The Pinochet Generation: The Chilean Military in the Twentieth Century 9780817319281, 081731928X

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1. Evolution of a Proud Tradition: Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931
2. First Years in Uniform, 1931–1945
3. The Gathering Storm: Postwar Politics and Institutional Frustration, 1945–1970
4. Intellectual and Professional Formation, 1945–1970
5. Salvador Allende and the Armed Forces, 1970–1973
6. Soldiers before Pinochetismo, 1973–1976
7. Defying the World and Restructuring the State, 1977–1981
8. Circling the Wagons: The Survival of the Pinochet Regime, 1982–1986
9. Mission Accomplished: The Transition to Protected Democracy, 1987–1990
Epilogue
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Pino­chet Generation

The Pino­chet Generation The Chilean Military in the Twentieth Century

JOHN R. BAWDEN

The University of Ala­bama Press Tuscaloosa

The University of Ala­bama Press Tuscaloosa, Ala­bama 35487-­0380 uapress.ua.edu Copyright © 2016 by the University of Ala­bama Press All rights reserved. Inquiries about reproducing material from this work should be addressed to the University of Ala­bama Press. Typeface: Garamond Manufactured in the United States of America Cover photograph: Regiment of Carabineros on horseback in a pub­lic square in Arica around 1926. (Photo courtesy of the Archivo Fotográfico, Biblioteca Nacional de Chile.) Cover design: Todd Lape/Lape Designs ∞ The paper on which this book is printed meets the minimum requirements of Ameri­can National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–1984. Cataloging-­in-­Publication data is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: 978-­0-­8173-­1928-­1 E-­ISBN: 978-­0-­8173-­9025-­9

Contents

List of Illustrations     vii Acknowledgments     ix Introduction     1 1. Evolution of a Proud Tradition: Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931     9 2. First Years in Uniform, 1931–1945     34 3. The Gathering Storm: Postwar Politics and Institutional Frustration, 1945–1970     51 4. Intellectual and Professional Formation, 1945–1970     78 5. Salvador Allende and the Armed Forces, 1970–1973     96 6. Soldiers before Pino­chetismo, 1973–1976     135 7. Defying the World and Restructuring the State, 1977–1981     164 8. Circling the Wagons: The Survival of the Pino­chet Regime, 1982–1986     183 9. Mission Accomplished: The Transition to Protected Democracy, 1987–1990     203 Epilogue     216 Notes     221 Bibliography     259 Index     277

Illustrations

FIGURES 1. Army soldiers swear allegiance to the flag, Granaderos Regiment, 1920      19 2. Royal Navy Captain Charles Burns directs the first course for general staff officers at the Naval Academy of War in 1911     21 3. General Carlos Ibáñez del Campo at the start of his first presidency in 1927     28 4. Air force officers standing in front of an amphibious Sikorsky S-­38, somewhere in the south­ern channels circa 1935     30 5. Regiment of Carabineros on horseback in a pub­lic square in Arica around 1926     32 6. Augusto Pino­chet with a group of cadets at the Military Academy around 1933     36 7. Peasant father gives an army rifle to his son, a conscript in the infantry school     47 8. View of Pisagua, an isolated port north of Iquique     55 9. Salvador Allende with his military commanders during a toast at the country’s annual military parade in Parque Cousiño, Santiago, Sep­tem­ber 19, 1971     109 10. Salvador Allende after his address to the nation, May 21, 1971     110 11. José Toribio Merino Castro, the commander in chief of the navy from 1973 to 1990     140 12. Seized arms on pub­lic display after the coup     142 13. “Let’s go Chileans! End this United Nations farce. All of Chile against the international aggression. Yes to Chile.”     166

14. Augusto Pino­chet with his successor, Patricio Aylwin Azócar     214

MAPS 1. Modern Chile     xii 2. The Tierra del Fuego archipelago     173

Acknowledgments

I have incurred many personal and intellectual debts writing this book. I wish to acknowledge the early encouragement I received from James Brennan, J­uliette Levy, Robert Patch, and David Pion-­Berlin during the completion of my graduate studies at the University of California, Riverside. In particular, James Brennan supported the decision I made to write about the armed forces and offered generous guidance as my doctoral advisor. In Chile, a number of individuals helped me along the way. I wish to thank Cristián Garay Vera, Miguel Navarro Meza, Patricia Arancibia Clavel, Rodrigo Peñaranda Pedemonte, Carlos Tromben Corbalán, and Marco López Ardiles. They answered questions and pointed me to valuable source material. Alison Bruey and Jim Day commented on chapter drafts, and the book’s two anonymous reviewers offered useful suggestions. William Sater gave feedback on several chapters and has always been willing to share his extensive knowledge of Chilean history with me. Chris McGillion provided invaluable assistance at two important points in the book’s development. I benefited from his advice as I expanded the scope of my doctoral dissertation and when I revised the sec­ond half of the manuscript. At the University of Montevallo in Ala­bama I have enjoyed the support of historians in the Department of Behavioral and Social Sciences: Robert Ba­rone, Jim Day, Wilson Fallin, Clark Hultquist, and Ruth Truss. They provided a collegial setting in which to grow as a scholar, and I cannot imagine having had better colleagues. The interlibrary loan staff at the school’s Carmichael Library acquired countless rare books on my behalf. Several university grants allowed me to conduct research at archives and libraries in the United States and Chile. I also wish to acknowledge Dan Waterman from the University of Ala­bama Press. He moved the book through external review in a timely manner and provided assistance at every stage of the process. My parents, Mary and Richard Bawden, my brother, David, and my sister, Elizabeth, have cheered me on over the years; their love and support has meant a

x / Acknowledgments

great deal to me. Finally, I dedicate this book to my wife, Tara Swancoat Bawden. She understood the need I had for long periods of quiet study away from home during a time when careers and small children made our lives exciting and happy but always time constrained. I am fortunate to have such a partner and friend. All translations from Spanish to English in this book are my own unless otherwise indicated. I am responsible for any errors or mistakes contained in the text.

The Pino­chet Generation

Map 1. Modern Chile

Introduction

Chilean soldiers transformed their country twice in the twentieth century. In the first half they enlarged the role of the state and helped precipitate radical changes leading to the 1925 constitution. In the sec­ond half they implemented a decentralized free-­market po­liti­cal economy and fathered the 1980 constitution. Officers imposed their vision of the future. According to one perspective, military governments accomplished what civilian politicians had proved incapable of doing: they modernized the state in each half century. What is true for the entire period is that observers frequently misjudged, misunderstood, or cari­ catured the country’s professional soldiers. This book aims to correct the paucity of his­tori­cal knowledge about the officers who overthrew Salvador Allende in 1973. The image of Augusto Pino­chet wearing dark sunglasses, with his arms crossed, and surrounded by equally stern-­ looking officers typifies one perception of a sinister, impenetrable military establishment. Who were these uniformed men? How did the army mold Pino­chet in the years before he became an icon of tyranny and anticommunist repression? A central argument of this book is that the peculiar nature of the Pino­chet regime (1973–1990)—its policies, repressiveness, longevity, and revolutionary politico­ economic project—cannot be separated from the broader intellectual and institutional culture of the armed forces. Frederick Nunn made an astute comment about what could be expected of Chile’s military government in the mid-­1970s. He wrote, “The primary thing to be remembered about the junta is that each of its members has over thirty years of military career behind him. . . . It is hard to believe that this background will not be the primary influence in their thinking and action. Too, it should be remembered that these men are essentially products of pre–World War II initial training and intellectual formation.”1 The same thing could be said for the leaders of other South Ameri­can military regimes after 1964. Understanding professional soldiers in the years before they assumed control of the state demands knowledge of their experiences, collective memory, and external influences.

2 / Introduction

The “Pino­chet generation” may refer to Chilean officers who reached maturity under the shadow of dictatorship—hijos de la Guerra Fría (children of the Cold War), as one officer put it—but the principal focus of this book is the generation of Chilean officers, born between 1915 and 1925, that entered military academies in the 1930s and 1940s, completed advanced training in the 1950s and 1960s, and went on to hold positions of senior leadership in the 1970s. Admirals José Toribio Merino and Patricio Carvajal, for instance, entered the Naval Academy in 1931 at ages fifteen and sixteen, whereas army commanders Carlos Prats and Augusto Pino­chet, both born in 1915, entered the Military Academy in 1931 and 1933. Air force generals Gustavo Leigh and Fernando Matthei began their military careers in the early 1940s and reached the top of their institution in the 1970s. For all these men the convulsive domestic and international context from 1930 to 1950 constituted an important backdrop to their early careers. Carlos Prats lived through a particularly fierce antimilitary backlash after the sudden collapse of General Carlos Ibáñez del Campo’s government in 1931. During that tense period civilians attacked uniformed soldiers in the streets. For Prats these bitter memories illustrated the cost of military involvement in politics. That year a massive naval mutiny forever marked Merino, Carvajal, and Ismael Huerta, then navy cadets. As grown men they resolved to prevent a similar breakdown of order and discipline in their beloved institution. In 1948 Pino­chet and Matthei each received assignments to carry out missions of internal repression once President Gabriel González Videla had outlawed the Communist Party and ordered the arrest and detention of communist militants. Such experiences contributed to a bipolar conception of the world, divided into friends and enemies. These men lived, as Eric Hobsbawm put it, during the “short twentieth century,” a temporal unit marked by inflexible ideologies, sweeping po­liti­cal change, and massive violence that began with the outbreak of World War I and concluded with the unexpected collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.2 Military institutions imbue soldiers with a strong sense of history and national tradition, and Chile’s victories over Peru and Bolivia in the nineteenth century established an enduring concept, that of the undefeated armed forces: siempre victoriosas, jamás vencidas (always victorious, never defeated). This idea gave substance to the belief that the Pino­chet regime had to defeat its enemies and make an honorable, victorious exit from power. The military’s constitutionalism and reverence for hierarchy proved his­tori­ cally consequential at several different junctures. The army, navy, and air force agreed to launch a coup only after they perceived that the elected president had severely broken the law and the prevailing crisis appeared to lack a legal resolution. During the dictatorship, concern for rule following did not disappear even as an ethos of internal war justified extralegal behavior. Early on, instinctual re-

Introduction / 3

spect for the chain of command muted interservice and intraservice rivalries and helped Pino­chet consolidate his control of the army and the government. Silence mattered, too. The Pino­chet generation proved remarkably tight-­lipped about internal matters. Few officers ever broke the taboo on speaking with foreigners. Old soldiers took secrets to the grave, and vari­ous episodes from the dictatorship remain enshrouded in mystery. In many instances, aspects of military culture predating 1930—Prussian discipline, reticence, and institutional memory—determined essential outcomes. Military culture is “an amalgam of values, customs, traditions, and their philosophical underpinnings that, over time, has created a shared institutional ethos. From military culture springs a common framework for those in uniform and common expectations regarding standards of behavior.”3 Chile’s unusual geography and potential encirclement by rival states to the north and the east has led to an institutional focus on the possibility of fighting a multifront war in which Chilean soldiers would have to exhibit superior training, efficiency, and motivation to prevail over enemy nations. The armed forces’ institutional memory provided a crucial framework through which soldiers understood events and formulated responses. From 1972 to 1973 institutional leaders resolved to prevent a repetition of the 1891 civil war, when the army mostly sided with Chile’s president, José Manuel Balmaceda, and the navy allied itself with the country’s congressional rebels. That violent division of la familia militar (the military family) lingered in military consciousness. In 1983 the junta wanted to avoid two things that had accompanied General Carlos Ibáñez del Campo’s abrupt departure from power in 1931: instability and civilian backlash. Members of the junta disagreed on aspects of the po­liti­cal transition, but they regarded any form of unconditional surrender to the regime’s enemies as unacceptable. For instance, it could result in changes to the 1980 constitution or in the imprisonment of institutional leaders. Thus they saw their fates collectively bound. Certain personal and ideological factors warrant attention. The Roman Catho­lic backgrounds of Pino­chet and Merino—the junta’s two most i­ mportant ­members—strengthened their guiding sense of mission and purpose. By all accounts, both commanders believed they had been chosen to save the fatherland from Marxism. Pino­chet once explained to a journalist, “Just like Saint Peter, I believe God elected us to fulfill missions and prepared the path for us to do what He commanded.”4 This religious outlook coexisted with other attributes, such as shrewdness, ambition, mistrust, and, above all, a strong instinct for self-­preservation. Indeed, Pino­chet demonstrated a remarkable ability to outfox po­liti­cal enemies and turn apparent losses into personal victories. Through it all, he remained an infantry

4 / Introduction

officer. His preparation at the Army Academy of War forever marked his outlook and actions as head of state. Similarly, those who knew José Merino concur that he was a sailor first, deeply attached to the Chilean Navy, its history, and its traditions. Each man felt a historic responsibility to act as the faithful custodian of his institution’s honor and prestige. After World War II Latin America entered a po­liti­cal and military alliance with the United States. Wash­ing­ton provided military hardware to its allies, and thousands of Chilean soldiers trained in the United States. Despite the Pentagon’s hemispheric influence, US doctrines did not enter an institutional vacuum. Chilean soldiers had a point of view rooted in their own traditions, history, and place in the world as a developing state. US military influence never over­ whelmed the national traditions or the local concerns of professional soldiers who had advanced training facilities, anticommunist sentiments, and native intellectual traditions long before the era of US hegemony. Moreover, militaries in Brazil, Chile, and Argentina compare poorly with those in Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua, both in terms of professional development and the ability of the United States to influence them. The new approach to Cold War history emphasizes diverse archival sources and new conceptual frameworks to reinterpret events and place his­tori­cal subjects into broad, international contexts.5 The Pino­chet Generation fits into this approach. I situate Chilean military actors in their own society and vis-­à-­vis outside forces. Chapters 3 and 4 in particular demonstrate how the Chilean armed forces belonged to a transnational community of military professionals that shared ideas and influenced one another. Another aim of this book is to examine twentieth-­century episodes in Chile from the perspective of its military protagonists. I chart the process from 1970 to 1973 by which a consensus formed that it was necessary to overthrow President Salvador Allende and assume control of the state. Many of the armed forces’ concerns during this contentious period have been poorly understood. For example, po­liti­cal and economic instability had regional security implications. The Pino­ chet generation worried that Peru’s nationalist government might take advantage of a civil war or a chaotic internal situation to reclaim territories lost during the nineteenth century. This issue greatly preoccupied soldiers, if not civilians. Chile was an international pariah for the duration of the dictatorship as a result of systematic human rights abuses and persistent negative press. The US Congress applied a total arms embargo on Santiago in 1976, and the UN General Assembly issued multiple resolutions condemning the Chilean government. At the end of 1978 an aggressive military government in Buenos Aires appeared poised to occupy disputed islands in the Beagle Channel. To a significant extent, all these outside pressures pulled the armed forces together and fostered cohesion; they therefore strengthened the Pino­chet regime.

Introduction / 5

Historiographical Considerations In the 1950s scholars underscored the solidly middle-­class origin of Latin America’s officer corps. John J. Johnson pointed out practical reasons that young men joined the armed forces, such as status, corporate benefits, and a pension. He observed that many young officers came from provincial towns but as lieutenants and captains they could aspire to marry the daughters of wealthy families in the capital. Similarly, high-­ranking officers could expect to attend elite parties and have access to national leaders.6 Social scientists also drew attention to the disproportionate number of officers with immigrant backgrounds. Indeed, German, English, Italian, French, English, Syrian, and Yugoslavian surnames peppered Chile’s military registries in the twentieth century, and by 1986 two German-­ speaking Lutherans sat on the country’s junta: Fernando Matthei (air force) and Rudolfo Stange (police). Immigrant families encouraged their sons to consider the military profession as one avenue to status in the new society. According to modernization theory, the changing social and demographic profile of South Ameri­can officers meant that these soldiers would no longer defend the status quo or protect elite interests. Rather, militaries in the most developed countries—Argentina, Brazil, and Chile—would support the implementation of progressive reforms alongside middle-­class politicians who wanted to rectify economic backwardness and promote industrial development. Some scholars predicted that military involvement in politics would diminish as professional development proceeded.7 Others were less optimistic. Edwin Lieuwen thought that Latin America’s armed forces might become even more interventionist after World War II. He worried that US security assistance was elevating the power, confidence, and militarism of militaries in the region as well as their internal demands for tanks, warships, and airplanes.8 Scholars did not expect the wave of highly repressive anticommunist military dictatorships in Brazil (1964), Argentina (1966), Chile (1973), and Uruguay (1973). In fact, by 1980 two-­thirds of Latin Ameri­cans lived under military rule rather than liberal democracy. Some observers wondered if Iberian culture explained the phenomenon. Yet there were simply too many counterexamples for such a blanket generalization. Military coups occurred on a regular basis in Africa and Asia through­out the 1960s and 1970s, which undermined any notion that Hispanic culture was an essential cause of military intervention. Meanwhile, civilians enjoyed firm control of the armed forces in Mexico, Latin America’s sec­ond-­largest country. José Nun’s influential interpretation held that Latin Ameri­can military coups represented middle-­class interests and fears. From this perspective, Chilean soldiers had dislodged the oligarchy in 1924 to make changes favoring the middle strata. Likewise, the military coup in 1973 expressed both upper-­and middle-­

6 / Introduction

class fears about economic chaos and working-­class militancy. Scholars operating from either a Marxian or modernization theory framework assumed the primacy of social class for behavior.9 In the 1980s, Guillermo O’Donnell’s sociological approach to Latin America’s militaries predominated. O’Donnell held that South Ameri­can soldiers represented the interests of global capitalism backed up by the Pentagon; their role in the world sys­tem was to discipline labor movements, destroy left-­wing politics, and empower technocrats who would facilitate the flow of transnational capital to Latin America. This interpretation could not explain everything about the behavior of in­di­vidual military governments or their relationship to international capitalism, but the idea that Wash­ing­ton created a hemispheric army of foot soldiers committed to US strategic interests and trained to repress left-­ wing movements has endured.10 Historians generally eschew mechanical approaches that discount the distinctiveness of each nation’s armed forces. Moreover, they have tended to characterize Latin America’s military institutions as increasingly autonomous in relation to the social sys­tem and progressively closed to influences from civil society.11 Nevertheless, his­tori­cal monographs on South Ameri­can soldiers are relatively rare. Since 1990 English-­speaking historians of twentieth-­century Chile have studied workers, peasants, women, indigenous people, and middle-­class reform­ ers, exploring a range of themes such as gender, memory, nationalism, and popu­ lar resistance to dictatorship.12 In this body of scholarship, the Chilean military has been an important po­liti­cal actor but hardly the subject of cultural interest or his­tori­cal analy­sis. Much of what has been written about the Chilean military comes from po­liti­cal scientists. Professional historians, it should be noted, do not enjoy unfettered access to army, navy, and air force institutional archives. Moreover, the military’s recent use of po­liti­cal violence against ideological foes has made soldiers unsympathetic subjects of study for some. The comparative lack of his­tori­cal production may also have to do with earlier views of the armed forces as appendages of the United States or as institutions defending elite interests at home rather than semiautonomous institutions worth studying in their own right. After the return of democracy to Chile in 1990 a few English-­language books presented military perspectives based on oral testimony.13 Mary Helen Spooner’s Soldiers in a Narrow Land, for instance, relied on interviews with active and retired officers to present a much more nuanced portrait of the dictatorship and its military protagonists, departing from earlier structural and sociological approaches. At the same time, her book focused on the military’s internal politics and its major personalities, not antecedents informing regime behavior or his­ tori­cally grounded analyses of Chile’s officer corps. In 1999 the US government began to release more than forty thousand de-

Introduction / 7

classified documents related to Chile, in­clud­ing intelligence estimates, government reports, and diplomatic exchanges. This remarkable archive offers insight into the thinking of US policy makers during the Cold War and is responsible for a boom in scholarship on the history of US covert involvement in Chile and US-­Chile diplomatic relations from 1964 to 1990. One tendency among authors using these materials is to cast the United States as capable of bringing down governments and controlling military actors.14 The notion is predicated on the fact that President Richard Nixon and National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger ordered the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) to undermine Salvador Allende’s government, which is taken as definitive proof that Wash­ing­ton caused the demise of Chilean democracy in 1973. Newer studies by Tanya Harmer and Kristian Gustafson recognize the archive’s limitations. Namely, US documents present US perspectives and analy­ ses, not a multisided vantage point. Furthermore, US diplomats and intelligence officers frequently lacked a clear picture of what was happening in the country or sufficient information to make informed judgments.15 Wash­ing­ton was not an all-­powerful, omniscient force in the hemisphere able to decisively influence Chile’s internal affairs at each juncture. Po­liti­cal scientists have provided some of the most important perspectives on Chile’s military since 1970. Carlos Huneeus’s The Pino­chet Regime is widely regarded as the most comprehensive examination of the military government: its ideology, internal functioning, evolution, bases of legitimacy, and relationship to sectors in civilian society. Another po­liti­cal scientist, Robert Barros, acquired copies of the junta’s legislative sessions and showed that the junta, by virtue of its legislative power, limited Pino­chet’s executive authority. Predictably, the air force and the navy defended their institutional privileges and placed important constraints on Pino­chet’s ability to remain in power after 1988.16 Chile’s rich historiography does include works that place the armed forces in an overarching his­tori­cal perspective. Verónica Valdivia’s El golpe después del golpe historicized the conflict between Augusto Pino­chet and Gustavo Leigh, the air force commander in chief. After the 1973 coup Leigh championed a set of ideas—state-­brokered social justice and state-­led development—with firm roots in the first half of the twentieth century, whereas Pino­chet and his technocrats rejected those ideas in favor of markets, privatization, and repression. Valdivia’s book charts the continuity of a military consensus about po­liti­cal economy dating back to the 1930s and its eventual displacement by a wholly different po­liti­ cal and economic model. In the absence of open military archives, Valdivia relied on interviews, testimonial literature, and professional publications.17 The Pino­chet Generation employs a similar method. Army, navy, and air force journals constitute an important set of sources for this study because of their regular publication and widespread internal consump-

8 / Introduction

tion.18 As the chief outlet for officers to write and reflect on a wide array of issues related to their profession, defense journals reveal po­liti­cal orientations, core values, beliefs, and assumptions shared by officers in all three branches. Articles about history, international relations, contemporary wars, national development, and the spread of military regimes after 1964 reveal the way officers were embedded in vari­ous national and international contexts. Journals also shaped the boundaries of acceptable military thought and defined the parameters of an important discursive field. The published content reflected what Chilean officers studied at their respective war academies and what they brought home from training missions in the United States and Britain or as observers of conflicts in faraway places such as Pakistan and Israel. To encourage quality contributions, general staffs awarded yearly cash prizes to the authors of articles deemed outstanding. The army’s official history observes that academic achievement advanced an officer’s career and won him the respect of his peers.19 Defense journals have obvious limitations because general staffs published what they saw fit and filtered content. Journals do not expressly reveal interservice and intraservice conflict, although those dynamics can be inferred. What they do reveal are ideas, values, and concerns acceptable to dissemination within a professional community. The regularity of publication through­out the twentieth century makes them valuable sources. In addition to using defense journals, newspapers, government reports, and the junta’s legislative minutes, I draw heavily from testimonial literature. Memoirs and book-­length interviews have greatly added to our understanding of the period’s major events and personalities. Moreover, many of these important his­tori­cal sources remain underutilized. The book is divided into nine chronological chapters. Chapter 1 outlines the his­tori­cal evolution of Chile’s armed forces until 1930. Chapters 2, 3, and 4 examine the professional formation and experiences of men who reached the top of their institutions by 1970. Chapter 5 describes the internal process that culminated in the military overthrow of Salvador Allende on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973. Chapters 6 through 9 connect the major po­liti­cal outcomes during the Pino­chet regime (1973–1990) to key personalities, shared experiences, and antecedents in military culture. Above all, this book never loses sight of the broader institutional and intellectual cultures shared by officers in the Chilean armed forces.

1 Evolution of a Proud Tradition Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931

When Pedro de Valdivia left Peru in 1540 to conquer the forbidding lands south of the Incan empire, his expedition promised hardship. Five years earlier Diego de Almagro had set out with five hundred Spanish soldiers and several thousand Indian allies to conquer the country he and his men called Chilli, but from beginning to end Almagro’s campaign was a disaster. Thousands died of exposure crossing the Andes, and once the expedition reached Chile’s temperate heartland it became apparent that the country had few prospects for profitable conquest— too little gold and hostile Indians. Returning to Peru, Almagro told everyone the land was poor and miserable.1 Undaunted by Almagro’s warnings, Valdivia marched into Chile’s central valley and defeated a Native army on the site where he built the settlement known as Santiago de la Nueva Extremadura. In a letter to Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, Valdivia wrote that “this land is such that there is none better in the world for living in and settling, this I say because it is very flat, very healthy and very pleasant.”2 The Mediterranean climate may have been agreeable, but the conquest of Chile was not. Native warriors, whom the Spanish called Araucanians, burned Santiago to the ground in 1541 and destroyed the ship Valdivia’s men were building to establish contact with Peru. For the next two years the colony’s settlers lived a frightened existence, nervously guarding their crops and livestock from indigenous warriors. Valdivia managed to consolidate Santiago’s defenses, but once the conquistador crossed the Bío Bío River three hundred miles south of the capital his soldiers met even hardier resistance. Native peoples learned to neutralize European advantages by attacking the bearded invaders at night or in the rain and by pushing Spaniards off their horses with lances. A celebrated warrior named Lautaro had carefully studied Spanish culture and technology during six years of captivity before he escaped his masters; he then perfected the tactic of separating men into dispersed squads that successively pushed forward and fell back in order to exhaust the Spanish cavalry and diminish its maneuverability. From the Spanish perspective, these Native warriors were savage indios, the

10 / Chapter 1

worst of all kinds: sin rey, sin fe, y sin ley (without king, without religion, and without law). Lacking any concept of monarchy, Araucanians formed a loose confederation of extended family units without a central state, which meant that Valdivia could not simply defeat an absolute monarch and place himself atop a set of preexisting imperial structures, as Hernán Cortés and Francisco Pizarro had done in Mexico and Peru, respectively. No matter how many chiefs the Spanish captured, resistance continued from the Native people who are today called Mapuches.3 Valdivia’s campaign proceeded with manifest brutality. He routed an indigenous army in 1550 and ordered his soldiers to slice off the nose and one hand of each of two hundred captives before releasing them with this message: Tell your war chiefs to make peace and submit. Native warriors avenged the deed. In 1553 Lautaro destroyed Valdivia’s army at the Battle of Tucapel and took the conquistador prisoner. One Spanish chronicle relates that the victorious Indians amputated, roasted, and consumed Valdivia’s limbs in view of the (still alive) conquistador.4 The Spaniards retained control of the central valley, but in 1594 a Native army captured and killed another Spanish governor, Martín García Óñez de Loyola, and after 1598 the Araucanians destroyed every European settlement south of Concepción, the south­ernmost extent of Spanish dominion. In this remote imperial fringe, the king’s soldiers had few prospects to become wealthy encomenderos (individuals granted the right to extract tribute from conquered people) but had every prospect to die grisly deaths at the hands of fierce Indians. Recognizing that conquest was at least temporarily impossible, the Spanish military governor, Alonso de Ribera, convinced Spain’s King Phillip III to send a permanent garrison to maintain a frontier with Indians who had proved themselves the equals of any European soldier. At the height of Spain’s global power, the Crown was forced to recognize the sovereignty of Native peoples south of the Bío Bío River. The Mapuches, for their part, agreed to warn the Spanish authorities of pirates off their coastal waters. Only with the advent of industrial technology—the telegraph, railroad, and repeating rifles—did Santiago finally acquire dominion over Araucanía in the late nineteenth century.5 This chapter examines the his­tori­cal evolution of Chile’s armed forces with a focus on events and traditions that influenced behavior and outlook in the twentieth century. The Mapuches’ epic defense of their homeland, which prompted the creation of a standing army in colonial Chile, is a major source of pride and identity in the army. Nineteenth-­century triumphs over Spain and over Chile’s neighbors Peru and Bolivia, especially during the War of the Pacific (1879–1884), endowed both the Chilean Army and the Chilean Navy with confidence. At the same time, these wars created enduring suspicions among the countries involved and ensured Santiago’s perpetual anxiety about the potential for strate-

Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931 / 11

gic encirclement by rival nations. In the late nineteenth century a process of professionalization under British and German guidance altered the army’s and navy’s structures, composition, and basic attitudes. Important academic traditions developed. In the twentieth century the Pino­chet generation could still speak with aging veterans of the War of the Pacific or with officers who had suffered the trauma of the country’s 1891 civil war. Above all, the revolutionary movement of General Carlos Ibáñez del Campo and his subsequent dictatorship (1927– 1931) affected military thought and behavior through­out the twentieth century.

