Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile [1 ed.] 9781626374140, 9781935049869

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POLICING PROTEST IN ARGENTINA AND CHILE

bonner-fm_ff-fm 10/18/13 10:50 AM Page 2

bonner-fm_ff-fm 10/18/13 10:50 AM Page 3

POLICING PROTEST IN ARGENTINA AND CHILE

Michelle D. Bonner

Published in the United States of America in 2014 by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.firstforumpress.com and in the United Kingdom by FirstForumPress A division of Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU © 2014 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A Cataloging-in-Publication record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: 978-1-935049-86-9 British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. This book was produced from digital files prepared by the author using the FirstForumComposer. Printed and bound in the United States of America The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992. 5 4 3 2 1

Contents

List of Tables List of Acronyms and Abbreviations Acknowledgments

vii ix xiii

1

Policing Protest

1

2

Rethinking Accountability

19

3

Police and Protest in Argentina: A History

39

4

Discourses on Protest Policing in Argentina

67

5

Media and Protest Policing in Argentina

83

6

Case Study: The Pueyrredón Bridge Protest

101

7

Police and Protest in Chile: A History

119

8

Discourses on Protest Policing in Chile

141

9

Media and Protest Policing in Chile

157

10 Case Study: The 2006 Student Protest

181

11 Comparing Argentina and Chile

203

Appendix 1: Repressive Protest Policing in Post-Authoritarian Latin America Appendix 2: Interviews Bibliography Index

215 217 225 243

v

Tables

2.1

Discursive Accountability

28

3.1

Insecurity in Argentina, 1999-2003

59

6.1

Clarín Coverage of the 2002 Pueyrredón Bridge Protest

104

10.1 El Mercurio Coverage of the 2006 Chilean Student Protest

185

11.1 Repression of Protests in Post-Authoritarian Latin America, 1980-2011

216

vii

Acronyms and Abbreviations

AMIA

Asociación Mutual Israelita de Argentina/ Argentine Israelite Mutual Association

Andha

Asociación Nacional de Deudores Habitacionales/ National Association of Housing Debtors (Andha Chile a Luchar)

BAPP

Buenos Aires Provincial Police

CADeP

Coordinadora Antirrepresiva por los Derechos del Pueblo/ Antirepressive Coordinator for the Rights of the People

CAJ

Corporación de Asistencia Judicial/ Judicial Assistance Corporation

CED

Centro de Estudios del Desarrollo/ Center for Development Studies

CELS

Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales/ Center for Legal and Social Studies

CIPER

Centro de Investigación e Información Periodística/ Center for Journalistic Research and Information (CIPER Chile)

CODEPU

Corporación de Promoción y Defensa de los Derechos del Pueblo/ Corporation for the Promotion and Defense of People’s Rights

COFAVI

Comisión de Familiares de Víctimas Indefensas de la Violencia Social, Policial, Judicial, Institucional/ Committee of Family Members of Defenseless Victims of Social, Police, Judicial, and Institutional Violence

ix

x

Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

CONADEP

Comisión Nacional Sobre la Desaparición de Personas/ National Commission on the Disappearance of People

CONADI

Comisión Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena/ Chile’s Indigenous Development Corporation

CONINTES

Conmoción Interna del Estado/ State Internal Disturbance (Plan CONINTES)

COPESA

Consorcio Periodístico de Chile/ Chilean Newspaper Consortium

Correpi

Coordinadora Contra la Represión Policial e Institucional/ National Coordinator Against Police and Institutional Repression

CSN

Consejo de Seguridad Nacional/ National Security Council

DC

Partido Democracia Cristiana/ Christian Democratic Party of Chile

DICOMCAR

Dirección de Comunicaciones de Carabineros/ Carabineros Communications Directorate

DINA

Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional/ National Intelligence Directorate

ERP

Ejército Revolucionario del Pueblo/ People’s Revolutionary Party

ETA

Euskadi Ta Askatasuna/ Basque Homeland and Freedom

FASIC

Fundación de Ayuda Social de la Iglesias Cristianas/ Social Assistance Foundation of the Christian Churches

FECh

Federación de Estudiantes de Chile/ Student Federation of Chile

FTV

Frente Tierra y Vivienda/ Land and Housing Front

GN

Gendarmería Nacional Argentina/ Argentine National Gendarmerie

List of Acronyms and Abbreviations

INDEC

Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Censos/ Argentine National Institute of Statistics and Census

La Liga

La Liga Argentina por los Derechos del Hombre/ Argentine League for the Rights of Man

MIR

Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionario/ Revolutionary Left Movement

NGO

non-governmental organization

OAS

Organization of American States

PC

Partido Comunista de Chile/ Chilean Communist Party

PDI

Policía de Investigaciones de Chile/ Investigative Police of Chile

PFA

Policía Federal Argentina/ Argentine Federal Police

PPD

Partido por la Democracia/ Party for Democracy (Chile)

RN

Renovación Nacional/ National Renovation Party of Chile

SIDE

Secretaría de Inteligencia del Estado/ Secretariat of State Intelligence

UCR

Unión Cívica Radical/ Civic Radical Union (Argentina)

UDI

Unión Democrata Independiente/ The Independent Democrat Union (Chile)

UDP

Universidad Diego Portales/ Diego Portales University

UP

Unidad Popular/Popular Unity (Chile)

xi

Acknowledgments

As is always the case, many people made this book possible. I should like to begin by thanking all the police experts I had the chance to interview in Argentina and Chile for their assistance and time. It was a privilege to have had the opportunity to learn from them. A number of people went out of their way to help me connect with those I interviewed. In particular, I should like to thank Lucía Dammert, Graciela Di Marco, Ximena Erazo, Hugo Frühling, and Claudia Lagos. Lucía Dammert and Hugo Frühling were particularly generous with their time when I was first orienting myself to the study of policing in Chile. The ideas in this book developed from the comments I received in many different venues. I thank Enrique Peruzzotti for taking the time to provide me with valuable feedback at various stages during the project. In particular, I thank him for reviewing an earlier version of the first two chapters. At a number of conferences and workshops, I received important comments from many people including Jon Beasley-Murray, Max Cameron, Alex Dawson, Jean Deaudelin, Claude Denis, Andreas Feldman, Nibaldo Galleguillos, Francisco Gutiérrez Sanín, Eric Hershberg, Mike Kempa, Mary Rose Kubal, Patrice McSherry, Tony Pereira, Pablo Policzer, Guillermina Seri, and Jorge Zaverucha. Colleagues at the University of Victoria also have taken the time to read over drafts of my work and discuss my ideas with me. In particular, I should like to thank Avigail Eisenberg, Cindy Holder, Matt James, Denis Pilon, Laura Parisi, and Scott Watson, as well as the members of the Latin American Research Group. Finally, I thank Phil Oxhorn for his continued mentorship. Of course, any errors or omissions are my own. I have had the opportunity to work with a large number of excellent research assistants in Canada, Argentina, and Chile. Pablo Ouziel took on the monumental job of transcribing my interviews, which led to many very interesting discussions between us. My interviewees noted the tenaciousness of my assistant in Argentina, Florencia Franco, who coordinated an invaluable interview schedule for me. Enrique Castro assisted me in the same tireless manner in Chile. Caitlin Craven, Marie-

xiii

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Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

Andrée Fallu, Sam Grey, Georgina Nicoll, Carlos Rotondaro, and Paul Ruban all assisted me in various ways with aspects of the book. This project was funded by a Social Science and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC) grant. Seed money was provided by the University of Ottawa. The bulk of the research benefited from the institutional support of the University of Victoria. It has been a pleasure to work with Sandy Thatcher and Lynne Rienner. I thank them for both their support of my work and their superb editorial advice. Finally, I should like to thank my family in Canada and Argentina who have provided me encouragement, discussion, and assistance. They made the simultaneous projects of writing this book and starting a family possible. Thank you to Germán Ebert Correa, Simona Ebert, Máximo Ebert, Margot and Ken Bonner, Marta Correa, Rubén Ebert, and Analía Ebert Correa.

1 Policing Protest

When I was taking pictures of the protest and the tear gas, I saw that in the center of a park there were a few Carabineros on horseback beating a group of people (women, children, men) — people who had left the protest and were gathered in the park. I saw this, and I went running to take pictures of what was happening. In ten or fifteen seconds, very quickly, the people ran. I took the pictures I needed and I retreated. I walked a few meters and then I saw one of those same Carabineros on horseback coming toward me with the clear intention of hurting me. I lifted my equipment and camera and told him “calm down. It’s all over. Nothing’s going on.” He came galloping and didn’t stop. All I felt was the hit from the point of his stick while he was galloping by. Imagine! I felt he had passed and I ran after him taking pictures. At that point I thought I had lost my eye, because he hadn’t touched me anywhere else, just the whip of the tip of the stick entering directly into my eye and him galloping off. Imagine the force with which it entered! —Víctor Salas, photojournalist for Agencia EFE, recounting his experience at a protest in Valparaíso, Chile, on May 21, 2008, when he almost lost his eye.1

The experience of Víctor Salas is not isolated. Despite the return of electoral democracy to most of Latin America in the 1980s and early 1990s, thousands of protesters and journalists continue to be arbitrarily arrested, injured, or even killed by police. At the most extreme, dramatic events result in many people losing their lives to police violence. For example, during the December 2001 economic and political crisis in Argentina, thirty-nine protesters were killed. Yet such repressive protest policing is not limited to dramatic and destabilizing events. Nor does it occur only in countries, like Argentina, where police are widely known by the public to be violent. Chile is a relatively stable democracy, with a well-respected police force. However, police in Chile have killed

1

2

Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

protesters as recently as 2008 and 2011. Less fatal police repression of protest is routine.2 When police are called upon to manage protests in Latin America, most use a reactive approach known as “escalated force.” Police increase the level of force they use in response to perceived changes in protesters’ behavior. In some cases, the escalation of force can be rapid and extreme. Since 1980, police in electoral democracies in Latin America have used the following tactics and tools to manage protests: tear gas, water cannons (sometimes laced with acid), rubber bullets, live ammunition, mass arbitrary arrests, beatings, clubs, batons, grenades, cattle prods, rubber hoses, birdshot, buckshot, truncheons, and charging with police horses. While some of these methods of crowd control can be used without the injury or death of protesters, the equipment is not always used in this manner. For example, tear gas can arguably be used safely unless it is fired directly at a person or in a confined space. Tear gas can affect babies, the elderly, and those with respiratory problems differently than those who are strong and healthy. It also cannot be contained, potentially affecting those who are not protesting. In addition, many reports suggest that police often attack protesters with the intention of causing injury. Once protesters are arrested and in police custody there are many reports of torture and beatings.3 In sum, police repression of protests in Latin America is problematic. More specifically, it is problematic for democracy. According to the Inter-American Human Rights Commission, “societal participation through public demonstration is important for the consolidation of [the] democratic life of societies. In general, as an exercise of freedom of expression and freedom of assembly, it is of crucial social interest, which in turn leaves the State with very narrow margins to justify restrictions on this right” (OAS 2005: 140). Police repression of protests involves not only violence but also any action by police that increases the costs of collective action, and thus of freedom of speech and freedom of assembly (Tilly 1978: 100). Whereas some methods of policing crime can also be problematic for democracy, protest policing affects an even larger segment of the population. Citizens, including those who are not normally targeted as “criminals,” come in contact with police during protests in ways that can be perceived as actually and symbolically demarcating the limits of democracy by highlighting the boundaries of acceptable public criticism and state force. Citizens’ trust in the police, the legal system, and their political leaders may be colored by these experiences. Yet most studies of police reform and democratization do not address protest policing.

Policing Protest

3

In particular, a study of accountability is missing. If the right to protest is fundamental to democracy, it follows that those responsible for repressive protest policing should, in a democracy, be held accountable. However, accountability is not straightforward. Protest policing is a complex challenge in all democracies. New democracies contend with the added difficulties of authoritarian legacies and violent forms of democracy that have emerged in many countries.4 Across regime types, an important part of the challenge of establishing accountability for repressive protest policing is that it is not viewed, in every society or every instance, as wrongdoing. Political and public support for mano dura or iron fist policing has been noted as a significant challenge to police reform generally throughout Latin America (Ungar 2011: 22-29; Uildriks 2009: 2; Harriott 2009: 124; Fuentes 2005). Protest policing is not an exception. In this book I tackle the challenge of mano dura discourses and assess how protest policing is framed in Argentina and Chile. I ask: what role does discourse play in accountability for repressive protest policing? In particular, how do key state, society, and media actors frame acceptable and unacceptable protest policing? I argue that discourse matters for accountability in that it can establish repressive protest policing as wrongdoing, a precondition if other mechanisms of accountability are to be pursued or applied effectively. In addition, discourses frame, or provide the boundaries of, accountability by clarifying who is responsible, for what, and which mechanisms of institutional accountability should be pursued. By identifying these boundaries, discursive frames become a method of accountability in that they can simultaneously shame the identified wrongdoers, demand answers, and advocate for the activation of the identified mechanism of institutional accountability. The answers to these questions of responsibility are debated in the literature on protest policing as well as between political and social actors in most countries, regardless of their regime type. In every case, the answers have implications for the state and societal understanding of what is acceptable or unacceptable protest policing. In what follows I explore the debates in the protest policing literature regarding who is responsible for what, and how they should be held accountable. This exploration reveals how one’s starting point regarding who is responsible for repressive protest policing affects discussions of wrongdoing and accountability.

4

Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

Who Is Responsible for Repressive Protest Policing? What Did They Do Wrong? “Our police are absolutely not repressive … [although] there might be an individual police officer who acts in a repressive manner, especially in moments of conflicts.” —communications officer, Chilean Ministry of the Interior “Police repression of protests has to do with how it is addressed in the media, the position of the government, and how protest and poverty are criminalized.” —member of piquetero group Frente Santillán, Argentina. “If there is a protest here, we do what the judge says.” —Director of Communications, Argentine Federal Police

Who is responsible for repressive protest policing? What have they done that has instigated or caused repressive protest policing? Many scholars have studied the relationship between protests and repression, mostly in the context of established democracies. Each study centers its attention on the responsibility of some actors, paying less attention to others. Those actors identified by scholars as responsible for repressive protest policing include the government, protesters, individual police officers, police as an institution, the media, and no one. In what follows I explore the assumptions and conclusions that emerge from concentrating research on particular actors. Government

For some, responsibility for the repression of protests lies in the political leadership, government, or regime type (e.g., Tilly 1978; Gamson 1990; Gurr and Lichbach 1986; Carey 2006). Some regime types or forms of government repress more than others. For example, established democracies repress protests less than authoritarian regimes or new democracies. In this approach it is assumed that political leaders or the government call on the police to use repression and the police follow their orders. In addition, political leaders might establish laws that increase the range of situations in which police will be expected to use repression (e.g., Kirchheimer 1961; Balbus 1973; Fernandez 2008). It is assumed that the police will enforce these laws. Similarly, in the case study of Argentina analyzed in this book, interviewees identify the judiciary as responsible for the repression of protests. In Argentina, under certain conditions, judges can order the police to clear public

Policing Protest

5

spaces. Police follow orders. Political leaders might also reduce opportunities or institutionalized channels for resolving disputes with protesters, leaving dispute management to the police (e.g., Geary 1985; Della Porta and Reiter 2006: 187). Protesters

Many of the studies on the role of governments in the repression of protests also note the dynamic relationship with protesters. For example, Gamson (1990) finds that protesters’ use of nonviolence, as a practice and philosophy, decreases their chances of facing repression. As protesters become more violent, repression increases. The scale (geographic or numeric size) of the protest can also contribute to repression (Tilly 1978: 111). The larger the protest, the greater the chances are that it will be repressed.5 The identity of protesters also matters. Della Porta elaborates that repression may be influenced by the history of the police’s interaction with the group protesting (1998: 20). Some protesters, based on who they are, are more likely to face repression than others. This might be because they are viewed as countercultural (Wisler and Giugni 1999: 178-181) or they lack power (Tilly 1978: 111). In sum, from this perspective, repressive protest policing is a response to protesters’ tactics or identities — protesters are, at least in part, responsible for the repression that follows. Most studies do not evaluate the normative, discursive, or legal acceptability of such repression. Individual Police Officers

Assigning blame to the government or protesters, assumes that the police merely follow orders. When they do not, a common practice by police, political leaders, and sometimes the media is to attribute the wrongdoing to a particular officer or officers as “bad-apples.” This practice aims to maintain the legitimacy of the government and police while providing accountability (Beetham 1991). A study of police repression in the United States found that more often than the police as an institution, individual officers were identified in political, police, and media reports as the bad-apples responsible for repression (Lawrence 2000). In these cases, neither the government nor the police as an institution has done anything wrong. An individual officer is alleged to have gone beyond his or her orders and used excessive force for which he or she will be punished.

6

Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

The Police Institution

Despite assumptions in some of the protest policing literature that police simply follow the orders given to them by a government, there is no consensus in the literature on policing that the police as an institution always do so (Marenin 1996). Police in all societies have a great deal of discretion regarding when and how they enforce laws; enforcing all laws all the time is a logistical impossibility. Police also have varying degrees of institutional autonomy from the state, depending on the country. In some countries this autonomy can be substantial. Thus police, as an institution, may make choices regarding how they manage protests that favor greater repression. They may or may not be responding to the explicit orders of the government. For example, in the cases of the 1997 APEC conference in Vancouver, Canada, and the visit of the Chinese president to New Zealand in 1999, studies found that explicit government demands that the protesters be repressed were never found. Repression in these cases refers to the use of police tactics such as pepper spray, arbitrary arrest, reduction of protester visibility, and sirens to drown out protester chants. Yet, in both cases, the authors found that the police implicitly knew what was expected of them and acted upon this knowledge (Ericson and Doyle 1999; Baker 2007). In other cases, such as Waddington’s study of the London police, police do not enforce laws that support their use of repression because they see the laws as causing them too much “trouble” — increasing the chances of escalating protester violence or producing a future inquiry into police conduct (Waddington 1998: 119-120). Thus the police, as an institution, makes choices regarding how they manage protests and these choices can favor or reduce their use of repression. Given the discretion that the police have, it is important to consider the techniques available to police when they manage protests. Is it possible for police to manage all protests without the use of repression? As I mentioned earlier, most police in Latin America follow a policy of escalated force when managing protests. This technique or style of managing protests has a long history in established democracies as well. Escalated force was the standard protest policing style in most established democracies until about the 1980s. In the 1980s and 1990s, preventive protest policing, often referred to as “negotiated management,” became the dominant approach to managing protests (Baker 2007; Ericson and Doyle 1999; Della Porta 1998; Waddington 1994, 1998; Earl, Soule, and McCarthy 2003; Wisler and Giugni 1999: 174) and continues to be used as an approach today

Policing Protest

7

(Della Porta and Reiter 2006: 185). The specifics of negotiated management vary from country to country but include some of the following. Protest groups approach the police, or the police approach them, prior to the protest. In some countries protesters are required to inform the police of an upcoming demonstration through obtaining a protest permit and in others they are not. At this point, in some countries, the police will work with the protesters in the organization of the event. In Britain, Waddington explains that police negotiate with protesters amicably, emphasizing that they want to help the organizers, and they may even side with the protesters over the wishes of political authorities (1998: 121). In Italy, in the 1990s, Della Porta found that police saw their role as mediators who aim to defuse potential disruptions. They would go as far as to call on social or political authorities to respond to protesters, contact journalists, or organize press conferences (Della Porta 1998: 237). In Britain, if the protest route chosen by the police is not one that is preferred by the protesters, police use persuasion through argumentation to convince organizers that it is the only option (Waddington 1998: 123). Once the protest begins, police emphasize surveillance work over force. They attend wearing normal police clothes, not riot gear. If riot gear may be needed, it is kept hidden from sight (Waddington 1998: 122).6 Laws are not rigidly enforced. Waddington explains that, in London, police arrest of protesters is rare, not because protesters obey the law, but because “Nonarrest is a formal policy adopted by senior officers and communicated to their subordinates through briefings. On some occasions, impediments to arrest will be deliberately introduced in order to restrain zealous subordinates” (Waddington 1998: 118). Thus, even when police powers vis-à-vis protesters were increased in 1986, the laws were almost never applied (ibid: 119). Similarly, in Italy, police are trained to use information to make arrests after a demonstration (Della Porta 1998: 240). The assumption is that police action during a protest can escalate rather than diminish problems. Police in Italy report that the use of coercive tactics such as firearms, water cannons, baton charges, or tear gas are now generally considered to be “a failure in policing terms” (Della Porta 1998: 231). Officially, in the 1980s and 1990s, negotiated management was the norm in established democracies and it continues to be used today. However, this approach is not always practiced (Della Porta 1998: 232234). Repression was, and still is, used, but selectively. Studies have found that police use of repression may depend on the power of the group protesting, the scale of the protest, and the tactics used by the

8

Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

protesters (Tilly 1978: 106-111; Gamson 1990: 81-87). For example, since the late 1990s, there has been a resurgence of more repressive policing practices against “transnational” or “antiglobalization” protests (e.g., Della Porta, Peterson, and Reiter 2006; Fernandez 2008; Gillham and Noakes 2007). Some scholars, working on the policing of antiglobalization protests, argue that since the 1999 World Trade Organization protest in Seattle police have responded to new protester tactics with a new protest policing style (Noakes and Gillham 2006; Gillham and Noakes 2007; King and Waddington 2006; Vitale 2005; Fernandez 2008). Noakes and Gillham (2006) refer to the new style as “strategic incapacitation.” However, others argue that what has emerged is not a new protest policing style; it is old (a version of escalated force). Protest policing remains, as it always has been, selective. Negotiated management continues to be used when possible (Della Porta and Reiter 2006; Reiter and Fillieule 2006). Even in response to antiglobalization protests, police will negotiate with those social movement organizations willing to negotiate. The challenge for police is that not all organizations are willing to negotiate (Gillham and Noakes 2007).7 In many other cases, repression does not occur because protests are tolerated or self-policed, or else police simply do not show up. Even during the height of the civil rights movement in the 1960s, Earle, Soule, and McCarthy found that in New York State police did not show up for 69 percent of protests (2003: 590). Thus police make choices regarding how they will manage a protest and have varying levels of autonomy in this choice. Their choices have potential consequences for the repression of protests. Police, as an institution, can be held independently responsible for the repression or nonrepression of protests. The Media

The specific reasons why most established democracies moved from “escalated force” to “negotiated management” as their official protest policing style vary from country to country, but one common element is the role of the media. That is, the literature on protest policing agrees that the media play an important intervening role in reducing or encouraging the repression of protests (Gamson 1990: 158; Geary 1985: 130; Wisler and Giugni 1999: 173; Della Porta and Reiter 1998: 18; Fernandez 2008). From the 1950s to the 1980s, media expanded dramatically. The number of newspapers multiplied, especially tabloids. Television grew enormously, as did radio. In the United States this expansion meant that not only were police using violence against civil rights protests but, and

Policing Protest

9

perhaps more importantly, many people were seeing police repression of protests for the first time on television (Lawrence 2000). For example, Misner explains: “It was not until the civil rights struggle achieved daily prominence in the information media that the public gained any information about, or reflected upon, the relationship of the police to Negroes and the civil rights struggle” (1969: 111-112). This, he argues, gradually changed how police managed protests, and he provides a single example of how police used what has come to be known as negotiated management to peacefully respond to a protest in 1964 (Misner 1969: 118-119). In Britain, Geary found that the media were one of three key factors in reducing police repression of labor disputes. He explains that “the presence of television cameras has a restraining effect on the behavior of pickets and police” (Geary 1985: 128). Senior officers are concerned about their image and “constables are trained not to react violently in situations where they might be filmed or photographed” (ibid: 130). Similarly, in Italy, Della Porta found that the police need to be seen as legitimate by citizens and by the government. The media can influence public opinion and political decision-making on protest policing. Thus she states: “The mere presence of journalists, in fact, appears to have a de-escalating effect on the police” (Della Porta 1998: 18). Of course, the media do not always criticize repressive protest policing. Most authors recognize that the media have been a primary site of debate regarding “law and order” (or mano dura) understandings of protest policing that accept or encourage repression and “civil rights” frames that favor nonrepressive protest policing. All the studies of established democracies found that over time the “civil rights” frame emerged as dominant in the media, contributing to a decrease in repressive protest policing. In their study of protests in four Swiss cities from 1968 to 1994, Wisler and Giugni (1999) argue that social movements learned to use the media in their favor, decreasing the ability of the police to frame repressive protest policing as justified. This, they argue, has played an important role in the decrease of violence and an increase in police use of “preventive and negotiating strategies” (1999:174). In addition, during this same time period, police in many established democracies became much more sensitive regarding their public image. Studies of the United States, Canada, and Britain have shown the emergence, since the 1980s, of police communications departments employing public relations techniques aimed to proactively improve their media image (e.g., Mawby 2002; Ericson 1989; Surette and Richard 1995). The adoption of police public relations has occurred as a

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Policing Protest in Argentina and Chile

response to a number of changes in the media and in public management, but has also been found by police to facilitate police work and increase institutional resources. Hence police, more than in the past, care about their image in the media. Protests are an important public relations venue owing to the potentially significant media coverage of such events (Mawby 2002). Police care if the media criticize them, review the media regularly to see if they have been criticized, and analyze how they have been criticized. They change their practices accordingly (or, at least, change their public relations tactics).8 Thus the media are an intervening variable when it comes to assigning responsibility for the repression of protests. The media can promote a law-and-order frame (mano dura) that favors repression or might emphasize a civil-rights frame that presents police repression of protest as wrongdoing.9 The choice might be ideological (those to the political right tend to favor the law-and-order frame and those on the political left tend to favor a civil-rights frame). But the choice can also be affected by journalistic practices such as the sources they use, biases they hold, and the way they respond to efforts by police to stage-manage coverage (Wisler and Giugni 1999: 178-181, 184; Della Porta and Reiter 1998: 19; Geary 1985: 131). Consequently, while a shift from a lawand-order to a civil-rights frame for understanding protest policing appears to have taken place in established democracies, such a shift cannot be assumed to be inevitable nor necessarily permanent. No One

Finally, and concluding the discussion of debates regarding who is responsible for the repression of protests and why, it is possible that no one will be deemed responsible. Dominant discourses emanating from the state, society, or media, or all three, may not perceive repressive protest policing as wrongdoing. Highlighting this issue, the anthropological literature on violence suggests that cultural context is important. Cultural context contributes to whether violence is judged by societies as legitimate or illegitimate (Whitehead 2004a: 5). Violence, like repression, is not a clear concept but, as Whitehead eloquently describes it, “is always a matter of degree, intensity, and culturally competent judgement, which constructs such vehement actions as violent” (Whitehead 2004b: 63). Discourses on violence and repression act as a window into this cultural context. In new democracies, there is a legacy of recent violence that may influence what is considered legitimate or illegitimate force. Nordstrom (2004) calls this legacy “the tomorrow of violence.” As she describes it,

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new democracies are recovering from a period of trauma that can have an intergenerational impact on fear, silences, the continuation of violence (domestic and civil), and police repression, including support for it (Nordstrom 2004; also see Kaiser 2005). This legacy could lead to more violent protesters and more violent police response. In turn, the public in new democracies may view violence and repression as historically consistent. More than history, the new forms of democracy that have emerged in Latin America also support various forms of violence including criminal violence, paramilitarism, vigilantism, and police violence generally (Arias and Goldstein 2010). I discuss this phenomenon more in chapter 2 but, in brief, Arias and Goldstein (2010) and Arias and Bobea (2012) contend that violence is in fact part of what is maintaining the current function of states in Latin America. This violence is both a legacy of authoritarianism and a new configuration linked to regime type. A dominant frame of law and order (mano dura) for understanding protest policing may make sense in this context. A law-and-order frame can provide justifications for repression that successfully challenge arguments that question its legitimacy. In sum, it cannot be taken for granted that the repression of protest will be viewed, in any given society, at any time, as wrongdoing. That said, “societies” are rarely uniform in their judgments, and authoritarian legacies and lived realities affect people in different ways. Although the dominant frame might justify repressive protest policing, counterframes usually exist. These counterframes are the basis upon which future dominant frames for accountability are built. As we have seen, there is no consensus in the literature, or in most countries, as to when and why police repression is excessive and who is responsible. It is a matter of degree and judgement. The assumption or goal in the civil-rights frame and in negotiated management is that, when called upon to manage protests, police will use their discretion in favor of the most minimal level of force available to them. Police actions will aim to protect protesters and their right to protest (see, e.g., OAS 2005: 143). Yet for effective accountability it must be clear when wrongdoing has occurred, who did what, and why it was wrongdoing. Someone (or some people) needs to be answerable and, if found to have violated norms or laws, punished. In this way, dominant discourses regarding who is responsible and what they did that was wrong can affect future uses of repression in protest policing by those identified as responsible and establish boundaries for acceptable responses.

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How Should Wrongdoers Be Held Accountable? “The fear of the Kirchners is that at some point the police will kill an innocent person and that would be negative for their image.” —Argentine journalist, La Nación “The Carabineros take these actions because they know no one can do anything about it.” —communications officer, Chilean Colegio de Profesores

As with assigning blame, when wrongdoing is acknowledged, important debates occur regarding the appropriate mechanisms of accountability to be used. The range of choices reflects dominant discourses regarding who is responsible and for what. The mechanisms supported in dominant frames also contribute to political, police, media, and social actors’ knowledge regarding what may be considered an acceptable response to protests in the future. There are a number of institutional options available to force wrongdoers to answer for their wrongdoing and face punishment. Not all of these options will necessarily be pursued. The first set of mechanisms individualizes responsibility for wrongdoing. These forms of accountability may be consistent with a law-and-order frame as well as a civil-rights frame. One could hold that the repression of protests is acceptable but some individuals may have acted in a way that was excessive. Individualizing wrongdoing can be used as a way to maintain the legitimacy of particular political leaders or institutions, such as the police. Individualized mechanisms of accountability include: Resignations. Individual officers may be asked to resign. Cabinet ministers may be asked to resign. The chief of police may be asked to resign. The president or prime minister might be forced to resign — or flee, as was the case in Argentina in 2001. Institutional Sanctions. A police officer may be put on desk duty or forced to take a leave without pay. A political leader might be removed from the cabinet or have his or her political party membership revoked. Trials. Charges may be laid against individual police officers, political leaders, or protesters and a trial might proceed. The trial might take place in civilian or military courts. The appropriate court to use also might be an area of debate.

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Elections. The event might affect electoral outcomes; those deemed responsible (justifiably or not) might be voted out of office. Another set of mechanisms of accountability extends responsibility beyond individuals. These mechanisms are more consistent with a civilrights frame than a law- and-order frame, as they assume that the repression of protests is not acceptable and emphasize the need for a full investigation into the context within which individuals or their institutions made decisions in favor of repressive protest policing. Nonindividualized mechanisms of accountability include: An Inquiry. An official inquiry might be called to connect the actions of a number of people or institutions or both. The inquiry might suggest appropriate institutional reforms. Institutional Reform. Police or judicial reform might be called for to change procedures, training, and policies that may have contributed to repression. It might also be argued that new laws, the derogation of laws, or reform of laws are needed in order to ensure future accountability. It could be advocated that new or improved institutional mechanisms of dispute resolution are needed. Finally, it might be strongly advocated or implicitly held that no mechanisms of accountability need to be applied; there was no wrongdoing and no further discussion is needed. That is, because mechanisms exist to hold those responsible for the repression of protests accountable, does not mean they will be used. If they are used, those responsible for deciding guilt might find ways to diminish the responsibility of the accused. For example, in one case in Chile, military court judges found a police officer guilty of “unnecessary violence causing death” for shooting a protester in the back. The officer was sentenced by the court to three years and one day on probation.10 Similarly, since protesters can be violent and can contribute to their own repression (based on their identity or actions), some argue, it may be decided that those who need to be held responsible are the protesters, and perhaps the protesters alone. Protesters may be charged using existing laws or new laws put in place to restrict future protests. Thus a dominant frame supportive of repressive protest policing can influence judges’ decisions or limit (or individualize) the mechanism of accountability pursued. In short, it matters how a protest is framed.

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To summarize, state, society, and media discourses can provide accountability by establishing that wrongdoing occurred, who is responsible, what they did, and which mechanisms of accountability need to be activated. The answers to these questions are specific to individual countries and events. There is rarely consensus, but there are dominant and counterframes for understanding protest policing. Studies of established democracies show that, when dominant frames support civil rights over law and order, then protest policing becomes less repressive. A civil-rights frame views repressive protest policing as wrongdoing and increases the scope of who may be deemed responsible, for what, and what the mechanisms of accountability might be that are pursued. A dominant civil-rights frame provides what I call “discursive accountability.” I discuss this concept in detail in chapter 2. Comparing Argentina and Chile

The cases of Argentina and Chile are particularly interesting for analyzing discourses on accountability for repressive protest policing. In each case study, the discourses are distinct, but both facilitate repressive protest policing. The comparison reveals that, while debates between law-and-order and civil-rights frames for understanding protest policing are important, it is also valuable to pay attention to how responsibility is attributed. In Chile, order and the rule of law are very important. The Carabineros, Chile’s national police, are the enforcers of the law and upholders of order. They are very well respected, despite their historical involvement in the Pinochet dictatorship (see chapter 7). The media, dominated by a conservative duopoly of El Mercurio and Copesa media groups, generally frame police actions positively and question the actions of protesters (see chapters 9 and 10). Critiques of the police and repressive protest policing exist but are not dominant in the media, political discourse, or civil society (Fuentes 2005; chapters 8 and 10 below). The dominant discursive frame supports police use of repression to control protests and identifies protesters as meriting such a response owing to who they are and their actions. Thus, although police could use their discretion and ample autonomy to not repress protests, there is little discursive support for this option. Between 1990 and 2011, police killed twelve protesters in Chile. The most recent case was in 2011. Given the relatively less frequent occurrence of protests in Chile compared to Argentina (especially prior to 2006), the number of protester deaths is high. Moreover, nonlethal police violence and repression against protesters are routine.

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In contrast, in Argentina, a civil-rights frame dominates public discourse. The police were largely delegitimized during the last military regime and remain delegitimized through, in part, significant media critique of their continued involvement in crime and violence (see, e.g., Dutil and Ragendorfer 1997). Media, while politicized, are plural. They reflect and contribute to state and civil society discourses that are critical of police repression of protests. Yet the repression of protests continues and can be very violent. Sixty people have been killed in protests in Argentina since the return of electoral democracy in 1983.11 The most recent case was in 2010. A closer examination of discourses finds that responsibility for repression is obfuscated and, consequently, there are moments when police repression of protest is implicitly deemed legitimate by political leaders, if not by society as a whole. The case of Chile is a classic example of dominant law-and-order frames contributing to and reflecting support for repressive protest policing. It is possible that, like post-fascist Germany and Italy (Della Porta 1998), with time dominant frames could shift in favor of a civilrights frame. If this is the case, then, based on studies of established democracies, media practices might play an important role. While this book explores the possibilities for a shift, there is nothing certain about such a change. The case of Argentina highlights some of the obstacles. To be sure, the Argentine state is much more politicized than that in Chile and this politicization affects discourses on protest policing (Chalmers 1977). The case of Argentina highlights the fact that a pluralistic media, civil society, and political leadership that is generally supportive of a civil-rights over a law-and-order frame is important, but not sufficient, especially when repression of protest is linked to patronclientelism. The obfuscation of responsibility can facilitate the selective use of repression for political ends. Thus the shift in dominant discourse that may contribute to reduced repressive protest policing is more complicated and subtle. The case of Argentina reveals that it may be additionally important that civil-rights discourses — conducted by political leaders, civil society, or the media — include a coherent and consistent position on institutional responsibility and needed reforms. That is, it is important that repressive protest policing is framed as wrongdoing, but it is also important how accountability is framed (who, why, and how). Understanding the discursive debates on these issues can contribute to a better understanding of the challenges of repressive protest policing in new democracies.

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The Structure of the Book

The purpose of this book is to understand the role of discourse in accountability for repressive protest policing. Repressive protest policing occurs everywhere, but what is important in a democracy is that those responsible are held accountable. In new democracies, such as those in Latin America, establishing effective accountability is a significant but important challenge. In chapter 2, I provide a more complete theoretical discussion of the role of discourse in accountability and its importance to the study of protest policing in Latin America. In that chapter, I link the conceptual theory to the methodological approach of the book. Thus the logic of the structure of the chapters is explained in more detail at the end of chapter 2. Briefly, the book is comprised of two case studies, Argentina and Chile. I begin each case study by analyzing the history of protest policing in the country in order to identify what may appear familiar to audiences in each country (chapters 3 and 7). With this history in mind, I then move on to an identification and analysis of the dominant and counterframes used by police experts in each country (chapters 4 and 8). These chapters draw on over one hundred interviews conducted between the two countries. The purpose is to understand how those who are most familiar with and leading public discussions on policing issues in their country frame protest policing, unfiltered by the media. I find that repressive protest policing is justified in Chile but rejected in Argentina. However, responsibility for repressive protest policing in Argentina is obfuscated, providing opportunities for its continuation. In chapters 5 and 9, I consider the intervening role of the media. I assess journalistic practices that favor or challenge dominant frames. In particular, I analyze journalists’ bias against protesters, the authoritative sources journalists use, and the role of police in stage-managing media coverage of protests. I find that the manner in which journalists cover protests affects dominant frames on protest policing. Journalistic practices in Argentina favor a civil-rights frame and those in Chile favor a law-and-order frame. Key events can change dominant frames or at the very least act as a reference point in future events that accumulatively contribute to a shift in the dominant frame. Through interviews, I identify a key protest in each country that was described as “emblematic” or a turning point in how the public viewed the repression of protests. In Argentina, this was the repression of a protest on Pueyrredón Bridge in 2002. In Chile, this was the 2006 student protest. In chapters 6 and 10, I draw on the previous chapters to analyze newspaper coverage of the events. I assess

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who is identified as responsible for wrongdoing, what they reportedly did wrong, and what mechanisms of accountability are advocated. In Argentina, the rejection of repressive protest policing is strong. In contrast, in Chile, the rejection of repressive protest policing is much more restrained but very significant in the context of that country. In Chile, students played an important role in shaping a change in dominant discourses by learning how to manage the media. The book concludes with a chapter that brings the case studies together in a comparative analysis of what is learned about discursive accountability and its role in repressive protest policing. 1

Víctor Salas, author interview, Santiago, July 2, 2009. In October 2011, the issue of police repression of protests in Chile was taken to the Organization of American States (El Mostrador, “CIDH rechaza represión ‘desproporcionada’de Carabineros contra estudiantes,” October 28, 2011. URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/10/28/cidh-rechazarepresion-%E2%80%9Cdesproporcionada%E2%80%9D-de-carabineros-contraestudiantes/ (last accessed November 8, 2011). 3 These police tactics are taken from the annual human rights reports of Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and the US State Department from 1980 to 2011. The countries looked at were: Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Costa Rica, Ecuador, El Salvador, Honduras, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Uruguay, and Venezuela. For more details, see Appendix 1. 4 I use the term “new” democracies loosely, recognizing that the distinction between “new” and “established” democracies is not necessarily as clear as is often assumed. For example, consolidated democracies, as outlined by Linz and Stepan (1996), are more of an ideal than a reality. 5 Interestingly, the Argentine case study in this book finds the opposite. In Argentina, police experts claim that the smaller protests are more likely to be repressed (see chapter 4). 6 Peterson argues that this is the case in Denmark as well (2006: 48). She explains: “Abstaining from action in certain situations during a protest event can be their [the police’s] most potent weapon for policing public order” (ibid.). 7 Fernandez (2008) analyzes why some groups refuse to engage with police in negotiated management and, in doing so, raises some important concerns regarding the “controlling” aspects of this protest policing style. 8 Fernandez (2008) found that police in North America have used their new communications departments or hired public relations firms, well in advance of antiglobalization protests, to help them present a positive image of the police and negative image of protesters. 9 Of course, there are other actors who at times might be deemed responsible for the repression of protests. In some countries, the military is used to control protests. In other instances, private security forces may be used to control protests against private companies. The involvement of these actors in the management of protests raises a series of other issues regarding, for 2

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example, jurisdiction and legitimacy. This is an understudied area of protest policing. A proper analysis of the role of these actors is beyond the scope of this book. 10 El Mostrador, “Carabinero que asesinó a Matías Catrileo no irá a la cárcel,” August 19, 2010. URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/ 2010/08/19/carabinero-que-asesino-a-matias-catrileo-no-ira-a-la-carcel/ (last accessed June 22, 2012). 11 Correpi (Argentine social movement organization) database, sent via email September 27, 2011.

2 Rethinking Accountability

Discourses on protest policing matter. As discussed in chapter 1, there are no definitive or specific answers as to when protest policing becomes repressive, who is responsible, or even how wrongdoers should be punished. The answers can vary from country to country and case by case. Nonrepressive protest policing is a matter of degree and intention. Thus debates regarding when protest policing is deemed repressive, who is responsible, why, and how they should be held accountable are important. They reveal dominant and opposing understandings of acceptable and unacceptable protest policing. The dominant frames employed, and the justifications used, help us better grasp why protest policing occurs the way it does in any given country. More importantly, discourse can act as both a precondition and technique for accountability. This is what I call “discursive accountability.” Protest Policing in the Latin American Political Context

The concept of discursive accountability is applicable to all democracies, but it emerges from a study of Latin America. Of particular concern to the study of protest policing in Latin America is the quality of democracy.1 In an attempt to encapsulate what has emerged, scholars have described countries in Latin America as semidemocratic, illiberal, disjunctive, delegative, low-intensity, and violently plural (O’Donnell 1993; Arias and Goldstein 2010; Avilés 2006; Holston and Caldeira 1998). Many of these descriptors of regime type aim to highlight the persistent tension in the region that results from formal democratic systems existing alongside high levels of state and nonstate violence. In this context, weak institutions, neoliberalism, and authoritarian legacies may limit police accountability and increase violence.

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Weak Institutions

The dominant literature on democratization assumes an evolutionary process through which new democracies build more effective institutions and, in turn, violence decreases. For example, protests in all societies are usually a mechanism of last resort when a group cannot have its voice heard through other institutionalized channels. Marginalized members of society and those living in countries where democratic institutions for conflict resolution are few, nonexistent, or not effective are most likely to engage in protests (OAS 2005: 121; Geary 1985). In turn, according to some authors of protest policing, it is the presumed frequency of protests in new democracies, due in part to these institutional weaknesses, that accounts for the higher levels of repression (Carey 2006; Tilly 1978). Charles Tilly argues that protests occur more frequently in new democracies because these regimes are more tolerant of protests than authoritarian regimes (1978: 114). Thus, the argument continues, since the public is less fearful in new democracies, and arguably (and understandably) they assume that their democracy includes the right to protest, protests occur more often.2 Yet, although new democracies are more likely to tolerate protests than authoritarian regimes, they resort to repression more often than established democracies (Tilly 1978: 109). Indeed, the frequency of protests in new democracies, like those in Latin America, may contribute to discourses favoring repression. Protests can be very disruptive to public order and the economy. Private or public property can be damaged. Transportation routes can be blocked, denying some people access to their place of employment (and thus wages) and obstructing the smooth daily functioning of business (such as the delivery of goods). In addition, protesters may use violence, physically attacking police, journalists, the targeted group/person, or even other protesters. Not all protests or protesters are peaceful. In such contexts, some people may view repressive protest policing as the natural remedy; they may deem it naïve to believe that police have any other option than to repress. The issue is one of a perceived zero-sum game between the rights of some citizens (to protest) versus the rights of others (to earn a living, protect private property, move freely, and maintain physical security). Yet just because a country is a new democracy does not necessarily mean it will have high levels of protest. For example, in Chile protests did not become frequent until 2006, sixteen years after the return to electoral democracy. They are still less frequent in Chile than in

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neighboring Argentina. Consistent with the case of Chile, O’Donnell and Schmitter (1986) argue that there is in fact a demobilization of civil society after a return to electoral democracy due to activist fatigue and the reemergence of political parties. It is also very difficult to compare the frequency and form of police repression of protests with precision. In many countries, including the US, Canada, and most of Latin America, police are not required to collect statistics on police violence or killings of civilians. In some countries, nongovernmental organizations collect information on police violence.3 However, not all these organizations collect statistics and, if they do, they do not all separate out violence that results from protest policing nor necessarily maintain an active and long-running database. My own review of Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and State Department annual human rights reports found a great deal of difference in levels of repression even within Latin America, ranging from one death of a protester in Uruguay during the democratic period of 1985-2011 to 397 such deaths in Venezuela during its democratic period 1980-2011. Yet comparing the data in these reports on Argentina and Chile to what I was given by organizations in these countries, the numbers in the human rights reports are low. For example, the reports identified thirty-nine protesters killed in Argentina from 1983 to 2011 and Correpi (an Argentine anti-police violence organization) has information on sixty cases (see appendix 1). Quantifying protests in terms of frequency of occurrence and repression can be potentially useful in understanding when repression might occur, but is not necessarily as useful for addressing the issue of accountability. For accountability, the numbers may raise as many questions as they answer. For example, if protests occur often, does this frequency justify police repression? How often is too often? Is there an acceptable number of protesters who can die or be seriously injured before accountability is needed? Does the frequency of protests and repression have any relationship with the motivation of leaders to pursue institutional reforms that might reduce both? A study of discursive accountability allows us to see how key actors debate and answer these and other questions. Neoliberalism

Another literature suggests that the establishment of greater police accountability in Latin America may be limited by neoliberalism. This literature draws our attention to the particular ways in which the level and varieties of violence found throughout Latin America today are

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consistent with, if not the result of, the particular form of democracy that has been pursued, what some call neoliberal democracy (Arias and Goldstein 2010: 16-18; Davis 2010; Avilés 2006; Seri 2012).4 Neoliberalism began to be implemented in Latin American in the 1970s and 1980s, most notably in response to structural adjustment loans provided by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank to assist countries with the debt crisis of the 1980s. Neoliberalism advocates an open economy and a small role for the state. The logic of neoliberalism is consistent with, for example, vigilantism, private security forces, paramilitarism, and criminal gangs. All these arenas of violence or potential violence reflect the emphasis neoliberalism places on individual or community self-reliance, self-help, and the retreat of the state from the provision of services — in this case, justice services (Arias and Goldstein 2010: 16; Avilés 2006; Seri 2012). Substantial research has shown that the opening of economies and the reduction of the role of the state in Latin America have contributed to increased inequality, greater unemployment, the deterioration of education, health, and judicial services, more police corruption and violence, and a rise in crime (e.g., Margheritis and Pereira 2007; Arias and Goldstein 2010; Avilés 2006; Ungar 2002; Seri 2012). In turn, these consequences of neoliberalism have contributed to social mobilization and repressive protest policing. Indeed, many of the most dramatic instances of state repression of protests in Latin America have been in response to protests against aspects or consequences of neoliberalism such as the retrenchment of labor laws (as in Panama in 2010), deteriorating public education (as in Chile in 2006 and 2011, Nicaragua in 1995), privatization (as in Bolivia in 2003, Costa Rica in 1995), and rising unemployment (as in Argentina in 2001 and 2002) (AI 1996: 1256, 136; AI 2011, 256; AI 2005: 57; chapters 6 and 10). The episode of the Gas Wars in Bolivia is one of the most emblematic. In 2003, there were mass protests against the Bolivian government’s plans to privatize national gas resources; the protests were repressed and more than one hundred people were killed (AI 2005: 57). Thus the repression of protests in Latin America is not only a reflection of the “newness” of democracy in the region but also part of the larger challenge of the establishment of neoliberal democracies that are characterized by an enduring coexistence of violence and formal democratic institutions. Certainly, many countries in Latin America have experienced a shift to the center-left since the early 2000s — Argentina (Kirchners), Chile (Bachelet), Brazil (Lula and Rousseff), Uruguay (Vázquez and Mujica), Ecuador (Correa), Venezuela (Chávez and Maduro), Nicaragua (Ortega), El Salvador (Funes), and Paraguay (Lugo). Yet not all these

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governments have abandoned neoliberalism. Many neoliberal policies and ideas persist, as well as the legacy of poverty and underfunded social services. As Guillermina Seri points out for Argentina, many new social programs, such as the Asignación Universal por Hijo, aim to alleviate the experience of poverty, not pull people out of poverty (2012: 68). Thus protests against the legacy of neoliberalism, new neoliberal policies, and the ideas of neoliberalism continue in many Latin American countries, including Argentina and Chile. From this perspective, repressive protest policing occurs because of who is protesting (the poor and marginalized) and what they are protesting against (neoliberalism). Political leaders who are supportive of neoliberal economic policies have no clear motivation to improve police accountability. An analysis of discursive accountability can help highlight the manner in which protester identities and their political and economic ideas are used to diminish the need for accountability (or not). The Authoritarian Legacy

Finally, in many countries in Latin America, the establishment of police accountability may be challenged by multiple legacies of authoritarianism. There is a history of repressive protest policing that is familiar to the police, political leaders, media, and the public. There also are legacies of authoritarianism that are both institutional (such as laws, policies, training, practices) and emotional/discursive (such as possible support for police repression, for protester violence, or fear of criticizing police action). In sum, it cannot be assumed that dominant discourses in new democracies support the establishment of nonrepressive protest policing. Some people may view repressive protest policing as consistent with historical (and familiar) practices. Yet, clearly, not all citizens agree with repressive protest policing. The legacy of authoritarianism for some people includes the rejection of all forms of repression and strong support for human rights. Moreover, many of the very protests being repressed are advocating for a broader definition of democracy that includes citizens’ basic socioeconomic welfare. Substantive democracy is not the natural outcome of elections or a market economy. Where it has emerged it was the result of conflict and struggle that was, at times, violent (Arias and Goldstein 2010: 15). Protests play an important role in opening discussions about change. Understanding the dynamics of discursive accountability can help draw our attention to how positions supportive of the right to protest and critical of repressive protest policing gain persuasive strength.

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Discursive Accountability

Accountability is fundamental to democracy. This is one of the reasons why protests are so important to democracy; they provide a form of accountability. This is also why work on democratic accountability has figured prominently in discussions on democratization in Latin America (e.g., Schmitter 2004; O’Donnell 1994; Lowenthal 2000). Much of the literature on accountability in the region is implicitly hopeful that this is a path that might contribute to more robust democracies, with less violence. Yet the form of accountability needed, or advocated, for a democracy is contested in much the same way as definitions of democracy are contested (Peruzzotti 2012). For example, at the most extreme, minimalist definitions of accountability might be limited to elections. Of course, a voter is usually unable to isolate a single issue, such as support for repressive protest policing, when holding political leaders to account. In turn, political leaders can look at an array of policy issues to explain why she or he was elected (or not). His or her position on protest policing may be deemed by the political leader to be irrelevant. In this way, some definitions of accountability are consistent with minimal definitions of democracy and repressive protest policing. Moreover, much of the literature assumes or implies a comparison with mechanisms of accountability in established democracies in which those in Latin America fail to measure up (a problem noted in Schmitter [2004] and Arias and Goldstein [2010]). Based on this assumption, the issue then becomes how to strengthen institutions of accountability in Latin America so that they look more like those in established democracies. However, this approach glosses over the very different political and discursive context of Latin America. The concept of ‘discursive accountability,” which I introduce in this book, adds a new dimension to discussions of accountability. The concept builds on the existing literature on accountability in Latin America. The dominant literature on accountability emphasizes the importance of establishing effective institutional mechanisms of accountability such as courts, disciplinary procedures internal to the police force, oversight commissions, or elections (e.g., Schedler, Diamond, and Plattner, 1999; Mainwaring and Welna, 2003; Maravall and Przeworski, 2003; Schmitter 2004). These institutions of accountability are described by Guillermo O’Donnell (1999) as “horizontal accountability” — with the exception of elections, which he categorizes as “vertical accountability.”

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O’Donnell defines horizontal accountability as “the existence of state agencies that are legally empowered — and factually willing and able — to take actions ranging from routine oversight to criminal sanctions or impeachment in relation to possibly unlawful actions or omissions by other agents or agencies of the state” (1998: 117). That is, horizontal accountability emphasizes the role of effective institutions checking the actions of other state institutions, including the police. O’Donnell (1994) argues that a problem in many Latin American countries is that state institutions do not provide the checks that are needed for effective horizontal accountability. Patron-clientelism and party discipline encourage congress members of the same party to vote with their president. State-of-emergency laws may be used frequently to bypass congress altogether. Judges and members of official inquiries may be loyal to the president who appoints them. They may be open to bribes or face physical threats. The existence of weak horizontal accountability in many countries in Latin America led O’Donnell (1994) to describe such regimes as “delegative democracies”; political leaders are held accountable only through “vertical accountability” (that is, elections) every few years. Between elections presidents are free to govern as they see fit. Peruzzotti and Smulovitz (2006) recognize the limits of horizontal accountability in Latin America and build on O’Donnell’s concept of vertical accountability. They argue that NGOs, civil associations, social movements, and the media play an important role in what they call “social accountability.” Social accountability, they argue, is particularly important in the context of weak horizontal accountability. In addition to elections, social movements and the media contribute to social accountability by shaming those believed to be wrongdoers and pressuring them to answer for their wrongdoing (answerability). They also can activate mechanisms of institutional accountability by calling for the enforcement of national or international laws or using courts to push for their application (enforcement).5 Thus accountability involves more than state institutions. Discursive accountability is both a precondition for horizontal accountability and a technique of accountability used by actors involved in both horizontal and vertical (social) accountability.6 Accountability can be ambiguous and discursive frames help provide clarity regarding what is deemed to be appropriate behavior and acceptable consequences of behavior in a given society (March and Olsen 1995). What I call discursive accountability refers to the manner in which political and state leaders (including judges and chiefs of police), as well as civil society and media actors, frame incidents of wrongdoing. Discursive

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accountability is a precondition for the answerability and enforcement aspects of accountability. If the dominant discursive frame is that no wrongdoing has occurred, then there is nothing to be answerable for and no reason for punishment. If wrongdoing is accepted, discursive accountability shapes who has to answer, why, and what the appropriate punishment should be. In constructing these boundaries, discursive frames are a technique of accountability in that they simultaneously shame the identified wrongdoers, demand answers from them, and pressure for the activation of particular institutional mechanisms of accountability (such as an official inquiry). Discursive accountability occurs within institutions of horizontal accountability when members of the state (political leaders, judges, chiefs of police) make publicly explicit their position on, in our case, police repression of protests. When an incident of repressive protest policing occurs, state actors might identify the act as wrongdoing, establish who is to blame, why, and how they should be held accountable. They might call on those who committed the identified wrongdoing to explain their actions. Similarly, discursive accountability is also part of social accountability. NGOs, civil associations, and social movements may make explicit their position on protest policing. The media in turn will choose to reproduce (or not) the frames offered by state and civil society actors on the perceived wrongdoing. Even more proactively, journalists choose which incidents of protest policing they will cover, whether or not they will push for statements from state and civil society leaders, and how they will frame the event. In this way, journalists, like state and civil society actors, can contribute to the broader understanding of what, when, and how protest policing is wrongdoing and who (if anyone) should be held responsible. They provide a forum for debate, reframing, and accountability. That is, in addition to shaming and activating institutional mechanisms of accountability (features of social accountability), media, social movements, and political and state leaders can all contribute to the reframing of acts once deemed acceptable, albeit unfortunate, as incidents of wrongdoing. For example, together they can shift the dominant frame for understanding protest policing from law and order to civil rights. They provide discursive accountability by creating a cognitive environment where it is understood that repressive protest policing is no longer acceptable. In this way, discursive accountability is preventive. When it is achieved, not only are wrongdoers shamed, made to answer for their misdeeds, and punished but also it becomes understood that, henceforth,

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such actions and particular people or institutions will be held legally, socially, and/or politically accountable. The reframing of, in this instance, protest policing might lead to changes in illegal behavior that were once tolerated because the ends appeared to justify the means. Or it may induce changes in behaviors that are technically legal because they fall into the realm of discretion or are consistent with persistent authoritarian laws. Discursive accountability is usually not immediate but rather is accumulative. The more often political leaders, the media, and civil society organizations are able to reframe a particular type of incident (like repressive protest policing) as wrongdoing, the more likely it is that this will emerge as the dominant frame for understanding such events. The idea that repressive protest policing is wrongdoing comes to resonate in that society as familiar and experientially commensurate with recent and current events. In addition, the credibility of the speakers and their ability to make links to history will also contribute to the resonance of their claims. As a civil-rights frame emerges as dominant, police, those directing their actions, and those holding them to account through institutional channels are more likely to change their discretionary practices and support (or at least not resist) institutional or legal reforms. In this manner, changes in discourse can affect future levels of repression and in turn prevent or minimize future occurrences. Table 2.1 outlines what is meant by discursive accountability. Of course, discourses do not always provide democratic accountability. To the contrary, they may aim to hold state actors accountable to authoritarian laws or norms. For example, political and media discourses might use a law-and-order frame to criticize the police or political leaders for not being “tough” on protesters and advocate high levels of repression. Even more complicated, discourses might provide democratic accountability but focus primarily (or solely) on holding protesters accountable for their use of violence. On the one hand, this approach might be beneficial to democracy by promoting peaceful and less obstructive forms of protest. However, such discourses may also aim to limit people’s ability to protest, exaggerate protester violence, and deflect attention from the possible role of police in inciting protester violence. Since discourses can determine the application of accountability, there is often considerable political conflict over how events are framed (March and Olsen 1995: 157-159). However, what this book explores is when and how discursive accountability supports the most democratic

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options for policing protests. A civil-rights frame is most consistent with democratic discursive accountability. Table 2.1: Discursive Accountability What is it?

