Tuesday, August 26, 2008
"El Juez y el General"
Sebastian and I met later that night in the basement of the Centro Cultural Palacio La Moneda. We arrived early to assure that we would have seats, which was fortunate because I was able to meet both Elizabeth Farnsworth and Patricio Lanfranco, the directors of the film. I shadowed Sebastian through the growing crowd of people who stood outside the theater’s doors and was introduced to a good number of surviving victims and family members of victims who suffered at the hands of the Pinochet regime between 1973 and 1990.
An unshaven man wearing glasses approached me to ask what I was doing at the premier, assuming that I was a journalist. I answered and then asked him the same curt question in return. “Patricio invited me because I was tortured!” he exclaimed proudly. Then he pointed to the profound scars that ran up from his hands and under his sleeves, indicating through gestures that they wrapped around his body like a prehensile serpent.
The atmosphere was enthralling. I came to learn that politically several audience members had supported Salvador Allende, Pinochet’s socialist predecessor who was overthrown and murdered during the September 11, 1973 coup d’état. The same was not true, though, for one of the audience members in attendance. Interestingly, that person was Judge Juan Guzmán, the film’s main protagonist and the first judge to prosecute Pinochet after the dictator’s return to Chile following over a year of house arrest in London.
Initially Guzmán supported Pinochet’s military takeover, as he thought Pinochet would be able to resolve the Manichaean conflict between the Chilean military and the Communist revolutionaries who posed an ostensible threat to national security. The film follows the investigatory processes that Guzmán undertook in deciding whether or not to prosecute Pinochet for violations against humanity. It was a journey that forced Guzmán to question both his family’s conservative leanings and the military’s reasons for pursuing a politics of extermination.
As a documentary that portrays the famous judge under a less deifying light, the film provides a humanizing lens through which Guzmán boldly acknowledges the mistakes of his past. During the course of his research, Guzmán discovered documents that he had written during his earlier years as a lawyer that denied habeus corpus, the safeguarding of individual freedom against arbitrary state action, to victims of Chilean human rights atrocities. At one point, Guzmán even admits that he too would most likely have taken innocent lives if he had been ordered to do so by the military.
Simultaneously, the film captures Guzmán’s exemplary qualities as a judge who rigorously systematized efforts to acquire testimonies, initiated Chile’s commitment to international human rights law, and responded officially to all public matters as a chief liaison between Chileans and the law.
Two central stories provided the fodder for Juan Guzmán’s eventual decision to strip Pinochet of his self-declared immunity from war crimes allegations and to charge him with the continued kidnapping and disappearance of political dissidents. One investigation involved the killing of Manuel Donoso, whom the military claimed had perished in a car accident. Upon examining Donoso’s interred remains, however, Guzmán and a team of forensic scientists determined that Donoso has been shot through the head with a bullet.
The second investigation involved Cecilia Castro, a disappeared law student whose mother, Edita, was forced by the military to divulge Cecilia’s location in order to safeguard the life of her grandchild, Cecilia’s daughter. After learning that the disappeared were often tied to rails and left to drown in the ocean, Guzmán organized a diving expedition into the Pacific where he encountered conclusive evidence that innocent people, and possibly Cecilia, were tied to rails that dragged them to the depths of the sea.
Emotionally, the captivating and visceral stories provoked strong reactions from the predominately Chilean audience. Inside the densely packed theater, viewers could be overheard sniffling and sobbing in response to the real life tragedies projected before them on the movie screen.
Claims that Pinochet was psychologically demented and too weak to undergo judicial processes protected him from having to face the consequences of his actions until 2004. It was not until then that Guzmán, who had strangely begun to sympathize with the former dictator who was the same age as Guzmán’s mother, saw a Miami-based interview where Pinochet articulated his responses with clear capacity and deliberation. Unconvinced that Pinochet was mentally ill, Guzmán initiated the legal process that resulted in the revocation of Pinochet’s dementia status at the Court of Appeals. That opened the door for a renewed series of trials and the presentation of evidence supporting the allegations of Pinochet’s crimes. Ultimately, Pinchot was charged with kidnapping, torture, and murder but died on December 10, 2006 before ever being convicted.
Another important aspect the film touches upon is the continued rift in Chilean society between pro and anti-Pinochet factions. The film begins and ends with Guzmán watching a scene of pro-Pinochet protestors who have taken to the streets. The demonstrators never justify the actions of Pinochet or the military but simply emphasize the fact that Pinochet was never convicted. According to Guzmán, such people are ignorant and have not learned anything from their country’s tragic history.
Judging by the question and answer session that followed the screening, a satisfactory response to one question still eludes Chileans: “Why was Pinochet never convicted?” The question was asked to Guzmán twice in succession, and he responded by elaborating on the intricate legal details and how the courts delayed trying Pinochet on several occasions due to his age and the presumably fragile state of his health. Guzmán also articulated numerous complexities within the Chilean court system that slowed the legal process.