The Colonial Crucible Difficult environmental circumstances shaped colonial Chile. Indian raids, violent earthquakes, and coastal piracy made life insecure for the country’s inhabitants. Each year a payment of silver, known as El Real Situado, arrived from Peru to finance military operations in the south, but geographic isolation meant the country’s inhabitants were usually on their own during periods of crisis. Spoken Spanish evolved in curious ways. The colony was poor, remote, and costly for the Spanish empire to defend.6 The army’s institutional history describes the colonial period as a dynamic struggle for space between free­dom-­loving Mapuche patriots and Spanish conquistadors, which led to a unique mestizaje (mixture of indigenous and European people). “Not only did two races blend together, but also the Chilean soldier, heir to the formidable military capabilities of the Araucanian warrior and Spanish soldier, was born. It is, therefore, not a stretch to say that the Army of Chile had its origins during the Spanish Conquest rather than independence.” 7 This interpretation also puts warfare at the heart of colonial development, suggesting that the south­ern frontier, and by extension the entire country, was a nexus of practically uninterrupted conflict from the conquest until 1810. In reality, a stable aristocratic society emerged rather quickly in the central valley, marked by very rooted social hierarchies. Similarly, the Araucanian frontier was not always embroiled in violent skirmishes. Rather, intervals of calm allowed Indians and colonists to engage in mutually beneficial commercial and cultural exchange.8 Sergio Vergara’s social history of the Chilean Army shows that it recruited soldiers from humble yet diverse social groups, whereas the vast majority of officers serving in the frontier zone came from society’s middle strata. On the cusp of independence 90 percent of the king’s soldiers defending the south­ern frontier were Chileans. A few of the officers belonged to regionally prominent families, and social connections to Santiago’s landowning elites existed only through occasional ties of marriage. Chile’s officers thus came from respectable but modest families. Such research bolsters the army’s view of itself as an institution of the people, not of elites. Vergara also concludes that the relatively large number of

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soldiers in Chile and their social importance contributed to a recognized aspect of the nation’s character: respect for hierarchy and official titles.9 The existence of a permanent frontier guarded by a standing army had one very important consequence. In the central valley, Native peoples and Europeans blended, relatively quickly, into a Hispanic, culturally homogeneous society. This development, observes Mario Góngora, distinguished Chile from Peru and Mexico, where “large indigenous cultures prefig­ured the viceroyalties and the republics.”10 Góngora points out that Peru’s and Mexico’s Indians tended to remain clustered in autonomous villages, where they paid taxes to the Spanish king and received occasional visits from itinerant priests but on the whole spoke Native languages and lived in isolation from European society. In contrast, Chile’s Indians were either independent or subjugated and assimilated. Góngora also draws attention to the fact that every generation of Chileans experienced a wartime victory after independence from Spain in 1817: the war with the Peru-­Bolivian Confederation (1836–1839), a sec­ond war with Spain (1864–1866), and the War of the Pacific (1879–1884). These victories, Góngora argues, did not merely increase the state’s territory, they also endowed po­liti­cal and military elites, if not illiterate peasants, with a sense of national superiority. The past possessed relevance for civil-­military relations in the late twentieth century. Gregory Weeks writes of a widespread consensus in the military that the army “either predates or coincides with Chilean independence; in other words, the army is so closely tied to the creation of the nation that the two can hardly be distinguished. . . . By asserting that its roots are sunk so deep in the national soil, the army has claimed a permanent and prominent position in national politics and so views itself not as a spectator but as an actor on the his­tori­cal stage.”11 When Augusto Pino­chet received the title Captain General of the Repub­lic he relished the comparison to Chile’s early military governors, called captain generals, who enjoyed broad powers to found cities, distribute land, and organize the economy. The title also compared Pino­chet to Bernardo O’Higgins, Chile’s great patriot who held the same title after independence from Spain. Pino­chet, as is well known, viewed his sixteen-­year dictatorship as entirely consistent with the role played by past military governors.12

Bernardo O’Higgins and the Portalian Paradigm Two personalities dominate the nation’s achievement of independence from Spain and first steps as a fledgling republic: Bernardo O’Higgins and Diego Por­ tales. Military journals devoted enormous attention to these two personalities: O’Hig­gins as the man who secured Chile’s independence from Spain, and Portales as the éminence grise who founded a stable po­liti­cal order that distinguished Chile from other Spanish Ameri­can republics. In the military imagination, both statesmen guided their ungrateful compatriots through moments of peril.

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The armed forces celebrate O’Higgins as a master strategist who foresaw the role that sea power would play in halting Spanish attempts to reimpose colonialism.13 To train army officers he established the Military Academy in 1817 and the Naval Academy one year later. In Oc­to­ber 1818 the embryonic Chilean Navy captured a Spanish frigate, which forced the Spanish viceroy to assume a more defensive posture. He could not risk more royal ships falling into patriot hands.14 O’Higgins also wisely hired foreign officers, mostly from the British Isles, to develop the country’s first naval squadron. This navy, led by the daring Scotsman Lord Thomas Cochrane, defeated royalist holdouts in south­ern Chile and then moved north to deliver a final blow to the center of Spanish power in Peru.15 The Chilean Navy takes considerable pride in its contribution to South Ameri­can independence. In domestic affairs O’Higgins never managed to reconcile his own progressive vision of republican development with the realities of a country emerging from three hundred years of Hispanic colonialism. A committed liberal, O’Higgins invited foreign merchants to set up trading houses in Valparaíso and scandalized conservative elites when he authorized non-­Catholic merchants to build a Protestant graveyard. Though practical by nature, O’Higgins idealistically hoped that laws and constitutions could wipe away colonial structures without incurring the wrath of the landowning aristocracy that opposed his intention to separate church and state, educate the mestizo masses, and abolish hereditary entails of land (mayorazgos) from father to firstborn son. In the face of such daunting challenges O’Higgins came to believe that the repub­lic required a strong enlightened leader to enact policies that progressively purged the aristocratic mentality. When O’Higgins tried to construct a legal dictatorship, elites supported General Ramon Freire’s call for revolt.16 Rather than plunge the nation into civil war, O’Higgins left the country in 1823, and he died in Lima in 1842. For military officers O’Higgins represents the self-­sacrificing patriot and visionary leader unjustly scorned by his own po­liti­cally immature people. From 1823 to 1829 Chile suffered acute instability. Governments failed to reconcile provincial interests, resolve incessant conservative-­liberal disputes, or put down regular military uprisings. Politicians wrote three liberal constitutions, but each failed to generate a societal consensus. At roughly the same time that O’Higgins departed for Peru, a businessman named Diego Portales returned to his homeland, which was now embroiled in po­liti­cal turmoil. Portales shared none of O’Higgins’s high-­minded idealism; he had little faith in his country’s immediate ability to build a liberal democracy, which he thought “an absurdity in Ameri­can countries like ours, full of vices and where the citizens lack all virtue, as is necessary in order to establish a true Republic.”17 By the end of the decade, a succession of coups and countercoups—always involving military officers—generated agreement that the country needed order.

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Portales belonged to a po­liti­cal faction called the pelucones (bigwigs), composed of businessmen and landowners. In 1829 he and his allies from Concepción took control of the central government by defeating liberal general Ramon Freire at the Battle of Lircay. Immediately Portales implemented policies to stabilize the republic. To pacify the bandit-­plagued countryside and subordinate soldiers to civilian authority, Portales established a militia of twenty-­five thousand men. Unlike O’Higgins, whose liberal ideas offended the elites' religious sensibility, Portales specifically designated a social role for the Catholic Church. His constitution (1833) created a centralized, impersonal, authoritarian state with political suffrage for property-holding men. While Argentina, Bolivia, and Peru suffered under the reckless rule of caudillos (charismatic strongmen), Chile embarked on a period of postindependence stability. Other factors contributed to Chile’s early achievement of po­liti­cal order, in­clud­ing geographical compactness, ethnic homogeneity, a weak Church, and the absence of powerful provincial interests.18 Stability in Santiago made an enormous difference for Chile and its neighbors. In 1836 Andean politician Andrés de Santa Cruz united Peru and Bolivia into a confederation imagined as a re-­creation of the former Incan empire. Portales immediately declared war on the short-­lived po­liti­cal entity because it threatened Santiago’s commercial interests and unfavorably altered regional power dynamics. Few in Chile understood the foreign policy implications of the Peru-­ Bolivian Confederation (1836–1839) or Portales’s reasons for going to war. In fact, the decision unleashed po­liti­cal forces that would lead to Portales’s assassination in 1837. Ultimately, however, this murder strengthened support for the war and for the po­liti­cal sys­tem Portales had founded, and it ensured his place as a patriotic martyr among admirers. Indeed, the 1973 military junta claimed to be restoring the politics of Diego Portales, who, in conservative historiography, laid the basis for Chile’s nineteenth-­ century achievements. In the eyes of military officers, he embodied a pragmatic, nonideological nationalism.19 As for Portales’s war with Andrés de Santa Cruz, Chile’s navy achieved control of the sea-­lanes in Janu­ary 1839, and thereafter an army of mixed nationalities decisively defeated confederation forces at the Battle of Yungay, inflicting about three thousand casualties. This would not be the last Chilean incursion into Peruvian territory.

The War of the Pacific and Its Consequences The period 1840 to 1870 has traditionally been regarded as a time of steady progress in Chile: po­liti­cal parties emerged, steamships appeared in the ports, and railroads began to dot the countryside. Chile’s elite—exceptionally cohesive and flexible by Latin Ameri­can standards—learned to share power in an or-

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derly fashion and proved open to new social groups such as wealthy British merchants living in Valparaíso, now the South Pacific’s principal port. At the same time, the aristocratic nature of Chilean society changed little. Paternalistic hacendados in the central valley estates still ruled over “their” semipermanent tenants, called inquilinos.20 Although the middle decades of the nineteenth century might not be accurately described as a perfect portrait of po­liti­cal stability, the mere fact that Chilean presidents handed power to elected successors generated the idea that the nation was special. Simon Collier and William F. Sater observe, “The notion of Chile as a república modelo, ‘model republic,’ an example to her turbulent neighbors, became increasingly widespread in educated circles. The use of this catchphrase was sufficiently common for it to be denounced in 1861 as ‘a mania . . . a pretty quixotic pretension.’ Q uixotic or not, it was certainly a pretension. The backward Spanish colony had become a proud little nation.”21 The country’s victory over Peru and Bolivia in the War of the Pacific (1879–1884) only furthered Santiago’s established sense of superiority. The discovery of nitrate in the Atacama Desert as well as the legacy of ill-­ defined boundaries from the colonial period motivated Chile and Bolivia to negotiate a treaty, signed in 1874, which set their border at the 24th parallel south. The treaty also stipulated that Chilean companies operating between that boundary and the 23rd parallel would pay taxes to Bolivia at a fixed rate for twenty-­ five years. Unwisely, Bolivia’s President Hilarion Daza violated the accord. He unilaterally raised the tariff on Chilean companies operating in Antofogasta, a coastal city above the 24th parallel. Santiago responded by occupying the port. Peru found itself drawn into the dispute as the result of a secret military alliance with Bolivia.22 The war over vast stores of mineral wealth in Bolivia’s thinly populated littoral and Peru’s Tarapacá province tested each of the belligerents. It also involved modern technology—ironclad steamships, torpedoes, mines, Gatling guns, and breech-­loading rifles—and required Santiago to mobilize men for large-­scale operations thousands of miles away. At the Battle of Angamos (1879) Chile achieved naval supremacy, and thereafter ground forces seized the Peruvian cities Iquique and Arica, where the Chilean infantry acquired a terrifying reputation for the use of a hooked dagger called the corvo. An invading force of twenty-­three thousand Chilean soldiers occupied Lima after two bloody battles, Chorrillos and Miraflores, in Janu­ary 1881.23 The war, however, was far from over. Continued Peruvian resistance led Chile to wage a protracted, frequently gruesome counterinsurgency campaign across the rugged Peruvian sierra. It was not until Oc­ to­ber 1883 that Santiago signed a peace treaty with a Peruvian leader willing to cede Tarapacá province. Po­liti­cally, the war reconfig­ured the map of South America. Chile’s newly won

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territories sustained several decades of highly profitable nitrate mining. However, Santiago had been forced to abandon its claim to Atlantic Patagonia as a measure to keep Argentina from entering the conflict. Bolivia lost access to the Pacific Ocean. The war left Peru humiliated, deprived of resource-­rich territory, and understandably suspicious of its south­ern neighbor. The war gave Chile many military heroes, but none quite like navy comman­ der Arturo Prat, who refused to surrender his crippled vessel during the Battle of Iquique in 1879. Instead, the Chilean officer chose to die amid a hail of gunfire while leaping on board the Huáscar, a Peruvian monitor ship. Moreover, his heroic gesture inspired other sailors to follow suit and suffer the same fate. Their ship, the Esmeralda, sunk without its flag ever being lowered. To understand the country’s naval tradition, one must appreciate that the anniversary of Prat’s death, May 21, is an event commemorated with civic processions—Día de las Glorías de la Marina (Glories of the Navy Day)—and his memory, embodied in the slogan morir o vencer (death or victory), exalts selfless patriotic sacrifice.24 Army and navy hymns both recall the War of the Pacific. Cadets at Chile’s Naval Academy sing the following: Chilean naval cadets for the Fatherland we pledge to die and parade your spotless flag on the seas from end to end.

Los cadetes navales chilenos por la Patria juramos morir y pasear su bandera sin mancha por los mares de uno a otro confín.

In the struggle however great it is our sword will defend the honor of that unbeaten flag the world must respect.

En la lucha por grande que sea nuestra espada sabrá defender el honor de esa invicta bandera que del mundo el asombro ha de ser.

Triumph in a great battle, or die with pride and honor, since the Chilean cadet will never lower your glorious banner.

O triunfar en gigante pelea, o morir con orgullo y honor, pues jamás el cadete chileno arriará su glorioso pendón.

Thus Prat and his courageous sailors their lives for the Fatherland gave and his ship with laurels heavily weighted found with honor its watery grave.

Así Prat con sus bravos marinos por la Patria su vida rindió, y cubrió de laureles el barco que a su peso tan solo se hundió.

The army’s hymn glorifies the national flag and celebrates a victorious army returning home from the final stages of the War of the Pacific:

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The thunder of cannons has stopped the trenches are silent, and from the north­ern roads battalions return, squadrons return, to Chile and their old loves.

Cesó el tronar de cañones las trincheras están silentes, y por los caminos del norte vuelven los batallones, vuelven los escuadrones, a Chile y a sus viejos amores.

Their victorious flags bring a thousand memories of glory; bullets having torn their silks their stars show their stars show the scars of war.

En sus victoriosas banderas traen mil recuerdos de gloria; y balas desgarraron sus sedas y sus estrellas muestran y sus estrellas muestran cicatrices de guerra.

A Chilean of low socioeconomic station is pejoratively called el roto chileno, but in a military context the term refers to the common infantryman drawn from the nation’s masses, and it is used to describe the anonymous sailors who followed Arturo Prat on board the Huáscar. The fact that Chilean soldiers repeatedly triumphed over Peruvian and Bolivian forces has been attributed to a stronger sense of nationality, and even racial superiority, in Chile's soldiers. The best explanation, however, is probably that ordinary Chileans entered the war with rudimentary military training in the civic militias established by Diego Portales. Moreover, the sense of hierarchy and social discipline so ingrained in Chilean culture is likely to have played a role in these battlefield victories. Military lore celebrates el roto chileno as a disciplined, long-­suffering fig­ure whose Araucanian heritage and patriotic sentiments won Chile’s wars. Officers celebrate el roto chileno as the true expression of the nation, juxtaposed with its cosmopolitan elites prone to petty politicking and attachment to foreign goods and ideologies. In the words of General Mario López Tobar, Chilean officers and the nation’s lower-­class citizens (el pueblo-­pueblo) constitute the heart of the nation because they are the only two groups actually willing to die for the fatherland.25 Pure military skill alone did not decide the War of the Pacific. Chile’s armed forces were better trained, better led, and better equipped, but Santiago had faced dysfunctional rivals whose domestic turmoil hindered their capacity for effective war making. Several incompetent Chilean officers received their positions based on po­liti­cal connections rather than merit, and on more than one occasion the army commander in chief Manuel Baquedano ordered his troops to take enemy positions by frontal assault rather than considering lifesaving tactical maneuvers. Statesmen in Santiago quickly learned just how unprepared the nation was to

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supply a large army that was conducting major field operations nearly two thousand miles away. They did not rest on their laurels.26 In 1885 President Domingo Santa María hired Emil Körner, a veteran of the Franco-­Prussian War (1870– 1871), to modernize the Chilean Army.

Professionalization and Its Consequences For most of the nineteenth century the Chilean Army was organized according to a Napoleonic model. Under Emil Körner war ceased to be the romantic enterprise of aristocrats sending columns of infantrymen charging toward adversaries with fixed bayonets; instead it became a professional discipline based on rational planning and mathematic precision. In an act symbolic of the paradigm shift, Körner established the Army Academy of War in 1886, making Chile the fourth country in the world to have an institution of higher education for officers to study military history, cartography, engineering, chemistry, languages, geopo­liti­cal theory, and the works of theorists like Carl von Clausewitz, Alfred T. Mahan, and Halford Mackinder. Henceforth, academic achievement led to career advancement and won officers the respect of their peers.27 Serving as the locus of debate over strategy and doctrine, Chile’s war academies groomed leaders for the general staff, and the brightest minds taught classes and received comissions to study abroad, depending on specialty and ser­vice. René Schneider, Carlos Prats, and Augusto Pino­chet all taught at the Army Academy of War before reaching the top of their institution. Jorge Boonen Rivera, who was the army’s inspector general from 1910 to 1921, embodied the new spirit. He published a comprehensive analy­sis of the national territory in 1902. In 1906 the editors of the army’s El Memorial del Ejército de Chile described the journal’s purpose as keeping the institution current with modern “military science, through an organ of publication in which the officer can air issues of common interest.”28 Outfitted with Maxim guns and Krupp cannons, goose-­stepping Chilean soldiers wearing Prussian uniforms and the spiked helmets of Wilhelmine Germany made quite an impression on foreign observers. Not all the changes related to appearance or equipment. Under German tutelage the Chilean Army abolished corporal punishment and restructured its educational methods. Army professionalism demanded new standards of discipline and new activities, such as collecting data about neighboring countries and creating topographical maps of highly technical quality. German soldiers also held key positions of institutional leadership. Two Germans, Major Gunter von Bellow and Major Hermann Rogalla von Biberstein, commanded the country’s Military Academy in 1896, where they trained teenage cadets.29 After becoming a commissioned Chilean officer himself, Körner served as the army’s in-

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Figure 1. Army soldiers swear allegiance to the flag, Granaderos Regiment, 1920. (Courtesy of the Chilean Army)

spector general from 1900 to 1910. The army that Augusto Pino­chet joined in 1933 was a very different institution from the one that teenage cadets had entered forty years earlier. The subject of Chile’s military professionalization is the subject of a rich debate in the historiography. William Sater and Holger Herwig dispute the whole idea of Prussianization. First, they point out that Körner got rich selling German-­ made uniforms, rifles, and cannons. Financial interest, they argue, explains why Körner insisted on obligatory military service. Second, Chilean soldiers might have resembled Prussians in appearance, but they were hardly microcosms of the real thing. In 1920 the army failed to efficiently mobilize when Peruvian troops appeared to be massing along the north­ern frontier. Enrique Brahm acknowledges that Körner got rich negotiating arms deals for German firms, but he insists that the man still wanted to transform Chile’s army into an effective fighting force, especially in light of the dispute between Chile and Argentina that nearly resulted in open fighting in 1902. Had “his” remodeled army failed to defend the national territory, it would have been a deep humiliation. Furthermore, Brahm insists that Prussian influence left a much more enduring imprint: not just the marches, uniforms, and iconic steel helmets that Chilean soldiers still wear during ceremonies, but in the substantive qualities of respect for hierarchy, strict discipline, and devotion to theoretical study.30 In the 1960s, army officers were still translating articles from Bundeswehr (Federal Armed Forces) and Wehr Wissen-

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schaftliche Rundschau (Scientific Defense Perspective), and German geopo­liti­cal theorists like Karl Haushofer remained ubiquitous on the pages of defense journals through­out the twentieth century. Whether the changes were cosmetic or substantive, the Chilean army acquired such a positive reputation that the governments of Colombia, El Salvador, and Ecuador contracted Chilean officers to modernize their own armed forces. In this endeavor, two future Chilean presidents participated in foreign military missions. From 1903 to 1909 Carlos Ibáñez del Campo trained soldiers in El Salvador, and from 1956 to 1959 Augusto Pino­chet taught geopolitics at Ecuador’s Army Academy of War.31 Professionalization had other important consequences. For instance, it created a path to social mobility for Chile’s growing middle class. Sons of German, French, English, and Croatian immigrants without po­liti­cal connections could enter the army or navy and advance as a result of talent. During this process officers became more separate from civilian society, of­ten developing strong collective loyalties to their military institutions. Frederick Nunn argues that European trainers in Argentina, Chile, Brazil, and Peru did not simply reorganize national armies according to European models; they inculcated a mistrust of civilian leaders and taught that the nation’s politics and economy ought to be organized according to a military ethos of hierarchy, discipline, and patriotism. European officials thus implanted two key ideas: soldiers are more patriotic than civilians, and they constitute a separate caste— priests of the fatherland—who bear the sacred duty to ensure that their countries escape underdevelopment. This is not to say Nunn believed South Ameri­ can militaries had no ideas or traditions of their own, only that European trainers had decisively contributed to an ideological basis for po­liti­cal action by teaching that officers had an obligation to assume control of the po­liti­cal sys­tem if they believed the nation’s permanent interests were threatened.32

Naval Preeminence in the South Pacific Enjoying total preeminence in the South Pacific, Chile annexed Easter Island in 1888 and established a coaling station there to facilitate trade with Oceania and East Asia. The navy also went through a process of modernization. Several vessels went to Europe for improvements, and the state purchased new warships from Britain. In 1885 the navy general staff began publishing Revista de la Marina to promote study and reflection within the institution. Its editors later remarked, “The creation of this magazine arose from an evident need. On the one hand it was necessary to have an organ to diffuse modern nautical techniques that evolve over time as a result of scientific evolution; on the other hand, the navy needed a publication that channeled the intellectual concerns of its mem-

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Figure 2. Royal Navy Captain Charles Burns (center) directs the first course for general staff officers at the Naval Academy of War in 1911. (Courtesy of the Chilean Navy)

bers.” President José Manuel Balmaceda created a navy school of mechanics in 1886 to maintain an increasingly technologically advanced fleet. During this period the navy constructed lighthouses and coastal defenses, especially in the far south, where such infrastructure facilitated passage through the Strait of Magellan and strengthened state control of the nation’s territory.33 As the army transitioned from a French to a Prussian model, the navy strengthened its his­tori­cal ties to Britain, which dated back to the early days of the repub­ lic when Bernardo O’Higgins hired Lord Thomas Cochrane to command the first squadron. British officers periodically came to Chile under contract as technical advisors, and in 1911 Royal Navy captain Charles Burns helped organize the country’s Naval Academy of War, the oldest in South America and world’s fourth oldest after those in the United States (1884), Britain (1901), and France (1910). Burns served as the institution’s first director until the outbreak of World War I.34 At the time of the Sino-­Japanese War (1894–1895) and the Russo-­Japanese War (1904–1905), Chile’s navy ranked among the ten largest in the world. According to Mario Barrios, it was fifth in 1902. The nation’s merchant marine—finally recovered from the Spanish bombardment of Valparaíso in 1866—­established new trade routes to South Asia, the Philippines, and Australia. Yet the belle epoque proved ephemeral. Argentina attracted millions of European immigrants, and the Chilean economy stagnated. Thereafter naval officers would speak nos-

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talgically of the late nineteenth century as a time when Chile could have consolidated a position on the world stage as a great trading nation with a powerful merchant marine capable of projecting “our nationality, our culture, and in general our spiritual and material progress towards the international community.”35 Officers frequently recalled the brief moment at the turn of the century when Chilean pesos had dominated several trade routes in Oceania. What had gone wrong? The blame for this missed opportunity was squarely placed on the shoulders of “myopic national leaders” who had failed to implement the right policies. Lamenting the mentalidad de agricultores, or unnatural attachment to the land, naval officers blamed politicians for subverting the maritime vision of men like O’Higgins and Portales, whom Captain Pedro Romero described as “privileged intellects of our race” with an “intuitive appreciation of Chile’s need for dominion over the sea.”36 Navy authors insisted that the country possessed all the natural characteristics to be a great maritime power; “the only thing we need to do is awaken the nation’s awareness of the sea’s importance and reconstruct our floating Pacific empire.” A repeated saying in navy discourse, El porvenir de Chile está en el mar (Chile’s future is in the sea), called for policies to expand the merchant marine and develop coastal industries.37 All three branches of the armed forces expressed frustration with civilians for failing to understand national security issues, but the navy’s frustration was always tinged by a lingering memory of past maritime power and the desire to recapture it.

The 1891 Civil War and Its Aftermath While the army and navy modernized their training facilities and laid down impersonal rules to govern institutional advancement, the country’s model of highly centralized executive authority unraveled. The bonanza from nitrate mining had enriched state coffers, but that also increased competition for po­liti­cal power. The legislature wanted to assert control over budget allocation, be in charge of executive appointments, and lessen presidential privileges. The entire sys­tem finally broke down in 1891. Congressional elites revolted against President Balmaceda, whom they accused of acting beyond his constitutional mandate. The president refused to abdicate. The armed forces, as everyone knew, would decide the outcome. The crisis split Chile’s army. Most of the high command remained loyal to the commander in chief, but as Frederick Nunn observes, captains and majors harbored resentment toward aging generals who owed their positions to friends in the oligarchy. In contrast, navy leaders uniformly sided with Congress and maintained strong internal cohesion after they sent ships to occupy north­ern ports and secure the flow of nitrate revenue. President Balmaceda initially controlled the

Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931 / 23

country’s administrative center, but in a remarkable turn of events Emil Körner joined the congressional rebels and assumed command of all ground forces. This was an audacious as well as illegal act of self-­interest, but it worked out for the German officer. After fastidiously drilling Chilean troops in the north, he successfully defeated government forces at the Battle of Concón and proceeded to parade his goose-­stepping soldiers through Santiago in August 1891. The congressional victory elevated Körner’s esteem in Chile, along with the Prussian model, and cleared the way for him to enlarge the standing army.38 Navy leaders acquired a certain confidence after the unique experience of defeating an army, and the institution received preferential treatment in subsequent defense budgets. Nevertheless, soldiers from the same nation had turned their weapons on each other in battle. This painful memory lingered in the armed forces’ collective consciousness, and military leaders resolved to avoid a similar situation when politicians and journalists began talking of civil war in 1972 and 1973. The period after Balmaceda’s defeat and suicide has been dubbed the Parliamentary Repub­lic because Chile’s legislature completely enfeebled executive authority. Congress selected cabinet members, controlled ministerial appointments, and set budgets.39 Subsequent generations have described these parliamentary leaders as decadent, irresponsible, and indifferent to the needs of the country. Indeed, his­tori­cal judgment of the Parliamentary Repub­lic has been overwhelmingly negative. From 1891 to 1925 shifting and fractious coalitions accomplished little of significance. The Chilean government introduced obligatory military service in 1900. Conceived as a means to prepare the nation for full mobilization, the law brought junior officers into close contact with the nation’s poorest citizens and vividly revealed certain features of Chilean society to young lieutenants and captains, who saw raw recruits arrive for service diseased, illiterate, and prone to desertion. Of the 9,973 conscripts who reported for military service in 1901, 70 percent, or 6,981, arrived illiterate. Approximately half of that total finished military service able to read.40 Twenty years before the national government established compulsory pub­lic education for minors, the army and navy had their own schools inside every regiment, a practice that continued until the middle of the twentieth century. As a result junior officers harbored few illusions about the nation’s neglected peasantry. Writing in 1920, Captain Tobías Barros disabused his brother Mario of all nationalistic propaganda about the supposedly inherent patriotic sentiments of el roto chileno. The reality, he explained, was quite different: “Countless times I have passed through squalid camps and villages, some not far from the capital, on recruiting commissions. . . . I have drawn my ear to the heart of these good-­ natured but uneducated characters. How great my disappointment has been!

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Chile for them is Santiago; the army is the police or the carabineros. . . . With such poor ideas about the nation and the duties [that] calling oneself Chilean implies, come three-­quarters of our conscripts: almost all of them peasant recruits.” Yet Barros also wrote to his brother about their eventual transformation: “Have you seen [the recruits] at the end of their service? Each one comes out knowing how to read, write, and calculate; they know the nation’s history and their civic duties; they know and observe hygienic rules and the moral precepts of civilized man; and above all, the elevated dignity of seeing themselves as men transforms them from beasts of burden into rational beings, and therefore more useful to society.”41 Conscription gave lower-­class men an experience inside a national institution in which they learned life skills and encountered—for the first time, in many cases—the rhetoric of inclusive citizenship. For the Pino­chet generation it generated a firsthand knowledge of the national population outside the major urban centers. Conscripts and infantry officers camped and drilled together for months at a time, and even though all the interactions occurred within a strict hierarchy, the shared experience of wearing uniforms, marching, and camping in unfavorable weather conditions generated a measure of equality. Conscription cultivated a sense of pride among officers. They saw themselves participating in a great nation-­building project, taking in shoeless country bumpkins and cranking out literate, healthier citizens imbued with patriotic sentiments. World War I also reinforced the view that modern nation-­states required citizen soldiers with a sense of duty to defend the country from external threats. Neglecting underprivileged members increased the risk of having unmotivated soldiers during national crises.42 Although Chile was still a rural, agricultural nation at the turn of the twentieth century, incipient industrialization changed the nation’s social makeup and spatial distribution. The nitrate boom created an urban proletariat in several mining zones, and rural peons began moving to cities, where they lived in appalling social conditions. From 1897 to 1925, infant mortality in the city of Valparaíso ranged from 207 to 367 infant deaths per 1,000 live births.43 Meanwhile, the nation’s Congress remained steadfastly committed to laissez-­faire liberalism. Po­ liti­cal elites refused to address urban squalor with concrete policies or impose taxes on the wealthy for pub­lic education and social welfare. However, they did deploy the army to crush labor strikes. On De­cem­ber 21, 1907, Chile’s interior minister sent the army to disperse a large mass of striking nitrate workers in Iquique. After being met with refusals to go home, General Roberto Silva ordered his machine-­g unners to open fire on the crowd, and they mowed down more than a thousand workers and their families. This chilling massacre threw Chile’s emerging labor movement into tem-

Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931 / 25

porary disarray, shaped popu­lar perceptions of the military as an instrument of the elites, and seriously upset the country’s professional soldiers, who felt used by the bourgeoisie to attack the country’s exploited proletariat. In the aftermath many officers came to the conclusion that only effective social legislation could prevent the working class from turning to radical politics.44 In the years to come the Chilean Federation of Labor, founded in 1909, drifted from a social democratic orientation to alignment with Moscow. Among Chile’s labor leaders, the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917 seemed to validate radical politics as a viable solution to workers’ problems. Meanwhile, intellectuals and middle-­ class reformers challenged the aristocracy’s control of the po­liti­cal system, in part by claiming to speak for Chile’s disenfranchised masses. The army, increasingly a middle-­class institution, disapproved of the government’s failure to address the “social question.” Its junior officers drew inspiration from international models such as Imperial Germany, where Otto von Bismarck’s autocratic state limited working hours and provided unemployment insurance benefits. Similarly, the Mexican Constitution of 1917 outlined the state’s responsibilities for social welfare.45 In contrast, Chile’s aristocratic politicians refused to pass any progressive legislation.