Framing: Has wrongdoing occurred? (precondition/preventive) If yes, who is responsible? (shaming) Why are they responsible? (answerability) How should they be punished? (enforcement)

Who uses it?

Actors of Horizontal Accountability: Political leaders, police, judiciary Actors of Social Accountability: Civil society actors and media

How is it successful?

Frame resonance: Familiarity from historical consistency (repetition) Consistent with current events Credibility of the speakers Media Practices: Biases Authoritative sources Stage-managing of event coverage Preventive: Changes cognitive environment of discretionary decisionmaking

When is it successful?

It is accumulative. The end point is twofold: (1) When an act once deemed acceptable, albeit unfortunate, is now considered wrongdoing (dominant frame); (2) When responsibility for the new wrongdoing is clarified and pursued in terms of who is responsible, for what, and which mechanisms of institutional accountability are to be applied.

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Discursive Accountability and Police Knowledge

Establishing accountability for repressive protest policing is not an easy task. As I have discussed, there may be significant resistance to the very idea. Indeed, lack of political will is often cited as a major obstacle to police reform generally in Latin America (e.g., Hinton 2006; Uildriks 2009). If the dominant discursive frame in a given society favors repressive protest policing, then there is no reason why institutional or legal reforms aimed to reduce it will be pursued by political leaders or pursued effectively. Yet political leaders are not the only actors responsible for protest policing. As we saw in chapter 1, the police can be isolated as independently responsible for repressive protest policing. The police have the legitimate right, in any society, to use violence. They have significant discretion in how and if they enforce laws. And, in new democracies, they can have an important amount of autonomy from civilian control. Thus it is worth considering what we know about the relationship between public discourse and policing. Most studies of police in new democracies are interested in institutional reforms that may make the police function in a manner more consistent with democracy. This idea is sometimes referred to as democratic policing. I summarize briefly the common aspects in various definitions of democratic policing thus: police, acting as civil servants, use a minimal amount of force, bounded by a respect for human rights and mechanisms of accountability, with the purpose of upholding a broad definition of democracy (that is, beyond electoral democracy) (Bonner 2009a; O’Donnell 1993: 1361; Holston and Caldeira 1998: 282283; Frühling 2003: 22; Reiner 2000: 6; Bayley 2006: 19; Chevigny 1995: 17 and 22). The list of specific attributes that scholars have identified as the key goals of democratic policing are numerous and range from large democratic principles such as abiding by and enforcing the rule of law to organizational attributes such as democratic employee practices within police forces (e.g., Das 2000; Marenin 2000; Jones et al. 1995; Bayley 2006, 1985; Marks and Goldsmith 2006; Ungar 2011). Yet a recurring theme in these lists is the need for a political, social, and discursive context in which democratic policing options become the preferred options of police when faced with either a contradiction between law and human rights or, more broadly, a need to use their discretion in how a law is enforced. Moreover, many scholars have argued that it is naive to assume that, by merely changing structures or laws, democratic policing will follow. Put bluntly, one author states, “Reform efforts which ignore the power

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of police culture will fail or be counterproductive” (Marenin 2000: 313). While Marenin refers to the importance of “police culture,” others speak of the importance of “police knowledge” and “public opinion” (e.g., Chan 1996; Della Porta 1998; Wisler and Tackenberg 2000; Frühling 2007; Stojanovic and Downes 2009; Beck and Robertson 2009; Ungar 2011). These terms are simultaneously distinct and interrelated in important ways. Chan defines police culture as heterogeneous (there are multiple police cultures within and between police forces) and reflective of the social, political, and discursive context within which police exist (1996: 110). It is based in three sources: police knowledge stemming from experience; the construction of stories that act as precedent; and the relational aspect of culture. In stating the last point Chan draws on Pierre Bourdieu to explain how police culture is not static but rather how police choose and interpret their role based in their social, political, economic, legal, and cognitive context (Chan 1996:130). That is, police culture will often respond to what society will accept or not accept (ibid: 112). Della Porta speaks of police knowledge in a very similar manner. She defines police knowledge as “a term that refers to the images held by the police about their role and the external challenges they are asked to face” (1998: 229). It is comprised of the following: a professional culture, defined as “the images the police hold about their own role” (ibid); and the environmental culture of the police, defined as “the totality of assumptions they hold about external reality” (ibid). Thus the definitions of police culture and police knowledge are interconnected: police culture includes police knowledge and police knowledge includes police culture. However, what both authors stress is the centrality of the social, political, and discursive context to police culture/knowledge. Chan emphasizes that many scholars who study police organizational structure fail to recognize the significance of this broader context. Some scholars identify this broader context by referring to “public opinion.” Despite recognizing the importance of public opinion to policing, many scholars omit a definition of the term. While not defining public opinion directly, Della Porta and Reiter argue that the media act as an important filter of the discourses of political figures and social movement organizations, which in turn has an important impact on public opinion (1998: 17-18). I would go further and state that the dominant position(s) found in the mainstream media are often taken by key political and police actors to be public opinion. If we understand public opinion to be the views of the majority or all of the public on a particular issue, then the positions found in the media may or may not,

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in actual fact, correspond to public opinion.7 But what is important is that the dominant position found in the news media is often assumed to be equivalent to public opinion, especially if it is found in one of the major or most prestigious news media sources. None of the definitions of police culture, police knowledge, or public opinion presumes or denies police acceptance of democratic policing. Rather, they point to the importance of understanding the broader social and political debates within which day-to-day policing decisions may be based. If political leadership, civil society, and/or public opinion is perceived by police as not entirely or consistently committed to democratic policing, there is no reason to assume that police will be willing to play a leadership role in their own democratization or, in our case, reduce the levels of repression they use in protest policing. That is, discourses are important, can affect policing, and can promote or hinder democratic accountability. Methodology: Discursive Accountability and the Framing of Political Narratives

As the concepts of “discursive accountability” and “police knowledge” suggest, in politics, ideas matter. Analyzing discourse provides a window into which ideas matter most. In this book I use discourse analysis to better understand the political, social, and discursive context of protest policing in Latin America and, specifically, Argentina and Chile. The type of discourse analysis I use is that of framing and in particular the framing of political narratives. As explained earlier, discursive accountability refers to dominant state, society, and media discourses that establish an incident/action/omission as wrongdoing and clarify who is responsible, for what, and why and how they should be held accountable. Of course, dominant frames do not always support claims that a given incident/action/omission is wrongdoing. In our case, dominant frames might provide justifications for repressive protest policing. In such cases, it becomes important to understand why the dominant frames are persuasive (resonate with their audience) and how counterframes gain persuasive strength (come to resonate). I draw on the literature on political narratives and framing to answer these questions. Political Narratives and Framing

The analysis of political narratives involves studying the stories told by political actors. This approach takes the position that storytelling and

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narratives are used ubiquitously, inform political behavior, policies, ideas, and choices, and thus need to be studied. Political narratives are defined as making sense of reality, including relations between the state and citizens, and among citizens, through the telling of a sequence of events (at least two) that may or may not have a causal connection.8 In addition to events, there may be characters and background that fill out the story. The story told, particularly the events chosen, will reveal a certain perspective. Thus narration is constructed or shaped by the speaker or writer. The vast majority of the literature on political narratives focuses on the state and state actors (e.g., Schram and Niesser 1997; Roe 1994; March and Olsen 1995). Yet the connection between politics and discourse has been well studied by scholars of social movements. Rather than analyzing political narratives, the social movement literature has predominantly analyzed “framing” (e.g., Snow and Benford 1992; Benford and Snow 2000; Tarrow 1992 and 1994; Gamson 1992; Bonner 2007). However, the study of political narratives and framing is not inconsistent. In essence, the framing literature is simply more developed in its methodological ability to identify, summarize, and categorize political narratives and assess their resonance and thus ability to persuade. Indeed, the power of symbols and narratives to affect political change stems in large part from their ability to “reframe” politics (Brysk 1995). For these reasons I use the framing of political narratives as my methodological tool. The definition of a “frame” is nicely summarized by David A. Snow and Robert D. Benford as “an interpretative schemata that simplifies and condenses the ‘world out there’ by selectively punctuating and encoding objects situations, events, experiences, and sequences of actions within one’s present or past environment” (1992: 137). Thus, rather than always telling the full story or narrative of one’s perspective on an issue or event, a frame provides a shortcut that summarizes this story. The details of political narratives may also vary from storyteller to storyteller, but key words or phrases highlight to the recipient that this narration is consistent with a familiar frame X. Symbolic politics can also be summarized as falling under frame X or Y, as a way of uniting it with other narrations and symbolic acts. Thus frames can be identified through their repeated use by different political actors. Truth

Does it matter if dominant frames are true? Assessing which frames are “true” might be deemed important for evaluating wrongdoing. Yet I hold

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that it is more important which frames are thought to be true. Political discourse is referential in that it needs to make sense within the framework of reality of the recipient. That is, it is deemed valid within a particular social context and conventions. Narratives or frames are not inherently valid but rather are regarded as valid (Maines 1993: 29). Indeed, some narratives considered valid within their particular context may not accord with established facts (Schram and Neisser 1997). Or they may ignore alternative knowledges, what Mieke Bal (1988) calls “structures of attention” and “structures of inattention.” Thus a comparison of narratives, especially to counternarratives, is important in order to understand how some narratives might be more complete than others (Maines 1993: 27). However, a frame’s truth is less important than its persuasive power. Regardless of their truth or falsehood, political narratives contain elements of persuasion. The framework of reality of the recipient is often influenced by a dominant political narrative or frame. As Catharine MacKinnon summarizes, “Dominant narratives are not called stories. They are called reality” (1996: 235). Dominant political narratives can provide stability in state decisionmaking even during periods of great uncertainty and therefore can be resistant at times to even the emergence or existence of contradictory empirical data (Roe 1994: 2). For example, dominant political narratives regarding who is an enemy, or who is a deserving person, or who is entitled to something can lead citizens to support an increased use of repressive protest policing even when it is widely known that the police are corrupt and violent, or citizens otherwise fear the police. In this way, history is important to understanding dominant frames. History and Change

Dominant political narratives, and the way they are framed, often have roots in history. They are familiar because the audience has heard them before. It is what is expected. As a result, dominant political frames can be very enduring, often resisting change and modification, but they are not static. Frames can change or alter in response to current lived experiences or counterframes or counternarratives. Indeed, a significant part of politics involves the struggle over what stories the state will tell. Even small changes in narrative can, if repeated over time, change discourse. This is why I refer to “discursive accountability” as accumulative. Identifying themes or signs of change within narration, as well as why some frames have more currency than others, can allow us to highlight potential change.

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In the social movement literature, counterframes are referred to as “collective action frames.” Collective action frames are the result of a negotiation of meaning between social movement organizations that produces a common frame summarizing the objectives or perspective of the movement as a whole (Benford and Snow 2000: 614; Gamson 1992: 111). In this book I refer to counterframes rather than collective action frames in order to include both social movement and non-social movement actors who use frames that are counter to the dominant frames and to recognize that not all social movement organizations use frames that are in fact counter to the dominant frame. Resonance

Successful dominant and counterframes resonate with their intended audience. According to the social movement literature, frame resonance is achieved through: the credibility of the frame (whether the frame is consistent with the organization’s beliefs and with real world events, and whether the speakers are regarded as credible); the relative salience of the frame (what the perceived importance of the issues raised for the intended audience is, whether the frame is consistent with the audience’s everyday reality, and whether there is “narrative fidelity” with the broader cultural context); and, similar to the preceding point, the historical consistency of the frame (whether there is something about the frame that is familiar to the audience for historical reasons). This last point may involve the incorporation, tweaking, or reworking of frames used in previous historical periods (Benford and Snow 2000: 619-622; Bonner 2007: 8-10). The concept of discursive accountability that is central in this book hinges on frame resonance. A civil-rights frame, used as a technique of accountability in cases of repressive protest policing, must resonate with the intended audience. If it does not resonate, it will remain a counterframe, not a dominant frame. For this reason, this book is structured around the importance of frame resonance. I begin each case study with an overview of the dominant historical frame regarding protest policing (chapters 3 and 7). In both case studies, since their founding, the historical role of the police has been framed as involving the repression of protests. In this way, dominant law-and-order frames resonate as historically consistent and containing narrative fidelity. However, in contrast to Chile, the widespread rejection of the human rights abuses of the last dictatorship in Argentina has contributed to a weakening of this dominant frame.

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From this history I move on to identify the dominant and counterframes on protest policing presented by police experts in interviews, unfiltered by the media (chapters 4 and 8). The objective is to understand the frames used within this milieu that might inform police experts’ choices in response to protests and their policing. Police experts are identified as those whose work involves the police in some way that makes them very familiar with the issues concerning protest policing in their country. Their perspectives on policing span across the political spectrum. Police experts include: the police, former police, government administrators, political party members, social movement activists, and journalists (see Appendix 2). I find that dominant frames in Chile are historically consistent, whereas in Argentina dominant frames have changed. Attention is paid to why some frames are dominant (resonate more), and others are not, and what the counterframes tell us about the dominant frames (their completeness) and possibilities for change. The next chapters examine the role of the media in the continuity and change of dominant frames. The importance of the media for discursive accountability and police knowledge has been discussed above. As has been mentioned, the media play a significant role in framing and frame resonance. Media

The literature on social movements and collective action frames recognizes the role of the media in the transmission of frames to their audience (e.g., Snow and Benford, 1988, 1992; Benford and Snow 2000; Gamson 1992; Tarrow 1994; Kielbowicz and Scherer 1986). For civil society actors, the primary means of frame transmission are the media and the physical control of public space (for example, through the use of protests). The latter requires the former if the control of public space is to be known by a larger audience than those present in that space. While formal political actors have a wide range of public spaces in which they are able to put forth their dominant or counter-political frames/narratives (such as legislative debates, policy documents, or judicial decisions), they also require the media to assist them in transmitting these stories to a wider audience than those immediately present or those willing or interested in slogging through long policy documents or debates. At the same time that the media are crucial for frame dissemination, they are not a neutral mode of transmission. Media, and the journalists who work for them, have their own professional demands, structures, financial concerns, and editorial lines that may make them more

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favorable to some frames or narratives than to others (e.g., Gamson 1990; Entman 1989). That is, within this professional milieu there are also existing frames or narratives that impact the selection and presentation of events and stories. Thus a robust analysis of the resonance of dominant and counter-frames/narratives used by state and nonstate actors must simultaneously consider the media as both a filter and an agent of frame construction. Given the importance of the media for constructing and transmitting frames identified in the literature on protest policing, police knowledge, and framing, I take a close look at media practices for covering protest policing in each country. Chapters 5 and 9 again draw on the interviews I conducted in Argentina and Chile in 2009. The journalists I interviewed explained their practices when covering protests and other interviewees shared their experiences with the media during or following protests. The chapters on media practices build on the chapters on unfiltered protest policing frames. They highlight contrasting journalistic practices in Argentina and Chile that contribute to the construction and reproduction of different dominant frames. In Argentina, media practices favor a civil-rights frame and democratic discursive accountability, whereas in Chile they support historical lawand-order frames. I draw on the chapters on frames (chapters 3 and 7), expert frames (chapters 4 and 8), and media construction of frames (chapters 5 and 9) to then analyze the media coverage of a pivotal protest in each country (chapters 6 and 10). In Argentina, I analyze the repression of a piquetero protest on Pueyrredón Bridge in 2002 that ended in the death of two protesters (chapter 6). In Chile, I analyze the 2006 student protest, the first significant rejection of repressive protest policing since the return of electoral democracy (chapter 10). As the literature on framing notes, dominant frames are enduring but not static. They must be consistent with the audience’s lived experience. A key event can challenge the dominant frame and provide an opportunity for counterframes to gain resonance. A key event is also an opportunity to analyze discursive accountability in practice. Is this an incident of wrongdoing? If so, who should be held accountable, for what, why, and how should they be held accountable? The answers to these questions are analyzed in chapters 6 and 10. In both cases, discursive accountability is found to have occurred; the dominant frames present the incidents as wrongdoing. However, the competing frames that assign responsibility are more ambiguous. In the case of Argentina, the dominant frames used to assign responsibility are broad and far-reaching. In the case of Chile, the

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dominant frames used to assign responsibility diminish the importance of the wrongdoing. The differences relate to the accumulative nature of discursive accountability. Thus the key questions that inform the structure of the book are: What does history contribute to our understanding of discursive accountability? What are the dominant and counterframes on protest policing held by police experts in each country, and do they provide discursive accountability? How do journalistic practices favor (or not) discursive accountability? How do history, dominant/counterframes, and journalistic practices come together to provide (or not) discursive accountability in the coverage of a pivotal protest event? The case studies of Argentina and Chile are presented separately in order to build a full appreciation for the political and discursive context of each case. The conclusion draws together the cases studies and analyzes what is learned from the comparison. 1 See, e.g., O’Donnell, Cullell, and Iazzetta (2004), Diamond and Morlino (2005), and Levine and Molina (2011). 2 Providing statistics on the frequency of protests is a challenging task as no one collects complete statistics. Carey’s (2006) study is based on information from the Intranational Political Interactions (IPI) Project. The IPI Project collected information from media reports found in Reuters North American Service (1979-1981) and Reuters World Service (1982-1992). It is thus incomplete as it is dependent on what protests make the news. Tilly does not provide exact statistics on protest frequency. 3 E.g., CELS and Correpi (in Argentina), the Diego Portales Human Rights Centre (in Chile), PROVEA (in Venezuela), the National Police Misconduct Statistics and Reporting Project (in the US), and local organizations like Copwatch Vancouver (in Canada). 4 Studies of antiglobalization protests have also concluded that the increased repression of these protests reflects the emergence of the neoliberal state in established democracies — a state that limits its role to the provision of a particular form of security (Della Porta and Reiter 2006: 189; Fernandez 2008: 167). 5 Answerability and enforcement are key features of most definitions of accountability (e.g., Schedler 1999; March and Olsen 1995: 262). 6 What follows draws on and builds upon ideas I developed in two previous articles (Bonner 2009a, 2009b). 7 Even public opinion polls on policing, often published in the media, can be incomplete or unreliable owing to methodology or the types of questions asked (e.g., Ungar 2011: 22-23). 8 It is most likely that the narration will have a causal connection in order to make the story more interesting.

3 Police and Protest in Argentina: A History

Dominant frames usually draw on history, or interpretations of history, to make their claims resonate with their audience as familiar. Thus what state and society actors expect from the police stems from their historical experience with the institution and its members. In turn, the media may choose events as dramatic or important because they either challenge or perpetuate the traditional role of the police. Finally, the role that the police (and sometimes state actors) see for themselves is also based, at least in part, in this historical experience. This is not to say that history is deterministic; how people react to history can vary. Indeed, since the return of electoral democracy in Argentina in 1983 a number of governments have made important efforts at police reform. Those who rejected the historical role of the police and supported these reforms did so, in part, owing to the excesses of the last military dictatorship and the importance of human rights emphasized by a large and influential human rights movement. Yet, as we shall see in chapters 4, 5, and 6, the historical role of the police continues to present a challenge to police reform and contributes to the resonance of law-and-order frames. An assessment of the limits and possibilities of discursive accountability reducing repressive protest policing must consider history. That said, a history of protest policing in Argentina requires more than a simple recounting of how protests have been managed throughout history. It requires an analysis of the development of the police itself in relation to political leaders. Political leaders help define the role of the police. In particular, they answer the question: is the role of the police primarily to defend the state or government in power, or is it to protect citizens? The answer to this question is reflected in how police manage protests. 39

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This chapter finds that the central historical role of the police in Argentina has been to defend the state or government in power by combating a political “enemy within,” which has always included the repression of protesters. While not unique to Argentina, the importance of this role for police has shaped the type of professionalization that has emerged. The gradual professionalization of police forces in Argentina corresponded with an expansion of the scope of people deemed to be enemies of the state. As Martha Huggins explains, police professionalization involves the bureaucratization of the police but not necessarily a reduction in their use of violence (1998: 13). Professionalization establishes a distance between political leaders and the police through the universalization of procedures for appointment, promotion, demotion, and remuneration. It also establishes consistent and technical police training and formal procedures for police conduct (ibid: 11). In Argentina, police professionalization included these changes, yet did so in a manner that increased police autonomy and violence. Indeed, police professionalization contributed to the relationship between political leaders and the police becoming increasingly opaque. Thus, officially, since 2003, repressive protest policing is no longer supported by the national government. However, as shown in chapter 4, responsibility for its continuation is often obfuscated, providing opportunities for police to unofficially continue their historic role. Although the roles of the police in fighting crime and managing protests are distinct, often (but not always) carried out by different units, there is important overlap. For example, the image of the police in one area blurs into the other as the public does not necessarily differentiate between the two. Similarly, police officers, charged primarily with fighting crime, may blur the distinction between criminals and protesters. For this reason, in this chapter I combine a discussion of broader police reforms with that of protest policing. The chapter provides an overview of the historical development of the Argentine police, covering the period from independence to the present, which helps contextualize current debates. Although there are many police forces in Argentina, I focus my discussion on the Argentine Federal Police (PFA) and, to a lesser extent, the Buenos Aires Provincial Police (BAPP). These are the primary police forces responsible for managing protests in Greater Buenos Aires, the area in which most of the country’s population is located. The PFA, which answers to the national government, is the main police force for the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires and all federal highways. There are approximately 33,000 PFA officers, most of whom

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work in the Federal Capital (approximately18,000). The BAPP, which answers to the government of the Province of Buenos Aires, is the largest police force in Argentina with approximately 48,000 officers. It is the police force for the province of Buenos Aires, which includes the sprawling and densely populated suburbs of the city of Buenos Aires.1 Independence to 1880

During the 1800s, the groundwork for an Argentine police force and its relationship with political leaders began. The emerging role of the police was defined in part by two struggles. The first struggle was over how to distinguish between the roles of the military and police. The second struggle was over the appropriate relationship between the police and political actors and the need to establish a professional distance. The two struggles were often intertwined, as some political leaders used the police, for their own ends, in a manner resembling that of the military. In response, other leaders advocated greater police professionalism. During the colonial period, there were irregular police who were directly dependent on politicians. In the towns, mayors or town councils divided their cities into police districts, controlled police policy, and chose their police chiefs (Barreneche 2006). In rural areas, police forces were more independent but also much more violent (Ungar 2002: 72). The creation of a state police force came almost immediately after independence. Spanish control of Buenos Aires ended in 1810, and in 1811 the national government united rural and urban police by transferring authority over police from town councils to the national government (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 36; Andersen 2002: 33). President Bernardino Rivadavia (1820-1829) took some initial steps toward police professionalization. He appointed the first police chief of the province of Buenos Aires, established police station chiefs (comisarios), and created a Police Monitoring Body (Ungar 2002: 72). However, while political control over the emerging police forces was being centralized, the police were also established in a manner that was notably militarized (not uncommon in most countries establishing police forces at the time). Police received military training, indoctrination, and even military-inspired uniforms (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 66; Andersen 2002: 33). The blurred lines between police and military were further exacerbated through their involvement in internal wars between Unitarians and Federalists that occurred between 1837 and 1852. For example, the less than neutral slogan on the flag of the Second Police Battalion under General Juan Manuel de Rosas (Governor of Buenos Aires, 1829-1852) from 1852 states “Long live the

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Argentine Federation! Death to Savage Unitarians!” (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 93). Thus the police were directly involved in a war, with the enemy being those people who did not support the government of Rosas. The primary role of the police was to defend the government, and they were given significant financial resources and autonomy to do so (Barreneche 2006: 91-92). Indeed, Osvaldo Barreneche goes as far as to argue that the importance of the police to political leaders in their struggles with social unrest during this period provided police with greater power and autonomy than the judiciary and this imbalance has persisted to the present day (2006: 2). With the end of Rosas’s governorship, the writing of the 1853 Constitution, and the conclusion of the war between Federalists and Unitarians, the Argentine police forces were transferred from military to civilian control. However, separating the police from politics proved to be much more challenging. In 1880, the city of Buenos Aires established the Police of the Capital, the precursor to the Argentine Federal Police (PFA), and a separate police force was established for the province of Buenos Aires. As would remain the tradition, the chief of the Police of the Capital was chosen by the president, and the police force fell under the authority of the president through the Ministry of the Interior. A Sergeants’ School (Escuela de Sargentos) was established in 1882, and unsuccessful efforts were made by the government in 1883 and 1893 to establish organic laws for police conduct. Without laws outlining clear police behavior, they were governed instead by “presidential decrees, police edicts, [and] ad hoc measures laws and ordinances” (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 41). Thus direct and arbitrary political control over the police was reinforced. In addition, the Reglamento General (General Regulations) of 1885 established the official role of the police as both protecting law and order as well as the security of the state (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 41). The new explicit role of the police in ensuring the security of the state contributed to the police initiating intelligence activities, at least in the interior of the country, as early as 1885 (Andersen 2002: 37). Thus the post-independence period set the foundation for the type of police that would later emerge in Argentina. Through their involvement in controlling social unrest, the emerging police forces gained power and autonomy. As we shall see, new forms of social unrest ensured that police professionalization and demilitarization continued to facilitate, rather than hinder, their use of high levels of violence to control protests.

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Professionalization and Politicization: 1880-1946

The period from 1880 to 1946 was a period of many changes in Argentina. Industrialization had begun and the middle and working classes were growing. Immigration grew significantly, changing the composition of the population, particularly in Buenos Aires. The middle class was demanding suffrage; its demands were expressed through the use of violence by their political party, the Radical Civic Union (UCR). Immigrants brought the ideas of socialism and anarchism from Spain, Italy, and France and also sometimes pursued these ideas through the use of violence. In addition, workers began to mobilize, increasingly holding strikes to improve working conditions. It is within this context that the police began to establish their institutional structure and, less officially, their role in the new society. That is, how police in Argentina were to respond to protests was fundamental to their development. The most important figure for the police during this period was Colonel Ramón Falcón, who was appointed chief of the Police of the Capital by President José Figueroa Alcorta in 1906. Falcón is responsible for the reorganization of the police into a structure that most resembles what exists today. Falcón organized the police into four divisions, the most important of which were the Security Division and the Investigative Division (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 41).2 The Security Division defended public order as mandated by the Reglamento General of 1885, although the definition of public order remained loose. The Investigative Division addressed criminal and political issues. Falcón also divided police into two groups based on training prior to entering the force; these groups came to be known as oficiales and suboficiales (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 230-231; Andersen 2002: 45). This choice, as opposed to having police move up the ranks through promotion, was significant as it emphasized hierarchy and discipline. Using this new organizational structure, Falcón led the police in a concerted effort to eliminate suspected anarchists (Caimari 2004: 223). Like Falcón, President Hipólito Yrigoyen (1916-1922; 1928-1930)3 also had ideas about police professionalization. Yrigoyen appointed Julio Moreno as chief of the Police of the Capital. Moreno was committed to demilitarizing the police and advocated the idea of the police working for “civil security” (Andersen 2002: 54). That is, he advocated that the primary role of the police should be to protect citizens rather than the state. These ideas were disseminated in police manuals, speeches, and publications (Andersen 2002: 55). In 1926, the Police of the Capital changed their uniform, which had been militarily inspired, to better distinguish themselves from the military and improve

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their relationship with the population (Andersen 2002: 78 Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 281). In sum, professionalization during this period emphasized bureaucratization and demilitarization. However, the efforts Falcón, Moreno, and the Radical Party made to professionalize the police were occurring during a period of increased social conflict. Anarchists, syndicalists, and, before and after the Radical government, Radicals (UCR) were using bombs to have their voices heard. The UCR led armed revolts in 1893 and 1905 (Manzetti, 1993: 79). Anarchists orchestrated an assassination attempt on President Manuel Quintana on August 12, 1905, and President José Figueroa Alcorta on January 28, 1908. On November 14, 1909, anarchist Simón Radowitzky successfully assassinated Falcón and his assistant. In addition, the number of strikes by workers began to rise; 12,000 workers went on strike in 1915, 136,000 in 1916, and 308,000 in 1919 (Martínez 1988: 85). Ultimately, in 1918 a strike at a metallurgical factory became increasingly violent and ended in January 1919 in what came to be known as the Semana Trágica (Tragic Week) in which seven hundred people were killed (Di Tella 1993: 208). Immigrants brought with them the ideas of anarchism. Workers were most often either immigrants or from the provinces of Argentina. These differences led the police to identify the primary danger to public order and the protection of the state to be foreigners, los de afuera, who were defined as “immigrants, extraparliamentary politicos or social classes that came from below, from the backward provinces” or anyone who disagreed with the government (Andersen 2002: 49; Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 49). Thus the police became involved in a political war against an “internal enemy” of “terrorists” or “subversives” vaguely defined (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 49) This internal war led the government to provide increased personnel for the police, raising their numbers from 4,170 in 1907 to 5,372 in 1911 (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 41). Although labor unrest could have been addressed to some extent by the Argentine government taking the lead in initiating a labor policy, this did not happen. The Argentine government left social policy and particularly labor negotiations to the police, who more often than not resorted to repression (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 290; Andersen 2002: 66-71; Kalmanowiecki 2000b). Police also began to work with police in neighboring countries to share ideas and information on how to combat groups attempting to change the social order or involved in common crime. South American police conferences were held in 1905 in Río de Janeiro and in 1920 in Buenos Aires (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 269-270; Andersen 2002: 48, 68).

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Owing in part to increased social unrest, the military staged its first coup d’état in 1930, an act that had a significant impact on the police. The military overthrew the Radical government of Hipólito Yrigoyen and restored the previous political order of Conservative party dominance (known as the Concordancia or the Era of Patriot Fraud, 1932-1943).4 Not all military personnel agreed with the move away from democratic governance; military officers empathetic to Radicals’ complaints of political exclusion staged insurrections in February 1931, July 1931, January 1932, December 1932, and December 1933. All of these insurrections failed in part owing to the sophisticated political intelligence the police had developed over the preceding years (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 43). That is, the bulk of police intelligence work in the 1930s was aimed at combating Radical insurgents. At the same time, the police began to expand their surveillance of other politically “dangerous” groups. For example, the Special Branch was established within the Police of the Capital during this period to focus on the Communist threat, work that expanded rapidly between 1932 and 1935 (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 46; Funes 2004: 36). With the military in government (1930-1932), the line between police and military again became increasingly blurred. Police participated in the repression used by the regime, and torture became routine practice in police stations, a practice that has continued since that time (Ungar 2002: 73; Kalmanowiecki 2000b: 203; Funes 2004: 36). Moreover, the primary focus of police work was no longer common crime but instead political “crime.” This fight against internal “terrorism” was used as a justification to widen the jurisdiction of the Police of the Capital to the interior of the country, a step that facilitated the eventual formation of the Argentine Federal Police in 1943.5 For example, the Special Branch within the Investigations Division of the Police of the Capital focused the police’s attention on areas of the country thought to have the conditions that normally lead to worker unrest. In these areas, police were ordered to apply “aggressive vigilance and repression” (Andersen 2002: 117; also see Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 333). One area of the country targeted, Chaco, was identified as having these conditions “owing to the quantity of indigenous people and foreigners organized in communities that reflected their national origin (Bulgarians, Poles, Italians and Jews)” (Andersen 2002: 117). The return to civilian government in 1932 reinforced the system established by the military. President Agustín P. Justo (1932-1938), Laura Kalmanowiecki argues, “upheld and systematized torture and surveillance [initiated during the military regime (1930-1932)] and made them more efficient” (2000a: 38). Indeed, it is the period from the 1930

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military coup to the end of Justo’s government that Kalmanowiecki describes as establishing a police “surveillance apparatus that had not previously existed and that survives to this day” (2000a: 37). Other scholars have also noted a substantial increase in police intelligence work in Argentina, from the 1930s onward, that gradually expanded to include the surveillance of most of Argentine civil society (Barreneche 2007; Funes 2004). Indeed, Conservative Presidents Roberto Ortiz (1938-1940) and Ramón Castillo (1940-1943) carried on the work of Justo. Ortiz created the semi-militarized police force Gendarmería Nacional (GN) in 1938 and Castillo established the Argentine Federal Police (PFA) in 1943. Both of these new police forces (still active today) were under the authority of the Minister of the Interior. As with previous Argentine state police forces, the chief of the PFA was to be selected by the President of the Nation. The PFA replaced the Police of the Capital and extended its jurisdiction to the federal capital and all national territory (such as federal highways). The Statute of the Federal Police explicitly stated for the first time what is called estado policial (police status). As during a state of war, estado policial required all armed police, like military personnel, to be ready for duty twentyfour hours a day, seven days a week, even if retired (CELS 2000: 118). That is, the police were increasingly being structured to combat a political “enemy within.” Reinforcing the idea of an internal war, Castillo created the Coordinación Federal (Federal Coordination) within which the PFA had as its primary role to coordinate efforts between the military and police to watch over internal subversives.6 By 1946, the Argentine police had developed a structure very similar to that which it has today. It had professionalized in that it now had an institutional structure with universal rules for career progression, training, and procedures. It had demilitarized in some respects and was officially distanced from local political leaders’ control. However, social unrest, unclear government policy on how to address protesters’ demands, and the increasing strength of the military shaped Argentina’s particular form of police professionalization. The police built up their surveillance capacity and developed closer institutional links with the military. Military and civilian governments continued to emphasize the role of the police in combatting internal political enemies. This structure was used and reinforced in new ways by Peronism and the antiPeronism that followed.

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Peronism, Anti-Peronism and Military Rule: 1946-1976

At first glance it seems that President Juan Domingo Perón (1946-1955, 1973-1974) would have been able to overcome many of the past obstacles to decreasing the use of violence by the police against protesters. Perón had a clear labor policy and integrated workers into his government, thereby greatly decreasing the number of strikes (at least initially) and removing the police from labor negotiations. He also espoused rhetoric of social justice, which would appear to be congruent with a form of policing that is inclusive of marginalized sectors, rather than the militarization of the police and framing of marginalized sectors as “subversives” or the enemy within. Perón certainly improved the relationship between workers and the police, training and using the police to defend his organized workers (Barreneche 2007: 233-234). However, he did not reduce police violence. Instead, Perón used the police to support his government against opposition to his government and attempts at labor autonomy (Kalmanowiecki 2000a: 49; Barreneche 2007: 235). In fact, in 1973, Perón stated: “This is what the police are for, to repress” (quoted in Andersen 2002: 221). Public protest continued to be met with police repression except when the protesters were supportive of Perón. Indeed, Perón had more support from the police than the military, a strategy, Martin Edwin Andersen argues, that Perón used to ward off military coups. For example, chief of police F. Velazco (1945-1947) was a strong supporter of Perón, and when the military removed him from his position and arrested Perón in October 1945, the police force, in support of their exchief, stepped back and let protesters demand the release of Perón. The protesters and Perón, who was released, gathered in the center of Buenos Aires without any police repression (Andersen 2002: 143-145). Again, in 1953, when attempts were made on Perón’s life, he encouraged his supporters to retaliate. They did so by burning and attacking buildings of the opposition. Not only did the police do nothing to stop the Peronists, but they arrested anyone who complained (Andersen 2002: 159-160). Perón further professionalized the police in a manner that helped him in his efforts to combat political opposition. Within the PFA Investigations Division, there had existed three branches: Social Order, Political Order, and the Special Section. Perón replaced Social Order with Union Order to concentrate its efforts on autonomous labor unions (Andersen 2002: 147; Rock 1987: 303). He also maintained the Special Branch (within the Investigations Division), which engaged in torture, and made it accountable only to Perón (Kalmanwieki 2000b: 206). In addition, Perón established a Code of Police Justice in 1953 that gave

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police more autonomy and impunity by granting them a different legal status than civilians in which discipline would be conducted by the police institution without external interference (Andersen 2002: 148; Kalmanwieki 2000b: 206). This status facilitated the continuation of the use of torture by police that began to be routine in the early 1930s. Perón led similar reforms within the Buenos Aires Provincial Police. The police were professionalized in a manner that emphasized centralization, discipline, and hierarchy. The goal was to break the traditional connection between police and local non-Peronist (Conservative and Radical) political leaders and instead make the forces accountable to the provincial Peronist leader (Barreneche 2007: 126). As with the PFA, these reforms increased police autonomy and impunity. Police professionalization increased their ability to take care of themselves first and serve political leaders second (Barreneche 2007: 246). For example, during the Peronist reforms, the police of the BAPP successfully defended their continued involvement in illegal gambling from which they supplemented their budget and salaries (Barreneche 2007: 233). Ultimately, Perón was overthrown in a military coup in 1955 and fled into exile. Police were supportive of Perón until the end. The new military regime had to eliminate Peronists within the police forces in order to gain their support. From 1955 to 1976, the military was in power eleven of the twenty-one years. No civilian government lasted more than four years, and all but one ended in a military coup. During this time, all Peronist leaders of the PFA were replaced with antiPeronists and the police were further militarized. Indeed, one author describes this period as the first “general military takeover of the police organization” (Kalmanwieki 2000b: 208). Eleven of the twelve chiefs of the PFA were from the military; only one was a career police officer (Andersen 2002: 168). In fact, in January 1958, under the nonmilitary presidency of Arturo Frondizi, a decree was promulgated that stipulated that the chief of the PFA, the subchief, and the head of the Federal Coordination all had to be superior officers of the armed forces chosen by the president, not career police officers (Andersen 2002: 175-176).7 Military men also filled most of the higher ranks of the police hierarchy in the federal capital and in many regions in the interior of the country (Kalmanwieki 2000b: 208). In addition to the military de-Peronization of the police, political repression by the police became focused on supporters of Perón. Indeed, the Cold War vocabulary of anti-Communism was very carefully adapted to the Argentine context as equivalent to anti-Peronism, and

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most of civil society was identified as supporters of either or both ideologies (Barreneche 2007: 232-233). The structure of the Investigations Division of the PFA was reorganized. Political Order began to orient its attention toward political parties on the ideological center such as the Peronists, Radicals, Christian Democrats, and Conservatives. Union Order continued and expanded its work on the labor movement. The Special Section followed the activities of the political parties on the left, including the Communists and Trotskyists, and also the parties on the extreme right (Andersen 2002: 172). In the province of Buenos Aires, the Intelligence Service of the Province of Buenos Aires (SIPBA) was established in 1956, after the coup, to assist the PFA in tracking subversives, broadly defined (Barreneche 2007: 235; Funes 2004). SIPBA continued to function until 1998 (Barreneche 2007: 235). In 1960, President Arturo Frondizi put in place the Plan CONINTES (Conmoción Interna del Estado), which was aimed at repressing unionists. However, the measures adopted more vaguely charged the armed forces and the police (subordinate to the former) to repress “internal disturbances” (Vallespir 2002: 24). Under this plan, thousands of Peronists and social activists were arrested, and in 1962 Felipe Vallese became the first person in Argentine history to be kidnapped and disappeared by the police (Vallespir 2002: 24-25). In the 1970s, the police and military began to face urban guerrillas inspired by the ideas of Perón (the Montoneros) and Communism (ERP, Ejército Revolucionario del Pueblo). Though relatively few in number, the guerillas did engage in kidnappings, assassinations, and bombings, some of which were directed at the police. The guerrillas were met with repression from the military and police until an election in 1973 brought the left-wing Peronist Héctor Cámpora (1973) to the presidency. Cámpora was not in power long but did make efforts to change police practices. For example, his Minister of the Interior, Esteban Righi, was outspoken against the use of torture by the police, but police resisted his attempts at reform (Andersen 2002: 213). Juan Domingo Perón’s return from exile reinforced the position of the police. Upon assuming the presidency in 1973, Perón led the police to further repress left-wing guerrilla groups, including the Montoneros. While Perón derogated the decree that insisted that the head of the PFA be from the armed forces, he did not engage in further reforms that might be seen as reducing police violence.8 To the contrary, he passed an antiterrorist law and authorized the PFA to work with Chilean, Bolivian, Uruguayan, and Brazilian intelligence to go after each others’ “extremists” (Andersen 2002: 226). He centralized “antisubversive”

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efforts within Argentina under the Security Council and established a paramilitary group, the infamous Argentine Anti-Communist Alliance (Triple A), to do extralegal work such as the execution of terrorists. The Triple A was comprised of both active and “dishonorably discharged” police officers (Denissen 2008: 47). When Perón died in 1974, the Triple A became officially organized within the PFA (Ungar 2002: 73). From 1973 to 1976, between 865 and 996 people were killed by the Triple A, a prelude to what was to come (García 1995: 442). Whereas Perón had insisted that terrorism was a police matter,9 after his death the military began to play a much more prominent role and repression increased (García 1995: 221). Many people dispute the threat that guerrillas actually posed in Argentina in the 1970s, especially by 1975 (Skidmore and Smith, 2001:98). Yet, in order to combat this perceived threat, President Isabel Perón (1974-1976) chose to place the police under military control, an action that supported the position of the military that civilians (that is, the police) were unable to control the “civil war.” The Dirty War: 1976-1983

When the military took power in 1976, the police were already accustomed to working under their authority from the previous three military regimes. Although initially the police were not united in their support for the coup,10 the military regime succeeded in solidifying what the other military regimes had begun, that is, the further militarization of the police. This integration of the police into the military regime had two particular features. First, the military worked with the police, but ensured that the police were subordinated to their authority. One military general described the police as their “little brothers,” a simile also used by police (Andersen 2002: 270; Seri 2012: 125). Second, the military recognized that the police were better equipped as an institution to address internal security and thus gave the police a large amount of autonomy (Andersen 2002: 259-260). The police were institutionally integrated into the military regime. The head of the PFA returned to being selected from the military and police participated in a number of working groups including: GT2 (led by the Army within the Superintendencia de Seguridad Federal [Federal Security Headquarters], which coordinated internal security efforts); GT1 (led by the Army); GT3 (led by the Armada); GT4 (led by the Air Force); and GT5 (led by the state intelligence organization SIDE) (Andersen 2002: 264). The police also ran approximately 16-22 clandestine detention centers, and many of their police stations were

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used as transitory holding spaces for victims waiting to be taken to military clandestine detention centers (CONADEP 1984; Vallespir 2002: 44). Promotions for the police depended on their participation in clandestine detention centers (CELS 2011: 107). Within this structure the police had a growing amount of autonomy and impunity. According to a secret order signed by General Jorge R. Videla (junta leader), if police were to find someone they suspected of participating in subversive activity, they were to “execute, based on their own initiative, the actions needed for their elimination” (quoted in Andersen 2002: 261). In addition, any crimes committed by the police were now to be tried in military courts. The new level of police autonomy and impunity was further extended as a result of an event taking place on July 2, 1976. On this date, a bomb went off in the building of the Superintendencia de Seguridad Federal, a coordinated intelligence unit within the PFA. Twenty-one people died and sixty-six were injured (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 421). This incident occurred less than one month after the chief of the PFA, General Cesáreo Cardozo, was killed in his home by a bomb. Both bombs were set off by members of the left-wing Peronist guerrilla group, the Montoneros. The new police chief, General Juan Corbetta, attempted to calm police anger by encouraging them not to respond to the events with illegal repression. Rather than calming them, the statements infuriated the police who resented Corbetta’s military status (Andersen 2002: 274). Police rebelled, taking justice into their own hands; approximately seventy people were killed by police in the week after the bomb attacks (Andersen 2002: 281). Police autonomy and impunity were not limited to acts aimed at combating “subversion.” Police also began to use their new freedom to engage in criminal activities for their own financial gain. In addition to stealing from the homes of those they disappeared, police became involved in extortive kidnapping, robbery, and drug trafficking. A representative from the US embassy in Buenos Aires during the dictatorship stated that: “Ninety percent of crimes committed in the province of Buenos Aires were committed by police who were off-duty. Many police made themselves rich” (quoted in Andersen 2002: 286). Often the police targeted particular groups within society. For example, one police station chief from the dictatorship stated that during the dictatorship there were “200 cases of extortive kidnappings of Jewish business people and their families” (Andersen 2002: 286).11 Extortive kidnapping was reported by one ex-police officer to have been “one of

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their favorite ways to improve their income” during the dictatorship (ibid). In addition to these new roles, the police continued to be responsible for overseeing protests. Repressive protest policing was the norm for most of the dictatorship. However, as Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe Schmitter explain to be the case in most authoritarian regimes, levels of repression ebbed and flowed as the regime “liberalized” (1986: 7). Police repression of protest was higher at the beginning of the dictatorship than it was near the end. However, it continued. As late as December 16, 1982, a protester, Dalmiro Flores, was killed at a protest demanding the return of democracy. Protests and protesters continued to be framed as subversives. For example, in response to a protest on March 30, 1982, then Minister of the Interior, Alfredo Saint Jean, justified repressive protest policing in the following manner: “Protests were used [by activists] as a sort of training ground, I won’t go as far as saying for terrorism, but not far from that: subversion.”12 For the police, the end of the dictatorship in 1983 meant a reduction of the autonomy, impunity, and wealth they had come to enjoy. At the same time, the public’s fear of the police turned to contempt. During protests calling for the end of the dictatorship people shouted “Policía Federal, la desgracia nacional” (Federal Police, national disgrace) (Andersen 2002: 292). It appeared that police violence and autonomy had gone too far. Though not the result of police violence alone, as many as 30,000 people disappeared during the Dirty War. Thousands more were exiled, imprisoned, tortured, or killed. A large human rights movement emerged during the dictatorship, symbolized by the internationally known Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo. The human rights movement, for the first time, loudly rejected the role of the police as fighting an internal political enemy. The movement eventually captured the support of the majority of Argentines, support they have maintained to this day (Bonner 2007). However, the return of electoral democracy did not lead to the immediate and straightforward reform of the police toward more accountable and less violent police practices. Democratization: 1983-present

The current period of electoral democracy is the longest Argentina has ever experienced (excluding early phases tarnished by electoral fraud). The memory of the last dictatorship remains present; the vast majority of the population rejects the human rights abuses that occurred. The abuses of the military and police have been documented in the best-selling truth

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commission report Nunca Más (CONADEP 1984). Many military and police have been sentenced to prison for their abuses. As of December 2011, 239 people had been found guilty for human rights abuses committed during the dictatorship. Of those, 79 were members of the PFA or provincial police forces (CELS 2012: 43). In addition, some attempts at police reform have been made. However, police violence and repressive protest policing persist. Between 1983 and 2011, sixty protesters were killed by police, hundreds were seriously injured, and thousands arrested.13 This tension between past and present police practice is the subject of this section. Alfonsín: 1983-1989

As would be expected, the newly elected government of Raúl Alfonsín prioritized the establishment of civilian control of the military over police reform. For the most part, police personnel remained unchanged, and they continued to function in much the same manner as they had during the dictatorship. For example, police continued to be involved in extortive kidnappings such as the well-publicized kidnapping of Osvaldo Sivak, a Buenos Aires businessman, on July 29, 1985 (Babini 1990: 8). Politically motivated police killings also continued. For example, on June 5, 1988, Agustín Ramírez, a young social activist working in a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, was killed by police in a targeted attack (Cambio 21, 2010). Like Alfonsín, Argentine human rights organizations were concentrating their efforts on issues of transitional justice. Their priorities included helping the truth commission, pushing for justice in the courts, and fighting the impunity granted by the amnesty laws. Yet, at the same time, victims of continued police violence, particularly those from poor neighborhoods, began to approach human rights organizations for help with their cases. By the end of the 1980s, the historical human rights organization, the Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS), had a working group addressing the issue of persistent police violence. In 1992, a new social movement organization formed, Correpi (Coordinator Against Police and Institutional Repression). Correpi continues to dedicate itself entirely to the struggle against police violence that has occurred since the return of electoral democracy in 1983. Among other tasks, both organizations collect and disseminate data on cases of police violence. The initial work of these activists introduced the wider Argentine public to the issue of what they called gatillo fácil (trigger-happy police).

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In this context, the Alfonsín government made some attempts at police reform. The reforms included: changing the law to require that the head of the PFA be a career policeman; reducing police resources; improving police training; tightening internal discipline; and replacing top police officials who had committed human rights abuses during the dictatorship (Hinton 2006: 37; Ungar 2011: 235; Ungar 2002: 81; Andersen 2002: 296). A Congress dominated by the opposition Peronist party blocked many other police reforms put forth by Alfonsín. After July 16, 1986, the newly appointed chief of the PFA, Juan Ángel Pirker, assisted Alfonsín in his efforts at police reform. Pirker enjoyed a positive relationship with the press, the judiciary, and the public, who described him as “the best police chief” (Andersen 2002: 307-308). Pirker was committed to ridding the police of corruption and to making it a respectable and honest “public service.” Pirker helped root out police mafia active in Police Station 12 who had been participating in extortion and the selling of drugs (Andersen 2002: 309). Pirker also countered ultra-right-wing groups active within the police force (ibid: 310). Finally, in one of his greatest public relations moves, on December 31, 1987, Pirker went to the home of the wife of Osvaldo Sivik, the businessman who had been killed by police, and told her: “We came to wish you a happy new year . . . and to ask for your forgiveness because it was members of the Institution that were responsible for the abhorrent acts” (quoted in Babini 1990: 18); the police had never before apologized for their involvement in crime. When Pirker died of a heart attack on February 13, 1989, thousands of people took to the streets to say goodbye (Andersen 2002: 314). Despite their positive efforts, Alfonsín and Pirker were unable to achieve lasting and significant changes in the manner in which the police function. Worse yet, police repression of protests continued. Political leaders and police, including Pirker, justified the repression by reference to the threat posed by alleged “Trotskyists” or “ultra-leftist groups.” In one case, “Trotskyists” were found to in fact be members of the Juventud Radical, the youth wing of Alfonsín’s own political party.14 Finally, the economic crisis that ended Alfsonín’s term in office led him to impose a thirty-day state of emergency beginning on May 29, 1989. The response of police to the ensuing food riots and protests resulted in fourteen people dead, eighty people injured, and forty people arrested for protesting (Human Rights Watch 1989; Página/12, July 1, 2002).

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Menem: 1989-1999

In contrast to Alfonsín, President Carlos Menem was, for the most part, uninterested in police reform. Indeed, in 1998, he stated: “Mano dura. There is no other option, no other” (quoted in Ungar 2011: 236). Most police reform that occurred while Menem was president occurred at the subnational level. Yet rising crime rates, an increasing number of dramatic cases of gatillo fácil, growing awareness of police corruption through media reports, and continued repression of protests led to increased demands by the Argentine public for the police to be reformed. The emerging image of the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, in particular, was encapsulated in the title of an article written by journalists Ricardo Ragendorfer and Carlos Dútil in 1996, “la Maldita Policía” (the Damn Police). The term has since become almost synonymous with the Buenos Aires Provincial Police. The first police reform during this period that gained substantial public attention was the reform of the notoriously violent Buenos Aires Provincial Police (BAPP) whose jurisdiction includes the suburbs of the city of Buenos Aires. The reform of the BAPP was sanctioned by the provincial legislature in December 1996. The reforms responded to and were supported by international attention focused on the violence and corruption of the BAPP. Two cases in particular highlighted the concerns: the BAPP’s involvement in the 1997 killing of the wellknown photojournalist José Luis Cabezas and its links to the 1994 bombing of the Jewish Community Center, AMIA (Asociación Mutual Israelita de Argentina) (Ungar, 2002: 86; Eaton 2008: 15).15 The ensuing reforms were primarily structural changes that emphasized decentralization and drew on aspects of community policing (Ungar 2011: 259-260; Ungar, 2002: 88; Sain, 2002: 92; Sain 2008; Arslanian 2008). Although the reform of the BAPP was relatively substantial, in practice very little changed; the number of civilians killed by the BAPP continued to increase significantly (Ungar, 2002: 89). The second major reform was enacted by the new Autonomous City of Buenos Aires. On March 5, 1998, the city derogated the police edicts and replaced them with a new Misdemeanors Code (Law 10) (HRW and CELS 1998: 28). The change affected the PFA, which has jurisdiction in the City of Buenos Aires. The edicts are internal police regulations regarding public social behavior, such as “scandal” or “public drunkenness,” that allow the police to detain people for up to thirty days without charges (Ungar, 2002: 90). Individuals were detained not for having committed a crime but for personal attributes that make the individual “suspicious” or

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challenge social norms. Police edicts existed in Argentina for well over two hundred years but most modern edicts were established during authoritarian regimes between 1932 and 1956 (Ungar, 2002: 90). Edicts were widely used by police. For example, in 1995 in the Federal Capital of Buenos Aires, of the 240,000 people detained that year, 150,000 of them were detained for edicts (Ungar, 2002: 93). The use of edicts by the police also increased during the 1990s; whereas in 1992 there were 35,350 detained by the Argentine Federal Police for edicts, there were 156,473 in 1996 (HRW and CELS, 1998: 21). The discretionary power given to Argentine police through the use of edicts is in itself alarming. However, what is even more concerning is that the majority of cases of torture, injuries, and deaths of civilians by the police occur when people are in police custody (Caravelos, 2003: 112). Peronists, police, and the middle class all publicly opposed the replacement of the edicts with the Code (Ungar, 2002: 95), as the codes placed more limits on the police’s ability to detain someone and increased judicial oversight of such detainments (Ungar, 2002: 90-93). The middle class viewed the restrictions as weakening the police’s power to combat crime and keep their neighborhoods quiet. In reality, the change made very little difference to police practice; police simply switched from using edicts to using the verification of police records in order to arbitrarily detain “indecent” or marginalized people (Ungar, 2002: 95). Verification of police records is a police power that has existed in Argentina for more than a hundred years but has existed as a formal police practice only since it was established by a presidential decree in 1958 by General Aramburu, at the end of his authoritarian government (Caravelos, 2003: 124-125). Verification of police records involves the police approaching an individual or rounding up a group of people (razzias) and demanding to see their identity cards. If the individual has his or her identity card, the police will do a background check to see if there is a warrant out for his or her arrest. If the individual does not have his or her identity card, the police can detain the person for up to twentyfour hours, depending on the jurisdiction. In either case, the individual’s photograph is taken and put in a photo album. Some social activists contend that this album is then used to identify particular protesters who are later targeted for future arrest and harassment (Caravelos, 2003: 109). Police argue that they use the verification of police records to locate people who have warrants out for their arrest. However, of 2,400 people detained in September 1995 for verification of records, only seven were subject to a warrant (HRW and CELS, 1998: 23).