“There were three kinds of judges in Chilean courts,” Guzmán stated. “First there were the collaborators, who worked with and benefited from the military regime. Second were the ambitious judges who carried out proper legal investigations and committed themselves to holding violators of the law accountable for their actions. Third were the judges with no character. This type of judge was concerned only with the thoughts of the majority and failed to support the rights of minorities who merit legal representation. In my opinion, this judge is the most dangerous kind of all.”
In a continuing legal process where over 600 military government agents having been indicted and over 30 convicted and imprisoned for their crimes, it seems that Guzmán has sparked a process that will help Chile to overcome years of repressive rule and arbitrary state-sponsored slaughter. “El Juez y el General” seals Guzmán’s courageous commitment to his nation and human rights, as well as his type of character as a judge. Ambitious, to say the least.
Labels: Chile, Guzman, Pinochet
Friday, August 01, 2008
Sitting on top of the world
I don’t know when exactly we decided to make the journey to Paucartambo. From various rumors I had heard it was a big festival, lots of drinking and partying, and an amazing sunrise. Although the city is small, thousands of Peruvians gather there yearly to celebrate Mamacha del Carmen between July 15th and 17th. When we left Cusco around 9:30pm on Tuesday night, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I suddenly awoke to the crackling sound of fireworks as we pulled into Paucartambo around 1am the following morning. The three and a half hour bus ride had taken us over 110km northeast into the Andes Mountains. I was not conscious for but five minutes of it. We got of the bus and followed the mass of traffic walking along the road. There were two of us, Jacqueline my leader and I her sidekick. She had been to the festival at Paucartambo twice before, and I therefore left all decision making in her hands. She informed me that we had to get on a bus headed for Tres Cruces, and that we had to do so quickly in order to catch the 4:30am sunrise. We quickly found one such bus and unknowingly chose to sit with the driver. It was a mere fifteen soles, just over five dollars, for the trip there and back. Our journey took an immediate halt as we came face to face with a Volvo on the one lane street leaving town. This was not your typical Volvo, the notoriously safe station wagon necessary for every practicing “soccer mom,” but rather an industrial sized monster of a vehicle that had no business being on these small Andean roads. It took over half an hour to figure out how to pass this metallic behemoth. About fifteen were required to move a small SUV onto the sidewalk, and the problem was finally sorted out. We eventually departed Paucartambo around 2:00am, my best estimate.
My seat next to the driver refused to recline, thus sleep was not an option. I used this time to check again my belongings. The contents of my backpack: an extra fleece, spare shirt, boxers, and socks for the next day, a warm beanie and gloves, a hat, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s The General in his Labyrinth, my camera, sunglasses, sunscreen, toothbrush, eye drops, and toilet paper. The skateboard straps also fastened a thin sleeping bag I borrowed from work. Apparently the distance to Tres Cruces is only 45km, yet the nature of this road made the journey much longer. It was pitch black outside, and the only light extended from the high beams. I stared ahead. With each twist and turn we climbed higher into the Andes. The road, barely larger than our bus, was littered with mud, rocks, and potholes. This did not deter our driver, however, as he continued on as if he were navigating a regular highway. He would have to slow down for especially bad sections of the road, where a combination of our three defining elements were sure to make one cautious. The bus tipped back and forth as the tires were made uneven. My nerves would act up now and again. At times, I would look left at shear cliffs and right at mountain walls. There was nowhere to go but forward. I learned to trust my driver, as our fate lied completely in his hands.
It was 4:00am, so far so good. We successfully made it through the mountains to the turnoff a Manu National Park. We had been driving about twenty-five minutes on this new road, and with each turn I expected to see our destination. I had no idea it was a further 13km to the viewpoint. At about ten kilometers in our driver was forced to make a quick u-turn. In a moment of confidence, he took the turn too sharply and the back-left wheel went off the road. Something underneath was disrupted, and all power shut off. This certainly startled the passengers, but our driver remained unphased. As he threw us in reverse, the bus slowly tipped to the left about twenty degrees towards a ditch. Enough was enough, and everyone quickly decided to get off before any more fatal corrections were made.
Fifteen minutes freezing my butt off. It was evident that our bus would not move for a while. Some cars were able to pass, but the process was slow. Half of our group decided to start walking to Tres Cruces, but I knew not all hope was lost. On this one lane road, the line behind our bus was quickly building up. I decided to take a walk to see what I could find.