Military Frustration and Po­liti­cal Activism (1900–1927) A generational gap existed in the army at the start of the twentieth century. Older officers, those who had fought in the War of the Pacific, enjoyed the prestige of having won great battles for the nation. They had ties to the national elite and knew the rigors of war from personal experience. Lieutenants and captains could make no such claims to battlefield glory. Younger officers tended to embrace Emil Körner and press for institutional reforms related to salary and merit-­based promotion.46 For example, younger army officers could not advance according to talent because the institution refused to retire colonels and generals until they completed forty years of pub­lic service. As a result the army experienced bloat at the top of the institution; captains and majors languished for years, unable to advance. Junior officers resented policies that kept the old guard in power. To make matters worse, many senior officers showed little interest in Prussian standards of conduct or the new professionalism. These differences helped to form a revolutionary nucleus of men who wanted to change not just army structures but also state structures.47 Captain Alberto Muñoz’s 1914 monograph El problema de nuestra educación militar (The Problem of Our Military Education) condemned Chile’s po­liti­cal sys­ tem for cultivating incompetence and laziness among senior officers, who owed their promotions or desirable assignments to po­liti­cal connections. M ­ uñoz wrote

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that civilian leaders ought to put officers in charge of educating the masses, since lower-­class men would make poor soldiers in a sys­tem that condemned them to poverty. The same year, Major Aníbal Riquelme wrote another indictment of the po­ liti­cal system. He called for constitutional changes to strengthen executive leadership. Politicians, he said, ought to consult the military on all issues of national importance. Some junior officers expressed professional indifference to national politics, but others urged the government to actively develop industry and address the “social question.” In general, a growing number of officers resented the nation’s effete leadership. Many felt superior to and separate from civilians. In 1919 the conservative Sanfuentes administration (1915–1920) uncovered plotting. Generals Guillermo Armstrong and Manuel Moore planned to offer military support to President Juan Luis Sanfuentes in the event of a national crisis involving organized labor. During official investigations much more came out. Fifty officers in the army and navy—all below the rank of general or admiral—­ belonged to a junta that wanted to reinforce executive power. Their manifesto, signed by the entire cohort, called for legislation to help workers and spoke of Marxist threats to democracy. The conspirators also planned to make a liberal senator from the north­ern nitrate zones, Arturo Alessandri, the provisional president if they seized the government.48 Such behavior thoroughly scandalized the Sanfuentes administration. It had been a very long time in Chilean history since officers had tried to subvert civilian control of the po­liti­cal system. It was quite telling that the plotters cited patriotism as the impetus for their actions. After these failed conspiracies damaged the army’s prestige in 1919, another serious embarrassment occurred in 1920, when the Ministry of Defense ordered a deployment of military forces to north­ern Chile. The army’s haphazard mobilization made the “Prussians of South America” look inept. Army discontent festered. The election of Arturo Alessandri heralded change. A middle-­class reformer with populist appeal, Alessandri enjoyed the enthusiastic backing of Chile’s nonelite urban dwellers as well as young army officers. Nonetheless, congressional conservatives blocked Alessandri’s legislative agenda. In response he appointed army officers to his cabinet and began visiting army barracks to intimidate his rivals. Following the precedent set in 1891, Alessandri’s opposition turned to the navy for support. Tensions came to a head in 1924, when fifty-­four junior officers came to Congress on Sep­tem­ber 4 and rattled their sabers. The act of intimidation worked. Legislators increased military salaries, reformed the employment code, and approved an income tax law. The junior officers involved in this self-­ proclaimed national regeneration belonged to the middle class, and their actions reflected that social stratum and its interests. Emboldened, the movement’s leaders—Colonel Marmaduke Grove and Major

Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931 / 27

Carlos Ibáñez—went even further. They mobilized support for General Luis Altamirano, who appeared in Congress on Sep­tem­ber 8 demanding the passage of stalled legislation to legalize trade unions, the eight-­hour workday, collective bargaining rights, occupational safety laws, child labor restrictions, and labor courts. Under pressure Congress passed the laws. By Janu­ary 1925 Grove and Ibáñez had formed a junta and assumed de facto control of the government. They promptly convened a constituent assembly. Lawyers drafted a constitution that restored a highly centralized government and presidential system.49 Once the army revolutionaries controlled the state, they used the Defense Ministry to reorganize the armed forces. Ibáñez and Grove centralized the structure of the army and gave it autonomy. For instance, military judges, not civilians, would dispense justice. Ibáñez also purged the high command in 1925 and 1926, which meant rapid advancement for some and unhappy retirement for others. To keep his shake-­up from plunging the nation into a civil war, he sent many rivals abroad on foreign missions, and in 1927 he created the nation’s first unified police force, the Carabineros de Chile. This act gave him leverage as fifteen thousand soldiers across the country suddenly professed loyalty to him.50 The navy high command (admirals and ship captains) opposed the army’s revolutionaries, but it also had its own discontented members, such as naval engineers who had been denied access to positions of institutional leadership. Ibáñez appointed a frigate captain who shared his politics, Carlos Frödden, the minister of the navy. Responding to the appointment of a lowering-­ranking officer, the entire navy high command, with one exception, resigned in protest. After this shake-­up, Ibáñez proceeded to reorganize the navy, sweeping aside the distinction between engineers and war officers. His government also appropriated considerable resources to modernize the fleet. These actions, though controversial, won him the support of many junior officers and others who approved of his policies.51 By the time Ibáñez had arranged his victory in the 1927 presidential election—he was the only candidate on the ballot—he enjoyed po­liti­cal support from varied social and po­liti­cal sectors. He also had many enemies. General Ibáñez is best judged by his actions. While in office he outlawed the Communist Party of Chile, exiled po­liti­cal opponents, and censored the press. In economic affairs, Ibáñez secured external loans to finance public-­sector spending and prop up the declining mining sector. Like the reformist president Arturo Alessandri, he regarded orthodox liberalism as outmoded and ineffectual for the needs of an industrializing society. Po­liti­cally authoritarian, he demanded worker allegiance to government-­controlled unions. Ironically, the Ibáñez dictatorship established an enduring model, which another military man—Augusto Pino­chet—significantly undid four and a half decades later, much to the consternation of officers who remained committed to the ibáñista model of pub­lic spending and economic nationalism.52

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Figure 3. General Carlos Ibáñez del Campo at the start of his first presidency in 1927. (From Las Fuerzas Armadas de Chile, Albúm Histórico)

Chilean officers saw many things in Ibáñez. To some he was an irascible opportunist; to others he was a strongman and savior who alone could provide the nation with order and stability. The arrival of Ibáñez also dovetailed with an enduring his­tori­cal analy­sis of the Chilean state. In 1928 lawyer Alberto Edwards wrote an influential essay arguing that the morally bankrupt liberal regime from 1891 to 1925 oversaw a period of national decline and decadence because it had strayed from the proven Portalian (i.e., of Diego Portales) tradition of strong centralized government. Edwards believed that only a strong executive authority like Carlos Ibáñez could restore order and inaugurate a period of progress.53 The essay’s impact on conservative historians and the armed forces would endure for the entire century. The army’s po­liti­cal intervention during the 1920s showed that groups of officers conceived of themselves as protectors of the nation’s long-­term interests, with an obligation to act under certain circumstances. Years later the army’s official history described the young officers who rattled their sabers in Congress as a group of patriots defying an illegitimate government.54 Though authoritarian, Ibáñez enacted progressive labor laws and practiced economic nationalism, giving Chile’s economy a new statist orientation and making the government more responsive to the interests of organized workers and middle-­class professionals.

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The legacy of Carlos Ibáñez is complicated. Many observers agreed that his movement overhauled a corrupt government and reorganized it according to the needs of a more complex, increasingly urban society. However, the revolution upended military discipline. Soldiers defied civil authority and subverted the normal chain of command. Forty officers of different ranks belonged to the 1925 junta. Meanwhile officers took positions on labor law and backed different candidates for positions of state authority. All of this had inevitably negative consequences for professionalism; one soldier might advance for po­liti­cal reasons whereas another highly qualified soldier could lose his career for refusing to join a certain faction. General Ernesto Medina enumerated some of the positive changes during the Ibáñez years: higher salaries, improved barracks, and the acquisition of materials to produce munitions. However, he reported that the morale of army commanders suffered grievously because every soldier had to present his retirement papers once he reached the grade of colonel; only generals who enjoyed the confidence of the government could enter the high command. “This policy,” wrote Medina, was “detrimental to the highest moral values of a troop commander—his character, independence, and pride. . . . The policy not only battered the personality of each officer, but in an indirect way it introduced politics into the army, ignoring the fact that soldiers serve the interests of the fatherland no matter what type of government there is.”55 Finally, it is important to note that Ibáñez created two new branches of the armed forces: the air force and a national police force.

The Creation of the Air Force The origins of the Chilean Air Force (Fuerza Aérea de Chile, or FACH) lay with the first Chilean Army officers commissioned to study aviation in France in 1910 and 1911. This cohort returned home to train a generation of pilots. On February 11, 1913, Congress approved the formation of the Military Aeronautical School and allocated resources for the acquisition of airplanes. The first fifteen planes were of French manufacture, all between fifty and eighty horsepower. Subsequent imports from Britain and Germany—bombers and hydroplanes—added to Chile’s growing air power.56 In 1930 Ibáñez issued Supreme Decree No. 1.167, which amalgamated army and navy aircraft into a separate branch of the armed services. He appointed his friend Arturo Merino its first commander in chief and gave him the task of developing the national airline, Línea Aérea Nacional. At the time of its creation, the new service counted on 198 officers and 167 army and navy aircraft across the country. The Chilean Air Force remembers Carlos Ibáñez as having an astute appreciation of airpower’s importance for the nation’s development and security. Air

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Figure 4. Air force officers standing in front of an amphibious Sikorsky S-­38, somewhere in the south­ern channels circa 1935. Chile’s air force facilitated national communication in geographically isolated regions. (Courtesy of Iván Siminic)

force officers also trace the foundation of their service to the Körner reforms of the late nineteenth century and to officers who embraced a spirit of scientific and technical progress. In the words of one air force commander in chief, the creation of the air force made “Chile among the first countries in the world to comprehend the real magnitude and specific characteristics of this new weapon that called for its own independent organization and specialized a­ dministration to prevent dispersion of means and efforts.”57 The air force proudly highlights that Chile was one of the first nations, chronologically speaking, to establish an independent air force. Indeed, Chile’s armed forces have never been very far from global trends. Chile’s air force possessed mostly German warplanes at its inception, but the institution soon developed connections to the United States. By the late 1930s the air force was already sending its most promising officers to Montgomery, Ala­bama, for advanced instruction at what would become Maxwell Air Force Base. Thirty years later the curriculum at Chile’s Air Force Academy of War differed little from its US Air Force counterpart.58 Chile’s air force can claim a lin­ eage from both army and navy aviation, but unlike those two services, which take pride in their role securing the republic’s independence from Spain, the air force celebrates a his­tori­cal role overcoming some of the country’s formidable

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geographic barriers. The institution’s early development is remembered as a time of daring pioneers: men who established air routes along the length of the coun­ try, risked life and limb flying across the Andes into Argentina and Brazil, or bravely landed hydroplanes in remote parts of the country from Puerto Montt to Punta Arenas.59

The Creation of a National Police Force Law enforcement possessed a decidedly ad hoc quality in nineteenth-­century Chile. Municipalities generally lacked the wherewithal to finance permanent, professional police forces with standard arms and organization. In the countryside, militias and vigilantes pursued bandits and cattle thieves until the creation of a rural police in 1881.60 The pacification of Araucanía and subsequent arrival of colonists provided the impetus in 1896 for Chile’s Ministry of War to create special police units staffed by army officers whose primary mission was to maintain order in lands formerly under Mapuche control. In 1906 the War Ministry reorganized these gendarmes into the Regiment of Carabineros, which comprised two thousand soldiers—infantry and cavalry—under army command for use in designated zones. On April 27, 1927, Carlos Ibáñez brought all the country’s police forces under a single administration. He wanted to consolidate the civil sys­tem of his own regime, depoliticize the armed forces, and relieve soldiers of their erstwhile role maintaining pub­lic order.61 Originally conceived as a buttress for his administration, the carabineros have since developed a deserved reputation for honesty and professionalism. Unlike some police forces, the carabineros have a strong military character. Their antecedents lie firmly with the army, and their institutional values mirror those of the other armed services: respect for the chain of command, the vocational nature of the career, professionalism, and service to the fatherland. In the case of emergencies, the carabineros can be mobilized for battle, which occurred during the frontier dispute with Argentina in 1978. The carabineros have his­tori­ cally depended on the Defense Ministry, but unlike the army or navy, the institution never developed a sense of messianic mission that could produce independent po­liti­cal action. The Treaty of Versailles in 1919 prohibited German military missions, but when Bavarian colonel Hans von Kiesling returned to Chile in 1924 he received a warm welcome from friends, former students, and officials who invited him to lecture about his experiences on European battlefields. None other than Carlos Ibáñez, a Germanophile and former student of Kiesling, enlisted his help contracting German trainers to organize and train the carabineros. Meanwhile the army’s inspector general, Francisco Javier Díaz, secretly arranged for Chilean of-

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Figure 5. Regiment of Carabineros on horseback in a pub­lic square in Arica around 1926. The carabineros retain a distinctly military character. (Courtesy of Archivo Fotográfico, Biblioteca Nacional de Chile)

ficers to train with the Reichswehr, Germany’s army from 1919 to 1935.62 Germany’s defeat in World War II, however, definitively brought the era of Prussian military influence to a close. To understand the Pino­chet generation is to appreciate its his­tori­cal inheritance: Prussian discipline in the army, British naval traditions, victory in war, national heroes such as Arturo Prat, and collective memory of the 1891 civil war. Chile’s postindependence stability and successive military triumphs created rich fodder for the army and navy to build proud traditions. The army draws from the history of indigenous people defending their sovereignty in colonial times and the early establishment of a standing army in the colony. The navy celebrates its nineteenth-­century victories and its brief period as a South Pacific power. Chile’s achievements in the nineteenth century fostered a sense of superiority relative to other Latin Ameri­can countries, for civilians and soldiers alike. In the armed forces there is a deep veneration of Bernardo O’Higgins and Diego Portales as well as a marked disdain for some of the country’s po­liti­cal elites going back to the late nineteenth century. Both the army’s and the navy’s processes of modernization occurred within the context of potential encirclement by rival nations; geopo­liti­cal circumstances meant that the country’s sol-

Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931 / 33

diers could not afford to be complacent about unresolved territorial disputes or the growing size and wealth of Argentina. General Carlos Ibáñez, who arrived swiftly and forcefully on the national stage in 1924, cast a shadow on the Pino­chet generation in the twentieth century. His reform movement and controversial involvement in politics from 1924 to 1931 represented a model for some officers. Others thought his po­liti­cal behavior exemplified what professional soldiers should avoid. Understanding this history is necessary in order to make sense of the four institutions that came to power in 1973.

2 First Years in Uniform, 1931–1945

As a child Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte dreamed of a career in the army. He grew up hearing tales of battles in the Peruvian sierra from his great-­uncle, a veteran of the War of the Pacific, and stories from his godfather about serving in the French Army during World War I.1 Pino­chet’s father discouraged a military career for his son, however. He wanted Augusto to study medicine, but the boy applied to the Military Academy anyway and gained admission in 1933 after two previous rejections. When asked why they had joined the armed forces, Chilean officers commonly recalled a childhood fascination with the nation’s military heroes or the impressive discipline of impeccably dressed officers in ceremonial uniforms during civic holidays. They imagined themselves in full regalia marching at the head of other goose-­stepping soldiers.2 Family influences mattered, too. By one estimate, 60 percent of Chile’s naval cadets had fathers in the service. For instance, the fathers of Ismael Huerta and José Merino both attained the rank of admiral in the Chilean Navy. R ­ oberto Kelly, whose grandfather served in the navy during the War of the Pacific, says, “It never occurred to me to be anything else than a sailor. Without a doubt the navy is a vocation like the priesthood: not everyone is called and ready to be tied to the post.” The testimonial literature is filled with similar remarks. ­Mario López Tobar writes that the primary difference between “men of arms” and other professionals—­such as investors, politicians, and professors—is the vocational aspect of the career; soldiers pledge to give their lives to the fatherland.3 Chilean officers share the adolescent experience of attending a military academy with its routine of drills, inspections, and physical training. Older cadets invariably haze the greenhorns, and every cadet carefully watches his instructing officers. “We fixated on every detail of their dress and attitude, hoping, when our turn came, to copy them exactly,” Tobías Barros recalls. In this way, cadets learn values and habits from commanding officers who model leadership. The peculiar

First Years in Uniform, 1931–1945 / 35

microclimate of structure and camaraderie culminates on graduation day when cadets become, by order of the president and defense minister, sub-­lieutenants (army and air force) or midshipmen (navy). Young officers then receive membership badges to the country’s military clubs along with their initial assignments. Some depart for bases in the far south or arid north, where they live in relative isolation from national events in Santiago or Valparaíso.4 Victor Catalán recalled his first assignment to an army base in Puerto Natales, a town in Chilean Patagonia more than twelve hundred miles south of Santiago. In such a far-­flung settlement lacking paved roads beyond the civic center, news from the central valley arrived one day late.5 Such isolation may have been difficult for a teenage lieutenant, but it was also purposeful; national holidays took on a new significance, and Chilean lieutenants acquired a deep knowledge of the country’s extensive coastlines, verdant valleys, and lonely deserts. Pilots learned to fly against the backdrop of the Andes. Young naval officers’ instructional voyages took them to Europe, California, Easter Island, and even Antarctica. In fact, all naval officers must spend one year in the far south navigating its fjords and channels before attaining the rank of frigate captain. Diverse assignments put soldiers in touch with the country’s human geography. The navy delivered supplies to isolated inhabitants and ferried their products to port. Training and reconnaissance missions along Chile’s borders with Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina brought officers, troops, and noncommissioned officers into close contact. Infantry officers camped alongside their subordinates in cold and remote parts of the country with little human settlement.6 Sergio Nuño, an army general, explained that officers possessed a unique knowledge of Chile’s social problems because they had commanded conscripts from every province of the nation, many of whom arrived for compulsory military service barefoot, half-­literate, and malnourished. Under military tutelage many learned how to brush their teeth and read. From a military standpoint, poor citizens living in isolated regions represented a national security issue if they did not develop an appropriate sense of patriotism or sense of duty to defend the country. The state had to show appropriate concern for their access to health care, education, and housing.7 Military life involves subordination to the group—obeying and commanding—and the soldier’s disciplined life shapes his attitudes toward civilians and their politics. The military is also a specialized, technical profession. Each cadet chooses a specialty in his service branch—such as artillery, engineering, or telecommunications—and this decision has important career consequences. Augusto Pino­chet, for instance, elected the infantry, which guaranteed experience training recruits and carrying out tactical exercises. He also spent ample time contemplating combat situations, the potential action of adversaries, and the best

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Figure 6. Augusto Pino­chet (right) with a group of cadets at the Military Academy around 1933. (Courtesy of Zig-­Zag Press)

tactical responses. That Pino­chet proved good at outmaneuvering his rivals, both foreign and domestic, after 1973 should be placed in the context of his professional formation, which expected him to imagine and analyze tactical situations. The Chilean armed forces also inculcate a devotion to continual study. In the 1930s older army officers assigned teenage lieutenants two books a month to read, summarize, and discuss in front of their peers. Pino­chet recalled his first reading assignment: The Rebellion of the Masses by José Ortega y Gasset and The Gallic Wars by Julius Caesar. Such activities formed lifelong habits. A bibliophile, Pino­ chet amassed a vast collection of books by the end of his life—approximately fifty-­five thousand titles, many rare and valuable.8 Tobías Barros writes, “The truth is that I always felt more like a soldier than a civilian. The military profession left its indelible mark on my personality.” Likening it to a monk’s habit, he adds, “I consider myself tied, in spite of my many years as a civilian, to the institution that formed me, and I try to serve and honor it the best I can.”9 Life in the armed forces involves daily salutes to the national flag and peri-

First Years in Uniform, 1931–1945 / 37

odic oaths of loyalty to the fatherland. Soldiers revere a common set of his­tori­ cal fig­ures. Beyond the effect of regimented life in the barracks, military men learn to ask basic questions like “What is the mission objective?” Shared formation fosters camaraderie among the officer corps and among the branches. Notwithstanding interservice rivalries, there is truth to Julio Canessa’s remark that “when soldiers speak of sister institutions we speak of a well-­reconciled family whose members respect, love, and admire each other.”10 Of course, the men writing accounts of military life tend to be those who achieved distinction and could look back with satisfaction on their careers. Not all soldiers completed their service with similar feelings. Some felt passed over or shortchanged. In the 1970s several officers lost their commands for po­liti­cal reasons or suffered physical harm at the hands of their comrades. Some young men had practical reasons for joining the armed services; it represented social mobility, steady employment, or a ticket out of the provinces. On the whole, however one is immediately struck by the tremendous affection most officers feel for their respective institutions. This chapter introduces members of the Pino­chet generation and emphasizes the crucial importance of their first years in uniform. Chilean officers who entered their respective military academies in the 1930s and early 1940s belong to a generational cohort with an important set of experiences, the knowledge of which is essential for understanding the Chilean military’s behavior from 1970 to 1990. The abrupt and chaotic collapse of General Carlos Ibáñez’s dictatorship in July 1931 and the massive naval mutiny two months later forever marked one group of Chilean soldiers. Decades later the convulsive 1930s lingered in the memory of military leaders, who resolved to preserve the chain of command during moments of crisis and prevent humiliations like the ones they had experienced in the 1930s. Young soldiers of the 1930s and early 1940s also completed their initial training during global transformations: the birth of Chile’s welfare state, radical ideologies clashing for supremacy at home and abroad, the rise of the masses, and a cruel, unforgiving world war. The era engendered new prejudices, anxieties, and concerns.

Annus Horribulus The Great Depression devastated Chile’s export economy. Demand for nitrate plummeted in 1931, depriving Santiago of essential revenue and creating a mass of desperate, unemployed workers. The League of Nations, in fact, declared Chile the nation most severely affected by the collapse in global trade.11 Unable to manage the escalating crisis, Carlos Ibáñez contemplated two options: rely on the army to repress his opposition, or leave the country. He chose the latter, fleeing

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across the Andes into Argentina on July 26, 1931. In the wake of his departure people filled the streets of the capital to celebrate “the fall of the tyrant.” Some talked about sacking the homes of ibáñistas.12 The po­liti­cal fallout lasted for years. Army cadet Carlos Prats González, just sixteen years of age, recalled the antimilitary backlash on the streets of Santiago: “The uncontrolled masses directed their aggression first against the carabineros, the defenders of law and order who had only been fulfilling their duties. Later, and with greater cruelty, the civilian reaction began against the army, especially towards officers and even young cadets who were beat up by gangs of well-­to-­do youths and spit on by society ladies solely for wearing their uniforms in public.”13 Searing memories from Prats’s first year in the Military Academy shaped his outlook as a professional soldier. Politics had caused the army to suffer societal scorn, even humiliating attacks, but it went beyond that. Prats digested the assorted complications of military involvement in national politics. The Military Academy’s director, Colonel Caupolicán Clavel, resigned his post out of loyalty to Ibáñez. In this crucible the young cadet observed a primordial military value: personal loyalty. He recognized its value and importance as well as its implications. What if Ibáñez had decided to remain in Chile and deploy the army to repress his opposition? Rallying around a military chief could tie the entire institution to regrettable actions. Certain military values—personal loyalty, cohesion in times of crisis, respect for the chain of command—had serious implications for the po­liti­cal sys­tem when soldiers controlled the state. The navy suffered its own trauma. One month after Ibáñez’s chaotic departure, Interim President Manuel Trucco decreed a 30 percent pay cut for all pub­lic servants, which followed a 10 percent reduction the year before. The news upset soldiers and bureaucrats alike, but few imagined what was about to transpire in Coquimbo, three hundred miles north of Santiago. In the early morning hours of Sep­tem­ber 1, lower-­deck petty officers serving on the Almirante Latorre imprisoned the battleship’s high command. Soon the rebellion involved 14 ships and 2,750 crewmen. On Sep­tem­ber 2 the south­ern fleet, based in Talcahuano, joined the mutiny and began steaming north with another 15 ships. The number of sailors in rebellion exceeded 4,000. The next day a navy communications school and an air force base declared themselves in revolt. Noncommissioned officers from an infantry regiment outside Valparaíso sent a telegram of support to the mutineers. Led by the highest-­ranking enlisted man on the Almirante Latorre, the rebels demanded higher salaries, improved rations, and free clothing.14 The character of the mutiny changed on Sep­tem­ber 4. Rebel leaders issued a new set of demands with clear social content: give uncultivated land to landless peasants, tax the wealthy to pay for pub­lic works projects, suspend payment of Chile’s foreign debt, and lower bank interest rates to encourage business activity. The same day, state officials demanded an unconditional surrender. In response

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the mutineers called on the Communist Party, the Chilean Federation of Labor, and all other sympathizers to join their revolution and turn against the government. President Trucco ordered warplanes to bombard the fleet in Coquimbo while army units pacified outposts of rebellion. On Sep­tem­ber 6 air force bombs exploded around the fleet while news of army forces recapturing Talcahuano demoralized the rebels. They capitulated on Sep­tem­ber 7. During the crisis the Naval Academy mobilized teenage cadets—­in­cluding José Merino, Ismael Huerta, and Patricio Carvajal—to defend the institution from a potential takeover. Fourteen-­year-­old Huerta heard the order “To your posts!” and ran to his assigned position on the sec­ond floor armed with an antique Turkish sword called a yataghan. On the first floor some older cadets manned a machine gun and eventually opened fire in the direction of muffled voices and gunshots until Captain Jorge Videla yelled, “Cease fire!”15 The cadets who graduated in 1935 never forgot when their beloved Naval Academy had come under attack. Referring to the appearance of armed po­liti­ cal groups in Chile during the late 1960s and early 1970s, Huerta remarked in his memoir, “What I should mention is the ongoing concern we lived with concerning attempts to infiltrate the military ranks that everyone knew had to be taking place. The navy had a sad and unpleasant surprise in 1931 when it did not pick up on the acts of recently incorporated elements at a time of intense po­liti­ cal activity, nor did it imagine that individuals with selfish motives could sow rebellion among the crews.”16 Scholars disagree on the remote and immediate causes of the mutiny. Two civilian accountants played leading roles in the mutiny. Did they exploit the discontent of less educated seamen and then steer the rebellion toward social revolution? One interpretation views the naval revolt as a popu­lar revolution that did not mature because the rebels failed to successfully incorporate the Chilean working class. Army and navy institutional histories describe the revolt as the work of Ibáñez’s enemies, who sent a commission to manipulate the discontent of Chilean sailors on the Almirante Latorre, which was then stationed in England for repairs. Carlos Tromben appropriately observes that the revolt of Chilean sailors and noncommissioned officers occurred on the heels of a generalized breakdown of discipline among commissioned officers.17 In other words, the navy did not have its house in order. Also noteworthy is the response of the army commander in chief, Indalicio Téllez, to the mutiny before the military reacquired control of the fleet. He felt compelled to issue a general circular to his institution titled “On the Errors of Communism.” Its opening statement would become something of an orthodoxy: “Communism can only flourish among enslaved peoples. . . . Not a single civilized nation of Europe or America, one that has known liberty, willingly accepts communism.”18

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The event touched every branch of the armed forces, but none quite like the navy. Military prosecutors handed out death sentences to the noncommissioned officers who led the insurrection.19 In the aftermath many naval officers denied ever supporting the mutineers, or they insisted that they had been coerced into signing the crew’s petitions. Others claimed that they cooperated in order to defuse a tense situation while waiting for the right moment to regain power. Numerous naval officers lost their commands or were retired even after being exonerated in military courts. The institution required more than a decade to recover from the loss of personnel, and psychologically it wounded the navy’s pride.20 How could such a thing have happened? Three months after the naval mutiny, shocking events shook two north­ern mining towns. On Christmas Day 1931 approximately thirty men launched a surprise assault on the Esmeralda Battalion army barracks in Copiapó. The time and place of the attack appeared premeditated, because the outpost was lightly guarded and the city was preparing for Christmas festivities. According to initial reports, a firefight broke out when a group of communists and members of the Chilean Federation of Labor attempted to seize the barracks at two o’clock in the morning. Carabineros eventually arrived to reinforce the soldiers guarding their posts, and the attackers fled for the hills amid gunshots and general disorder. During the firefight seven assailants, one sergeant, two soldiers, and two women were killed; five soldiers received serious wounds.21 Tragedy also struck nearby Vallenar. Gunshots went off at three o’clock in the afternoon, and carabineros immediately pursued known communists to the ­party’s headquarters. An exchange of fire killed two carabineros, and the police responded by dynamiting the building and dragging off several suspects for summary execution, a punishment deemed fair sanction by the local newspaper.22 Investigators alleged that communist leaders had planned to designate Vallenar a Soviet base from which to direct a nationwide revolution. Commercial establishments were going to be seized for the supply of a red army, and Vallenar’s Hotel Bernabé would have served as the revolution’s headquarters. Supposedly some communists had revealed the conspiracy to a prison guard in Copiapó because they hoped to enlist his help on the day of the attack to liberate prisoners and absorb them into the revolutionary movement.23 Vallenar’s local newspaper, El Trabajo, reprinted a document discovered by investigators in the home of communist leader Aníbal Cuadra Santander; the document identified armories across the north where rebels might procure arms and recruit conscript soldiers, sailors, workers, and peasants into the insurrection. In Santiago, communist senator Manuel Hidalgo dismissed the idea that his party had orchestrated the events. He and Marmaduke Grove called it a spontaneous uprising to protest the social conditions of the impoverished north. Local newspapers insisted that Santiago’s politicians did not understand the revo-