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Other reforms, mostly aimed at the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, have involved suspending, firing, or obligating the retirement of highlevel officers, particularly those who have links with the past dictatorship or current human rights abuses (CELS, 2004: 158-159; Ungar, 2002: 81). However, the reorganization of personnel did not sufficiently address the problems within the police forces. For example, one cleansing of the Buenos Aires Provincial Police in the early 1990s led to the dismissal of 2,100 low-rank police officers (Andersen 2002: 332). One low-ranking ex-Buenos Aires police officer, Nahuel Suarez, who was dismissed in one of these “cleansings,” claims that his dismissal was the result of his having reported to the judiciary his colleagues’ involvement in the drug trade.16 Moreover, the police were being given mixed messages from the government. For example, in 1990, the provincial Subsecretary of Security, Lieutenant Colonel Carlos Pombo, stated that in fact “there is no concrete judicial evidence of police corruption” (Vallespir 2002: 53). In addition, in 1997, the federal government increased the budget for security forces and provincial police by 180 million pesos. The government identified the increased resources as a way of assisting the police in combatting social conflict (CELS 1998: 169-170). During this period, President Menem was pursing a radical neoliberal economic plan. Among other reforms, almost all public firms were privatized (Teichman 2001: 111). Though initially successful at stabilizing inflation and promoting economic growth, by the mid-1990s the consequences of neoliberalism were beginning to be felt. A weakening economy and increased unemployment led to an increase in social protest. In particular, piqueteros, initially unemployed workers whose primary mode of protest is to block roads, emerged in the mid1990s; their protests became more and more frequent, growing from 140 in 1997 to 252 in 1999 (Epstein 2003: 22). Piqueteros, as well as others protesting Menem’s neoliberal economic policies, faced increasing police repression throughout the 1990s (Human Rights Watch 1998: 98; Human Rights Watch 1999: 102-103; Amnesty International 1995: 59; Amnesty International 1996: 77-78). In 1995, Víctor Choque, a worker protesting the closing of a factory, was killed.17 In response to an earlier protest in 1993, which ended with thirty injured protesters, Menem stated: “I wonder if this is the result of our brothers [the police] or professional agitators who started the violence.”18 In addition to police violence, the president of Correpi, María del Carmen Verdú, explained that in the mid-1990s her organization identified and named a phenomenon it called the “criminalization of social protest.” This referred to the use of the judicial system and

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particular laws to repress protest.19 For example, protesters can be arrested for blocking a road (article 194 of the penal code), resisting arrest, uttering threats, verification of police records, or edicts. The latter two forms of arrest permitted police to detain someone for up to twentyfour hours without charging them of a crime. Once detained, protesters are routinely beaten and sometimes tortured or even killed (Puntano 2003: 261; Dal Bianco 2003: 277). As the number of protests increased in the late 1990s and early 2000s, police violence increased, overshadowing criminalization. Few changes were made to the PFA in the 1990s. Menem’s first appointment to chief of the PFA was Jorge Luis Pasero, who, unlike Pirker, reinforced a strong vertical structure within the police forces with little internal or external transparency (Andersen 2002: 319). Pasero was police chief for five years. Moreover, when, like the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, the PFA was also found to have been involved in the bombing of AMIA, no action was taken to reform the institution. Instead, Menem’s response was to establish a Security Secretary led by a member of the military that would focus on “conflicts related to international terrorism” (Andersen 2002: 335). In 1998, the PFA was given the responsibility of combatting drug trafficking, a responsibility transferred to them from the Buenos Aires Provincial Police (Andersen 2002: 328). The budget of the PFA was also increased that year by 20 million pesos and another 40 million in 1999 (Andersen 2002: 346). Thus, although many police reforms were pursued in the 1990s, these reforms were fraught with contradictions. Political and public commitment to police reform was not clear. A weakening economy, increased crime, and increased social protest further tested this commitment. De la Rúa and Duhalde: 2000-2003

Unemployment, underemployment, crime, social protest, and police violence continued to increase after 1999, reaching a peak in 2002 after Argentina’s spectacular economic collapse in December 2001 (See Table 3.1 below). One journalist described President Fernando De la Rúa (2000-2001) as “the constitutional president with the most number of deaths [in protests] to his name.”20 To be sure, this was a period of high political instability. President De la Rúa was forced out of office in December 2001. There were a number of interim presidents at the end of 2001 and beginning of 2002 before Eduardo Duhalde, who remained president until elections were held in 2003. Thus police reforms and

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police violence from 1999 to 2003 reflected and responded to a dramatic period of unrest. Table 3.1: Insecurity in Argentina, 1999-2003 Unemployment/ underemployment (% of population)

Crimes per 100,000 inhabitants

Number of road blocks per year

Number of civilians killed by police21

1999

28.8

2,904

252

248

2000

29.6

3,051

514

202

2001

32.4

3,250

1383

240

2002

38.9

3,697

2336

221

2003

28.9

3,504

1272

153

Sources: Epstein 2003, 22; INDEC (www.indec.gov.ar); Clarín 2005: 54; CELS 2005: 241; Centro de Estudios Nueva Mayoría 2006a, b.

In 1999, De la Rúa modified the organic laws of the Argentine Federal Police (PFA) regarding the duty of a police officer (or former police officer) to carry his or her weapon and be ready for duty at all times (known as estado policial) (CELS, 2001: 118; CELS, 2004: 217218). The modification relieved police officers of this responsibility when they were no longer on duty. This change is important in that it ended the militaristic idea of police being engaged in an internal war that required their full commitment, and it made policing a job done for the hours police are paid. However, estado policial is as old as the PFA; it is laid out in the Statute of the Federal Police. It is very hard to change habits and training, especially when there is relatively little oversight. Thus, in practice, the police ignore these reforms. For example, between 2000 and 2004, approximately 60 percent of civilian deaths involving the PFA in the city and greater Buenos Aires were committed by offduty police (CELS, 2004: 218).22 Argentine police also continued the practice known as gatillo fácil (trigger-happy). Between January 1999 and June 2003, 19 percent of all homicides in Greater Buenos Aires were the result of police shootouts (enfrentamientos) involving the Argentine Federal Police or the Buenos

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Aires Provincial Police or both (CELS, 2003a: 214). Compared to 1996, the number of civilian deaths caused by police shootouts involving the Argentine Federal Police in 2000-2002 increased by 89 percent (CELS, 2002b: 2).23 The problem of gatillo fácil became compounded as social protest against Argentina’s worsening economic situation became more widespread. Police violence against social protest began to increase with the emergence of piqueteros in the mid-1990s and reached a peak after the economy collapsed in December 2001. During the month of December 2001, massive protests and police repression led to 39 people being killed and 4,500 people arrested. The repression of social protest by police in Argentina persisted after December 2001 under President Eduardo Duhalde. Protesters continued to be arrested, injured, and killed by the police. One of the most dramatic cases during Duhalde’s term in office took place on June 26, 2002.24 On that day approximately 2,500 protesters tried to block the Pueyrredón Bridge but were met by close to 2,000 police officers from the Federal Police, Buenos Aires Provincial Police, the Gendarmería, and the Prefectura (CELS, 2003b: 178). Two young protesters, Darío Santillán (21 years old) and Maximiliano Kosteki (24 years old), were killed, 90 people were injured, and 160 were arrested (ibid). Some of the people arrested reported that they were tortured while they were detained. Among a number of statements President Duhalde made in response to the event was that there was a connection between two of the piquetero groups25 present on Pueyrredón Bridge and the Colombian guerrilla organization FARC. That is, there was a political “enemy within” that justified police violence. What became known as the “massacre” on Pueyrredón Bridge was a key turning point in police repression of social protest in Argentina. Initially, the front cover of Clarín (Argentine national newspaper), like other media, appeared to support Duhalde’s blurring of responsibility. The newspaper declared, vaguely, that it was the “crisis” that killed the two protesters. However, simultaneously, Clarín published a photo, taken by photojournalist Pepe Mateos, that showed a police officer killing one of the protesters. Police and political responsibility became undeniable. With limited success, Duhalde attempted to reframe his analysis of the event to shift blame onto the police (see chapter 6). Many interviewees argued that this incident contributed to Duhalde deciding not to run in the 2003 presidential election. Piqueteros are not the only protesters targeted by police. Police used similar levels of repression to confront other protests. For example, high levels of repression were used to confront a protest held on April 21,

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2003, by workers who were locked out of the Brukman factory (CELS, 2003a: 182-184). Police not only used repression against those demonstrating but followed protesters as they tried to flee, using tear gas and rubber bullets to remove and arrest protesters from a hospital26 and a university building. In both cases, people not involved in the protests were harmed by the tear gas and in some cases beaten and arrested (CELS, 2003a: 182-183). The majority of police repression of social protest is targeted at the poor and unemployed. However, the middle class has not been exempt from repression. For example, in March 2003 a demonstration outside of the Congress building by organizations including the middle class NGO, Poder Ciudadano (Citizen Power), was met with repression. Andrea Pochak, a lawyer for the human rights organization Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS), who was involved in defending those arrested or injured in this particular confrontation, said that one of the reasons CELS took on the case was because the organizations were widely recognized as middle class. Pochak argued that many middle-class Argentines accept the repression of protests organized by poor people because they believe that such repression will not affect them; this incident highlights that this is not the case (Pochak, 2003: 209). In total, an estimated 2,000-2,500 people were arrested for social protest in Argentina in 2001 and 2002 (Sleam, 2003: 254). The manner in which the police repressed social protest under the Duhalde government was consistent with the administration’s hardline position on crime. However, at the same time that the Argentine public appeared to be rejecting repressive protest policing, a tough-on-crime stance began to also gain public favor. During the early 2000s, the media gradually shifted its ample coverage of gatillo fácil and police corruption to a preoccupation with “insecurity.” The new term began (and continues) to slur the distinction between protesters and criminals. The Kirchners: 2003-present

The high levels of police repression against social protest that accompanied the height of the economic crisis contributed to President Néstor Kirchner (2003-2007) assuming his first term in office with a strong position against repressive protest policing. However, over the term of his presidency, and continuing under that of Cristina Fernández de Kirchner (2007-present), politicians were met with increasing demands from the media and the public for security and mano dura responses to it. For example, in 2004, Juan Carlos Blumberg, a businessman whose son, Axel, had been kidnapped and killed, led huge

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crowds to demand greater security. His proposals were criticized by human rights organizations for their authoritarian approach and eventually Blumberg himself was discredited. Yet protests demanding greater security persist. Thus the tensions between old police practices, rising concerns with crime, and new democratization goals emerge as a primary challenge for Argentine political actors in the current context. A few days after Néstor Kirchner assumed office, human rights organizations presented him with their demands for ending repressive protest policing (CELS 2008: 236). These demands, combined with the recent memory of the Pueyrredón “massacre” and the consequences for Duhalde, contributed to Kirchner taking an unprecedented stance on protest policing. He began to speak about his new policy towards social protest as being one of “tolerance and persuasion” (CELS 2008: 231). Within a few months he dictated express orders that police should attend protests in large numbers but be unarmed. This position was not supported by then PFA Police Chief (comisaria general) Eduardo Prados, who argued that such action “dishonored” the PFA. Kirchner’s Secretary of Internal Security, Norberto Quantín, also disagreed. Both were removed from their positions as a result (CELS 2008: 237). Many other opposition politicians and sectors of public opinion viewed Kirchner’s policy on protest policing as unacceptably passive (CELS 2008: 231). Yet, officially, the position persists under President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner. Luis Alén, Subsecretary of Human Rights Prevention, Ministry of Justice and Human Rights, pointed out that between the beginning of Kirchner’s policy and 2009, no protesters had died at the hands of federal security forces.27 That said, in 2010, the PFA, along with the newly formed Metropolitan Police, were found responsible for the deaths of three people (two by the PFA) at a protest in Indoamericano Park in the city of Buenos Aires. The relative success of Kirchner’s policy will be discussed with more detail and nuance in the next two chapters. Kirchner’s attempts at police reform were not limited to protest policing. He also purged the PFA of more than five hundred officers identified as linked to corruption and crime (CELS 2007: 214). He encouraged similar reforms in the Buenos Aires Provincial Police. The BAPP was reformed by the then Minister of Security for the Province of Buenos Aires, León Arslanián, beginning in April 2004 and included: decentralization; establishment of spaces for community participation; incorporation of civilian professionals in key management positions; disciplinary sanctions for police abuse; and the removal from the institution of officers who have committed human rights abuses (many were fired) (CELS 2007: 202; Arslanian 2008). However, police reforms

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in Argentina are vulnerable to the political climate. In 2007, Daniel Scioli was elected as governor of the province of Buenos Aires and reversed most of the reforms put in place by Arslanián. Political will appears to be central to enduring police reform, be it reform of protest policing or crime fighting. Arguably, political will is random (based on who wins elections) and ideological. Yet political will is also shaped by the framing of actions and solutions. Historical context contributes to the building and rebuilding of such frames. Conclusion

In this chapter, I aimed to provide historical context to current debates on protest policing in Argentina. That is, what do “law and order” frames for protest policing draw from history that makes their claims resonate as familiar? This chapter has highlighted a number of issues. First, the role of the police, and thus the manner in which political leaders have consistently used police, has been to combat a political “enemy within.” The primary role of the police is to defend the government from opposition, including protesters. The definition of the enemy broadened in scope over the years to include most of civil society by the time of the last dictatorship. Second, the militaristic role of police being engaged in a form of internal war has supported their use of high levels of violence. Likewise, the manner in which police have been professionalized has increased their autonomy and impunity to use the levels of violence they deem appropriate. Third, in this “war,” political leaders and police have viewed protesters as the enemy. That is, the control of social protest has been a defining feature of the development and role of the police in Argentina. However, for most Argentines, the last military regime, or Dirty War, is viewed as the war on an internal political enemy having gone too far. For “civil rights” frames on protest policing, the Dirty War is an important reference point. History, combined with current events, such as the repression of the Pueyrredón Bridge protest in 2002 (analyzed further in chapter 6), contributes to the resonance of frames that favor a role for the police that emphasizes the protection of citizens rather than the government in power. 1 In 2010, the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires created its own police force, the Metropolitan Police. In addition, the national militarized police, Gendarmería (border control) and Prefectura (coast guard), are occasionally called upon to assist in managing protests. All these forces have been

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responsible for the deaths of protesters and will be discussed occasionally. However, the principal police forces responsible for managing protests in Greater Buenos Aires are the PFA and BAPP. 2 There were six divisions if the Health and Firefighters Divisions are included (Rodríguez and Zappietro 1999: 234). 3 Between 1922 and 1928 another Radical, President Marcelo T. de Alvear, led the country. 4 Conservative party dominance was ensured by fraudulent elections. 5 Lila Caimari (2009) argues that the formation of the PFA was also the result of technological changes. The proliferation of cars and better guns meant many people feared that criminals of all sorts could escape the city of Buenos Aires (and the police) by driving fast to the provincial outskirts. Newspaper editorials argued that a federal police force would help stop these fugitives. 6 Federal Coordination’s initial role was to watch over foreign spying in the country. However, this role was quickly refocused on internal subversion (Andersen 2002: 137). 7 In an attempt to establish civilian control over the police, President Humberto Illia of the UCR (1963-1966) appointed a civilian as chief of the PFA, which the military saw as an affront. 8 Perón’s reestablishing that the head of the PFA did not need to be from the military was likely an effort on his part to assert control over the police in order to use it as an ally against the military (as he had done earlier). 9 In 1973, Perón stated: “I have already clarified that the leftist groups, if they work within the law, for us, they will be respected within the law; however, if they work outside the law, it is a police issue” (quoted in García 1995: 221, my translation). 10 Some police supported the Peronist government. Other police were sceptical of the military’s justification for the coup since they believed the subversive threat was being inflated by the military because combating the guerrilla groups had been their jurisdiction and they had done it well (Andersen 2002: 257). 11 Jewish people were also disproportionately disappeared by the military regime (CONADEP 1984: 69-75). 12 Página/12, July 1, 2002, “Todos los muertos de la democracia.” 13 Correpi database. Sent via email on September 27, 2011. 14 Página/12, July 1, 2002, “Todos los muertos de la democracia.” 15 AMIA was bombed on July 18, 1994, leaving eighty-five people dead and more than three hundred injured (AMIA “Atentado de AMIA–18 de julio de 1994.” URL: http://www.amia.org.ar/index.php/content/default/show/content/14 [last accessed July 5, 2013]). 16 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 3, 2009. 17 Correpi database. 18 Página/12, July 1, 2002, “Todos los muertos de la democracia.” 19 Interview with María del Carmen Verdú, President of National Coordinator Against Police and Institutional Repression (Correpi). Buenos Aires. November 6, 2009. 20 Página/12, July 1, 2002, “Todos los muertos de la democracia.” 21 Civilians killed by PFA or Buenos Aires Provincial Police in the city and greater Buenos Aires.

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22 The organic laws referring to the estado policial were modified for the Buenos Aires Provincial Police in 2002. However, as with the PFA, 30-40 percent of civilian deaths involving the Buenos Aires Provincial Police between 2000 and 2004 were committed by off-duty officers (CELS 2004: 218). 23 Official statistics on police violence in Argentina are hard to find. The statistics used in this chapter mainly come from the nongovernmental organization, the Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS). CELS collects these statistics through the laborious process of reviewing all daily national newspapers in Argentina. Since the statistics come from the media, the numbers reflect media interests and concerns. It is likely that newspapers overreport violence against police and underreport violence against civilians by police, especially the torture of civilians held in police custody. 24 For more details and analysis of this protest, see chapter 6. 25 The two groups identified were Corriente Aníbal Verón and Movimiento Teresa Rodríguez. 26 Protesters fled to the Hospital Garrahan, which is twenty-five blocks from where the protest was held (CELS, 2003a: 182). 27 Author interview. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. Whereas in total police killed sixteen protesters between 2003 and 2011, federal police were responsible for only two of these deaths and these occurred in 2010.

4 Discourses on Protest Policing in Argentina

Protests are a daily part of the landscape and sounds of Buenos Aires. The familiar noise of beating drums and protester chants combine with the complaints of taxi drivers, bus passengers, and drivers forced, once again, to alter their routes. Protesters range from piqueteros (picketers), to union activists, students, pensioners, and party activists. Considering the frequency of protests, it is likely accurate to say that most protests in Argentina are not met with police repression. Yet the repression of protests continues and can be very violent. Since 1983, sixty people have been killed by police during protests, thousands have been seriously injured, and thousands more arrested. Those arrested have sometimes reported being tortured by police. Police repression of protests has ebbed and flowed, to some extent, with the quantity of protests. Apart from those killed during large protests in response to the economic crisis of 1989, no protesters were killed by police during protests from 1983 to 1994. Although protests continued after the return of electoral democracy, their numbers began to increase significantly beginning in 1996. This was approximately the same time that the impact of President Carlos Menem’s neoliberal economic reforms began to significantly affect the working class. Newly unemployed workers began to protest in large numbers and became known as piqueteros. Protests by piqueteros and other groups have continued and face inconsistent levels of repression. Yet, legally, the right to protest in Argentina is guaranteed in the Constitution under article 14, the right to “petition authorities.” There are also regulations and laws that stipulate that the use of firearms and force by security forces to manage protests should be used as a last resort, after all other methods have been exhausted (CELS 2003b: 113114). However, police continue to manage protests in much the same 67

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way as they have since the dictatorship. In their study of protest policing in Argentina from 1996 to 2002, the Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS) concluded that the police manage protests in a manner that is “improvised.” Police are not trained in the procedures laid out by law. They do not “respect the requirement of gradual escalation of the intensity of their intervention, they [do] not provide warning of an escalation of force, nor [do] they respect the exceptional use of armaments with a lethal capacity” (CELS 2003b: 120). They do not follow clear steps of action nor do subordinates seek the consent of superiors in carrying out their actions (CELS 2003b: 120, 181) In summary, CELS states (2003b: 177): There is no norm or regulation that establishes planned steps and control of action of security forces during social protests. The action takes place in a context of disorder, informality and irregularities (use of nonauthorized arms, absence of identification and absence of instances of control, etc.). These irregularities are not isolated events nor symptoms of disobedience. Rather they are cemented as routine action.

Police noncompliance with the law is facilitated, in part, by a lack of institutional accountability. CELS’s study found a number of cases of judges who ordered the repression of a protest later presiding over the investigation of police wrongdoing during that same protest (2003b: 160). In other cases, the same police force accused of wrongdoing was responsible for investigating this wrongdoing (CELS 2003b: 161). In addition, in some cases, magistrates, who are obliged to investigate the police killing of a protester, neglected to initiate investigations (CELS 2003b: 166). The internal affairs offices within the police also have not been helpful as a check; indeed, in one case, they were actually involved in the death of a protester (CELS 2003b: 163). Moreover, since the mid1990s the judiciary has led charges against many protesters for the violation of various laws. The most frequently used is article 194 of the criminal code, which pertains to not blocking roads (the most common form of protest used by piqueteros). Thus institutional mechanisms of accountability provide greater oversight of the actions of protesters than those of the police. Attempts to change how police manage protests have been made in response to significant cases of wrongdoing. After the death of fortythree protesters from 2000 to 2002, President Néstor Kirchner pursued a policy of no-repression. In this goal, he adopted various principles regarding the control of protests and incorporated them into the internal

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norms of the federal forces. Most notably, in July 2004, he prohibited police from using firearms during protests. Although this change in discourse was important, significant legal loopholes remained. Beyond the problem of weak institutional accountability, the new norms are not as enforceable as regulations would have been. They do not address the issue that instruments other than firearms can be lethal.1 The specifics of the norms are vague and contradictory. And the policy extends only to federal forces; it does not apply to provincial and other subnational forces (Perelman 2008: 61; CELS 2011: 130). Thus police repression of protest continued after 2003, exploding in another series of protester deaths in 2010. Nine protesters were killed by police in 2010 and another four in 2011. Even the judiciary in charge of investigating the protester deaths in 2010 found it difficult to establish what the rules of conduct were for the police when managing protests (CELS 2011: 165). In response, in March 2011, the Minister of Security, Nilda Garré, announced a proposal for a memorandum of agreement on police conduct when managing protests.2 The results of this proposal have yet to be seen. Thus the legal regulation and institutional accountability of police practices for managing protests are weak. In such a context, discursive accountability becomes important. Whether or not police or political leaders perceive there to be public and political support for the continuation of repressive protest policing may affect their choice to use violence and repression. In the over fifty interviews I conducted in Argentina with political (state and social movement) and media actors whose work relates to the police, no one argued in favor of repressive protest policing. That is, the dominant frame in Argentina is now: “police repression of public protest is wrong.” There is discursive accountability in that repressive protest policing is widely accepted as wrongdoing. Yet it is equally recognized by interviewees in 2009 that repressive protest policing, while currently reduced, continues. The possibility of a return to more frequent and violent repression remains and, indeed, was seen the following year. My question to interviewees was: if repressive protest policing is wrongdoing, why does it continue? The response can be summarized in a counterframe: “repressive protest policing is not acceptable but it is inevitable.” Interviewees identify three nodes of responsibility that explain the continuation of repressive protest policing: political, police, and judicial. I argue that actors in each node are able to obfuscate responsibility by framing repressive protest policing as the result of actions taken by those in another node. In this manner, key actors, including the police, can claim to both support

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nonrepressive protest policing and facilitate its continuation. That is, although discursive accountability exists in terms of identifying repressive protest policing as wrongdoing, it does not provide accountability when identifying who is responsible, for what, and how they should be punished. What is interesting, and challenging, about the Argentine case is that it is not a black-and-white debate between “repress or do not repress.” Instead, it is more nuanced. The new dominant frame favoring nonrepressive protest policing is supported by a federal government policy that can be correlated to a decrease in repressive protest policing. However, what the counterframe I identify above highlights is that the old dominant frame, which favors repressive protest policing, has found a way to make itself compatible with the new dominant frame. The reason this fusion is possible pertains to frame resonance. As the literature tells us, frames resonate with their intended audience, in part, when they are consistent with historical frames and current events. On the one hand, the dominant frame of nonrepression of protests resonates in terms of both history and current events. The frame draws on the history of the Argentine human rights movement and the dominant societal rejection of what happened during the last military regime. Repressive protest policing is equated with the continuation of the human rights abuses of the dictatorship. The dominant frame also responds to the dramatic current events of repressive protest policing that took place during the economic and political crisis of 2001 and 2002. On the other hand, the political use of police to repress protesters who oppose the government has a much longer history. This role of the police also is consistent with everyday events known by those most familiar with the work of the police, including the police themselves. Police are unofficially used to control political opposition; they are provided political spaces where their historical autonomy can be exercised. These spaces are sometimes explicit but more often implied through gaps in discourses regarding responsibility. The frames I discuss in this chapter are not necessarily public frames, but rather those that shape the ideas of experts on protest policing. By experts I refer to those people whose work (paid or volunteer) involves the police in some way. These experts include current and former members of the police, but also others, such as political party members and civil servants who sit on committees, manage, or govern on policing issues, social movement activists who dedicate their work to the oversight of the police, and journalists who are responsible for covering issues that include the police (see appendix

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2). The ideas of these experts matter in a manner that is different from public opinion generally. First, their ideas are grounded in an intimate familiarity with policing. They see and know things that the general public may not. Second, their ideas reflect what may be considered “common knowledge” in their particular milieu. That is, their ideas frame how they, and those around them, view the challenges and possibilities for protest policing. Third, I have drawn out their ideas from over fifty in-depth interviews. Thus the ideas are unfiltered by the media. The aim of the interviews was to understand experts’ ideas on protest policing as they would ideally have it portrayed in the media. Some of the frames used by experts to understand protest policing will resonate more with the media and public opinion than others. I leave a discussion of media transmission for the next chapter. Instead, in this chapter I analyze how the dominant frame of nonrepressive protest policing is challenged by experts who question its sincerity. The chapter is organized around the three nodes of responsibility for protest policing identified in the counterframes: political leadership, police, and the judiciary. In each case, the dominant frame is related to the counterframes. Political Leadership and Repressive Protest Policing

The literature on police reform varies in its understanding of the relationship between politics and the police. Most of the literature views or assumes the police to be subordinate to decisions made by political leaders. However, some scholars see the police as independent actors that play an important role in controlling policies and policy outcomes on policing. Finally, others view politics and the police as interconnected (Marenin 1996: 9-13). The frame I highlight here emphasizes that, in the case of protest policing, the police are under political control. Specifically, the explanatory frame is that repressive or nonrepressive protest policing is the result of the policy choices of political leaders. This is not a small claim in a relatively new democracy where the degree of civilian control over the police is not necessarily clear. There are three different narrations used to support this frame. The dominant frame contends that the reduction in repressive protest policing in Argentina since 2003 is the result of a policy choice by the Néstor Kirchner government and continued by the Cristina Fernández de Kirchner government. This frame on protest policing is used by interviewees as diverse as government administrators, police, journalists, and social movement activists.

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For example, Luis Alén, a senior administrator in the Ministry of Justice, Security, and Human Rights, under whose jurisdiction lie the PFA, Gendarmería (border police), and Prefectura (coast guard), emphasized that the police are subordinate to the decisions of political leaders. While discussing his involvement in the Néstor Kirchner government decision in 2003 to assume a policy of not repressing social protest, which he argued led to its decrease, he explained that the police were not involved in these discussions: “We have one thing clear, this is the conception, that at least we hold, that the leadership of the security forces is in the hands of the politicos in charge. We establish the security policies, not the police. The police execute them. . . . The police are subordinate to this Ministry of Justice, Security, and Human Rights. That is, the police are subordinate to the Minister.”3 Sofía Tiscornia, a member of CELS, also attributed the reduction in repressive protest policing to the Kirchner government policy: “the government proposed that social protest cannot be repressed and there cannot be deaths as a result of social protest. This has led to a notable decrease in the number of deaths, injuries, and beatings in cases of social protest in a very short period of time.”4 From this perspective, repressive protest policing is wrong and not inevitable. The second frame is a counterframe that emphasizes that, while political leadership is responsible for protest policing, its commitment to nonrepressive protest policing is not consistent or reliable. Political leadership can lead to less repressive protest policing, but it can also lead to increases, depending on the political leader’s policy position. For example, Gerardo Echeverri, a member of the human rights organizations the Argentine League for the Rights of Man (La Liga) and the Antirepressive Coordinator for the Rights of the People (CADeP), explained that “at the end of the Menem administration the instructions almost always were to repress. Today the instructions seem to be the opposite [with some notable exceptions].”5 A number of social movement and journalist interviewees explained that, while the repression of social protest has decreased since 2003, it was increasing in the last few months of 2009. The explanation given is again linked to political leadership, that of Mauricio Macri (mayor of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires) and Daniel Scioli (Governor of the Province of Buenos Aires). Sofía Tiscornia (CELS) observes: “I believe that the administration of Scioli and Stornelli explains a lot, on one side, and on the other side the Macri administration. Both have no problem with repression.”6 Indeed, according to a member of the PFA, “What happens is that there are two different visions at the political level: there is a center-left government [national government] with a center-right

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government [municipal government]. That is, they don’t see reality the same way, and we are an instrument. Today our leader is Kirchner, tomorrow our leader could be Duhalde.” Thus police repression of protests fluctuates because political leadership on the issue does too. The third frame, another counterframe, is that all political leaders, regardless of their formal policy position on the repression of protest, implicitly or explicitly justify the repression of some protests. These justifications contribute to police knowledge of when repressive protest policing is acceptable. As one journalist explained, police can wait for political “spaces” where they may be permitted to act autonomously.7 In contrast to what we will see in the Chilean case, right, center, and left-wing interviewees in Argentina all stated explicitly that, at least ideally, police should not repress protests. Yet, at the same time, they went on to point out how some protests are illegitimate or “can’t be permitted” without explaining exactly how such protests should be controlled. Social movement groups, some journalists, and ex-police officers indicated that it is these groups that police repress without necessarily being told explicitly that this is how they should respond. Luis Alén, a senior administrator in the Néstor Kirchner/Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments, explained that one of their central strategies for reducing the repression of social protest was to respond to the demands of these groups. He explained that “those movements that were leading the majority of the protests, in the majority of cases they worked toward and succeeded in including their demands, demands that were quite logical [such as security and the need for jobs].” However, he noted that this approach was not successful with groups he labelled “political.” Here, a number of times, he skirted around the identification of these groups as “illegitimate” protesters. For example, “[these groups] are associated with another type of protest; it isn’t that they aren’t legitimate, but that they don’t have as much to do with the social situation, but rather political questions.” Similarly, an interviewee from Macri’s government (Autonomous City of Buenos Aires), Héctor García (Ministry of Justice and Security), distinguished between large and small protests. He stated, in reference to then being created Metropolitan Police: We are going to differentiate between a clear social demand, with importance, from a minority social demand that responds to a particular and minimal interest. Because today in Argentina individual rights, the rights we all have as citizens, they [protesters] believe can be opposed by collective rights. . . . “My demand is so important that I have to stop the whole city because everyone has to listen to me”: this

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cannot be permitted. In contrast, for larger protests of, say, two million people, or 500,000 people, or 100,000 people, clearly there is a strong demand that has to be listened to.8

Although García did not specify how small protests would not be permitted, a number of social movement and journalist interviewees noted that smaller protests are more likely to be repressed by police than larger protests. In addition, implicit or explicit justifications for repressive protest policing were also identified as connected to clientelism. As one exBuenos Aires Provincial Police officer, Luis Vicat, explained, “If, in some way, you are not protected in this moment by some politico and you are protesting, you will be beaten with sticks. . . . If you protest and you don’t have [political] protection. they will repress you. If you have [political] protection. they won’t.”9 Apart from Vicat, most other members of political parties, social movement activists, or journalists explained that this “protection” has risen significantly with the Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner administrations as they have coopted social movement groups as clients who receive benefits from the government in exchange for not protesting. As a member of the opposition party UCR, Hugo Bauché, explained: “those social sectors that protest and don’t place themselves within this model [of clientelism] who don’t align themselves with the government because they are opposition piqueteros receive a different policy from the government. They aren’t given the assistance that they have the right to receive, and in some cases they are repressed.”10 María del Carmen Verdú, the president of the anti-police abuse organization Correpi, noted that the human rights movement has also been a major target of cooptation. Correpi is nonpartisan and she provided an example of a violent attack on her for her work. Summarizing, she explained: “I have never suffered so many threats together and so many physical attacks as in the Kirchner period. I look over my shoulder much more now than during the era of Menem. . . . Kirchner has assumed a position of cooptation of all that is cooptable and repression of all that is not cooptable.”11 Carina López, a member of the piquetero group Frente Santillán, said that the Kirchner government offered to investigate the deaths of Kosteki and Santillán if, in exchange, Frente Santillán would stop protesting. Although they rejected the offer, many piqueteros groups accepted.12 Thus, from this perspective, political leaders are responsible for repressive protest policing in that they create spaces for it to occur. Support for repressive protest policing is implicit and targeted.

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The frame of repressive protest policing being the result of political leadership is complicated because politics in Argentina is complicated. Unlike in Chile, the political elite do not agree on how or when to repress protests. Officially, all political party and police interviewees prefaced their answers with a general rejection of the repression of protests, and many interviewees emphasized that the Kirchner government policy of not repressing protests has reduced protest policing repression (supporting the dominant frame). However, the counterframes highlight that political leadership in favor of nonrepressive protest policing is inconsistent and therefore not necessarily durable. Moreover, political leaders provide implicit or explicit justifications for the targeted repression of some protest groups. Thus, although Kirchner’s policy of nonrepression is admirable and demonstrates the power of political leadership, the extent to which the policy meets its purported goals is questionable according to some narrations. Moreover, as we will see in the next two sections, infractions of official policy also can be framed as the result of the actions or inactions of other actors. Police and Repressive Protest Policing

All interviewees explained that repressive protest policing, at least in part, is the result of a police culture that favors repression. Police, when they find opportunities to exercise their autonomy, act on this preference. That is, police repression of protest occurs as a result of police choices. Luis Vicat, an ex-police officer from the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, explained: “the repression of protest movements is a police tradition.” I followed up on his statement by asking if there were reasons why, in some cases, they would not use repression. He responded, “No, basically there are no reasons not to repress because the police codes include a lot of fascist codes. That is, there are a whole series of nonwritten regulations where firmness (dureza) and violence are seen positively. In some aspects, to a certain point, the police have had, and still have, a fascist stamp. Nazi. Totally anti-Jewish. Discriminatory.” Similarly, Sebastián Hacher, a police journalist for Miradas al Sur, explained what he sees of police behavior when he covers protests: When there is repression they [the police] like it. Enjoy it. They laugh and joke. And there is a great deal of insulting between the police and protesters. There is a lot of eye contact and a lot of insults. You can see that they are angry, especially the infantry. The commander of the

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infantry is like a coach that berates them. So the dialogue that takes place between the protesters and the police and the police and their coach, it’s an incredible dialogue. . . . And while they do this they build up hate. The guy feels all powerful with his shield.13

Gerardo Echeverri, a member of CADeP and La Liga, explained that, since he is a lawyer who defends people in cases of police violence perpetrated by the PFA, for years he has watched the PFA television show Prevenir. He said that during one program, maybe four or five years ago (2004 or 2005), there was an interview with the person in charge of psychology and psychiatry for the PFA hospital, Churruca Hospital. Echeverri retold the interview in the following manner: “on the police’s own program the person explained that, to repress protests by people demanding their rights, they saw themselves as obligated to train police personnel on how to disassociate from the situation and the people who they might relate to. This way they could repress without having problems.”14 Echeverri used the story to illustrate how police are trained to repress protests. To summarize, it is widely accepted and reiterated by almost all interviewees, with the exception of active police officers, that the police are responsible for the continuation of the repression of protests because police culture is violent. The dominant and counterframes diverge on whether or not it is possible to change this police culture. That is, is police repression of protest inevitable? Supporting the dominant frame, government administrators and active police officers frame police culture as both changeable and changing. Alén argued that one of the two most important changes made by the Kirchner government in an effort to reduce repressive protest policing was to change police protocols so that “the security forces know when the use of force is legitimate.” That is, violent police culture or not, political leaders can determine whether or not police repress protests. Active police officers recognized, at least in their formal conversation with a foreigner, that the policy of “no repression” advocated by the Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments since 2003 had changed their practices. Indeed, Comisario Inspector Sebastián Seggio (PFA) explained that part of the change that occurred in police practices during protests actually was the initiative of the PFA leadership itself, not the government. He explained:

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There was a police officer from the province who killed a protester [during the incident on the Pueyrredón Bridge in 2002] and this cost the government of Duhalde. So from this point on it was said that the police are very dangerous when in front of protests. So the head of the police in that moment proposed the possibility that the police not be armed, that the police come with shields but not pistols. And the current head of police who has been the police chief for the last six years, longer than any other police chief, is the one who created the police Special Forces without weapons. He has been the police chief for the administration of the Kirchners.15

A current district officer for the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, Fabián Perroni, explained the change he experienced with the new Kirchner policy: “I saw a person who was going to protest as a criminal, but he isn’t a criminal. There was repression against those who protest. So as a police officer I had to accommodate and change with society. . . . Because if I see those who protest as criminals, then I will want to put them in prison. And why? If there is a demand and it’s not violent, this is a right.”16 This is a particularly interesting reaction considering that the Buenos Aires Provincial Police is not under the jurisdiction of the President. Therefore, Kirchner’s policy does not apply. So, to summarize, the dominant frame of no repression addresses the issue of the widely acknowledged institutional culture of police violence by arguing that this police culture is both changeable and changing as a result of political leadership. The counterframe to the official position is that, despite appearances of change, traditional police culture in favor or repression persists. For example, Perroni (BAPP) went on to qualify his statement above by explaining, “if a criminal activity occurs or there are aggressions against those who pass by in cars and they break windows and attack police personnel and totally cut off a street and don’t let cars circulate freely, and the prosecutor at the time says to free the street, then that’s something else.” Similarly, the type of protest, not just the actions of protesters, can provide opportunities for police to continue traditional practices. Gustavo Lesbergueris (Defensoría del Pueblo for the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires) explained that Kirchner’s policy of no repression is aimed at large protests; “what has remained is when protests are smaller, when the repercussions are less, in more hidden places, the police take advantage of these situations and repress. We have quite a number of these cases.”17 Moreover, attempts to change police behavior may or may not be as sincere as they appear. For example, police training on human rights, which was brought in after 2002 for the Buenos Aires Provincial Police

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and is part of the training for the new Metropolitan Police, is identified by all interviewees as having limits. Nahuel Suárez, an ex-Buenos Aires Provincial Police officer, explained: The training courses for the provincial police, that I named, are a form of covering themselves in the face of court cases. Because if you gave me a course, or passed me in a course in which I really didn’t learn anything, that I didn’t do anything and you passed me, the state remains covered in case something happens in the street and I do something wrong. Because they will say, “the gentleman took the course and passed.” But this person really didn’t learn anything. So this is the big problem.18

Thus this counterframe emphasises the autonomy police have in choosing to continue repressive protest policing. It points to the limits of political leadership to change policy or even the desire on their part to ensure a comprehensive change. Police knowledge of their expected role in policing protest recognizes the need to explain their actions in relation to the current official government frame of nonrepressive protest policing, while simultaneously being aware of the counterframe that does not expect them to comply, at least under certain conditions. If repressive protest policing draws the ire of public opinion, political leaders can blame the inherently violent police and police can blame individual officers. Both political leaders and the police also can blame the judiciary. The Judiciary and Repressive Protest Policing

Finally, the judiciary was identified by many interviewees to be a central actor responsible for repressive protest policing. This frame is different from the Chilean law and order frame that I will analyze in chapter 7. The laws governing protest policing in Argentina are not as clear as they are in Chile. For example, protesters are not obligated to request permission to protest. Rather they are required to advise authorities of an upcoming protest. Luis D’Elía, the leader of the piquetero group Frente Tierra y Vivienda (FTV), explained that he challenged this law in court because the law “says that warning needs to be given, but not to whom it needs to be given.”19 Moreover, many members of groups that protest that I interviewed said that they never advise the authorities because they do not believe they should have to do so. None of these groups mentioned this issue as a reason for why they sometimes face police repression. Thus, rather than a frame of law and order, the frame used in Argentina emphasizes the role of the judiciary in providing spaces for

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and, at times, encouraging police repression. Unlike the previous two nodes of responsibility, the dominate frame of “no repression” does not claim that political leaders are able to exert influence in this area. Alén explains: Sometimes it isn’t a government order but rather the judiciary that says open up this road. So a judge says to the police you have to get these people out and I don’t care how you do it. What do they do? The government says not to repress and the judge tells them [the police] to repress and get the [protesters] out because I told you so and the judge is giving the order. If [the police] disobey the judge’s order, they are committing a crime against the judge. . . . We can establish a security policy but we need to work with the judiciary and tell them “you need to have some idea of the type of action that can be asked of the security forces.” Because the judges generally give orders and they don’t care how they are fulfilled.20

Comisario Inspector Sebastián Seggio (PFA) said that the police do ask for clarity on how the judge wants them to fulfill his or her orders: “The judge gives the order to go after the people, [police] ask him [or her] if this should be done with the use of force, so they [the police] use force, tear gas, and water.”21 Thus interviewee references to the role of the judiciary emphasized the counterframe of inevitability of repressive protest policing. Gerardo Echeverri, a member and lawyer for CADeP and La Liga, explained that it is the prosecutors, not the judge, who give the order and often the prosecutor is even more in favor of repression than the police: In the city many of the prosecutors are men who clearly hold rightwing positions. So on many occasions the prosecutors are more in favor of repression than the police themselves. For example, there are prosecutors who order that there can be absolutely no activity that disrupts transit even a little. In general, the police criterion is that a little bit of interference with transit is tolerable, but if there is more than this, then they act. So the criterion of police personnel appears, although it is hard to believe, in some of these cases, to be a position that is much more respectful of people’s rights than that of the prosecutors.22

Beyond ensuring the free movement of traffic, María del Carmen Verdú, leader of Correpi, explains that the scope and interpretation of laws that the judiciary asks the police to enforce expanded significantly in the mid-1990s, leading Correpi to speak of the “criminalization of protest.” She explains that Correpi “began to use the term in March

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1995. I remember a sort of national meeting where the issues we were discussing in that moment were the growing mobilization of the judicial apparatus, not yet the police apparatus or that of security, to repress social protest. . . . This involved [the judiciary] using a legal definition of crime (figuras penales), developed for other types of conduct, to frame situations that had a direct relationship with conflict or social protest.”23 Thus the argument that the judiciary is responsible for repressive protest policing emphasizes both the passive role of the judiciary (ordering police action without specifying how) and its active role (favoring repression and the use of a wide range of repressive laws). Beyond whether the judiciary is an active or passive agent promoting repressive protest policing, there is little debate. The dominant and counterframes draw attention to the relative autonomy of the judiciary in this policy area and, correspondingly, the limits of both political and police power. They also obfuscate responsibility. Political leaders and police can frame repressive protest policing as the result of judicial actions. In turn, judicial actors can frame the results as police choices. Conclusion

Discursive accountability involves the emergence of a dominant frame that finds the repression of protests to be wrongdoing. In this sense, discursive accountability for repressive protest policing has been achieved in Argentina. However, the attribution of responsibility is equally important. Who is responsible and why? The dominant frame in Argentina holds that not only is repressive protest policing wrongdoing, but political leaders are responsible for the success of this frame. Their discursive support and policy decision in favor of nonrepressive protest policing has led to a reduction in its occurrence. Political leaders are responsible for and can determine police conduct. However, counterframes point to holes in the completeness of the dominant frame. Repressive protest policing may be wrongdoing, but it is inevitable because traditional protest policing frames persist. Key political actors (political leaders, police, judiciary) support the continuation of repressive protest policing. To align the new dominant frame with the old, some interviewees obfuscate responsibility for repressive protest policing by blaming others and opening spaces where repressive protest policing will be overlooked. In sum, among police experts in Argentina, it is recognized that for some key political actors (including the police) repressive protest policing is implicitly acceptable

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when the protests are small, when they are “political,” and when someone else can be blamed. 1 In 2007, Carlos Fuentealba was killed during a protest by a police officer who fired a tear gas canister at him. 2 Página/12, March 29, 2011, “Receta de Garré para la protesta social.” URL: http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/elpais/1-165115-2011-03-29.html [last accessed November 1, 2011] 3 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 4 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 19, 2009. 5 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 24, 2009. 6 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 19, 2009. 7 Interview with Pepe Mateos, photojournalist for Clarín. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 8 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 13, 2009. 9 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 16, 2009. 10 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 15, 2009. 11 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 6, 2009. 12 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 18, 2009. 13 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 26, 2009. 14 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 24, 2009. 15 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 7, 2009. 16 Interview. Lomas de Zamora, Province of Buenos Aires. November 25, 2009. 17 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 2, 2009. 18 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 3, 2009. 19 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 16, 2009. 20 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 21 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 7, 2009. 22 Interview. Buenos Aries. November 24, 2009. 23 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 6, 2009.

5 Media and Protest Policing in Argentina

The day after the piquetero protest on Pueyrredón Bridge in 2002, the headline of Clarín read “The Crisis Caused Two New Deaths.” This headline led to outrage and critiques, particularly from social movement organizations. They rightfully contended that the headline obscured responsibility. They argued that police officers killed the protesters. The political leaders who sent the police in large numbers with orders to clear the bridge killed the protesters. It was not “the crisis.” This headline was so disputed that two independent journalists, Patricio Escobar and Damián Finvarb, were inspired to produce a documentary film. The film uses Clarín’s headline as its title and analyzes the media coverage of that day. The reaction to the headline underscores the importance of media frames for understanding protest policing. Social movement organizations and some journalists were concerned that Clarín’s headline might truncate efforts at accountability by supporting the view that the incident was unfortunate but inevitable. They felt that it implied support for repressive protest policing. In chapter 4, we explored how experts on the work of police in Argentina use frames to make sense of protest policing. Their frames can potentially hold police, and those directing their actions, accountable for repressive protest policing by identifying such action as wrongdoing and assigning responsibility for it. Of course, not all experts agree that repressive protest policing is wrong in all cases. Some may explicitly or implicitly support such action. In the case of Argentina, we have seen that frames used by experts to explain the continuation of repressive protest policing obfuscate responsibility, providing political spaces where it is implied that key state actors will remain silent if such repression occurs.

