Norman Stone - The Atlantic and Its Enemies

Allende had died as his presidential palace was stormed in the 1973 military coup — suicide, in all likelihood, though even in 1990 his wife was claiming murder. It was the end of a three-year attempt to turn Chile into a popular, socialist democracy, and much romanticism was attached to Allende by a cohort of foreigners, such as the British Communist Brian Pollitt (who also had experience in Cuba, and whose books, along with the multivolume E. H. Carr history of Soviet Russia, were burned when the military took over) and the Frenchman Régis Debray, one-time supporter of Che Guevara in Bolivia. At this time, in the outcome of 1968, of the Vietnam wars of the intelligentsia, there were romantic films. There was, for instance, Z , in which the veteran Yves Montand played a left-wing Greek politician, done to death by the Colonels who had staged a military coup in Athens in 1967, allegedly with help from the CIA. It was (like the later Midnight Express ) a very well-made film which, like so many such, distorted reality.

Allende became the absent hero of a film, Missing , by the maker of Z , Costa Gavras, and he stood, in a vague way, for ‘liberation’. There was a revealing little scene when he was overthrown. A left-wing young girl, in jeans, was told by a policeman that, once order had been restored, she would be wearing a less provocative set of clothes. In the Latin, Catholic world at the time, modesty was still required, clothing was political, and divorce was forbidden. Women had had the vote in chile since 1949, but there were separate polling booths for men and women, even in 1973, and although the country’s problems were obviously owed in large measure to demographic pressure, clinics for contraception were not opened. There was an element of cultural war in the Chilean affair, and Allende was recognizably a liberation figure, promising equality, liberty and fraternity, or at any rate socialism. In reality, Chile would be remembered, not for the Allende experiment, but for the ‘Pinochet solution’ — a period of authoritarian rule, during which economic reforms could be carried out, without political disruption. This happened, and Chile, on the whole, prospered. Democratic ways were restored; Pinochet did indeed organize a free election, and when it went against him, he retired without fuss, only with a proviso that he and others should be given immunity from prosecution. In 1975, after General Franco died in Spain, forty years after launching a brutal civil war and then a full-scale Fascist dictatorship, his successors agreed that the slate would be wiped clean: no prosecutions, of either side. But Pinochet’s enemies were in no mood to wipe slates.

There was another military coup, seven years almost to the day after Pinochet’s, on 12 September 1980, in Turkey. Military coups do not generally turn out at all well, and in Latin America they had been both frequent and ridiculous — men in preposterous uniforms, with epaulettes like fruit tarts, seizing power and then appointing their cronies and relatives to state posts, as in Peru. Argentina, once a very prosperous and advanced country, had been wrecked in a pattern of demagogues and attitudinizing generals (in 1980 a ‘junta’ of senior armed forces commanders). In the case of both Chilean and Turkish coups, the matter was far from simple, and the similarities are striking. If there is such a thing as a good coup, both succeeded in their aims: order was indeed restored; new economic rules — monetarism, of a sort, and worked out under IMF supervision — were brought in; after a bad patch, prosperity grew; democratic elections then happened. The costs in terms of bloodshed were also limited — in Chile, far less than with similar coups in Brazil or Argentina, which had not received attention from film-makers or The New York Times. The Left in both countries was, however, comprehensively defeated, and remained very bitter for decades afterwards.

Since universities had been at the centre of the trouble in both countries — in Turkey there had even been policemen standing in the corner of lecture rooms — there was much voluble complaint. A work that was very frequently read at this time was Karl Marx’s The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Napoleon. It is the great-great-grandfather of Z . There had been revolutions all over Europe in the spring of, 1848, but the one that got the greatest attention of the world was French: would it repeat the experiences of 1789, Rights of Man, abolition of kings, aristocrats and, this time round, bankers? There was a Republic; in the June Days of 1848 part of the city was taken over by enraged, unemployed building workers (the first political photograph taken was of a barricade, from a rooftop). The middle-class National Guard, with troops and an assortment of rowdies from what Marx called the Lumpenproletariat , meaning in effect ‘underclass’, dealt bloodily with this, and 15,000 men and women were summarily executed or exiled. To Marx, this was the class war, and so it was for any observer of it; there were some very clever ones, not least Alexis de Tocqueville, who had written about democracy in the United States. He called the June Days a ‘servile war’, comparing them with the slave rebellion, under Spartacus, that had rocked ancient Rome. The liberals who were really behind the revolution of 1848 were nonplussed. Finally, there was the army: ‘the uniform was the peasant’s national costume’ and the army ‘the dregs of the peasant Lumpenproletariat ’. So: bankers, seedy journalists, a huge bureaucracy, isomorphous magnitudes of peasants, an army of bravos led by opera-mustachioed generals in corsets, and the clergy, but all of it likely in the end to fail. All of this, read in a university in Santiago in 1973 or in Istanbul in 1980, meant a great deal more than the long-ago historical events that were involved. The opposition to these military coups felt strongly that it had had history on its side, that it had been cheated. To this day it is vindictive.

Allende had been a veteran figure of Chilean politics — a Marxist, claiming that he wanted ‘a Chilean road to socialism’, i.e. without the assorted bloodbaths. He was a Valparaíso doctor and a cultivated man, reading widely, playing the guitar, able to discuss paintings. In Catholic countries, the anti-clerical tradition often did push doctors and engineers to the Left, and Allende therefore had a considerable number of intellectual cousins in Latin Europe: they agreed with his diagnosis of Chile’s condition, and a prominent member of the French Left, Régis Debray, who appeared in Chile, might easily point to the comparisons of Allende and Mitterrand, later the French president. In some ways it was a Kulturkampf as tended to happen in Catholic countries. They had a view of the world that went quite logically from macro-America via capital and ‘comprador class’ — minority or foreign middlemen — to micro-paterfamilias and the foreman cracking his whip at downtrodden peasants.

Such people applauded when Allende stated his creed at the United Nations late in 1972, in a speech that the American ambassador called ‘one of the most memorable speeches ever heard in the great hall’. It was a classic statement of a view, then widely held, that countries such as Chile were held back by ‘international capitalism’. Multinational firms extracted raw materials such as copper, paying low wages, and the copper would soon run out. If there were protests, these firms would bribe local politicians; ‘the power of corporations is so great that it transcends all borders’; ‘we are victims of a new form of im — perialism, one that is more subtle, more cunning, and for that reason more terrifyingly effective’; ‘the financial-economic blockade against us… is oblique, subterranean, and indirect… We are the victims of almost imperceptible actions, generally disguised in phrases and declarations that extol respect for the sovereignty and dignity of our country.’ One problem was that the great corporations repatriated the profits from their investments, many times over, such that Chile, and Latin America generally, had contributed $9bn to the rich countries over the preceding decade. Chile, potentially a rich country, therefore lived in poverty, apart from the hangers-on of the multinationals; ‘We go from place to place seeking credits and aid, and yet — a true paradox of the capitalist economic system — we are major exporters of capital.’ The Chilean answer must therefore be — nationalization of the country’s resources: as Lenin had put it, the expropriation of the expropriators, though Allende did not quote him. There was this to be said for him, that copper had declined in price, unlike other raw materials, from £620 per ton in 1969 to £412 in 1972: the vagaries of international capitalism. At the time, many people would have agreed with Allende as to this dictionnaire des idées reçues on the reasons for the troubles of the ‘Third World’. In fact, the Americans accepted the diagnosis often enough and in an effort to improve their popularity had produced a sort of Marshall Plan for Latin America, called ‘Alliance for Progress’, in 1961. They spent $20bn but, not being in occupation, found that much of the money went to thieving oligarchies.