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lutionary nature of the events. Copiapó’s El Amigo del País explained that “the assault on a barracks is the effect not of hunger but of revolutionary preaching.”24 Even if communist leaders had in fact drawn up such plans, it is fanciful to think that such a revolution had any chance to succeed. Nevertheless, these events entered the military’s collective memory. The army’s official history states, “The power vacuum produced in the wake of General Ibáñez’s resignation led the Communist Party to believe the moment had arrived to make use of armed violence, a fact made apparent during the naval rebellion and tumult in Co­piapó and Vallenar.” More than fifty years later, in May 1983, Chileans massed in the streets to call for Pino­chet’s ouster and the immediate return to democracy. When the junta met to discuss strategy on June 16, José Merino reminded his colleagues of the chaos that had followed Ibáñez’s departure in 1931. Above all else, he wanted to manage the crisis and avoid an abrupt transition.25 The turmoil continued in 1932. The perennially conspiratorial Marmaduke Grove, then air force commander in chief, ousted President Juan Esteban Montero in June and proclaimed the short-­lived Socialist Repub­lic of Chile. So­ cial­ism, in 1932, represented a basic concern for ordinary citizens and government involvement in the economy. Eleven days later Grove’s rivals exiled him to Easter Island and Carlos Dávila (a lawyer and politician) assumed control of the government. Three months later army, navy, and air force commanders forced Dávila from power and made General Bartolomé Blanche provisional presi­dent. Blanche oversaw national elections that brought Arturo Alessandri to power (1932–1938).26

Civilian Backlash A great many officers in the Pino­chet generation started or completed their initial training during a peculiar time. In 1932 civilians organized republican militias—­ not altogether unlike the ones Diego Portales established in the 1830s—to guard against the ambitions of professional soldiers who might assert their hold on the nation’s po­liti­cal life. Somewhere between fifty thousand and eighty thousand Chileans joined these paramilitary organizations, and officers silently accepted the humiliating arrangement until the militias dissolved in 1936.27 Between 1932 and 1936 republican militias composed of young civilians came to navy and army schools, where they drilled under civilian commands. Huerta writes that naval cadets commented on the civilian commanders’ lack of proper military form; they seemed like an affront to the actual profession.28 Pino­chet recalled the weekly fights between army cadets and young men who called themselves antimilitaristas. The Military Academy’s authorities expressly forbade cadets to go near Santiago’s popu­lar Plaza Brasil on Sunday afternoons, but cadets invariably went there and returned with stories about their adolescent

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confrontations. The fact that the Alessandri administration tolerated, and even encouraged, republican militias came as an insult to proud institutions. Soldiers felt the president was deliberately cultivating pub­lic hostility toward the armed forces.29 The period 1924 to 1932 left behind overlapping institutional memories. On the one hand, officers had put an end to the effete Parliamentary Repub­lic by demanding a new constitution. Carlos Ibáñez’s government enacted progressive labor codes, championed economic nationalism, and set the enduring precedent of state intervention in the economy.30 From one perspective, soldiers modernized a decadent sys­tem that civilians could not fix themselves. On the other hand, the Ibáñez dictatorship damaged military professionalism and set up the civilian backlash that followed. The navy retained a powerful collective memory of the 1931 rebellion as a time when civilians had tried to use soldiers for their own po­liti­cal purposes by infecting young and naive sailors with revolutionary ideas. The period therefore cautioned conspiratorial contact with civilian leaders. Military interventions had cost soldiers the respect and trust of the public. In the words of Tobías Barros, “Recuperating this respect and trust takes years of silent and selfless work not exempt from unjust humiliations and awkward, cowardly acts of revenge [on the part of civilians].” General Leonidas Bravo held a handful of conspiratorial officers responsible for the period’s intrigues and attendant loss of institutional prestige.31 Many officers drew a simple lesson: civilians could not be trusted. Participants of the period knew that politicians and masses could quickly turn on their erstwhile military allies. More than thirty years later, in 1968, Ismael Huerta wrote a thoughtful reflection on the subject of professional soldiers in contemporary South America. He hoped that civilian authorities would seek the advice of officers on security matters and appoint academics from the nation’s universities to work with officers on joint research projects, but he emphasized that the military’s job was not to combat certain ideologies such as Marxism. Soldiers had a strictly constitutional role to fulfill, and Huerta observed that even when neutrality ceased to be an option, as in the case of civil war, such conflicts usually ended badly for soldiers; po­liti­cal involvement harmed morale, negatively affected young officers, and damaged professionalism. Elites might solicit intervention from soldiers when it suited them, calling on the armed forces to “save the nation,” but the pub­lic could quickly turn on officers.32 The essay reflected Huerta’s experience as a young naval cadet as well as his awareness of the problems Argentina’s military suffered because of its repeated po­liti­cal involvement. Chilean politicians reestablished control over the military, and military chiefs restored discipline in the barracks. The navy slowly recovered from its mutiny. President Alessandri appointed General Oscar Novoa Fuentes commander in

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chief of the army (1934–1938), and the general facilitated the army’s return to Prussian tradition. Remembered for iron discipline and constant inspections, Novoa purged rebellious elements from the army and tolerated civilian militias. The government actually considered dissolving the air force to eliminate the risk of sedition from a technologically powerful service, but much like the army, the air force was depoliticized by its commander in chief, General Diego Aracena Aguilar (1932–1939), who directed its professional energy toward keeping up with the rapid advances in aviation.33 Aracena’s life reflects the early history of his institution. In 1922 he was the first person to fly from Santiago to Rio de ­Janeiro, and in 1937 he created the Air Force Academy of War. Memory of antimilitary backlash contributed to the development of an institutional prejudice. Many in the armed forces came to see partisan politics as dirty and as unbefitting the honor of professional soldiers. Three important realities further reinforced a tendency to remain po­liti­cally aloof. First, officers assigned to bases across the country or fulfilling duties overseas could not register to vote in local elections. Second, commissioned officers played a role over­see­ ing national elections after 1941, which meant that they rarely cast ballots themselves. Third, constitutional provisions actually prohibited noncommissioned officers from voting. In sum, few military personnel actually voted in Chile’s elections. This is po­liti­cally significant when one considers the size of Chile’s electorate and the number of commissioned and noncommissioned officers in the four armed services.34 For example, in 1970 the army, navy, and carabineros each had twenty-­ five thousand personnel, and the air force had seventy-­five hundred, for a total exceeding eighty thousand. Most conscripts could not vote on account of being under the voting age (twenty-­one). Relatively small pluralities decided national elections in 1958 (33,416 votes) and 1970 (39,175 votes). Although military votes may not have decided either contest, at a national level they could have affected congressional races and made the government more responsive to corporate needs, especially from 1958 to 1970, when governments kept military salaries low relative to other professions. After 1932, says Julio Canessa, “there were no votes to be won in the barracks, and military personnel could not protest. Soldiers behaved well, parading impeccably [on national holidays]; money spent on defense was considered a necessary evil. For decades no one asked about the armed forces we actually needed.”35 In the 1960s officers complained that politicians had come to regard the armed forces as useful during earthquakes and other emergencies but good for little else other than parading on national holidays. In 1972 Roberto Viaux commented that illiterates enjoyed the right to vote but noncommissioned officers did not, a fact that seemed to deny the basic humanity of military personnel. When asked

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if these soldiers desired to vote, he responded, “Yes, the desire exists because they are human beings with all the attributes as such. They are not morons or mental eunuchs.”36 After 1932 the civil-­military relationship developed a new organizing principle: officers would stay out of politics, and civilian defense ministers would refrain from formulating doctrines or interfering with the military profession. In other words, officers would obey civilian leaders but retain institutional autonomy. Scholars have observed that this arrangement widened the cultural-­ ideological rift between soldiers and civilians. The two groups knew little about each other and shared few points of contact. Sometimes called total institutions, militaries can blur the division between work and home because officers commonly spend their free time with other soldiers at corporate clubs or elsewhere on base.37 The physical separation from civilians coexisted with feelings of moral superiority. That is, soldiers might perceive civilians as living less disciplined lives and sacrificing little for the nation. Tobías Barros’s widely read and influential book Vigilia de armas (1920) described soldiers as bearers of a noble culture, more in line with the chivalrous knights of medieval Europe or monks in religious orders. Barros wrote that even though the values preached in the halls of military academies—discipline, loyalty, self-­sacrifice, duty—might be disappearing from modern society, professional soldiers ought to celebrate their differences from civilians. Priestlike devotion to patriotic self-­sacrifice made the profession distinctive and fulfilling.38 Soldiers, in other words, were a caste apart with a unique formation. In 1931 Ramón Cañas Montalva, a future commander in chief of the army, reflected on The Rebellion of the Masses, José Ortega y Gasset’s analy­sis of Europe’s declining aristocracies and the rapid arrival of mass politics. According to Ortega y Gasset, Europe’s old elites lacked a legitimate claim to rule because they no longer possessed any elevated excellence, and precisely because of that fact Europe’s masses had justly rebelled against decadent aristocrats. Yet the European masses were no better prepared to govern themselves; they remained crude, ordinary, and easily moved by demagogues. According to Cañas, Chile’s soldiers needed to cultivate spiritual and rational qualities that elevated their institutions above a mass society that was increasingly inclined to materialist ideologies.39 The Cañas article illustrates a persistent military incertitude about the age of mass politics. Namely, the urban working class and the middle class could vote, form unions, and potentially dominate the po­liti­cal life of the nation. Mass politics could also empower unscrupulous politicians and demagogues who sought to exclude all other citizens from power. In Europe Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler, two ordinary men, reached power on the strength of their mass movements and organized shock troops, the Black Shirts and the Brown Shirts, respectively. Aspects of fascism—nationalism, corporatism, and authoritarianism—­appealed

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to certain military sensibilities, but mass movements, whether communist or fascist, generated anxieties because they depended on ordinary people while also showing contempt for traditional bases of authority such as the Roman Catholic Church.40 From the 1930s to the end of the century, a persistent incertitude about mass democracy existed among military thinkers. On the one hand, it could effectively channel the legitimate interests of different social groups into a stable po­liti­cal order. On the other hand, it could empower irresponsible leaders who lacked, from a military point of view, an appropriate sense of order and patriotism.

Domestic Development Between 1932 and 1973 Chile’s highly competitive po­liti­cal sys­tem included a broad spectrum of parties representing different social groups, and in 1938 Chile became the only country outside Europe to elect a coalition of centrist and left-­wing parties. Led by the Radical Party, the Popu­lar Front created a state agency to encourage industrialization and represented the demands of middle-­and working-­ class Chileans who wanted social welfare and pub­lic education.41 In the 1930s and 1940s Chile’s national leadership consolidated a po­liti­cal economy based on high tariffs for domestic industry, price controls, and low taxes on business and high-­income groups. Growing cities offered opportunities to a middle class of salaried professionals, who, along with the working class, enjoyed the protection of unions and labor courts. At the same time, the prioritization of urban development created serious imbalances. Fixing food prices held wages down for rural labor, maintained antiquated landholding patterns, and eliminated incentives for landowners to modernize their farms. Low agricultural productivity generated inflationary pressures, too, eroding worker incomes. Chile, a land with some of the world’s richest soil, started importing grain to feed itself in the 1950s. Here it is appropriate to mention Chile’s midcentury demographic expansion. The population increased by half a million inhabitants from 1907 to 1920, but from 1940 until the end of the century the national population grew by at least one million people every decade. The 1940 census counted 5,023,539 inhabitants, and that number grew to 11,329,736 by 1982. During this period Chile’s young, urbanizing population lacked the fruits of a stable, expanding economy. As was the case elsewhere in Latin America, governments struggled to meet the needs of their people, especially as nonelite participation in the po­liti­cal sys­tem increased. Civil-­military relations continued to undergo major tests after the disbanding of republican militias in 1936. Anticommunist officers, influenced by European fascism and other authoritarian models of government, expressed po­liti­ cal ambitions at different times, but in every case they lacked sufficient support

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from society or among their colleagues. On August 25, 1939, a disgruntled, recently retired army general named Ariosto Herrera attempted, along with Carlos Ibáñez, to incite the army’s Tacna Regiment to overthrow the Popu­lar Front. What happened is revealing. Herrera, who admired Mussolini and detested communists, found junior officers in Santiago’s Tacna Regiment willing to support his revolutionary coup. The conspiratorial officers contacted units across the country and received some expressions of support, but enthusiasm waned. The infantry school refused to join, and more senior officers opposed the plan. Soon any hope for a coup evaporated. The Tacna Regiment’s commanding officer, a Colonel Luco, arrested Herrera, and Ibáñez fled across the Andes into Argentina. In total, the army purged thirty-­nine officers after the event. The revolt, known as the Ariostazo, revealed the willingness of some junior officers to violate professional codes of conduct as well as their attraction to authoritarian nationalism. But many lieutenants and captains in the Pino­chet generation lost their careers as a result of the failed uprising.42 Ibáñez remained a fixture in Chilean politics for decades. From 1938 to the conclusion of his constitutional presidency (1952–1958), groups of officers periodically conspired to install him as supreme leader of the country. Sometimes Ibáñez courted these conspirators. On other occasions he disavowed knowledge of their po­liti­cal intrigues. He was surely a polarizing fig­ure among soldiers, inspiring fierce loyalty from some and provoking bitter resentment from others. Frederick Nunn observes that Chilean officers largely refrained from criticizing civilian management of state and society in their professional journals during the 1930s and 1940s, focusing instead on institutional issues like retirement, salary, and promotion or professional subjects such as wartime mobilization and obligatory military service. In contrast, soldiers in Peru or Brazil commonly espoused a strident nationalism and were criti­cal of civilian leaders.43 The civilian backlash in Chile had put the armed forces on the defensive, and articles in El Memorial del Ejército expressed concern that the youth might grow up without an appropriate awareness of the nation’s military history and heroes. Alejandro San Francisco and Angel Soto write that officers felt “the need to valorize the military profession in a context of loss of prestige that accompanied the military at the end of the twenties and beginnings of the thirties.”44 In 1941, much to the delight of the armed forces, President Pedro Aguirre Cerda announced the Chilean-­ness Campaign (La Campaña de Chilenidad). The initiative encouraged patriotism through pub­lic education and mandated instruction about national heroes and military history. The national anthem was to be sung in school, and the armed forces were to be involved more extensively in national holidays, parades, and other civic events. The same year, the government gave the armed forces a role overseeing elections, which had long suffered from irregularities and fraud. Until 1973 appointed officers across the country

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Figure 7. Peasant father gives an army rifle to his son, a conscript in the infantry school. Public ceremonies during the Chilean-­ness Campaign promoted a bond between the armed forces and the people. (Courtesy of the Chilean Army)

assumed the title jefe de plaza (plaza chief ) during electoral contests, faithfully guaranteeing honest and orderly election procedures. The campaign expressed the politics of a new nationalism imbued with Creole symbols and propagated by Chile’s reformist middle class. Although the military may have disliked the communists in Aguirre’s Popu­lar Front, defense journals celebrated the Chilean-­ ness Campaign, not least of all because it treated the armed forces as an important national institution. In addition to promoting patriotism, President Aguirre claimed an enormous slice of Antarctica as Chilean territory, in­clud­ing parts the United Kingdom also claimed. British officials regarded the act as opportunistic since the Royal Navy, which already maintained several Antarctic bases, could not respond because of its conflict with Germany. Nonetheless, Aguirre’s declaration in 1940 dovetailed with and promoted a new geographic awareness among leading Chilean intellectuals.45

The World at War European events affected every country in the South­ern Cone. The Spanish Civil War (1936–1939) inspired nationalist thinkers who believed that Generalissimo Francisco Franco had won a crusade to liberate Spain from Marxist forces. Fran-

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co’s authoritarian government, which espoused an uncompromising anti­com­ mun­ism, represented one po­liti­cal model for nationalists and Roman Catholic conservatives. In the 1980s, Nicanor Díaz said that Generals Roberto Viaux and Augusto Pino­chet—classmates of his at the Military Academy from 1933 to 1936—both wanted to be “the Franco of Chile.”46 Pino­chet, in fact, expressed his admiration of Franco in 1975 by attending the caudillo’s funeral, one of his few foreign trips. In 1938 the navy sent Ismael Huerta to study radio communications in Paris. There the young soldier took in the peculiar atmosphere: persecuted Spaniards fleeing their war-­torn homeland, France’s left-­wing Popu­lar Front, and the ongoing appeasement of Adolf Hitler. Huerta recalled Parisian multitudes joyfully chanting the French prime minister’s name, “Dala-­dier,” after the Munich Conference, just as the British prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, received a triumphal reception in Lon­don heralding “peace in our time.” Huerta continued his technical studies the sec­ond half of the year in Berlin, where he witnessed Kristallnacht, the brutal Nazi pogrom in No­vem­ber. Of his time in interwar Europe, Huerta wrote, “I deduced a moral I have not forgotten: be wary of euphoric crowds.”47 In the 1930s and 1940s great battles unfolded across Africa, Asia, and Europe, providing an opportunity to assess the evolution of warfare and the role of tanks and airplanes. On bedroom walls young officers marked world maps with colored flags to indicate the positions of opposed forces and curiously awaited their issues of La Semana Internacional, a weekly newsmagazine, to update their maps. Augusto Pino­chet, who was twenty-­four years old in 1939, later recalled, “Our main concern was to comment and take note on the way new tactics and techniques were being applied in what was known as the ‘Lightning War’.”48 Army officers censured France’s po­liti­cal leaders for failing to mobilize pub­ lic opinion in the face of German attack and its military commanders for failing to effectively coordinate defensive and offensive doctrines. A unifying theme among these analyses was the conviction that Germany’s military successes were a result of prewar planning. In the words of Captain Raúl Aldunate, “The German nation, working and sacrificing tenaciously for twenty years as a whole, showed during its initial campaign with Poland just what can be achieved through intelligent peacetime preparations and unshakable faith in victory.”49 World War II, even more than World War I, illustrated the nature of total war and the intersection of internal, diplomatic, and economic fronts. In these conflagrations the division between soldier and ordinary citizen collapsed; civilians represented vital instruments of production and targets of psychological, economic, or military attack.50 The Chilean Army’s praise for the Wehrmacht (Germany’s army from 1935 to 1946) focused on its military actions, but there was also an implicit admiration for the Nazi Party’s ability to mobilize national

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energy in support of its policies. Essays and editorials praised the speed of German rearmament, the thunderous efficiency of the Wehrmacht, and the state’s role promoting national unity.51 World War II rapidly changed the West­ern Hemisphere. Brazil joined the Allies and sent a division to fight alongside the United States in Italy. Chile sold strategic materials to the United States and allowed one hundred US marines to guard ports in north­ern Chile from possible Axis bombardment. US military influence quickly reached every corner of the hemisphere through arms transfers, personnel training, civilian aid, and sales credits. José Merino, not yet thirty years old, volunteered for service aboard the USS Raleigh from 1944 to 1945. During that time he saw combat in the Pacific and contracted malaria. Decades later he recalled the peculiar sensation of being at war—namely, that death could come any day.52 Merino’s contribution to the Allied war effort affected his sense of belonging to the West, his familiarity with US citizens, and his appreciation of what armed conflict could mean. After the defeat of Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan, the United States and the Soviet Union emerged as uncontested superpowers while European colonial empires in Africa and Asia started to unravel. In the West­ern Hemisphere every country entered a new inter-­Ameri­can defense sys­tem shaped by Cold War politics and dominated by the United States. This was a new po­liti­cal reality in South America. In the decades to come the Pentagon would influence the Pino­chet generation, but domestic traditions alongside older Prussian and British influences proved more important than anything the United States could teach or supply. The Pino­chet generation began its training during convulsive changes: population growth, mass politics, and antimilitary backlash. In 1931 cadets suffered the indignity of insults or worse; some civilians pelted soldiers with trash and spittle. The same year, lower-­deck sailors seized the fleet and humiliated navy leadership. During the polarized years of the Popu­lar Unity coalition (1970–1973; see chapter 5), the entire Pino­chet generation, but especially the navy, felt under siege by outsiders trying to politicize the rank and file and make another break possible in the chain of command. Carlos Tromben described José Merino as follows: “The po­liti­cal activities and the ideology of the admiral should be understood in the context of the years of his youth and naval training. Like the rest of the officers in his era, he witnessed the armed forces’ difficulties stemming from the collapse of General Carlos Ibáñez del Campo’s first government and the revolt of Chilean sailors in the navy. Both events occurred the year he entered the Naval Academy, but they would continue to loom over the entire era of that generation as well the development of European fascism and its confrontation with liberal democracy during the Second World War.”53 The convulsive international landscape of the

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1930s and 1940s reinforced a skeptical view of mass politics and demonstrated the high stakes of po­liti­cal battles that resulted in millions being slaughtered across Europe and Asia. In the 1930s Chile’s army, navy, and air force commanders endeavored to win back the confidence of civilian leaders and restore discipline in their services after the Ibáñez dictatorship (1927–1931). For fresh-­faced cadets who had not personally witnessed military tribulations after the fall of Ibáñez, the Ariostazo in 1939 illustrated the potential for conspiracy to be a career-­ending offense. At the same time many officers began to regard partisan politics as unpatriotic or debased. If civilians expressed hostility toward the military, the military expressed its own suspicion of civilian society by retreating into a world governed by different norms of behavior. The Pino­chet generation began its service at a time when the military profession demanded ever greater technical expertise, especially in the navy and air force. The armed forces needed multilingual officers who could study abroad and stay abreast of their constantly changing specialties. As officers developed intimate knowledge of the country and strong discipline, they would also contemplate the developing East-­West struggle, soon to be exported from Europe to battlefields in Asia, Africa, and Latin America.

3 The Gathering Storm Postwar Politics and Institutional Frustration, 1945–1970

On the evening of Oc­to­ber 23, 1947, Captain Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, then thirty-­two years of age, received orders to assemble his combat personnel in motorized columns for a “serious national emergency.” Because his unit was sta­ tioned in Iquique near the country’s numerous nitrate refineries, Pino­chet’s commanding officer instructed him to exclude soldiers from the impending operations if they had family members who worked in the refineries. At 3:30 a.m. Pino­chet left the barracks with a list of people to arrest in the Humberstone refinery; their names had been compiled by the criminal investigations section of the carabineros. In his memoir Pino­chet writes that the operation proceeded smoothly and without incident. Army trucks filled up quickly with detainees, and by the end of the day Pino­chet had transported some five hundred communists to Pisagua, a coastal village and makeshift concentration camp.1 The experience must have disoriented the young army captain. He was be­ing asked to imprison municipal leaders of the province, in­clud­ing Ernesto Meza ­Jeria, an ex-­mayor of Calama with whom Pino­chet had had a friendly w ­ orking relationship until 1947. Now the government in Santiago deemed Meza an enemy of the state. Another communist politician, Angel Veas of Tarapacá province, helped Pino­chet maintain order in a volatile prison camp filled with unhappy inmates throwing food and banging plates in protest. Grateful for their assistance, Pino­chet invited Meza and Veas to dine with him at the camp, but he subsequently judged their deferential attitude and general helpfulness as mere tactics to win his goodwill so they could continue their subversive activities unmolested.2 From the experience Pino­chet concluded that communists, as a class of people, could never be trusted. In 1947 and 1948 President Gabriel González Videla (1946–1952) deployed Chilean soldiers to repress the Left. Before commanding the Pisagua detention center, Pino­chet had witnessed strikes and food shortages in north­ern Chile. Shortly thereafter the army transferred him to a coal mining zone in the south, equally rife with industrial turmoil and clandestine communist activity. Pino­ chet later said that he saw up close how communist leaders manipulated social

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tensions and material shortages to generate worker militancy.3 Immediately following these formative experiences, Pino­chet began a three-­year period of advanced study at the Army Academy of War. This assignment coincided with a hardening anticommunist narrative that portrayed recent events as the first attempt of domestic radicals, with direct support from the Soviet bloc, to seize the state. Pino­chet said of the period, “I wondered why the communists had been relegated. What reasons did the president have to send them to Pisagua? I conversed with them, saw their conduct, and realized that the president was entirely right. Communists are two-­faced.”4 This chapter has several objectives. First, it examines the po­liti­cal dysfunction that marked Chile from 1945 to 1958. Presidents may have handed power to elected successors in accord with the constitution, but the polity essentially stagnated. National leaders did not resolve pressing problems related to high inflation and insufficient food production. Moreover, the government failed to manage domestic strife without deploying the armed forces on missions of internal repression, a fact that reinforced his­tori­cal patterns and provided members of the Pino­chet generation with a sense of anticommunist mission at the outset of the Cold War. During the same period, normative legalism and professional conduct actually strengthened. Officers observed that their colleagues who flirted with conspiracy or participated in secret military lodges did not prosper. Professionalism, not politics, led to advancement. Second, the chapter considers the nature of US military influence. From 1945 to 1970 the Pentagon played an important role elevating the technical expertise of Chile’s armed forces while promoting a sense of shared mission to protect the West­ern Hemisphere from communism. US military influence reached its apogee at the start of the 1960s. Thereafter a negative shift occurred in the attitude of Chilean officers toward the inter-­Ameri­can defense system. On this topic it is important to maintain a his­tori­cally balanced conception of Chile’s established military culture becoming deeply linked to a hemispheric order dominated by the United States as well as to a world or regional context. Third, the chapter examines military values, attitudes, and concerns. Officers felt increasingly ignored and separated from the general population after 1958. Low pay and reduced resources for training and modernization programs strained civil-­military relations, especially after neighboring Peru and Argentina increased their defense budgets in the sec­ond half of the 1960s. Salvador Allende therefore based his early relationship to the armed forces on a sound appreciation of their institutional frustrations from the previous decade.

The Cold War Comes to Chile From 1938 to 1941 President Pedro Aguirre Cerda headed the Popu­lar Front coalition, which included communists, and governed under a mandate to expand

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pub­lic employment and encourage industrial growth. The Radical Party had traditionally emphasized secular education and state employment for middle-­class constituents, but in Chile’s highly competitive electoral system, members of the party such as Aguirre could reach power only by making tactical alliances with parties on the Left and the Right. Another Radical Party politician, Gabriel Gon­ zález Videla, secured the presidency in 1946 only by promising a share of ministerial posts to Chile’s large, well-­organized Communist Party.5 Politicians could not ignore the growing strength and confidence of Chilean labor. Between 1945 and 1947 industrial workers went on strike a record num­ ber of times. Persistent inflation, scarcity, and the rising cost of living motivated worker mobilizations. Workers wanted progressive labor laws and favorable government mediation on their behalf vis-­à-­vis private business. International politics and left-­wing ideology also influenced working-­class behavior. In Sep­tem­ber 1945 Chilean longshoremen refused to load an Argentine ship with coal because they regarded the government in Buenos Aires as fascist. The proletariat was not fragmented, either. On Janu­ary 3, 1946, 150 coal miners in Curanilahue took two foremen hostage and refused to leave a mine dur­ing their dispute with management. When the company fired all the striking miners, President Juan Antonio Ríos dispatched a destroyer, a cruiser, two air force planes, and an army regiment to Arauco and Concepción on Janu­ary 7, declaring both zones in a state of emergency. The government’s heavy-­handed response resulted in sympathy strikes, and twenty thousand miners eventually walked off the job in solidarity with Curanilahue’s miners. This type of social and po­liti­cal power, especially the potential for a general strike, worried presidents and business owners alike. After additional labor disturbances the president appointed navy commander in chief, Admiral Vicente Merino Bielich, interior minister. He promptly issued a state-­of-­siege decree for sixty days.6 In No­vem­ber 1946 Gabriel González became president. True to his word, he appointed communists to run the ministries of pub­lic works, agriculture, and lands. Tensions surfaced immediately. The Communist Party wanted a greater share of cabinet posts, and communist ministers did not discourage industrial workers from striking. Of greater consequence was the Communist Party campaign to unionize rural laborers. Po­liti­cal instability ensued, especially since the organization of rural laborers violated a tacit agreement among national leaders that rural labor had to remain repressed in order to keep urban food prices artificially low. The president, at least initially, did not want to alienate workers, but he also needed to keep his allies in the Liberal Party, which controlled the countryside and its rural peasantry. On the international front the United States could always withhold loans, and in 1947 Wash­ing­ton urged him to take a hard line with the Communist Party. In this complex matrix González did not wish to appear weak or overcautious. In April he expelled communists from his govern-

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ment. Not long after a wave of industrial strikes erupted in the nation’s mining centers. On August 2, 1947, the executive signaled his intentions with two appointments. General Guillermo Barrios Tirado and Rear Admiral Immanuel Holger became the defense and interior ministers, respectively. Coal miners announced a strike over the cost of bread, and González accused the Communist Party of cynically exploiting a simple economic issue. He declared a state of emergency in the provinces of Concepción and Arauco and gave command of the zone to Admiral Alfredo Hoffmann. As military forces deployed to the region, workers backed down. In the meantime, González requested and received extraordinary powers from Congress. “The ‘regime of exception,’” Brian Loveman and Elizabeth Lira explain, “gave the armed forces almost limitless authority within the affected areas, as if the territory were in a state of war.”7 In the twentieth century, civilian presidents consistently turned to the armed forces for support during moments of severe social unrest. This truism holds for all presidents, irrespective of ideological hue: even Marxist president Salvador Allende turned to the military for support in 1972 when truck drivers halted the movement of basic goods across the country, in effect paralyzing the nation. On Oc­to­ber 4, 1947, a contract dispute broke down between coal miners and their companies. This time González possessed the legal weapons to win the battle. He deployed military personnel to detain labor leaders, communists, and other “troublemakers” on navy ships, offshore islands, and in Pisagua, a town north of Iquique with naturally confining geography. Even as the government offered workers wage increases on behalf of their companies, the degree of repression caught the Left off guard. The detention of union leaders left miners feeling betrayed. Workers disobeyed return-­to-­work decrees and refused to resume production. In response the army mobilized reservists to work the mines. The army also brought in rural strikebreakers, unfamiliar with proletarian life, with the promise of good wages.8 To justify rounding up former allies and supporters, the González government invoked national security. The president told coal miners that foreign agents had deceived them. The strike, he insisted, was not a simple economic conflict but a po­liti­cal one; the Communist Party wanted to topple his government by inciting industrial workers to strike and refuse all wage increases. González could not produce evidence to support his allegation of revolutionary conspiracy, but a majority of po­liti­cally articulate Chileans seem to have regarded the state repression as legitimate.9 The labor wars were not over yet. Approximately two thousand miners in Lota and six hundred in Lirquén refused to leave their mines on Oc­to­ber 21. The army sent Lieutenant Eleodoro Neumann and his company of fifty men to clear the Schwager mine in Lota, where workers detonated sticks of dynamite

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Figure 8. View of Pisagua, an isolated port north of Iquique. (By Martin Davis)

at the mine’s entrance. Neumann responded by pumping tear gas into the coalpits to force out coughing, disoriented strikers. Once outside, the army arrested the strike’s leaders and shipped them off to detention centers. The remaining miners had no choice but to accept government arbitration. After the episode González broke diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia. He accused both communist countries of directing a conspiracy to paralyze Chile’s energy sector and hold the country hostage.10 A notable feature of the period was the president’s decision to incorporate military officers into his cabinet during the crisis and subsequently praise their work suppressing “communist agitators.” At mass ceremonies and banquets honoring the action of army and navy officers in Talcahuano, Coronel, and Chillán, the president called the armed forces a bulwark against subversion and a repository of patriotism. At one such event Admiral Hoffmann said that divine providence had assured the armed forces’ success crushing a seditious plot to destroy the republic.11 Apart from the messianic rhetoric, one established pattern asserted itself: the president used Pisagua as a detention center just as Carlos Ibáñez had done during his dictatorship. The next year Chile’s Congress passed the Law for the Permanent Defense of Democracy, which excluded communists from labor unions and national politics. The law illuminated the relationship between local and international

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politics. In the words of one scholar, the law reflected “the integral relationship between the Cold War, Ameri­can foreign policy, and Chilean domestic development.”12 Chile’s centrist president had reached power by making an alliance with the Communist Party. Wash­ing­ton wanted González to safeguard US property and suppress communist influence in the hemisphere. Chilean landowners demanded the suppression of rural laborers, whom Communist Party cadres endeavored to organize. After 1946 Chileans frequently viewed their domestic politics through a Cold War prism. General Leonidas Bravo, then working with military transport, wrote that “the country was involved in a real war from 1947 to 1949 even though the population did not realize it.”13 He believed that international actors had conspired with domestic elements to paralyze the transportation sector and unleash urban riots comparable to Colombia’s destructive Bogotazo (1948 riots in Bogotá). For the Pino­chet generation the events heralded a new era. “For the first time,” Fernando Matthei said, “a concentration camp opened up in Chile.” The president deployed soldiers to stop the striking railroad workers and used the military to administer camps of citizens deemed subversive agitators. Matthei recalls air force pilots patrolling rail lines with loaded machine guns on the lookout for saboteurs. Their orders were to fire warning shots if they saw anything suspicious. Julio Canessa said, of 1947, “I realized, in practical terms, that the adversary was not always outside the country.”14 Just as the chaos of 1931 forever marked one group of cadets in the Pino­chet generation, the country’s troubles from 1947 to 1948 deeply affected another group of junior officers, not least of all Augusto Pino­chet. Fresh on the heels of running a detention center in north­ern Chile, Pino­ chet happily transferred to Santiago, where he began the three years of advanced study required of all general staff officers. His wife, Lucía, had just given birth to their third child, María Verónica, in March 1947, and it must have seemed that a new, settled chapter in his professional life was about to begin. But two months after the start of classes the academy director informed Pino­chet that the army was sending him to govern Coronel, a coal-­producing city near Concepción, still under military jurisdiction. He would restart his studies the following year. The dutiful but disappointed Pino­chet packed his bags and departed for the Schwager coal mine, leaving behind his wife, infant daughter, and two small children in Santiago. Pino­chet had orders to prevent strikes, investigate subversive activities, seize communist literature in circulation, and exert control over the population with the powers granted to him by the government in Santiago. Pino­chet commented that his assignment to Coronel gave him a very personal appreciation of the proletariat’s miserable living conditions, its aspirations to a more dignified life, and the fact that communist agitators exploited such misery for po­liti­cal ends.15 Like

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other middle-­class officers in his generation, he could easily sympathize with workers and view their poverty from a national security perspective: it threatened the nation’s social stability and alienated citizens from the central government. At the same time, he reserved harsh judgment for proletarian leaders. Carlos Huneeus convincingly argues that the Law for the Permanent Defense of Democracy (1948) did much more than disenfranchise one-­fourth of the electorate over ten years; what happened severely damaged Chile’s postwar democratic development. For more than a decade Chile’s politicians agreed to accept the suppression of rural laborers, in effect setting aside the country’s widening gap between city and country. The law contributed to a more uncompromising anticommunist discourse in the Catholic Church, on the Right, and in the armed forces. Indeed, the armed forces participated in a process by which the Chilean government had created legal states of exception and concentration camps, if not disappearances and torture centers. Far from being a mythically stable democracy, twentieth-­century Chile was consistently marked by patterns of state violence and repression.16 At least in 1947 the government avoided what had happened at Iquique, Marusia, and Ranquil in 1907, 1925, and 1934, respectively. In each of those cases, the army massacred striking workers.