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In addition to the framing of discourse within the policing expert milieu, the literature on protest policing recognizes that police culture/knowledge also is affected by public opinion. As I explained in chapter 2, public opinion is often assumed to be equivalent to the dominant frames found in the mainstream or most prestigious media outlets. Studies have shown that, when dominant media frames emphasize civil rights (supporting the right to protest, police refraining from repression and violence, and possibly police reform), then police repression of protest decreases. Likewise, when dominant media frames favor law and order (vilification of protesters, support for high levels of police repression), then protest policing becomes more repressive (Wisler and Tackenberg 2000: 122; Wisler and Giugni 1999: 173; Della Porta and Reiter 1998: 19). That is, police have a significant degree of discretion when policing protests, and their choices often reflect what they deem “public opinion” will view as acceptable so that they can avoid “trouble” (such as shaming or punishment). Media frames can contribute to discursive accountability. Yet what determines which frame the various media will use? Beyond right- or left-wing political orientations, the literature on protest policing identifies three particular variables that affect the choice of frame used by media: 1) bias against the group protesting; 2) the authoritative sources used by journalists and the degree to which these include social movement groups; 3) and police stage-managing incidents to gain public sympathy.1 Della Porta and Reiter contend that the more journalists rely on the police and public officials as their main or only source of information or are confined to watching protests from behind police lines, the more likely the law-and-order frame will predominate (1998: 19). In this chapter I argue that, overall, journalistic practices in Argentina lend themselves to support for a civil-rights over a law-andorder frame for understanding protest policing. The media provide discursive accountability. However, there is not always frame alignment between the dominant media and expert frames. As we saw in chapter 4, there are political spaces when police know repression of protest can continue. Since a law-and-order frame persists as a counterframe in the media, and occasionally reemerges as dominant, it is possible for police to view the counterframe as confirmation of public opinion support for their use of high levels of repression. Thus the media in Argentina contribute to discursive accountability by transmitting and constructing

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dominant frames on protest policing. However, they are a forum for debate that is dynamic. The media interact with discursive frames used by experts, as well as historical frames. I begin this chapter with a brief overview of the Argentine media landscape. With this context in mind, I then analyze the three key journalistic practices that shape coverage of protest policing: bias against protesters, authoritative sources, and police stage-managing. The analysis is based on over fifty interviews with journalists and those involved in protests in some way — police, social movement organizations, political leaders, government administrators (see appendix 2). Interviewees explained their practices and experience with the media during protests. The Media Context

Media in Argentina are pluralistic and highly politicized. To be sure, “the media” is a term that covers a wide array of businesses, some of which have been more willing to go along with particular governments or less able to resist the pressures placed upon them. Rather than assessing the media as a whole, I focus my analysis in this chapter on newspapers, with special attention to the three most prominent national newspapers: La Nación, Clarín, and Página/12. While newspaper circulation has declined considerably in Argentina since the 1980s, as television audiences have increased, daily newspapers still play a central role in setting the agenda for other news media sources (Waisbord 2004: 1078). In part their doing so may be due to newspapers being historically more independent of state control and thus relatively less fearful than television journalists (Waisbord 2000: xiv). Television, like radio stations, have always had to worry about not only revenue from state advertising but also state control of their broadcasting licenses. In turn, newspapers have proven historically more willing (or able) to endure state harassment and repression (Sirvén 1984: 117). Moreover, electronic media have not yet emerged to play a significant agenda-setting role. Journalist Ricardo Ragendorfer suggests that, while the Internet provides a great deal of information, it is primarily accessed by journalists and researchers. Overall, a large number of media sources exist in Argentina beyond La Nación, Clarín, and Página/12, representing both the political left and the right. However, their impact is recognized by the journalists who work for them as limited and most significant when the three mainstream newspapers adopt their stories. For this reason I focus on the history of La Nación, Clarín, and Página/12. I begin with a brief introduction to

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each newspaper before discussing the Argentine media context more broadly. Each newspaper targets a different audience and has a unique history. La Nación, a conservative newspaper, was established in 1870 and has traditionally represented the views of the landed elite and the Catholic Church. Not surprisingly, it has not been supportive of Peronism, including the Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments. It was also generally, although not consistently, supportive of the last military regime (1976-1983). During the last dictatorship La Nación acquired dominant shares, along with Clarín, in Papel Prensa (Argentina’s leading newsprint manufacturer). This advantage gave both papers significant economic power, which they have maintained. Politically centrist, Clarín was established in 1945 to reach a middle-class audience. Since the last dictatorship, Clarín has grown into a substantial media group. In the 1990s, owing to changes in media laws, Grupo Clarín expanded into radio, television, publishing, cable, and cellular telephony (Waisbord 1998: 50; Blanco and Germano 2005: 61). Its annual revenues in 1995 were US $1.14 billion (Waisbord 2000: 72). Grupo Clarín is now one of the leading communications groups in Argentina and the Spanish-speaking world (Blanco and Germano 2005: 26). Clarín generally has not supported Peronism and this position, in combination with its media strength, has made it a political target for the Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments. Página/12 was founded in 1987 with the explicit mission of defending democracy and human rights. With this goal, Página/12 spearheaded mainstream investigative journalism in Argentina, challenging the consolidated dominance of La Nación and Clarín. Though not well funded at the time, Página/12 found a mass audience and became the first left-of-center newspaper in Argentine history to become well read by the political elite (Waisbord: 2000: 51, 163). The more aggressive journalism of Página/12 pushed La Nación and Clarín into taking on more investigative journalism in order to compete. However, since 2003, Página/12 has been criticized for allegedly being bought out by the left-of-center Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments. Official government advertising, a major source of funding for all newspapers (with the exception of Clarín), increased substantially in Página/12 from 2003 to 2006 (O’Donnell 2007: 96).2 As the political debates surrounding the three newspapers suggest, media in Argentina is highly politicized. Early on, political leaders determined that control of the media was key for electoral success. In

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1943, Perón advised the military government, of which he was a member, “We are being attacked on all sides; I suggest we try advertising. Propaganda is a powerful arm, especially when one has control of the media. It is time to think about how we are going to advertise” (quoted in Fox 1988: 39). Since then, Argentine governments of all persuasions have attempted to control the media through a combination of nationalization, economic controls, censorship, and police repression. Governments have nationalized media in order to convert them into public relations arms of their party or regime. Governments have provided and retracted official advertising funds, access to paper, and broadcasting licences in order to affect the success of particular media outlets. Censorship, and police repression of journalists to enforce it, have also fluctuated. Although these practices have a longer history, it is perhaps the more recent experiences of the dictatorship and its aftermath that shape the current media context today. On March 24, 1976 (the day of the last coup), the military issued Press Release No.19, which stated: “Any media that circulate, divulge, or propagate news, communications, or images, with the objective to upset, prejudice, or defame the activities of the armed, security, or police forces shall be punished with up to ten years’ imprisonment” (quoted in CONADEP 1984: 367; Postolski and Marino 2005: 162; also see Muraro 1988: 117; Park 2002: 242). Threats of imprisonment were supplemented with high levels of repression. At least eighty-four journalists disappeared between 1976 and 1983,3 hundreds more were jailed, and many were killed or went into exile (CONADEP 1984: 369374; Muraro 1988: 117; Waisbord 2000: 23). Most newspapers went along with the military regime. To some extent this cooperation was out of fear, but some publications did agree with the regime. For example, La Nación and La Prensa openly supported the military government and Clarín also showed initial support. However, the support these newspapers gave the regime was not absolute; La Nación and La Prensa were the only two mainstream newspapers willing to publish advertisements about the disappeared — the military had banned such advertisements on April 22, 1976 (CONADEP 1984: 368; Waisbord 1998: 46; Postolski and Marino 2005: 168). Clarín also became more critical of the regime as time went on, but focused its criticism on less controversial economic policies (Waisbord 1998: 46; Postolski and Marino 2005: 168). Some more marginal newspapers and many clandestine newspapers emerged in large numbers to fill the information void left by the mainstream publications. Near the end of the regime, self-censorship in mainstream media was more common than government censorship, and this

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persisted during the transition to democracy. The Argentine media were very slow to cover the pro-democracy and human rights movements emerging in the early 1980s (Waisbord 1998: 46). Without official censorship or ownership, newspapers were able to publish relatively freely. Yet, at least for the first few years of electoral democracy, newspapers, especially mainstream newspapers such as La Nación and Clarín, were hesitant to criticize the new government and imposed self-censorship that aimed to protect their new freedoms. This friendship that emerged between the press and the Alfonsín government (1983-1989) was referred to as “journalism of democratic security,” as opposed to the journalism of the dictatorship that had to follow the military’s National Security Doctrine (Blanco and Germano 2005: 220221). In 1987, the friendship between the press and government began to change with the establishment of the left-of-center critical newspaper Página/12. However, the full impact of Página/12’s influence really began to be felt in the 1990s and contributed to a much more confrontational relationship between the media and government. The Menem government reacted aggressively against the media. Human rights abuses against journalists began to rise for the first time since the dictatorship. Between 1989 and 1999 there were 1,120 threats and attacks on journalists (CELS 2000: 389).4 Journalists have been killed, sent death threats, received bomb threats, experienced physical violence, and had broadcasts terminated (Park 2002: 247). Radio stations were bombed and some newspapers were raided by the police (Waisbord 2000: 60-61). In many cases, the security forces are alleged to have been involved in or acquiesced to attacks or death threats against journalists (Amnesty International 1998: 2). Few of these violent attacks on journalists have been properly investigated and even fewer led to convictions (Waisbord 1998: 56; Waisbord 2000: 62). Studies have shown that in most cases the violence against journalists was related to their covering issues concerning socioeconomic policies, criticizing the government (national or local), and criticizing the police (Amnesty International 1997; CELS 1998:107-166). The increased violence against journalists in Argentina in the 1990s was significant enough for Amnesty International to publish two reports that directly addressed the issue (Amnesty International 1994; Amnesty International 1998). The most dramatic case of police violence in the 1990s was the death of photojournalist José Luis Cabezas in January 1997. Prior to his death he had received many death threats for his work on police corruption and an investigation he was doing into the activities of a business man, Alfredo Yabrán. It is his work on these issues that is

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thought to have led to his murder (CELS 1998: 23-24; Human Rights Watch 1998: 99). Those eventually accused of Cabezas’s death were members of the Buenos Aires Provincial Police. Using the practice developed during the last dictatorship, the police “freed” the area (of police officers) where Cabezas was to be killed. The Buenos Aires chief of police was accused of firing the bullet that killed him, and 170 other police officers were dismissed for their connection with the case. In total, nine people were charged including the former chief of police (Amnesty International 2004a: 16-17; Blanco & Germano 2005: 247). Many journalists were attacked or received death threats for covering the case of Cabezas (CELS 1998: 107-166; Human Rights Watch 1998: 99). For the most part, the Menem government turned a blind eye to the violence. Indeed, in the mid-1990s, Menem remarked, in response to one particular incident of violence against a journalist, that these were simply the “occupational hazards” of being a journalist. In addition to dismissing the violence, Menem (and his family) pursued many criminal and civil court cases against journalists, described by some authors as “judicial harassment” (Blanco and Germano 2005: 237; also see CELS 1997: 305; Human Rights Watch 1998: 100). One of the most common laws used by Menem to charge journalists was desacato. Desacato was a law (article 244 of the penal code) established during the dictatorship that stated, if a member of the government or the military was publicly disgraced, the person who had published the material could be put in jail for up to a year (Blanco and Germano 2005: 237). The use of the desacato law decreased after Menem’s presidency and has since been abolished. Police repression of journalists continued during the economic and social crisis (2000-2003), most notably during the government of President Duhalde. The Association for the Defense of Independent Journalism reported that in 2002 there had been an increase of 15 percent from 2001 in the number of attacks against journalists in Argentina (Amnesty International 2004a: 1). While no journalists were killed, they did face death threats, abduction, intimidation, and physical attacks. In 2002, a town consular in the Province of Chubut declared he would “make a José Luis Cabezas out of each journalist” (Amnesty International 2004a: 17). Most of the violence was aimed at journalists covering protests linked to the economic crisis, such as the protest by unemployed people on the Pueyrredón Bridge (Amnesty International 2004a: 4, 6). The perpetrators of the violence were very often the police. For example, on February 25, 2003, three journalists were “brutally beaten” by members

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of the Argentine Federal Police for covering the police eviction of squatters from a house in the Buenos Aires neighborhood of San Telmo (Amnesty International 2004a: 8). In another case, a journalist was severely beaten by Federal Police for covering a demonstration on June 9, 2002, at the Brukman factory. In the latter example, the Argentine Journalists’ Association concluded from the evidence found that the case “reveals a systematic plan [repression of journalists] to prevent the circulation of images during social protests.”5 The role of the police in most cases of violence against journalists led Amnesty International to conclude its 2004 report on the issue by recommending that the Argentine government investigate the role of the police and make it clear to them that such human rights violations are not acceptable (Amnesty International 2004a: 21). Human Rights Watch also made mention of the violence against journalists as recently as 2005 (2005: 190). However, the Argentine human rights organization Center for Legal and Social Studies argued that such incidents were becoming much more limited and far less common than they have been under previous governments (CELS 2005: 404; CELS 2007: 362). Regardless, media coverage of protests remains very politicized. In the rest of this chapter, I examine the key journalistic practices that affect media preference for civil-rights versus law-and-order frames for explaining protest policing. These practices reveal why, despite a media context of repression and politicization, a civil-rights frame for understanding protest policing dominates in Argentina. It also examines the persistence of law and order as a counterframe. Media Bias against Protesters

Most people I interviewed associated media coverage of protests with their coverage of piqueteros. Roadblocks by piqueteros have been some of the most common and disruptive protests in Buenos Aires since the late 1990s (see Table 3.1). In the first half of 2011, Clarín reported that there had been more than 900 roadblocks in the city of Buenos Aires alone.6 Yet media bias against protesters, even piqueteros, is not static or uniform. A few interviewees provided a time-line that points to a change in how protesters have been portrayed in Argentina, emphasizing the coverage of piqueteros. The time-line offered was as follows. During 2000-2001, the media described protesters predominately as “neighbors that went out, that had rights, that weren’t bad, they [the media] justified the protest in a way.”7 Another interviewee noted that during this period the middle class were participating in protests and

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organizing themselves in what were called Asambleas Barriales (neighborhood assemblies) that helped them survive the economic crisis through organizing soup kitchens and sharing resources. She said that during this period “one felt a very strong support from the middle class for the popular sectors and social movements.”8 When the two piqueteros were killed in the protest on Pueyrredón Bridge, some media went to the neighborhoods of the victims and “saw that more than roadblocks, the piqueteros also ran an Asamblea that gave out cups of milk to 150 children in each neighborhood, soup kitchens, productive work, textile factories, pasta factories, a whole lot of things.”9 According to one journalist, the media’s positive image of protests, and piqueteros in particular, began to change again in about 2003-2004: During this period [2000-2001] there was a certain tolerance of piqueteros and then afterward they began to criticize them again. You see on television what the various media say, “Again they block roads. Again you can’t get through. Again those people. Chaos in the city.”. . . It seems to me that a very large prejudice has grown against social protest. One can feel it even in conversations between journalists. It’s like they see it as something negative that shouldn’t exist and that bothers.10

Another journalist agreed that now “the emphasis the media are always putting on their coverage of protests is the chaos that a protest generates. . . . Just last week there was a two-day roadblock on 9 de julio [major street in downtown Buenos Aires] and all the media were calling for them to be removed by whatever means.”11 Conscious of this framing, a member of the piquetero group Frente Santillán said that the group has been working since 2004 to try to change its image.12 The media focus on the “chaos” caused by protest is said by interviewees to have been framed in two predominant ways. First is the idea that the right to protest and the right for traffic to circulate are equal and conflicting rights. The second is that protest “chaos” contributes to “insecurity.” Insecurity is a major theme in the media that many interviewees identified as having emerged most notably from about 2003 onward. “Insecurity” usurped issues of police violence such as gatillo fácil and fraudulent police shoot-outs that were the headline of news stories in the 1990s. Insecurity pertains primarily to people being kidnapped, robbed, and murdered. However, some interviewees said that the scope of insecurity has also expanded to color the activity of protest. Luis Alén explained:“The media have put forth the idea that piqueteros are criminals because they block roads. This shouldn’t be a reason to call for repression against them, but in many cases the media call for

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this.”13 The leader of Frente Santillán was told in a media interview that his group turns people into “hostages” by not letting them pass roadblocks.14 Sometimes social organizations are even associated with terrorist groups. For example, in 2009, an Argentine Mapuche association was associated with ETA (the Basque armed separatist organization).15 Piquetero leader Luis D’Elia (Frente Tierra y Vivienda) observed: “The media always try to judicialize social protest, demonize and judicialize.”16 Of course, there are differences between media and between protesters. The division is reflective of the ideological persuasion of the particular media group or source. As would be expected, right-wing media are more likely to advocate for the repression of protests than center and left-wing media. However, since 2003 there has been an increasing controversy over the alleged cooptation of some media by the government. Some interviewees argued that those media supportive of the Néstor Kirchner and Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments, known as “Pro-K,” tend to support protesters that are also Pro-K and denigrate or ignore those deemed Anti-K. Likewise, Anti-K media tend to present protests in the opposite manner. Pro-K media tend to be left of center and Anti-K right of center. Thus media support for protesters depends not only on socioeconomic class but also on the political affiliations or views of the protesters. In sum, not all protests receive media coverage. However, if the protest is covered, the media may or may not sympathize with the cause or the right to protest. It is not surprising that poor and working-class protesters face more bias. However, in Argentina, the extent of this bias can be mitigated, at times, by a stronger bias against or in favor of the Néstor Kirchner/Cristina Fernández de Kirchner governments. For example, Anti-K piquetero protests often receive more favorable media coverage in Anti-K media such as La Nación, a newspaper that would not normally favor the concerns of unemployed workers. Thus media bias against protesters in Argentina is inconsistent over time and between media. More than bias against protesters, of greater concern is bias against protests per se. The media frames of traffic chaos, conflicting rights, and insecurity question the relative importance of the right to protest and, sometimes, imply support for a law-and-order frame. Fluctuating bias against protesters influences the use of this frame but so too do the sources journalists use to build their stories.

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Journalists’ Authoritative Sources

To whom journalists speak about protest policing matters. Sources, especially regular sources, can impact bias and frame selection. Authoritative sources are those sources that journalists use regularly and view as important, credible, and reliable. Sources used by journalists also gain credibility that contributes to the resonance of the frames they use. In Argentina, the police are an important source of information for many, although not all, journalists, but they are not considered a reliable source. Instead, journalists give weight to other sources such as the judiciary, victims, and, most consistently, social movement organizations. The police are not reliable sources for journalists for two central reasons. First, journalists often seek statistics for their stories and the police are not a reliable source of statistics. That is, it can be challenging or impossible for journalists to access official statistics from the police. For example, a journalist from La Nación explained: “I was writing an article on how many police had been indicted for robbery, or beating someone, or internal indictment. Through official channels of the PFA it is impossible to obtain this information. I was able to obtain the information because I knew someone who passed it on to me, but it wasn’t official.”17 He noted that access to information from the police fluctuates with the government or minister in power. The second issue concerning the police as a source of information pertains to their honesty. Sebastián Hacher (journalist for Miradas al Sur) observed that, not surprisingly, if the police are suspected of wrongdoing, “it’s unlikely they will speak against their own.”18 A number of journalists provided me different examples of when the police defended their own to the point of lying. For example, Pepe Mateos (Clarín) recounted that in an afternoon press conference, following the death of the two protesters at the Pueyrredón Bridge protest, a police chief said: “we never entered the station” (nearby train station where the two protesters were killed). Mateos continued, “I thought: ‘This guy is crazy. He can’t be saying this because we [journalists] were right in front of him. He saw us!’”19 Of course, many police journalists have contacts within the police who will speak out of hierarchy. Retired and dismissed police officers also will often speak to the media on issues of police wrongdoing. For example, retired Buenos Aires Provincial Police (BAPP) officer Luis Vicat said he does approximately 700 interviews a year.20 However, regardless of the police source, journalists know the information must be cross- checked.

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Virgina Messi (Clarín) explained: “Police sources provide colorful information, but whether it’s true or not is another matter.”21 The relationship between police and the media has not always been so distrustful. Messi explained that prior to the mid-1990s journalists and the police got along well and police were trusted sources. However, in the 1990s journalists uncovered cases of gatillo fácil, police involvement in crime, and in the late 1990s, police fabricating shootouts and arrests. According to Messi, this experience led journalists to be more critical of the police as an authoritative source.22 Of course, not all media have the same relationship with the police. Some journalists such as Sabastián Hacher (Miradas al Sur) and Facundo Pastor (América) avoid using police as sources as much as possible. Other journalists such as those at Crónica TV, who regularly cover crimes, rely more consistently on police sources. As the relatively trusting relationship between journalists and police declined in the 1990s, social movement organizations began to rise as authoritative sources on issues of police wrongdoing. Virgina Messi explained that, when she started working as a journalist at Clarín (in about 1989), “any news from CELS, let alone Correpi, was not published. No matter what.”23 As cases of police wrongdoing began to emerge in the 1990s, CELS and Correpi grew in importance as authoritative sources. Sofia Tisconi (CELS) provided the same timeline: “It was very difficult to have our ideas published. Very difficult. Only in the 1990s, when police violence began to be questioned, only then did La Nación and Clarín begin to use us as sources. . . . CELS was the only organization that had research on the topic that was accumulative and systematized.”24 All the journalists I spoke to referred to CELS as a reliable source that they use often, and most said the same about Correpi. María del Carmen Verdú, president of Correpi, explained that “sometimes journalists come from media organizations that don’t share our perspective on things, but they don’t have any choice but to contact us because we have the information. Each time they assign a new chief of police and a journalist wants to know the criminal record of this police officer, they have to ask us. If we don’t have it, it’s because there isn’t one.”25 Both CELS and Correpi have extensive databases on police violence. If cross-checked, both the NGOs and journalists agree, the information is always correct. Another significant authoritative source for journalists covering protest policing (and policing generally) are the victims and victims’ families and friends. This can be the victims of police violence during a protest. Or, since 2003, increasingly this has been victims of “insecurity” (usually crimes and drug trafficking) who are protesting for

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more “security” (usually, increased police powers). The former can lead journalists to interview the victim’s social movement organizations. If the journalist sympathizes with the cause, the coverage can be positive even in media venues that normally would not be supportive. For example, a member of Frente Santillán explained that “La Nación is a right-wing newspaper in which you can have an editorial that says that piqueteros are dirty, bad, and ugly, but in the news section a story can portray them positively because the individual journalist spoke with the group and sympathizes with them.”26 Other authoritative sources for journalists include court records, judges, prosecutors, and lawyers. Messi (Clarín) said that “For me the most important source is the judiciary.”27 Rodríguez (Página/12) specifies that lawyers are the most important for him: All victims’ families have lawyers now, which wasn’t the case in the past. If there is a case today of the police killing someone, Correpi would provide her or him a lawyer. All the social organizations have lawyers, giving even victims another manner to access information. . . . People have more access to information, so we [journalists] have a lot more information through human rights lawyers than through the police.28

Law and order as a media frame for understanding protest policing is facilitated when journalists use and rely on the accounts of police and public officials. In Argentina, the police are not reliable sources. Thus even media that favor a law-and-order frame for understanding protest policing rely on information from social movement organizations that favor a civil-rights frame. Police Stage-Managing Media Coverage of Protests

Thus far I have been discussing journalist and editorial choices. However, it is also possible for police to stage-manage media coverage of protests. They can insist that journalists stay behind police lines, thereby only letting them see the perspective of the police and limiting their opportunities to speak to protesters or witness police violence. They can entice journalists to a separate location with the promise of official information or interviews. They can discipline their members, determining who is permitted to speak to the media and who is not. In this manner police can control the information they offer. Although these practices are common in Chile, police stage-managing media coverage of protest in Argentina is rare.

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Perhaps optimistically, the head of communications for the PFA, Comisario Inspector Sebastián Seggio, explained that, although police stage-managing has not been the norm, it is now being introduced. The media work with us and are learning not to speak with just any police officer on the street. They are learning that all the information they need, especially when there is a big problem, is channelled through the communications department of the PFA. So we are always present at these incidents and coordinate. We tell them “Wait over at this corner and the head of operations will come to speak to you.” So we bring the head of operations and he says, “Yes, we had to step in and act. We have arrested ten protesters for attacks and resisting arrest, for breaking windows.”29

However, although the department of communications for the PFA might have ambitions in this regard, successful police stage-managing is rare to nonexistent. The director of communications for the Procuración Nacional (national prosecutors’ office), Mariano Gondar, explained: “The police are not that vertical. Not all the information goes to the police press departments.”30 Similarly, his colleague Julia Kenny added: Although they sometimes claim that things function this way, reality is different. When I worked in the Secretary of Security [2003-2004], we tried to coordinate. We got together with people from the communications and press departments of the PFA, Prefectura, and Gendarmería, and we agreed to coordinate how we spoke to journalists. That was all very nice. We tried. We had plans and everything. But when an incident happens, there is always a police officer who has a journalist friend or makes his own fire. This happens all the time.31

All journalists spoke of moving freely at protests, often choosing to be on the side of protesters owing to their own dislike or fear of the police. District Chief Perroni (Buenos Aires Provincial Police) explained that there is too much going on at protests for police to be stagemanaging journalists. When there is a protest, in general, it isn’t possible to control very much because there are a lot of people. People are all over the place, protesting, and journalists are mixed in with them. Well, they do their work and we do ours. When there are roadblocks, that’s easier because we’re working and, if we tell journalists to stay behind the police line, we can work better. We’re not trying to stop them from talking to the protesters. If they want to talk to them, they will. But sometimes roadblocks are violent and incidents happen that lead us to arrest

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people or when things get out of hand we have to control the situation. When things get out of hand, everyone there is a protester. We don’t distinguish within the mass of people, that’s difficult. So it is easier if they [journalists] run away when there are more violent incidents.32

It could be interpreted that police violence against journalists during protests is a manner of stage-managing, perhaps an attempt to tell journalists that there will be consequences for making police look bad. However, journalists describe violence and threats aimed at them by police as inconsistent. For example, Sebastián Hacher (Miradas al Sur) explained: The Pueyrredón Bridge protest was well documented because the police didn’t attack journalists. At other protests, such as that at the Brukman factory the next year [2003], there was a lot of violence against journalists. It’s ambiguous. They can’t kill all journalists or arrest ten journalists. They attack one or two. . . . They hate us. It’s typical that they are there with their shields and they kick you under the knees. This is common. So no one sees.33

Pepe Mateos, who took a picture, published in Clarín, that clearly incriminated two police officers in the death of protester Darío Santillán during the Pueyrredón Bridge protest, was worried about police retaliation. While other witnesses faced police reprisal including “a boy who committed suicide, dark [oscuras] things,”34 and freelance photographer Sergio Kowalewski and his family were threatened after he took pictures that day (Amnesty International 2004: 6), Mateos never experienced any repercussions. It appears that, if police repression is used to control journalists, it is not systematic nor particularly effective. Another interpretation of police violence against journalists is that police enjoy violence and the image of themselves as violent. When I asked Sebastián Hacher (Miradas al Sur) if the police were careful about using excessive violence when the media are around, he said: “Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Sometimes they like it.”35 Pepe Mateos described police indifference to media presence on Pueyrredón Bridge: They were crazy. They didn’t understand anything. I was there on the patio and behind me came another photojournalist and a TV camera. The police chief was in front of me at the door and I said to him ‘Why are you moving Darío’s body? I’m taking pictures of everything. Leave it there.’ [Then they started arresting large numbers of people.] They told us, ‘Guys, we let you work, now let us work.’ There was no shame.36

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A number of interviewees said that the police don’t care about their image. Carlos Rodríguez (Página/12) went further suggesting that within the police the use of violence is well respected. Those who control the police are those who work on the streets. Those who work in the offices are valued less within the police force. Those police who work in administration or scientific investigation are not real police, according to the bad police who are the majority and the most powerful. The guy who works in the street, who goes out, kills people, has a lot of exposure, this is the type of guy who is respected. The police officer who works in the office and never shoots is nothing.37

Thus, in Argentina, police do not stage-manage media coverage of protest policing. Or, to the extent that they do, it is not very effective. Journalists move freely, limited by their own choices and evaluation of risk. However, journalists’ impression that police are not concerned with media coverage of their violence raises questions of the relative power of media discourses compared to those found within the working milieu of the police. For example, it is possible that the fluctuating police repression experienced by journalists at protests may vary depending on whether or not the protest falls into the political space where repressive protest policing is overlooked (see chapter 4). Conclusion

Overall, the media context in Argentina favors a civil-rights over a lawand-order frame for understanding protest policing. Media bias against protesters is not consistent. Police are not viewed by journalists as sufficiently reliable sources, providing space for well-organized social movements to fill the void. And police make limited efforts to stagemanage media coverage. However, although journalists’ practices favor a civil-rights frame, this preference is not consistent over time or between media. Media plurality and politicization are important intervening variables that can shift the dominant frame back and forth between civil rights and law and order. Inconsistent frames limit the discursive accountability media provide on protest policing. They allow police to find frame alignment between law-and-order frames in the media and frames that favor repressive protest policing within their expert milieu and historically. The next chapter studies a pivotal case of protest policing to examine further the dynamics of discursive accountability.

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1 Drawn from Wisler and Giugni (1999: 178-181, 184), Della Porta and Reiter (1998: 19), and Geary (1985: 131). 2 Horacio Verbitsky, a prominent human rights journalist for Página/12, denied that increased public advertising has affected the editorial line of the newspaper and argued instead that the newspaper just simply agreed with President Néstor Kirchner more than it had with previous governments. Moreover, he argued that Página/12 had been discriminated against by previous governments when it came to the distribution of official advertising funds (O’Donnell 2007: 94-95). 3 The Argentine truth commission report Nunca Más (Never Again) documents eighty-four journalists as having disappeared; however, not all disappearances were reported to the commission (CONADEP 1984: 374). Silvio Waisbord cites the number of disappeared journalists to be as high as ninetythree (2000: 23). Most journalists disappeared in 1976, the first year of the dictatorship (CONADEP 1984: 369). 4 Numbers vary depending on the time period and sources used. Silvio Waisbord found that between 1989 and 1997 there were 884 recorded cases of intimidation against journalists (2000: 60). Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have their own numbers that cover much shorter periods of time in the 1990s (see Amnesty International 1994: 60; Human Rights Watch 1998: 99). All sources agree that violence against journalists was the most significant issue of human rights in Argentina in the 1990s. 5 Página/12 , June 13, 2003,“Repudio por agresión.” Also see Amnesty International 2003. 6 Clarín, July 8, 2011, “Hubo más de 900 piquetes desde que comenzó el año.” URL: http://www.clarin.com/ciudades/piquetes-comenzo-ano0513548 769.html [last accessed July 10, 2013] 7 Interview with Carlos Rodríguez, journalist for Página/12. Buenos Aires. December 1, 2009. 8 Interview with Carina López, area of communications, Darío Santillán Popular Front, non-Kirchner piquetero organization. Buenos Aires. November 18, 2009. 9 Ibid. 10 Interview with Carlos Rodríguez, journalist for Página/12. Buenos Aires. December 1, 2009. 11 Interview with Pepe Mateos, photojournalist for Clarín. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 12 Interview with Carina López, area of communications, Darío Santillán Popular Front, non-Kirchner piquetero organization. Buenos Aires.. November 18, 2009. 13 Interview with Luis Alén, Ministry of Justice and Human Rights. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 14 Interview with Carina López, area of communications, Darío Santillán Popular Front, non-Kirchner piquetero organization. Buenos Aires. November 18, 2009. 15 Ibid. 16 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 16, 2009. 17 Interview with Gabriel Di Nicola, journalist for La Nación. Buenos Aires. December 3, 2009.

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18

Interview. Buenos Aires. November 26, 2009. Interview. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 20 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 16, 2009. 21 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 24, 2009. 22 Ibid. 23 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 24, 2009. 24 Ibid. 25 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 6, 2009. 26 Interview with Carina López, area of communications, Darío Santillán Popular Front, non-Kirchner piquetero organization. Buenos Aires. November 18, 2009. 27 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 24, 2009. 28 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 1, 2009. 29 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 7, 2009. 30 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 15, 2009. 31 Ibid. 32 Interview. Lomas de Zamora, Province of Buenos Aires. November 25, 2009. 33 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 26, 2009. 34 Interview with Pepe Mateos, photojournalist for Clarín. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 35 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 26, 2009. 36 Interview. Buenos Aires. November 9, 2009. 37 Interview. Buenos Aires. December 1, 2009. 19

6 Case Study: The Pueyrredón Bridge Protest

On June 26, 2002, two protesters, Darío Santillán and Maximiliano Kosteki, were killed by police during a roadblock of Pueyrredón Bridge. The bridge is one of the principal access routes into the city of Buenos Aires. On that day approximately 2,500 protesters (piqueteros) were met by approximately 2,000 officers from the Federal Police, Buenos Aires Provincial Police, the Prefectura, and the Gendarmería. The officers were ordered by national and provincial leaders to clear the bridge to allow the free circulation of traffic. In addition to the two deaths, 90 people were injured and 160 were arrested. Many people were tortured while detained (CELS 2003a: 178). One protester, badly injured by rubber bullets, explained: “I felt the shots, one after the other. I think everyone began to run. We retreated through Mitre Avenue to Alsina Plaza but there we found more police throwing tear gas and firing rubber bullets indiscriminately.”1 The repression of protest on Pueyrredón Bridge was the incident of repressive protest policing most cited by the police experts I interviewed in 2009. The case was identified as “emblematic” of police repression of protest and as a turning point. The incident is noted by interviewees to have led to the restructuring and purging of the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, the end of the reelection aspirations of President Eduardo Duhalde, and the policy decision of the next president, Néstor Kirchner, to prioritize “dialogue” over police repression of protest. For this reason, the 2002 repression of protest on Pueyrredón Bridge provides an important case study to illustrate the dynamics of discursive accountability. That is, what is it about this case that made it such a significant incident of police wrongdoing? Certainly, the protest on Pueyrredón Bridge was not the first incident of police repression of protest in recent Argentine history. Only 101

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a few months before, in December 2001, 39 people were killed during protests as Argentina fell into a dramatic economic and political crisis. Clarín’s headline story on June 27, 2002, added the deaths on Pueyrredón Bridge to an accumulating death toll attributable to the same crisis.2 Yet the June protest changed something in the discourses of leaders. When the new Minister of Security and Justice for the Province of Buenos Aires, Juan Pablo Cafiero, assumed office on July 3, 2002, he linked the June 26 incidents to the last dictatorship, arguing that “Political leaders and police should be guarantors and inheritors of ‘Never Again’ in Argentina, particularly in the Province of Buenos Aires.”3 Clarín noted that this was the first time a high-level political leader had committed to guaranteeing “Never Again” since the slogan was used in the truth commission and trials of military leaders in the 1980s.4 A historical frame, “Never Again,” was used to provide resonance to a civil-rights frame for understanding protest policing. Through discourse, Cafiero held police accountable not only for their actions on June 26, 2002, but he also defined and laid out expectations for their role in democracy. To assess discursive accountability, in this case study I analyze the frames used to identify who, what, and how. That is, who is deemed responsible for wrongdoing during the Pueyrredón Bridge protest? What is it that they have done that is considered wrongdoing? How should the wrongdoing be remedied? The answers to these questions reveal debates (and shifts in debates) regarding the boundaries of appropriate protest policing. They draw on historical frames and frames used by police experts, and are transmitted and constructed through media practices. Of course, many sources of discourse could be analyzed. I have chosen to focus on the media, as this is a public venue where the discourses of many political, social, and media actors are brought together. It is an important forum for discursive accountability. Media in Argentina are very pluralistic and regularly cover the voices of public officials and social movements alike. As Table 6.1 shows, after political leaders, protesters were the most cited source in Clarín in the days following the Pueyrredón Bridge protest. In fact, the scope of media coverage of this event was substantial. Rather than a thorough analysis of all media coverage of the protest, I have chosen to focus my analysis on coverage of the event in the national newspaper Clarín. Although comparisons between newspapers or other media could be interesting, an in-depth analysis of Clarín allows us to concentrate on the most mainstream debates on how protest policing should be framed.5 As I outlined in detail in chapter 5, newspapers are still considered important agenda-setters in Argentina.

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Thus what is published in mainstream media will matter most for discursive accountability. Information or stories from nonmainstream media will become important most often when mainstream media choose to use them. There are three major national newspapers, of which Clarín is arguably the most representative of mainstream views. Clarín is considered in the ideological center between Página/12 (on the left) and La Nación (on the right). It also has the widest readership and is the largest media group, with ownership of popular TV and radio stations.6 Clarín’s coverage of the Pueyrredón Bridge protest is extensive. In total, during the first seven days after the incident, Clarín published 64 articles on the topic, 34 in the first three days. After seven days, coverage of the event continued but dropped significantly, focusing more on subsequent protests by social movements against police violence and demanding justice for the deaths of the two protesters. In this chapter I analyze the coverage in Clarín from June 27 to July 3, 2002. For clarity, a numeric summary of the positions found in the articles is shown in Table 6.1. The text that follows provides the nuance and analysis needed to better understand the numbers. I begin by exploring accusations of guilt. Who Is Responsible for What Happened?

In chapter 4 we saw that police experts speak of three key groups as being responsible for repressive protest policing: political leaders, the police, and the judiciary. Blame can be shifted among these three groups in order to obfuscate responsibility. However, the judiciary is deemed responsible for repressive protest policing when a judge or prosecutor orders police to clear a road blocked by protesters (e.g., Bonner 2009a). In the case of Pueyrredón Bridge, it was the political leaders, not the judiciary, who ordered that police clear the bridge. Thus, in this case, the judiciary are not identified as responsible for wrongdoing. As expected, both the police and political leaders are deemed responsible. However, the views of police experts explored in chapter 3 assume that the protest policing discussed is agreed upon as excessive. In fact, establishing whether protest policing was excessive is one of the first steps in determining accountability. Before trials or investigative commissions, political, social, and media actors attempt to frame wrongdoing through discourse. Thus, in addition to police and political leaders being identified in Clarín as wrongdoers, so too are protesters. The identification of protesters as the key wrongdoers in the incident has the effect of framing the event as one in which police used appropriate levels of violence owing to the threat they faced. That is, there was no

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Table 6.1: Clarín Coverage of the 2002 Pueyrrédon Bridge Protest, June 27 to July 3, 2002 (64 articles)7 Categories of People Referenced

Whose position is cited?

Who is to blame?

For what?

Mechanisms of Accountability Advocated/ Pursued?

Political leaders

50

19

1. Not upholding the law and the protection of citizens’ rights (5 refs.)

Resignation of minister (2 refs.) Legislative commissions (4 refs.)

2. For actively leading the repression (12 refs.) Police

8

52

1. Police killed two protesters (23 refs.)

Dismissal of individual officers (6 refs.)

2. General police violence against protesters (22 refs.)

Judicial action (10 refs.)

1. Violent protesters justify police action (27 refs.)

--

Institutional change (2 refs.)

Protesters

22

27

Victims’ family/ witnesses

9

--

--

--

Judiciary

9

--

--

--

Unions

2

--

--

--

Church

1

--

--

--

101

98

90

24

Total

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wrongdoing on the part of public officials; this is not an incident of excessive police violence. In this section I identify who is deemed responsible in terms of how often they are blamed and who is blaming them. In the next section I will assess what they are blamed for. Police

More than anyone else, the police are the most cited as responsible for the event. Police are cited 52 times as responsible for wrongdoing in 29 articles, in all seven issues of Clarín following the protest (June 27-July 3). Sometimes those quoted or those writing the article speak vaguely about “the police” (15 references in 11 articles). Often this is the word choice of protesters or witnesses who were unsure which police force they were seeing. Even Maximiliano Kosteki, one of the protesters killed, is quoted as having said as his last words, “My chest hurts, the cops [yuta] did it.”8 Sometimes it is implied that “the police” refers to the Buenos Aires Provincial Police (BAPP). Indeed, the immediate accusations of police wrongdoing, beginning on June 27, the day after the incident, were levied against the BAPP. More than any other reference to blame, the BAPP or BAPP police chief Alfredo Franchiotti (who was accused of killing the piquetero protester Darío Santillán) was identified as the wrongdoer. There were 25 references to them in 17 articles found in every issue of Clarín from June 27 to July 3. Eventually, over those seven days, almost everyone identified the BAPP as the principal wrongdoer: journalists, protesters, prosecutors, the Governor of the Province of Buenos Aires Felipe Solá, an anonymous national government official, “the judiciary,” a lawyer, President Duhalde, witnesses, and the new Minister of Security and Justice for the Province of Buenos Aires, Juan Pablo Cafiero (appointed after the incident). To be sure, Argentines are primed to view the BAPP as the wrongdoer from a recent history of such coverage in the 1990s. For example, the father of Darío Santillán states: “Franchiotti belongs to the maldita policía [‘damn police,’ term coined by journalists in the 1990s to refer to the BAPP]; we all know what class of people they are and how they act. He is probably responsible for a lot of deaths.”9 However, these prejudices were reinforced by pictures published in Clarín on June 27 showing police chief Franchiotti and other BAPP officers as present at the death of Santillán. It was not until June 30 that witnesses are reported to have identified the Prefectura (Border Patrol) as also having been involved in wrongdoing. With this revelation, Clarín found that it had a photo

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implicating the Prefectura and published it on June 30.10 From this date onward (up to July 3) there were seven references in six articles to the wrongdoing of the Prefectura. Most of those cited are witnesses or protesters, but there is also a reference to “judicial sources.”11 No political leaders make reference to the wrongdoing of the Prefectura. When asked by Clarín about the allegations, the national Secretary of Security, Juan José Alvarez, under whose authority the Prefectura operates, stated diplomatically that “The judiciary is investigating if the Prefectura also fired. We don’t reject anything.”12 Statements by political leaders regarding the possible involvement of the BAPP were not so cautious. Finally, on June 29, a protester is cited in Clarín as having blamed police dressed in civilian clothes for wrongdoing. This is not followed up on by others until July 2 when the Minister of Justice and Security for the Province of Buenos Aires, Juan Pablo Cafiero, assumes his new position. In total there are six references to police in civilian clothes or “parapolice” (the term used by Cafiero to refer to them) in five articles, mostly on July 2 and 3. Political Leaders

Among experts there is a debate as to whether police act autonomously or are under civilian control (see chapter 4). In the media this debate is, to some extent, naturally skewed. Journalists witness, take pictures, or film police harming protesters. While at the protest, they can talk to witnesses or victims of the violence to add a human side to their story. When (or if) the incident goes to court, the investigation centers on particular incidents of physical wrongdoing (for example, killing a protester). Journalists cover investigations and court cases and likewise focus on the person holding the gun, the police. Political leaders are not holding the gun. Given this context, it is significant that political leaders are noted as responsible for the incidents on Pueyrredón Bridge 19 times in 18 articles from June 27 to July 3, 2002. Often these references to blame are vague, referring to “the government,” “the national government,” or “the provincial government” as responsible (9 of 19 references). However, sometimes the blame is directed at particular leaders. The key political leaders named were President Duhalde (4 references), Duhalde’s Secretary of Security, Juan José Alvarez (1 reference), Governor of the Province of Buenos Aires, Solá (2 references), and Solá’s Minister of Security and Justice, Luis Genoud (3 references). Finally, there are 2 references to rumors of a conspiracy on the part of

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supporters of former president Carlos Menem (then planning to run in the 2003 presidential elections) who, it was claimed, aimed to create violence at the protest and then frame Duhalde as responsible (Duhalde was also planning to run in the 2003 presidential elections). These rumors are not substantiated. Most of those quoted as implicating political leaders were piqueteros or union leaders (9 references). Journalists also included their own discussions of the involvement of political leaders (6 references). For the most part political leaders defended each other. For example, Solá resisted pressure to accept Genoud’s resignation. Protesters

Almost all government officials stated at some point that those responsible for the incidents on Pueyrredón Bridge were the protesters themselves, or at least a violent, radicalized group that had infiltrated them. There were 27 references by government officials to the responsibility of protesters in 17 articles from June 27 to July 1, 2002. Those blaming the protesters were identified often as “the government” or “government sources” or “government officials” (8 references). However, when names were attributed to quotes or paraphrasing blaming protesters, the names were: President Duhalde; Chiche Duhalde (then First Lady); SIDE (national intelligence agency); national Minister of the Interior, Jorge Matzkin; national Secretary of Security, Juan José Alvarez; national Head of Cabinet, Alfredo Atanasof; the army; Governor of the Province of Buenos Aires, Felipe Solá; BAPP Police Chief, Alfredo Franchiotti; and Provincial Minister of Security and Justice, Luis Genoud. To summarize, most Argentines are primed to view the Buenos Aires provincial police as wrongdoers. Historical frames suggest they are violent. In this case, evidence quickly accumulated to support this position. The Prefectura were not tarnished by extensive critical news stories in the 1990s, and perhaps this clean record is part of the reason they were not identified as wrongdoers in the Pueyrredón case as often as the BAPP. However, many interviewees suggested that the BAPP are portrayed in the media as more corrupt and violent than other security forces, not because they are, but because other forces have a tighter corporate order and are, therefore, not caught as often. For the most part, political leaders also refrained from blaming each other and instead blamed protesters and, eventually, the police. The framing used by political, social, and media actors to justify their accusations of blame help explain the shift in the official position on wrongdoing.

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What Are They Responsible For? Police

More than anything else, police are cited as responsible for killing the two protesters. There are 23 references in 14 articles from June 27 to July 2. On June 28, Clarín reports that police chief (comisario inspector) Alfredo Franchiotti and Carlos Quevedo were arrested, suspected of having killed Darío Santillán.13 Beginning on June 30, it is revealed that witnesses identified the Prefectura as responsible for the killing of Maximiliano Kosteki.14 The stories told in the articles pertain to: the judicial investigation of police involvement in the death of these two protesters; witnesses’ stories of the killings told to Clarín journalists; and the political or institutional punishment of those police officers involved in the deaths (such as dismissal). That is, the dominant frame used by the newspaper to explain police wrongdoing identifies the excess as the killing of two protesters. Similarly, there are 22 references in 14 articles to the generally high levels of violence used by police against protesters. Often the general police violence is presented as the context within which the two protesters were killed, thereby framing the police as the most likely perpetrators of the deaths. Police are accused of the following: shooting protesters in the back with rubber bullets, in some cases using lead bullets; using tear gas in confined spaces; attacking the office of a political party (Izquierda Unida); and beating up protesters. Included is the story of a 23-year-old woman, Valeria, who, seven months pregnant, was shot seven times with rubber bullets and was among those tear gassed.15 There are many stories told from the perspective of the protesters. Police dressed in civilian clothes are accused by protesters, witnesses, and ultimately the new Minister of Security and Justice for the Province of Buenos Aires, Cafiero, of perpetrating violence made to look like protester violence. On June 27, Clarín reports that a bus was burned by protesters. The next day Clarín cites a protester saying that it was undercover police who burned the bus: “There were common people that one could see were from the neighborhood, running and others with short hair that did not look like piqueteros [protesters]. One with a long overcoat had an Itaka [model of gun used by the police]. Those who stopped the bus were this type.”16 A witness, a small business owner, said he was shot after accusing a man dressed in civilian clothes of breaking windows. The gun the man used was a police gun.17

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Finally, political leaders, when cited, were eager to frame the wrongdoing as limited to the police once evidence in this direction dominated the media. The Governor of the Province of Buenos Aires, Solá, claimed that the police lied to him about how they policed the protest.18 Similarly, and making reference to traditional police practices, Solá distanced himself from wrongdoing by framing police action as autonomous: “Police methods need to be changed, placing more power with civilians. We need to modify the corporative mentality of the force.”19 President Duhalde also spoke of the difficulty of assuming political control over the police force, claiming that even the military dictatorship found it challenging.20 Political Leaders

Most references that blame political leaders assign this blame because “the State has the responsibility to ensure the fulfillment of law and the enforcement of citizen rights” (Clarín editorial).21 Vilma Ripoll (Movimiento Socialista de los Trabajadores) emphasized that political leaders are responsible for police actions: “the shots were from the police but the firearms were loaded by Duhalde and Solá.”22 Indeed, pressure for Solá to accept the resignation of his Minister of Security and Justice was framed, as one would expect, in terms of his responsibility for the actions of the Buenos Aires Provincial Police, including their involvement in the death of the protesters. As one article puts it, “the Avellaneda [location of Pueyrredón Bridge] episode puts into question Duhalde’s capacity to manage social protest.”23 However, political leaders are not only held responsible for police actions as a result of the positions they hold but, in some references, also are held responsible for actively leading the repression. Piqueteros and a “skeptical civil servant” are quoted as saying: “The repression was decided a month ago and yesterday’s deaths are a message to protesters: a new stage of mano dura [iron fist policing] has started and the radicalization of street protests will not be permitted.”24 In another article, the piquetero group Coordinadora Aníbal Verón agrees that “what happened was the response to a criminal plan to openly implant state repression against the social crisis.”25 The most specific references to a premeditated plan on the part of political leaders are made by journalists and refer, not to documents or official policies, but rather the political leaders’ “mano dura discourses”. That is, discourse matters. The link between mano dura discourses and accountability is explained well in an article published in Clarín on June 29, 2002:

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[Government officials] clarified that “there was no order to repress” and that the incidents that occurred were beyond the responsibility of the provincial government. The ministers consulted rejected the possibility of a causal connection between declarations of high-level government officials and leaders warning of the need to act with greater firmness against alterations in order. No one in power admits that the Government changed its discourse on this delicate issue. But there are indications of a shift towards a mano dura line. . . . Yesterday the head of cabinet told this newspaper that the Government must guarantee order, but these declarations [warning against disrupting order] were intended to intimidate and avoid excesses, but that “we never thought of repression.” But while the Government denies a connection, it is clear that for five months it could control social conflict without incidents, despite massive piquetero protests and incidents of [protester] violence. The change in discourse, however, the call for mano dura, woke up the snake.26

A later article explains that the Buenos Aires Provincial Police felt used and manipulated by the sudden change in discourse, after the June 26 incident, coming from the Provincial Ministry of Security and Justice. Some high-level BAPP officials are quoted in Clarín as “feeling used like ‘scapegoats’ to hide the contradictions between successive policy orientations held by the Ministry of Security.”27 That is, police were following political leaders’ implicit, if not explicit, request for repression. Protesters

Consistent with a law-and-order frame, the immediate response of government officials to the incidents on Pueyrredón Bridge was to blame the piqueteros. National Secretary of Security, Juan José Alvarez, explained that the protesters acted “in a violent and irrational manner.”28 Supporting this idea of irrational behavior, Clarín reported that “‘They killed each other’ was the official response given by the Government. The Federal Police and the Bonaerense [Buenos Aires Provincial Police] moved to the same tune. Officially, all denied knowledge of the origins of the bullets.”29 Even the police chief eventually arrested for shooting Santillán, Franchiotti, suggested at a press conference that protesters were fighting among themselves.30 Drawing on historical justifications for police repression of protests — a political enemy within — many public officials argued that groups of piqueteros who were on Pueyrredón Bridge that day posed a serious, even insurrectionary, threat to the government. In Clarín, the day after

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the incident, an article reports that SIDE (the national intelligence agency) had, two weeks before, obtained data — acquired through infiltration — on the preparations of some of the more militant piquetero groups to deepen their fight against the economic policies of the Government. “They want to generate violent acts to return to the situation of December [2001]” was the most disseminated thesis amongst the spies. . . . The suspects center on the Bloque Nacional Piquetero, which is comprised of a number of groups but the most significant leaders are the Movimiento Teresa Rodríguez and the Movimiento Territorial de Liberación (of the Communist Party). And they are also watching the movement Aníbal Verón, whose members are youth from the southern zone of Greater Buenos Aires who have a solid internal organization and for the last five years have decided not to vote for candidates from the traditional parties. As it would be, these groups were all at the announced roadblock of Pueyrredón Bridge. Three blocks from there, in the Avellaneda station, two members of Aníbal Verón fell dead. And two of the most badly injured that were checked into the Fiorito Hospital were members of the MTL.31

The next day Clarín provided another article expanding on SIDE’s position that these groups threatened the government. It reported that SIDE claimed these groups aimed to increase street violence with the objective of overthrowing President Duhalde on July 9, 2002 (Argentina’s Independence Day). SIDE explained that it had found “prepared zones” for the most violent piqueteros to “train,” as well as firearms among the piqueteros prior to the roadblock on Pueyrredón Bridge.32 Those close to the Governor of the Province of Buenos Aires, Solá, asserted that “Some piqueteros, the most hard line, consider that we are in a prerevolutionary stage.”33 The intent of the national and provincial governments appeared to be to justify their actions in familiar historical frames and thereby deny wrongdoing. There is little explicit criticism of their statements in Clarín on June 27. However, in the same issue, Clarín included a number of very moving portraits of piqueteros harmed in the incidents and photos of the deaths (including one that ultimately incriminated the Buenos Aires Provincial Police). From June 28 onward, articles in Clarín criticized previous and new statements made by government officials blaming the protesters. In one article Clarín took all the statements made by Franchiotti blaming the protesters and explained how each one was false.34 President Duhalde, who did not make an official public statement on the incident for the first two days, distanced himself from members of his government on June 29, saying that the BAPP engaged

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in “an atrocious hunt.”35 However, he qualified this judgement in an interview the next day by emphasizing that there were violent groups within those protesting on Pueyrredón Bridge.36 Other government officials also began to back away from the piquetero conspiracy theory as evidence grew against the police. For example, on July 1, Governor Solá claimed “the police chief lied to me.”37 In sum, attempts by political leaders to frame the protesters as responsible for the violence on Pueyrredón Bridge failed, despite their drawing on historical frames that have traditionally justified repressive protest policing. The recent past, in particular the framing of the BAPP as the maldita policía in the late 1990s and the fatal police violence in December 2001, primed journalists and witnesses to more readily accept frames that portrayed the police as the wrongdoers. Such claims resonated as familiar. It is also notable that police officers were almost never cited (see Table 6.1). And when they were, their trustworthiness was questioned and blatant lies were exposed. As we saw in chapter 5, journalists are more likely to favor civil-rights frames when fewer of their sources are official (especially police) sources. Further reinforcing a civil-rights frame, the perspectives of protesters and social movement organizations were provided ample coverage. This contributed to their credibility and thus the resonance of the frames they used. Political leaders were criticized for attempting to frame protesters as wrongdoers, and their mano dura discourses were reframed by journalists as a cause for the violence. Framing Institutional Accountability

In establishing who is responsible and why, media reports, and those quoted in them, also frame the remedy. That is, which mechanisms of institutional (or horizontal) accountability are being pursued or should be pursued? From June 27 to July 3, 2002, Clarín published 19 articles that addressed issues of accountability. Not surprisingly, the majority (10 articles) related to the judicial investigation. The next most covered mechanisms of accountability were political and police suspensions, dismissals, and resignations (6 articles, 8 references). In addition, there were 2 articles (4 references) reporting calls for legislative investigative commissions and 2 articles discussing police reform. More than simply covering the unfolding of institutional mechanisms of accountability, Clarín’s reporting reveals its own role in activating and invigilating these institutions. For example, in two cases, judicial investigations followed the publication in Clarín of photographs incriminating police

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officers. In this section I will discuss the coverage of each mechanism of institutional accountability. The protest on Pueyrredón Bridge occurred on June 26, 2002. As we know from the previous section, the immediate official response was that the violence was either the result of protesters “killing each other” or a justified police response to a plot to overthrow the government. In either case, on June 27, there are no articles in Clarín discussing any judicial investigations. However, on June 27, Clarín does publish a photo that shows BAPP officers present and as likely perpetrators of the death of Darío Santillán. The head of the Prosecutors’ Office (Fiscalía) 11 in Lomas de Zamora (in Greater Buenos Aires), Juan José González, ordered the arrest of police chief Alfredo Franchiotti and police official Carlos Quevedo on the morning of June 28. Clarín reports: “The Prosecutors’ Office based its decision on the emergence of photographic testimonies taken by Clarín, decisive evidence that Franchiotti as well as Quevedo ‘were involved’ in the death of Santillán.”38 Indeed, the night before, prosecutors from the Province of Buenos Aires had visited Clarín’s office to ask for copies of their photos.39 Again, on June 30, after two witnesses declared that the Prefectura were involved in the two killings, Clarín published a photo that contradicted statements by the Prefectura that they were not involved in the deaths. Clarín explains: “The head of the Prefectura said to Clarín last night that his subordinates were not in the zone of the Avellaneda station on Wednesday [June 26]. A photo by Clarín [provided next to the article] shows, to the contrary, men from the Prefectura in position on the sidewalk in front of the station, minutes after the piqueteros had been shot.”40 Clarín reported that the Prefectura were being investigated by the judiciary, but subsequent articles focused more on the judicial investigation of the BAPP than the Prefectura. Overall, Clarín framed judicial investigations as important, but not reliable. The newspaper suggests that journalists play a significant role in leading investigations and as a watchdog over them. Similarly, dismissals were announced at the end of the day on June 27, after the publication of the photos in Clarín. The first suspensions announced were of Franchiotti and Quevedo.41 Clarín explains: “The photographs that Clarín published in its edition yesterday were among the elements that led the Governor of Buenos Aires, Felipe Solá, to suspend Franchiotti.”42 The next day the governor went further, asking for the resignations of the chief of police (BAPP) and his subchief. Two more police officers found to be directly involved in the death of Santillán also were suspended and all four officers were processed internally to determine whether they would be demoted or dismissed.43

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Solá denied that he would be asking for the resignation of the Minister of Security and Justice, Luis Genoud. However, Clarín reported that its sources indicated he would go.44 Genoud’s resignation was announced by Solá the next day.45 There were no reported resignations, suspension, or dismissals associated with the Prefectura. Faster than judicial investigations or dismissals, calls for legislative commissions investigating the incidents on Pueyrredón Bridge were reported on June 27 from legislators at both the national and provincial level.46 By June 28, provincial legislators had submitted a bill outlining the establishment of such a legislative commission.47 Within the first seven days, the idea is not expanded upon by Clarín nor emphasized with any particular sense of urgency. Finally, proposals for police reform are presented twice within the first week of coverage. One article explains the plans of the new Provincial Minister of Security and Justice, Juan Pablo Cafiero, for restructuring the BAPP. Cafiero’s plans are reported to include the implementation of psychological tests for police chiefs and the reactivation of the Internal Affairs Department that investigates police wrongdoing.48 However, more interesting is an article published on June 29 in which the journalist suggests a change based on historical precedent. That is, rather than reporting decisions already made, the journalist points to options not pursued: The possibility of a civilian to be in charge of the police has not yet been put forward. In December 1997, the position of the head of police disappeared and during the leadership of León Arslanián, with Duhalde, all the leadership positions (direcciones generales) were held by civilians. When Carlos Ruckauf arrived, he reestablished the traditional structure of the force. He did not succeed in decreasing crime levels or avoid a succession of serious episodes.49

Thus police reform is presented by Clarín as an appropriate response to the incidents on Pueyrredón Bridge, suggesting that the principal wrongdoers were indeed the police and not political leaders. Moreover, the newspaper plays an active role in suggesting preferable types of reform based on history, rather than simply current proposals by political leaders. Conclusion

Overall, discourse plays a leading role in accountability and in challenging law-and-order frames for understanding protest policing. It

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cannot be assumed that institutions of accountability will automatically respond, and respond effectively, to repressive protest policing. Media provide a venue for and filter of discourses that shape key aspects of accountability. Discursive frames establish who are the wrongdoers and what they did exactly that is deemed to be wrongdoing. In the case of the Pueyrredón Bridge protest, attempts by political leaders to frame protesters as wrongdoers were unsuccessful in dominating over frames used by protesters and journalists that centered on the role of the police. Both frames drew on historical frames, but the latter was more aligned with recent events. Moreover, the framing of wrongdoing also determines which mechanism of accountability will most likely be activated and invigilated. Although a judicial investigation may have occurred regardless, it could have chosen to focus its attention more on the wrongdoing of protesters. That is, just because the police killed two protesters does not mean that they acted excessively. If the frame of protester wrongdoing had been more widely accepted, there would have been no need for police reform, suspensions, resignations, or dismissals of public officials and political leaders. Duhalde may have run in the 2003 presidential election. Thus what made this event so significant and the mechanisms of institutional accountability so effective was twofold. First, there were many persuasive discourses emanating from protesters, social movements, and witnesses countering the law-and-order frames used by political leaders. Second, journalists and their practices were receptive to hearing and publishing the views of those supporting the counterframe. As we shall see in the case of Chile, these factors cannot be taken for granted. 1

Clarín, June 27, 2002, “Cuatro historias de un día trágico.” Clarín, June 27, 2002, “La crisis causó 2 nuevas muertes.” 3 Clarín, July 3, 2002, “Cafiero: ‘Debemos ser los garantes del Nunca Más’.” 4 Ibid. 5 For a comparison of the coverage of a protest by the three major newspapers in Argentina and their contribution to accountability, see Bonner 2009b. 6 For example, in 2011 the average print circulation (number of copies sold) for Clarín was 293,097 (Monday to Saturday) and 597,285 (Sundays). In contrast, La Nación’s circulation was 163,080 (Monday to Saturday) and 334, 228 (Sundays). Instituto Verificador de Circulaciones. URL: http://www.ivc.org.ar [last accessed September 26, 2011]. 7 The numbers provided in the table refer to the number of references made to a particular person or group (from one of the categories) or this person’s or group’s position on the three issues. One reference indicates that in one article 2

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one person/group, or the position of one person/group, from the identified category was mentioned. A quote from the person/group may have been provided, their ideas may have been paraphrased, their action may have been noted (e.g., pursuing a court case) or, for references to journalists, the journalist may have editorialized on the topic. 8 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “A esta gente le va a llegar la Justicia Divina.” 9 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “’Franchiotti es de la maldita policía’.” 10 Clarín, July 1, 2002, “Duhalde y Solá, en el delicado reparto de las responsibilidades.” 11 Clarín, July 1, 2002, “Franchiotti y agentes de Prefectura en el centro de la investigación.” 12 Clarín, June 30, 2002, “La Prefectura quedó bajo sospecha por los trágicos incidentes en Avellaneda.” 13 Clarin, June 28, 2002, “Detienen a 2 policías de la Bonaerense por la muerte de uno de los piqueteros.” 14 Clarín, June 30, 2002, “La Prefectura quedó bajo sospecha por los trágicos incidentes en Avellaneda.” 15 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “Cuatro historias de un día trágico.” 16 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Había algunos que no parecían piqueteros.” 17 Clarín, July 1, 2002, “Franchiotti y agentes de Prefectura, en el centro de investigación.” 18 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Detienen a 2 policías de la Bonaerense por la muerte de uno de los piqueteros.” Also Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Destituyeron a la cúpula de la Bonaerense y también se irá el ministro de Seguridad.” 19 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Destituyeron a la cúpula de la Bonaerense y también se irá el ministro de Seguridad.” 20 Clarín, June 30, 2002, “Duhalde ‘Es muy difícil poner en caja a la Policía bonaerense’.” 21 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “Una escalada de violencia que vuelve más frágil a la democracia.” 22 Clarín, July 2, 2002, “Acusaciones para Duhalde y Solá.” 23 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Debate en el Gobierno por el costo político de los incidentes.” 24 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “La violencia no sorprendió a la SIDE ni a la Policía.” 25 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Para los piqueteros todo se planificó.” 26 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Duhalde: ‘Fue una atroz cacería’.” 27 Clarín, July 3, 2002, “Cafiero: ‘Debemos ser los garantes del Nunca Más’.” 28 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “Hubo dos muertos y más de veinte heridos en un choque entre policías y piqueteros.” 29 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “La violencia no sorprendió a la SIDE ni a la Policía.” 30 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Destituyeron a la cúpula de la Bonaerense y también se irá el ministro de Seguridad.” 31 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “La violencia no sorprendió a la SIDE ni a la Policía.” 32 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Debate en el Gobierno por el costo político de los incidentes.”

