was just a counsidence. I’d like to think it was more than that.

The rest of the day will be on a different blog.