US Military Influence in Chile In the years after World War II Wash­ing­ton’s policy makers built an inter-­Ameri­ can sys­tem designed to exclude communism. In South America this was a new po­liti­cal reality. Before the war Chile’s and Argentina’s primary military connections were to West European nations. Now every Latin Ameri­can military belonged to a US-­led defense structure shaped by Cold War politics. In this new po­liti­cal environment Latin America’s military leaders periodically met with their US and Canadian counterparts at inter-­Ameri­can defense conferences to discuss collective security.17 It should be observed, however, that the relationship of the United States to Central America differed enormously from its relationship to South America, where countries like Brazil and Chile had professional armies and advanced training facilities long before 1945. The postwar inter-­Ameri­can sys­tem was based on three major initiatives. First, the Treaty of Inter-­Ameri­can Reciprocal Assistance (1947) committed all Ameri­ can states to collective defense in the event of an extracontinental attack. Second, the Organization of Ameri­can States (OAS), founded in 1948, was designed to contain communism and provide a forum in which the Ameri­can states could settle regional conflicts. It also enshrined the principle of nonintervention and juridical equality among the member states (although this principle would be repeatedly violated by the United States). Third, the United States began providing military assistance to republics in the hemisphere—in part because it had

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an enormous surplus of navy, army, and air force hardware after the Korean War (1950–1953) that it could give away or sell at below-­market prices to friendly states in the hemisphere.18 In 1952 the Chilean Senate approved the Pacto de Ayuda Militar (Military Assistance Program), which enabled the transfer of US arms, technology, and training to Chile. Some politicians opposed the pact’s ratification, saying that it violated Chile’s national sovereignty and was likely to solidify po­liti­cal dependence on the will of the United States. Responding to this charge, army commander Rafael Fernandez Reyes pointed out that a refusal of US arms would forfeit a major opportunity to train with sophisticated weapons. General ­Guillermo Barrios Tirado, then serving as defense minister, said, “It is important to consider that every country accepting US military aid will receive a fixed amount of it at no cost whatsoever. Given the present availability of resources, it would take Chile a long time to acquire these weapons by itself.”19 This is the nature of hegemony: Wash­ing­ton could set the terms to which every other nation on the continent had to respond. US military influence flowed from international circumstances and the basic reality that Chile lacked its own resources to acquire modern arms. For a small state with limited industrial infrastructure, these weapons represented a major opportunity, but they also established a new, po­liti­cal, even ideological connection to the United States that to this day remains a focal point of controversy. During the 1950s the United States transferred an array of used military hardware to Chile: submarines, destroyers, tanks, and airplanes—most of it outdated in a contemporary context. In fact, a repeated gripe of Chilean officers was that presidents Jorge Alessandri (1958–1964) and Eduardo Frei (1964–1970) justified cuts to the defense budget by pointing to Military Assistance Program acquisitions. Nonetheless, Chilean officers agreed that the principal benefit of the program was the transfer of technical know-­how. The US Air Force, for instance, improved Chile’s sys­tem of flight instruction.20 In 1959 a Revista de la Fuerza Aérea editorial remarked, “A great deal of what the air force has accomplished in recent years is due to the technical assistance and equipment received through the mutual aid pact subscribed to by the governments of Chile and the United States. Thanks to the assistance of specialists from the United States who have trained Chilean officers inside or outside the national territory, the entire air force’s efficiency has been elevated, making it an instrument of great value for national defense.” Throughout the 1950s defense journals covered departure ceremonies for members of US military missions with photographs and expressions of gratitude.21 Among the Latin Ameri­can countries receiving US military aid, only Uruguay received more than Chile in proportional terms, and this privileged position created a certain preference for, and familiarity with, US weapons and methods.

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Joaquín Fermandois suggests that the Chilean fear of encirclement by Argentina, Peru, and Bolivia also generated a strategic attachment to the United States. He notes that Chile’s high command made its preference clear for US arms even after army commander Carlos Prats received the offer of Soviet tanks on favorable terms during his visit to Moscow in 1973. On a cosmetic level, the Chilean navy even decided to adopt the gray khaki service uniforms of US officers before returning to the traditional blue in the 1970s.22 The conditional nature of US aid meant that the US Congress could make its assistance contingent on the internal policies of the recipient nation and repossess US ships, tanks, and airplanes if the recipient nation waged war against a country with which the United States had an alliance. Thus, Wash­ing­ton enforced a Pax Ameri­cana in the first decades after 1945; countries receiving US weapons could not use them in any intraregional conflict. Admiral Ismael Huerta likened the Military Assistance Program to a businessman who loans a vehicle to a partner for mutual benefit but will take it away if he learns that the vehicle has been used for nonsanctioned business.23 Other strings were attached. For instance, the Chilean Navy had to promise to carry out any upgrades of the two destroyers and two submarines it received at US shipyards rather than at home or elsewhere. Despite these drawbacks, US military aid allowed Chilean officers to train with hardware that their own nation could not afford. Alberto González Martin observes that refusing US aid would have constituted a threat to Chile’s national security if Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina—all states with an eye on reclaiming part of, or expanding into, Chilean territory—ratified the treaty and received training that Chilean soldiers did not. He concludes that US military aid created material dependence, but it did not prevent officers from adapting US methods to Chilean realities.24

Visiting “the Great Country of the North” From 1942 to 1975, a total of 1,982 army officers and 378 navy officers traveled from Chile to the United States for postgraduate training. Most studied techni­ cal subjects—such as naval engineering, tank maneuvers, radar systems, and antiaircraft defenses—although one could easily get the impression that every Latin Ameri­can officer studied counterinsurgency or interrogation techniques based on the tone that pervades much of what is written about US security assistance. What is certainly true is that all military training in the United States occurred under the assumption that international communism constituted a threat to the West­ern Hemisphere and the rest of the world. It is also true that prolonged study in the United States exposed Latin Ameri­can officers to US democracy, civic culture, and pedagogical methods. According to one retired army general,

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the United States represented a model of military professionalism inside a consolidated anticommunist democracy.25 Chilean officers who traveled to the United States tended to acquire a highly positive view of the country.26 In 1958 Major Sergio Arellano published a series of travelogues in El Memorial del Ejército de Chile about his tour of US military installations—the Pentagon, Fort Belvoir, Fort Knox, Fort Leavenworth, and Fort Sill—in which he reported with awe on the technological achievements of the US Army and its specialized war colleges, where thousands of domestic and foreign soldiers studied modern military science. It is worth noting that Arellano did not come to the United States with a specific training objective apart from his capacity as observer and reporter. He comments that the army assigned each foreign officer a US counterpart to answer questions and play host. In addition, a whole infrastructure existed to ease the transition for foreign students in the United States, such as courses in US culture and the English language. In this atmosphere Arellano was struck by the array of foreign soldiers—Latin Ameri­cans, Turks, Ethiopians, and West Europeans—studying at US war colleges. From his travelogue it is clear that Arellano felt a sense of belonging to a global community. Indeed, the name given to foreign soldiers at US war colleges, oficiales aliados or alumnos aliados (allied officials or allied students), indicated their membership in a collective community opposed to the forces of international communism.27 Arellano left the United States deeply impressed by the size and diversity of the country, the warm hospitality of his hosts, and the friendly and energetic spirit of the people from el gran país del norte (the great country of the north). Navy and air force officers admired the unending ability of US universities to advance the fields of aeronautics, meteorology, and oceanography. Fernando Matthei had nothing but praise for his air force instructors during a three-­month stint at the Pilot Instructors School at Craig Air Force Base near Selma, Ala­bama. He admired their professionalism, enthusiasm, and “great capacity for work: we did a job in three months that in Chile would have taken a year.”28 Other aspects of life in the United States delighted Chilean officers. Matthei loved the all-­you-­can-­eat mess hall experience. Arellano remarked on the exoticism of drive-­in-­movie theaters. The country embodied modernity, from its relatively equitable distribution of wealth and its bustling cities to the quality of its infrastructure and its general standard of living. There was nothing, it seemed, that this large democracy could not accomplish. But travel abroad was much more than a change of scenery or an opportunity to learn new technical skills. Military scholarships to the United States, Europe, and elsewhere in South America carried the distinct possibility of financial gain. Officers who secured lengthy stays in the United States could expect

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salaries paid in US dollars, and soldiers invariably tried to return home with an automobile, which was a significantly more expensive purchase in Chile. Matthei sold the car he bought in the United States and used the money to build a house near the air force hospital in Santiago. In fact, foreign assignments represented an alternative form of compensation in an era of declining pay. The high command rewarded junior officers with overseas assignments. In the mid-­1960s, Roberto Kelly, then a father of seven school-­ age children, decided he would resign from the navy, in part because he had not received foreign posts with the obvious financial implications. He says he never petitioned the high command for special assignments, but he felt shortchanged as his colleagues went overseas as naval attachés in Europe or the United States.29 Apart from bringing material gain, Matthei’s two-­year education at Maxwell Air Force Base developed criti­cal thinking skills. Matthei recalled studying Mao Zedong’s theory of guerrilla war but rejected any notion of indoctrination, saying, “It would be completely mistaken to say that they indoctrinated us against Marxism there.” For Matthei, exposure to anticommunist thinkers like Robert Strauz-­Hupé went in tandem with exposure to US democracy and the US university system. Moreover, the United States presented a more integrated model of civil-­military relations.30 Chilean officers did not fail to observe social problems in the United States, however. Matthei recalls racially segregated buses and recounts the humiliation of two Ethiopian pilots when they were denied entry to a nightclub in Montgomery, Ala­bama, because of their race. Indignant, both pilots wondered to Matthei why they had been invited to the United States if they were going to be treated as sec­ond-­class citizens. Although awed by the size and grandeur of Wash­ing­ton, DC, and New York City, Arellano compared Kansas City’s outlying slums to Santiago’s notorious poblaciones callampas (shantytowns).31

Assessing US Military Influence In a region where civilian control of the military was not yet firmly established, the provisioning of US security assistance enhanced the power of Latin Ameri­ can militaries and their potential for po­liti­cal action. Furthermore, the Pentagon promoted a Cold War mentality that could severely distort local perceptions. Several factors, however, caution the facile notion that all coups and anticommunist violence in the hemisphere can be traced directly back to the Pentagon. First, it would be inaccurate to say that South Ameri­can officers needed US training to see communism as an internal threat to their societies before or after 1945. Second, the United States did not have a systematized ideology to offer South Ameri­can students apart from a bipolar conception of the world and

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a general opposition to communism. In the case of Brazil, Alfred Stepan has shown that the intellectual origins for the military coup against João Goulart in 1964 were homegrown in that nation’s Superior War College.32 Well before the Cuban Revolution, Brazilian officers developed a national security doctrine that legitimized military participation in politics, ostensibly to ensure a stable process of national development and prevent politicians deemed irresponsible or dangerous from taking control of the state control and mobilizing the masses. Third, the vast majority of South Ameri­cans came to the United States for specialty training. Chilean officers who studied counterinsurgency or psychological warfare might have contemplated the nature of irregular warfare, but they did not learn torture techniques or receive explicit encouragement to seize power from civilian leaders. From 1950 to 1973 more than a thousand Chilean soldiers (mostly noncommissioned officers) received instruction at Fort Gullick, also known as the School of the Americas, in the Panama Canal Zone, which was then sovereign US territory. The first Chilean officers to graduate from the school in 1950 included one captain, three lieutenants, and two corporals. All six completed engineering courses. No Chileans trained at Fort Gullick in 1951 or 1958, and during the next two decades noncommissioned officers and junior officers mostly studied unglamorous subjects such as “wheel vehicle motor mechanics,” radio communications, infantry engineering, or “small caliber arms repair.” The mid-­1960s, however, saw noteworthy curriculum changes that reflected regional politics and US hemispheric priorities. In 1963 most officers took courses in combat arms, radio repair, and other technical subjects, but three lieutenants studied military intelligence, and one captain, Alberto Mauret Martín, studied military intelligence and counterinsurgency. Each of those classes lasted ninety days. In 1964 just four Chilean soldiers came to Fort Gullick, but in 1967 one major and one captain graduated from a course in “irregular warfare orientation.” Three years later 31 majors and 2 colonels, out of a total of 177 Chilean officers, took a twelve-­day course on “special urban insurgency.”33 After the election of Salvador Allende, the number of Chilean graduates from the School of the Americas continued to rise, reflecting the Nixon administration’s desire for increased contact with Chilean soldiers. With the exception of General ­Augusto Lutz, none of the military high command in 1970 had studied at Gullick. Eleven army officers involved in serious human rights violations during the Pino­chet regime, either as agents of the secret police or during the first year after the 1973 coup, took one or more of the courses at Fort Gullick between 1967 and 1975: combat arms orientation, basic officer orientation, or general staff officer class. It would be simplistic, however, to draw a direct causal relationship between these officers’ time at the School of the Americas and their involvement in murder or torture.34

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Santiago, Wash­ing­ton, and the West­ern Alliance Chilean soldiers believed their country and government belonged, by culture and history, to the West. They stressed that Chile’s mineral wealth and control of the sea-­lanes in the South Pacific had strategic implications for the entire free world.35 In 1961 Captain Arturo Troncoso addressed a group of US officers at Rhode Island’s Naval War College. He stated that the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) needed to recognize South America’s strategic value for the East-­West struggle. If the Panama Canal were destroyed, Troncoso argued, the responsibility to protect maritime traffic through the Magellan Strait would fall to South Ameri­can navies. Chile’s navy, for instance, patrolled maritime lanes between the Atacama Desert and Easter Island. This geopo­liti­cal reality, he said, necessitated a fuller economic and po­liti­cal partnership between NATO countries and Latin America. He even suggested that Latin America’s navies ought to carry out joint naval maneuvers with NATO in the Atlantic.36 Troncoso’s vision of an enlarged transatlantic alliance elicited scant interest at NATO headquarters or in Wash­ing­ton. After the development of intercontinental ballistic missiles, the Pentagon no longer viewed Latin America as a strategic asset in the event of world war; Wash­ing­ton’s principal fear derived from the possibility that revolutionary movements inside Latin America would come to power and ally with the Soviet bloc. Carlos Prats reveals that a clear rift emerged at periodic inter-­Ameri­can defense councils in the mid-­1960s. One contingent of officers, led by the United States, saw communist aggression as the only real threat to hemispheric security, whereas another contingent viewed any form of imperialist aggression—­ ideological or economic—as a threat to continental security and development. From the sec­ond standpoint, communism was not the sole adversary. Security threats might include the exploitation of Latin America’s natural resources by foreign powers, in­clud­ing the United States. Chilean commanders, writes Prats, largely identified with the sec­ond position, not the first. As the 1960s progressed, more South Ameri­can officers stressed the world’s double division: along an east-­ west axis of ideology as well as along a north-­south axis of developed industrial states conspiring against the development of commodity-­exporting nations.37 Chilean officers had mixed feelings about the United States. They could be sensitive to arrogant US behavior. Sometimes the State Department appeared overcommitted to defending US corporations. Chile’s unbalanced economy certainly caused much of the friction with its largest trading partner. The United States represented Chile’s primary source of foreign capital, and US-­owned copper mines in Chile constituted the nation’s principal source of revenue. Willard Beaulac, US ambassador to Chile from 1953 to 1956, comments that Chilean politicians made speeches denouncing US imperialism, but they pri-

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vately assured him of their friendliness to Wash­ing­ton.38 In the 1950s and 1960s US companies in Chile demanded tax relief before they would make new investments or expand production. They urged Wash­ing­ton to withhold loans from Santiago until tax cuts occurred. Santiago wanted Wash­ing­ton to buy its copper stocks and require US businesses to accept higher taxes while also increasing production. These are the dysfunctional politics of a country dependent on a single export. After the Cuban Revolution the US Congress progressively reduced conventional military aid to Latin America in favor of internal security training, and this posture, by all accounts, provoked a generally negative reaction. Chilean officers resented US “paternalism.”39 For example, the United States deemed supersonic fighter jets inappropriate for South­ern Cone militaries and likely to result in arms proliferation, but for South Ameri­can governments such a policy represented an insulting encroachment on their sovereignty. The first challenge came in 1967, when Peru purchased twelve French Mirage 5 fighter jets over Wash­ing­ton’s vigorous protests. The decision had immediate reverberations. Chile, Argentina, Ecuador, and Brazil all moved to acquire jets of their own. Peru became the first Latin Ameri­can nation (excluding Cuba) to possess supersonic combat aircraft. Wash­ing­ton lost leverage to enforce the Pax Ameri­cana, and European defense firms aggressively challenged US preeminence as the region’s principal arms supplier.40

Professionalism over Politics When Gabriel González won the presidential election of 1946, Chilean conservatives tried to block his congressional confirmation. They called on the military to intervene or at least to rattle their sabers. González had won, as everyone knew, only by promising cabinet positions to communists. It is telling that not a single officer answered this call.41 The high command’s refusal suggests both professionalism and prudent circumspection. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that the senior officers did not perceive a grave threat. Many officers undoubtedly assumed that González would reshuffle his cabinet and simply toss out the communists, which did in fact occur. Eventually González militarized several mining regions and sent the military to repress the Left, but the armed forces were acting at the behest of the civilian leadership, not on their own initiative. In 1948 a group of army and air force officers met at a Santiago restaurant famous for pigs’ feet and hatched the Pigs’ Feet Plot (Complot de las Patitas de Chancho): a plan to surround the presidential palace with tanks and make an intimidating show of air power. The conspirators hoped to install a strong nationalist leader friendly to their murky agenda, and Carlos Ibáñez emerged as their favorite candidate. The government, however, caught wind of the group’s meet-

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ings, and police investigators arrested its ringleader, air force commander Ramón Vergara Montero, who eventually received a five-­year jail sentence. Several facts stand out from this case. First, the plot involved junior and senior officers. Second, Chile’s high command duly informed civilian leaders of the plot. Third, each institution tried and condemned those involved or retired the suspects.42 In sum, military conspirators were swiftly defeated and purged. Carlos Ibáñez won the presidency in 1952. The aging caudillo campaigned on the pledge to end corruption and to bring patriotism to government. Supporters called him the General of Hope. Remarkably, the Chilean electorate gave the seventy-­six-­year-­old soldier 47 percent of the vote. The population was obviously willing to overlook his past conspiracies. Optimism accompanied his inauguration. Chileans hoped he could deal with the nation’s high inflation and poor economic performance. How did officers view the election of an army general and a former dictator? Before 1952 some officers had dreamed of an Ibañista dictatorship, believing that only a strong leader with the backing of the armed forces could bring po­liti­cal order and economic stability to the fatherland. These politics expressed authoritarianism, nationalism, anticommunism, and other institutionally oriented goals. In the run-­up to the 1952 election, mysterious, semisecret meetings occurred in the army and navy, creating a climate of excitement and tension.43 According to the military code of conduct, all officers must report rumors of conspiracy to their superior officers. This is just one way that po­liti­cal deliberation forces soldiers into the difficult position of choosing between professional ethics and loyalty to comrades. In the army Colonel Abdón Parra led a secret lodge called For an Auspicious Tomorrow (Por un Manaña Auspicioso, or PUMA). The group pledged to guarantee an Ibáñez victory in Congress if he did not win a majority of votes in 1952. It wanted Ibáñez to reorganize the military and rationalize promotions. In other words, PUMA had institutional objectives. It would back Ibáñez in exchange for higher salaries, mobility for younger officers, and a robust defense budget. When Ibáñez took office he immediately stirred controversy by making Parra his secretary of defense. Such an act, while not illegal, upset the high command because it meant that they would be taking orders from a colonel. More than twenty army and air force generals resigned in protest, leaving many high-­level openings in the army and air force. Ibáñez appointed loyalists, and he also called for the resignation of Admiral Danilo Bassi not long after giving him control of the navy.44 These command changes prompted speculation about the president’s motives. Fernando Matthei recalls being approached by two friends in the air force, both younger, asking if he wanted to join PUMA. He told his friends that he did not have a high opinion of Ibáñez, based on his behavior in previous decades.

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And “knowing the consequences of coups in Argentina and Peru, I openly declared my repudiation” of the movement, he adds. Whether or not Matthei professed an early commitment to professional conduct, his decision speaks to how internally disruptive such conspiracies could be. For Ibáñez to acquire the armed forces’ support, he would have to promote and favor younger officers willing to act po­liti­cally. Matthei recounts being invited to dine at the presidential palace with other junior officers when none other than the secretary of the air force said to him, “Have your people prepared, arms at the ready, because one day we might need you to come out onto the street with your cadets.”45 As PUMA flirted with the idea of shutting down Congress to create a Juan Perón–styled authoritarian regime, others looked with trepidation on a future in which personal alignments could determine a soldier’s promotions and career opportunities. In 1955 Ibáñez had tea with a group of fifty-­eight active and retired army officers who called themselves Línea Recta (Straight Line). This group proposed retiring all officers who were unwilling to swear an oath of loyalty to Ibáñez before he established a dictatorship. Ultimately Ibáñez discovered that most officers would not pledge their loyalty to him, so he abandoned the project, knowing that agreeing to the specific demands of the Línea Recta officers would upset and politicize the rest of the army. The president’s machinations left him discredited among most of the high command and many midlevel soldiers.46 Army majors like René Schneider and Carlos Prats wanted nothing to do with such po­ liti­cal adventures. On the whole, what is notable about the 1940s and 1950s is the lack of consummated po­liti­cal action on the part of the military. Dozens of officers lost their careers and pensions by flirting with Ibáñez. During a spate of worker-­student riots in 1957, military officers could have justified an intervention to restore order, but they remained on the po­liti­cal margins.47 The Línea Recta scandal revealed the willingness of some officers to violate their pledge of constitutional obedience, but the armed forces were not united in thought or action. When the press discovered that Línea Recta officers had met with Ibáñez, the scandal resulted in a court-­martial and several dismissals. In contrast, soldiers in Brazil, Argentina, and Peru suffered fewer consequences for extralegal actions in the 1940s and 1950s. In Chile, patterns of professional conduct were strengthened and rewarded. Gregory Weeks argues that the military did not internalize the principle of civilian supremacy after it was forced out of politics in 1932. Similarly, Augusto Varas and Felipe Agüero see the problem as one of civil-­military segregation and the lack of an official doctrine on the military’s relationship to civilians.48 Yet one could also take the opposite view and emphasize the practical acceptance of civilian supremacy. Politicians, even if they had military backgrounds, tended to be unpredictable. The Pino­chet generation—at least, the members of it who led

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their respective services in the late 1960s—had not participated in Ibañista conspiracies, which had proved to be unwise, career-­ending adventures. Moreover, Chilean soldiers increasingly defined themselves in opposition to their colleagues in coup-­prone Argentina or Peru, let alone soldiers in the Caribbean and Central America. By 1960 the Chilean military had acquired a reputation for apo­liti­cal professionalism, and that reputation consolidated after 1952 as the winds of military activism suffered crucial defeats. Chilean soldiers were never completely indifferent to the actions of po­liti­cal elites; few professional soldiers are. In 1973 the armed forces overthrew an elected president only after reaching a broad institutional consensus that the nation’s po­liti­cal crisis had no other solution. Referring to the Ibáñez presidency, Augusto Pino­chet wrote in his memoir that “we all expected a severe or even dictatorial po­liti­cal reorganization, but nothing happened. Besides the retirement of numerous army generals, the politics of the country continued as usual.”49 Indeed, the basic economic predicament persisted: insufficient food production, high inflation, and a rising cost of living. In this regard Ibáñez disappointed everyone; the old soldier failed to form an effective governing coalition or tackle pressing economic problems.