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33 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Destituyeron a la cúpula de la Bonaerense y también se irá el ministro de Seguridad.” 34 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Las mentiras del comisario que dirigió la represión en Avellaneda.” 35 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Duhalde: ‘Fue una atroz cacería.” 36 Clarín, June 30, 2002, “Duhalde: ‘Es muy difícil poner en caja a la Policía bonaerense’.” 37 Clarín, July 1, 2002, “Solá designó a Cafiero para depurar la Policía bonaerense.” 38 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Detienen a 2 policías de la Bonaerense por la muerte de uno de los piqueteros”. 39 Ibid. 40 Clarín, June 30, 2002, “Los hombres de la Prefectura, en la estación Avellaneda.” 41 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Detienen a 2 policías de la Bonaerense por la muerte de uno de los piqueteros.” 42 Clarín, June 28, 2002, “Las imágenes de la muerte del piquetero Santillán.” 43 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Ya son tres los policías los policías bonaerenses detenidos.” 44 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Destituyeron a la cúpula de la Bonaerense y también se irá el ministro de Seguridad.” 45 Clarín, June 30, 2002, “También cayó el ministro de Seguridad.” 46 Clarín, June 27, 2002, “Piden comisión investigadora.” 47 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “D’Elía: ‘Hay que mirar las manos del menemismo.” 48 Clarín, July 2, 2002, “Asume Cafiero y promete revisar ‘legajo por legajo’.” 49 Clarín, June 29, 2002, “Destituyeron a la cúpula de la Bonaerense y también se irá el ministro de Seguridad.”

7 Police and Protest in Chile: A History

Carabineros, Chile’s uniformed police, are among the most respected police in Latin America. They also are one of the most respected institutions in Chile. In 2008, as in previous years, a poll found the Carabineros to be the institution in which Chileans had the most confidence (63 percent).1 In this regard, the image of the Carabineros in protest policing is very different from that of Argentine police. Excessive police repression is unsurprising in Argentina; in Chile, excessive police repression is, for many people, an oxymoron. Yet both countries’ police were active participants in relatively recent authoritarian regimes and, since then, have undergone few substantial reforms. In both cases, police repression of protests continues. The challenge in Chile, as Claudio Fuentes points out, is that “police brutality will not become a salient issue unless organized groups of civil society convince politicians that the problem exists (an information problem), that the problem is a human rights topic (a framing problem), and that the problem can be solved by introducing legal and institutional changes (a policy-implementation problem)” (2006: 170). In sum, discursive accountability must emerge and law-and-order frames challenged before other mechanisms of accountability will be activated effectively. In the following chapters, I examine how a dominant law-and-order frame in Chile legitimizes repressive protest policing. That is, the manner in which key political actors (state, society, and media) frame protests reinforces repressive protest policing as acceptable, not wrongdoing, and therefore not in need of the activation of institutions of accountability. In this chapter, I begin by exploring the historical frames that make current law-and-order frames appear familiar and thus persuasive. I 119

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argue that policing protests (often referred to as “maintaining public order”) has historically been a central role of the Chilean police.2 The use of high levels of repression by police has not been uncommon. This role was transferred to the police from the military, who wanted to distance themselves from repressive protest policing. As a militarized police, the Carabineros have continued the tradition of repressive protest policing, particularly against those from the poorer sectors (pobladores), indigenous people, and students. As Charles Tilly points out, it is not uncommon, particularly for repressive regimes, to target those groups with the least amount of power (1978:106-115). However, further militarization and increased autonomy of the Carabineros during the Pinochet regime, combined with a slow and pacted transition to democracy, have sustained repressive protest policing as the norm. That said, the historically repressive role of the Carabineros in protest policing is not deterministic. Rather, it reveals a familiar frame for understanding how police should manage protests — especially, but not exclusively, those of marginalized groups. That is, history contributes to the resonance of dominant law-and-order frames. Colonialism and Independence to Ibañez del Campo

Policing in colonial and post-independence Chile was not unlike policing elsewhere in the world at this time. In Chile, as in most countries, policing was authoritarian and structured for the interests of the political and economic elite (or colonizing power). This section highlights what such policing structures looked like in the Chilean context. According to the Carabineros de Chile, the first police forces in Chile were established by Pedro de Valdivia on April 25, 1541, and given the role of protecting the Hispanic population, not the indigenous peoples.3 Indeed, conflict between the Hispanic population and indigenous peoples was significant, especially with the Mapuche in the south. The Spanish colonials were never able to conquer the Mapuche (the largest of eight indigenous groups). Indeed, beyond colonial rule the then Chilean territory south of the Bío Bío river was in effect a separate country (Aruacania) controlled by the Mapuche. Conflict along this border has fluctuated over the centuries, but has never disappeared (Bengoa 1991). Land disputes in the region continue today with the police still playing a significant role. In addition to ethnic conflict, businesses were also motivated early on to employ police. In the early 1700s, police or “commerce militias” were established to protect business people and eventually to protect the

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city of Santiago when the army was absent (Maldonado 1990: 5). Thus, from the beginning, police in Chile, as in many other colonies, had an important role in governing racial and class divisions. Throughout the colonial and independence periods, the police developed in a manner that was civilian controlled and decentralized. Decentralization was based on geography (urban, rural, and national police), time (night and daytime police), and eventually function (public order and security) (Maldonado 1990: 5). Secret police, focusing on criminal and political security, were first established in 1864, in the municipality of Valparaíso.4 With time, the police increased their repressive powers and used them to assist the military and private security. After independence, the 1833 Constitution put in place a political system that favored the economic elite, their business interests, and the interests of foreign businesses. By 1859, the economic elite had achieved political stability through an agreement between liberals and conservatives on the importance of free trade and the use of repression to silence opposition (Salazar 2012: 19). Indeed, from 1891 to 1941, one of the primary roles of the military was to repress social protest (Quiroga and Maldonado 1988: 84,171). In urban mining towns, the military was responsible for controlling a long wave of strikes. In the decade of the 1880s, there were over three hundred miners’ strikes in which approximately ten to fifteen miners were killed and hundreds wounded (Schneider 1995: 21). In the countryside, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, the army was used to combat crime and the rich often hired bodyguards (Collier and Sater 2004: 176; Maldonado 1990: 5-6). Replacing these security forces, the Rural Police was established in December 1881. The Rural Police were under the authority of local rural political elites and the latifundistas (large landowners). The latter provided a great deal of the funding for the police force (Maldonado 1990: 6). In 1896, militarized police, the “Cuerpo de Gendarmes de las Colonias,” were also established to maintain control over the south of the country. In conflicts between European immigrants and indigenous populations, the Gendarme was brutal, killing many people (Maldonado 1990: 9-10; Mella Seguel 2007: 38). Thus again, after independence, the police, especially in the countryside, continued to play an important role in managing racial and class interests and conflicts. As in Argentina, it was not until the beginning of the twentieth century that the police forces began to take their current form. In 1902, President Germán Riesco placed the police forces under the Interior Ministry in order to reduce costs and as a first step towards centralizing

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the forces. In 1906, in the south, General Emil Körner fused together the army and Gendarmes to create the Regimiento de Carabineros (Maldonado 1990: 10). Between 1908 and 1921, all the various police regiments that had been placed under the Interior Ministry were eventually consolidated into the Regimiento de Carabineros. During the same period, the first police school, the Escuela de Carabineros, was established. According to the Carabineros de Chile, the new school contributed to their professionalization.5 Yet, as we saw in chapter 3, police professionalization relates more to bureaucratization than a reduction in violence. Indeed, complaints of police corruption and excesses were extensive in the 1910s. The press and legislators spoke out against the involvement of police in crime, abuse of citizens, and drunkenness while on duty (Maldonado 1990: 7-8). Police were also accused in 1908 and 1917 of involvement in terrorism, including a fabricated plan to assassinate the president, which the police attributed to anarchist groups (Maldonado 1990: 8). Despite the police being discredited by such illegal activities, steps to increase police powers and decrease the direct role of the army in internal policing continued. This shift was motivated less by the good work of the police (which was being questioned) than by a desire on the part of the military to remove itself from internal policing. In 1903 (Valparaíso), 1905 (Santiago), and 1907 (Iquique), the army responded to waves of workers’ strikes with high levels of repression that left thousands of people dead. The workers’ strikes in Iquique in 1907 were some of the most brutal. At the request of the mine owners, the army killed between one and three thousand unarmed workers, their wives, and children (Schneider 1995: 22; Quiroga and Maldonado 1988: 226231). The military repression was highly criticized by the public. It affected morale and contributed to a desire on the part of the army to offload such responsibilities (Maldonado 1990: 11). Thus, early on, police assumed a central role in protest policing. Ibáñez del Campo and the Founding of the Carabineros de Chile

Carlos Ibáñez del Campo, a former Carabinero, member of the military, Minister of War and Minister of the Interior (1925-1927), and, ultimately, dictator (1927-1931) and constitutional president (19521958), was the founder of the Carabineros de Chile known today. The timing of the creation of the Carabineros is significant. Between 1907 and 1925, the elite-controlled government was going through a representational crisis. Citizens lacked trust and confidence in their government and large numbers of social movements emerged

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demanding a change to the 1833 Constitution (Salazar 2012: 20). President Arturo Alessandri Palma (1920-1924, 1925, 1932-1938) and Ibáñez skilfully mitigated the impact of these demands by putting in place a new constitution in 1925. The 1925 Constitution made a few small changes but essentially reproduced and relegitimized the 1833 Constitution (Salazar 2012: 21). Both leaders made partial concessions to popular demands from workers, students, and the middle class, but did not include these groups in political decision making. Instead, they instituted reforms through presidential decrees (Salazar 2012: 34). As with the 1925 Constitution, it is possible that the formation of the Carabineros contributed to the image of a government shift away from military repression of civil society. The new police, rather than the military, would now be the main actors controlling civil society opposition. Yet Ibañez also continued and deepened earlier trends towards the militarization of Chilean police. For example, from 1906 to 1931, the head of the police consistently was a member of the military. In 1925, as Minister of War, Carlos Ibáñez del Campo moved the Regimiento de Carabineros from the Interior Ministry to the War Ministry. This transfer gave the military full control over the police forces. When Ibáñez became president in 1927, he further consolidated the police forces by amalgamating municipal forces into the national force, establishing the Carabineros de Chile on April 27, 1927. The new police force was to be subject to military justice. A 1927 issue of the Revista de Carabineros (Carabineros Magazine) explained that the new force had a new role, unlike those of the past. The magazine defined this new role as “making the Carabinero into a true guide and teacher for the general public, someone who is their best friend, and their most loyal defender and counsellor, always effective in stopping anything that might disturb public order” (quoted in Candina 2006: 81). That is, while a founding and central role of the Carabineros was to control protests (public order), its historical selfimage also includes an equally important commitment to being a respected and well-disciplined police force that is dedicated to its defined community. This positive image was cultivated most actively beginning in the 1950s. Between 1959 and 1963, the Carabineros established a Department of Public Relations and began assisting in the creation of police forces in other Latin American countries, including Colombia, Venezuela, and the Dominican Republic (Maldonado 1990: 18). Thus the role of the Carabineros was to carefully balance the defense of the state with the protection of citizens. The balance proved to be challenging.

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The Carabineros were established as a militarized police and their expanding police powers were linked to their assumption of protest policing duties. For example, although the Carabineros de Chile was soon transferred back to the Interior Ministry, this transfer served not simply to increase civilian control over the police but more importantly to distance the armed forces from human rights abuses that were occurring as a result of government efforts to maintain public order (Weeks 2003: 30). As already noted, the period in which the Carabineros de Chile was established was one of high levels of social and political unrest. Between 1917 and 1920, there were over 215 workers’ strikes (Schneider 1995: 24). In 1927, an important student movement, led by Salvador Allende, emerged and mobilized a wider movement against the Ibáñez dictatorship (Schneider 1995: 28). Thus among the first roles assigned to the new police force was to control social protest. Under the leadership of Ibáñez, the Carabineros were used to repress labor organizations, the Communist Party, and Anarchists. Most notably, Ibáñez, as Minister of War, defied orders from then President Arturo Alessandri and used the Carabineros to violently end labor demonstrations in the port of Iquique in May and June 1925. Again, in 1931, Carabineros were used to quell protests that had emerged in reaction to unemployment. Police repression led to the death of over a dozen people (Pereira 2005: 49; Collier and Sater 2004: 222). The use of the Carabineros to combat social protest continued after Ibáñez’s first term as president. Immediately following his presidency, approximately twenty people were killed in clashes between the police and protesters in Santiago, Concepción, and Valparaíso (Maldonado 1990: 15). Later, from June to July 1934, the Carabineros confronted a protest by evicted peasant squatters, killing hundreds of peasants (Collier and Sater 2004: 228). Again, in 1946, political instability led to strikes and demonstrations that in turn were repressed by the Carabineros (ibid: 245). Eventually, repression of protest, in an effort to control subversion, became integrated as a key function of the Carabineros (Candina 2006: 82; Quiroga and Maldonado 1988: 141). In 1958, this role was strengthened by the adoption of the Law of State Security (Law 12,927), which in “Article 4 states that anyone who ‘in any form or by any means rises up against the constituted government or provokes a civil war’ is committing a crime against state security” (Pereira 2005: 50-51). The law began to be used regularly to maintain public order, contain public discontent, and break up strikes (Faundez 2007: 114-115).6 The central

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and founding role of the Carabineros in policing protests made them lead actors in political class conflicts. Manuel Antonio Garretón (1989) explained that the use of the Carabineros to repress protests was in fact part of what he calls the “compromise state” that helped maintain electoral democracy in Chile, unlike in neighboring countries, until the 1973 coup. The compromise state pursued substantive democratization and an increased standard of living but avoided provoking a coup by excluding peasants and the urban poor from enjoying the benefits of the development model. For example, the economic elite were not willing to discuss agrarian reform (Quiroga and Maldonado 1988: 154). Governments complemented the structural exclusion of the popular sectors with the use of “state violence when popular pressures threatened the maintenance of the system” (Garretón 1989: 6). Similarly, Gabriel Salazar (1994) contends that the Chilean state has consistently defined the meaning of social and political order without the participation of civil society in the deliberations. When civil society has demanded inclusion in the deliberations (as, he held, happened after 1829, 1919, and 1973), it has been met with police and military repression. Thus, according to Salazar, elite political “order” or “stability” was achieved in Chile without addressing the fundamental socioeconomic issues that continued to contribute to antagonism between the state and society (Salazar 1990: 71-88). As the 1960s progressed, the Carabineros, aided by the United States, became more focused on combatting “subversion” (Maldonado 1990: 19). In 1962, the Carabineros began to use helmets when confronting protesters and in 1963 they established the Grupo Móvil, which specialized in protest policing. Supporting their efforts, between 1961 and 1970, the Carabineros received 2.4 million dollars worth of equipment from the US government, as well as police advisors (Maldonado 1990: 19). Chilean police attended the US School of Americas, where they were trained in subjects including protest policing and combatting subversion (Maldonado 1990: 19). The Chilean government also augmented its spending on the police in the 1960s. Flush with new funds, the Carabineros invested in weapons of war such as machine guns (ibid). The Grupo Móvil became increasingly involved in repressing protests, particularly those with class dimensions at copper mines and land disputes. The clashes became more violent and fatal. For example, five protesters were killed during a strike on November 23, 1967, and nine people were killed (fifty-seven injured) in a squatter eviction in Puerto Montt on March 9, 1969 (Maldonado 1990: 19-20). That is,

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repression increased as popular sectors’ demands for inclusion became more aggressive. In response, President Salvador Allende (1970-1973) dissolved the discredited Grupo Móvil as soon as he came to office. Yet violent social conflict did not diminish. Widespread nationalization, including of the copper mines, led to miners’ strikes (Collier and Sater 2004: 335-336). Rapid changes were also happening in the area of land tenure. MIR (Revolutionary Left Movement), comprised mainly of university students, organized peasants (mostly Mapuche) into the Movimiento Campesino Revolucionario and began seizing land. Many independent Mapuche organizations also increased their use of land occupations; Mapuche land occupations rose from 9 in 1967 to 192 from September to December 1970 (Mella Seguel 2007: 61) In turn, Allende pursued rapid agrarian reform and assisted the Mapuche in reclaiming some of their land (ibid: 63). Resisting these changes, right-wing vigilante groups, such as Patria y Libertad (established in 1970), responded with armed confrontation. The abrupt changes in economic policies also contributed to food shortages, inflation, and more protests such as the “March of the Empty Pots” on December 1, 1971. The mainstream media contributed to political polarization. Most notably, the national newspaper El Mercurio took a firm stance against Allende and provided arguments in favor of a coup. Social mobilization was high during the Allende government, and many people of this generation still associate popular mobilizations with the consequences that followed. Pinochet Regime, 1973-1990

On September 11, 1973, General Augusto Pinochet led a coup that overthrew the elected government of Salvador Allende. The police played an important role in the new dictatorship. From the beginning, in the Declaration of Principles, the military regime referred to its goals and activities as being those of the military and the police (Pereira 2005: 104) Indeed, the initial idea of a junta (quickly shelved) was to include General César Mendoza, head of the Carabineros (Collier and Sater 2004: 362). The 1980 Constitution formally laid out the role of the Carabineros in the military government. It established, in Article 95, that the General Director of the Carabineros would be one of the eight members of the National Security Council (CSN). Their participation in the CSN ensured that the Carabineros also had a position within the Senate. Later in the regime, the Constitutional Framework Law (Ley Orgánica Constitucional) reasserted the military character of the Carabineros and

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established that the Carabineros would, thenceforth, have institutional autonomy regarding promotions and the retirement of officers. The General Director of the Carabineros was also given the autonomy to determine the police services the institution would provide. These police powers and autonomy continued after the dictatorship (Frühling 2001: 18). In 1974, General Director Mendoza stated in a speech to Carabineros: “Carabineros de Chile is no longer a mere executer of government dispositions. It is no longer a mute witness of correct and incorrect government policies. Today Carabineros de Chile is an actor and decisive collaborator in government tasks” (quoted in Maldonado 1990: 21). The political integration of the Carabineros into the military regime also included the increased militarization of the police forces. In 1973, the Carabineros were shifted from the Interior Ministry to the Defense Ministry. In 1975, the Ley Orgánica (Framework Law) for the Carabineros was changed to reinstate its military character (Dammert 2006: 61). This included not only the continued use of the police to repress the civilian population but also military involvement in training police officers and adjusting their internal organization (Dammert 2006: 61). Thus, during the dictatorship, the Carabineros worked closely with the military regime and gained significant institutional autonomy. This new-found autonomy and reaffirmed militarization contributed to the Carabineros’ renewed and augmented role in repression. Together, the Carabineros and military participated in the killing of people opposed to the regime. Between September and December 1973, the Carabineros were the primary perpetrators of disappearances, until DINA (National Intelligence Directorate) was officially created in June 1974.7 They were responsible for the disappearance of 248 people in these months and 45 more between 1974 and 1989 (Policzer 2009: 90). Among the most targeted groups were labor and grassroots organizers, Mapuche, and students (Schneider 1995: 78) The Carabineros also maintained their role in controlling social protest. The military regime replaced the discredited Grupo Móvil with the Special Forces, the name of the section of the Carabineros who remain responsible for protests today. With a deteriorating economy in the early 1980s and an easing of levels of state repression (particularly disappearances), protests became more common and police reaction was strong.8 In 1983, the economic crisis exploded and in May of that year the first national protest under the Pinochet regime was held. Hundreds of people were killed, hundreds more were injured, and thousands were arrested (Maldonado 1990: 23; Oxhorn 1995: 217-218).9

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Those from the popular sectors were targeted the most. Mass mobilizations continued through to 1986 and were used as a pretext for police repression that included “brutal sweeps through the shantytowns” (Collier and Sater 2004: 377). The targeting of the popular sectors led to fear within the middle sectors. Not wanting to be associated with the popular sectors, the middle sectors eventually retreated from activism (Oxhorn 1995: 218). Moreover, targeted repression led many people in shantytowns to view the use of violence during protests to be a legitimate response to police repression, arguing it was self-defense. This position further distanced the popular sectors from the middle sectors and led the military regime to frame the protests as a return to the chaos of 1973 (Oxhorn 1995: 229, 232). The only political party that supported the use of violence by the popular sectors was the Communist Party (PC). The PC called for “popular rebellion” as a tactic to destabilize the military regime. The PC’s support of violence marginalized it from other political parties as the transition to democracy approached (Oxhorn 1995: 221-226). The Carabineros also framed these protests as a threat against the government and the institution of the Carabineros itself. In 1985, Revista de Carabineros explains that “The implicit objective of the mass movements is to gravely disturb the peace, which constitutes a direct and unrestrained attack on the system of government . . . . [The term “police brutality”] not only discredits the government but also the Carabineros and is an attempt to besmirch the moral authority of both” (quoted in Candina 2006: 84). However, revelations about the human rights violations committed by the police began to increase public distrust of the Carabineros. In particular, in 1985, the Carabineros were disgraced in what has come to be known as the Degollados (Slit-Throat) Case. The incident involved three human rights activists, members of the Communist Party, who were found dead on the side of the road on March 30 of that year with their throats slit and evidence that they had been tortured. Both the military government and human rights organizations identified the Carabineros as responsible.10 As a result, top Carabinero officials, including its director, junta member General César Mendoza, were asked to resign (Policzer 2009: 120; Maldonado 1990: 23-24). This crisis of legitimacy, combined with the secondary role the military had assigned the police, contributed to the top officials within the Carabineros being distanced from military government decisionmaking (Dammert 2006: 62). At this point, the Carabineros began concentrating their efforts on changing their public image through a sophisticated communication strategy (see chapter 8). The new head of the

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Carabineros, Director General Rodolfo Stange (1985-1995), retired and even arrested members of his institution found to be involved in deaths, torture, and other forms of police brutality (Maldonado 1990: 24). However, the decrease in power assigned to the Carabineros did not stop the military regime from protecting the institution when a return to electoral democracy appeared imminent. In a new framework law, the military regime established that “the president of the republic could demand the retirement of a Carabinero officer only if the institution’s director general proposed it — a serious diminution of presidential powers” (Candina 2006: 85). Thus, by the time of the transition in 1990, the police had become more militarized and more autonomous than they were prior to the military regime. Their role in repressing protests was sustained. Yet, at the same time, public opinion polls, as early as 1989, placed the Carabineros as among the most respected Chilean institutions (Stern 2010: 67). As with protest policing, respect for the Carabineros has important class, race, and age dimensions. Post-Dictatorship, 1990-2011

The transition to democracy in Chile was achieved through a political pact and thus was not only more recent but also much slower than in Argentina. General Augusto Pinochet lost the 1988 plebiscite on his leadership and elections were held in 1990. However, Pinochet’s 1980 Constitution ensured that he remained Commander-in-Chief of the Army until March 10, 1998, after which time he assumed a position as senator for life. The Constitution also stipulated that nine of thirty-five senators were to be nominated by the outgoing military regime, with terms ending in 1998, and even upon reappointment were to include three former members of the armed forces and one from the Carabineros (Stern 2010: 23). Nominated Senate positions were not eliminated until 2006 (ibid). Combined with electoral changes in 1989, the Senate structurally overrepresented right-wing political parties and denied the center-left coalition, Concertación, control over it (Munck and Bosworth 1998: 484-485; Stern 2010: 23). Pinochet’s power guarded democracy, until his arrest in London in 2000 and, ultimately, until his death on December 3, 2006. Moreover, the military did not leave power discredited. Unlike in Argentina, the military had not recently lost a war, their economic policies were supported at least among the elite, and many Chileans felt that the human rights abuses were unfortunate but justified. A March 1991 poll found that 57.9 percent of Chileans viewed the Pinochet regime as “both good and bad,” while 20 percent remembered the

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regime as “good” or “very good” (Stern 2010: 90). Thus the power of the Concertación, the political coalition that led Chile from 1990 to 2010, was limited by important checks on its power and required compromise both within its coalition and with opposition (pro-Pinochet) right-wing parties. In this section I briefly review some of the changes in policing since the end of the Pinochet regime. From 1990 to 2010, Chile was governed by the left-of-center coalition Concertación. Presidents Patricio Aylwin (1990-1994) and Eduado Frei (1994-2000) came from the centrist Christian Democratic Party within the coalition. Presidents Ricardo Lagos (2000-2006) and Michelle Bachelet (2006-2010) were members of the Socialist Party of Chile. The significant autonomy of the Carabineros maintained since the dictatorship, combined with the Concertación’s consistent disapproval of protests, led to few significant changes attributable to particular presidencies. For this reason, in this section I speak more to the trends over this twenty-year period rather than divide it into particular presidencies. In 2010, the Concertación lost the presidential election to the right-wing coalition Alianza, headed by Sebastian Piñera. As expected, his presidency has been more supportive of iron-fist policing, particularly in response to protest. At the time of writing, Piñera’s presidency is relatively new. I begin with the transition to democracy in the early 1990s. The Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation (the Rettig Commission) was established almost immediately by newly elected President Patricio Aylwin. However, its scope and goals were more limited than those of the truth commission in Argentina. The Commission was given the responsibility of investigating only those people who had been killed or disappeared during the dictatorship. The report, which documented almost 3,000 cases, was submitted to the president on February 4, 1991. Later, as in Argentina, the report became a best-selling book. In 1992, reparations were extended. However, unlike in Argentina, Chileans were encouraged to put the past behind them and move on. At the end of Alywin’s administration, “closure” and the end of the transition to democracy were officially announced (Phelps 2004). In 1994, President Eduardo Frei’s Minister of Defense and close advisor, Edmundo Pérez Yoma, stated: “nobody has moral superiority for judging the governments of the last thirty years” (quoted in Stern 2010: 150). Thus, officially, the past was to be left behind. For those human rights organizations that did not demobilize in the 1990s, their principal concern has been resisting “closure.”11 For example, they contributed to the eventual formation of a National Commission on Political Imprisonment and Torture that released its

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report, the Valech Report, in 2004 and 2005. The Valech Report addresses cases of political imprisonment and torture during the dictatorship. These human rights abuses had not been included in the Rettig Report. Thus the primary working definition of human rights used by Chilean human rights organizations remains that which occurred during the last dictatorship. Human rights abuses occurring since the return of electoral democracy were largely beyond the scope of human rights organizations’ interests or financial and organizational capabilities. In this context, it is not surprising that police continued the practice of torturing detainees and that such practices were not exposed to the degree that they have been by human rights organizations in Argentina. International human rights organizations, such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, reported numerous examples of police torture in Chile throughout the 1990s. For example, Amnesty International reported “at least 50 cases of torture by security forces [in 1992]” (AI 1993: 92) and over 20 cases of torture and ill-treatment by police in 1996 (AI 1997: 117). The torture techniques reported include beatings (to the point of death), electric shocks (including to the genitals), dry submarine (plastic bag over the head), hanging by bound hands, and forced standing. Protests were few in number until 2006. They mostly occurred on key dates such as the Day of the Young Combatant, September 11, Pinochet’s return from London, and Pinochet’s death (Stern 2010: 8). Indeed, President Aylwin discouraged protests in favour of building what he called a new convivenicia (living together in peace) (Stern 2010: 16-17). The goal was not to upset the fragile first steps toward democracy with destabilizing protests. Repressive protest policing was the norm at most of the protests that did occur. However, it did not emerge as a significant concern in international human rights reports until about 2000/2001 and most significantly from 2006 onward. The annual reports of the Human Rights Center at Diego Portales University (UDP) do not address the issue of protest policing until its 2007 report that covered incidents from 2006. In 2006, Chilean high school students, most of who had been born after the dictatorship, organized a series of protests calling for changes to the educational system. On May 30 of that year, 739,000 students and their supporters across the country took to the streets. This was the largest protest since the end of the dictatorship. In response, the Carabineros used water cannons and tear gas. They beat and used psychological abuse against protesters, bystanders, and journalists. The police response was deemed excessive by all national media, and

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eventually by political leaders. As a result, President Bachelet dismissed ten Carabineros as well as the top two leaders of the Special Forces (see chapter 9). In many respects, 2006 was a turning point in protests and protest policing. Police repression of the 2006 student protest is recognized by interviewees and the Diego Portales report as “emblematic.” It has inspired further and more extensive analyses of protest policing in all subsequent annual human rights reports published by Diego Portales University. It also contributed to the organization in 2008-2009 of a campaign by social movement organizations titled “¡Alto Ahí! Basta de Impunidad Policial” (“Stop! Enough Police Impunity”). However, unlike in Argentina, information on police violence generally, let alone during protests, is hard to find. This problem impacts discursive accountability. If information is not available to support arguments that the issue is pervasive, then accusations of police excesses can be dismissed as isolated incidents perpetuated by “bad apples.” Most documentation of police violence since 1990 has focused on those cases taken to court. The number of such cases has increased significantly. Between March 1990 and December 2000, there was an average of one such court case against police per day (Fuentes 2001: 52). The majority of those affected were males and the abuses generally occurred in the street (61.2 percent), as opposed to the police station (29.7 percent) or in their homes (21.8 percent) (Fuentes 2001: 46). There has been little analysis of the continuation of police repression of public protest. Azun Candina accounts for this silence in part to its being one of the taboo subjects for the Carabineros (2006: 92). During the student protests in 2011 an organization, Asesoría Ciudadana, collected accounts of police repression. However, its collection of information was limited to this particular period of protest. It was also careful in how it framed its work. For example, a spokesperson for the organization who was quoted in the newspaper El Ciudadano stated: “This denouncement does not aim to harm the prestige of the work of the Carabineros or the Order Forces, rather to strengthen them as democratic institutions.”12 Since 2007, the Human Rights Center at Diego Portales University (UDP) has analyzed some cases and has drawn out important themes and issues on the topic of police action and protest policing. However, it does not systematically collect statistics on police violence in the same manner as CELS and Correpi do in Argentina. Even if it did, its job would be much more challenging. CELS and Correpi collect their information primarily from the most important mainstream national newspapers. They argue that this provides their statistics legitimacy as

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the newspapers have to agree that their own information is correct. In contrast, as the Diego Portales Human Rights Center points out in its 2010 report, the mainstream national newspapers in Chile provide poor coverage of police violence and practices (an issue addressed in more detail in chapters 8 and 9). For example, in May 2010, there was a workers’ strike at the Collahuasi mine. In response, the fiscalía (prosecutors’ office) ordered a coordinated response by the Carabineros and the air force. According to the UDP Human Rights Center, this was an illegal act (2010: 71). Close to three hundred Carabineros and ten police cars were brought in by a Hercules plane to end the protest. Carabineros’ tactics included the use of tear gas bombs in the miners’ dormitories (ibid). This incident was not covered in the mainstream media (UDP 2010: 56). Although clearly information on police excesses can be found in alternative media, such reports do not have the agenda-setting power of mainstream media. However, from the reports of Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, the US State Department, and the Center for Human Rights at UDP, I have been able to identify that a minimum of twelve protesters have been killed by police in Chile from 1990 to 2011. The most recent incident occurred in 2011, when a young 16-year-old boy, Manuel Gutiérrez, was shot by a Carabinero at the end of a union strike supporting protesting students. The immediate response of the Carabineros’ second in command for Santiago Metropolitian Zone, General Sergio Gejardo, was that Carabineros would not be conducting an internal investigation. The reason given was that Carabineros are not permitted to use firearms during protests; therefore, it could not have been Carabineros who killed the boy.13 It was later confirmed by the Investigative Police (PDI) that Carabineros were responsible.14 More common, and less fatal, forms of police repression of protests include the following: the disproportionate or inappropriate use of water cannons and tear gas (such as using tear gas in confined spaces or firing tear gas canisters directly at protesters’ bodies); use of an irritant liquid that stains (and thus marks) protesters; beating or physically attacking protesters; arbitrary and mass arrests; and physical and psychological abuse while protesters are detained. Despite this context, and denial on the part of most state officials that it exists as a problem, some attempts to reform the police have occurred. The two most significant attempts at reforming the Carabineros relate to increasing civilian control over the police. The first concerned moving the Carabineros from the Defense Ministry to the Interior Ministry. Despite a long history of Carabinero subordination to the Interior Ministry (since its creation in 1927 to 1973), the Carabineros

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successfully resisted attempts towards its return, until 2011. The police argued that the Interior Ministry has “a direct link to the government’s political agenda” and thus they are more politically independent within the Ministry of Defense (Dammert 2006: 70). The government attempted, unsuccessfully, to move the Carabineros in 1989, 1991, 1992, 1993, and 2001 (Candina 2006: 86; Weeks 2003: 54, 79). President Patricio Alywin (1990-1994) was successful in moving some domestic security issues away from the control of the military by establishing in 1990 a Public Security Council (later Public Security and Information Office) within the Interior Ministry (Dammert 2006: 63). Second, the civilian governments attempted to assert control over who could lead the Carabineros. According to the laws left over from the dictatorship, the president cannot remove the director of the police, or any officer within the military or police institutions, without consulting the Nation Security Council (Fuentes 2005: 51). The National Security Council is comprised of representatives of each of the branches of the armed forces as well as a representative from the Carabineros. When electoral democracy returned in 1990, the head of the Carabineros remained General Rodolfo Stange, who had been a member of the military junta prior to the transition. In 1993, Special Judge Milton Juica recommended that Stange be tried by military court for enforcing regulations that led to human rights abuses committed in 1985 (Degollados Case) (Weeks 2003: 99). Consequently, President Eduardo Frei (1994-2000) asked for Stange to resign. He refused and the issue went to the National Security Council, who supported Stange (ibid). In response, the government refused to work with Stange, which prevented him from doing his job; for example, the government refused to consider promotions he put forward for their approval. This strategy did end in Stange’s resignation. However, he was simply replaced by his subdirector, General Fernando Cordero (Weeks 2003: 100). Although important attempts to assert civilian control over the police were unsuccessful, two changes to police procedures aimed at reducing their powers were successful. Both were achieved in July 1998. First, the government was successful at abolishing the clause in the Chilean Penal Code and Article 260 of the Code of Penal Procedures that allowed police to arrest based on suspicion. The latter had authorized police to “detain anyone who is present at an unusual time or at a place or in circumstances that give grounds to suspect malicious intent” (Fuentes 2005: 54). However, although the number of people arrested on suspicion reduced dramatically between 1990 and 1999 (zero in 1999), the police may have simply switched to other forms of arrest (Fuentes 2006: 146). Claudio Fuentes explains that “In fact other causes

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of detention, such as misdemeanors, public disturbances, and drinking in public places, tended to increase between 1993 and 1995” (Fuentes 2006: 146). Second, the government was successful in passing new legislation that forced police to follow procedures that protect the rights of individuals arrested. The new law “obligated the public employee who makes the arrest to inform the person arrested of the reasons for the arrest and of his or her rights, before taking them [sic] to the police station” (Frühling 2001: 24). Persons arrested also have the right to make a phone call to inform someone of their choosing that they have been arrested (ibid). Initially, the police were supportive of these changes and this stance, perhaps, explains their success. However, soon after they complained that the new procedures inhibited their ability to combat crime, and “officials from the institution let it be known that the legislation must be modified by Congress” (Frühling 2001: 24). In addition, in 1991, Congress approved reforms that limited the detention of suspects to a maximum of forty-eight hours, “requiring judges ordering an extension of incommunicado detention to appoint a doctor to carry out a medical examination of the suspect, and guaranteeing detainees held incommunicado the right to see a lawyer to check on their physical condition” (Fuentes 2006: 143). Following these conditions, an extension can be granted for up to ten days (ibid). All these reforms, along with the creation of a National Prosecutors Office (Fiscalía Nacional), were part of a substantial reform of penal procedures that began to be implemented in 2000 and were completed in 2005. Rather than reforming the police, the penal reform changed the legal system and decreased opportunities for police abuse. Not only were the lengths of detention of suspects decreased, but the National Prosecutors Office now has to be contacted in addition to the judge. Thus, whereas in the past a judge may have overlooked how the police acquired testimonies, the new legal process involves new, often young, national prosecutors who are more likely to inquire into the methods used by police. Although many interviewees argued that the penal process reform eliminated police abuse, particularly torture, Nelson Caucoto, lawyer for the Judicial Assistance Corporation (CAJ), an organization that provides legal assistance to people in cases of police wrongdoing, argued that his organization has seen no change. Police violence at the time of arrest and during protests continues.15 Moreover, when police are accused of abusing a civilian or vice versa, the case is taken to military courts that are not subject to the penal process reform. This procedure applies to all cases resulting from repressive protest policing. The judges in military courts are members of

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the armed forces who do not necessarily have any legal training and who are subject to the military chain of command. Few cases of Carabineros involved in mistreatment or excessive force brought to military courts have led to convictions (Observatorio Ciudana 2008: 20; Fuentes 2005: 59). When convictions are made, the sentences tend to be light. For example, on January 3, 2008, Matías Catrileo was shot in the back. In 2010, Carabinero officer Walter Ramírez was charged with “unnecessary violence causing death” against the young Mapuche activist. Ramírez was sentences to three years and one day, a term that he was permitted to serve, in its entirety, on probation.16 Since its 2008 report, UDP Human Rights Center has dedicated a chapter every year to the need to transfer such cases to civilian courts. Although internal organizational, disciplinary, and doctrinal reforms of the Carabineros have been limited or nonexistent, there has been significant interest in developing community policing. Most definitions of community policing define it as a manner of policing that is decentralized, horizontal in structure, and based on building trust between the police and the community through community participation and police outreach. Azun Candina argues that the Chilean police have interpreted the idea of “community policing” in their own way, to fit their desire to maintain their centralized, hierarchal, and militarized structure. Candina argues that the “Carabineros have affirmed that they have always been a community police force, because they have always been a supportive police force, ready to help people in emergencies, to help the poor, and to help those who need assistance and comfort and those who cannot or do not know how to turn to anyone else” (2006: 90). Among a number of programs established to further develop the Carabineros’ commitment to the community was Plan Cuadrante (Block Watch Plan), put in place in 2001. Plan Cuadrante increased the number of police on the streets, reorganized police to increase their numbers in key areas, established performance indicators to evaluate officers, and aimed to strengthen their relationship with the community (Frühling 2003: 37). Linked to these reforms, the Carabineros also established in 2001 “an Office of Community Relations and Crime Analysis . . . to coordinate operations in response to demands, complaints, and suggestions coming from the public” (Frühling 2003: 37). This community outreach, perhaps combined with a media sympathetic to the police, has not been entirely unsuccessful in terms of public opinion. A 2002 public opinion poll found that 52 percent of Chileans trusted the Carabineros; this is higher than the judiciary (14 percent), armed forces (36-39 percent), Congress (11-12 percent), or political parties (4

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percent) (Collier and Sater 2004: 400). However, levels of respect for the Carabineros have been consistently high since the return of electoral democracy (Stern 2010: 67). Thus it remains uncertain the degree to which Plan Cuadrante has changed Chileans’ respect for the police or violent police practices. The ability of the Carabineros to gain public support, combined with Chileans’ increased fear of crime after the return of electoral democracy, contributed to greater funds and resources being allotted to the Carabineros (Frühling 2001: 20). In 1990, a law was passed that increased the number of positions within the Carabineros by 4,400 (Dammert 2006: 63). The national government also increased the budget of the Carabineros from US $238 million to US $313 million from 1992 to 1997. In addition, municipalities began to help out the police. Between 1990 and 1994, municipalities provided almost half of the new patrol cars of the forces, widening the gap in resources between poor neighborhoods and richer neighborhoods. The government also began to provide funding to the Carabineros for infrastructure and technology (Frühling 2001: 31; Dammert 2006: 65). Complementing domestic support, between 1990 and 1998, the Carabineros received a 319 percent increase in funds from foreign sources for, particularly, vehicles and equipment (Frühling 2001: 21). Indeed, fear of crime in Chile has increased since the return of electoral democracy, along with a very vocal and successful lobbying effort on the part of right-wing political parties and think tanks for increased citizen security. The concept of citizen security in Chile refers to the need for police to increase their capacity to combat crime, particularly crimes against property (mostly robbery and theft) and physical violence (less of a concern owing to its relatively infrequent use by criminals in Chile). Citizen security has been promoted as a central issue by the prominent think tank Paz Ciudadana and the major mainstream newspapers, El Mercurio and La Tercera. Indeed, the owner of El Mercurio founded Paz Ciudadana in 1992. Since 2006, the concept of citizen security has increasingly crept into understandings of protest policing. Under President Bachelet the demands of protesters were often delegitimized, implying government support for police actions. However, with the electoral victory of the right-wing coalition Alianza in 2010, protesters are now also equated by some public officials with delinquents and criminals, supporting their calls for a mano dura approach to controlling protests (UDP reports 2007-2010). This change in approach contributed to the dramatic repression of student protests in 2011.

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Conclusion

There is no doubt that the Carabineros are a well-respected institution in Chile. Polls published in the mainstream news media consistently confirm that the Carabineros are among, if not the most, respected institution in the country. Yet respect, or even trust, does not necessarily equate with nonrepressive protest policing. Not published as widely, the results of these same polls show that those who have had contact with the police, the poorer sectors and youth (the latter two being common targets of repressive protest policing), tend to show lower levels of respect for the Carabineros (Frühling 2007: 133; Fuentes 2005: 63). It is also possible that fear and respect are closely related (Bonner forthcoming). Moreover, as it has throughout history, protest policing continues to have important class, race, and age dimensions. When protesters are from the popular sectors or are indigenous, their repression is not shocking for many Chileans but rather historically consistent. In these cases, Chileans may choose public order over the protection of rights. Age is more precarious. Student protests, often middle class, since 2006 have faced significant police repression and repudiation by government leaders. But they have also drawn public sympathy in a manner not achieved by the popular sectors or Mapuche. In this manner, students, more than any other sector, may be initiating a discussion on acceptable protest policing — challenging law-and-order frames and contributing to discursive accountability. Indeed, in Chile, current events, like the 2006 and 2011 student protests, are particularly important. In Argentina, the last dictatorship has been widely rejected by the population. It is used as an example of the police using repression against internal political enemies, including protesters, in a manner that went too far. Current events in Argentina can be related to the dictatorship to increase the resonance of demands for nonrepressive protest policing (a civil-rights frame). In contrast, in Chile, there is no overarching agreement that the human rights abuses of the last dictatorship were excessive. As recently as 2012, many prominent Chileans attempted to meet in a large public venue to pay homage to Pinochet.17 Yet, unlike in Argentina, a component of the role of the Carabineros has always included protecting citizens. Although this role has been historically overshadowed by an emphasis on their role in protecting the state, its existence could potentially contribute to the resonance of a civil-rights frame for protest policing. However, as we shall see in the next chapters, thus far current events appear to be more important to the building of such a frame.

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1 Emol (El Mercurio on line), January 8, 2009, “Encuesta CEP: Carabineros elejida la institución mejor evaluada de 2008.” URL: http://www.emol.com/ noticias/nacional/2009/01/08/338812/encuesta-cep-carabineros-elegida-lainstitucion-mejor-evaluada-de-2008.html [last accessed August 9, 2011] 2 All Chilean interviewees, including the police, defined “public order” as “the management of protests by police.” 3 Carabineros de Chile, “Historia de Carabineros de Chile.” URL: http://www.carabineros.cl/sitioweb/web/verSeccion.do?cod=121 [last accessed November 9, 2011] 4 Policía de Investigaciones de Chile (PICH), “Historia Institucional y Mártires.” URL: http://www.investigaciones.cl/ [last accessed November 9, 2011] 5 Carabineros de Chile “Historia de Carabineros de Chile.” URL: http://www.carabineros.cl/sitioweb/web/verSeccion.do?cod=121 [last accessed November 9, 2011] 6 Indeed, as recently as 2011, the Chilean government threatened to use the Law of State Security against a union strike held in support of the August student protests. See El Mostrador , August 22, 2011, “Gobierno no descarta aplicar Ley de Seguridad del Estado ante llamado al paro de CUT.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/08/22/gobierno-no-descartaaplicar-ley-de-seguridad-del-estado-ante-llamado-a-paro-de-la-cut/ [last accessed September 23, 2011] 7 DINA also was comprised of a significant number of recruits from the Carabineros (Maldonado 1990: 22). 8 Article 19 of the newly written 1980 Chilean Constitution (still in effect) officially permitted protests, although legal restrictions on this right were quickly imposed (Fox 2010). 9 The Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation found 131 protesters to have been killed during the dictatorship (1993: 933). 10 In particular, members of DICOMCAR (Dirección de Comunicaciones de Carabineros) were found in August of 1985 by military courts to have been responsible. 11 For a list of Chilean human rights organizations that demobilized during the 1990s, see Claudio Fuentes (2005: 67-70). Those that have remained active have relatively few staff and resources compared to human rights organizations in Argentina. 12 El Ciudadano, August 26, 2011, “Organización ciudadana impulsa proyecto de denuncias por represión policial.” URL: http://www.elciudadano.cl/2011/08/26/organizacion-ciudadana-impulsaproyecto-de-denuncias-por-represion-policial/ [last accessed September 23, 2011] 13 El Ciudadano, August 26, 2011, “Carabineros no iniciará investigación interna por joven asesinado en Macul.” URL: http://www.elciudadano.cl/ 2011/08/26/carabineros-no-iniciara-investigacion-interna-por-joven-asesinadoen-macul/ [last accessed September 23, 2011] 14 El Mostrador, August 29, 2011, “Bala que dio muerto a Manuel Gutiérrez pertenecía a carabinero dado de baja según peritajes.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/08/29/bala-que-dio-muerte-a-

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manuel-gutierrez-pertenecia-a-carabinero-dado-de-baja-segun-peritajes/ [last accessed September 23, 2011] 15 Interview. Santiago de Chile. June 23, 2009. 16 El Mostrador, August 19, 2010, “Carabinero que asesinó a Matías Catrileo no irá a la cárcel.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2010/ 08/19/carabinero-que-asesino-a-matias-catrileo-no-ira-a-la-carcel/ [last accessed July 16, 2013] 17 El Mostrador. “Con gritos de ‘Libertad para Corbalán’ termina homenaje a Pinochet” June 10, 2012. URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/ 2012/06/10/con-gritos-de-libertad-para-corbalan-termina-homenaje-a-pinochet/ [last accessed June 22, 2012]

8 Discourses on Protest Policing in Chile .

The transition to democracy in Chile has been slow. For the first ten years, the military and General Pinochet remained powerful and vigilant. Political leaders, who in the past had orchestrated the majority of protests, discouraged mobilization. The fear among political leaders, and the population generally, was that protests could destabilize the government and potentially lead to the end of the fragile democracy. This is not to say that protests did not occur. They did. However, until recently, they were relatively few in number and often violent. For example, the Day of the Young Combatant is one protest that can be relied on yearly to end in violence. Every March 29 popular sector groups commemorate the assassination of two brothers, Rafael and Eduardo Vergara Toledo. The brothers were killed by Carabineros in 1985 in the Santiago población (shantytown) Villa Francia. Their deaths were part of the police and military repression of protests that were escalating during the period (see chapter 7). They became symbols of the struggle against the dictatorship. Every year, alongside peaceful protests, Carabineros and some, mainly youth, from the poblaciones (especially Villa Francia) prepare to fight on March 29. Likewise, protests commemorating the day of the military coup, September 11, have also been violent. Seven people were killed by police during the September 11 protests between 1993 and 1999 (USSD 1994: 385-386; AI 1999; USSD 1999; AI 2000). Given the regularity of violence at these yearly protests, perhaps it is not surprising that many Chilean “police experts” interviewed referred to protests as “always violent.” Protests began to increase in number around the year 2000. In addition to protests by the popular sectors, indigenous groups (particularly the Mapuche) increased their use of protests in land disputes. Gradually students, many of whom had been born after the 141

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dictatorship, took to the streets as well. The first large-scale protest since the end of the Pinochet regime was organized by high school students in 2006. Students led massive protests again in 2011. There have been many other protests organized by groups such as unions, human rights organizations, women’s groups, and even the wives of Carabineros. However, in terms of quantity, protests in Chile have not been the daily challenge found in Buenos Aires, especially not between 1990 and 2000. That said, the methods used by state actors to manage protests in Chile have not changed substantially since the dictatorship. In Article 19, Number 3, of the 1980 Chilean Constitution the right to protest is guaranteed: “everyone has ‘the right to assemble peacefully without prior permission and without arms’” (quoted in UDP 2011: 65).1 Yet citizens’ ability to exercise this right is severely limited. In 1983, the Pinochet government passed an administrative decree (Supreme Decree 1.086) holding that, “if protests in public places are not authorized by the Mayor or the Government, regardless of the case, the authorities can dissolve them with the use of police force” (UDP 2011: 66). That is, the decree leaves it up to government authorities whether or not and how a protest will be permitted through a process of protest permits. Thus the decree, written at the height of protests in the middle of the dictatorship, contradicts the Chilean Constitution. In practice, the decree, not the Constitution, is given priority (Fox 2010: 81). The decree gives the police carte blanche to respond to protests as they see fit. Although a small change was made to the decree in 1989, it has not been derogated. In contrast, the current government aims to broaden its scope. On October 2, 2011, the Piñera government signed a bill that criminalizes the occupation of public buildings (known as tomas). Wrongdoers can be penalized with between 541 days to three years in prison. The bill also criminalizes the disrupting of public services (such as public transit), “lack of respect for police,” and covering one’s face.2 In addition to the 1983 decree, there are norms within the penal code that govern public disorder (Articles 269, 495, and 269). These norms are vague. When applying them, the Carabineros and the government choose to use a broad definition of disorder.3 It is this norm that Carabineros use when making mass arrests at protests. As the number of protests has increased, so have the number of people charged under these laws. Under the jurisdiction of the North Center Prosecutors’ Office (Fiscalía), which covers most of the areas of Metropolitan Santiago where protests take place, 697 people were charged in 2005 for crimes of public disorder, 3,936 in 2006, 4,219 in 2007, and 4,691 in 2008 (Fox 2010: 92). Yet, because the norms are vague and it is difficult to prove that a particular person has contributed

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to disorder, judges (in civilian courts) generally find most protesters to be innocent of the charges. Since the law provides a great deal of discretion for Carabineros on how they are to manage protests, it is also important to understand the management strategies used by the Carabineros. These can be found within the Carabinero’s Procedures for the Control of Public Order. The Carabineros are not forthcoming in sharing these procedures. Indeed, in September 2011, political scientist Claudio Fuentes publicly called for transparency on the part of the Carabineros so that the public can know what the police procedures are for managing a protest.4 In 2012, I was able to obtain a copy of the Carabinero’s “Police Procedures Manual” that includes a page on public order procedures. However, the procedures are limited to arrest, verification of identity, the collection of witness testimonies, and fines (2010: 34). Domingo Lovera, from the Center for Human Rights at Diego Portales University (UDP), had the opportunity to view the “Procedures for the Control of Public Order” manual (not keep a copy). He recounts that the procedures explain a policy of escalated use of violence that is very vague and, as a consequence, ultimately leaves the decision of how and when police use of force should escalate to individual officers or their superiors. The Carabineros’ procedures for protest policing have remained the same since the dictatorship.5 During the protests in 2011, for the first time, the Carabineros began to make reference to their official procedures. The full set of procedures has not been made public, but a number of quotes from Carabinero leaders in the media help to piece together some of the possible guidelines. For example, Aquiles Blu, the National Director of Order and Security for the Carabineros, explained police procedures in the following manner: “if a protester is committing disorder, interrupting traffic, damaging street signs, throwing Molotov bombs, they must be arrested” (quoted in UDP 2011: 69). What is striking here is how vague concepts such as “committing disorder” and less serious offenses such as “interrupting traffic” are placed in parallel sequence with “throwing Molotov bombs.” Blu also explained that throwing tear gas into condominiums or into crowds from helicopters is not consistent with police procedures. He made this clarification in response to these incidents occurring (and filmed) on August 4, 2011.6 The police procedure of escalated force, as it relates to tear gas, is explained by Carabineros as, when megaphones do not work, “water is used to push the protesters away. And when the aggression is high and to avoid bodyto-body contact, we use gas” (quoted in UDP 2011: 75).

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Analyses of protests reveal that police procedures at protests regularly include the use of mass arrests, water cannons, tear gas, rubber bullets, and irritant liquid. Protesters are beaten and sometimes subject to psychological and sexual abuse.7 Tear gas is often used; sometimes it is thrown into confined spaces or at protesters’ bodies. Police have infiltrated protests and instigated violent acts made to appear to be caused by protesters. On occasion, firearms with lead bullets are used. All these procedures have been used by police to manage both peaceful and violent protests. Similar police procedures used during the dictatorship are documented in the Chilean National Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report (1993: 934). It is theoretically possible to charge a Carabinero for “unnecessary violence” or even homicide. Such cases may be investigated by the Carabineros or transferred to the Investigative Police (PDI). However, once investigated, the case goes to the military courts. These courts have consistently concluded in favor of the actions of the Carabineros. Thus, structurally, there are few legal or institutional restrictions on police actions. Police discretion is high. In this context, discourses become important, potentially affecting the choices police make. Law-and-order frames can reinforce a repressive police response to protests as acceptable, or a civil-rights frame can challenge it as wrongdoing. Unlike in Argentina, in Chile, a law-and-order frame prevails. The dominant frame can be summarized as: “the repression of protests by police is legitimate.” This frame was identified as dominant by almost all of the approximately fifty police experts I interviewed (government administrators, political party members, police, members of think tanks, social movement activists, and journalists representing views from across the political spectrum). Police expert interviewees identified three dominant justifications for repressive protest policing. First, police repression of protests is justified by the need to maintain public order. Second, police repression of protests is justified because it targets particular groups. Third, police repression of protest is justified because protesters are violent. All interviewees identified these arguments as part of the dominant frame on protest policing. The frame resonates as historically consistent with the role of the Carabineros and expectations for the management of protests. However, not all interviewees agreed with it. Those who opposed the use of repressive protest policing offered counterframes to each of the dominant frames. In this chapter, I analyze each of the dominant frames and corresponding counterframes in an attempt to identify the limits and possibilities for discursive accountability.

