Twists and turns and unexpected events are part of the experience of being human. Many of these unexpected happenings have profound consequences on our lives — some are welcome and joyful, some tragic and traumatic.
Fifty years ago, my life was profoundly changed by an unforeseen and unwelcome event. I was living in Santiago, the capital of Chile, having arrived in September 1970 on the occasion of the election of Salvador Allende, a Socialist elected with a plurality of the votes.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, his election triggered a conspiracy in President Richard Nixon’s Oval Office. Urgent meetings were organized, as Allende’s election was considered a looming threat to U.S. national security in the midst of the Cold War. Decisions were made to take immediate steps: first to prevent Allende’s confirmation by the Chilean Congress and, when that failed, to use the economic and political power of Washington to undermine and overthrow that president.
Nixon’s plan, with the enthusiastic support of Henry Kissinger, the national security advisor and secretary of state, unfolded over the next three years, culminating in the decision of the Chilean military to stage a bloody putsch. Nixon and his administration were determined to rid Chile of its democratically elected government.
On September 11, 1973, I was living in a scruffy, working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of Santiago de Chile that was almost entirely supportive of the Allende government, despite all the challenges inherent in attempting to bring about radical change within the framework of constitutional democracy.
On the day of the coup, a bright and sunny September morning, I awoke to the sound of the radio announcing that the military had taken over and would henceforth be governing by edict. The Congress was closed and all the means of communication, especially the radio, were taken over. There was one exception — the popular radio station Magallanes stayed on the air just long enough for Allende to say to all: “I have faith in Chile and its destiny. Other men will overcome this dark and bitter moment when treason seeks to prevail. … Keep in mind that great avenues will again be opened through which will pass free men …”
My life was irrevocably changed on that day. I would return to the United States a few months later full of indignation that the U.S. government was responsible for the detention, torture and disappearance of many of my neighbors. What was particularly hard to accept was that the Nixon administration rewarded this interruption in electoral politics by opening up all the channels of foreign military and economic aid to support and prop up this de facto illegitimate government. American bilateral and multilateral aid, frozen during the government of Allende, was being lavished on this antidemocratic, violent dictatorship led by General Augusto Pinochet.
This U.S. largess was to come to an end a year later by the courageous action of concerned members of Congress who suspended the military aid, soon to be followed by legislative action curtailing economic aid. Those in Congress who rose up included Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-Mass.), who authored the suspension of military aid, and then-Reps. Tom Harkin (D-Iowa) and George Miller (D-Calif.), whose actions in the House of Representatives fashioned bipartisan legislation to punish the government of Chile for its heinous acts.
It would take 17 years for Allende’s last words — “great avenues will again be opened” for a free people — to become true. The Chilean coup reverberated around the world. It galvanized the public and Congress and, in a real sense, gave birth to the modern human rights movement. By 1976, a mere three years after the coup, every dollar in foreign assistance was conditioned on human rights — the language of the legislation declared that no assistance may be given “to any country the government of which engages in a consistent pattern of gross violations of human rights.” Surprisingly, that legislation is still on the books and in effect.
For many of us, the Chilean coup changed the way we thought — and still think — about the United States. It also sparked the creation of new organizations dedicated to educating and promoting a human rights framework for the conduct of U.S. foreign policy. Among those was the founding almost 50 years ago of WOLA (the Washington Office on Latin America), which I founded and which was catalytic in advancing a human rights agenda in Congress.
As we commemorate the 50th anniversary of the coup today, it would be a fitting time for the Biden administration to advance the effort to declassify all the government agency files related to the coup and its aftermath, as has been formally requested by Chilean President Gabriel Boric as well as by governments and human rights groups before him.
At the same time, we cannot let ourselves to forget the suffering, torment and death that followed in the wake of the coup — nor the courage of those who steadfastly visualized a democratic Chile.
Today, without exaggeration, Chile stands as a beacon of the primacy of democracy for the rest of a troubled hemisphere. Reinhold Niebuhr noted almost a century ago that “man’s capacity for justice makes democracy possible, but man’s inclination to injustice makes democracy necessary.” The truth of that wisdom is being tested in virtually every country in this hemisphere. Chile’s experience continues to help illuminate the path toward the fulfillment of that democratic dream.
Joe Eldridge is the founder of the Washington Office on Latin America (WOLA) and was its executive director from 1975 to 1986.