Chilean Chronicles, Part 64: Los 80 Helps Chile Confront Its Past

There are many ways to confront a nation’s painful past. With official dates of remembrances and honoring those who have died.

With statues and other types of memorials, like the one erected in honor of assassinated Chilean Senator Jaime Guzman that Dunreith and I passed Sunday during our walk through the neighborhood of Las Condes.

Or with weighty tomes produced by prominent writers like Nobel Prize winning-author Gunter Grass’ who penned A Broad Field, a novel about German reunification.

These methods each have their merits, and there are others that arguably have a more widespread impact.

Like Wolfgang Becker’s Goodbye Lenin, a film about the waning days of the Communist era. The movie, which rapidly attained cult status in Germany, uses humor from start to finish as it evokes the nostalgia many East Germans felt for certain aspects of life under the regime.

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Here in Chile, Andres Wood takes the nation back to the dark days of the Pinochet dictatorship through the lense of a single family in the series, “Los 80,” or “The 80s.”

Dunreith and I just finished watching the first season-she’s shifted to make the show, rather than the original version of “Ugly Betty”, one of her major Spanish-language learning tools-and it’s riveting stuff.

Wood was born in 1965, and came of age during this turbulent era. His effort to represent the period with meticulous fidelity is one of the show’s central commitments. Actual footage from television shows like the omnipresent Mario Kreutzberger, better known as Don Francisco, appear in every episode. So, too, does music from the period like “Eres,” which also appeared in Sebastian Lelio’s whimsical movie, “Gloria.” The radio program, the expressions, the method of dress, and, I am sure, many other elements to which I am not attuned, place the viewer in 1982 as the show opens, and then moves through the decade in subsequent seasons.

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Wood trains his camera on the Herreras, a middle-class family consisting of the happily married Juan and Ana, their teenage children Claudia and Martin, and their younger boy Felix. At the beginning of the first season, life is humming along in a comfortable and predictable rhythm.

Juan is a respected worker at the factory where he’s been employed for many years. Ana tends the home with loving care. Claudia and Martin are studying to pursue their dreams of attending medical and aviation school, respectively. Everyone dotes on Felix.

After receiving a promotion and the higher salary that goes with it, Juan stretches and buys a color television, much to the delight of the other family members. But then he’s laid off along with all of the other workers during the recession that hit the nation extraordinarily hard.

Part of the skill and appeal of Wood’s show is the way he shows the impact of larger social forces and events on the family-dear friend and wise soul Ava Kadishson Schieber has talked before about always knowing that she was a pawn in the chessboard of life-without being too heavy-handed.

Juan’s inability to provide for his family prompts Ana to seek work of her own-a decision that provokes fierce resistance from her unemployed husband. Wood depicts Juan’s shame and helplessness at being unable to fulfill what he sees as his male responsibilities without announcing, “I’m looking at gender attitudes, people.”

One of the season’s more touching moments comes when Juan starts crying while talking to his father-in-law, who during his visit for Fiestas Patrias is insisting on having meat that Juan cannot afford.

There are many such instances during the show. They work because of the deep love that the family members feel for each other, even as the peaceful veneer they have managed to maintain is being ripped asunder by the events that are starting to overtake the nation. Juan’s insistence that “We don’t talk about money or politics” at the dinner table becomes harder to sustain as Martin joins the Air Force and Claudia finds herself drawn into politics at the University of Chile.

This attitude, as Miguel Huerta, Matias Torre, and Macarena Rodriguez discussed on Friday night, is at once a coping mechanism, a means to not confront the extent of the brutality that was occurring and a response to an environment in which you could be taken away for no reason, at any time.

In one of the season’s darker episodes, Juan experiences this terror when he speaks up for a more politically active co-worker who is being beaten relentlessly by police officers while Juan is forced to sit in the back seat of the police car.

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At the same time, Wood also succeeds in creating a feeling of community that permeates the show. Everyone shops at the local store run by a fervent Pincohetista who nevertheless displays concern for Ana when Claudia is detained after a protest. Martin’s fumbling first courtship, Felix’s hesitation to dance the cueca and failure to convert a penalty, and Claudia’s conversations with her mother about sex all are part of family life that occur in countries across the planet.