About five cars back I ran into a pickup truck with an empty bed. The man behind the wheel was reluctant to open his window as I knocked, but eventually he allowed me to explain how we were stranded with no way to the viewpoint. He kindly let us climb into the back of his truck and eventually we were able to pass our infamous bus. I couldn’t hold back my smile as we easily sped past all those passengers slowly trudging up the mountain. I could see the jealousy in their eyes. I felt like nothing could stop us now. I was wrong. The journey lasted a little over a minute as we were suddenly stopped again. I looked ahead to see what was wrong but could see nothing. Two more women climbed into the truck, so I stayed put in fear of losing my place. Eventually the walkers we had left behind were passing us, and the time till sunrise was slowly ticking away. I walked up to inspect the problem. Another bus was stuck in the mud, and this time no one was able to pass. A group of us tried to push it out. It was useless, and I finally realized there was only one way I would see the sunrise.
I looked west, and the moon was barely hanging over the Andean mountain range. It was about 4:30am when we commenced the last part of our journey on foot. I’m not sure whom, but someone estimated it was around 3km to the viewpoint at Tres Cruces; I have no idea if this was accurate. All I know is that we walked, and walked, and walked. At over 12,200ft, the hike was unnecessarily grueling. Nothing could stop us, however, as we were determined to see this sunrise. There was no way I was going to miss it. About halfway through, I was certain we were nearly there. Around each bend I would expect to see the viewpoint, but I was repeatedly disappointed. Regardless, I knew there was only one way there and back, so continuing forward was our only option. By now, the moon behind us was gone and I kept hoping for the light ahead to wait. I looked up and saw thousands of stars littering the sky. I’ve never seen so many shooting stars in my life. In such darkness, I was not aware of space and time. All I had was the path under my feet and a direction to follow. I moved as quickly as possible.
We arrived and I had never been so relieved to not see the sun. Jackie and I laughed, between gasping breaths and gulps of water, at how ridiculous of an adventure this had been. The best was yet to come.
The view in front of me was one of the more spectacular I had ever witnessed. As I understand it, Tres Cruces is located on the last mountain range of the eastern Andes. Below it lays the vast and dense Amazon Jungle. We were standing between two worlds, towering mountains behind and thick jungle ahead. Because of the extreme temperature differences between the two climates, a thick layer of clouds had formed over the jungle. It was a sensational feeling looking down on these clouds, as if we were sitting on top of the world.
We carefully chose a spot away from the crowds so as to have nothing but this spectacular view in our peripheral vision. I was lucky to have brought multiple warm layers and a sleeping bag, for the temperature at that altitude must have been well below zero degrees. Once we had settled in, we eagerly anticipated this famed salida del sol. At around 5:30am, when we arrived, it was still dusk and tough to discern exactly what we were looking at. I couldn’t tell if it was clouds or trees, or some other figment of my imagination. Nonetheless, the skies gradually began to open up before us. As it became lighter, the objects before us took shape and meaning. The sea of clouds came alive; thick, dense, and packed uniformly beneath the horizon. My vision drifted upwards and behind us to see nothing but blue. It was like looking out into the ocean, with the sea and sky reversed.
As the moment approached, everyone focused their eyes on the horizon. A line of orange gradually formed. It slowly intensified, and the surrounding sky steadily brightened. It did this in stages; a thin layer of bright orange surrounded by one paler, followed by a pink that transformed to blue, then dark. These weak colors gained strength as the sun came closer. A small ball of yellow appeared; our first glimpse of the sun’s rays. This grew slowly, bulging out in a convex bubble. It seemed to ooze a faint haze. As this lump on the horizon swelled, the direct center illuminated to white. Alas, the sun! It rose to form the perfect sphere. I had never witnessed something so intense, but I could not avert my eyes. I kept my sunglasses low, intermittently watching from both perspectives. Above the mass of clouds, this sunrise managed to perform amazing feats. Almost hallucinogenic tricks; things your eyes saw but couldn’t manage to believe. Throughout it’s ascent, the sun remained pristine white. The circular edge, however, seemed to be boiling with the heat, radiating all sorts of fantastic colors. First orange, then yellow and green; all surrounded by an incredible blue. The colors mixed and matched to create an array of visually stunning artwork. However it saved the pink for last. At one point a faint pink emitted from the sphere. It gradually intensified and spread, overcoming all the other colors. Minutes later the surrounding sky was neon pink, with the boiling white ball lying directly at the center. I could not believe my eyes, not sure if these colors were real or in my mind. I felt completely satisfied, as if my whole life had added up to this one moment of perfection. This would not sustain though, as the sun continued to rise and the skies returned to normal. It was the most visually stunning sight I had ever seen.
The crowds slowly dispersed to make the journey back to Paucartambo. We lingered a bit, taking in our last fleeting sights of the panoramic view surrounding Tres Cruces. Unfortunately, as the sun warmed the Andes, the clouds below broke and quickly surrounded us. It was finally time to go; the festivities of Mamacha del Carmen awaited. We were lucky enough to find a nice man, Ricky, who was sympathetic to our plight. He allowed us to ride in the back of his pickup truck. That sunrise kept replaying in my mind.
