My whole life it has been a question of whether to speak or not. It has never been that I couldn’t. Only that I was risking everything in doing so. And I wasn’t consistent. On some level I wish I had stuck to my principles. Fought. If I had only yelled louder, or learned to play guitar, or stormed the Moneda myself in defense of my country. But this is all with the benefit of hindsight. It seems doable now with forty years between my and my decisions.
I don’t care that we lost because our heroes lost. They fell for us, and we’re still here. We’re still here. And as to the question of who killed them and what should be done about it, or why they were killed and how they deserved it. Its time for court to be adjourned. The juries are fools and the whole process is banal.
On some level it all became a self fulfilling prophecy. We thought the dictatorship would do us harm, and so it took its revenge by trampling us in a wild backlash, and did the very thing we feared. But it works the other way too. They were afraid we would oppose them so they made sure we didn’t, and in doing so they left us with no choice but to bring them down by any means.
I say we. But I’m still not sure how involved I was. I didn’t fight like I wanted to. But I was there the whole time. And I’m still here.