This interspersing of the ordinary concerns of family life with the increasingly ruptured tranquility in which they have been living gives the show additional potency. We care about the characters because we can relate to them, even as we understand the ways in which their lives are slowly, but steadily, being upended.

This is not to say that “Los 80” is without blemishes.

The issues in the episodes occasionally resolve too neatly in a single hour. (Items introduced in the beginning of an episode nearly always factor in at the end.) Several of the key characters are one-dimensional, and thus veer close at times to appearing like vehicles for Wood’s clear anti-dictatorship perspective or his storytelling objectives.

These are but small points, though, in a potent, provocative and stimulating series that we’ll continue to watch with enthusiasm.

Chileans have been doing the same.

Dunreith reported that her bringing up the show during the English conversation class we are teaching at UDP’s American Corner sparked a lively and vigorous debate about life during the dictatorship. Conversations like these reached unprecedented levels this month, which contained the fortieth anniversary of the Pinochet coup.

We’ll start Season Two tomorrow.

The healing throughout the country is ongoing.

Chilean Chronicles, Part 60: The Busy Life of Mayor Mario Gebauer

Mario Gebauer, right, the Mayor of Melipilla. A few years ago, Mario Gebauer was planning to set aside some quiet, reflective time to study social anthropology. But then came the call came to serve in government in Santiago.

He answered.

In 2008 he decided to run for Mayor of Melipilla, a community about an hour southwest of Santiago.

During his campaign Mario walked to thousands of households, knocking on doors, introducing himself and asking for support from the voters in on during his campaign.

The longtime Socialist won in a traditionally right-leaning area, garnering 58 percent of the vote.

His life has been a whirlwind of activity ever since.

To wit, he has helped the usher the community through the devastation wrought by the deadly earthquake of 2010.

He’s participated in a precedent-setting, but ultimately unsuccessful, lawsuit involving the 2009 Transparency Law and that sought public officials’ emails.

He’s started to work with Chinese companies that want to invest in the area that has traditionally relied heavily on agriculture to power its enconomy.

He’s begun working on a hospital that would replace the current facility that, along with other public services, attracts people from all over, but that he said is not equipped with state-of-the-art facilities.

He’s laid the groundwork, along with elected officials in nearby San Antonio, to create a distinct governmental region that would seek to release what he called the “super-centralized” system that, not unlike Chicago in Illinois, concentrates a disproportionate amount of power and resources in the largest city.

He’s supporting Michelle Bachelet so that she can win in the first round in the upcoming presidential elections as well as backing other candidates with similar political leanings.

He’s also raising a family.

Dunreith and I spent three and a half hours with him this morning and afternoon.

I had met Mario briefly at the University of Diego Portales with Alberto Barrera, a former MIRista, friend and husband of colleague and guide Alejandra Matus. We were following up on his invitation for us to visit his community.

Dunreith and I took the Route 78 bus from the San Borja bus station for a peaceful, hour-long ride through increasingly green, hilly and rural territory to arrive near the town square.

After walking to the town square and looking for the municipal building, we received help from Juan Manuel Cornejo, a hale and hearty lifetime Mellepilla resident who works in real estate. Cornejo delivered us to the mayor’s office and took his leave after passing me a business card.

Dressed in a sweater and blue jeans, Mario is close to six feet with thinning, fine black hair. He is clean shaven, and emits a look of intense concentration on his face as he listens.

Mario speaks quietly and moves and acts in a efficient, economical fashion. He used the time the town’s lawyer came in talk with us about the transparency lawsuit to rapidly sign a bunch of documents, all the while continuing to follow the conversation. His phone buzzes and moves constantly with calls and texts and emails.

The Social Democrat came of age during the 1988 plebiscite in which the Chilean electorate voted to end the reign of dictator Augusto Pinochet. Then 17 years old, he couldn’t vote, but he was able to throw himself into the work and see the value of a key opportunity converted into a meaningful social result.