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As in chapter 4, this chapter aims to understand the dominant perceptions of protest policing held within the police expert milieu, unfiltered by the media. That is, I aim to understand what is considered “common knowledge” within this milieu. The transmission of these positions through the media is introduced in this chapter but will be explored in depth in chapters 8 and 9. Maintaining Public Order (or Criminalizing Protest)

Chileans place a high value on the rule of law, regardless of whether the laws might be deemed authoritarian or democratic. Indeed, General Augusto Pinochet justified his 1973 coup by the need to reestablish the rule of law. The police under the authoritarian regime, but more so in a democracy, are the principal actors who enforce the rule of law through ensuring public order and security. These two concepts are distinct. I asked all interviewees to provide definitions of the terms, and they consistently responded that security pertains to combatting crime and public order has to do primarily with the control of protests. More specifically, public order is defined as ensuring that citizens are able to move freely throughout the city unencumbered by blocked roads, transit systems, or sidewalks. To achieve public order, there are very clearly laid out laws that must be followed by protesters. The violation of these laws is, in one of the most common dominant frames, a justification for repressive protest policing. That is, repressive protest policing is justified in order to maintain public order. As discussed, the laws require protesters in Santiago to seek a permit for protest from the mayor of Santiago (Supreme Decree 1.086). The mayor can accept or reject such requests.8 Although no one collects information on the quantity of rejections, many interviewees suspect that a large majority of requests are rejected. If a protest takes place without a permit, the police are justified in using whatever level of force they deem necessary to end the protest. If the request for a protest permit is granted, then the leaders of the protest are required to sit down with the mayor’s office and Carabineros to establish an acceptable route, schedule and provide estimates on the number of people likely to attend, reveal who will be giving speeches, and offer any other relevant information on the organization of the event. If, during the protest, the protesters deviate from the programmed route even slightly, the police are justified in using whatever level of force they deem necessary to end the protest. One Carabinero explained:

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In a democratic country, in order that there is a real democracy, there has to be the rule of law and police to take care of this rule of law and social wellbeing. The common good is what the law strives for and we try to ensure that the law is fulfilled. We are sometimes the bad guys in the film, but we don’t do it because a person bothers us but because the person is not complying with the law. If you don’t comply, we lose the rule of law, democracy, social public order, and citizen security.9

A number of interviewees clarified that the Carabineros are not only responding to the law but also to the government that establishes (or maintains) the law and chooses which protests are given permits. A member of the Christian Democratic Party (one of the dominant parties in the Concertación coalition governing at the time of the interviews) explained: It is the government that has the responsibility to ensure public order. So, if you have someone who takes over a street, for example, suppose students go out right now on the Alameda [principal road in downtown Santiago] and block the Alameda, and don’t allow anyone to pass. What is the obligation of the government? To reestablish order so that people can continue to circulate, so that cars can continue to circulate. What can they do? They call the Carabineros; there is no other option. So, obviously . . . they order them to repress, but it’s because the government does not have any other option.10

My interviewee from the right-wing party Renovación Nacional (RN), then in opposition and now the governing party in the current coalition government, agreed. In his words, if a protest deviates from the approved route, then “the moment of noncompliance with the law, the social pressure of the protest, brings you to justifiably take repressive measures against the protest, the march. But the protest in general we always recognize as a right that all citizens have, but it’s the form in which they do it.”11 One Chilean academic who has been involved in legal reform related to the police viewed the dominant frame on public order justifying the control of protest as one supported by the majority of the Chilean population: The majority of the population, say 80 percent or 90 percent, believe in the right to have order, and they are ready to tolerate what I would call low-level abuses of human rights, to give them a name. No torture, no disappearances, no prison without trial, but that the police hit people in the streets with sticks, yes. That the police throw tear gas bombs without much justification, yes. That, if people occupy a street, they

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are removed with sticks, yes. Why? I believe the support is for many reasons, but also because people have a lot of fear of disorder because they lived this so much during the period just prior to the dictatorship.12

The counterframe offered primarily by those who have organized protests or work with those who do (namely, social movement organizations, left-wing political parties, unions, left-wing journalists) is that protest is criminalized by the government by maintaining laws from the dictatorship and creating new laws that limit freedom of speech through street protests. Paulina Acevedo (Observatorio Ciudandana) explains that the decree law requiring protesters to have permits “could have been derogated with democracy, but it is maintained, and democracy uses it. The way to maintain social control in democracy is through this decree.”13 Interviewees indicated that many groups are denied permits based on who they are or what their demands are. They often provided their own experiences. For example, a member of the NGO Andha Chile a Luchar, an organization from the poblaciones (shantytowns) fighting for housing issues, told me that his organization is never granted permits (many other interviewees told me that this denial is justified because they, personally, do not agree with the goals of Andha Chile a Luchar or its protest tactics, such as climbing construction cranes with banners or occupying the main river that runs through Santiago). If granted permission, protest groups are often given routes that limit their visibility. For example, Mauricio Becerral, a journalist for the newspaper El Ciudadano, explained that “lately the government hasn’t been granting permission to occupy the Alameda.”14 Moreover, in August 2009, Congress passed a bill that made protest organizers responsible for property damage caused by the protest (UDP 2009: 79).15 Even protests that have been given permission, are peaceful, follow the rules, and are negotiated ahead of time with the police can face repression (particularly arbitrary arrest). Interviewees from the Chilean Federation of Students (FECh) and the Chilean Teachers’ Union (Colegio de Profesores) provided a number of such examples. Thus a dominant frame for justifying police repression of protest in Chile is that such “repression ensures public order.” Protesters who face repression, it is assumed, have violated the laws regarding protest, thereby putting at risk public order and, in turn, democracy. The counterframe is that the laws governing public order “criminalize protest” and limit democracy. The laws remain from the authoritarian regime or have been developed to dampen the voice of protesters.

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Each frame does not hold the same weight or power in Chile; the dominant frames resonate as historically consistent. Moreover, the journalists I interviewed stressed that the major media sources in Chile tend to emphasize the public-order frame. Both journalists and social movement activists argued that the demands and perspectives of protest organizers are rarely included in the media and, if they are, they are a minor part of a news story. This issue will be discussed in more detail in chapters 8 and 9. Targeted Repression

Not unrelated to the frame of public order, a second dominant frame used to justify repressive protest policing in Chile is the association of some groups with being, inherently, a greater threat to public order than others. These groups are consistently identified in the interviews as comprising students, pobladores (shantytown dwellers), workers, and indigenous groups (most notably the Mapuche). As we saw in chapter 7, the targeted repression of workers, pobladores, and indigenous groups is consistent with historical frames of when repressive protest policing is to be used. The counterframe agrees that these groups are targets of protest repression but, rather than seeing this as beneficial for public order, views such targeted repression as problematic. Thus, in this case, the dominant frame is “repressive protest policing is justified because it is primarily targeted at particular groups” and the counterframe is “repressive protest policing is wrong because it targets particular groups”. The dominant frame of targeted repression is implicitly linked to the frame of public order. It is assumed that the groups listed above are a threat to public order, so the need to identify them specifically is less important than it is for those advocating the counterframe. However, part of the dominant frame on targeted repression involves more than simply the disruption caused to public order by these groups but also the perception that repression in these cases is acceptable because the demands of these groups are considered by the amorphous “public” as illegitimate. One member of the NGO CED (Center for Development Studies), a group with close links to the Concertación, and the Christian Democratic Party particularly, explained: When there are protests, one relives the image of the Carabinero as repressor. But the difference now is that this repression is targeted at particular groups. The youth when they protested against the Ministry of Education, or the workers when they protest. And these protests are

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not applauded by citizens in general, and so it is appreciated that the Carabineros contain the situation.16

Another common example given by those supporting the dominant frame was the illegitimacy of the demands of Andha Chile a Luchar. A member of the Christian Democratic Party explained: “the demands of Andha Chile are completely out of place. [He outlines their demands and how ridiculous they are from his perspective] . . . . So from there you will see that it’s correct, or that it’s incorrect, that they block the Alameda or they don’t block the Alameda.”17 The counterframe on targeted repression of protest is addressed at length by many social movement activists, unions, left-wing political party members, and left-wing journalists. Of course, they disagree that the identified groups are inherently a threat to public order or have illegitimate demands. Instead, they raise two key issues regarding why repressive protest policing against these groups is problematic. The first concerns racism and classism. The second concerns a silencing of those groups who disagree with dominant public policy. Racism is brought up most often in reference to the disproportionate repression of Mapuche protest, the use of the antiterrrorism law against the Mapuche, and the assumption in the media that the Mapuche are violent (ignoring coverage of evidence to the contrary). An administrator in the national government agency in charge of issues related to Chilean indigenous peoples, CONADI, stated bluntly that “the Chilean society is racist, discriminatory, and in general does not see with clear eyes the indigenous issue.”18 Similarly, the repression of Andha Chile a Luchar (one of the most active of poblador popular organizations in 2009) is described by a member of the Chilean Teachers’ Union (Colegio de Profesores) as a class issue: “they are seen as delinquents. It’s that here there is a situation of class that is obvious, that is avoided, but in every way is a clear question of class.”19 Indeed, regarding class and race, she argued that there is a “hierarchy” of which groups are targeted for repression. Of the groups targeted, the least likely (although not exempt) to face repression is the teachers’ union “because people respect teachers.” Secondary students come second because almost everyone has a child in secondary school or hopes that their children complete at least part of high school. Next are university students, as not everyone expects their children to go to university and there is a class conflict with the police who are less educated. Finally, there are the Mapuche and pobladores, who are unlikely to ever be granted permits to protest and are “immediately repressed, immediately, because there is no public opinion support for them.”20

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The other most common explanation as to why targeted repression is problematic is that it is aimed at silencing those groups who disagree with dominant public policy. Federico Huneeus, then president of FECh, stated explicitly that “I believe that the Carabineros play a strong role in trying to control the student voice.”21 A member of the human rights organization CODEPU stated, in regards to the targeting of students, “a person or group of people that is fighting for public education is an enemy of the owners of universities, of the owners of high schools.”22 More generally, Sergio Laurenti, executive director of Amnesty International (Chilean section), explained: “frequently in protests by these groups [workers, students, pobladores, indigenous groups] there are very vocal participants and the police rapidly go from dissuasion to repression.”23 The dominant frame that some groups can be targeted for repressive protest policing resonates as historically consistent. Counterframes do not have the same resonance. Moreover, and similar to the public-order frame, the media play an important role in the power relationship between dominant and counterframes. Social movement leaders are not considered authoritative sources, and neither are those from the targeted groups, particularly the Mapuche and pobladores. This distrust further reduces the resonance of the counterframes as those people who most often use these frames are not presented in the media as credible sources. Thus the media replicate, reinforce, and create what is considered “public opinion” regarding the key groups who protest and the acceptable response to their (il)legitimate demands. Violent Protesters

Finally, one of the most common dominant frames is that “violent protest policing is justified given the violent threat the police face.” Indeed, those interviewees who agreed or disagreed with this frame all recognized that at many (some said most) protests in Chile there are violent protesters. In the early days of democracy, the violent protesters were noted as “extreme left-wing terrorists,” such as the Patriotic Front, who disagreed with the compromises made in the transition to democracy. As these groups demobilized, violent protesters began to be identified as anarchists, encapuchados (hooded protesters), lumpen (delinquents), antisocials, and infiltrators. Many interviewees pointed to key dates on which groups, especially those living in poblaciones, are expected to engage in violent conflict with the police. The two dates most commonly noted were the Día del Joven Combatante (Day of the

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Young Combatant, March 19) and September 11 (commemoration of the 1973 military coup). The counterframe does not deny that violent protesters exist. Rather, the counterframe argues that “the existence of violent protesters does not condone the levels of police repression used.” The reasons given to defend this position are that the police response leads to the repression of many nonviolent protesters, and more information is needed on the perspectives of those protesters that are violent. The dominant frame on violent protesters justifying police action is somewhat self-explanatory. For example Abraham Santibáñez, president of the Chilean Journalists’ Union (Colegio de Periodistas), argued that “the appearance of those terrorist groups [such as the Patriotic Front] holding street protests obligated the Carabineros to dissolve the street protests. To dissolve the protests with water cannons.”24 However, there are some important nuances. For example, during the dictatorship there was a significant debate between the political elite and pobladores regarding the use of political violence to resist the dictatorship (see chapter 7). The Communist Party and pobladores, for different reasons, supported the use of political violence (Oxhorn 1995: 221-226). My interviewee from the Christian Democratic Party (which among the opposition political parties held one of the strongest positions against political violence during the dictatorship) explained: “the party totally agrees with social mobilization; it considers it legitimate that protests exist or that it is possible to put forth demands, but not at any price. That is, the protests, Molotov bombs, all that attacks the police, or could attack authority, is obviously rejected at the level of the party. That is, the party doesn’t approve of any form of violent action.” He then went on to review the details of the debate between political parties on political violence that took place during the dictatorship. Later he clarified: “sometimes one understands that the Carabineros need to fulfill a function that is difficult, but there are people who are antisocial. What is one supposed to do in the face of this?”25 Jorge Molina, a journalist from El Mostrador (online newspaper), agrees that “sometimes marches can be peaceful but there are always some people who enter and destroy (saquean) places, rip up stores. So the role the law gives to the Carabineros is for everything, sticks, whatever.” I asked if this is seen as a natural response for the Carabineros to such a situation, and he answered: “Natural. Yes.”26 The interviewee from the RN party added further nuance, noting that sometimes unfortunate incidents occur as a result of the repressive police response to violent protesters. He told the story of a seven-yearold girl in a población during a Day of the Young Combatant. As a

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result of police action, the girl “died or lost an eye . . . . [Y]ou wonder what a seven-year-old girl was doing in the street at one in the morning. So the Carabineros are fulfilling their obligation.” Incidents like this happen, he argued, because protests bring “tension and the adrenaline is so strong, and the fear of the población is even stronger.”27 The dominant frame is that violent protesters justify repressive protest policing even if in the course of such action some isolated excesses might occur. The counterframe agrees that violent protesters are a problem. Many groups that organize protests have sought various strategies to try to avoid their presence. Some interviewees raised the question of uncertainty regarding the identity of the violent infiltrators, noting that often they are hooded (encapuchados) and so their faces cannot be seen. Some suspect that these violent infiltrators might be undercover police or other groups that might want to instigate violence in order to delegitimize the demands of the protesting group. Such suspicions were confirmed during student protests in August 2011 when a Carabinero was found with his face covered (encapuchado) among the protesters and throwing stones.28 Other interviewees recognized that in recent years young anarchists have joined protests with the goal of creating violent chaos. Regardless, one side of the counterframe argues that the response of the Carabineros to these violent protesters is excessive and indiscriminate and targets many peaceful protesters. Nelson Caucoto, a lawyer with CAJ (Judicial Assistance Corporation), observed: “I believe that the Carabineros never have understood that protests are peaceful and they need to be respected. Carabineros always interrupt protests in some manner, but this has been accentuated with the presence of these groups that go only to destroy. Innocents pay for sinners. This is an element that has to be considered because protests have transformed into being so violent.” He later clarified: “I hold the position that, even if the Carabineros are provoked, Carabineros have to have a more professional reaction.”29 I was given numerous stories of peaceful protesters or bystanders arrested (Federico Huneeus, president of FECh) or beaten, or both, by police (Luis Cortés, lawyer for FASIC; Víctor Salas, photojournalist with EFE; Mauricio Becerral, journalist with El Ciudadano). In addition to peaceful protesters and bystanders suffering from indiscriminate police repression unleashed by violent protesters deemed to be a minority, the second argument often used to support the counterframe of violent protesters is the need to understand better the position of those deemed violent. Two separate interviewees told me a story of students being falsely framed as violent by the Carabineros and

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the quick acceptance of this false frame by the media.30 The story was that the Carabineros raided a university and found a stash of weapons (fifty machetes) that were displayed at a press conference as evidence of students’ organized violence. It was later revealed, by a few journalists willing to investigate and challenge the dominant frame, that the weapons found were actually theater props. In addition, journalists interviewed from The Clinic and El Ciudadano, two news sources more critical of the police, explained how the reasons for the use of violence by youth in the poblaciones on the Day of the Young Combatant and September 11 are never given. The focus is on the police, police victims of protester violence, and police security preparations for the day. The media focus on police preparations for the Day of the Young Combatant in 2007, in particular, is described by the journalist from The Clinic as “if you had visited Chile that day you would have thought the city was in a state of siege, that the government had fallen that day.”31 Mauricio Becerral from El Ciudadano pointed out that that same year, on September 11, a police officer had been killed (drawing a lot of media attention) and a baby was killed by tear gas (no media even mentioned its name). After the incidents, Becerral went to the poblaciones where the violence had occurred and asked the youth why, when they are too young to remember Allende or Pinochet, do they engage in such violence? He said that the answer he received was that “all year the police repress us, especially all those who are poor, because they drink alcohol in the street, because they have marijuana on them, for the color of their skin, and they are always repressed. So, they told me, the one night to have vengeance and throw rocks at the cops is the night of September 11.”32 Thus, in this counterframe, the issue of protester violence is more complicated than the target groups simply being “antisocials.” There are deeper police-protester issues that need to be addressed. Again, the dominant frame resonates as historically consistent; protesters are violent and therefore need to be met with repression. In addition, many interviewees argued that the dominant frame for understanding protester violence is given significant weight in the media as it is the violence, and not the demands of the protesters, that are the focus of media coverage. Few journalists seek to tell the story of the protesters, thus limiting their credibility as frame producers. Yet the counterframe suggests that protesters’ stories could contribute to support for more democratic forms of protest policing.

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Conclusion

So, what do we learn about the possibilities and limitations for discursive accountability for protest policing in Chile? The possibilities lie in the existence of counterframes that challenge law-and-order frames and, in particular, the three most dominant frames on protest policing: that the use of repressive protest policing is justified in order to maintain public order, to target particular groups, or to counter violent protesters. The repetition of these counterframes over time can contribute to their resonance and, ultimately, discursive accountability. The challenges involve the relative power of the civil-rights frame. The dominant frames resonate because they are familiar; they are historically consistent and correspond with values deemed important by many Chileans (such as the importance of public order). Unless one is predisposed to agreeing that human rights trump public order, the counterframes do not provide the same historical or experiential resonance. In addition, the mainstream media act as an important intervening variable in the case of Chile that significantly favors the reproduction of dominant frames that justify repressive protest policing, paying negligible attention to counterframes and those who use them (an issue addressed further in chapters 9 and 10). Thus the strength of lawand-order frames reinforces police knowledge regarding their role in protests and what are acceptable or unacceptable levels of force. 1

It is interesting to note that the Chilean Constitution was written in 1980, during the dictatorship. Although there was debate regarding Article 19, its inclusion highlights how, ultimately, it was viewed as fundamental for democracy. However, the debate reveals considerable concern over the need to control protests if they were to be permitted (Fox 2010: 76-78). 2 Radio Cooperativa, October 3, 2011, “Proyecto de ley del Gobierno convierte en delito las tomas de recintos.” URL: http://www.cooperativa.cl/proyecto-de-ley-del-gobierno-convierte-en-delito-lastomas-de-recintos/prontus_nots/2011-10-03/074123.html (last accessed October 3, 2011) 3 Interview with Domingo Lovera via Skype (Toronto-Victoria, Canada). October 3, 2011. 4 Radio Cooperativa, September 2, 2011, “Cientista político: La reforma en Carabineros ya es muy necesaria.” URL: http://www.cooperativa.cl/cientistapolitico-la-reforma-en-carabineros-ya-es-muy-necesaria/prontus_nots/2011-0902/185850.html (last accessed October 3, 2011) 5 Interview with Domingo Lovera via Skype (Toronto-Victoria, Canada). October 3, 2011. 6 Radio Bío Bío, August 8, 2011, “Alto Mando de Carabineros indagará presunto uso de lacrimógenas desde helicóptero institucional.” URL: http://www.biobiochile.cl/2011/08/08/alto-mando-de-carabineros-indagara-

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presunto-uso-de-lacrimogenas-desde-helicoptero-institucional.shtml [last accessed October 3, 2011] 7 El Mostrador, September 26, 2011, “Estudiantes denuncian abusos policiales en protestas contra Labbé: ‘Nos tocaron como si fuéramos prostitutas’.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/09/26/ estudiantes-denuncian-abusos-policiales-en-protesta-contra-labbe%E2%80%9Cnos-tocaron-como-si-fueramos-prostitutas%E2%80%9D/ [last accessed October 3, 2011] One journalist explained that in 2008 a group of women human rights activists arrested during the September 11 protests were told by police to undress in the police station and were forced to remain naked. She also explained how in 2007 a group of fifteen-year-old boys were arrested during a protest and, while they were being held in the police station, they were forced to yell “Heil Hitler.” Interview with Danae Prado, Teachers’ Union Santiago. July 15, 2009. 8 The Inter-American Human Rights Commission stipulates that it is not unreasonable for public officials to require protesters to inform them of protests but protests should not be contingent upon acceptance or rejection by public officials (OAS 2005: 141-142). 9 Interview with José Ch. Mora Quevedo, Carabinero (R) and Journalist, Departamento de Comunicaciones, Carabineros de Chile. Santiago. June 19, 2000. 10 Interview with anonymous member of the Chilean Christian Democratic Party. Santiago. July 6, 2009. 11 Interview with anonymous member of the National Renovation Party. Santiago. July 7, 2009. 12 Interview with anonymous Chilean academic. Santiago. June 30, 2009. 13 Interview. Santiago. June 15, 2009. 14 Interview. Santiago. June 26, 2009. 15 Interviews were conducted in June and July 2009, and during this period interviewees spoke about this bill then being debated in Congress. 16 Interview. Santiago. June 18, 2009. 17 Interview with anonymous member of Christian Democratic Party. Santiago. July 6, 2009. 18 Interview with anonymous, CONADI. Santiago. June 25, 2009. 19 Interview with Danae Prado, Teacher’s Union (Colegio de Profesores). Santiago. July 15, 2009. 20 Ibid. 21 Interview with Federico Huneeus, President of the Student Federation of Chile (FECh) for 2008-2009. Santiago. June 17, 2009. 22 Interview with anonymous, CODEPU. Santiago. June 10, 2009. 23 Interview. Santiago. June 16, 2009. 24 Interview. Santiago. June 9, 2009. 25 Interview with anonymous, Christian Democratic Party. Santiago. July 6, 2009. 26 Interview. Santiago. July 3, 2009. 27 Interview with anonymous, National Renovation Party. Santiago. July 7, 2009. 28 El Mostrador, August 10, 2011, “Diputados DC acusan a Carabineros de actuar ‘al borde de la legalidad’.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/

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pais/2011/08/10/diputados-dc-acusan-a-carabineros-de-actuar-al-borde-de-lalegalidad/ [last accessed August 10, 2011] 29 Interview. Santiago. June 23, 2009. 30 Interview anonymous, CODEPU. Santiago. June 10, 2009. Interview with Mauricio Becerral, El Ciudadano. Santiago. June 26, 2009. 31 Interview with anonymous. The Clinic. Santiago. July 3, 2009. 32 Interview. Santiago. June 26, 2009.

9 Media and Protest Policing in Chile

“If the authorities and the press say nothing happened, then ‘nothing happened’,” said Víctor Órdenes (quoted in Domedel and Peña y Lillo 2008: 179). Órdenes was a high school student leader in Santiago in 2006 and watched as the protest he was involved in captured the attention and sympathies of the media in May of that year, only to be abandoned during renewed protests in October. Police repression of protests in May was condemned by the media and political leaders, and in October it was ignored. If “nothing happens,” then there is no need for mechanisms of institutional accountability to be activated. Thus it is important to understand how the media arrive at certain frames. The relatively positive coverage of student protests in May 2006 was exceptional in Chile. For this reason, the case will be explained in detail in the next chapter. However, like among police experts and throughout history, a law-and-order frame dominates in the media in Chile, justifying the use of repressive protest policing. The media, generally, do not provide discursive accountability. In this chapter, I explore the media environment in Chile in order to better understand their role in the transmission and construction of protest policing frames. As discussed in chapter 2, the literature on protest policing recognizes that, in addition to frames used in the policing milieu, police culture/knowledge also is affected by public opinion. In turn, public officials often assume that public opinion is equivalent to the dominant frames found in the mainstream or most prestigious media outlets. Thus media frames matter to discursive accountability. Like other political actors, media frame protest policing as either an issue of civil-rights (supporting the right to protest, police refraining from repression, and possibly police reform) or law-and-order 157

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(vilification of protesters, support for high levels of police repression). Studies have shown that the choice of frame used by the media can affect the degree of police repression. The more predominant the lawand-order frame is, the greater the police repression (Wisler and Tackenberg 2000: 122; Wisler and Giugni 1999: 173; Della Porta and Reiter 1998: 19). To review from chapter 5, beyond political orientation, there are three key variables that determine which frame media will use1: 1) bias against the group protesting; 2) the authoritative sources used by journalists; 3) police stage-managing incidents to gain public sympathy. That is, a law-and-order frame will dominant in the media if journalists or editors, or both, are biased against protesters, use police as their primary authoritative sources, and police stage-manage media coverage. In this chapter, I argue that, in contrast to Argentina, overall journalistic practices in Chile favor a law-and-order frame over a civilrights frame for understanding protest policing, thereby limiting their contribution to discursive accountability. If repressive protest policing is acceptable, then there is no need to discuss accountability. In this manner, media frames are consistent with dominant police expert and historical frames. Counterframes exist within the media but are not considered by scholars or practitioners to be agenda-setting or politically influential. I begin this chapter with a brief overview of the Chilean media landscape. As in chapter 5, I then analyze the three key journalistic practices that shape coverage of protest policing: bias against protesters, authoritative sources, and police stage-managing. This analysis is based in approximately fifty interviews conducted in Chile in 2009. Interviewees included journalists and others involved in some way in protests (police, social movement organizations, political leaders, government administrators). Each explained their practices and experiences during protests. The Media Context

The media in Chile are less pluralistic than in Argentina. A duopoly comprised of El Mercurio and Copesa (owner of La Tercera) media groups, wields considerable political influence. Both media groups are conservative. There are no national agenda-setting newspapers on the

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center or center-left. During the Concertación governments, the stateowned La Nación represented the political center among national newspapers, but its circulation is much smaller than that of its competitors. Indeed, its small circulation was the reason given by the government for its switch to an online only format in 2010.2 The Clinic, established in 1999, is a satirical weekly magazine that provides some critique from the left of center. However, its satirical nature and weekly distribution limit its agenda-setting abilities. Other, newer news sources such as the centrist online El Mostrador or the left-of-center monthly El Ciudadano (daily online) have yet to capture the large audiences of the dominant media groups or exert their consistent political influence.3 Since the end of the Pinochet regime, other left and left-of-center newspapers have emerged and disappeared. Only El Siglo, the newspaper of the Chilean Communist Party, has persisted with party funding and a small audience. Television, radio, and the Internet have provided other opportunities for center and left-of-center journalism to provide critique and alternative analyses of events. CIPER Chile, an online investigative journalism news site, provides in-depth critical analysis of many key political issues, making extensive use of freedom of information requests to the government. However, they generally do not cover protests or protest policing.4 At times, the work of television, radio, and Internet journalists draw the attention of political leaders, such as the televised image of a young student protester being pulled by her hair by a Carabinero during the 2006 protests. However, print media, more than any other medium, confer social prestige to those covered in its pages and have a consistently greater impact on public and political opinion (Aparecida Ferrari 2003: 389; Léon-Dermota 2003: 147). In particular, El Mercurio remains the most important agenda-setting news source owing to its influence among the economic and political elite of the country.5 Illustrating the power of the newspaper, Ken Léon-Dermota explains: “No politician can survive without appearing on El Mercurio’s pages” (2003: 138). Similarly, as Jonny Kolka, managing director of El Mercurio, has said, “If one is not dead in El Mercurio, one has not died” (Lagos 2009: 22). El Mercurio is the oldest newspaper in Chile. It was founded by Agustín Edwards Ross in 1901, originally circulating only in Santiago. Unlike the majority of other newspapers that emerged at this time, El Mercurio was not attached to a particular political party. It provided the news in the early part of the twentieth century in a manner described by Human Rights Watch as “cultivating an Olympian detachment from the power struggles of the day, while firmly defending the viewpoint of the

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conservative elite” (HRW 1998b: 21). While most of the other early newspapers disappeared, El Mercurio continued. However, as social unrest increased in the 1920s and 1930s, El Mercurio began to engage in the political debates. Indeed, Guillermo Sunkel argues that during this period El Mercurio began to question democracy and Agustín Edwards used El Mercurio to promote a corporatist regime (1986: 111). In turn, new press laws introduced at this time reflected the authoritarian government’s responses to social, political, and economic instability. For example, laws passed in 1931, 1932, and 1937 linked certain press acts with state security. In particular, the laws “made it a crime against state security to publish tendentious or false information, to defend violence, or to propagate subversive doctrines” (HRW 1998b: 22-23). Again, when social conflict began to emerge in the 1960s, El Mercurio, while not tied to a particular political party, played an important political role. In particular, between 1964 and 1970, El Mercurio took a decidedly antidemocratic and economically neoconservative stance. Editorials in El Mercurio began to question the role of political parties and democracy (Léon-Dermota 2003: 14-15). In 1968, El Mercurio established an economics section in its newspaper where Edwards put Chicago Boys in charge of teaching Chileans about neoliberalism (Léon-Dermota 2003: 9). These efforts, and those of other conservative newspapers, were supported by the US government through money the CIA channelled to the anti-Allende Chilean press both before and after the 1970 presidential election. More than $12 million was provided between 1963 and 1973 (HRW 1998b: 27). During the Allende years alone (1970-1973), El Mercurio received $1.6 million from the CIA (Léon-Dermota 2003: 17). Media politicization and partisanship escalated under Allende. Although as many as two thirds of the print media supported the Popular Unity (UP) government (Léon-Dermota 2003: 6), the anti-Allende press was well funded and well distributed. El Mercurio became aggressive in its attacks against the Allende government, placing articles and photos in a manner that associated fear and violence with it (Durán and Rockman 1986; Reyes Matta 1986). By July 1973, El Mercurio’s editorials called for military intervention (Léon-Dermota 2003: 19). The extent of media polarization and politicization was such that, later, Chile’s Truth Commission report would hold the press partly accountable for the coup that followed (HRW 1998b: 27; Lagos 2009). As with most dictatorships, the Pinochet government used the media to help consolidate its control over the country. The changes have shaped the media context today. The first important action was, of

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course, the silencing of the left-wing media and most media tied to political parties. On September 11, 1973, the day of the coup, among the first targets were UP radio stations (Davies 1999: 19). The military warned on a radio broadcast that day that “The press, radio stations, and television channels supporting the Unidad Popular . . . must suspend their informative activities from this moment on; otherwise they will be bombarded from the air and ground” (quoted in Knudson 1981: 5). The next day, September 12, the military regime announced that only two newspapers would be permitted, El Mercurio and La Tercera de la Hora (Krohne 2005: 89). The military seized forty radio stations and a dozen publications, all of which were either taken over by the state or sold to private firms. Most confiscated media would never be returned to their owners (Léon-Dermota 2003: 5; Tironi and Sunkel 2000: 170). By April 1975, the Chilean Journalists Association reported that 400 journalists had lost their jobs, 200 had left the country, and 14 were in prison (HRW 1998b: 29). In total, as many as 23 pro-Allende journalists and 46 other press workers were killed or “disappeared” by the regime between 1973 and 1990 (HRW 1998b: 29). Apart from El Mercurio and La Tercera, some media owned by the Christian Democrats, right-wing parties, and the Catholic Church also were allowed to continue to operate. However, between 1973 and 1978, they operated under both state- and self-censorship. The media were expected to print or broadcast what the various government departments told them. That said, there was some room for limited dissent. For example, La Tercera was permitted some leeway in its critiques of the economic policies of the Chicago Boys. In this way, La Tercera provided a voice for those nationalist supporters of the dictatorship (Léon-Dermota 2003: 37). Edwards, a staunch supporter of Pinochet, did not allow such critiques in El Mercurio, going so far as to fire his managing editor (also a supporter of Pinochet) in 1982 for criticizing the human rights abuses and economic mismanagement of the regime (Léon-Dermota 2003: 20). With the economic crisis faced by Chile in 1982-1984, and the end of the state of siege, public protest escalated and there was a resurgence of alternative or “trench” media. Many of these trench media found financial backing from political parties or foreign sources or both. Although important in their critiques of the regime and their numbers, most of these newspapers did not reach a wide audience. There were only three printing presses with the capacity to print newspapers for national circulation. These were owned by El Mercurio, La Tercera, and La Nación; they would not print dissident publications (Salinas 1986: 237). However, radio could reach a national audience and, with the

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protests in the early 1980s, Radio Cooperativa provided a critical and national news source (Bresnahan 2002: 165). In an effort to limit these emerging “trench” media, the military regime issued Decree Law 320 in 1984. The law aimed to limit the media from “distinguishing or emphasizing subjects, events, or conduct that induce, propitiate, or facilitate in any way the disturbance of public order,” referring to the coverage of protests (quoted in HRW 1998b: 32). An early decree law, also from 1984, prohibited the publishing of photographs or information about the protests (HRW 1998b: 32). Despite the legal impediments, media continued to expand throughout the end of the dictatorship, eventually becoming legal, public, and impressively pluralistic. Not only were there publications covering the spectrum of political views but many media delinked themselves from political parties and aimed to represent all perspectives (Tironi and Sunkel 2000: 173; Bresnahan 2002: 165). By 1987 there were two daily center-left newspapers, La Época6 and Fortín Mapocho, which expanded the reach of the alternative media. However, the gains made by the conservative media under the Pinochet government, particularly El Mercurio and to a lesser extent La Tercera, far exceeded the success of the reemergence of the alternative press. In 1973, when the Pinochet government came to power, the El Mercurio chain owned 22 percent of all Chilean newspapers; by 1988, it owned more than 50 percent of all newspapers with a national circulation ( Léon-Dermota 2003: 53-54; Aparecida Ferrari 2003: 389; Krohne 2005: 91). The gains in percentage of ownership occurred in part owing to the closure of opposition papers but also the acquisition of newspapers by the El Mercurio group. During the dictatorship, El Mercurio increased its ownership of regional newspapers from eight to fourteen (Léon-Dermota 2003: 53). While El Mercurio and La Tercera benefitted from increased government advertising and significantly reduced competition,7 the economic crisis of 1982 affected these newsgroups, requiring them to seek loans. In 1980, El Mercurio was $13 million in debt (but its profits were $14.5 million); in 1984, the newspaper was approximately $100 million in debt and was operating at a loss of $22.5 million (Léon-Dermota 2003: 43-44). Copesa, the media group that owns La Tercera, also saw its debt balloon during this period (ibid: 46). Although other media were suffering economic hardships at this time, only El Mercurio and La Tercera received state-funded loans saving both newspapers from bankruptcy. By the end of the dictatorship, El Mercurio and La Tercera owed large amounts of money to the state bank. This indebtedness gave Pinochet a great deal of control over the media as he could, at any time,

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ask that the debts be repaid. However, with the impending return to electoral democracy, this power meant that the new government could do the same. Thus, prior to the elections, the Pinochet government took action to ensure that the conservative media were protected. First, the Pinochet government bought millions of dollars of prepaid advertising from El Mercurio and La Tercera; in particular, the state bank bought all the advertising it would need for the next ten years (Léon-Dermota 2003: 35, 66). The democratic governments have not asked that this money be returned (ibid: 35). Second, the then head of the state bank, Alvaro Bardón, arranged for a series of debt swaps that shifted the newspapers’ public debt to private banks, and thus out of the reach of a new government. In the process, the debt swaps defrauded the Chilean government of a significant amount of money (Léon-Dermota 2003: 6365). With the return of electoral democracy in 1990, many alternative media expected the Concertación to support them. However, since Chile’s transition was achieved through an agreement between the military and civilian politicians, many aspects of Chilean media and media regulation remained the same. Three key issues have been important for the media since 1990. First, the Concertación government promoted, and media implemented, self-censorship. Second, the alternative press almost entirely disappeared within ten years of democracy. Finally, some legal changes occurred contributing to improvements in freedom of expression. Promotion of Self-Censorship

In the period following a dictatorship, media self-censorship is common in many countries. The media, like civil society in general, often fear provoking the military back into power. However, unlike most countries, in Chile the newly elected civilian president Patricio Aylwin actively promoted media self-censorship. For example, on August 4, 1990, President Aylwin warned the media, during a speech at the National Press Association, “to exert extreme caution so that in doing their job of informing, they are vehicles of unity and not of dissension, of truth and not error” (quoted in HRW 1998b: 114). He reemphasized this position on July 2, 1993, explaining in another public speech to the Chilean Journalists Association that “I think that society has a right to ask of you a self-regulation that for higher reasons you must establish as a norm” (quoted in HRW 1998b: 114). When self-censorship has not been sufficient, the Concertación has used other “traditional” methods to encourage the coverage desired by the government, such as the denial of

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press access and credentials and the telefonazo (a politician’s followup phone call to a journalist or editor after unfavorable coverage) (LéonDermota 2003: 71). Of course, self-censorship has been less of an issue for the conservative newspapers, El Mercurio and La Tercera. Instead, they have had to respond to pressure from the Concertación to be more reflective of a plurality of views held by the Chilean population. This has been especially important considering that today all but one daily newspaper in Chile is owned by either El Mercurio or Copesa (La Tercera) (Richards 2007: 557). El Mercurio has become more pluralistic but its pluralism is what Ken Léon-Dermota (2003) calls “calculated pluralism.” Whereas in the 1950s and 1960s El Mercurio was politically pluralistic, covering the positions of the political parties across the spectrum, today its pluralism is focused on culture (not politics) and is limited to its supplements (Léon-Dermota 2003: 128-129). However, media pluralism goes beyond the efforts of one or two newspapers. Arguably, media pluralism should also be defined by the variety of political positions found within an array of available news sources. The latter definition of pluralism has not been assisted by the Concertación governments. The Disappearance of the Alternative Press

Few media properties that were confiscated by the Pinochet government in the 1970s were returned by the Concertación government.8 In addition, the alternative press that emerged in the 1980s, in opposition to Pinochet and in support of a return to democracy, almost entirely disappeared within a decade of the return of electoral democracy. The reasons for the disappearance of the alternative press are numerous. The most commonly cited reason for the disappearance of the alternative press is the end of foreign subsidies (HRW 1998b: 38; Krohne 2005: 93; Léon-Dermota 2003: 33). During the dictatorship, many alternative media were financially supported by foreign, often European, sources. When the dictatorship ended, the assumption was that a democratic government would provide the necessary environment for these publications to survive without foreign assistance, and the funding was withdrawn. However, this did not happen. When the alternative and popular Chilean magazine Análisis was offered Dutch funding aimed to help the magazine with the transition to advertisingbased funding, Alywin’s government blocked the aid (Bresnahan 2003: 51; Léon-Dermota 2003: 35).

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Second, and linked to the first reason, the alternative media were not good businesses and were unable to compete (HRW 1998b: 38; Krohne 2005: 93; Léon-Dermota 2003: 36-37). Indeed, many of the alternative media were run by journalists or politicians, not business people. Many of the politicians left the media to return to politics once elections were restored. Journalists, who were often socialists, frequently did not have the know-how or the expectation that they should have to compete in a system of free-market capitalism. Moreover, the playing field of the free market was not equal. El Mercurio and La Tercera had benefitted enormously from the dictatorship. In addition to state loans, they received a significant advance on future state advertising, and most Chilean businesses still would not place ads in left-wing papers (LéonDermota 2003: 36). Finally, the Concertación governments did not assist the survival of the alternative media. No alternative media were offered business advice, state loans, temporary subsidies, significant state advertising, or temporary use of state newspaper printing presses (Krohne 2005: 94). When then owner of the alternative newspaper Fortín Mapocho approached President Patricio Aylwin about receiving just one-tenth of the state advertising placed in El Mercurio, the President’s response was “The best media policy is no media policy” (quoted in Léon-Dermota 2003: 29). The government’s deferring to market forces led Fortín Mapocho to be forced out of business in July 1991 (Bresnahan 2003: 48). La Época, the other major alternative daily from the dictatorship, was also denied access to state advertising and subscriptions guaranteed to El Mercurio; it ended publication in July 1998 (Bresnahan 2003: 48; Léon-Dermota 2003: 31). Finally, the University of Chile, which had been underfunded during the dictatorship, was forced to sell its Channel 11 television station after the return of democracy in order to pay for repairs to its buildings. In contrast, the Catholic University (where the Chicago Boys had been teaching) was well funded during the dictatorship and has kept its Channel 13 television station. That is, many of the alternative media disappeared owing not only to the lack of state assistance and market forces during democracy but also to the substantial state support their competitors had enjoyed during the dictatorship and from which they continued to benefit. It is striking that almost all of the media that disappeared were antiPinochet and what remains is almost entirely right-wing. In 2003, of the seven national and one state daily newspapers, six were right-wing (Aparecida Ferrari 2003: 392). For those media that remain, significant legal restrictions further constrain the type of journalism they are able to practice.

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Legal Constraints and Changes

In addition to political pressure for media self-censorship and the disappearance of most alternative or left-wing press, important legal constraints on the media continued to limit freedom of expression, particularly until 2001. In 1998, Human Rights Watch concluded that “Chile is subject to restrictions perhaps unparalleled among Western democracies” (HRW 1998b: ix). The most important restrictions related to contempt of authority laws and access to information. Until 2001, Chile had more contempt for authority laws than any other country in Latin American and they were applied more frequently. In addition, the punishments for violating these laws were more punitive (HRW 2001: 20). Chile was also the only country in the region that linked contempt for authority with public order and state security (HRW 2001: 4). Until 2001, contempt for authority was covered under three areas of laws: the Military Code of Justice, the State Security Law, and the Criminal Code. Important to the journalists’ coverage of the work of the police, Article 276 of the Military Code of Justice, the sedition law, “labels as seditious any comment by a civilian that might affect the morale of the armed forces or the police” (HRW 1998b: 3). The maximum punishment was ten years in prison (HRW 1998b: 53). Article 6(b) of the State Security Law, established in the nineteenth century but in its most recent form since 1958, made it an offense to public order and state security to insult the honor of high-ranking state officials and state institutions (including the Carabineros). The article has been used by every government from 1958 until 2001, when it was derogated.9 Between 1990 and 1998, ten politicians and fifteen journalists were charged under Article 6(b) of the State Security Law (HRW 1998b: 4). Between 1998 and 2001, another twelve people were convicted under the law (HRW 2001: 4). In addition to very restrictive and punitive laws regarding contempt of authority, and thus criticism of the government, Chilean journalists also have been limited in the information they are able to access. Until 2009, any first-hand statistics or documents were provided to journalists at the discretion of low-ranking public officials who could declare information confidential without explanation. In addition, there are laws that penalize public officials for revealing confidential state documents; the laws do not specify the criterion for a document to be considered confidential (HRW 2001: 8). Understandably, public officials have been generally reticent about providing information. As a consequence, journalists have had to rely predominately on press conferences and interviews with state officials (HRW 1998b: 61). In April 2009, a new

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Access to Public Information Law, Law 20.285 was passed requiring the government to release information, particularly financial information. By July of that year, the ministry that received the most requests was the Ministry of Defense and, within it, the Carabineros.10 Despite legal changes in journalistic practices, the media environment in Chile remains predominately conservative. This is particularly true when it comes to coverage of the Carabineros. It is perhaps not surprising that media coverage of protest policing in Chile tends to favor law-and-order over civil-rights frames. However, in the rest of this chapter, I examine the specific and key journalistic practices that affect this preference. This careful examination draws our attention to the possibilities for change. Media Bias against Protesters

Protests contributed to the military coup in 1973. Protests in 1983-1986 led to many deaths and, ultimately, a very restricted transition to democracy. One activist in the shantytowns during the dictatorship explained in the early 1990s: “I sacrificed everything for what I believed. I was tortured, my friends were killed, and my family spent almost twenty years in poverty. In the end everything I believed in was false. I don’t want to pay such a price to be wrong again” (quoted in Schneider 1995: 202) Another person from a shantytown active during the dictatorship provided a similar reflection on protests during the dictatorship. She concluded: “That’s why I won’t let my sons get involved in politics. That’s why I’m terrified every time my sons are in the streets” (quoted in Schneider 1995: 203). In addition to the association of protests with huge sacrifices and lost causes, the dictatorship brought in a new radical neoliberal economic program. Neoliberalism made employment more precarious, and social programs more fragile, while emphasizing individualism. Thus it is not entirely surprising that the media in Chile have a bias against protests and protesters. Indeed, some interviewees saw the media bias as reflective of a broader societal bias. One journalist and activist observes: In this country, the dictatorship sharpened these things. Chile has only had military governments and people linked with the oligarchy and the Church. We are a very conservative country, not very liberal, and with a culture of control. If some people distance themselves, raise their voice, it is not viewed well. And, with the level of anguish that the system causes in some cases, people have little solidarity. This is the

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liberal economy that has emerged. You emerge alone, grow alone. . . . There is no desire to organize. I believe this is the result of the fear put in place by the dictatorship, of the messages controlled by the right and the democratic consensus . . . a democracy that has not defended our rights, that is even linked to the economic elite. . . . The right-wing media are very powerful.11

Indeed, a number of journalists spoke of a media assumption that positive coverage of protesters simply would not sell. Danae Prado explained that, when she organized protests as a student leader in university in the 1990s, “the neighbors hated us. ‘They’re lazy. They don’t want to study so they go on strike.’ We never won the empathy of the community. Never.”12 However, this line of argument is somewhat circular. Is the Chilean public truly uninterested in positive coverage of protesters, or does this assumption emerge from the manner in which protests are framed by the most important national media? Mauricio Becerral, journalist for El Ciudadano, summarized that “The role of the media in Chile is to take care of institutions.”13 More than the government, the institution identified as most cared for by the media is the Carabineros. One former El Mercurio journalist specified: “The director of El Mercurio has dedicated his life during the last fifteen years to the topic of citizen security. Central to citizen security is that people have confidence in the police. . . . [I]t seems to me absolutely illogical that in his own major newspaper he would disparage the Carabineros.”14 That is, El Mercurio continues to play an active role in politics, as it did prior to and during the dictatorship, favoring iron-fist policing. For example, Becerral noted that in El Mercurio different language is used to describe violence by protesters against Carabineros compared to that of Carabineros against protesters: “ ‘violent protesters kill Carabineros.’ ‘Baby dies presumably as a result of Carabinero tear gas.’ The word ‘presumably’ is always used to clean up police work.”15 More than simply framing police action against protesters favorably, many interviewees emphasized that protesters were framed in news coverage in a manner that delegitimized them and often associated them with being violent or even criminals. Three key examples illustrate the bias against protests: the bias against the Mapuche, shantytown protesters, and students. Mapuche protesters, if covered at all, are framed as violent and criminal. An interviewee from Chile’s Indigenous Development Corporation (CONADI) explains: “The communities’ demands are not covered by the media. . . . [Instead, they report that] someone was stopped carrying a weapon and now the indigenous people are

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guerrillas.”16 A journalist from The Clinic noted that, even with scientific proof, some newspapers refused to assume that the Carabineros were responsible for shooting Matías Catrileo, a Mapuche activist, in the back. Abraham Santibáñez, president of the Colegio de Periodistas, points out that specifically “La Tercera and El Mercurio, in the case of Araucanía, have been absolutely on the side of the Carabineros.”17 Likewise, the media choose, if possible, not to cover protests by shantytown activists. In 2009, the group Andha Chile a Luchar, which is organized around housing issues, was very active. Mauricio Becerral (El Ciudadano) explained that members of this group “have been trying to occupy public space even though the media don’t want to cover them. They know that organizing a march won’t achieve anything, but they know that, if they do a protest at the Viña del Mar festival, they obligate the media to talk about them.”18 Finally, when students protest, the bias is that “students are missing class, they should go back to school, they are only creating disorder. Where are the parents of these children? Why aren’t they taking care of them? This was the attitude, even of the government that didn’t take them seriously, ignored them.”19 Federcio Huneeus, president of the Student Federation of Chile (FECh), agreed: The media in Chile are dominated by the right, and the right traditionally is against social movements. So the public has the image of protests as negative. If 5,000 people are protesting peacefully and fifteen cause disturbances, then the press focuses on those fifteen people. . . . [T]he press installs an agenda, themes, images. These images attack the student movement and social movements and don’t allow their message to be heard.20

Jorge Escalante (La Nación) remarked that, at the beginning of the 2006 student protest, El Mercurio “said that it was the students who had started the violence, caused the damage in the streets.”21 The 2006 student protest was a common reference point in interviews as it was the first time that students successfully gained wide public support for a protest. This support will be examined in more detail in chapter 10. The bias against protesters in El Mercurio and La Tercera could be argued to be unimportant. After all, there are media sources in Chile that provide a more positive coverage of protesters and are more critical of police action, such as La Nación, El Ciudadano, El Mostrador, The Clinic, as well as various blogs and websites. For example, Jorge Escalante (La Nación) said: “La Nación never presumes that violence

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was produced by the protesters. It always presumes the violence initially came from the police.”22 Yet all interviewees stressed the importance of what is written in El Mercurio and La Tercera, belittling the importance of other media. For example, Federico Huneeus (President of FECh) explains: There are media that are better, but they are few and they don’t have a wide or national impact. [He gives the examples of La Nación, El Mostrador, and El Ciudadano.] These media give more space, but only a minority of the political class reads them. One of the principal critiques I have of the governments we have had in the last twenty years is that they have not been able to install a more just media and press.23

In sum, Chilean mainstream media frame protesters as illegitimate, lazy, violent, or criminal. Their demands are not known, or are not known well. This media bias against protesters provides the groundwork for a law-and-order frame that justifies repressive protest policing. It resonates as historically consistent and aligns with the dominant frames of police experts. However, media bias against protests and protesters is not sufficient to support a law-and-order frame for protest policing. Rather, it provides a fertile basis for media acceptance of other journalistic practices. Journalists’ Authoritative Sources

As explained in chapter 5, whom journalists use as their authoritative sources contributes to how protests are framed. When journalists rely primarily on the police as their authoritative sources, then a law-andorder frame dominates in the coverage of protest policing. When social movement groups, especially protesters, are used as authoritative sources, the media frames tend to favor civil rights. Given the strong bias in the dominant mainstream media against protesters in Chile, it is not surprising that the protesters are not often used as authoritative sources by journalists. In contrast to Argentina, Chilean journalists’ authoritative sources on protest policing are primarily the police and political leaders. For example, Pedro Ramírez (CIPER Chile) observes that “The media don’t consider social leaders authoritative sources. For the media, authoritative sources are politicos: those with political positions, ministers, subsecretaries, heads of departments, house representatives, senators, mayors, and business people.”24

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While sometimes journalists who specialize in national politics cover protests, often police journalists are sent. This is especially true if the protest is expected to be or becomes violent. Ramírez (CIPER Chile) continues: In my personal experience as a newspaper editor [at Las Últimas Noticias25], one goes to police journalists when a protest generates a serious conflict with police and one needs information from the police high command. This is when you go to police journalists and ask for help. You say “Listen, I need to communicate with a colonel, or a police chief, to see what happened and if there will be an indictment or investigation. What information do they have related to police procedure and if they consider it to have been followed.”26

A career police journalist explains further: When there are authorized political demonstrations, for example, May 1st or when students or teachers are holding an authorized protest, the person who will cover the news for the TV, for the radio, is the police journalist. The perspective police journalists take is that of the Carabineros. They then argue that the Carabineros must intervene to reestablish order. Sometimes order hasn’t even been altered beyond people walking. . . . Police journalists are sent because they have the sources within the Carabineros, and it is the Carabineros who will tell us what is happening. But it doesn’t occur to them to send a journalist who specializes, for example, in education to speak to the president of the teachers’ union. The vision is focused on how many arrests etc. . . . In the 90s, you [police journalists] got your information through Semco [police radio]. . . . As an economics journalist comes to believe she or he is a manager, a political journalist [believes she or he is] an analyst, so a police journalist comes to believe he or she is a police officer. [They don’t use other sources.] . . . They work encapsulated and only hear this version, the version of the Carabineros.27

A former El Mercurio journalist noted that regarding interviews with protesters, especially if they aren’t leaders, “editorially, it’s a topic that doesn’t interest [El Mercurio].”28 Unlike in Argentina, the Carabineros provide journalists with reliable information (albeit one side of the issue). In addition, there are no social movement organizations that have statistics or comprehensive information critical of the police that they can provide to journalists, as CELS and Correpi do in Argentina. Even prominent human rights organizations from the dictatorship, such as FASIC, that do some work on police violence, are not approached by mainstream journalists on incidents of police repression of protest.29

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The one exception, recognized by a number of interviewees, was the leaders of the student protests in 2006. Their success in becoming authoritative sources for journalists was not an accident. Interviewees recognized student leaders in 2006 as having been particularly skillful at making themselves authoritative sources. For example, Pedro Ramírez (CIPER Chile) recounted: They organized themselves and named certain spokespeople and only those spokespeople were permitted to speak. These spokespeople adopted a singular discourse within which they did not say very much. So this was all the TV had to transmit from them, these kids saying five things, nothing more. These five things had to do with what they were asking for. The television didn’t have twenty leaders they could choose from with some speaking about revolution or whatever. Instead, each time they spoke, they spoke about three or four things. So after three or four days the television was forced to broadcast it because they didn’t have any other material from these people.30

Danae Prado, journalist and communications officer for the Teachers’ Union, agreed: Since 2006, secondary students have transformed into a valid actor for media to consult. Before then, the media would never have thought to interview the president of a student center about the general education law. Never. But in 2006 those very students installed themselves as a valid source. Since then the media are interested in knowing who has been elected in the most emblematic schools. They are sources. Before, no one cared who was the president of Instituto Nacional [a high school].31

Indeed, this accomplishment in 2006 may have contributed to the further success of student leaders in the 2011 protests. However, overall, civil society actors are not authoritative sources. The frames they use to explain protest policing do not resonate with the public in the same way as those offered by “credible” sources. In contrast, police are key authoritative sources. Police are authoritative sources for journalists in Chile, not only because of journalists’ biases but because, unlike in Argentina, the police provide them the information they need and want. That is, the police actively and continuously work to ensure they are journalists’ primary sources. They stage-manage media coverage of protest policing.