Growing Frustration, 1958–1964 President Jorge Alessandri (1958–1964), a conservative, did not trust the armed forces. Failed military conspiracies during the previous administration gave him reason for caution. Upon taking office he reduced the defense budget. In fact, Chile’s defense budgets declined precipitiously, from 25 percent of all pub­lic spending in 1958 to just 13 percent in 1968.50 President Alessandri and his successor, Eduardo Frei Montalva (1964–1970), justified these cuts in two ways. First, Chile had begun receiving US arms through the Military Assistance Program. Second, the possibility of an extracontinental attack was practically nil once the Soviet Union and the United States developed intercontinental ballistic missiles. During the Alessandri administration Costa Rica’s ambassador to the OAS actually proposed a general Latin Ameri­can disarmament, reasoning that the US nuclear umbrella had rendered conventional arms irrelevant. President Frei believed that diplomacy would suffice to solve problems with Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina. He largely considered the military’s role to be executing rescue operations and carrying out civic action programs rather than maintaining a strong military deterrent. In 1959 General Benjamín Rattenbach wrote that the Chilean people’s temporal distance from war in the twentieth century had created a false sense of security; most civilians saw no direct benefit from defense spending and doubted

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the possibility of a future conflict. Thus, “the military profession appears superfluous, even parasitic when compared to the general population’s activities . . . only a handful of enlightened and responsible statesmen do appreciate the fact that the [armed forces] represent a form of life insurance or security blanket for the nation.” Other officers echoed this sentiment. They viewed the general population as ignorant or misinformed about vital, long-­term security issues. Civilians, it seemed, cared only about immediate, particular concerns.51 If asked to justify the need for a modern military Chilean soldiers would probably cite the Snipe Incident. On June 10, 1958, an Argentine destroyer used its main guns to destroy a Chilean lighthouse on the Isle of Snipe in the disputed Beagle Channel. The incident did not escalate into direct confrontation, but it prompted a naval response, and the air force rushed B-­26 bombers to Punta Arenas for reconnaissance missions.52 The notion that civilians simply did not understand national security was an ongoing theme in military discourse. Nicanor Díaz wrote, “A major difficulty for democracies is educating the population to understand national security as an integrated problem that cannot be defined solely in terms of weapons, armed forces, and military measures.” Chile’s national security, he explained, was tied to a myriad of factors such as industrial strength, population size, po­liti­cal alliances, and economic health. If either Peru or Argentina strengthened its industrial capacity or experienced significant population growth, it would be able to produce more arms and mobilize a larger population for war. Like most thinkers in the 1950s, Díaz presumed that future armed conflicts would be industrial contests of might. As such, it was imperative for smaller states to possess adequate conventional deterrents. On the subject of societal consensus, Díaz remarked that liberal democracies had the added difficulty of dealing with fifth columnists who deliberately undermined consensus and openly called for the overthrow of the existing state. The most pronounced manifestation of this threat was the Communist Party, “instructed and trained to disorganize, confuse, and weaken the population.”53 Díaz’s essay articulates several important currents in military thought. First, the power and security of states rise and fall in relation to other states. Second, the general public’s inability to understand national security from an integrated perspective increases the responsibility of elected leaders to understand far-­reaching security issues. Third, democracies face a number of security vulnerabilities because of their openness and respect for civil liberties. Air force colonel René González urged Chilean presidents to think creatively about a grand civil-­military project in which every adult male would fulfill military service or compulsory civic duties. Pointing to Israel and Switzerland as models, he reasoned that something similar in Chile would surely boost employment

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and production. González’s thinking reflected the typically Keynesian economic outlook of his profession in the twentieth century. Officers also insisted that the armed forces made vari­ous invisible contribu­ tions to the economy that could not be statistically calculated. For instance, military service instilled civic values in poorly educated conscripts and simultaneously prepared them for useful service in technical trades.54 More concretely, the armed forces rescued stranded citizens during the nation’s periodic catastrophes. In May 1960 a 9.5 earthquake rocked Chile’s south­ern provinces, and the military supplied the survivors with medicine and temporary shelter. In defense journals the three services emphasized their function of connecting the south­ ern territories, inaccessible by road, to the central heartland, especially during the winter months.55

Military Science and the Masses Public relations or psychological operations deal with mass media as an instrument to influence foreign and domestic opinion. An army officer defined pyschological warfare as “the spiritual and intellectual struggle for the minds of men that takes place before, during, and after a contest to debilitate the enemy’s will to resist and to demoralize his forces.”56 Chile’s officers regarded mass opinion as fickle and easily swayed by demagogues. At the same time, they recognized its vital role in modern warfare. An army major, Ernesto Hald, commented that one difference between Italy’s failed invasion of Ethiopia in 1896 and successful conquest of that country nearly forty years later was Mussolini’s effective use of the media to frame the conquest as the holy crusade of heroic soldiers to vindicate national honor and bring civilization to a barbarous people. Hald emphasized the role that po­liti­ cal authorities play of esteeming the armed forces in peacetime and directing propaganda during crises, “even to the point of defending a difficult or illegitimate cause.” He did not delve into the ethics of managing pub­lic opinion; he simply observed that censorship, repression, and propaganda could determine military outcomes. If the internal front was divided, how could the state expect to achieve its objectives? Lieutenant Colonel Fernando Fernández, a 1960 graduate of Fort Bragg’s Special Forces school in North Carolina, outlined the connection between Nazi propaganda and French sociologist Gustave Le Bon, whose insights into crowd psychology provided a technical basis for the control and manipulation of popu­ lar sentiments through mass media and pub­lic spectacle.57 Drawing from Le Bon’s work, Nazi propagandists mastered techniques to direct and manage popu­lar energy by using half-­truths, exaggeration, and emotional manipulation. Moreover,

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they could manipulate pub­lic opinion without fear of a criti­cal press or parliamentary reproach. A navy lieutenant observed that authoritarian regimes enjoyed that distinct advantage over their adversaries in the free world.58 Another officer expressed enthusiasm about the prospect of using social science to scientifically examine the attitudes of students, workers, peasants, officers, and other key societal actors. Doing so would give the government a more precise understanding of the nation’s internal front: its morale, cohesion, and po­liti­cal divisions. Such research could provide the state with a better idea of how to educate the masses, shape their opinions, and rectify internal divisions.59 For these officers, shaping pub­lic opinion was no different from mobilizing human or material resources in wartime. Propaganda fostered societal cohesion, and free societies would naturally have to restrict the civil liberties of individuals or groups deemed subversive, especially given the fickleness of mass opinion. Such views contributed to the acceptance of a national security doctrine that relied on censorship and repression to prevent alleged internal enemies from waging psychological war on the civilian population.

The Military and Social Justice Officers generally believed that poverty and social injustice empowered revolutionary ideologies. It was therefore incumbent on national leaders to chart long-­ term plans for equitable development. This was a strategic imperative. Officers criticized laissez-­faire capitalism and affirmed the right of workers, and all other social communities, to secure their collective interests. In fact, they wrote a good deal about the individual’s spiritual yearning for integration into a larger community cemented by patriotism and pub­lic service. If people tended to be selfish, a sense of responsibility to one’s community could redirect that base instinct.60 Colonel Enrique Lackington’s economics paper, titled “Income Distribution and Social Moderation,” exemplifies this strain of thought in the military. Lackington created a model to predict po­liti­cal and social instability based on a fairly simple idea: above a certain threshold of income inequality, the likelihood of civil war, po­liti­cal strife, and social instability rises dramatically. Given this threat, every society has a security imperative to moderate excessive concentrations of wealth.61 Lackington’s essay, published in 1965, not only won the army general staff ’s award for origi­nality and excellence, it also exhibited a widely held conviction in the armed forces that economic inequality bred instability and made Marxism more attractive. Carlos Prats estimated that 80 percent of all army officers had a center-­left po­liti­cal orientation in the 1960s. Most of them saw income redistribution as a legitimate policy to ensure social peace. Notably, the election of center-­left Christian Democrat Eduardo Frei Montalva generated palpable excitement in

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the military. Frei promised to make Chile more just without turning to radical solutions.62

The Alliance for Progress In March 1961 President John F. Kennedy announced his ten-­year plan, called the Alliance for Progress, which promised financial resources and technical assistance to Latin Ameri­can governments working toward the goals of economic integration, democratic development, and land reform. Cuba’s socialist revolution would lose appeal, he hoped, if prosperous social democracies replaced corrupt oligarchies and authoritarian military regimes. Kennedy assumed that with the right structural reforms and government policy, any developing country could begin a linear, inexorable path toward the type of development Europe and the United States had achieved. At the same time, Kennedy allocated resources to train and equip Latin America’s internal security forces so they would be able to defeat homegrown insurgencies trying to replicate the success of Castro’s guerrilla army in the Sierra Maestra.63 The Chilean Army’s reaction to the Alliance for Progress is revealing. In 1961 a group of active and retired army officers gathered to discuss the project. They collectively affirmed that Wash­ing­ton had correctly diagnosed the basic problem in Latin America: poverty and rapid population growth generated po­liti­cal turmoil. Yet they criticized US leaders for assuming that the US way of life and its his­tori­cal trajectory could be replicated anywhere in the world, even if Latin Ameri­can countries lacked the human capital and technological sophistication to establish industrial democracies in the span of a decade. All of a sudden US planners had proposed a one-­size-­fits-­all solution without regard for the hemisphere’s highly divergent internal conditions, vari­ous levels of democratic development, and distinct his­tori­cal trajectories. This could be true even within one country: what might be a successful formula for Brazil’s southeast, for instance, might be entirely inappropriate for Brazil’s northeast.64 According to the Army Academy of War, Wash­ing­ton did not understand developing countries because of its own fortunate process of republican development. US lakes, rivers, and coastal ports had facilitated po­liti­cal and territorial integration, and the nation’s principal immigrant groups had arrived from Europe with the culture and technical skills to create a modern economy and democratic state. These factors meant that “North America was born free of the chain that has meant underdevelopment for other nations. Possibly, this his­tori­cal position is what has determined a mentality so far from the Latin Ameri­can situation and its problems.”65 Officers did not object to the goal of creating a class of yeoman farmers; their initial concern was for the apparent incomprehension of how much capital, technology, and time a successful agrarian reform required.

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The state would have to provide peasants with training, credit, and help small holders commercialize their products. Air force commander Eduardo Sepúlveda observed that Latin America’s po­ liti­cally articulate citizens tended to view the Alliance for Progress as direct aid from Wash­ing­ton, not an inter-­Ameri­can partnership. Few understood the po­ liti­cal will required to build a common market or reform agriculture. To change continental perceptions of the Alliance, Sepúlveda saw the need for a coordinated pub­lic relations campaign.66 Sepúlveda, like many of his military colleagues, harbored few illusions. He thought that regional governments needed to prepare the pub­lic for incremental progress rather than rapid results. More importantly, he insisted that real change would have to come from within Latin America. Wash­ ing­ton could not conjure up democracy or private-­sector investment. Perhaps to the surprise of army officers who wrote their initial reaction to the Alliance in 1961, Wash­ing­ton made a substantial financial commitment to Santiago in view of its reform-­minded governments.67 Eduardo Frei’s government (1964–1970) actually expropriated 4,093,339 hectares of land for redistribution, representing a major display of po­liti­cal will against Chile’s powerful landed elite.68 In 1964 the army general staff praised the agrarian reform’s direction while maintaining its previous conviction that an equitable distribution of land was only one part of the solution; peasants would have to become independent entrepreneurs able to “face the multitude of problems related to farm management.”69 Chilean officers who wrote about the ambitious goals of the Alliance for Progress believed that it would take decades of po­liti­cal sacrifice and concomitant social and technical development to create mature social democracies in Latin America. Meanwhile, inflammatory critiques of the business sector or landholding elites played into the hands of demagogues who advocated Cuban-­style socialism.70 Others doubted the po­liti­cal will behind Kennedy’s initiative. After all, Wash­ing­ton had shown little interest in Latin America’s pace of development before the Cuban Revolution. Was it realistic to think that the United States would remain committed on a long-­term basis? Such remarks proved prescient.

Military Values Chilean military discourse validates Samuel Huntington’s classic characterization of the military mind as essentially realistic and conservative. The military profession, writes Huntington, takes a pessimistic view of human society. It views people as irrational and selfish. As a result, individuals must subordinate themselves to the group. The military therefore exalts obedience, hierarchy, and corporate organization. Officers, writes Huntington, are inclined to study history, but they reject any notion of his­tori­cal progress, accepting only the inevitability of his­tori­cal change.71

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Chilean officers defined themselves in opposition to idealists who espoused utopian dreams about world peace or the possibility of creating a perfect society. Emphasizing the inevitablity of human conflict, Major Luis Valenzuela summed up corporate thought when he wrote, “World history shows us that the phenomenon we call ‘war’ has been repeated in a systematic and regular basis through­out the history of mankind despite unanimous animosity to it and the multiple efforts of diplomacy [to stop it] the world over.” 72 This value orientation partly explains the contempt officers felt for politicians who made promises without asking for attendant sacrifices. Calls for a sudden rupture with tradition upset the military’s respect for the past. Similarly, military institutions train officers to engage in a cost-­benefit analy­sis: What costs will a decision incur? Are the sacrifices worth the potential gains? Leadership—the ability of leaders to earn the respect of their subordinates through a personal example of self-­sacrifice, hard work, and intelligence—was another frequent topic in defense journals. By setting an example, military leaders could expect their subordinates to fulfill orders with vigor and purpose. Valenzuela wrote, “The gift of command—don de mando—is the art of imposing one’s will on others, getting subordinates to act with efficiency, resolution, initiative, and a broad spirit of cooperation toward achieving a common goal.” 73 While charismatic politicians might win a large crowd with rhetoric, it was personal discipline and virtue that won an officer the respect of his subordinates. Discipline, honor, and sacrifice are just some of the values that militaries celebrate and which reinforce a sense of difference from civilian society. Respect for the chain of command and el deber de cumplir (the duty to carry out orders) are two important military values that prize mastery over personal feelings and the conscious subordination of the in­di­vidual to the group and its higher set of values. Admiral Gustavo Carvallo noted that discipline and hierarchy do not “reduce men to the level of automatons. On the contrary, they can raise them to a higher plane by unifying the action of all toward the pursuit of a noble end.” He added, “Discipline is the real basis of true democracy. Obedience to laws by upright citizens is one basic expression of that discipline . . . . a civilized man must submit himself, willingly or reluctantly to the social rules of community in which he lives, which range from the clothing fashions to the laws of the republic.” Carvallo and his peers emphasized the connection between social discipline and civilization.74

Material Impoverishment and Demoralization From the 1930s to the end of the 1950s Chilean democracy responded to the interests of organized workers, middle-­class professionals, and national elites. Poor, po­liti­cally inarticulate peasants and urban slum dwellers remained outside the

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system. In the 1960s that began to change. As Chile’s electorate widened, fierce po­liti­cal competition developed for the loyalty of previously excluded voters. Yet Chile did not have the resources to incorporate ever greater numbers of citizens into the welfare state. That is, po­liti­cal modernization had outstripped economic modernization.75 The Frei administration launched an ambitious agrarian reform as well as an expansion of the pub­lic schools and health-­care system. To finance these social projects, he drew resources away from the defense budget. Eduardo Frei also broke with tradition. He installed civilians as sub-­secretaries of the army, navy, and air force. The high command wanted officers advising the Defense Ministry because soldiers understood the needs and nature of their profession. Another sore point was Frei’s selection of commanders. In 1968, eighty officers at the Army Academy of War resigned to protest their notoriously low salaries. Shortly thereafter Frei selected his friend Sergio Castillo to be the army’s commander in chief, knowing full well that Castillo would refrain from voicing army grievances over low pay and insufficient resources. Castillo was not only Frei’s po­liti­cal ally, he had also been selected over four more senior army generals who might have vocalized those institutional grievances. Frei appeared indifferent.76 Issues in the navy resembled those in the army. Commander in chief Jacobo Neumann threatened to resign if the government denied resources for naval avia­ tion. Frei promptly asked for his resignation. From Neumann’s perspective it would have been a disservice to the navy if he had not expressed the institution’s concerns. Carlos Tromben writes that Frei’s presidency was traumatic for the navy because the institution had four different commanders in chief, thereby depriving the navy of stable, continuous leadership during a period of escalating tensions with Argentina. Carlos Prats writes that the Christian Democrats committed “a grave and historic error” by undervaluing the armed forces at a time of accumulated professional frustration and strained civil-­military relations.77 The underfunding of the Chilean armed forces occurred during a general arms race in South America, which greatly accelerated after Peru’s purchase of Mirage jets in 1967. Moreover, Chile’s two potential adversaries, Argentina and Peru, came under military rule in 1966 and 1968, respectively. This po­liti­cal reality preoccupied soldiers who knew that their outdated weapons would be insufficient deterrents if they had to confront militaries with superior technology. In 1968 Frei authorized the purchase of twenty-­one used subsonic Hawker Hunter jets from the United Kingdom, representing Chile’s first commercial acquisition of aircraft since the 1930s. By the time Britain delivered the first Hawkers in 1971, Peru possessed supersonic jets, a modern armored cavalry, and air defense radar systems. In contrast, Chile remained outfitted with a larger quantity of obsolete Military Assistance Program hardware. The declining defense budget took an especially hard toll on captains and

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majors. Most were too young to earn a decent salary, but almost all had families to support. As the 1960s wore on, many officers retired from the military to take better-­paying jobs in the private sector. To Chilean soldiers it seemed that civilians appreciated the armed forces only when soldiers provided relief to national regions affected by earthquakes, tsunamis, and floods. Most pub­lic servants grumble about their salaries, but the Pino­chet generation suffered a particularly acute material impoverishment. Víctor Catalán writes, “In the Military Academy we were always told that the military profession was a vocational career and it would never make us ‘millionaires’.” Few cadets, however, would have imagined moonlighting as taxi drivers to care for their families.78 This economic circumstance magnified a sense of separation from civilians. Liliana Mahn, the daughter of an army general, described the soldiers from this era as a separate caste of citizens, but not a privileged one. Civilians, she said, saw soldiers as a group defined by formalities and salutes. Mahn remarked that her father’s humanity surprised her civilian friends—that he actually listened to music, told jokes, and read literature.79 In 1965 US sociologist Roy Hansen concluded that Chile’s military profession was in decline. Other professions attracted the nation’s best talent, and the prestige of military service had diminished. As one might guess, this situation had a negative effect on civil-­military relations. Officers saw themselves as guardians of Chile’s esteemed democracy, but civilians underfunded their institutions. As some of the nation’s worst-­paid professionals, officers took part-­time jobs to afford decent apartments or send their children to private schools. A reduced defense budget also meant that military commanders lacked the ammunition and petrol to run proper training exercises and that conscript soldiers wore blue municipal overalls instead of actual uniforms.80 The situation fortified the soldiers’ preexisting sense of separation from society’s more comfortable professions. Fernando Matthei, who conducted reconnaissance missions over Argentine territory during the Snipe Incident (1958), recalled the outrage he and other air­ men felt when the Argentine Navy destroyed a Chilean lighthouse. “We all wanted to go there, and we were ready to fight a war with Argentina if necessary.” Another air force officer writes, “The Chilean soldier, sailor, and airman runs to the fight ready to die for Chile. Others pack their bags and leave the country only to return when everything is over.”81 Professional soldiers could feel a strong disdain for moneyed elites, politicians, and the comfortable middle class.

Revolt Frustration simmered in each of the armed services. The military felt excluded from a nationwide process. New social groups had a voice, but the armed forces did not. A rift developed between junior and senior officers. Captains and ma-

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jors tended to perceive the high command as obsequious toward civilian leaders and unwilling to raise corporate concerns about low salaries and obsolete equipment. On Sep­tem­ber 18, 1969, several army unit commanders deliberately delayed their arrival at Chile’s annual military parade in Santiago as a sign of disrespect to the civil authorities. After that incident a US intelligence estimate reported that Chile’s encirclement by military regimes and the possibility of a Marxist coming to power in 1970 had heightened soldiers’ awareness of politics; some field-­level officers were even said to be plotting against civilian leaders. Nonetheless, the report concluded that the preponderant concerns of the Chilean armed forces remained “low pay, poor training, inadequate equipment.”82 Ramón Vega (air force) and Horacio Toro (army) reveal that officers in each service had started planning nonviolent protests in 1969. Air force officers even contemplated seizing Santiago’s El Bosque airfield.83 In Antofogasta the army’s First Division commander, Roberto Viaux, composed a letter expressing what he said was the shared opinion of colonels, majors, and captains under his command. Viaux accused Frei and his predecessor of keeping their salaries low compared to the pay of other professions and noted that an experienced worker at the Chuquicamata Copper Mine could earn more than a general of the republic, which was true. Viaux also wrote that the armed forces required modern equipment and ought to be involved with decision making at the national level. Army commander in chief Sergio Castillo became aware of the letter as well as of rumors about plotting in the First Division. At the beginning of Oc­to­ber the Defense Ministry announced Viaux’s impending retirement. Outraged, seventy officers in the First Division signed a declaration calling for Viaux’s reinstatement.84 Castillo relieved Viaux of his command on Oc­to­ber 18 and recalled him to the capital. What came next stunned the general public. Viaux mobilized his supporters and declared Santiago’s Tacna Regiment in revolt at eight o’clock on the morning of Oc­to­ber 21, 1969. The School of Non-­Commissioned Officers and a tank battalion arrived thereafter to join what they were calling a movimiento gremial (union movement). Frei called for obedience, but Viaux refused. Eventually Frei sent to a military doctor, Patricio Silva, to negotiate. The agreement they reached on Oc­to­ber 22 stipulated that Viaux would accept retirement from active duty and call off the rebellion, but he extracted major concessions from the government: the defense minister’s resignation, a significant pay increase for all officers, and a much larger defense budget for 1970. The outcome turned Viaux into a hero among junior officers. The insurrection had achieved its aims. El Tacnazo, as the agreement was dubbed, scandalized the po­liti­cal establishment. Chilean soldiers had not challenged civilian authority for a very long time. The event expressed pent-­up frustration and revealed widespread sympathy in

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the barracks for Viaux’s demands.85 Finally, it should be noted that Salvador Al­ lende’s Socialist Party considered the demands of Viaux’s movement legitimate, if not the form of expression. As we will see, Allende understood the armed forces’ desire for institutional modernization and for civilian leaders to consult officers about matters related to national development. In this sense, the Alessandri and Frei administrations’ neglect of the armed forces in the 1960s gave Allende the opportunity to redress those grievances in the 1970s. The arrival of Cold War politics in Chile coincided with the Pino­chet generation’s midcareer years and helped harden anticommunist feeling in the military. The growing polarization of Chile’s electorate unsettled institutions that, above all, wanted stability. In conventional terms, a great many officers held center-­ left views. They supported income redistribution, strong unions, and regulated capitalism. Officers viewed progress as something to be achieved incrementally by charting realistic, long-­term objectives. Promises of rapid social development smacked of demagoguery and misguided idealism. Skepticism about President Kennedy’s Alliance for Progress illustrates that value. Officers conceived of their profession as fundamentally different from all others because it adhered to a different set of rules and values. Soldiers lamented the fact that civilians knew so little about defense issues and lacked the training to speak about national security. Chilean officers who involved themselves in po­liti­cal intrigues during the presidency of Carlos Ibáñez (1952–1958) did not prosper. The military retired or disciplined conspiratorial officers. The Ibáñez government also made subsequent civilian leaders suspicious of the military. Jorge Alessandri (1958–1964) and Eduardo Frei (1964–1970) both reduced defense spending, partly because they had other priorities and partly because the underperforming economy could neither meet the demands of a young urbanizing society nor outfit a modern military. After 1958 the channels of communication between the president and his institutional commanders weakened. The Pino­chet generation felt silenced, ignored, and underfunded, and in the 1960s the social divide between soldier and civilian widened. The Pino­chet generation had never seen a military movement succeed until 1969. That year, General Roberto Viaux demanded, among other things, higher salaries and modern equipment, and President Frei met the demands. El Tacnazo reflected the exceptionally strained state of civil-­military relations, but that did not mean the armed forces wished to eliminate Chile’s multiparty democracy. Their international reputation for apo­liti­cal professionalism remained a source of institutional pride. The real test lay ahead, when Salvador Allende won the presidency in 1970 and proposed a bold solution to Chile’s problems: abandon capitalism altogether in favor of state socialism.

4 Intellectual and Professional Formation, 1945–1970

In the twentieth century Chile’s armed forces belonged to a global community of military professionals who shared ideas and closely observed one another. 1 Europe’s great industrial wars (1914–1945) offered important lessons about combat and military strategy. Shortly thereafter Cold War tensions flared into a bloody conflict on the Korean Peninsula that claimed millions of lives and witnessed the belligerents test new technologies. The Six-­Day War (1967) led Chilean officers to consider preemptive action as an effective means to achieve a rapid military decision. The Indo-­Pakistani conflicts (1965, 1971) reinforced a conviction that developing countries should not expect decisive intervention from the United Nations or from any great power at the outbreak of hostilities. In Vietnam and Algeria the ability of tenacious guerrilla fighters to frustrate powerful conventional armies pointed to the value of human will, leadership, and ideological conviction as factors that could transcend material superiority. In sum, the international landscape raised a number of questions for careful consideration. How is warfare different when waged by semi-­industrialized states with limited conventional forces? What lessons can be drawn from the experience of militaries engaged in counterinsurgency operations? Chilean officers destined for positions of institutional leadership contemplate such questions at their respective war academies where the curriculum consists of courses on the nature of war, military history, logistics, information services, and includes travel to remote destinations on Chile’s north­ern and south­ern frontiers. War games, carried out on large topographic maps, might last three or four days and oblige officers to spend the night at the academy. Such exercises simulate warfare and provide the opportunity to contemplate the tactics and strategies of other armed forces. The curriculum also affords officers the opportunity to conduct research and become better acquainted with the nation’s diverse regions. When asked about the intellectual formation of soldiers, Gustavo Leigh said, “Before coming to the academy of war you lack a multilayered vision of the world.”2 Graduating officers are henceforth qualified to command a large num­

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ber of soldiers and serve on the general staff, which manages operational, logistical, and administrative issues for the high command. Army, navy, and air force academies also organize joint war games involving actual troop movements, maneuvers, and real-­time decisions. These large-­scale operations simulate the contingencies of battle between fictional adversaries. In a typical game, opposing groups are given a hypothetical war situation, and their general staffs proceed to gather intelligence about the other group’s positions and movements. Each side tries to outwit the other by seizing ports and occupying strategic positions. The game concludes nearly two weeks after its start.3 Such exercises cultivate a strategic view of the whole situation, the moving parts of military institutions, and the exigencies of warfare. They are designed to mold institutional leaders with a clear view of their own service branch, its administrative apparatus, and the best way to coordinate terrestrial, maritime, and aerial operations with the other service branches in vari­ous fields of action. For most officers the war academy represents an important career turning point. Those who excel receive commissions to study or teach abroad. Julio Canessa remarked, “The years in the academy of war are unforgettable for any officer.” He also observed that unlike adolescent cadets undergoing basic training, captains and majors possess sufficient maturity to study seriously and rigorously. Carlos Prats similarly recalled his time at the Academy of War as one of his most satisfying professional experiences.4 Staff training thus gave officers time to read the latest military theory, research topics of interest, contemplate the wider world, and experience the simulated command of large units. Pino­chet actually studied the po­liti­cal management of occupied cities, populations, and states. Later in life he said, “Many times I applied this knowledge when I was head of the junta and then as president of the republic.” One officer described Pino­chet’s decision-­making process as essentially a mirror of the military method. Pino­chet expected a body of officers, the general staff, to rigorously evaluate all options and contingencies before he would commit to any major policy decision.5 Each member of the junta, in fact, created his own advisory committee to study and evaluate policy proposals. This chapter draws attention to the voices of Chilean military actors as they internalized lessons from armed conflicts overseas and maintained domestic traditions. The Chilean military’s school of geopolitics, for instance, grounded national security thinking. After 1945 new concepts entered professional discourse, such as psychological warfare, which could imagine society as one enormous front to be secured from internal and external enemies. Likewise, the term subversion emerged as an umbrella concept for anything thought to undermine the existing state. By the end of the 1960s important national security ideas had entered the military lexicon, although they had not coalesced into a formal doctrine. The

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new ideas, it should be noted, had diverse origins, even though a disproportionate amount of attention has been paid to the US role training Latin Ameri­can militaries and the implications of that training for the behavior and ideological commitments of subsequent military regimes.6 In the historiography there is a relative deficit of scholarship that takes seriously the capacity of South Ameri­ can militaries to generate their own ideas about national security as semi­autono­ mous institutions.

An Academic Tradition Generals René Schneider, Carlos Prats, and Augusto Pino­chet all won acclaim as instructors at the Army Academy of War before reaching the pinnacle of their institution.7 Pino­chet, a professor of geopolitics and military geography, wrote two books: Síntesis geográfica de Chile, Argentina, Bolivia y Perú and Geopolítica. The former remains a standard instructional text. The army’s preeminent thinker in the sec­ond half of the twentieth century, General Bernardino Parada, is noteworthy. Admired for his intellectual sophistication, Parada directed the Army Academy of War (1961–1963) before serving as commander in chief (1964–1967). After retiring he published a treatise, Po­ lemo­logía básica, representing his personal attempt after years of study and reflection to deduce immutable, universal laws and subsidiary principles governing war and geopolitics. Among his “supreme laws of war” in the Polemología básica are the law of action and the law of concentration. The law of action asserts that only offensive action can secure a decisive victory, whereas the law of concentration states the imperative of attacking one’s adversary with concentrated force at the vital center of resistance rather than in equilibrium along the enemy line. Parada writes that “one of the greatest errors a military strategist can commit is to employ force ‘by drops’ when confronting the enemy.”8 Esteemed for its brevity, origi­nality, and fluid use of his­tori­cal examples, the Polemología remains a standard text at Chile’s war academies. In 1971 General René Álvarez Marín utilized Parada’s laws and principles to analyze the Arab-­ Israeli conflict, illustrating the degree to which the Chilean Army had developed its own self-­referential academic tradition.9 General Parada’s book and career reflect two aspects of Chilean Army culture: a high regard for erudite soldiers, and the penchant for big theories of war and history among an influential group of institutional leaders. In the 1950s Chilean officers imagined themselves fighting a conventional war that would be a great test of national endurance. The century’s two world wars, so defined by their essential condition as total wars, shaped basic ideas about mod­ ern warfare. In 1955 the army general staff published a book by Colonel Manuel Montt (the Army Academy of War’s director from 1957 to 1959) on the strate-

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gic and po­liti­cal management of war. It focused almost exclusively on the government’s role of directing production, sustaining morale, and eliminating any internal obstacles to an efficient wartime mobilization. Several years later Carlos Prats won high praise for his sophisticated conceptualization of national security within a matrix of external and internal factors.10 Both officers envisioned their country fighting a conventional war that would require maximum output from all available human and material resources. Officers did not fail to observe that Chile’s chances of winning a total war would be slim if industrial capacity alone proved to be the deciding factor. Compared to Peru and Argentina, Chile had a smaller population and economy. In light of this reality, Chilean officers agreed that they would have to rely on superior po­liti­cal and military leadership. National leaders would have to mobilize the country’s war machine faster and more effectively to prevail.11 The state, officers agreed, fostered economic growth, encouraged civic values, and structured the terms on which the nation evolved. When the nation’s gross domestic product (GDP) and supply of human capital improved, so too did the nation’s overall security. Thus it was incumbent on the government to develop sound economic and educational infrastructure. These concerns constituted one basis for the military’s economic nationalism; national control of strategic resources kept wealth in the country and simplified the mobilization of productive forces toward a single objective in the event of war. Carlos Prats, for example, made clear that the Popu­lar Unity (see chapter 5) government’s nationalization of copper, steel, coal, and other strategic industries strengthened national security. Fernando Matthei, the sub-­director of the Air Force Academy of War in 1968, indicates that most officers had come to believe doctrinal debates were of sec­ondary importance to the imperative of achieving economic growth, without which there would be limited resources for the acquisitions of modern hardware.12 Yet few officers could have imagined the private sector spurring that rapid growth. In the late 1960s just about everyone in Chile, notwithstanding a few renegade economists, believed that regional economic integration would be the great driver of growth.

