I would think back on moments of happiness when my son was still here, and I would think of the moments of solitude when he was taken away, and 1would translate all this into images in the arpilleras. ‘•Poor people die for lack of medical attention. ” Arpilleristas of Chile Translated by Margaret Thomas Chile, where an infamous U.S.-sponsored coup in 1973 overthrew the elected government of Socialist Salvador Allende, has in recent years been absent from the news, despite the Pinochet regime’s continued repression, and a dearth of human rights. Nearly every aspect of social and economic welfare has deteriorated in these eleven years. The people of Chile have been facing inflation, a severe lack of housing and basic services, unemployment and the suppression of unions. And, as people begin to act on their discontent, the government answers with more brutal repression. Even the middle class, which had bitterly raged against Allende before his downfall, has lately taken to the streets banging pots and pans in protest against Pinochet, and the Catholic Church has been applying steady, unyielding pressure on the government. In an attempt to stem this torrent of protest, the government has geared up their offense — raids, imprisonment, torture and the ubiquitous “disappearances.” Out of this climate has grown an amalgam of politics and folk-art — tapestries called arpilleras created by women whose families have suffered under the Pinochet regime — many are relatives of “missing” or disappeared persons. The effectiveness of this artistic expression may be gauged by the fact that these pieces of political handwork are outlawed and their export forbidden. Two women brought an exhibit of these arpilleras and their personal stories to the U.S. recently. Valentina Bone Pedrazo originated the idea, and has worked with several groups of women in Chile. Anita Rojas is one of the group’s participants. They were invited to the Northwest by the Council for Human Rights in Latin America. Though long-standing boycotts against Chilean products have been called off, due to the difficulty of maintaining the Chilean issue before the oversaturated American consumer, it is important to be aware of what is happening there today. And act upon our knowledge with conscience. Valentina Bone Pedrazo Iwas born in Chile, a country of mountains, where 300 years of struggle did not free us from the conquista- dores, and where independence did not free us from Spanish domination. My interest in art emerged naturally and I entered the School of Fine Arts. Through my contact with other students, and with student movements seeking community participation, I became involved in literacy work in marginal sectors. There, for the first time, I encountered the gratifying sensation of giving something useful to others: the ability to read and write. This work helped me to define many aspects of my life. I was in direct contact with different social classes and options, different rights, different ideas of justice, but all equal in their belief in the right to life and love. Slowly, I entered a period of self-confrontation and questioning. In an attempt to be consistent, I first dealt with the fact that I am a woman, and I began to work with women in shantytowns. Together we initiated an investigation into our cultural roots, the purest and least contaminated ones. They learned to be proud of their past and their indigenous origins when they showed their work, and thus they recuperated their self-esteem. We felt happy; it was the first step. . But roots aren't allthat matter. Our history is also important, because we are the product of 300 years of struggle, we are the product of cultural influences and of the slow impoverishment of our lands, of the import of luxury goods which we do not need, of the propaganda which transforms us into a consumer market for products we don’t produce, of seeing daily on the television a luxurious and exotic lifestyle which we try to imitate. And we are still in the hands of the con- quistadores. This reflection deepened my commitment to social change. After the military coup of September 1973, I was left unemployed, as were so many others. The military government's repression forced the Catholic Church, together with the Protestant churches, to give legal assistance to victims of political persecution. Thus was born the Committee for Peace. They asked me to develop arts and crafts work with women. The first group assigned to me was that of the women relatives of disappeared prisoners: mothers, wives and sisters. After my first interviews with them, it was obvious to me that they would not be able to concentrate on anything but their own pain, given the state of anguish they were in. I returned home with their anguish embedded within me, unable to believe what I had heard. Sons, husbands, brothers, all threatened and forcibly removed from their homes, their families unable to help them. Pregnant women were detained, couples with their children, all of them to disappear for weeks and sometimes months without anyone knowing a thing. Everything I had thought of doing with them made no sense, because the future work which we would take on together would have to serve as a form of catharsis. Each one of them began to transfer their story into images, and the images into tapestries. But the work went very slowly, and their nerves were in no condition for that. Finally, a Panamanian mola [a tapestry made by the San Blas Indians of Panama] caught my attention. I also recalled a foreign style which was in vogue at that time: patchwork. The following day we began to collect pieces of cloth, both used and new, and thread and yarn. With these we quickly put together our themes and assembled them. It was moving to see how, while weeping, these stories took shape. It was also enriching to see how somehow they also gave them happiness and the chance to release their pain. This collage of cloth was for us an innovative technique. Some visitors and foreign journalists saw those first results and took them with them. Others, moved by our problems, bought them, and pretty soon they were in demand inside and outside the country. That is how arpilleras came to be. Anita Rojas Iwas an apprentice seamstress when my son began to go to school. Since I was a single mother, I began to work as a domestic in a private home in order to provide for my son’s education. When he was little, I would take him to school and pick him up, and I worked until late to make up for the lost time. My son got very good grades and was able to go to the National Institute, which is a very good school. He later applied to the University of Chile’s School of Engineering; he was very intelligent and got one of the highest scores. I was extremely proud of him. During his third year of professional studies he was made a teaching assistant, so he worked and studied at the same time. When he received his first salary, he hugged me and said, “Mamita, don’t work anymore, now I will take care of you.” I had worked in my job for 15 years to be able to provide him with an education. We rented a modest house and my son would give me his entire salary in order to pay for the rent and other expenses. I convinced him to allow me to work half days because I wasn’t used to working so little. So we began to buy things we needed and little by little we furnished our home. On graduation day we were both so nervous and I was so happy when he gave me his diploma. “Now I’m an engineer,” he said. He applied for a job with the State Railroad Company and was immediately ac- cepte d. Years later, when Allende was elected President [in 1970], he was one of three persons called to fill the post of director of the company. When he was selected we had a party at our house to celebrate. We were both so happy and proud. “I will give you everything, Mamita,” he said, and he did. We moved to a beautiful house in a nice neighborhood and little by little we acquired all sorts of necessities. I felt that my role as a mother had been fulfilled. But then the coup came and everything was destroyed. Since my son was Director of the Railroad Company, he was fired one week after the coup. This part didn’t bother him very much; he. immediately went to work with another engineer in a private capacity, and he openly traveled all over the city. But I was very upset. I pleaded with him to seek asylum at a foreign embassy, but he would say to me that he had to stay in Chile, that he had to help his friends who were not doing well. He would take groceries, sheets and blankets to them, and I would accompany him on his trips to the shantytowns. On March 4,1975, they took him away from me. They were waiting for him at home when he arrived with his car, and they took him away. I thought that those men who were waiting for him were his friends, but when he didn’t come back that night — he never stayed out — I almost died. The next day I went to the Committee for Peace. There were other women there in the same situation I was in. I spoke with the social worker, with the lawyer, and I cried. I told them that without my son I would not be able to survive; that I would die. I was crazy, sick, distraught. I would cry all day in the streets. I wanted to kill myself if my son wasn’t found in six months. But then the com- paneras (companions) told me that I would have to confront the situation, that we all shared the same pain, that they were also suffering. That is where my struggle began. I told myself that I had to be strong; that I have to endure this blow because I have to know where my son is and I have to make this man in the government fall. The other women in the Association of Relatives of the Disappeared accepted me into their organization and I began to give myself strength and courage. My lawyer presented a writ of habeus corpus, which I personally took to the Supreme Court. I began to go to all the hosClinton St. Quarterly 11
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