Inside resembled the Madonna Vogue music video (thought without men in suits); I felt like everything around me was black, white and edgy. Smoking inside somehow seasoned the mood with independence and free spiritedness, combined with people standing casually with their cardigans, glasses and long dark hair with bangs. Some wore old newsboys hats and girls wore simple high heels and their bangs almost covering their eyes. The bar was cheap, and people held beer bottles that would be deposited in a wire shopping cart once finished, sitting next to the door. The walls were covered with Spanish words, posters, random memorabilia, sketches, little drawings of aliens or a map of the long skinny country. Like the inside of a high school locker, memories of the past and ripped out magazine pages covered the nondescript walls.
The place hadn’t existed a year ago, but now hosts members of the Indie music scene which is growing quickly. A girl from the States spotted me and served me beautiful English conversation. She is here pursuing a PhD in musicology, specifically checking out the Indie music scene. I commented that it felt like the 80s, with the electric keyboard and the style that people seemed to have. The singer had worn a modest pink dress with half her face covered by her hair and dark make up. She played an electronic keyboard with three female back-up singers swaying back and forth, doing different moves with their hands, dressed in black and white. A woman in a phosphorescent aqua dress joined them for one of the songs, performing a miniature rap in the middle. Green light magnified the seeming kitschy feel, reminding me of the red light bulb that I used to burn in my room occasionally accompanied by a pink and orange lava lamp.
“Some would say Chile never left the 80s,” said my United Statesian friend, “People are nostalgic about that time, when there was a strong sense of community pulling together during the Pinochet dictatorship.”
Before heading to the party, I had watched a documentary about photographers during the reign of Pinochet, who were killed for the exposure that their documentation brought. Their camera had more power than a gun, revealing the atrocities of the military dictator. Prior to Pinochet, Chile had a democratically elected Socialist leader, which was toppled by a military coup. Although the States may not fully admit it, there is evidence that the coup was backed by the CIA, in order to stop the Socialist regime. However, the leader that followed, proved to be worse. Pinochet killed thousands of dissidents, burying them alive in the mines at times. The documentary promoted the importance of not forgetting the lives that had been destroyed through conserving the photographs and publicizing them.
Watching footage of military vehicles spraying people with tear gas throughout the streets that I am currently getting to know, it seemed incredible that it was only in the 80s that this occurred. Observing Santiaguans through this lens, I now calculate out what age they would’ve been when the country was torn apart in this way. I now notice the strength of the people, having dealt with catastrophic earthquakes and a tyrannical regime, recovering from the pain with hospitality and vigor.
After this first social event, we moved on to a film party located in a similarly “underground” location behind a plain rectangular door carved into the concrete. Upon entering, my eyes feasted on another Vogue scene, only this time the members were older. The space inside felt like a barn – open with exposed rafters and functional walls and floor. A disco ball reflected sparkly light around the whole room, adding to mystique of the environment. I wanted to just stand and watch the people, as I am often like a deer in headlights when presented with so much newness in my environment. Again, the indoor cigarette sparks reminded me I was no longer in America.
“We are a bit early,” she told me at midnight, “Parties usually start around 1 or 2 in the morning. I don’t know why, but this is the culture.”
We stayed until only 2 AM and then made our way back to the apartment to the tune of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs in her friend Cecilia’s car. Part of me felt very at home, surrounded by people with similar interests to me, and the other part felt very tired from all the cultural digestion. Rosario helped me work on my Chilean slang back at the apartment which was completely helpful and necessary.
Running through the strip of parks that cut through the city this morning, to my newly discovered Chilean music, I passed statues and streets named after people and important events of their history. It’s common in South America to live on a street with a date (for example, 11 de Septiembre, which I believe was when Socialism ended). Passing police at the streetlights, I thought about how they were now mere traffic guards and seemed rather harmless. I thought about how lucky I have been, to live in a place where a tyrannical or military government has never been my reality. I have never been scared of my home surroundings, never thought the police would turn into the enemies. Reading about the intervention currently happening in Libya, I now think about the fear existing among the people of that region, not to mention so many other places in the world. How fast a government can change sometimes, when power is allowed to become a physical force.
Perhaps this is why the community feels so strong here and people have invited me to their birthday parties and family occasions. That sense of fear that they once felt, caused them to realize what was really important. Though it sounds cliché, what was once rebellion is now hospitality and empathy. Once you know pain well, you can’t help but understand people more deeply. I believe I have felt that deeper emotional knowledge all the way down the Andes. It comes out in their invitations, friendship and also their music.
Y por eso, me encanta.