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Police Stage-Managing Media Coverage of Protests

The Carabineros care about their public image. They have built an impressive communications department, which plays an active role in image management. The Carabineros have a clear understanding of the information journalists need — not just a list of crimes but, rather, stories, interviews, and images. Thus, in the case of protests as with other events involving the police, the Carabineros employ a sophisticated communications strategy for stage-managing coverage in their favor. Of course, their stage-managing occurs in a context that is already favorable to their message. As we have seen, there is a dominant media bias against protesters, and journalists favor police as their authoritative sources. Historical and dominant frames also favor police action. However, police stage-managing solidifies this favorable environment and reinforces the use of a law-and-order frame by the media in their coverage of protest policing. In this section, I explain how the Carabineros control information, the controversy around accreditation, and the continued use of repression. The transformation of the Carabineros’ Communications Department began in 1985 as a response to the Degollados (slit-throat) case and the appointment of Rodolfo Stange as director general of the Carabineros. The Carabineros brought in civilian communications experts to help them develop a strategy. Among the advisors was Alberto Guerrero, then director of La Tercera de la Hora (now La Tercera).32 The first changes involved building a communications department staffed with Carabineros with university degrees in a variety of subjects, including journalism. From 1985 to 1990 they also established a chain of command within the forces that laid out who was to speak to the media and when. Carabineros at various levels were trained as spokespeople. José Ch. Mora Quevedo (Communications Department, Carabineros de Chile) outlined: A police chief could speak up to a certain topic. A prefect could speak a little more, a general of a zone a little more. When the Department of Communications spoke, it was a broad issue at a high level that needed the voice of the Director General, and . . . any problem that transcended this, for example, problems with diplomats, we would say that we could not comment and it was transferred to the general secretary of the government. The spokesperson for the government spoke. We limited ourselves to certain information.33

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Moreover, in all regions today “every general has a communications advisor who acts as a link in public relations, the one who connects the Carabineros with the media.”34 In addition to training their officers in communications, the Carabineros also provide seminars to journalists to inform them about how the police work. They did a lot of seminars with [journalists], explaining how the Carabineros work. We brought them to see the work of the Carabineros on the borders, the work of the Special Forces . . . . At that time [1985-1990] they did many seminars that in other situations are called war correspondence and here we call them police seminars and workshops . . . to have a better relationship with the media.35

Seminars for journalists continue and have included background for journalists on protest policing. In Mora’s words, “We have brought journalists to Carabinero buses, into the water cannon trucks. We want journalists to know what the work of the Special Forces entails, how it’s done, and why it’s necessary. Because someone needs to do this work. One has to arrest, use gas, because the masses sometimes are ungovernable.”36 In addition to training, the Carabinero’s Communications Department provides constant information to journalists twenty-four hours a day using all available media: What the Carabineros have achieved in communications is that this office is a reference point for police information. Everyone knows that to speak with the chief of police of such and such a zone they have to speak to someone here first. We manage requests and our goal is speed and efficiency. Some thirty people work in this office twenty-four hours a day. We have journalists who work in production, administration, the web page, the audiovisual office, graphic design office, photography . . . .37

Efforts also are made by Carabineros to control the movement of journalists during protests, thereby shaping perspectives on events. A number of journalists spoke of Carabineros attempting to keep journalists behind the police line and police spoke of this occurring because of journalists wanting to protect themselves from “anarchists.” However, Carabineros also have used strategies to move journalists to locations away from the site of protest. Mauricio Becerral (El Ciudadano) gives this example:

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On the night of September 11, Carabineros transmit directly from the military hospital. . . . So the journalists are narrating, “We’re in the military hospital and the helicopters are coming with ten injured Carabineros from the protests.” So you see the images of police injured from stones. The story is told from this perspective. So it’s clearly intentional. This is how they make the Carabinero appear to be the victim.38

The Carabineros’ control of information verges into grey areas as well. For example, a number of journalists spoke of the police calling journalists or editors when they disagreed with the word choice or other information in news reports. Pedro Ramírez (CIPER Chile) testifies: Until 2005 or 2006 I was the editor of the politics [crónica] section of the newspaper Siete, and I found that every time you speak about police violence the Carabineros call you. Or if they don’t call, you eventually meet with an officer who tells you that “police violence,” “police brutality” are terms that correspond with crimes. So they prefer that you speak of “police excesses.” They move quickly. For example, the next day you send your journalist to cover a police story and — they don’t send a letter or email, nothing formal — but they will say to your police journalist, “Listen Juanito, what you say here, this is an ‘excess’. You know that we’re investigating.” So from there it is up to the editor to accept the diplomatic game or not. Because they aren’t pressures, they are small pulls that weaken confidence between those involved.39

Similarly, Jorge Escalante (La Nación) explains: Carabineros apply pressure so that the names of [Carabinero] aggressors are not published. They call the director of the newspaper and say, “Look this journalist called asking for the names and we are doing an internal indictment and we wouldn’t like the names to be published.” This happens frequently. And, in Chilean society, especially among political authorities and in the media, there is still the factor of fear of the military and those in uniform.40

As noted in chapter 7, a couple of journalists mentioned an incident where the police held a press conference prior to the Day of the Young Combatant revealing that they had found fifty machetes in the student center of the Federation of Students of the University of Santiago de Chile. Despite the fact that machetes are rarely seen in Chile and never at protests, no journalists initially questioned the find. It was later discovered that the machetes were theater props. Yet, unlike the police fabrication of events in Argentina, this incident had little to no impact on

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the credibility of the police. The frame that protesters are violent predominated. Thus police control of information on protest policing is sophisticated and multilayered. However, it also is complemented by other tactics. Almost all journalists and police spoke of a controversy regarding journalists’ accreditation during protests. In Chile, the profession of journalism is regulated. To be a journalist one must have a degree in journalism. Journalists carry an official press card. The controversy surrounds what card or identification is sufficient for journalists during protests. The Carabineros contend that journalists need to carry not only their press identification from the Chilean Journalists’ Association but also an identification card provided to them by the Carabineros with the Carabinero logo on it. Ideally, the Carabineros also would like journalists to wear arm bands that say “press” on them and bear the Carabinero logo. Mora points out: “We have always tried to differentiate journalists. Now there is the problem that anyone wanders around with a camera. In a group of one hundred, 20 percent, 30 percent, 40 percent, 50 percent are from the media and the rest are photography students or from Andha Chile going around with a photographer.”41 What is not said in the interviews is why there is a need to distinguish journalists from others who may be taking pictures or notes. The implied answer is that there is a difference in how the police treat each group. Indeed, targeted police repression of journalists continues. Repression is, perhaps, another method of stage-managing media coverage of protest policing. Two targets emerge as most common. First, all journalists spoke of police repression of graphic journalists as particularly common. The case of photojournalist Víctor Salas, described at the beginning of chapter 1, was an oft-cited example. Salas almost lost an eye as a result of an attack by a Carabinero at a protest in 2008. He explains: I would never hit a police officer. I’d never kick or hit. But we receive this treatment and, sometimes, we take it as almost part of our job. After what happened to me, photographers now wear protective goggles, others wear helmets. One might think we’re protecting ourselves from rocks, but no, we’re protecting ourselves from the Carabineros. You go to take a picture of an arrest and at that moment you receive a kick or an elbow.42

However, repression against community or alternative media in politically active communities, such as shantytowns like Villa Francia or Mapuche communities, is described by a number of journalists and

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activists as even more encompassing. A common example, noted by Abraham Santibáñez, president of the Chilean Journalists’ Association, was that of Elena Varela López, who was working on a documentary on the conflict between lumber companies and the Mapuche. The Carabineros confiscated all her film and she was arrested in 2008. One journalist and activist for the Citizen Observatory provided other examples. She noted that recently (2009) the community TV station in Rancagua (the location of the Codelco mining protest) was raided by police, who confiscated equipment and accused them of the crime of being a pirate station. A police raid of Umbrales TV (in the activist población Villa Francia) was also attempted in 2009, only in this case the workers successfully stopped the police from entering on the grounds that they did not have a warrant. Radio La Voz (Valparaíso) and Radio 1ro de Mayo (población La Victoria) have had similar experiences with the police.43 The journalist/activist said further: People who work in communications for social movements, we’re listened to. Our telephones are tapped. Our letters are infiltrated. I have a ton of information that I sent that never arrived and vice versa. Or sometimes, suddenly, on the telephone, you realize there is an echo or your call is cut. How this can be proved is complex.44

As with police violence generally, there is no comprehensive collection of incidents of police violence against journalists in Chile. However, the many examples suggest that not only is the mainstream media bias favorable to the police reinforced by the Carabineros’ sophisticated stage-managing, but alternative voices and images on protest policing can face important limits. Conclusion

Like police experts and historical frames, the dominant frames used in the Chilean media favor law-and-order for understanding protest policing. They provide limited to no discursive accountability. To some extent, this is the result of the right-wing political orientation of the dominant mainstream media. However, as we saw in chapter 5, political ideology does not necessarily translate neatly into the consistent use of a particular protest policing frame. Instead, while the right-wing media duopoly in Chile favors a law-and-order frame, particular journalistic practices entrench it. Biases against protesters are reinforced by journalists relying primarily on police as their authoritative sources. In turn, the police play an active role in ensuring they are reliable and

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available sources. Their assistance is disciplined, allowing them to feed journalists’ biases and control rogue officers that might otherwise undermine their efforts as is the case in Argentina. However, while a law-and-order frame dominates within the Chilean media, it is not monolithic. The analysis in this chapter has pointed to a number of areas of potential change. Of course, the need to establish a media policy more favorable to alternative media, such as the more equitable distribution of state advertising funds, has been noted by many scholars (e.g., Léon-Dermota 2003; Bresnahan 2003). However, barring such a change, social movements could establish themselves as authoritative sources of equal importance to the police. If they are deemed by the media to be credible sources, their frames would gain resonance. This is a formidable task but not insurmountable. Both CELS and Correpi in Argentina provide potential models for success. Yet even more promising is the example of the student leadership in the 2006 student protests. Indeed, this event became a reference point that has poked a hole in the dominant law-and-order frame and perhaps facilitated the success of the 2011 student protest. In both 2006 and 2011, the excessive use of repressive protest policing was questioned by media and political leaders alike. Chapter 10 examines further the significance of the 2006 student protest. 1 These variables are drawn from Wisler and Giugni (1999: 178-181, 184), Della Porta and Reiter (1998: 19), and Geary (1985: 131). 2 Editorsweblog.com, November 16, 2010, “Board Members of La Nación confirm closure of print edition.” URL: http://www.editorsweblog.org/ multimedia/2010/11/board_members_of_la_nacion_confirm_closu.php [last accessed August 17, 2011] 3 El Mostrador was established in 2000 and El Ciudadano in 2004. 4 Interviews with Pedro Ramírez Pinto and Francisca Skoknic Galdames, journalists for CIPER Chile. Santiago. July 14, 2009. 5 All interviewees stressed the importance of El Mercurio as the most important agenda-setting news medium in Chile. Many scholars also have emphasized its importance (Sunkel 1986: 99, 102, 104; Durán and Rockman 1986: 29; HRW 1998: 22; Léon-Dermota 2003: 130; Lagos 2009). 6 La Época was established in 1986 by progressive Christian Democrats with the financial support coming from Western Europe (Polumbaum 2002: 69). 7 There were ten daily newspapers with national circulation in Chile in 1972; by 1984 there were only five, three of which were owned by the El Mercurio group (Salinas 1986: 232). 8 Those media that were returned to their owners were primarily Christian Democrat (the dominant party within the Concertación until 2006) (LéonDermota 2003: 59). 9 The article was derogated as part of the 2001 Press Law (Law on Freedom of Opinion and Information and the Practice of Journalism).

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10 La Tercera, July 15, 2009, “Ministerio de Defensa es el más requerido según nueva Ley de Acceso a Información Pública.” 11 Interview. Santiago. June 15, 2009. 12 Interview at Teachers’ Union (Colegio de Profesores). Santiago. July 15, 2009. 13 Interview. Santiago. June 26, 2009. 14 Interview with anonymous former El Mercurio journalist. Santiago. July 2, 2009. 15 Interview. Santiago. June 26, 2009. 16 Interview with anonymous, CONADI,. Santiago. June 25, 2009. 17 Interview. Santiago. June 9, 2009. Araucanía is the region in which most Mapuche protests take place. 18 Interview. Santiago. June 26, 2009. 19 Interview with Pedro Ramírez Pinto, journalist for CIPER Chile, Santiago. July 14, 2009, referring to the first month of the 2006 student protests. 20 Interview. Santiago. June 17, 2009. 21 Interview. Santiago. June 15, 2009. 22 Ibid. 23 Interview. Santiago. June 17, 2009. 24 Interview. Santiago. July 14, 2009. 25 Las Últimas Noticias is a right-of-center national newspaper that is part of the El Mercurio chain. 26 Interview. Santiago. July 14, 2009. 27 Interview with anonymous police journalist. Santiago. July 3, 2009. 28 Interview with anonymous former El Mercurio journalist. Santiago. July 2, 2009. 29 Interview with Luis Cortés, FASIC. Santiago. June 9, 2009. 30 Interview. Santiago. July 14, 2009. 31 Interview. Santiago. July 15, 2009. 32 Alberto Guerrero, director of La Tercera de la Hora in 1975, participated in DINA’s campaign of disinformation to hide the disappearance of 119 political prisoners at the beginning of the dictatorship. In 2006, the Ethics Tribunal of the Journalists’ Union (Colegio de Periodistas) sanctioned Guerrero, along with other journalists and editors with “public censorship and suspension of his membership in the Journalists’ Union for six months” for violating the Code of Ethics. See La Nación, March 31, 2006, “Sanción a periodistas por faltas a ética.” URL: http://www.lanacion.cl/prontus_noticias/site/artic/200 60330/pags/20060330205929.html [last accessed September 23, 2011] 33 Interview with José Ch. Mora Quevedo, Carabinero (R) and Journalist, Departamento de Comunicaciones, Carabineros de Chile. Santiago. June 19, 2009. 34 Ibid. 35 Ibid. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 38 Interview. Santiago. June 26, 2009. 39 Interview. Santiago. July 14, 2009. 40 Interview. Santiago. June 15, 2009.

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41 Interview with José Ch. Mora Quevedo, Carabinero (R) and Journalist, Departamento de Comunicaciones, Carabineros de Chile. Santiago. June 19, 2009. 42 Interview. Santiago. July 2, 2009. 43 See Federación de Estudiantes Universidad de Valparaíso, May 28, 2009, “Intentan allanar Umbrales TV, de Villa Francia.” URL: http://feuv.cl/2009/ 05/intentan-allanar-umbrales-tv-de-villa-francia/ [last accessed September 23, 2011] 44 Interview. Santiago. June 15, 2009.

10 Case Study: The 2006 Student Protest

In 2006, Chilean high school students mobilized in what was the largest protest movement since the dictatorship. On May 30, 739,000 students and their supporters across the country took to the streets. They called for changes to the educational system, including national standards for secondary education and the elimination of the fee required to take university entrance exams. Police responded with repression. What makes this case unique is not the repression, but that for the first time since the end of the Pinochet government police repression of protest was framed as “wrongdoing” by the media, political leaders, and ultimately the Carabineros themselves. This did not happen again until 2011.1 Unlike the case of the Pueyrredón Bridge protest in Argentina, the 2006 student protest in Chile did not lead to a significant change in the government position on protest policing but, more modestly, it planted a seed. This event became a reference point that provides resonance and persuasive power to claims (counterframes) that argue against repressive protest policing and challenge the dominant law-and-order frame. Indeed, the 2006 protest contributed to the resonance of claims against repressive protest policing made during the 2011 and 2012 Chilean student protests. The condemnation of repressive protest policing on May 30, 2006, was not accidental. It was the result of a number of factors that shifted the dominant media frame for a brief period. The most important factor was that for the first time protesters succeeded in gaining the support of the media and public opinion. Protesters became credible sources. As a member of the Christian Democratic Party explained: “I have never seen a movement that had as much empathy from the people, perhaps, since before the 1988 plebiscite.”2 181

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The support was not immediate. Student protests began on April 26, 2006, and continued at least weekly until May 18. Police repression was high and thousands of students were arrested (Domedel and Peña y Lillo 2008: 15-16). Yet positive mainstream media coverage of the students did not emerge until the students changed their tactics. The student leadership was aware that during the protests the media were focusing on the violence and not their demands. So, on May 19, they ended street protests and called for students to occupy their schools (tomas). By May 29, fifty high schools in Greater Santiago were occupied (Domedel and Peña y Lillo 2008: 43). The student leadership was also very disciplined and skillful at organizing and disseminating its message. The leaders put together a team that represented the full spectrum of political views and ensured they were not linked to any political parties. One student leader, Germán Westoff, who later joined the right-wing party Independent Democrat Union (UDI), recalled that within the student leadership “There were people whose parents had been in the Patriotic Front (Manuel Rodríguez), and I started to have conversations with [people whose] positions were absolutely distinct from mine. When one thinks of it from the outside, it was like a child of a member of MIR was having a conversation with a family member of a torturer” (quoted in Domedel and Peña y Lillo 2008: 71). Together they agreed on twelve key points and chose spokespeople who would be the only ones to speak to the media and repeat their collective message. The goal was to present themselves as a social movement, not a political movement like those that had led to so much violence in the 1960s and 1970s (see chapter 7).3 They were high school students of a new generation, born after the dictatorship. During the occupations, the student leaders became like rock stars. Their personal lives were topics of long newspaper articles, as well as television and radio interviews. Journalists came into the high schools to report on how the students were organizing. Gradually the mainstream media bias against the students waned and they became authoritative sources. As now credible sources, the frames used by students gained resonance. In turn, public opinion shifted; polls showed 69 percent of the population supporting the students.4 As Karina Delfino, one of the student leaders, explained: when they changed tactics, the media “started to privilege interviews with those same students, the objectives we had, the slogans of the occupations. And the perception of people changed. They no longer said to me in the street ‘go back to school’; they said ‘continue, hopefully you will succeed’” (quoted in Domedel and Peña y

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Lillo 2008: 25). The public knew what the students wanted and agreed with them. This was the context when talks broke down between the students and the minister of education on May 29. The students called a national strike for May 30. In Santiago alone, the epicenter of the protests, 619 people were arrested, 17 civilians were injured, and 9 Carabineros were injured (Domedel and Peña y Lillo 2008: 118). Unlike previous protests, the police brutality was filmed and disseminated widely. Many interviewees highlighted one particular incident involving a young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old: “the image was strong. It was a girl in a [school] uniform and the police arrived and pulled her by the hair, threw her to the ground and dragged her.”5 As critical as El Mercurio had been of the student protests, the television images combined with a public primed to view the protests with sympathy gave El Mercurio, political leaders, and even the police no choice but to accept that wrongdoing had occurred. The law-and-order frame was being challenged. However, El Mercurio framed the wrongdoing carefully, limiting discursive accountability and, in turn, the extent to which mechanisms of institutional accountability needed to be activated. Initially, El Mercurio spoke of Carabineros using “excessive violence.” Yet what is meant by “excessive violence” is left unclear. Indeed, a few days after the event, the incident begins to be referred to in the newspaper only as “excesses”; the term “violence” and any information about what happened almost completely disappears. What we do know from El Mercurio is that Carabineros used water cannons and tear gas against the protesters. They beat people as they were detaining them in police buses (almost 700 people were arrested). They also beat bystanders and journalists covering the event.6 We do not know exactly how many people were beaten or how badly. We do know that three journalists, Libio Saavedram, Marco Cabrera, and Fernando Cidler, were injured as a result of being beaten by Carabineros.7 If one reads carefully, it is possible also to learn at the end of one article that an individual Carabinero is alleged to have forced three students (two seventeen and one sixteen year old) to undress and registered them in a humiliating manner.8 However, the focus of the articles is on how the excesses should be understood: who, what, and how. Who exactly was involved in wrongdoing? What were the specific acts of wrongdoing? How should the wrongdoer(s) be held accountable? This chapter analyzes all the articles published in El Mercurio that addressed the “excessive violence” used by police against the student protesters for the first two weeks following the incident, a total of 35

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articles published from May 30 to June 13, 2006. It is interesting to note that this coverage is substantially less than the coverage in Clarín of the 2002 Pueyrredón Bridge protest (64 articles in one week). Limited coverage of repressive protest policing likely reflects the newspapers’ perception that repressive protest policing is generally not wrongdoing and therefore not newsworthy or requiring discursive accountability. As a result of the more limited coverage, I chose to examine two weeks’ worth of coverage in the case of Chile to capture more voices. However, the coverage of the May 30 incidents diminishes significantly over time. Of the 35 articles 27 were published in the first few days (May 30-June 2). Between June 3 and June 13 there were only 8 articles on the police repression of the protest and only one from June 8-13. Table 10.1 provides a numeric summary of what is found in the articles to help with clarity. The text that follows provides a more nuanced qualitative analysis of these articles. The articles are analyzed in terms of who, what, and how. In answering each question, both the dominant frames and competing frames for understanding the answer to these questions presented in the articles are highlighted and analyzed. The use of historical frames and media practices are also examined. Certainly other media played an important role in covering the event, especially television. For this reason, it would be interesting to analyze the media coverage of alternative media, television, radio, and the Internet to see if and how these media gave strength to counterframes. Interviewees’ references to television images suggest that TV coverage may have had an impact on the inclusion of counterframes in the mainstream media. However, I focus my analysis on El Mercurio because of its influence among political leaders explained in chapter 9. This chapter is an analysis of discursive accountability in the most important agenda-setting newspaper in Chile, El Mercurio. The analysis reveals the manner in which counterframes are included (or not) in dominant discussions on protest policing. That is, it matters how El Mercurio interprets or frames events, but also how it frames images the public has seen on television or the Internet. TV usually provides very little analysis. Moreover, the fact that alternative media, such as El Siglo (the Chilean Communist Party’s newspaper), see police action as wrongdoing would not surprise anyone, let alone require political leaders to respond (answerability) or face consequences (shaming, enforcement). Although El Mercurio plays an important role in framing debates, not everyone is included in these debates. Aside from editorializing journalists, a total of 22 people had their positions either quoted or sum-

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Table 10.1: El Mercurio Coverage of the 2006 Chilean Student Protest, May 30 to June 13, 2006 (35 articles)9 Categories of people referenced

Government officials or politicians

Whose position is cited?

Who is to blame?

12

7

For what?

Mechanisms of accountability advocated/ pursued?

1. Government used police to silence protesters (1 ref.)

Resignation of minister (1 ref.)

2. Government should have resolved conflict before it went to the streets (3 refs.) Current or past Carabineros

4

27

1. Violated democratic norms (7 refs.) 2. Bad apples (6 refs.)

Dismissal of individual officers (8 refs. in favor, 6 against) Judicial action (4 refs.) Institutional change (3 refs.)

Students/ protesters

4

9

1. Violent protesters justify police action (5 refs.) 2. Protesters and police share blame (2 refs.)

Journalists

—

1

1. Journalists who were injured did not follow procedures for covering protests (1 ref.)

Crackdown on street crime (2 refs.)

—

2. Journalists made this a case of wrongdoing by framing it that way (2 refs.) Other

2

—

—

—

Total

22

44

27

24

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marized in articles discussing the May 30 incident of excessive police violence in El Mercurio. In contrast, in Argentine, Clarín presented the positions of 101 people in the period of only a week of newspaper coverage of the Pueyrredón Bridge incident (see chapter 6). Of the 22 people whose positions on the event were made public through El Mercurio, the majority (12) were government officials or politicians and 4 were current or past members of the Carabineros. The remaining 6 were primarily (4) spokespeople for the Coordinating Assembly of Secondary Students (the group leading the protests). The students’ positions were not given much coverage or weight. Indeed, the legitimacy of one student leader quoted as critical of the Carabineros’ actions, María Jesús Sanhueza, is questioned. She is described in the newspaper as having “unjustifiably missed more than half of her classes” and as being a disputed member of the student leadership.10 As we saw in chapter 9, the literature on protest policing suggests that a preference by the media in favor of police and public official opinion favors a law-and-order over a civil-rights frame. At the very least, the discursive accountability provided by El Mercurio is limited in terms of whose voices contribute to the framing of the event as an incident of wrongdoing (or not), who was responsible (or not), for what, and what mechanisms of institutional accountability should (or should not) be activated. Who Is Responsible for What Happened?

In the 35 articles in El Mercurio that address the repression used by police against the protesters, there were 44 references to blame. In total, the references identify 4 individuals or groups as responsible for what happened. The Carabineros (as a whole, a group within the organization, or individual officers) were referred to as responsible in the majority of references to blame (27 of 43). The second most common group identified as responsible for the police repression against protesters was the protesters themselves (or violent infiltrators). This was the case in 9 references. Third, 7 references saw the government (including President Bachelet and her ministers of the interior and education) as responsible. One person, the Director General of the Carabineros, blamed journalists. What is interesting about many of the accounts of wrongdoing is the manner in which those quoted and those reporting assign blame cautiously, presumably engaging in self-censorship. For example, President Michelle Bachelet blamed the Carabineros, but her minister of the interior clarified that she was referring only to the excesses

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recognized by the leadership of the Carabineros.11 There are a number of possible reasons for this self-censorship. It is possible that self-censorship is a legacy of recently derogated and persisting contempt for authority laws. As explained in chapter 9, until recently, Chile had more contempt for authority laws than any other country in Latin America, the laws were applied more frequently, and the punishments were more punitive: many involved significant prison sentences (HRW 2001: 20). The most serious and widely used contempt for authority law, Section 6b of the Law of State Security, was derogated in 2001, and articles 263 and 264 of the Chilean Criminal Code were derogated in 2005. However, significant opposition by some authorities to the derogation of these laws led to Articles 263 and 264 of the Criminal Code being replaced with Article 264 that, instead of punishing those who challenge the honor of authorities, punishes those whose words are seen as a threat or upset order for these same authorities (UDP 2007: 79). The latter can be interpreted by judges in the same manner as the former and violations remain a criminal, not civil, offense. Articles 413 and 418 of the Criminal Code that address offense and slander (injurias and calumnia) are also more widely used since 2005 (ibid). Article 417 of the Military Code of Justice continues to protect Carabineros against defamation; its only modification since the dictatorship has been a reduction in the prison sentence attached (from ten to three years) and a shifting of these cases from military to civilian courts. Many authors contend that these laws have led to self-censorship by journalists and affect how they present the news (Bresnahan 2003: 45; Krohne 2005: 192; Aparecida Ferrari 2003: 388; CODEPU 2001: 134). However, many Chilean journalists and government communications officers I spoke to argued that they did not perceive any legal limits to what they could say or write. Instead, the primary limit identified to me by the interviewees was their (or their employer’s) desire not to offend the Carabineros for political or career reasons. Politically, interviewees argued that a principal concern of the government and El Mercurio is “citizen security,” defined as policy priorities aimed at combatting common (particularly property) crime. The owner of El Mercurio, Augustín Edwards, founded and financially supports the organization Fundación Paz Ciudadana, an organization that has lobbied successfully for government money and attention to citizen security since 1992. In order to combat crime and achieve citizen security, the interviewees explained, it is important to maintain the support of the Carabineros; criticizing their actions would not be helpful

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in this regard. This is a position that was expressed by both government communications officers and journalists. Journalists, in particular, identified the career limitations of not supporting this political position. For example, critical police reporting can result in journalists not being invited by the Carabineros to press conferences or not offered exclusives. Given the focus of citizen security on crime, such an exclusion from the main sources of information on crime could force a police reporter to change to a new area of specialization or leave her or his newspaper altogether. Thus, whether for legal, political, or career reasons, it is likely that both journalists and politicians who are evasive in assigning blame for police repression of the student protest are engaging in self-censorship. In turn, selfcensorship limits discursive accountability. What Are They Responsible For?

Of course, discursive accountability involves more than simply the naming of wrongdoers in the media. It also involves identifying the actions considered to be wrongdoing. In this section, I will go through each of the groups identified as to blame for the incident and assess what it is argued that they should be held accountable for. It is important to note that, while most people quoted or referred to in El Mercurio agree that the Carabineros engaged in “excesses” (including members of the Carabineros themselves), not all of those quoted or referred to explain what specifically they should be held accountable for. Of the 27 references to the wrongdoing of the Carabineros 13 explain what they should be held accountable for. When explanations are provided, each group (the Carabineros, the protesters, the government, and journalists) is linked to the violence in a different manner. These links reveal a debate regarding the framing of wrongdoing. The debate involves arguments pertaining to why some actors are more responsible than others and the degree of wrongdoing committed. I shall begin by analyzing the arguments regarding the guilt of the Carabineros, then the protesters, the government, and finally journalists. The Carabineros

The Carabineros are described as needing to be held accountable for violating democratic norms. The Carabineros, as an institution, were reported to have admitted that “unjustified excesses” were used by Carabineros against three journalists; they do not assume responsibility for wrongfully harming students.12 Two days later, perhaps following

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the lead of the Carabineros, President Michelle Bachelet gave a speech in which she denounced the police actions. While she described the “incidents” (hechos) against both the journalists and the students as “condemnable and unjustifiable,” she elaborated significantly more on why the violence against the journalists was wrong. She explained that she “condemns the events that took place yesterday (Tuesday) to representatives of the media. . . . [F]or our government it is fundamental that there be complete freedom of expression and the possibility to exercise this work.”13 Her Minister of the Interior, Andrés Zaldívar , clarified that: “The declaration of the President was only in reaction to the excesses of the Carabineros, that which was recognized by their own High Command”.14 It is important to note here that the term “excesses” is the term used by the Director General of the Carabineros and, although the term obfuscates what happened, it is quickly adopted by both politicians and El Mercurio journalists. Zaldívar also repeats the message of the president that, according to democratic norms, “Procedures should never lead to abuses or the exercise of force beyond what is assigned to the Carabineros. It is not within the role of the Carabineros to do what they did with the journalists or bring in a girl by pulling her by the hair.”15 Other political leaders also emphasized that the Carabineros went beyond their role in a democracy (although the term “democracy” was rarely used explicitly). For example, the President of the Christian Democrat Party (DC), Soledad Alvear, condemns the Carabineros for their “actions that were completely unmeasured. The relationship Carabinero-citizen should continue to perfect itself and events like what happened yesterday don’t contribute to this direction.”16 Alluding to Chile’s international reputation as a democracy, the President of the Socialist Party, Camilo Escalona, stated that the Carabineros are responsible for “embarrassing Chile in front of the world.” 17 More provocatively, student leader María Jesús Sanhueza “characterized the action of the Carabineros as ‘terrorist’.”18 In total, 7 of the 13 explanations for why the Carabineros were responsible for what happened make implicit or explicit reference to the violation of democratic norms or the limits of the role of the Carabineros. The second explanation presented for why the Carabineros are responsible for what happened emphasizes the excesses of individual officers. Again, 6 of the 13 references or quotes regarding how the Carabineros are responsible take this position. To be sure, these two frames are not mutually exclusive. It is possible to argue that a few Carabineros engaged in excesses that violated democratic norms. Indeed, this is the position of the Minister of the Interior, Andrés

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Zaldívar. He states explicitly: “I — concluding — defend the Carabineros; one cannot disqualify the institution for the acts of a few.”19 His position is consistent with that of the Carabinero leadership who, according to El Mercurio, “admitted that the Special Forces engaged in a procedure outside the bounds of regulated procedures when they attacked two cameramen and one photojournalist meters from La Moneda [government house], as well as other events that made up the hardline antidisturbance actions taken during the student protests.”20 Court cases also tend to individualize accountability. Thus 3 references that focus on the wrongdoing of individual officers are references to court cases lodged by civil society organizations against the Carabineros for specific incidents of violence. 21 Protesters

While the majority of quotes or references to blame identify the Carabineros as responsible, many articles imply that the actions of the Carabineros need to be considered in light of the actions of the protesters. In this manner, a law-and-order frame is reinforced. During another student protest on June 2 (a few days after the May 30 protest), the Carabineros chose “cautious action” as a form of rebellion against the government’s condemnation of their previous “excesses” and the dismissal of some of their officers who were directly involved.22 Mostly in response to the “caution” of the Carabineros, 7 quotes or references address explicitly the relationship between Carabineros and the protesters. Two frames are used. First, it is argued that the “excesses” of the Carabineros were justified considering the threat they faced. This position follows two lines of argument. The first is that the student protesters were infiltrated by violent groups described as “lumpen,” “delinquents,” or “encapuchados” (hooded people). Immediately after the May 30 protest, an El Mercurio article explains that “Infiltrating encapuchados and delinquents predominated in the conflicts that occurred yesterday. The students could not neutralize them.”23 The newspaper also blamed the protesters for some of the violence against journalists. A caption under one photograph states: “This is how a rock came from encapuachados and hit the head of El Mercurio journalist Francisco Aguila.”24 Similarly, the Minister of the Interior, Andrés Zaldívar, stated in response to the Carabineros’ later inaction that “one should not be weak with the lumpen who infiltrate movements, like that of the students’.”25 At first glance this argument appears to legitimize the protesters and distinguish them from the infiltrators/encapuchados/lumpen/delinquents.

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However, the line between legitimate protesters and infiltrating delinquents is blurry. For example, it is not inconsequential that the student protesters are blamed for not “neutralizing” the infiltrators; in 2009, a law was passed that holds protest organizers financially responsible for any damage caused by their protest, even if committed by “infiltrators.” Moreover, the argument about “infiltrators” is being used by those quoted to justify police repression against not just the infiltrators but against the students and journalists who were the primary recipients of the repression. In this sense, the response of the director general of the Carabineros is perhaps more honest. The director general of the Carabineros argued that the students were in fact to blame, not just infiltrators. Summarizing his position, El Mercurio explains that “[i]n terms of the student protest, he admits that there were political and delinquent infiltrators. But he clarified that students were involved in the aggressions against Carabineros.” 26 The director general is quoted as saying “[students] were involved in the aggressions against the Carabineros. It’s a fact. The majority of those arrested were students.”27 The second, less common, frame is that the Carabineros and the protesters are both equally to blame. The minister of the interior, who spoke out against the excesses of both the Carabineros and the students, maintains that both groups committed excesses and should be held accountable for those excesses according to the respective established democratic mechanisms. For example, he states: “the civilian who attacks a Carabinero, throws rocks, breaks a public telephone, must be arrested and charged.”28 An El Mercurio editorial on June 2 places this equal blame perspective within a frame that emphasized the need for public order, rather than democratic mechanisms of accountability. The article exclaims: “no less indignant, condemnable, and unjustified are the destructive actions of the other protesters.”29 The author goes on to argue that the president’s “unilateral” focus on the wrongdoing of the Carabineros could “lead the forces to self-inhibit their actions against the violent [“los violentistas”]. This, for its part, could be understood as an incentive for [the violent] to make their actions more extreme, with the peace of mind that the police will not put up major resistance for fear of sanctions and loss of their professional careers. This framework is dangerous for public security.”30 The term “public security” is often used in a manner that is interchangeable with “citizen security.” Thus it is possible that the equal guilt position is taken so as not to offend the Carabineros and thereby avoid potential political or career consequences. Regardless, such a position implies that the actions of the Carabineros, while excesses, may have been justified considering the threat they faced. The police in a democracy have the legitimate right to

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use violence against civilians; the question that is raised is whether or not this was indeed a case of wrongdoing. The Government

The third group identified as responsible for the police “excesses” against the protesters was the government. Very often police repression of protest is thought to be a political decision taken by the government to silence opposition. Indeed, a number of people I interviewed, particularly but not exclusively those from human rights organizations, believe that the government supports the use of police repression against protest. However, only one person in the El Mercurio coverage of the student protest is quoted as making this association, the student leader María Jesús Sanhueza. She states: “The government is afraid of what the student organization has done and wants to stop it by whatever means necessary.”31 Most others hold the government responsible for not resolving the conflict before it went to the streets. It is implied that, once the conflict went to the streets (that is, there was a street protest), the actions taken by the Carabineros are justified or should be expected. For example, Alberto Cardemil, congressman for the National Renewal (RN), shames the president for not resolving the conflict with the students and implies that the police were just doing their job: “The dismissal of the police chief is the culmination of a succession of errors committed by La Moneda, because it left the political floor to the actions of the Carabineros in their control of public order. . . . If the president wants to get angry at someone, she should get angry at her ministers who have still not resolved the education crisis.”32 Journalists

Finally, and focusing solely on the violence of the Carabineros against the journalists, only the then Director General of the Carabineros, José Alejandro Bernales Ramírez, blamed journalists themselves for their injuries. When asked why the Carabineros “lost their patience” on May 30, Bernales responds: “While I am not excusing anyone, I ask myself, why were none of the journalists (who suffered excesses) accredited in the police area? They know how the institution works and they know how to approach a group of Carabineros, and to never take photos in the middle of police action. . . . [T]hey were looking for proof of Carabinero excesses and, as well, that they lose patience. One in a hundred loses patience.”33 Supporting the guilt of journalists, in another article that explains the work of the Carabineros in a favorable light, an anonymous

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officer is quoted as saying: “What are you journalists looking for? What are you selling? When a Carabinero is hitting, they are responding to those who protest. You [journalists] look and look for the moment. Never when protesters hit a Carabinero. This isn’t news.”34 In fact, in El Mercurio there are many pictures and written text of the Carabineros being attacked by students, more than the opposite.35 It is important that almost half (13 of 27) of those quoted or referred to in El Mercurio who specified particular actions as wrongdoing, identified the Carabineros as the wrongdoers in this incident of “excessive violence.” Clearly, the police force is being shamed for going beyond their role in a democracy. However, it is equally important to recognize that the law-and-order frame persists. A majority (20 of 27) of the total number of these quotes or references to the positions of various actors present justifications for the level of force used by the Carabineros. The justifications include: the excesses were those of individual officers; the level of force was proportionate to the threat faced; this was the inevitable result of the government not resolving the conflict before it went to the streets; and those injured placed themselves in that position. Thus, although the Carabineros are identified as wrongdoers, competing frames question the significance of this wrongdoing. In addition, few voices from civil society are included in this debate. We do not know the positions of the unions or university organizations that were supporting the high school students, and that also were present at the protests. We do not have the perspective of human rights organizations, even though the Commission for Human Rights was noted to have been one of two organizations initiating a court case against the Carabineros. There is also insufficient information provided with which readers could judge the level of violence used by police or for human rights organizations to track such information. Thus discursive accountability exists but is limited. How Should They Be Held Accountable?

Finally, discursive accountability can contribute to the activation of some institutional forms of accountability. While there were 44 mentions of blame found in the articles analyzed, and 27 mentions of what they were blamed for, in only 24 instances were particular mechanisms of accountability advocated, used/introduced, or rejected. The mechanisms included: the dismissal of selected Carabineros or minister deemed responsible (15); judicial action (4); a crackdown on street crime (2); and institutional change (3).

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The most discussed mechanism of accountability was the decision of the president to dismiss ten Carabineros as well as the head of the Special Forces (who was in charge of managing the protest) and his immediate subordinate. Of the 23 references to mechanisms of accountability, 14 focused on this issue. Members of Congress from left or left-of-center political parties — the Party for Democracy (PPD) and the Christian Democrats (DC) — were quoted as supportive of the dismissals (3 quotes/references).36 In contrast, members of Congress from the opposition right and right-of-center parties — National Renewal (RN) and the Independent Democrat Union (UDI) — disagreed with the dismissals (3 quotes/references). For example, Alberto Espina (RN senator) explained that “what needed to be done was to investigate the specific incidents of excesses, but not dismiss police personnel or remove police chiefs from their positions. With this type of action one ends up inhibiting the ability of the police to act.”37 The position of the Carabineros themselves is mixed (8 quotes/references). Clearly, the institution was upset enough with the dismissals to engage in the rebellious act of “cautious action” in response to the student protest on June 2. However, what was reported in El Mercurio was that there was disagreement within the Carabineros as to whether or not Colonel Osvaldo Exequiel Jara, the head of the Special Forces, should have been dismissed or if it should have been someone higher in the chain of command. Some anonymous officers agreed with Jara’s dismissal, arguing that his leadership supported the use of iron-fist policing (mano dura).38 Other anonymous officers argued that neither Jara nor his superior, General Jorge Acuña, should be associated with the excesses; rather, those who should be held accountable are “ ‘those officials who really gave the orders’ that led to the excesses.”39 One anonymous officer saw Hector Henríquez, the general chief of Security and Public Order, as responsible and, he qualified, Henríquez’s decisions were more “political” since he has direct connections with the minister of the interior.40 Going further, the ex-Director General of the Carabineros, Fernando Cordero, put forth the question: “Is the government going to face up [to its responsibility] and remove the minister that, with two months of leadership, has had an awful management [record]?”41 In contrast, when the then Director General of the Carabineros, José Alejandro Bernales Ramírez, was asked “Why have the hierarchal superiors of Colonel Jara not been held responsible?” Bernales responded: “Because the person who is on the street with the people, guiding and giving orders, is the prefect [head of the Special Forces, Jara].”42

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The debate within the Carabineros appears to be between making the issue one of a few bad apples versus blaming the political leadership. In either case, it is not the institution of the Carabineros that needs to be reformed in order to ensure that such action does not occur again. It also is interesting to note that, within the debate regarding whether or not the dismissals were an appropriate mechanism of accountability to use, the perspective of the Carabineros themselves is given more coverage than that of politicians. This may be the result of media bias, the fear of journalists (or politicians) of offending the Carabineros, or an overreliance on police journalists. Of course, missing completely is the perspective of civil society organizations. Regardless, as the debate in El Mercurio reveals, dismissals, while a mechanism of accountability, are very political, and individualized, and may not change possibly institutionalized practices. Compared to the discussion around the dismissal of Carabinero officers, relatively little attention is given to the judiciary as a mechanism of accountability to be used in this case. Indeed, it is only mentioned in 4 instances. Only one politician is referred to as supporting judicial sanctions. A Party for Democracy (PPD) senator, Guido Giardi, is said to have argued that judicial, not only administrative, sanctions should be applied.43 The only other references to the need to involve the judiciary in addressing the wrongdoing were brief mentions of two court cases being put forth against Carabineros for particular instances of excessive violence. One case was presented to the military courts by the Chilean Journalists’ Association.44 The other case was presented by the Human Rights Commission and the Teachers’ College of Puente Alto.45 There is no mention of a judicial investigation into what happened that would encompass the whole event, and the journalists of El Mercurio do not pursue the point raised by Giardi. It appears that judicial accountability is limited and journalists are not pushing for further activation. Another form of accountability referred to in the articles analyzed stems in part from the belief that the protesters were to blame for the violence that occurred. These remedies can be categorized as supportive of a law-and-order frame and consistent with historical frames. For example, during the protests that followed the one on May 30, the government is reported by El Mercurio to have taken steps to increase security to prevent other “days of violence.” The newspaper explains that “A reinforcement of police contingents in the principal streets of the capital has Carabineros prepared for today, with the goal of avoiding the excesses and conflict similar to what occurred last week during the student marches.”46 A couple of days later El Mercurio adds that the

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government has gone further and has “prepared a new law that will be applied more rigorously against all those who are caught provoking disturbances in the street. According to high-level sources in the Interior Ministry, the initiative is due to the preoccupation of the executive with the almost zero percent of formal charges laid by the Public Ministry in relation to the number of people arrested”47 There was no mention of the potential impact of this new law on the right to protest. There also is no mention of new laws or regulations that would assist in restricting future police “excesses”; journalists do not pursue these issues. However, three people were quoted as arguing in favor of institutional changes that they felt would ensure that such incidents are not repeated. One political leader simply contended that the Carabineros needed to rework how they deal with adolescents: “For the natural biology of youth, their expression, their movement, their speed, they are distinct from the conversations or maintenance of public order with workers or university students. . . . Maybe they [the Carabineros] have gotten out the habit of fighting with adolescents.”48 In contrast, the other quotes demand more substantial institutional changes. Both Alejandro Guillier, then President of the Chilean Journalists’ Association, and Camilo Escalona (President of the Socialist Party) argued in favor of creating a Ministry of Public Security and moving the Carabineros there from the Ministry of Defense. This move would place the Carabineros under civilian rather than military control. Guillier argued that this move needs to be made “in order to advance and develop methods of working that correspond with the rule of law and with a country with an advancing democracy.”49 Escalona argued that the creation of such a ministry was “urgent and indispensable.”50 This goal of moving the Carabineros from the Defense Ministry to the Interior Ministry was first laid out in the Program of Government of the Accord among Parties for Democracy. Despite a long history of Carabinero subordination to the Interior Ministry (since its creation in 1927 to 1973), the Carabineros successfully resisted attempts towards its return until 2011. The government attempted, unsuccessfully, to move the Carabineros in 1989, 1991, 1992, 1993, and 2001 (Candina 2006: 86; Weeks 2003: 54, 79). Some domestic security issues were transferred to a Public Security Council within the Interior Ministry in 1990 (Dammert 2006: 63).51 The history of this proposal would lead one to expect that journalists would pursue the opinions of other public officials regarding the comments of Guillier and Escalona. This would be an opportunity for journalists to test the water, to see if there was more support than in the past for such a change. Yet none of these calls for civilian control over

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the police was put into its historical context, nor do the journalists follow up with other public officials (let alone members of the public) about their perspectives on these proposals. The comments of Guillier and Escalona were not even the focus of articles; rather, they were slipped into an article talking generally about political leaders’ reactions to the dismissal of the Carabineros. Conclusion

The coverage in El Mercurio of excessive police violence against the 2006 student protest provides some discursive accountability. The articles give weight to the view that the excessive violence by Carabineros violated democratic norms and for this they need to be held accountable. The quotes published supporting this position come from influential figures including President Michelle Bachelet, as well as the president of the Christian Democrats and the Socialist Party (both prominent parties within the then governing coalition, Concertación). The credibility of these sources added to the resonance of the frame. The coverage also questions historical frames for understanding protest policing. It recognizes that police reaction to public protest during a democracy is qualitatively different from that under an authoritarian government. It also emphasizes that Chile is a democracy and that old repressive police practices are not to be tolerated. Thus El Mercurio provides discursive accountability in that police are shamed for wrongdoing, and frames that deny such action as wrongdoing are challenged. More broadly, the articles in El Mercurio also present competing views (or frames) regarding who is most responsible for committing wrongdoing, what type of wrongdoing they have committed, and how the wrongdoer(s) should be held accountable. The existence of this debate is an important aspect of discursive accountability as it provides the opportunity for actors included in the debate to challenge the dominant law-and-order frame that may have simply presented police repression as unfortunate but acceptable or necessary. To some extent, police wrongdoing in this case was undeniable. Owing to the strategic use of the media by students and the manner in which the protest was covered in the media elsewhere, El Mercurio had little choice but to recognize police wrongdoing. However, the fact that El Mercurio did frame protest policing in this case as wrongdoing was precedent-setting and contributed to the importance of the 2006 student protest as a reference point on protest policing. The ability of the students to capture the attention of the media, including the conservative

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El Mercurio, inspired one journalist, Jaime Díaz Lavanchy, to produce an award-winning documentary, La Revolución de los Pingüinos52 (June 2007), analyzing the students’ relationship with the media. The documentary was aired on the national television channel TVN and attracted a large audience. Yet the manner in which El Mercurio framed wrongdoing was careful. It limited discursive accountability, provided opportunities for the continuation of law-and-order frames, and shaped the perceived extent to which institutional accountability needed to be applied. The dominant frame in El Mercurio suggested that there may have been some wrongdoing in this particular case, but there is not anything fundamentally problematic with how the Carabineros police protests. Thus it is implied that the dismissal of a few, preferably very few officers, is adequate institutional accountability. The articles emphasize the wrongdoing as perpetrated by one of a few bad apples or as provoked by protesters or both. Although it is not surprising that a conservative newspaper, committed to supporting the Carabineros, would frame protest policing in this manner, two key issues contribute to the frames’ construction. First, consistent with coverage of most protests in Chile, many voices are excluded or dismissed within the debate. Very few members of civil society organizations or the public in general are given a voice. The views favored, in terms of the amount of coverage and the weight given, prioritize political leaders, Carabineros, and people within these groups whose views are the least critical of the police institution. The exclusion or muffling of some voices and perspectives may be the result of media bias, choice of authoritative sources, or police stage-managing (see chapter 9). Second, while possibly a circular argument, the coverage in El Mercurio provides insufficient information regarding what happened. The articles do not provide information on how many of the protesters were injured nor the nature of their injuries. This information is important supporting evidence needed for the newspaper to effectively shame wrongdoers. It is also important information needed for the public, politicians, and social movement organizations to activate mechanisms of institutional accountability. The circular nature of the problem arises in that El Mercurio may not print this information because it is not collected by public institutions or social movement organizations. For example, protest policing is not a topic researched by the Fundación Paz Ciudadana, a primary civil society source used in El Mercurio. Discursive accountability requires adequate information.

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The law-and-order frame used by El Mercurio in this case benefitted from consistency with historical and dominant frames that justify repressive protest policing. It resonated with political leaders because it is familiar. However, the frame was challenged and forced to shift in order to align with current events. The shift, though small, provided a reference point for future critiques of protest policing. Indeed, during Chilean student protests in 2011, national public opinion polls revealed that students were seen as more credible than the government. This credibility was traced back to the 2006 student protests.53 Highlighting the accumulative nature of discursive accountability, public critique of repressive protest policing in 2011 was even greater than in 2006. 1 On August 4, 2011, police repression of a student protest drew wide media condemnation. See, e.g., El Mostrador, August 4, 2011, “Intenso caceroleo en Santiago en apoyo al movimiento estudiantil.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/08/04/intenso-caceroleo-ensantiago-en-apoyo-al-movimiento-estudiantil/ [last accessed August 24, 2011] Again, on August 26, a youth was killed by a Carabinero during a union protest in Santiago, intensifying critiques in the media and by student leaders of repressive protest policing. See, e.g., El Mostrador, August 29, 2009, “Ex presidentes de la Fech piden al Gobierno terminar con ‘institucionalización de la violencia’.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/08/29/expresidentes-de-la-fech-piden-al-gobierno-terminar-con-%E2%80%9 Cinstitucionalizacion-de-la-violencia%E2%80%9D/ [last accessed September 23, 2011] 2 Interview with anonymous. Christian Democratic Party. Santiago. July 6, 2009. 3 In 2011, President Sebastián Pinñera alluded to similarities between current student protests and the unrest in the 1960s and 1970s. See El Mostrador, August 18, 2011, “Masiva marcha estudiantil culmina sin incidentes pese a alusiones de Piñera a la violencia que desembocó en el Golpe de 73.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/pais/2011/08/18/pese-a-augurios-depinera-masiva-marcha-estudiantil-culmina-sin-incidentes/ [last accessed August 23, 2011] 4 El Mercurio, May 30, 2006, “Negociación bajo presión.” 5 Interview with Francisca Skoknic Galdames, journalist, CIPER Chile. Santiago. July 14, 2009. 6 F. Aguila and R. Olivares, “Vuelta a la violencia empañó paro,” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C11 7 P. Lezaeta “Carabineros admite 'excesos injustificables',” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C11. 8 René Olivares and David Muñoz,”Nuevos incidentes marcados por la cautela en el accionar policial.” El Mercurio, June 1, 2006, p. C4. 9 The numbers provided in the table refer to the number of references made to a particular person or group (from one of the categories) or this person’s or group’s position on the three issues. One reference indicates that in one article one person/group, or the position of one person/group, from the identified

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category was mentioned. A quote from the person/group may have been provided, their ideas may have been paraphrased, their action may have been noted (e.g., pursuing a court case) or, for references to journalists, the journalist may have editorialized on the topic. 10 Otón Gutiérrez and Rodrigo Cerda, “María Jesús Sanhueza es cuestionada por su liceo,” El Mercurio, Jume 6, 2006, p. C2. 11 P. Molina, “Zaldívar reivindica rol de Carabineros,” El Mercurio, June 2, 2006, p. C6. 12 P. Lezaeta, “Carabineros admite 'excesos injustificables',” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C11. 13 N. Yanez, “Bachelet interviene para criticar acción policial,” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C5. 14 P. Molina, “Zaldívar reinvindica rol de Carabineros,” El Mercurio, June 2, 2006, p. C6. 15 Raquel Correa “Los deberes policiales,” El Mercurio, June 4, 2006, p. D7. 16 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logra unanimidad en el mundo político,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. 17 Ibid. 18 M. Hüne, “Casi 800 mil escolares pararon en todo Chile,” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C2. 19 Raquel Correa “Los deberes policiales,” El Mercurio, June 4, 2006, p. D7. 20 P. Lezaeta, “Carabineros admite 'excesos injustificables',” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C11. 21 El Mercurio, “Denuncia de periodistas,” 2006, p. C6.; P. Lezaeta, “Carabineros admite 'excesos injustificables',” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C11.; René Olivares and David Muñoz, “Nuevos incidentes marcados por la cautela en el accionar policial,” El Mercurio, June 1, 2006, p. C4. 22 P. Lezaeta, “Jefes de Fuerzas Especiales caen por excesos,” El Mercurio, June 1, 2006, p. C4 23 René Olivares and David Muñoz, “Nuevos incidentes marcados por la cautela en el accionar policial,” El Mercurio, June 1, 2006, p. C4. 24 El Mercurio, “Lesionado periodista de ‘El Mercurio’,” June 1, 2006, p. C4. 25 El Mercurio, “Zaldívar: El Gobierno no claudicará ante el vandalismo,” June 2, 2006, p. A1. 26 Pilar Molina Armas, “General Director de Carabineros: ‘Hubo cautela, no repliegue’,” El Mercurio, June 10, 2006, p. C11. 27 Ibid. 28 Raquel Correa, “Los debores policiales,”El Mercurio, June 4, 2006, p. D7. 29 El Mercurio , “Fuerza pública y vandalismo,” June 2, 2006, p. A3. 30 Ibid. 31 M. Hüne, “Casi 800 mil escolares pararon en todo Chile,” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C2. 32 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logran unanimidad en el mundo político,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. For a similar quote by

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other congressmen, see P. M. Chadwick, “El miércoles fue la huelga de la policía,” El Mercurio, June 2, 2006, p. C6. 33 Pilar Molina Armas, “General Director de Carabineros: ‘Hubo cautela, no repliegue’,” El Mercurio, June 10, 2006, p. C11. 34 Beatriz Undurraga, “Cabo relata el rigor del trabajo en Fuerzas Especiales,” El Mercurio, June 2, 2006, p. C5. 35 See, e.g., the photo linked with the following article: El Mercurio, “Gobierno cedió ante categorical presión de alumnus secundarios,” June 4, 2006, p. D26. 36 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logran unanimidad en el mundo político,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. 37 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logran unanimidad en el mundo político,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. 38 P. Lezaeta, “Los roces internos por las destituciones,” El Mercurio, June 1, 2006, p. C4. 39 Pedro Lezeata,“Remociones generan puntos de vista en mandos de Carabineros.,” El Mercurio, June 2, 2006, p. C5. 40 Ibid. 41 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logra unanimidad en el mundo polític,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. 42 Pilar Molina Armas,.“General Director de Carabineros: ‘Hubo cautela, no repliegue’,” El Mercurio, June 10, 2006, p. C11. 43 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logra unanimidad en el mundo político,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. 44 N. Yanez, “Bachelet interviene para criticar acción policial,” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C5; El Mercurio, “Denuncia de periodistas,” June 2, 2006, p. C6. 45 René Olivares and David Muñoz, “Nuevos incidentes marcados por la cautela en el accionar policial,” El Mercurio, June 1, 2006, p. C4. 46 Francisco Aguila, “250 carabineros más a la Alameda,” El Mercurio, June 5, 2006, p. C4. 47 Rodrigo Vergara and Francisco Águila,“Gobierno prepara dura ley contra violentistas,” El Mercurio, June 7, 2006, p. C2. 48 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logran unanimidad en el mundo político,”June 1, 2006, p. C5. 49 N. Yanez, “Bachelet interviene para criticar acción policial,” El Mercurio, May 31, 2006, p. C5. 50 El Mercurio, “Decisión de remover a jefes policiales no logran unanimidad en el mundo político,” June 1, 2006, p. C5. 51 In 2011, legislation passed to move the Carabineros from the Ministry of Defense to the Ministry of the Interior. The transfer took place in 2012. However, cases of Carabineros harming civilians or civilians harming Carabineros continue to be tried in military courts. 52 “Revolution of the Penguins.” The high school students protesting were widely referred to in the media as “penguins” because of their school uniforms. The choice of the term was likely influenced by the 2005 feature film “March of the Penguins.” 53 BBC Mundo, “Por qué tiene tanta fuerza el movimiento estudiantile chileno,” El Mostrador, August 28, 2012. URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/

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noticias/pais/2012/08/28/por-que-tiene-tanta-fuerza-el-movimiento-estudiantilchileno/ [last accessed February 25, 2013].