The pictures on the wall show that his political commitments and high levels of energy have remained largely the same since then.

On one wall is a framed copy of the Bolivarian dream of a pan-Latin American federation.

On an adjacent wall is an arpillera, or tapestry, that were common forms of resistance during the Pinochet dictatorship. (He later gave Dunreith nine cards with multi-colored cloth Nativity scenes.) Near that are three black and white pictures he received during a recent trip to Cuba.

The prize-winning cards of aprilleras from Melilpilla.

So, too, have the emotional scars from that era.

Over lunch, Dunreith said that she has been watching Los Ochenta, Andres Wood's company’s representation of life during the dictatorship as experienced by a single family.

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I watched one episode of the show and decided not to watch more, Mario said.

His choice was not because the program has inaccuracies.

Quite the opposite, in fact. He praised the scenes and clothes and music and television excerpts that appear in the episodes.

Rather the show brings back painful memories for Mario. He didn’t elaborate, but said, simply, “Era fuerte.”

It was strong.

His words came after we had spoken in the office about the major initiatives he has been engaged in during his first term and the beginning of his second four years in office. Mario explained that he is deeply committed to bringing public investment to Melipilla. It’s no easy task, as about 80 percent of the municipalities have no such investment. He estimates that he travels to Santiago about once a week to solicit funds, among other purposes.

The pick up truck that Mayor Gebauer uses in Melipilla.

We had arrived at lunch after driving in the mayor’s official car, a white pickup truck, past rolling hills with vineyards, horses, cows, basic houses with Chilean flags and road signs with campaign pictures of candidates like Juan Antonio Coloma.

A house along the side of the road in Melipilla.

Don Roberto, a brown-haired lifelong native of Melipilla, drove, and then ate, with us at El Mirador de Popeta, a restaurant that sits above the main highway on a dusty and winding road and that specializes in typical seafood.

Miriam, an energetic grandmother of three with a purple sweater, thick black hair in a ponytail and amiable manner, greeted Gebauer with a familiar hug and ushered us to our table.

We were the only ones in the restaurant.

Shortly after we sat down, Miriam brought a steaming pile of the largest, tastiest seafood appetizer I’ve ever shared.

Shrimp, scallops, mussels in shells that ringed that the black, cast-iron bowl. Large pieces of salmon and reinata. Vegetables and a rich, brown soy-based sauce underneath.

The appetizer at El Mirador that could easily have been a meal in Melipilla.

And, of course, a pisco sour. This one had a touch of ginger on the top that added a tangy twist.

We spoke during the meal about what the experience of people in the area was during the dictatorship.

Don Roberto explained that many people worked on farms, received their information about what was happening from their patron, or boss, and thus did not know about the atrocities the Pinochet regime had committed. Because of that, the recent commemorative activities and shows on television had been a potent and disturbing revelation, he said.

In between peppering us throughout the drive and meal about the American political situation, Gebauer told us about visiting the Holocaust Memorial in Israel, his trips to Rio and his sense of Buenos Aires.

Miriam came back after we had finished-she told me she was going to punish me because I hadn’t eaten enough-and asked if we wanted dessert.

We chatted for a minute about El Mirador, which gets its seafood and shellfish from Santiago and which she and her husband opened two years ago. By this time the restaurant was bustling with customers.

The opening came 40 years into their marriage and decades after her husband, who worked for most of his life in restaurant kitchens, first hatched his dream.

Miriam told us that her daughter has taught English for nine years.

But the English of England, not America, which is a lower form, Mario said.

It’s like the different between Castilian and Chilean Spanish, I answered. (We had already discussed how many Chileans pride themselves on speaking a Spanish that is generously called hard to understand.)

They laughed loudly.

The Americans are the Chileans of English, I added.

More laughter.

We talked a little while longer until a pause came in the conversation.

Shall we go? Mario asked.

It was a statement more than a question.

We got back in the car. Mario talked, texted and answered as we drove.Don Roberto dropped us off at the bus station.

Toward the end of the meal, Mario said he hoped to get back to his studies next year.

I wouldn’t count on it.