Gazing Abroad A colonel and a member of Chile’s Academy of Military History, Walter Dörner, writes, “The best way to acquire knowledge about warfare is through direct experience, which in the Chilean case has not occurred since the civil war of 1891; this has made it necessary to study and analyze armed conflicts with transcendent consequences that have occurred in the international arena.”13 Indeed, events abroad afforded Chilean soldiers the opportunity to reflect on the nature of mod­ern warfare, international relations, and the unique challenges of defending a

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country with a developing economy, complex internal politics, and a national territory with rugged expanses of desert, mountain, and sea. In the 1950s the Army Academy of War prioritized studying the theaters of operation from World War II most similar to Chilean landscapes. Thus army officers scrutinized tank battles in North Africa and alpine warfare in Italy, where the landscapes most resembled the Atacama Desert and Andean mountain passes.14 From 1965 to 1973 the Arab-­Israeli and Indo-­Pakistani wars provided important food for thought at Chile’s war academies. For one, the wars were brief. The 1971 Indo-­Pakistani war lasted fourteen days, while Israel’s blitzkrieg in 1967 lasted just six, facts that pointed to the value of initiative. Another unexpected pattern was aerial combat, which took place at low altitudes and subsonic speeds that privileged maneuverability and acceleration. These wars thus defied expectations and provided the opportunity to analyze the strategy and tactics of the belligerents, the performance of different weapon systems, and the behavior of international actors like the UN Security Council. Israel’s stunning victory over a coalition of Arab states in the Six-­Day War (1967) fired the imagination of Chile’s soldiers. Intangible factors such as will, leadership, and decisive action appeared to have saved the small nation from material determinism. David had slain Goliath, so to speak. For a military preoccupied with the possibility of encirclement by Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina, Israel’s defensive and offensive doctrines had already become perennial subjects of interest at Chilean war academies. The army’s institutional history comments, “Chilean officers who have acted as observers [in the Middle East] have contributed valuable insights into the unfolding conflict and Israel’s modus operandi in defense of its difficult territory.”15 Chilean officers who wrote about the Six-­Day War emphasized several major points.16 First, Israel’s preemptive air strikes and rapid tank assault had negated Egypt’s ability to draw on its superior numbers and material resources to wage a war of attrition. Because developing nations lack the industrial infrastructure to manufacture sophisticated weapons systems, they must rely on a finite supply of externally purchased arms, which are not easily replaced in wartime. Israel avoided supply problems by attacking the Arab coalition before it could coordinate an effective attack. Second, accurate military intelligence and intrepid offensive action allowed Israel to set the tempo of the conflict and stun its neighbors. Third, the Soviet Union and the United States, not wanting to be drawn into direct confrontation, strongly urged their allies to refrain from starting a war. Egypt’s President Gamal Abdel Nasser had waited to see how the great powers might intervene, and this decision delayed the speed of his response to Israel’s offensive. Crucially, neither the Soviet Union nor the United States offered much direct assistance to the Arab coalition or to Israel. These events strengthened a conviction that small states would be unwise to expect swift intervention

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from the United Nations or any superpower at the outset of a regional conflict. One Chilean Army general wrote, “The [Six-­Day War] provides a persuasive lesson about the uselessness of the United Nations and its Security Council. Unlike her enemies, Israel relied on military strength for her protection rather than superpowers or international organizations.”17 Another group of Chilean officers actually witnessed the Arab-­Israeli conflict firsthand as commissioned UN military observers. Navy captain Salvador García and Army colonel Julio von Chrismar, for instance, lived in the Sinai Peninsula near the line of fire during hostilities between Egypt and Israel in 1969 and 1970. The experience allowed both men to study Israeli defensive positions along the east­ern shore of the Suez Canal in the midst of artillery barrages, aerial attacks, and antiaircraft fire.18 In a very direct way this Middle East­ern conflict constituted a template on which officers could contemplate Chile’s border with Peru. The Indo-­Pakistani War of 1965 offered another test case for what could un­fold in the South­ern Cone. The principal jets of the Indian Air Force were Hawker Hunters, whereas the mainstay of the Pakistani Air Force was the US-­ built F-­86 Sabre, also owned in large numbers by Peru and Argentina. During the war’s air battles, Pakistani pilots shot down a number of the faster Hawker Hunters while managing to protect their fleet from bombardment, prompting Chilean Air Force officers to conclude that Pakistani pilots prevailed because of “superior training, morale, and combat tactics.” Furthermore, Pakistan had acquired the intelligence necessary to deliver important blows to India’s much larger military.19 Despite tactical errors on both sides, the war seemed to confirm what the Chilean military wanted to hear: a smaller country with good leadership and prudent prewar preparations could hold its own against a much larger country.20 Wars in the Middle East and South Asia highlighted the material vulnerabilities of semi-­industrial states and reinforced a conviction that it was unwise to expect decisive assistance from international powers. Officers observed that France, Britain, and the United States had immediately suspended the sale of spare parts and new weapons to the belligerents at the outbreak of hostilities in 1965, forcing both India and Pakistan to initiate desperate searches on international arms markets.21 The wars also provided the opportunity to analyze a basic dilemma concerning the cost and quality of weaponry. After serving a stint as a UN military observer in South Asia in 1965, artillery specialist Colonel Pedro Ewing concluded that it was preferable to acquire a reduced number of high-­quality, heavy-­caliber guns rather than a greater number of low-­caliber pieces requiring less expensive munitions.22 For a resource-­constrained armed forces such as Chile’s, cost-­quality questions inevitably inform the procurement of armaments. The nature of the conflicts also shaped current debates. For example, the US doctrine of strategic bombardment held that a country’s air force should have

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the capacity to completely annihilate the manufacturing capabilities, transportation network, and communication infrastructure of the enemy. In the 1940s and 1950s air force officers returning from study in the United States argued that Chile needed to acquire a fleet of long-­range bombers capable of reaching Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina. Others observed that the Allies in World War II had failed to meaningfully cripple Axis industrial production during World War II. In fact, the carpet-­bombing campaigns had actually been counterproductive by angering civilian populations and redoubling their collective will to resist. Some air force officers questioned the doctrine’s basic applicability on the grounds that Chile lacked the means to supply fuel for continuous bombing missions or to manufacture the massive quantities of bombs for such campaigns. More­over, air battles in the Middle East and South Asia suggested the need for a fleet of modern fighter jets capable of executing precision bombing missions in enemy territory, not the strategic bombers of World War II.23

Internal Security after the Cuban Revolution General Julio Canessa recalls that irregular, asymmetrical warfare had been a subject of discussion at the Army Academy of War before 1961 but that “its theoretical aspects” related only to revolutionary wars of decolonization in places like Vietnam and Algeria. Few imagined that such concepts would have any importance in Latin America.24 The Cuban Revolution changed everything. Fidel Castro’s overthrow of the Batista dictatorship (1952–1958) and subsequent alignment with the Soviet Union provided the Left with a new model of po­liti­cal change. Cuba’s socialist experiment also generated impatience with the slow pace of development in Latin America and appeared to validate the viability of armed struggle. Insurgencies popped up through­out the hemisphere. Guerrilla warfare and counterinsurgency ceased to be abstract topics for Latin America’s professional soldiers. More­over, Castro’s defiance of US hegemony resulted in swift countermeasures. Wash­ing­ ton policy makers designated new resources for internal security training, and the Pentagon continued to emphasize the role of Latin Ameri­can militaries as defenders of the free world. At the same time, this inter-­Ameri­can situation connected to a larger world context. South Ameri­can officers independently studied a new theory of revolutionary war developed by French soldiers during the latter’s vain efforts to maintain a collapsing colonial empire in Vietnam (1945–1954) and Algeria (1954–1962). Roger Trinquier’s influential treatise Modern Warfare lambasted what he called the French Army’s traditional mindset, arguing that civilians had to be treated differently in revolutionary wars because enemy combatants sought control over society, not just the defeat of a conventional army. Society therefore constituted

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an all-­encompassing battlefield in which every citizen, social institution, and medium of communication was a vulnerable target of subversive infiltration. The government might need to control sectors of civil society deemed vulnerable to ideological penetration—universities, unions, and the press—because subversives used such forums to win popu­lar support for their revolution. Trinquier also made the controversial assertion that terrorism, because it was po­liti­cally motivated, gave governments the right to use torture to extract information from captured insurgents.25 These ideas and concepts spread quickly across the West­ern Hemisphere. In 1961 the armies of the United States and Argentina invited French veterans of the Algerian War to lecture about their experiences at Fort Bragg in North Carolina and at the Higher War Academy in Buenos Aires. Similarly, Chilean soldiers translated accounts of counterinsurgency operations in places ranging from Algeria and Vietnam to North­ern Ireland.26 After 1961 the word subversive—used to define internal enemies of the state— became a pervasive fixture in Chilean military journals. If subversives acquired cultural hegemony, wrote one Chilean officer, the civilian population would cease to defend the existing government. Conversely, a civilian population ideologically committed to the existing government would refuse to supply an irregular army that was attempting to overthrow it.27 This bipolar framework clearly held the potential to justify vari­ous levels of repression, censorship, and physical ­removal—­by exile, imprisonment, or disappearance—of any individuals believed to influence important cultural arenas. Such individuals might be union leaders, politicians, clergy, university professors, or activists. According to one paradigm of revolutionary war, civil society constituted a front to be secured from internal enemies. In the 1960s Chile’s officers, stationed at remote bases along the length of the national territory, did not live in an isolated bubble. They discussed world events and their country’s increasingly polarized politics. The Cuban Revolution introduced questions that transcended the nation-­state. In 1962 one Chilean officer considered the possibility that a loosely allied revolutionary movement might wage guerrilla warfare across South America without clearly delimited borders. Did the threat of guerrilla insurgencies trying to replicate the success of Castro’s revolution justify a central command for joint operations across the continent?28 With international revolutionaries like Ernesto “Che” Guevara talking about a pan-­Ameri­can struggle for national liberation, this was a new conceptual possiblility. The war in Vietnam clearly transcended national boundaries; guerrillas in the north traveled to the south through Laos and Cambodia along the Ho Chi Minh trail. In 1967 Major Enrique Yavar remarked that the governments of Venezuela, Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina had achieved vari­ous degrees of success fighting guerrilla movements with police and military forces, but not one

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Latin Ameri­can government had completely eliminated the problem, because the guerrillas enjoyed greater mobility and decentralized command structures, which they used to neutralize the superior firepower of conventional armies. For Yavar, the solution to this problem was in the recruitment and training of imaginative subofficers endowed with the free­dom to operate independently of central command; only then could dispersed guerrillas be pursued and effectively destroyed.29 By this he meant a semiautonomous police force with broad powers to seek and destroy the enemy. This line of thought would find expression as Pino­chet’s feared secret police. During the latter half of the 1960s Chilean officers watched the most powerful military on earth humbled by a determined adversary. In 1968 Colonel Hernán Bejares wrote that the US experience in Vietnam “is, for us, an inexhaustible source of lessons about the ability of enemy combatants to overcome adverse conditions.”30 In spite of the US helicopters and high-­altitude bombers, the Viet Cong had demonstrated the ability of highly motivated soldiers with intimate knowledge of local terrain to survive a confrontation with a technologically superior army.31 Technology, in other words, was taken off its pedestal as the principal determinant of military success. Dispersed guerrilla forces could chasten a powerful conventional army. A tiny nation such as Israel could defeat a coalition of well-­armed hostile states. Will and determination could surmount seemingly impossible handicaps. Speaking with Régis Debray in 1971, Salvador Allende commented on a trip he had made to North Vietnam, saying, “It was in Vietnam that the conviction I had felt, physically felt, in Cuba, was reaffirmed: a united, po­liti­cally aware people, a people whose leaders have the moral fortitude, the prestige, and the influence of Ho Chi Minh, is an invincible people.”32 Allende explained to De­ bray that his socialist revolution would build momentum as imperialist attacks and treason by domestic “reactionaries” elevated the people’s revolutionary consciousness. He believed that a strong, determined leader backed by po­liti­cally conscious supporters could overcome powerful external pressures or the temporary lack of an electoral majority. Other Chileans took very different lessons from Cuba and Vietnam. In 1966 Major Manuel Contreras wrote that the pernicious nature of Marxist-­Leninism had caused the Vietnam War, fracturing the country and causing guerrillas to take up arms against their fellow compatriots. The future chief of Pino­chet’s secret police believed that the United States was wasting time with po­liti­cally sensitive strategies. To win the war, he thought, US forces would have to completely destroy an enemy committed to bringing the entire country under communist tyranny. Hard-­line soldiers like Contreras eschewed holistic theories of counterinsurgency attuned to culture and po­liti­cal context.33 South Vietnam, in his

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mind, was one frontier in the global struggle to contain and destroy an expansive ideology; those Vietnamese infected by Marxism had become unredeemable agents of a foreign ideology. Vietnam strengthened his perception of the threat posed by Marxist subversives and the hard-­line tactics required to defeat them. In the wake of the Tet Offensive (1968), Contreras and Colonel Augustín Toro offered a more complete analy­sis of the conflict, in­clud­ing their conviction that Wash­ing­ton could win the war only if it continued to send its best-­trained and most committed special forces to confront the Viet Cong while simultaneously abandoning all efforts to the “win the hearts and minds” of the Vietnamese people. In their view, “killing guerrillas, destroying their hideouts, and submitting the civilian population to the strictest of surveillance” was the only way the war would be won.34 Yet these two Chilean officers did not underestimate Hanoi’s resolve; they acknowledged that Wash­ing­ton might well have to accept the prospect of battling for decades to come, village to village, in order to destroy all Marxist guerrillas in South Vietnam and possibly invade North Vietnam.

Ideas in Action After Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, some Chilean officers, but not all, subscribed to a national security doctrine that defined the country as being in a state of internal war that necessitated unconventional tactics to defeat domestic subversives. At the Army Academy of War a commission of colonels who were imbued with this doctrine successfully lobbied the junta to create an autonomous secret police force that would commit the most egregious human rights violations in Chilean history. Joint Command (Comando Conjunto), a separate, clandestine organization formed in 1975 by air force intelligence officers, had a similar aim: eradicate leftist subversion.35 Where did the ideology to support these institutions come from? The govern­ ment-­commissioned Rettig Report (1991) pointed to a mixture of external factors. The first was the theory of revolutionary war that proceeded from the Algerian War. The sec­ond was the counterrevolutionary response to the Cuban Revolution and Che Guevara’s theory of foquismo, which urged militants in Latin America to create focal points of armed insurrection in rural zones across the continent (guerrillas in Uruguay and Brazil revised Guevara’s theory to include urban areas as well). Finally, the report assigned the United States the role of providing counterinsurgency training to the continent’s militaries. Missing from the report was any mention of the Chilean military’s analyses of the Vietnam conflict. Similarly, Chilean soldiers were very aware of the difficult time other Latin Ameri­can governments were having combatting internal insurgencies. In addition, geopo­liti­cal precepts (discussed below) held the potential to dehuman-

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ize individuals. All these factors coalesced to underpin a national security doctrine that justified repression—even the physical elimination of citizens deemed threatening to the state. When the armed forces overthrew Salvador Allende’s government on Sep­tem­ ber 11, 1973, the massive show of force achieved the junta’s initial objectives— preempt resistance and ensure compliance with the regime’s directives—but it also elicited strong international condemnation. From the junta’s perspective the Soviet Union and its allies were responsible for the UN resolutions condemning Chile for human rights abuses. The military’s intellectual culture took a dim view of the United Nations, seeing it as a politicized body that neither served the interests of small states nor legitimately expressed world opinion. Rather, it was used by the world’s great powers to impinge on the sovereignty of small states. Chilean officers viewed any notion of an authentic world voice or international standard of justice with skepticism. World events reinforced a conviction that the condemnation of one country by an international body or by a group of countries depended on po­liti­cal and ideological factors more than anything else.

Chile and Peru During the 1970s armed confrontation of some kind with Peru did not seem like a theoretical possibility to the Chilean armed forces; it seemed likely.36 In the early part of 1974, Peru’s military completed a series of coordinated exercises in the south­ernmost region of Tacna, much to the alarm of Santiago. Peru had recently acquired three hundred T-­55 battle tanks and fifty SU-­22 fighter bomb­ers from the Soviet Union. Was Peru’s nationalistic military government plan­ning an offensive operation to reclaim territories lost during the nineteenth century? Meanwhile, the international outcry after Salvador Allende’s violent over­throw in 1973 had complicated the Chilean goverment’s ability to purchase arms from the West. Diplomatically isolated and militarily vulnerable, a siege mentality gripped Santiago. A contingent of Chilean officers, especially in the army, argued that in the event of an emergency, preemptive attack was the best strategy to deal with a hostile, better-­equipped Peru. Impressed with Israel’s lightning offensive during the Six-­Day War, General Carlos Forestier insisted that Chile had to strike first rather than wait for an impending Peruvian invasion. Fernando Matthei, then a colonel in the air force, reports that the idea of preventive war appealed to some air force officers, given the institution’s prevailing doctrine of strategic bombardment—­that is, annihilate the manufacturing capabilities, transportation network, and communication infrastructure of an enemy state. Matthei, however, insisted that Chile completely lacked the capability to deliver a knockout blow to Peru as Israel had done to Egypt. “To my great dismay

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they had all apparently become ‘Israelites,’ in­clud­ing—to my great surprise— Contardo and Reveco [Matthei’s colleagues at the Air Force Academy of War]. In vain I attempted to explain that our po­liti­cal, geographical, and military situation was nothing like that of Israel in 1967.”37 Matthei recounts that sometime after May 1974 the Estado Mayor de la Defensa Nacional (Chile’s Joint Chiefs of Staff ) met to discuss the feasibility of a surprise attack on Peru. During a lengthy exposition army officers presented graphic charts illustrating Peru’s conventional superiority and then insisted that a preemptive attack was the best option to overcome the strategic imbalance of forces. Relying on courage and superior morale, they reasoned, Chilean forces would invade Peru up to the Sama River (Tacna region) and put Chile in a position of strength to negotiate a favorable po­liti­cal settlement. In other words, they imagined replicating Israel’s successful conquest and occupation of the Sinai Peninsula in 1967. The navy viewed the army plan with skepticism. Captain Eric Solís explained that his institution could participate in a preemptive war only if the government allocated substantial resources for new naval acquisitions. This signaled institutional disapproval, since everyone knew that the climate of economic austerity precluded any such allocations. When Matthei’s turn to speak came, he explained that Peru would presumably dispatch its fleet of high-­altitude Canberra bombers at the outbreak of hostilities to destroy Chile’s air force base in Antofogasta, thereby rendering the country’s lone north­ern airfield inoperable. He also estimated that Peru’s air force was four or five times more powerful than Chile’s and concluded, “I can guarantee that the Peruvians will shred to pieces the Chilean Air Force during the first five minutes of the war.” According to Matthei, the junta considered a surprise attack folly, but it faced “strong pressures from below” to consider an offensive operation against Peru.38 To this day the Chilean military has revealed very little about its contingency plans for Peru or Argentina, but one well-­known source bolsters the credibility of Matthei’s account. In June 1976 Augusto Pino­chet and Admiral Patricio Carvajal, Chile’s foreign minister, met privately with US secretary of state Henry Kissinger before an OAS meeting in Santiago. The subject of regional security dominated the conversation. Pino­chet wanted to know how Wash­ing­ton would react if Chile preemptively attacked Peru.39

Geopo­liti­cal Thought In 1973 air force commander Gustavo Leigh promised to “eradicate the Marxist cancer.” Augusto Pino­chet spoke of sanitizing the body politic of unhealthy po­ liti­cal habits, and in 1975 he said the national economy was undergoing major “surgery.” Far from being a mere coincidence, the use of medical imagery flowed

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from each officer’s view of the state as an organic entity. The two most important members of Chile’s military government (Pino­chet and Merino) taught geopolitics at their respective war academies, and the discipline’s precepts clearly influenced their outlook. Indeed, at the end of the 1970s a group of scholars observed the importance of geopolitics in the thought and behavior of military regimes across South America.40 Geopolitics generally attempts to understand foreign relations as they are influenced by geographical variables. The Chilean school, however, includes a peculiar set of precepts. Pino­chet described geopolitics as the analy­sis and management of states based on the premise that they experience periodic stages of growth and decline relative to those around them: “Geopolitics views the state as a living organism engaged in a constant struggle for survival.”41 These concepts date back to Germany in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. German theorists were the first to conceive of the state as a living organism engaged in a constant struggle for survival, and they also defined the discipline’s objective as the search for immutable laws governing the growth and decline of states. Karl Haushofer (1869–1946), the last of the great German geopoliticians, codified the ideas of Friedrich Ratzel (1844–1904) and Rudolf Kjellen (1864–1922) into concrete doctrines like lebensraum (the living space vital for a growing nation) and tariff protectionism to foster economic autarky, objectives that eventually became Nazi doctrines. For Haushofer, growing territorial borders was a sign of a healthy, expanding state.42 After World War II Chilean officers rejected the notion that expanding national borders was a sign of health. Colonel Humberto Medina, for instance, explained that geopo­liti­cal analy­sis was a neutral academic discipline. It did not imply racial or geographic determinism; it was inherently neither good nor bad but was rather just a tool to understand the interaction among human beings in a country. As “possibilists,” Chilean thinkers rejected the Nazi emphasis on racial and geographic determinism. They believed that a nation could overcome environmental challenges, but they retained the decidedly German concept of an organic state subject to stages of growth, decline, and death.43 In 1961 three Army Academy of War professors described the nation-­state as a being whose mountains, rivers, and deserts represented the skeleton; whose flesh was the human population; whose muscles were the country’s industrial and technical capacities; whose brain was diplomacy; and whose soul was the national character.44 Using the same body metaphor, Chile’s central valley represented the heart; Santiago represented the brain, by which administrative decisions flowed through the body; and the frontier zones represented the limbs, which required extra care and protection. Transportation routes represented the spine, facilitating exchange and communication—or they were the nation’s ar-

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terial system, delivering blood to the entire body. These geohuman factors then formed a single suprain­di­vidual organism. Geopo­liti­cal analy­sis, wrote the authors, offered statesmen a tool with which to diagnose the health of the state organism, to identify vulnerable parts of the country, to anticipate internal and external threats, and to prescribe global polices to redress any problems. In Geopolítica (1968) Pino­chet describes the discipline as scientific management of the state, drawing from a multitude of academic disciplines—geology, history, economics, po­liti­cal science, anthropology, and geography—to provide “a scientific and reasoned explanation of the relentless earthly activity of these superbeings [states] that are born, develop, and die in a cycle that reveals appetites of all sorts and a great instinct for preservation.”45 A central objective of geopolitics is the identification of the nation’s weaknesses and ways to reorder social, po­liti­cal, and economic structures to renew a growth cycle and augment “national power.” National leaders, for their part, had to know as much as possible about the state’s strengths and vulnerabilities in order to rectify those weaknesses. Julio von Chrismar, another professor of geopolitics, warned that thoroughout history internal conflicts tended to precipitate a nation’s decline much more of­ten than external forces did.46 Geopoliticians study the way geography influences po­liti­cal development. For example, Chile’s cultural homogeneity and geographically compact central valley led to a speedy po­liti­cal consolidation after independence because national leaders could efficiently govern and administrate their territory from a central location. However, after Chile had conquered the Atacama Desert and established sovereignty over the far south, the national territory posed formidable obstacles to organic unity.47 Chile’s arid north­ern deserts and windswept south­ern regions were insolated from the heartland, sparsely populated, and vulnerable to attack by Peru and Argentina. Thus, the nation’s leaders had to pay close attention to spatial segregation. In the case of Chile, modern infrastructure could integrate the nation’s peripheral regions into a national whole.48 Air force and navy officers of­ten highlighted the role their services played in connecting the south­ern territories to the central valley and looked to a future in which a sys­tem of seaports and air traffic would permit Chile’s south­ern territories to find international markets and accelerate business with the central valley. Air power, an editorial observed, was the best way to overcome geographic barriers in the nation’s most isolated regions, which lacked roads.49 Chile’s telecommunications network, for instance, represented a strategically vital social instrument because it allowed government officials, scientists, and business owners to speak with each other from region to region. In a geographically unusual country like Chile, such connection was essential. Roads, automobiles, and phone lines had a geopo­liti­cal significance apart from mere societal af-

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fluence; they promoted the organic health of the nation by opening up avenues of communication in the most remote parts of the twenty-­eight hundred miles of territory north to south.50 A 1957 study of Chile’s forty-­two principal cities revealed a total of 93,000 installed telephones and 57,700 pending requests for installation. Meanwhile, the infrastructure for long-­distance service, especially between the far south and the center, was either entirely lacking or imperfect.51 From a military perspective, these deficiencies constituted a defense problem because televisions and telephones integrated citizens into the body politic. Officers may have disliked the social cost of free-­market restructuring after 1975, but few disliked the greater availability of cars, radios, telephones, and televisions. Apart from denoting modernization, these goods had strategic value for the national whole because they sped up the exchange of information and ideas. Long-­distance telephone service and satellite technology instantaneously connected Punta Arenas, Chiloe Island, and Santiago.52 Chilean geopoliticians saw patterns and totalities while assuming the state’s primordial right to allocate human and material resources in order to reverse a process of decline or achieve long-­term goals. The ethical implication of this orientation is significant. In the words of one army major, “For the state there are only objectives, and everything that serves to achieve its objectives is appropriate and legitimate, granting total validity to the expression that the ends justify the means.” This point of view, so removed from individuals with faces, grants the state the every right to neutralize internal threats and engage in social engineering to secure its survival.53 It could even justify state terrorism in the name of state security. Julio Canessa says the Pentagon stressed internal security after the Cuban Revolution, but he underlined that the idea of an organic state facing external or internal threats long antedated the Pentagon’s emphasis. He says, “National security is an integral activity of the state. As such it is permanent and has no family name [i.e., no doctrinal origin in one country or another]. As military personnel we are taught from day one that as with any living organism, the survival of the nation is never definitively assured at any point in time. Threats, dangers, and obstructions hinder its normal development. Sovereign nations appear and disappear with alarming regularity.”54

Geopolitics Applied In 1974 Chile’s military regime initiated an administrative reform intended to create autonomous poles of development across the length of the country and slow the concentration of po­liti­cal and economic power in Santiago. In July 1974 Decree Laws No. 573 and No. 575 grouped Chile’s twenty-­five existing provinces

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into thirteen regions, each with a capital and an administrative official. By endowing these regions with more local autonomy, the national government hoped entrepreneurs would look to their provincial capitals rather than to Santiago for resources and directives. Similarly, regional authorities would deliver social services to local citizens more effectively once freed from excessive bureaucracy.55 Chile’s war academies had long taught that a nation’s peripheral regions, especially frontier zones, needed to grow at a relatively equal rate with the administrative center. Having served at posts across the country, officers were well aware of the nation’s uneven levels of development and were particularly concerned about communities in isolated zones suffering from extreme poverty and inadequate infrastructure. Lifting these citizens out of extreme poverty and getting their children to enroll in school became a strategic priority.56 Similarly, Pino­chet’s construction of the Carretera Austral, an expensive highway sys­tem in the remote south­ern territories, aimed to accomplish twin geopo­liti­cal objectives: connect citizens from isolated zones to the central valley while also attracting citizens in the central valley to the underpopulated zones of the south.57 The junta’s decision to relocate Congress from Santiago to Valparaíso in 1987 had a similar logic. A navy editorial asserted that physically separating the legislative and executive branches would advance the goals of territorial decentralization, regional development, and arrest of the excessive concentration of po­ liti­cal power in the capital.58 Other strategic concepts came to bear on social policy. On Oc­to­ber 1, 1974, Miguel Kast, a University of Chicago–trained economist, presented the junta with a map of extreme poverty based on data from the 1970 census. The map showed that extreme poverty, defined as living without indoor plumbing and waste removal, affected 21 percent of the nation and was disproportionately concentrated among independent industrial artisans and rural peasants. Before this study, many people erroneously assumed that communities like Lota, a coal-­ mining city outside Concepción, had the greatest concentrations of poverty.59 Kast and his team at the National Planning Office recommended eliminating or scaling back subsidies to workers in the formal economy, such as minimum salaries and fixed prices for consumer goods, in order to transfer those resources to medical care, school lunch programs, and vocational training for the country’s most marginalized social groups. The idea was to get these citizens, many of whom lived near subsistence level, connected to pub­lic services and trained for more productive activities. This strategy complemented regionalization by focusing on isolated, underpopulated regions and drawing resources away from the metropolitan zones of Valparaíso, Santiago, and Concepción. In terms of social spending the regime clearly favored, in the aggregate, the poor underpopulated zones in the north and south. From 1975 to 1990 the number of Chileans living in poverty increased, es-

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pecially among the working and middle classes, but the situation for the most impoverished 10 percent of the population actually became less acute. In Pino­ chet’s Chile, the organized working class and lower middle class bore the brunt of public-­sector cuts and overall reductions in social spending; their living standards declined, along with their accrued sense of social status. The poorest Chileans, many living in isolated rural zones, did not get rich under the neoliberal regime, but many did receive health and educational benefits for the first time, in­ clud­ing prenatal care, free milk, and preschool. Infant mortality fell from eighty-­ two of one thousand live births in 1970 to eighteen in 1990.60 One result of these targeted policies was that Pino­chet’s strongest base of electoral support in the 1988 national plebiscite came from the south­ern regions of Araucanía, Los Lagos, and Aysén, which were home to substantial rural and indigenous populations that had been ignored by previous governments. Above all, the government prioritized the business sector’s ability to generate capital, but it also put a priority on the reduction of extreme poverty. In contrast, the organized working and middle classes received little strategic consideration. The junta viewed these social sectors as politicized, privileged, and unlikely to ever support the government. When the military regime left power in 1990, it possessed an enduring conviction of having successfully carried out a comprehensive overhaul of moribund state structures. Pino­chet and others spoke of having established a cycle expansion in the life of the Chilean state, of modernizing its economy and bureaucratic structures, of breathing into it the fuerzas vivas (vital forces) needed to begin a sustained growth cycle.61 Speaking to a journalist, Pino­chet said, “I’m not a politician, I am, if you like, a man who has applied his tactical knowledge to politics.”62 Pino­chet acquired that knowledge during military exercises and through his formal study of tactics, state security, and international relations. Geopoliticians speak of the nation’s “permanent objective interests” as well as the state’s drive to defend those interests. From 1973 to 1990 the concept of the organic state, subject to a cycle of decay and renewal, formed one conceptual foundation for thinking about national security and gave substance to policies enacted during the military regime. In the 1950s Chilean officers expected future armed conflicts to resemble the century’s two world wars in their essential characteristics, but at the start of the 1960s a new theory of revolutionary war, which conceived of the national population as vulnerable to internal subversion, influenced the way some officers viewed their nation and the methods necessary to protect the existing state from the kinds of national liberation movements that had succeeded in Algeria, Vietnam, and parts of Latin America. From the Arab-­Israeli and Indo-­Pakistani wars, Chilean officers concluded that small countries could expect little assistance

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or timely intervention from the United Nations and that preemptive military action could prevent the escalation of a regional conflict into a prolonged war of attrition. These observations, among others, informed the military’s strategy when it deposed Salvador Allende on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, and faced a potentially aggressive Peru in 1974. As students of warfare, Chilean soldiers contemplated theories and doctrines emanating from France, Brazil, Britain, and United States, and they did so as professionals of a developing country with limited conventional forces, potentially threatening neighbors, long-­standing anticommunist sentiments, and different concerns and questions from those of the armed forces in the developed world.

