does it smell like tear gas to you?
The revolution has a rhythm. It's one two three-and-four: same as the first half of the cadence at the beginning of John Fogerty's "Centerfield." You hear it everywhere- blown through horns and vuvuzelas, banged on the backs of pots and pans, rapped out on car horns by passing drivers as a show of solidarity. There is optimism in the air. We know the protests here are comprehensive- exhaustive- in scope. And we've all heard the one about the straw and the camel's back. Still, it's crazy to think that what started with college students jumping turnstiles in protest of a nominal hike in subway fares may end with a nation rewriting its entire constitution.
We can see the wear-and-tear of a peaceful protest boiled over upon our arrival in Santiago: broken windows, vandalized police vehicles, municipal buildings tagged in spraypaint with a thousand overlapping revolutionary catchphrases like "EVADE" and "PIÑERA ASESINO [murderer]." Our intended metro stop was shut down (possibly destroyed) during the protests, so we end up detouring through a park and over a pedestrian bridge. Upon mounting the bridge, I notice a faint irritation in my eyes and sinuses, like you get in a restroom that has recently been scrubbed with ammonia-based cleaner. I wonder: could it be a lingering whisper of tear gas? Maybe it was just some exotic allergen here to destroy me. Kind of like how the extraterrestrial invaders in War of the Worlds were done in by Earth germs.
Nope. It's tear gas. Our first night in town, my wife and I venture far afield to get dinner, and on our way out of the neighborhood we have to dodge protesters spilling out into the streets, waving flags, starting chants and, of course, drumming out that ubiquitous one two three-and-four. On the cab ride back, well after sundown, things change.
The nighttime district where we're staying is not buzzing with carnival barkers and stumbling revelers as we may have expected. It feels deserted. I never really got the whole movie cliche of people saying "it's too quiet" until now. It's a strange, foreboding quiet pierced only by the wind and the occasional far-off voice shouting something indistinct. Our taxi rounds a corner to turn into the neighborhood, and there is a man with a bandana over his face standing next to a pile of debris and street signs in the middle of the next intersection. Something in the pile is on fire.
Our cab driver pulls next to the man and initiates a brief conversation, the precise contents of which are beyond the depth of my eighth-grade-level Spanish, but which can likely be summarized as,
"Hey, can we go this way?"
"No."
We retreat back down the street and try our luck on the next one. The block is barricaded midway up by dense-looking concrete benches that have been upturned and dragged into the middle of the street. We are staying around the corner, so we get out and walk the rest of the way. The street is quiet, but there are a few bandana-faced civilians milling about and buying water from a street kiosk. We also get our first close-up look at Chile's national police force, the Carabineros, about ten or so of whom are mustered in full riot gear at the far corner of the intersection.
As we round the corner towards our lodgings, that same ambiguous stinging sensation hits us. This time, though, it isn't ambiguous. It's much stronger. We are clearly walking down a street that has just been fogged with tear gas. My eyes are searing. I lift the collar of my shirt up over my mouth and nose, which helps a little. I almost consider turning back and waiting for it to clear up a bit more, but it's only a few more yards. We get inside, wipe our running noses, and sit down on the couch saying "holy shit" to each other over and over again and trying to calm down. And then the shit gets even holier:
I shot those from our third-floor balcony after we heard a commotion outside. In the first video, you can see the fire burning in the intersection to the left (it's not the fire I mentioned earlier- this is a common tactic here, and we will see a lot of fires in a lot intersections during our visit) as a few protesters gather on that side. Two gas canisters streak through the sky like roman candles, launched by the group of Carabineros mentioned above, who are out of view to the right. In the second video, the protesters advance behind a makeshift barricade and start throwing things at the Carabineros, who respond by ratcheting up their tactics. From my vantage point I cannot see exactly what happens, but if I have to guess, they switch from gas to rubber bullets. Whatever they do, it works. The protesters are routed. Over the next hour or so, the block quiets down. And that's the story of the damnedest goddamn thing I ever saw.
Damn.
Someone might need to call my mother an ambulance after she watches this, but I actually don't feel particularly unsafe on account of these protests. Most of the media coverage of this historic period will show you an unruly mob trashing metro stations and looting supermarkets. They won't show you the families gathering in the streets, or the smiling construction workers clapping out the rhythm. They won't show you the way things are before the police show up and "de-escalate" with gas and fire hoses and non-lethal projectiles that have nevertheless blinded hundreds of civilians in the last few weeks.
No, the only misgiving I have about being in Chile during this period of upheaval is that I feel almost guilty for enjoying it so much. Legions of disenfranchised working-class people are taking to the streets to gather and be heard and, yes, torch a city bus or two, and here I am- largely insulated from the struggle, free to sample regional wines by the gallon and ride snowboards down the face of a sand dune and take selfies next to cool street art. It feels like the sort of perversely classist exercise Roman Roy would daydream about while masturbating in his office.
That said, my wife and I have been here for over a week now, and we really are having a wonderful time. We're just trying our best to be respectful, enjoy ourselves, and experience a new part of the world. You never want to see things escalate to the extent that they have in Santiago, but I can certainly sympathize with the frustration of the people here. After all, the things they're protesting- low wages, high cost of living, healthcare, student loan debt, retirement savings- these are not exactly the esoteric concerns of some far-flung alien land. This is happening everywhere. You don't even have to leave the United States to find working people forced to choose between cancer treatment and bankruptcy, or families struggling to afford housing and priced out of their own neighborhoods.
Only here, the disparities are greater. The conditions are worse on the ground, and the transgressions of the untouchable ruling class are more brazen. So when I wish the best for the people here, it is not just an expression of solidarity. It's also because what is going on in Chile right now may foreshadow events yet to come in my own country if we fail to address these simmering concerns before they boil over. Moreover, the events here may well show us the way forward.
I also desire a positive outcome for the people of Chile because I am absolutely enamored with this country. I'll come back here in a week or so (or maybe after Thanksgiving since my wife and I are hosting our families and it's gonna be a whole big thing) to talk about why.
AFTERWORD: I've made my own observations and filled in a few gaps with online research, but most of my understanding of the situation here comes from conversations with two tour guides named Cristian and Natti (really Natalia, but only her mother calls her that- and only when she's angry). You'll hear a bit more about them in the next update, which will make for much breezier reading.