11 Comparing Argentina and Chile

On May 21, 2008, when Víctor Salas almost lost his eye at a protest in Valparaíso (see chapter 1), the Carabineros denied that their officers were responsible and challenged the need for an investigation. The director general of the Carabineros held that there was no photo or film of the exact instant in which Salas received the hit, so it was impossible to know who did it. As Salas points out, “There would never be anyone in jail if the only way to prove a crime was to have film of it being committed.”1 Since there were photos taken by Salas of Carabineros beating protesters leaving the protest, those officers were given administrative sanctions. The officers involved were to be assigned to the office and no longer to police protests. Yet, on July 8, 2008, a colleague of Víctor Salas, from Reuters, saw one of these officers on horseback at another protest and took pictures of him there. Salas and his colleague took the photographs to the prosecutor and as a result the investigation into Salas’s case was transferred to the Investigative Police (PDI).2 A year later, in August 2009, the PDI identified Salas’s aggressor as Carabinero Sergeant Ivar Barría.3 The military court did not come to a decision on the case until January 2012; Barría was sentenced to 541 days in prison.4 Repressive protest policing reemerged as an important issue during student protests in 2011. When Manuel Gutiérrez was killed on August 26, the response of the Carabineros was again to deny their involvement and, as a consequence, any need for an internal investigation.5 The case was transferred to the PDI, who found Carabineros to be responsible. Lorena Fríes, Director of the National Human Rights Institute, responded: There were incidents of excessive violence, but these do not constitute a deliberate plan on the part of the Carabineros to work out of bounds. That is, there have been serious incidents, but they correspond to 203

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particular police situations. They are isolated incidents in the sense that they aren’t part of a plan, but they are sufficient in terms of numbers to say that they are not an uncommon practice for Carabineros.6

Indeed, it is unlikely that the Carabineros have a “plan” to repress, in the sense that they had a plan to do so during the dictatorship. But, as Fríes suggests, the absence of a plan does not mean that repressive protest policing is not encouraged. Police do not work in a vacuum. Dominant discourses supportive of a law-and-order frame for understanding protest policing provide police with confidence to use repressive tactics rather than develop alternative strategies for protest management or to rely on political leaders to find other ways of resolving conflict. However, the case of Argentina reveals that, even when there is a dominant civil-rights frame, holes in the dominant discourse can facilitate the continuation of such practices. Responsibility can be obfuscated and attention drawn to or taken away from certain forms of protest (what Bal [1988] calls structures of attention and inattention). The analysis of discourse provides a window into how repressive protest policing is understood and debated. Rather than focusing solely on protester-police-government tactical dynamics during a protest, a study of discourse assesses the broader issue of what police know about the political and social expectations for them and how they should use their discretion. The discursive context of protest policing matters. The possibilities for establishing nonrepressive protest policing begin with reframing repressive protest policing as wrongdoing and establishing democratic discursive accountability. This process includes: Historical Frames Drawing on different historical stories or frames to provide familiarity to demands for new approaches to the management of protest. Counterframes Recognizing and strengthening the resonance of counterframes emanating from political leaders, media, and social movements that favor nonrepressive protest policing. Media Practices Recognizing and reforming media and journalistic practices to broaden the voices participating in the debate. Key Events Assessing and drawing on key events to shift frames over time.

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Ultimately, discursive accountability can change the cognitive environment of discretional decision making (see Table 2.1). This book has analyzed the variables of discursive accountability in order to evaluate the possibilities for democratic change in protest policing. Comparing Discursive Accountability in Argentina and Chile

The case studies in this book highlight some of the discursive challenges pertaining to protest policing in new democracies, especially in Latin America. The legacy of authoritarianism and the emergence of neoliberalism affect support for repressive protest policing, but they do not determine it. Discursive accountability exists in both case studies but is limited in different ways. In Chile, discursive accountability involves questioning a dominant frame supportive of repressive protest policing. In Argentina, it involves going further to clarify the scope of responsibility and mechanisms of accountability to be applied. The successful emergence of discursive accountability brings together history, framing, media practices, and pivotal events. History

Protest policing occurs within a historical context. The choices of political leaders, police, media, and protesters are informed by history. Indeed, dominant frames on protest policing often reflect the historical role of the police. As the literature on political narratives explains, dominant frames (or narratives) that have a long history can help guide state actors through times of uncertainty. A regime change is clearly a time of uncertainty. Protests may be viewed as destabilizing for a new democracy. Political leaders and the police may see police repression of protests as historically consistent and necessary for stability. Yet dominant frames and history are not deterministic. Aspects of history can be used to challenge dominant frames, as can new events over time. Thus to understand protest policing in new democracies, as well as the possibilities and limitations for discursive accountability, history is important. The Argentine and Chilean cases reveal important similarities and differences in their histories that have influenced dominant and counterframes on protest policing. In both countries, the national police were founded with the central role of controlling protest. In both cases, this was an explicit role in their founding documents. Yet, more importantly, it was also reflective of the new forces’ lived experience. Both the Argentina Federal Police and the Carabineros were established during a time of high social unrest. One of

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their first roles was to protect the state from political opposition and control protests using whatever levels of force they deemed necessary. Throughout history, political leaders in each country continued to call on their respective police forces to manage political opposition. In Argentina, the police during the last dictatorship fulfilled this role to an extreme that has since been rejected by most Argentines. A large and strong human rights movement keeps the memory of the past dictatorship and its human rights abuses alive (Bonner 2007). When incidents of excessive police violence against protesters occur, the memory of the dictatorship can be evoked to provide resonance to civilrights frames for understanding how protests should be managed. The dictatorship, in combination with current events, contributes to discursive accountability by making claims that “repressive protest policing is wrongdoing” persuasive. Yet past dictatorships cannot always be used in this manner. In Chile, there is not a strong majority or human rights movement that supports the claim that the abuses of the last dictatorship were excessive (Fuentes 2005). However, unlike in Argentina, in Chile, the Carabineros were founded with a role additional to that of managing protests. They also were designated the task of protecting citizens. In practice, this role has largely been subordinated to their primary role of protecting the state. However, its existence has contributed to the Carabineros’ historical awareness that it is desirable for them to maintain at least an image in society that they are there to protect citizens. This is distinct from the PFA, whose role as a protector of citizens has never been so clearly defined. The literature on established democracies, discussed in chapter 1, suggests that, when the police care about their image as protectors of citizens, protest groups, with the help of the media, can raise questions about the consistency of this role with repressive protest policing. Chilean students in 2006 used this strategy to challenge the dominant law-and-order frame, as did students in 2011. Discursive accountability benefitted from drawing on history. Frames

Discursive accountability depends on the dominant frames used to interpret events, in our case protest policing. Discursive accountability can establish repressive protest policing as wrongdoing, assign responsibility (shame wrongdoers), specify the reasons for responsibility (demand answers), and establish the appropriate punishment (enforcement). Dominant frames determine the outcome of discussions

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on each issue. If dominant frames do not view repressive protest policing as wrongdoing or are hazy on responsibility, or both, then state actors with discretion over how to manage protests may err in favor of repressive protest policing because such an approach resonates as the appropriate response. The chapters in this book that outline police experts’ frames for understanding repressive protest policing provide us with a window into the discursive context of such choices (chapters 4 and 8). The dominant frames used by these actors, unfiltered by the media, highlight political and police knowledge of what is expected of them. Most importantly, is the repression of protests wrongdoing? In the case of Argentina, the dominant frame is that the repression of protests is indeed wrongdoing. The frame draws on the historical frame that rejects the human rights abuses of dictatorship. It also gains resonance from current events such as the excessive repression of protests during the 2001-2002 political and economic crisis. Although it could be argued that nonrepressive protest policing in Argentina is a national government policy, rather than simply a discursive frame, the discursive frame matters. In an interview with a Buenos Aires Provincial Police (BAPP) officer, the officer noted the expectation that police are not to repress protests. Yet the national government policy on nonrepressive protest policing is applicable to federal police forces (Argentine Federal Police, Gendarmería, and the Border Patrol [Prefectura]), not provincial police. The BAPP officer was repeating a dominant frame on protest policing, not simply policy. Thus it is understood that officially repressive protest policing is not acceptable. There is discursive accountability on this issue; if police use repression or other state leaders order them to do so, they know they are violating this norm and, therefore, will likely be more cautious in making this choice. Indeed, in 2007, the governor of the province of Neuquén, Jorge Sobisch, ignored this dominant frame and supported the police repression of a teacher protest in his province. A protester, Carlos Fuentealba, was killed. An officer fired a tear gas canister into the back seat of a car that was leaving the protest. Fuentealba was in the back seat. Then President Néstor Kirchner criticized the governor for using repression. Sobisch’s open defiance of the dominant frame on protest policing contributed to the end of his political alliance with Mauricio Macri (Mayor of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires) and his presidential aspirations (see Bonner 2009b). In contrast, the dominant frame in Chile is that the repression of protests is legitimate. It is legitimate because it supports public order, it

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is targeted, and protesters are violent. The frame itself, and its justifications, draw on historical experience that makes these claims resonate in the Chilean context. Current events are interpreted as consistent with historical experience. Discursive accountability in the case of Chile favors state actors using their discretion in support of repressive protest policing. In addition, identifying protest policing frames from interviews with police experts facilitates a robust analysis of counterframes that may or may not appear in the media. These counterframes allow us to understand the completeness of dominant frames and the possibilities for change in the dominant frame. That is, dominant frames are often enduring but are not static. In the case of Argentina, counterframes reveal that, while repressive protest policing is officially rejected, responsibility for it is obfuscated. Discursive accountability is incomplete. Counterframes indicate that there are moments when repressive protest policing will be tolerated. In particular, it is understood that small protests and protests without political protection can be repressed. More importantly, state actors can use repressive protest policing when responsibility for it can be shifted to someone else. Political leaders, police, and the judiciary can pass blame among themselves, facilitating their discursive support for nonrepressive protest policing while simultaneously providing opportunities for its continuation. The identification of this counterframe assists in identifying where the challenges to the dominant frame lie. Argentina’s politicized media contribute to the obfuscation of responsibility by placing blame strategically. At the same time, these pluralistic media may provide opportunities for well-organized political and social movement actors, who use frame repetition and key events to challenge discourses that obfuscate responsibility. They can offer clarity as to who is to be held accountable for repressive protest policing, why, and how. In Chile, such obfuscation of responsibility is not necessary because repression is deemed legitimate by dominant frames. However, counterframes draw our attention to discourses that question this legitimacy. The counterframes do not resonate as strongly as dominant frames as they are not historically consistent and the people who use them (mostly, but not exclusively, social movement actors) are often not deemed to be credible sources, especially by the media. Yet the existence of these counterframes and their repetition could, over time, contribute to increased discursive accountability that favors nonrepressive protest policing.

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Thus identifying frames is important to discursive accountability. It reveals the discursive context in which choices are made on how to manage protests. It allows us to see if repressive protest policing is considered wrongdoing or not in a given society and why this is the case. The frames clarify who is deemed responsible (and thus who will be shamed and possibly punished) and why they are thought to be responsible (and thus what they will have to answer for). The frames also provide an idea of the scope of discursive accountability. Is accountability limited to the labeling of wrongdoing or does it include the assigning of responsibility as well? Finally, disentangling dominant and counterframes reveals the possibilities of and limitations to change and the building of greater discursive accountability. Media

Media are important for discursive accountability and the resonance (or not) of frames on protest policing. They provide a forum for debate, and as such they both transmit and construct frames. The literature on protest policing has shown that, when the media favor a civil-rights over a lawand-order frame, police repression of protests is reduced. As chapters 5 and 9 explain, the emergence of one frame dominating over the other in the media is in part the result of the media environment and practices. Pluralistic media that include protesters as authoritative sources and are wary of police stage-managing tends to lead to greater discursive accountability. Political ideology can affect media’s preference for a law-and-order versus a civil-rights frame for understanding protest policing. Thus media pluralism promotes debate between media on these frames. In the case of Argentina, media are much more pluralistic than in Chile. In Chile, the dictatorship, and Concertación government that followed, favored a market-based media with significant subsidies for right-wing media. An agenda-setting right-wing duopoly has emerged that is supportive of the police, the neoliberal economic model, and a law-andorder frame for understanding protest policing. In contrast, in Argentina, media are pluralistic. The agenda-setting national daily newspapers represent the political spectrum and, by so doing, encourage debate on how to frame protest policing. That said, the media in Argentina are also very politicized. Media tend to be for or against Peronism and, in their current form, Presidents Kirchner and Fernández de Kirchner. The politicization of media in Argentina contributes to even greater debate as right-wing media that might be expected to support a law-and-order frame for protest policing support a civil-rights frame if the protest is, as

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they say, anti-K. However, in these cases, blame may be attributed strategically, contributing to the obfuscation of responsibility. Journalists’ sources also matter to discursive accountability. The literature on protest policing argues that, when police and political leaders are the primary or sole authoritative sources, the media tend to reproduce a law-and-order frame. It becomes less likely that police and political leaders will be held to account for repressive protest policing or that their action will be considered wrongdoing. This is the case in Chile. The choice of journalists not to view civil-society sources as authoritative is supported by historical biases and, arguably, the lack of statistical information these organizations have to provide journalists. In contrast, in Argentina, civil-society actors are important authoritative sources. In part, this status is historical. The human rights movement in Argentina has maintained itself as an important authoritative source on the dictatorship. In addition, many journalists hold biases against or fear the police. But, perhaps more significant for protest policing, social movement organizations working on police violence have been able to position themselves as important sources by providing information that strengthens journalists’ stories and cannot be found elsewhere. When journalists use nonpolice sources, especially those from civil society, they provide these voices credibility and inclusion in the debate regarding how to frame acceptable protest policing. This credibility, combined with repetition, contributes to the resonance of the frames used by civil-society organizations. Thus a diversity of journalists’ sources increases opportunities for discursive accountability. Finally, it matters for discursive accountability if and how police stage-manage events. In the case of Argentina, police do not stagemanage events. On the one hand, not stage-managing may undermine police legitimacy in Argentina. The police do not have the opportunity to clearly provide their side of the story and journalists do not benefit from information that the police could provide. Moreover, if the lack of stage-managing is the result of police not caring about their image, as some interviewees suggested, then the effectiveness of shaming police (an aspect of discursive accountability) may be reduced. On the other hand, limited police stage-managing gives journalists considerable freedom to cover protests as they wish and speak to a wide array of people at the event. It contributes to the variety of voices heard in the media on the issue of protest policing and, ultimately, to the dominance of a civil-rights frame and discursive accountability. In Chile, the police do capitalize on their status as an authoritative source and stage-manage protest policing coverage. Many of the

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techniques they employ parallel those that have been adopted by police in established democracies since the 1980s (e.g., Mawby 2002). For example, Police Commissioner Robert Mark of the London Metropolitan Police (1972-1977) advocated tactics for improving police image such as “winning by appearing to lose,” an example being the media showing injured police at protests and thus garnering sympathy for the difficult work of police (Mawby 2002: 24). The emergence of police image work in Britain, the US, and Canada has raised concerns among scholars regarding its impact on accountability (Mawby 2002:190; Mawby 2010: 1061; Lovell 2003: 151). These concerns are relevant for Chile as well. Unlike in Argentina, police in Chile care about their image and protests are a key moment of public relations. If dominant frames shift in favor of a civil-rights frame, this concern for their image could be good for discursive accountability. Police might change their practices to correspond with the new frame. However, police stage-managing of protests presents significant impediments to a shift in the dominant frames. Police image work can bring legitimacy to the police but not necessarily accountability. Pivotal Protests

Pivotal protests contribute to discursive accountability by challenging dominant frames. Dominant frames are enduring. They resonate because they are familiar. They draw on historical frames, and those who use them are usually credible speakers. They are comforting in times of uncertainty because they provide a sense of stability. Yet sometimes current events undermine dominant frames. These are pivotal events because, as the social movement literature calls it, they provide political opportunities for counterframes to gain resonance. In the cases examined in this book, pivotal events changed dominant frames that support repressive protest policing. They did so by creating debate over whether these were cases of wrongdoing, who was responsible, why, and how they should be held accountable. In the case of Argentina, discursive accountability in response to the Pueyrredón Bridge protest was substantial. The dominant frame that emerged clearly viewed the incident as wrongdoing, without justifications, and institutional mechanisms of accountability were called upon, including trials, electoral defeats, and a national government policy change in favor of nonrepressive protest policing. The case study examined in chapter 6 reveals a number of factors that contributed to the discursive accountability that emerged.

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First, the Pueyrredón Bridge incident resonated as police wrongdoing through an accumulation of other recent and historical events that had also questioned police violence. As chapter 3 shows, police in Argentina came out of the dictatorship disgraced for their participation in human rights abuses. Then in the 1990s, police were exposed in media reports for their persistent and new participation in violence and corruption. Finally, recent events, especially police repression of protests during the political and economic crisis in December 2001, were framed as police wrongdoing. The Pueyrredón Bridge incident was then the proverbial last straw. Discursive accountability is accumulative, and this was a peak in a long shift in the dominant frame. Second, media practices affected discursive accountability. The voices heard in dominant media reports on the event represented a broad spectrum of society and emphasized protesters over the police. Protesters, more than police, were credible sources for journalists. This credibility provided resonance to protesters’ civil-rights frames for understanding protest policing. As the literature on protest policing shows, and this case study confirms, the less journalists rely on police as authoritative sources, the more likely a civil-rights frame on protest policing will emerge. Clarín’s acceptance of civil-society actors as authoritative sources stems, in part, from human rights organizations’ role in the dictatorship and the unreliability of police as sources. Third, discursive accountability is provided through debate. The dominant frame that emerges in media reports establishes protest policing on Pueyrredón Bridge as wrongdoing, identifies the wrongdoers as the police and political leaders (not protesters), specifies the acts of wrongdoing, and activates mechanisms of institutional accountability. Although most of the focus of the articles is on the death of the two protesters (in particular, the individualizing of wrongdoing to the officers who fired the guns), broader issues also were taken seriously. Wrongdoing included general police repression of the protest and political leadership orchestrating the repression. Consequently, mechanisms of accountability discussed included not only individualized responses such as resignations and judicial action but also legislative commissions and institutional change. These three points contrast with the Chilean case. First, the 2006 student protest was important, not because it was the culmination of other attempts at discursive accountability, but rather because it was the first time since the dictatorship that repressive protest policing was significantly questioned. Thus the discursive accountability in this case is much more limited than that in the Argentine case, but it highlights

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the importance of a first event and the dynamics that make it possible. Historical frames and the authoritative sources used by mainstream media in Chile favor repressive protest policing. The fact that the 2006 student protest questioned this “reality” is significant. Indeed, during the 2011 student protests, even more attention was paid by the media and social movements to the issue of repressive protest policing. Second, a change in media practices favored the emergence of discursive accountability. As we saw in chapter 9, media practices in Chile support a law-and-order frame for protest policing. The mainstream media are dominated by a conservative media duopoly that supports the police and holds biases against protesters, especially those who challenge neoliberalism. Their biases against protesters and support for repressive protest policing resonate with the public as historically consistent. From this starting point then, media practices in Chile do not view protesters as authoritative sources and instead favor the police. In turn, the police are skilled at stage-managing media coverage of protest policing to their benefit. Given this context, the 2006 student protest was significant in that, for the first time since the dictatorship, students became credible sources. This credibility contributed to the resonance of the frames they used. Although the coverage of students in El Mercurio attempts to minimize the quantity and importance of their voice, their very inclusion in these articles is a significant accomplishment. Albeit minimally, students were able to hold police and political leaders discursively accountable in the most important agenda-setting newspaper in Chile — one resistant to printing what they had to say. Political leaders and the police had to respond (answerability). Finally, discursive accountability is found in debates on the keys issues. The dominant frame, which emerges throughout the articles in El Mercurio on the 2006 student protest, presents police repression of the protest as wrongdoing and the Carabineros as responsible. Given the respect (or fear) Chileans have for the police, the fact that their actions would be questioned in El Mercurio and by political leaders is an important change. Regardless of the outcomes of trials, the 2006 student protest showed it was possible to hold the Carabineros at least discursively accountable. To be sure, the discursive accountability was limited, as were the institutional mechanisms of accountability advocated. Accountability was individualized, particularly to officers who could be dismissed. The significance of the wrongdoing, and thus the need for accountability, were minimized through justifications that blamed protesters. While discourses blaming protesters in Argentina were categorically rejected in the media, this was not the case in Chile. In this way, discursive accountability was tempered. However, a

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repetition of similar incidents and corresponding attempts at discursive accountability, such as that which happened during student protests in 2011 and protests in the Chilean region of Aysén in 2012, could lead to more significant change resembling the 2002 Argentine case. Discursive accountability is accumulative. There is no question that the management of protests is challenging in all countries. The possibility that repressive protest policing is more likely in new democracies than established democracies is not a reason to accept it as a “stage” of democratization — it might not be. Despite electoral democracy, violence in Latin America appears to be enduring. Yet the boundaries of democracy are not predetermined or static. It is important how protest policing is framed as it reflects the contours of societies’ acceptance of the right to protest and the use of state repression. The concept of discursive accountability provides a framework for understanding the possibilities and limitations for changes to protest policing. 1

Interview with Víctor Salas. Santiago. July 2, 2009. Ibid. 3 Reporteros Sin Fronteras, August 20, 2009, “Identifican por fin al Carabinero que agredió al fotógrafo Víctor Salas mientras nadie pone fin a la violencia policial.” URL: http://es.rsf.org/chile-identifican-por-fin-alcarabinero-20-08-2009,34250.html [last accessed September 29, 2011] 4 Emol (El Mercurio online), January 27, 2012, “Juez militar condena Carabinero que hirió en un ojo a fotógrafo durante protesta.” URL: http://www.emol.com/noticias/nacional/2012/01/27/523598/fiscalia-militarcondena-a-carabinero-que-hirio-en-el-ojo-a-fotografo-durante-protesta.html [last accessed June 29, 2012] 5 El Ciudadano, August 26, 2011, “Carabineros no iniciará investigación interna por joven asesinado en Macul.” URL: http://www.elciudadano.cl/ 2011/08/26/carabineros-no-iniciara-investigacion-interna-por-joven-asesinadoen-macul/ (last accessed September 29, 2011) 6 El Mostrador, August 27, 2011, “Instituto de DD.HH. critica reacción de Carabineros ante muerte de joven.” URL: http://www.elmostrador.cl/noticias/ pais/2011/08/27/instituto-de-dd-hh-critica-reaccion-de-carabineros-ante-muertede-joven/ (last accessed September 29, 2011). 2

Appendix 1: Repressive Protest Policing in Post-Authoritarian Latin America

It is not an easy task to determine how many people have been injured or killed by police during protests in Latin America since the return of electoral democracy or the end of civil wars. Official sources, such as the police, do not collect this information. In the table below I provide some tentative numbers based on a review of the annual reports of Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and the US State Department from 1980 to 2011. Only the post-authoritarian or post-civil war periods are included. The numbers here are likely very low for reasons I explain in chapter 2. For example, NGOs in Argentina and Chile that collect this information report that the number of protester deaths in Argentina during this period is in fact 60 (not 39) and in Chile it is 12 (not 8).

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Table 11.1: Repression of Protests in Post-Authoritarian Latin America (1980-2011) Civilian Injuries

Civilian Deaths

Total

Argentina (1983-2011)

511

39

550

Bolivia (1982-2011)

1677

237

1914

Brazil (1985-2011)

844

85

929

Chile (1990-2011)

267

8

275

Costa Rica (1980-2011)

55

3

58

Ecuador (1980-2011)

650

35

685

El Salvador (1992-2011)

59

6

65

Guatemala (1996-2011)

32

4

36

Honduras (1982-2011)

296

24

320

Mexico (2000-2011)

162

31

193

Nicaragua (1990-2011)

313

36

349

Panama (1980-2011)

2227

20

2247

Peru (1980-2011)

724

23

747

Paraguay (1989-2011)

654

56

710

Uruguay (1985-2011)

60

1

61

5382

397

5779

13,913

1,005

14,918

Country

Venezuela (1980-2011) Total

Sources: Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and US State Department human rights reports 1980-2011.

Appendix 2: Interviews

Argentina Political actors (state and civil society)

Political Leaders and Administrators Luis Alén, PJ, Subsecretario de Prevención Derechos Humanos, Secretaria de Derechos Humanos Ministry of Justice and Human Rights, Buenos Aires, November 9, 2009 Anonmyous, civil servant who had led police reform, Buenos Aires, November 11, 2009 León Arslanian, PJ, former Minister of Security for the Province of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, November 11, 2009 Hugo Bauché, UCR, secretary for the Commission on Rights and Guarantees, National Senate, Buenos Aires, December 15, 2009 Ricardo Dios, Head of Urban Security, Defensoría del Pueblo (Ombudsman’s Office), Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, December 2, 2009 Mariano Gondar, Procuración General de la Nación, Director of Department of Communications (founding director), Buenos Aires, December 15, 2009 Julia Kenny, Procuración General de la Nación, Department of Communications, (also worked in communications in the Secretary of Interior Security under Norberto Quantín), Buenos Aires, December 15, 2009 Gustavo Lesbergueris, Defensor adjunto del pueblo 2001-2008 and Head of the Area of Rights Education, Defensoría del Pueblo 217

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(Ombudsman’s Office), Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, December 2, 2009 Norberto Quantín, retired fiscal (prosecutor), Secretary of Interior Security (2003-2004), Ministry of Justice and Human Rights, Buenos Aires, December 9, 2009 Police Virginia Gamba, an advisor to the minister assigned for 2009 to be in charge of the start-up of the ISSP (training center for the Metropolitan Police), Buenos Aires, November 18, 2009 Héctor García, PRO, Jefe de Gabinete, Metropolitan Police, Ministry of Justice and Security, Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, November 13 and 18, 2009 Sub-Oficial Mario Krizán, Assistant Director (Segundo Jefe) of the Division of Institutional Diffusion, Department of Communications, Argentine Federal Police (PFA), Buenos Aires, December 9, 2009 José Luis Lamanna, head of communications for the Metropolitan Police, Ministry of Justice and Security, Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires, November 13, 18, and 26, 2009 (Rubén) Fabián Perroni, District Chief of Lomas de Zamora, Buenos Aires Provincial Police, Lomas de Zamora, Province of Buenos Aires, November 25, 2009 Gustavo Pucheta, Head of the Police Training Division (División de Formación de Oficiales), Metropolitan Police, Buenos Aires, November 26, 2009 Marcelo Saín, PJ, professor (University of Quilmes), head of the Airport Security Police (foundation to 2009), Martínez, Province of Buenos Aires, November 10, 2009Comisario Inspector Sebastián Seggio, Head of the Communications Department, Argentine Federal Police (PFA), Buenos Aires, December 7, 2009 Nahuel Suárez, dismissed corporal, Buenos Aires Provincial Police, Buenos Aires, December 3, 2009 Luis Vicat, retired officer (Internal Affairs), Buenos Aires Provincial Police, Buenos Aires, November 16, 2009

Appendix 2: Interviews

219

Civil Society Anonymous, Ecumenical Human Rights Movement (MEDH), Buenos Aires, November 6, 2009 Juan Carlos Blumberg, Axel Blumberg Foundation, Buenos Aires, November 17, 2009 Sergio Burstein, member, Relatives and Friends of Victims of the AMIA Attack, November 25, 2009 Gisela Cardozo, Media Commission for the Permanent Human Rights Assembly (APDH), Buenos Aires, November 5, 2009 Luis D’Elía, leader of Frente Tierra y Vivienda (Land and Housing Front), pro-Kirchner piquetero organization, November 16, 2009 Hernán Domingo Del Gaizo, Sergio Burstein’s lawyer in his case against the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires regarding his phones being tapped by the head of the yet established Metropolitan Police, Buenos Aires, November 25, 2009 Gerardo Echeverri, lawyer, Argentine League for the Rights of Men and the Antirepressive Coordinator of the Rights of the People (CADeP), Buenos Aires, November 24, 2009 Elsa Gómez, prosecretario, Mothers of Pain Association (Madres del Dolor), Buenos Aires, December 14, 2009 Ana (María) F. Herren, lawyer for COFAVI, Buenos Aires, November 26, 2009 Carina López, area of communications, Darío Santillán Popular Front, non-Kirchner piquetero organization, Buenos Aires, November 18, 2009 Gloria Martínez, member of Network of Mothers and Relatives of Drug Victims (known widely, to their dislike, as Madres del Paco [Mothers of Crack]), Buenos Aires, November 12, 2009 Alba Medina, member of COFAVI, Buenos Aires, December 3, 2009 Ernesto Moreau, Secretary of the Criminal and Security Policy Commission, co-President, Permanent Human Rights Assembly (APDH), Buenos Aires, December 14, 2009 Marcela Perelman, Director of Area of Institutional Violence and Citizen Security, Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS), Buenos Aires, May 24, 2006 Viviam Perrone, President, Mothers of Pain Association (Madres del Dolor), Buenos Aires, December 14, 2009

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Luciana Pol, responsible for Institutional Violence database, Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS), Buenos Aires, May 24, 2006 Gustavo Rivas, member of COFAVI, Buenos Aires, December 3, 2009 María Teresa Schnack de Schiavini, founder and president of Relatives of Defenceless Victims of Social Violence Commission (COFAVI), Buenos Aires, November 26 and December 3, 2009 Máximo Sozzo, Sociology and Criminology Professor, Litoral National University (Santa Fe, Argentina), Buenos Aires, June 1, 2006 Sofía Tiscornia, Director of Area of Institutional Violence and Citizen Security, Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS), Buenos Aires, December 10, 2009 Verónica Torras, Director of Communications, Center for Legal and Social Studies (CELS), Buenos Aires, December 14, 2009 María del Carmen Verdú, President of National Coordinator Against Police and Institutional Repression (Correpi), Buenos Aires, November 6, 2009 Mabel E. Yapur, member of COFAVI, Buenos Aires, November 26, 2009 Journalists

Gabriel Di Nicola, La Nación, Buenos Aires, December 3, 2009 Damián Fernández Pedemonte, Communications Professor, Austral University, Buenos Aires, November 27, 2009 Gustavo Granero, Argentine Federation of Press Workers (FATPREN), Buenos Aires, November 19, 2009 Sebastián Hacher, Miradas al Sur, Buenos Aires, November 26, 2009 Gustavo Hazán, director of reality television shows “Policías en Acción” (Police in Action) and “Cárceles” (Prisons), Buenos Aires, November 11, 2009 Norberto Lamelas, Informe Reservado, Buenos Aires, December 4, 2009 Pepe Mateos, Clarín, Buenos Aires, November 9, 2009 Virginia Messi, Clarín, Buenos Aires, November 24, 2009 Daniel Parcero, Argentine Federation of Press Workers (FATPREN), Buenos Aires, November 19, 2009

Appendix 2: Interviews

221

Facundo Pastor, journalist/host of “Documentos América”, television channel América 2, Buenos Aires, December 7, 2009 Ricardo Ragendorfer, Miradas al Sur, Buenos Aires, November 3, 2009 María (Helena) Ripetta, Crítica, Buenos Aires, December 1, 2009 Carlos Rodríguez, Página/12, Buenos Aires, December 1, 2009 Horacio Verbitsky, Página/12, Buenos Aires, November 30, 2009 Chile Political actors (state and civil society)

Political Leaders and Administrators Anonymous, Chile’s Indigenous Development Corporation (CONADI), Santiago, June 25, 2009 Anonymous, Communications Department, National Prosecutors of the Public Ministry, Santiago, July 15, 2009 Anonymous, member of the Chilean Christian Democratic Party, Santiago, July 6, 2009 Anonymous, member of the National Renovation Party, Santiago, July 7, 2009 Anonymous, Ministry of the Interior, Communications, Santiago, June 18, 2009 Mario Bugueño, Citizen Security Commission, Chilean Socialist Party, Santiago, July 1, 2009 Nelson Caucoto, lawyer, Judicial Assistance Corporation (CAJ), Santiago, June 23, 2009 Catalina Céspedes, Ministry of the Interior, Public Security Division, Santiago, June 17, 2009 José Luis Cordoba, Director of Communications, Chilean Communist Party, Santiago, June 30, 2009 Police José Ch. Mora Quevedo, Carabinero (R) and Journalist, Departamento de Comunicaciones, Carabineros de Chile, Santiago, June 19, 2009 Juan Alejandro Sierra Deramond, Coronel de Carabineros (R), Journalist, Director of Radio Carabineros de Chile, Santiago, June 19, 2009

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Patricio Tudela, Citizen Security, Chilean Investigative Police, telephone interview, Victoria, Canada-Santiago, Chile, July 21, 2009 Civil Society Martín Abregú, Ford Foundation, Santiago, June 5, 2006 Anonymous, Center for Justice Studies of the Americas, Santiago, June 30, 2009 Anonymous, Codepu, Santiago, June 10, 2009 Anonymous, Center for Development Studies (CED), Santiago, June 18, 2009 Anonymous, Center for Development Studies (CED), Santiago, June 18, 2009 Luis Cortés, Lawyer, Fundación de Ayuda Social de la Iglesias Cristianas (FASIC), Santiago, June 9, 2009 Lucía Dammert, Director ‘Security and Citizenship’ program, Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences (FLACSO-Chile), Santiago, June 6, 2006, and June 9, 2009 Mauricio Duce, lawyer, law faculty, Diego Portales University, Santiago, June 16, 2009 Mayra Feddersen, Human Rights Center, Diego Portales University, Santiago, June 22, 2009 Hugo Frühling, Center for Studies in Citizen Security (CESC), Santiago, June 6, 2006 and June 8, 2009 Claudio Fuentes, Diego Portales University, Santiago, June 22, 2009 Federico Huneeus, President of the Student Federation of Chile (FECH) for 2008-2009, Santiago, June 17, 2009 Sergio Laurenti, Amnesty International–Chilean Section, Santiago, June 16, 2009 Domingo Lovera, Human Rights Center, Diego Portales University, Skype (Toronto-Victoria, Canada), October 3, 2011 Alejandra Mohor, Center for Studies in Citizen Security (CESC), Santiago, June 10, 2009 Helena Olea, Corporación Humana, Santiago, June 19, 2009 Danae Prado, Colegio de Profesores, Santiago, July 15, 2009 Isabel Retamal, Paz Ciudadana, Santiago, June 12, 2009 Andrea Sanhueza, Corporación Participa, Santiago, June 23, 2009 Osvaldo Vásquez Rossoni, Corporación Opción, Santiago, July 1, 2009

Appendix 2: Interviews

223

César Zagal, a leader of ANDHA Chile a Luchar, Santiago, June 25, 2009 Journalists

Paulina Acevedo, journalist, communications for Observatorio Ciudadana, Santiago, June 15, 2009 Pedro Anguita, lawyer, professor, School of Journalism, University Alberto Hurtado, June 24, 2009 Anonymous, Asuntos Públicos (web based), June 18, 2009 Anonymous, former El Mercurio journalist, July 2, 2009 Anonymous, The Clinic (formally at La Tercera, El Mercurio, Megavisón, La Hora, Metropolitano, Siete + 7, Siete), Santiago, July 3, 2009 Mauricio Becerral, El Ciudadano (formally at El Mercurio), Santiago, June 26, 2009 Manuel Cotapos, editor programa ‘133’, Megavisión (TV), Santiago, June 12, 2009 Jorge Escalante, La Nación, Santiago, June 15, 2009 Claudia Lagos, journalist and author of El Díario de Augustín, professor, School of Journalism, University of Chile, Santiago, June 26, 2009 Jorge Molina, El Mostrador (formally La Nación), July 3, 2009 Angela Poblete, Policías en Acción & Cárceles, Chilevisión (TV), Santiago, June 11, 2009 Pedro Ramírez Pinto, CIPER Chile (formally at Radio Chilena, Hoy, La Nación, ¿Qué Pasa?, Las Últimas Noticias, Siete + 7, Siete), Santiago, July 14, 2009 Víctor Salas, photojournalist, Agencia EFE (Chile) (formally La Nación), July 2, 2009 Abraham Santibáñez, President of the Journalists’ College of Chile, Santiago, June 9, 2009 Francisca Skoknic Galdames, CIPER Chile (formally at Siete + 7, El Mercurio, El Mostrador, ¿Qué Pasa?), Santiago, July 14, 2009

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Online Sources CIPER Chile Clarín (Argentina) El Ciudadano (Chile) El Mercurio (Chile) El Mostrador (Chile) Instituto Verificador de Circulaciones La Nación (Chile) La Nación (Argentina) Página/12 (Argentina) Radio Cooperativa

http://www.ciperchile.cl http://www.clarin.com http://www.elciudadano.cl http:www.emol.cl http://www.elmostrador.cl http://www.ivc.org.ar http://www.lanacion.cl http://www.lanacion.com.ar http://www.pagina12.com.ar http://www.cooperativa.cl

Index AMIA. See Argentine Israelite Mutual Association APDH. See Permanent Human Rights Assembly Accountability: democratic, 24, 27, 31; horizontal, 24-26, 28; social, 25-26, 28; vertical, 25. See also Discursive accountability; Institutional accountability; Mechanisms of accountability Alfonsín, Raúl, 53-54, 55, 88 Alianza (political coalition, Chile), 130, 137 Allende, Salvador, 124, 126, 153, 160-161 Amnesty International, 21, 88, 90, 131, 133, 215 Andha. See National Association of Housing Debtors Antirepressive Coordinator for the Rights of the People (Coordinadora Antirrepresiva por los Derechos del Pueblo – CADeP), 72, 76, 79 Argentine Federal Police (Policía Federal Argentina – PFA), 4, 3965, 72, 76, 79, 90, 93, 206-207; Special Forces, 77; communications department, 4, 96 Argentine Israelite Mutual Association (Asociación Mutual Israelita de Argentina – AMIA), 55, 58, 64n Argentine League for the Rights of Man (La Liga Argentina por los Derechos del Hombre), 72, 79 Argentine National Gendarmerie (Gendarmería Nacional Argentina – GN), 46, 60, 63n, 72, 96, 101, 207 Arslanián, León, 62-63, 114 Authoritarian legacies, 3, 11, 19

BAPP. See Buenos Aires Provincial Police Bachelet, Michelle, 22, 130, 132, 137, 186, 189, 197 Bernales Ramírez, José Alejandro, 192, 194 Block Watch Plan (Plan Cuadrante), 136-137 Blumberg, Axel. See Blumberg, Juan Carlos Blumberg, Juan Carlos, 61-62 Brukman factory. See protests Buenos Aires Provincial Police (BAPP), 39-65, 74-78, 89, 93, 96, 101, 105-114, 205 CADeP. See Antirepressive Coordinator for the Rights of the People CAJ. See Judicial Assistance Corporation CED. See Centre for Development Studies CELS. See Centre for Legal and Social Studies CIPER. See Centre of Journalistic Research and Information CODEPU. See Corporation for the Promotion and Defense of People’s Rights CONADEP. See National Commission on the Disappearance of People CONADI. See Indigenous Development Corporation COPESA. See Chilean Newspaper Consortium Correpi. See National Coordinator against Police and Institutional Repression CSN. See National Security Council Cabezas, José Luis, 55, 88-89 Carabineros: Grupo Móvil, 125-127; Special Forces, 127, 132, 174, 190, 194

243

244

Index

Carabineros Communications Directorate (Dirección de Comunicaciones de Carabineros – DICOMCAR), 139n Center for Development Studies (Centro de Estudios del Desarrollo – CED), 146 Center for Legal and Social Studies (Centro de Estudios Legales y Sociales – CELS), 53, 61, 68, 72, 90, 130, 169, 176; as an authoritative source, 94, 178; collection of statistics by, 37n, 65n, 94, 132 Center for Journalistic Research and Information (Chile)(Centro de Investigación e Información Periodística – CIPER), 157, 168170, 173 Chilean National Commission on Truth and Reconciliation (the Rettig Commission), 128-129, 137n Chilean Newspaper Consortium (Consorcio Periodístico de Chile – COPESA), 14, 156, 160, 162 Christian Democratic Party (Chile) (Partido Democracia Cristiana – DC), 128, 144, 146-147, 149, 179, 187, 192 Citizen Observatory (Observatorio Ciudandana), 145, 175 Citizen Peace (Paz Ciudadano), 135 Citizen security, 135, 144, 166, 185186, 189 Civil rights, 8-9, 14, 26, 63, 84, 98, 157, 170 Clarín, 60, 83-90, 93-97, 102-114, 115n, 184-186, 212 Class (social class): in Argentina, 4344, 56, 61, 67, 86, 90-92, 105; in Chile, 121, 123, 125, 129, 138, 149, 170 Communist Party of Chile (Partido Comunista de Chile – PC), 124, 128, 151, 159, 184 Community policing, 55, 136 Concertación, 129-130, 146-148, 159, 163-165, 178n, 197, 209

Corporation for the Promotion and Defense of People’s Rights (Corporación de Promoción y Defensa de los Derechos del Pueblo – CODEPU), 150 Corruption: in Argentina, 54-55, 57, 61-62, 88, 212; in Chile, 122; of police, 22, 54-55, 57, 61-62, 88, 122, 212 Crime: fear of, 64n, 137; statistics on, 51, 55, 58-59, 114, 142 Criminalization of protest: in Argentina, 4, 57, 61, 68, 77-79, 91; in Chile, 142, 145-148, 168170, 187 DC. See Christian Democratic Party DICOMCAR. See Carabineros Communications Directorate DINA. See National Intelligence Directorate Day of the Young Combatant, 131, 141, 150-151, 153, 175 December 2001 protests (Argentina). See protests De la Rúa, Fernando, 58-59 Democratic policing, 29, 31 Democratization, 2, 20, 24, 31, 52, 62, 125, 214 Diego Portales Human Rights Centre, 37n, 131-133, 143 Dirty War, 50-53, 63 Discursive accountability: and Argentinian media, 69-70, 84, 101-103, 209-211; and Chilean media, 157-158, 177, 183-188, 193, 197-199, 209-211; comparison in Argentina and Chile, 205-214; definition of, 19, 24-28; and police knowledge, 2931 Duhalde, Eduardo, 58-62, 73, 77, 89, 101, 105-107, 109-111, 114-115 ERP. See People’s Revolutionary Party Edicts, 42, 55-56, 58 Edwards, Augustín, 159-161, 187 El Mercurio, 14, 126, 137, 158-165, 168-171, 178n, 183-199, 213 Escalated force, 2, 6, 8, 143. See also protests

Index 245

FASIC. See Social Assistance Foundation of the Christian Churches FECh. See Student Federation of Chile FTV. See Land and Housing Front Falcón, Colonel Ramón, 43-44 Fear: in Argentina, 85, 87; in Chile, 137-138, 141, 147, 152, 160, 163, 168, 175; of crime/criminals, 64n, 137; of protests, 128, 141, 147, 152, 191-192; of the state, 11, 20, 85, 87, 160, 163, 168, 175 Fear of police: 23, 33; in Argentina, 12, 52, 96, 210; in Chile, 128, 138, 191, 195, 213 Fernández de Kirchner, Cristina, 6163, 71, 73-74, 76, 86, 92, 209 Fuentes, Claudio, 119, 134, 143 GN. See Argentine National Gendarmerie Gatillo fácil, 53, 55, 59-61, 91, 94 Human rights, 23, 29, 77, 86, 99n, 119; activists, 128, 155n, movements, 39, 52, 70, 74, 88, 90, 206, 210; reports, 17n, 21, 131-132. See also Human rights abuses; Human rights organizations Human rights abuses: in Argentina, 34, 52-54, 57, 62, 70, 88, 206207, 212; in Chile, 124, 129, 131, 134, 138, 146, 161 Human rights organizations: 212; in Argentina, 53, 61-62, 72; in Chile, 128, 130-131, 139n, 142, 150, 171, 192-193 Human Rights Watch, 17n, 21, 90, 99n, 131, 133, 159, 166, 215-216 Ibáñez del Campo, Carlos, 120, 122123 Independent Democrat Union (Chile) (Unión Democrata Independiente – UDI), 182, 194 Indigenous Development Corporation (Chile) (Comisión Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena – CONADI), 149, 168 Indigenous people(s), 45, 120, 149, 168. See also Mapuche

Indoamericano Park. See Parque Indoamericano Insecurity, 59, 61, 91-92, 94 Institutional accountability 28, 68-69, 112-115, 157, 183, 186, 198. See also Mechanisms of accountability Investigative Police of Chile (Policía de Investigaciones de Chile – PDI), 133, 144, 203 Journalist practices, 10, 15-16, 28, 36-37, 204-205, 209-213; in Argentina, 16, 36, 84-85, 90, 98, 102, 115; in Chile, 16, 36, 158, 167, 170, 177, 184; Judges, 13, 25-26; in Argentina, 4, 68, 79, 95, 103; in Chile, 13, 134135, 143, 187 Judicial Assistance Corporation (Corporación de Asistencia Judicial – CAJ), 135, 152 Judiciary, 4, 28, 80; in Argentina, 42, 54, 57, 68-71, 78-80, 93-95, 103106, 113, 208; in Chile, 136, 195 Kirchner, Néstor, 61-62, 68, 71-76, 86, 92, 99n, 101, 207 La Liga. See Argentine League for the Rights of Man La Nación, 12, 85-88, 92-95, 103, 115n, 159-161, 169-170, 175 La Tercera, 137, 158, 161-165, 169170, 173, 179n Land and Housing Front (Frente Tierra y Vivienda – FTV), 78, 92, 219 Law of State Security, 124, 139n, 187 Legitimacy, 5, 11-12, 18n, 128, 132, 186, 208-211 MIR. See Revolutionary Left Movement Mano dura, 3, 9-11, 55, 61, 109-112, 137, 194 Mapuche, 120, 126-127, 136-138, 141, 168-169, 176-177, 179n; targeting of, 92, 127, 148-150 Mechanisms of accountability, 3, 1214, 17, 24-26, 29; in Argentina, 68, 104, 112, 205, 211-212; in Chile, 119, 185, 191, 193-194, 213

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Index

Media: censorship, 87-88, 161, 163164, 166, 179n, 186-188; pluralism, 164, 209; police journalists, 75, 93, 171, 175, 195; politicization, 15, 85-86, 90, 98, 160, 208-209. See also Journalist practices; Media coverage of violence; Violence against journalists Media coverage of violence, 10, 36; in Argentina, 61, 83, 98, 102-105; in Chile, 133, 149, 184-185, 197198 Metropolitan Police, 62, 63n, 73, 78, 211 Militarization of the police, 47, 50, 120, 123, 127 Military: in Argentina, 15, 41-53, 58, 63, 70, 86-89, 102, 109, 121; in Chile, 120-129, 134, 141, 160163, 167, 175, 196; and protests, 15, 121-123, 128, 141. See also Military courts Military courts, 12; in Argentina, 51; in Chile, 13, 123, 134-135, 144, 166, 187, 195, 203 Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo (Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo), 52 National Association of Housing Debtors (Asociación Nacional de Deudores Habitacionales/Andha Chile a Luchar – Andha), 147, 149, 169, 176 National Commission on Political Imprisonment and Torture, 130 National Coordinator against Police and Institutional Repression (Coordinadora Contra la Represión Policial e Institucional – Correpi), 53, 57, 74, 79, 94-95, 132; as an authoritative source, 94, 178; collection of statistics by, 21, 21n, 94, 132, 171 National Intelligence Directorate (Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional – DINA), 127, 139n, 179n National Prosecutors Office, 135

National Renovation Party of Chile (Renovación Nacional – RN), 146, 151, 192, 194 National Security Council (Consejo de Seguridad Nacional – CSN), 126, 134 National security doctrine, 88 Negotiated management, 6-9, 11, 17n Neoliberalism, 19, 21-23, 37n, 67, 160, 205, 209, 213; economic consequences of, 22-23, 57, 167 Never Again (Nunca Más), 53, 99n, 102 Nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 21, 61, 65n, 94, 147, 148, 215; and accountability, 2526 Nunca Más. See Never Again OAS. See Organization of American States Organization of American States (OAS), 17n O’Donnell, Guillermo, 21, 24-25, 52 PC. See Communist Party of Chile PDI. See Investigative Police of Chile PFA. See Argentine Federal Police Página/12, 85-86, 88, 95, 98, 99n, 103 Parque Indoamericano, 62 Patron-clientelism, 15, 25 People’s Revolutionary Party (Ejército Revolucionario del Pueblo – ERP), 49, 126 Peronism, 46, 47-50, 86; antiPeronism, 47-50 Peruzzotti, Enrique, 25 Pinochet, General Augusto, 126, 129131, 138, 141, 145, 153, 161-162, 164-165 Piqueteros, 57, 60, 67-68, 74, 90-91, 95, 101, 107-113 Pirker, Juan Ángel, 54, 58 Pluralism, 164, 209 Poblaciónes. See Shantytowns Pobladores. See Popular sectors Police: corruption, 22, 54-55, 57, 6162, 88, 122, 212; culture, 30, 31, 75-77, 84, 157; discretion, 6, 11, 14, 27-29, 56, 84, 143-144, 204208; knowledge, 29-31, 35-36,

Index 247

73, 78, 154, 207; professionalization of, 40-44, 4648, 63, 122. See also Fear of police; Police autonomy; Police killings; Police reforms Police autonomy, 6, 8, 29; in Argentina, 40-42, 48-52, 63, 70, 75, 78; in Chile, 14, 120, 127, 130 Police killings, 21; in Argentina, 21, 53-55, 60, 68, 95, 105-108, 113; in Chile, 121, 124, 127 Police of the Capital, 42-43, 45-46 Police reforms, 2-3, 13-15, 21, 27-29; in Argentina, 39-40, 48-49, 5259, 62-63, 71, 84, 112-115; in Chile, 119, 133-136, 146, 157, 195 Political narratives, 31, 33, 205; and framing, 31-32 Politicization, 15, 43, 90, 98, 160, 209 Popular sectors (pobladores), 91, 125-126, 128, 138, 141, 148-149, 150-151 Popular Unity (Chile) (Unidad Popular – UP), 160-161 Prefectura, 60, 63n, 72, 96, 101, 105108, 113-114, 207 Protests: 2006 student protests (Chile), 16, 36, 132, 169, 178, 179n, 181-202, 212-213; 2011 student protests (Chile), 22, 132133, 137-138, 142-143, 152, 172, 178, 181, 203, 206, 213-214; 2012 student protests (Chile), 181, 199; antiglobalization, 8, 17n, 37n; Brukman factory, 61, 90, 97; December 2001 protests (Argentina), 1, 60, 102, 112, 212; fear of, 128, 141, 147, 152, 191192; frequency of, 14, 20-21, 57, 67, 37n; permits, 7, 142, 145-147, 149; Pueyrredón Bridge protest, 16, 36, 60-63, 77, 83, 89-93, 97, 101-116, 181, 184-186, 211-212; September 11 protests (Chile), 131, 141, 151, 153, 155n, 175; transnational, 8. See also

Criminalization of protest; Protester violence Protester violence: 6, 20, 23, 27; in Argentina, 57, 103-104, 107-113; in Chile, 128, 141, 151-153, 168169, 182, 188-192, 195 Public opinion, 9, 30-31, 37n; in Argentina, 62, 71, 78, 84; in Chile, 129, 136, 149-150, 157, 181-182, 199 Public order, 17n, 20; in Argentina, 43-44; in Chile, 120-124, 138, 139n, 143-149, 154, 162, 166, 191-196, 207 Pueyrredón Bridge (protest). See Protests RN. See National Renovation Party of Chile Radical Civic Union (Argentina) (Unión Cívica Radical – UCR), 43-44, 64n, 74 Revolutionary Left Movement (Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionario – MIR), 126, 182 Rule of law, 14, 29, 145-146, 196 SIDE. See Secretariat of State Intelligence Salas, Víctor, 1, 176, 203 Secretariat of State Intelligence (Secretaría de Inteligencia del Estado – SIDE), 50, 107, 111 September 11 protests (Chile). See protests Shantytowns, 128, 141, 147-148, 151-152, 167-169, 176-177; La Victoria, 177; Villa Francia, 141, 176-177 Smulovitz, Catalina, 25 Social Assistance Foundation of the Christian Churches (Fundación de Ayuda Social de la Iglesias Cristianas – FASIC), 171 Stange, Rodolfo, 129, 134, 173 Strikes, 43-44, 47, 121-122, 124-126, 133, 139n, 168, 183 Student Federation of Chile (Federación de Estudiantes de Chile – FECh), 147, 150, 152, 169-170 Student protests (Chile). See Protests

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Index

Students: in Argentina, 67; in Chile, 17, 123, 126, 138, 146, 171-172, 176, 213; targeting of/bias against, 120, 127, 148-150, 152153, 168-169, 175. See also entries under Protests Tilly, Charles, 20, 27n, 120 Torture, 2, 182; in Argentina, 45-49, 53, 56, 58, 60, 65n, 67, 101; in Chile, 128-129, 131, 135, 146, 167 UCR. See Radical Civic Union UDI. See Independent Democrat Union UP. See Popular Unity

Unions: in Argentina, 47, 49, 67, 104, 107; in Chile, 133, 139n, 142, 147-151, 171-172, 179n, 193, 199n Valech Report, 131 Verification of police records, 56, 58 Violence: against journalists, 1, 20, 88-90, 97, 177, 189-190, 192; authoritarian legacies of, 10-11, 19, 22, 24, 214. See also Media coverage of violence; Protester violence Youth, 54, 111, 138, 141, 148, 153, 196, 199n

About the Book

Despite the pervasiveness of electoral democracy in Latin America, the police continue to repress political protests. Why? Does the majority of the public support the repression of protests? If not, whom do they hold accountable, and how? Michelle Bonner offers a new perspective on police reform and democratic accountability by analyzing how people talk about the policing of protests in Argentina and Chile. Tracing the history of policing protests in the two countries and exploring current discourses, practices, and media coverage, she finds that talk most definitely does matter. Michelle D. Bonner is associate professor of political science at the University of Victoria Canada. She is the author of Sustaining Human Rights: Women and Argentine Human Rights Organizations.

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