5 Salvador Allende and the Armed Forces, 1970–1973

Scattered shouts of “Viva Compañero Allende!” echoed in army and navy barracks as news of Salvador Allende Gossens’s victory in Chile’s 1970 presidential election swept the nation on the night of Sep­tem­ber 4.1 Rank-­and-­file excitement reflected the social difference between officers and conscripts, and the difference reinforced fears about the meaning of Allende’s electoral triumph. Senior military officers looked at each other with worried expressions. Would Allende promote officers sympathetic to his government’s goals and restructure the armed forces? Would he nullify postwar treaty commitments? Would a revolutionary government radicalize the working class? Into this maelstrom of uncertainty, military actors brought established patterns of thought and behavior, not hysterical knee-­jerk reactions. Indeed, the armed forces’ caution and patience is noteworthy—as is the explosion of repressive violence at the end of the story. Allende’s triumph immediately raised the question of his relationship to the armed forces. Having won just 36.2 percent of the vote, he needed a subordinate military that would guarantee his access to power and maintain internal order. Before the national election, his supporters, the Popu­lar Unity coalition (Unidad Popu­lar, or UP), declared their desire to establish a mutually beneficial relationship between the government and the armed forces by providing the army, navy, and air force with sufficient resources for technical modernization and to “integrate the armed forces into social life and facilitate their contribution to the nation’s economic development.”2 A skilled politician, Allende saw an opportunity to address long-­standing military grievances. He also understood the armed forces’ ingrained respect for hierarchy and reasoned that if he could win over the army, navy, and air force commanders, in part by the sheer force of his personality, he could expect part, if not most, of the military to fall in line. The Pino­chet generation wanted to stay out of politics for practical and professional reasons. They did not want to harm their careers, the country’s institutional stability, or Chile’s international reputation. Nor could they imagine the entire armed forces agreeing to rise up against an elected politician. Besides, no

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one knew what Allende would actually do from 1970 to 1976. Perhaps his government would provide resources for military modernization and accelerate social and economic development. It is also important to note that officers, like civilians, took pride in their country’s tradition of constitutional government and recognized its practical benefits.3 Allende’s severe mismanagement of the economy—the effects of which did not fully manifest until 1972—exacerbated crisis conditions in a polarized society in which armed groups operated. By 1973 most officers believed that their po­liti­cal neutrality would be impossible in a fast-­approaching civil war or decisive confrontation that Allende appeared unwilling to stop. Through it all, the high command’s behavior cannot be described as impulsive. Officers prepared for contingencies with the thoroughness of professional soldiers. After congressional elections confirmed the country’s po­liti­cal impasse in March 1973, each branch of the military began talking about a po­liti­cal takeover. In June 1973 a rather methodical process began. The Defense Ministry authorized the three armed services to develop “internal security plans,” ostensibly to guard against po­liti­cal infiltration, but which also allowed them to contemplate military action. In July and August the army, navy, and air force communicated with one another through formal and informal channels. By Sep­tem­ber 1973 the military possessed plans for a systematic takeover of the country and the will to intervene jointly. Significantly, they saw themselves fighting a multifaceted war, with both internal and external participants. Allende, for his part, mistakenly believed that a segment of military loyalists would fight with him in a countercoup alongside left-­wing paramilitary groups. In the mid-­1970s Paul E. Sigmund and Arturo Valenzuela offered comprehensive analyses of Allende’s overthrow, emphasizing the peculiar structure of Chile’s po­liti­cal system, in which po­liti­cal groups had few incentives to compromise and presidents, who enjoyed broad executive authority, reached power with a mere plurality of the vote. Moreover, the polarization of the sys­tem in the 1960s coincided with the rapid loss of centrist politicians able to restrain extremist tendencies or perceive the long-­term implications of military involvement.4 Since that time other historians have drawn from the oral testimonies of women, workers, and peasants to examine resistance to, or support for, the UP. These studies provide a valuable perspective on those who participated in the period’s widespread po­liti­cal mobilizations and reveal the complex and highly volatile po­liti­cal environment Allende faced and failed to control.5 The role of foreign involvement in Chilean affairs remains a subject of great interest and debate in the historiography, especially regarding the importance of external factors for the collapse of Chilean democracy.6 It is surprising, however, that the armed forces frequently appear in scholarship only as an abstraction, left on the margins of the story until they appear at the very end to unleash a thunderous wave of violence.

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The principal aim of this chapter is to understand how the high command experienced the Allende years. What events, ideas, and experiences mattered most for their perceptions between 1970 and 1973? When did an interservice consensus develop that it was both necessary and feasible to overthrow Allende? Focusing on military leaders as they confronted the country’s gravest national crisis since 1891 sheds light on an essential group of participants. Officers saw the potential for civil war whether or not they intervened in the po­liti­cal sys­ tem. Above all, they feared a generalized breakdown of military discipline: soldiers joining revolutionary columns, lower-­ranking officers trying to oust Allende on their own, opposed factions fighting across the length of the country. Another factor, entirely off the radar for civilians but of enormous concern to military chiefs, was Peru. Chile’s traditional rival had accumulated superior air power and armored cavalry by the start of the 1970s. Therefore Chile’s internal crisis had external security implications. What would stop Peru’s nationalist government from taking advantage of a bitter civil conflict to retake territory lost during the War of the Pacific (1879–1884)? These factors, among others, informed officers’ perceptions and behavior between 1970 and 1973. In 1970 army generals Roberto Viaux and Camilo Valenuzela, not to mention Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger, conspired to prevent the victorious UP coalition from coming to power, but a more numerous and significant group in the high command—men like Carlos Prats, Augusto Pino­chet, Raúl Montero, and Ismael Huerta—refused to countenance an illegal preemptive action. It was inimical to their professional training and their sense of constitutionalism. During the next three years specific circumstances—armed paramilitaries, land seizures, economic chaos, and the government’s response to these challenges—brought the military branches together and fortified a consensus that Allende threatened the integrity of their institutions and the fatherland itself. As Thomas Wright described it, “the experience of the UP years translated intellectual opposition to Marxism into a visceral hatred.”7

Anticipating the Storm Well before Salvador Allende’s election in Sep­tem­ber 1970, military leaders anticipated challenging years to come. Chile’s Joint Chiefs of Staff delivered a report to Defense Minister Sergio Ossa on De­cem­ber 28, 1969, outlining their concerns about the potential for internal disorder before and during the 1970 presidential contest. The report even predicted a victory for the Left and expressed concern that the armed forces’ internal unity might be compromised if a Marxist won, since roughly 90 percent of all conscript soldiers came from peasant or working-­ class backgrounds. As a preventative measure, the Joint Chiefs urged the government to change the army’s socioeconomic makeup to include 10 percent from

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the upper class and 40 percent from the middle class before the 1970 election, presumably by ending the exemptions for young men pursuing higher education. The report also estimated that 80 percent of all officers had a center-­left po­liti­cal outlook; the rest were evenly divided, with 10 percent adhering to the Right and 10 percent to the Marxist Left.8 Eduardo Frei’s administration ignored the report. In the lead-­up to the 1970 election there were lingering questions about military discipline. In Oc­to­ber 1969 army general Roberto Viaux had openly defied civilian authority. The revolt, El Tacnazo, was motivated by frustration over sala­ries and insufficient means to defend the country, but the right-­wing V ­ iaux wanted to see if he had broader support for a po­liti­cal movement. El Tacnazo ended peaceably and quickly enough, but it complicated the military’s internal dynamics because Viaux and other retired officers began attempting to recruit active officers to participate in their right-­wing po­liti­cal machinations. General Carlos Prats remarked that the army suffered from po­liti­cal infiltration among officers and conscripts alike, which necessitated a serious examination of all military installations for criti­cal points that could be exploited by seditious individuals.9 In April 1970 the army discovered that two officers at its airborne school, Captain Florencio V. Fuentealaba and Lieutenant Mario Melo, were trying to acquire weapons and recruit soldiers into the Revolutionary Leftist Movement (Movi­ miento Izquierdista Revolucionario, or MIR). Within twenty-­four hours of this revelation, the navy high command met to exchange ideas about the best way to prevent a similar occurrence in their own institution.10 Military leaders wanted cohesive institutions, and they worried about covert politics in the barracks. Another issue of tremendous significance for Chilean soldiers, though unappreciated by just about everyone else, had to do with Peru and Argentina. In 1969, for instance, the military regimes in Peru and Argentina devoted 3.2 and 2.6 percent of their GDP to defense, while Chile, a less populous country, devoted 1.7 percent. Chilean officers feared that Lima or Buenos Aires might take advantage of the growing imbalance in conventional forces to press for the immediate resolution of unsettled frontier disputes. In early 1970 a report of Peruvian troops massing south of Arequipa sounded the alarm, as did two minor incidents along the Argentine border. Chile’s minister of foreign relations received assurances from his Peruvian and Argentine counterparts that all was well, but these events troubled a military leadership that was sensitive to its “declining military potential relative to neighboring armies.”11 Before the presidential election, navy commander in chief Fernando Porta instructed his admirals to maintain internal cohesion and respect for the constitutionally elected government. Likewise, army commander in chief René Schneider confirmed to the press on May 8, 1970, that his institution would oversee a fair election and guarantee access to power for the winner. The army, he declared,

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had no institutional objection to a Marxist government as long as it acted within constitutional bounds. Preelection interviews with other military men confirmed this sentiment.12 Yet Schneider’s statement carried an ambiguity. Did his position imply a role for the armed forces as national arbiters if the president violated the constitution? To confuse matters even further, Roberto Viaux said that General Schneider was speaking for himself and the armed services did not support his position. By mid-­1970 Viaux was giving speeches to enthusiastic right-­wing crowds about the necessity of preventing a Marxist government from coming to power and the right of free people to rebel against such a government. He proclaimed to a friendly crowd of five hundred in June 1970, “If circumstances require it, I’m ready to participate in an action intended to save the country from chaos.”13

Popu­lar Unity—Character and Ambitions Salvador Allende’s opposition had reason for suspicion. Communists in Europe and Asia had never accepted po­liti­cal pluralism once they attained power. In Cuba Fidel Castro acquired control of the state apparatus through a process of tactical alliances and state repression. Allende’s proposed vía chilena hacia el socialismo (Chilean path to socialism) contradicted orthodox Marxism’s insistence on seizing the state from the bourgeoisie. He promised to conduct the revolution inside a constitutional democracy that denied him control of the legislature and judiciary. And yet Socialist Party president Carlos Altamirano held a fairly orthodox view of strategy; he wanted to destroy bourgeois power through worker councils, state control of the economy, and alliances with friendly elements in the security services. The UP, he believed, needed to prepare for a decisive confrontation between Left and Right.14 Allende came to power with a radical agenda but only a partial control of state institutions. Indeed, less than half of the electorate had voted for his revolutionary program. Moreover, his allies understood the revolution on their own terms, and vari­ous left-­wing groups refused to follow the government’s orders.15 For workers and peasants the revolution could mean seizing factories and fields in the name of building socialism. Such direct actions, outside government control, created massive headaches for UP leaders trying to control the process from the top, yet their own revolutionary rhetoric made it po­liti­cally impossible to dispatch police forces and stop such independent actions. These contradictions made it exceedingly difficult for Allende to control his coalition. Meanwhile, Chile’s anticommunists perceived the actions of the UP’s distinct elements as premeditated steps toward the seizure of total power. Even if members of the armed forces believed that the Left wanted to impose a dictatorship of the proletariat, they also understood the rules of the game.

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­ llende had won the 1970 election fairly. The military—or any faction, for that A matter—could not deny him the presidency without inviting immediate backlash: street violence, mass mobilizations, even the potential for uniformed soldiers to wind up firing on one another. Besides, without an interservice consensus about the need to overthrow Allende, any preemptive action carried huge risks. Admiral Sergio Huidobro writes, “A rash action would inevitably lead to a confrontation and the serious danger of the armed forces splintering as well as a loss of the leadership’s cohesion, which is indispensable in such circumstances.”16 Indeed, the navy high command—the most conservative of the three services and the one most offended by Allende from the outset—could not launch a coup without risking a bloody fight with the army. Understanding Allende and his contradictions matters a great deal for the po­liti­cal context of the period. He was not Luis Corvalán, the serious and disciplined leader of Chile’s Moscow-­aligned Communist Party. Allende came from a progressive upper-­middle-­class family in Valparaíso with a long history of pub­ lic service. He studied medicine at the University of Chile, and by the time of his election as president of the repub­lic he was a well-­known national fig­ure who had accrued a lengthy record of service as a cabinet member, a congressman, and a senator representing the Socialist Party. A shrewd politician, Allende possessed considerable gifts, in­clud­ing oratorical brilliance, natural charisma, and the ability to negotiate compromises among different po­liti­cal factions. Pino­ chet described him as courteous and gentlemanly (but as using those qualities to manipulate and deceive).17 Allende fraternized comfortably with national elites and urban guerrillas. In 1967 he attended a conference in Havana where the attendees debated how to best promote armed struggle in Latin America. As president he hoped that détente between the Soviet Union and United States would mean that his government could experiment po­liti­cally as well as secure financial assistance from the socialist bloc and the capitalist world—both miscalculations. It is perfectly clear from all of Allende’s speeches that he believed state socialism to be not only a viable solution to Chile’s social and economic problems but also a his­tori­cal inevitability. To po­liti­cal conservatives, Allende was little more than a charlatan. Before coming to power Allende signed the Statute of Constitutional Guarantees, which committed him to act within the boundaries of the law. In a statement widely cited by his detractors, Allende said of the agreement, “I accepted it as a tactical necessity to assume power. At that moment the imperative was to take control of the government.”18 In speeches he divided the nation into “the people” and “the reactionaries,” even saying, “I am not president of all Chileans”—but rather president of an electoral coalition and the social classes it represents. Was he committed to social democracy or revolutionary Marxism? Mitigating those concerns, at least in 1970, was Salvador Allende the man,

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widely known for his bourgeois tastes: a love of fine wines, fancy suits, and female company. Given this aspect of his personality, would he really turn out to be a Marxist-­Leninist revolutionary? Many observers thought his metropolitan sophistication belied the radical tendencies of his party, ideology, and coalition. Gustavo Leigh said, “I always thought that Allende would end his government maneuvering to the center or right. Given his lifestyle and inclinations, we thought he was a man who was going to start on the left and end up the right, as has occurred with other Chilean presidents.”19 Indeed, there was ample precedent to think a coalition of left-­wing parties might move to the center. Leigh said that in 1970 it was difficult to imagine the destruction of Chilean democracy. The country’s democratic foundation seemed unbreakable to many. That, combined with Chile’s embedded notion of his­tori­cal exceptionalism, allayed fears of a committed Marxist in power. Po­liti­cal elites repeatedly spoke of Chile’s unique internal conditions, explaining to foreign journalists that outsiders failed to understand the realidad chilena (Chilean reality) or idiosincrasia nacional (national idiosyncracy) that distinguished their country from other parts of Latin America.20 At the same time, Allende’s relationship to the radical Left greatly affected military perceptions of the UP. Estimates vary on the exact number of foreigners in Chile during the Allende years—between six thousand and twelve thousand—but the key point is that left-­ wing militants from across the region (Argentines, Bolivians, Uruguayans, Brazilians, and especially Cubans) arrived in significant numbers. Some were escaping repressive regimes at home. Others came as internationalists, believing that Chile was ground zero in the shared fight against capitalism and Yankee imperialism.21 That Chile had become an international battleground and haven for left-­wing organizations did not escape military intelligence. The high command knew that radical groups from abroad had been coming into the country to train in the Andes or conduct business in Santiago. In fact, revolutionaries from Bolivia, Uruguay, and Argentina, met with Chile’s MIR in No­vem­ber 1972 to lay the basis for what would become the Revolutionary Coordinating Junta (La Junta de Coordinación Revolucionaria), a regional alliance of armed left-­wing groups committed to socialist revolution across the continent.22 In 1972 and 1973 officers wanted Allende to crack down on paramilitary groups and expel foreign revolutionaries, but this was something he could not do for practical and po­liti­ cal reasons. The lack of action contributed to a perception that the Chilean Left was conspiring to seize power or cause a civil war. Allende’s personal security team, grupo de amigos personales, which journalists dubbed the GAP, is noteworthy. That Allende felt the need for additional security, apart from a basic police detail, should not come as a surprise. Right-­wing extremists murdered the army’s commander in chief in 1970. However, Allende did not ask just anyone to guarantee his safety. He asked armed revolutionaries from the MIR, who in 1970 were still wanted by the police for bank robberies

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during the Frei administration.23 The MIR espoused a Marxist-­Leninist ideology and a firm belief in armed struggle. Allende’s security team also included two former army paratrooper commandos, Mario Melo and Luis Barraza, both of whom had been expelled from the army in 1970 for their known Marxist convictions. After the 1970 presidential election, Fidel Castro sent his own highly experienced security forces to train GAP cadres. Why did Allende surround himself with these heavily armed men, trained by Cubans and committed to vanguard revolutionary struggle? It’s also noteworthy that they had no qualms about transferring their expertise to other left-­wing militants.24 Eventually the control of the GAP passed from the MIR to the Socialist Party, but Allende’s choice of bodyguards made the military suspicious of the president’s constitutional bona fides. In 1970 no one could predict what direction Allende might take his revolution or what direction the revolution might take him. The UP had proposed a transition to socialism within the bounds of constitutional democracy, something without precedent. As such it constituted a major test case. Would the best strategy be to implement socialism gradually or attempt a rapid transition? Could he build socialism and remain a democrat? Would the constraints of liberal democracy require him to move to the right? Through it all, Allende never moderated his revolutionary aims, as some officers thought he might. Nor did he forcefully deal with armed extremists or change economic direction after serious problems developed. By mid-­1973 it did not matter what Allende said or with whom he negotiated. The Pino­chet generation took his refusal or inability to exert control over his coalition as a sign that he had chosen revolutionary confrontation over constitutional reformism. In the end, Allende died with a submachine gun in hand, a fact that speaks to the man’s unresolved contradictions.

Two Months of Tension The day after Allende’s election—Sep­tem­ber 5, 1970—Carlos Prats went to René Schneider’s home to discuss the national situation. Schneider saw four possibilities. First, the Christian Democrats might refuse to ratify Allende’s presidency (according to the constitution Congress selected the president when no candidate won an absolute majority of the vote). That possibility seemed certain to cause bloody conflict. Second, the Christian Democrats might agree to some sort of power-­sharing arrangement with the UP, but that would generate serious struggles in the executive branch. Third, an Allende presidency “would result in the gradual implementation of a Marxist regime, causing a short-­term crisis that would lead to either a proletarian dictatorship or military dictatorship.” Fourth, the right-­wing nationalist Roberto Viaux would attempt a coup of some kind.25 Schneider emotionally told Prats that all of the scenarios he envisioned jeopardized the army’s unity and professionalism. On Monday, Sep­tem­ber 7, Schneider informed his council of generals that

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“Congress is sovereign to choose between the first two majorities, Allende and Alessandri, and whoever is proclaimed, no matter who, we must support and back him up to the end.” At the same time, he acknowledged his comrades’ understandable concerns. Some generals feared that Allende would carry out a wave of retirements and promotions during the first two months of his term in order to guarantee support for a Marxist commander in chief. Everyone agreed that Viaux would, in all likelihood, attempt to involve the army in an extraconstitutional movement.26 The next day President Eduardo Frei met with his military chiefs. He expressed concern that transferring presidential authority to Allende would put Chile on an irreversible path to the destruction of democracy. He also brought up the country’s uncertain financial situation since the election: capital flight, a falling exchange rate, and ominous prospects for future investment. His statements appear to communicate tacit, unofficial approval for a military move to block ­Allende’s access to power. Schneider made clear that he had been restoring cohesion in the army ever since El Tacnazo, and the army would support which­ever candidate Congress selected. Army, navy, and air force commanders called on the Christian Democrats to clarify their position as soon as possible rather than leave the issue of congressional certification unresolved and uncertain. Admiral Fernando Porta, the navy’s commander in chief, instructed Admiral P ­ atricio Carvajal to travel across the country and speak with officers about their constitutional duties and offer reassurances. The nation, Porta insisted, would vote the Marxists out of power in six years.27 In Sep­tem­ber the Christian Democrats announced their intentions. They would vote to ratify Allende’s presidency in Oc­to­ber as long as he agreed to sign a set of constitutional guarantees about his conduct in office. The negotiations between the Christian Democrats and Allende inevitably involved his control of the armed forces. Initially the Christian Democrats wanted Allende to forgo the right to name commanders in chief.28 Allende ultimately retained that right, but he pledged to honor the armed forces’ normal chain of command—that is, he would not shake up the armed forces or interfere with their internal affairs. The UP’s po­liti­cal platform declared capitalism to be the cause of societal violence and identified the United States as an imperial power. What did this mean for Santiago’s international alliances? For instance, would the navy receive permission to conduct its annual joint maneuvers with the US Navy in the South Pacific? If the UP withdrew from the Treaty of Inter-­Ameri­can Reciprocal Assistance, that would make the Chilean military ineligible for external credits to purchase military hardware or educational scholarships through the Military Assistance Program. To deal with these concerns, Admiral Porta authorized an informal meeting between the president-­elect and his navy representatives. On Sep­tem­ber 12, 1970, Admirals Raúl Montero and José Merino met with

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Allende and Volodia Teitelboim (Communist Party senator) at a café in Valparaíso. Merino described the two-­hour meeting as formal and pleasant. The admirals spoke of the navy’s frustration with antiquated US arms and their desire to see an active-­duty military officer appointed defense sub-­secretary. When the question of Chile’s relationship to the United States and the inter-­American sys­ tem came up, Allende assured both men that his government would not change its defensive commitments, expel US military advisors, or terminate US military assistance.29 Before his No­vem­ber 4 inauguration Allende labored to reassure the armed forces that he would stay out of their internal affairs and provide resources for modernization. On Thursday, Sep­tem­ber 10, he dispatched retired army general Juan Forch to communicate with each branch of the armed forces that he would refrain from retiring officers arbitrarily and that he would continue the acquisition of new weaponry, improve corporate benefits, and respect the democratic and pluralist character of Chile’s po­liti­cal system. Allende personally visited ­Ismael Huerta, the director of Chile’s Shipbuilding and Ship Repair Company, in Talcahuano, and promised to support a $10 million project once he was in office. While attempting to build confidence with the members of the high command, Allende also invited retired colonels and generals to his home for consultations, in the presence of the press, about national affairs. Pino­chet described these meetings as a cynical effort to convince active-­duty officers that their former superiors supported the president-­elect.30 These encounters reveal that A ­ llende felt comfortable chatting with military personnel; he did not shy away from soldiers, and he would use his charisma and po­liti­cal acumen whenever possible.

External Reactions The fact that military chiefs and President Eduardo Frei refused to prevent the congressional ratification of Allende’s presidency confounded US policy makers. US National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger and Ambassador Edward Korry thought the Chileans were rather unceremoniously permitting their country to irreversibly join the communist bloc. On Sep­tem­ber 12, 1970, Korry complained to Wash­ing­ton that the Chilean Army was “a union of toy soldiers” unwilling to act outside constitutional authority. Where was the military’s ideological gumption in the face of a clear and present Marxist threat? On Sep­tem­ber 21 Korry wrote to General George R. Mather, the chief of the US South­ern Command, “As you are aware, Chilean military [officers] have been playing [an] essentially passive role in the criti­cal situation in which their country finds itself.” To get their attention, Korry proposed, the United States should remind Chilean soldiers of their institutional connection to the Pentagon and the possibility of termination of US assistance and foreign military sales.31

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At the same time, the United States had to tread carefully. Threatening to reduce military aid or restrict military sales could backfire and alienate the armed forces’ leadership. The United States was, after all, dealing with a proud military. Kissinger’s worries were global. He feared that a successful Chilean experiment might inspire the Communist Parties in Italy and France to adopt similar electoral strategies. In Moscow the politburo viewed Allende’s 1970 election as a major event that could weaken US interests across the West­ern Hemisphere. The Soviets wanted Allende to succeed, but they also had misgivings about a Marxist president who lacked control of the military, let alone the legislative and judicial branches. How could he govern with so much of the government potentially hostile? The Soviets were highly cautious about Allende’s victory.32 Brazil and Cuba also reacted strongly to Allende’s election. An elated ­Fidel Castro saw the potential for a new multipolar order in South America. He helped train Allende’s personal security detail and authorized covert deliveries of weap­ ons to Allende’s party and security escort, in­clud­ing machine guns and anti­tank rocket launchers. Brazil’s anticommunist military regime worried that ­Allende’s presidency augured the expansion of left-­wing politics across the continent. In the coming years Brasília supplied the Chilean military with crucial intelligence, and after Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, Brazil sent advisors to teach interrogation techniques to Chile’s internal security forces.33 What was occurring in Chile therefore had worldwide significance.

The Assassination of René Schneider On Oc­to­ber 22, 1970, a group of jittery right-­wing extremists loyal to Roberto Viaux surrounded René Schneider’s automobile at a Santiago intersection and demanded that the general surrender. The kidnappers hoped to provoke a crisis that would have one of two outcomes: a military coup, or the refusal of Congress to ratify Salvador Allende’s presidency on Oc­to­ber 24, 1970. When Schneider refused to exit his car and then attempted to draw a sidearm, the assailants opened fire. Several days later the respected general died in an army hospital. This shocking assassination immediately strengthened the armed forces’ cohesion and sense of duty to support the constitutionally elected president.34 Schneider’s death temporarily unified Chile. Representatives from all the major parties—the Communist, Radical, Christian Democratic, and National Parties—collectively affirmed that their democratic tradition would not be un­ der­mined by a small band of extremists. Eulogies described Schneider as a national martyr who symbolized faith in Chilean democracy. “He gave his life to conserve the unbreakable tradition of our nation’s armed forces to defend our national sovereignty and remain loyal to the constitution, laws, and democratic regime,” declared President-­Elect Allende.35 From 1971 to 1973 General Carlos

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Prats regularly invoked Schneider’s assassination as a symbol of the military’s duty to uphold the constitution. The military reacted with indignation to the Schneider assassination; reckless civilians had murdered someone from la familia militar, presuming that such an audacious act would induce the military to violate the constitution. Instead the assassination set a new precedent for the coming era of po­liti­cal violence within the armed forces.36 An internal investigation subsequently revealed military participation in the plot that killed Schneider. Active-­duty personnel, in­clud­ing General Camilo Valenzuela and Admiral Hugo Barros, had conspired to prevent Allende from coming to power. The CIA had even established contact with the conspirators, offering logistical support and assurances of Wash­ing­ton’s support for illegal actions. Although the CIA operatives recognized that the plot was unlikely to succeed, they had already passed weapons and tear gas to extremists in these circles. After Schneider’s assassination the CIA sent hush money to Viaux and his subordinates to conceal US covert involvement. All this meant that the Chilean armed forces could not trust anyone. The United States had tried to manipulate them from afar, and civilian extremists on the Left and the Right wanted to infiltrate and politicize the armed forces. The month of Oc­to­ber made clear to military commanders that the years ahead would be difficult ones. Navy leaders observed that the panicked Right had rushed into a foolhardy adventure. The situation, as most level-­headed officers saw it, demanded patience and caution. Several navy officers concur that José Merino said it was best for the nation to experience Marxism firsthand so “the people themselves would then have the opportunity to reject such doctrines and their leaders.”37 This sentiment may have existed in Sep­tem­ber 1970, but it actually masks the period’s uncertainty. Was Merino really so confident of Allende’s failure? Perhaps Allende would increase his support among the middle class and win a majority in Congress.

Compañero Allende Takes Power The same civil-­military protocol that greeted Jorge Alessandri in 1958 and Eduardo Frei in 1964 accompanied Salvador Allende’s arrival at La Moneda, Chile's presidential palace. Each branch of the military solemnly pledged loyalty to the defense minister and the chief executive as their legitimately constituted superiors. The general staff editors of Revista de la Fuerza Aérea offered their institution’s full cooperation with the new government: On No­vem­ber 3, a new constitutional government took power that will direct the country’s destiny for the next six years. The outstanding incli-

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nation advertised by his Excellency Don Salvador Allende Gossens is the implementation of sweeping changes designed to solve problems that affect the great mass of citizens. The armed services, full of men conscious of their professional duties, will certainly not vacillate to offer their fullest energies to cooperate in the common good of the enormous tasks to be undertaken by the supreme government. From the modest platform of this editorial, Revista de la Fuerza Aérea de Chile respectfully greets the new authorities of the country and expresses its fervent hope that the new government meets the goals proposed for the good of the fatherland and for the entire national community.38 This editorial should not be dismissed as a mere formality. The references to “the common good” and “the good of the fatherland” denote a concern about class conflict. At the same time, elements of the UP’s po­liti­cal platform held national appeal. Officers generally disliked foreign ownership of the country’s copper mines and the persistence of backward social and economic relations in the countryside. The incoming government promised to break the old chains of dependence by nationalizing banks and strategic industries, a goal that was in line with the military’s dream of economic autarky. In 1972 air force editorials described the nationalization of US-­owned copper companies as a transcendent moment when the state finally took control of its most important resource.39 Two air force generals, Alberto Bachelet and­ Sergio Poblete, had well-­known left-­wing sympathies, and Carlos Prats said Allende attempted to “open a different and controversial path toward a new destination for the people of Chile. I did not share his Marxist ideology, but I judge him one of Chile’s most lucid and daring leaders in the twentieth century as well as one of the least understood.”40 Few officers shared Prats’s view, but his outlook speaks to the heterogeneity of perceptions in the armed forces and the relatively sizable number of officers who viewed Allende’s objectives for national development in a positive light. Before handing the presidential sash to Allende on No­vem­ber 4, Eduardo Frei appointed two highly professional commanders in chief: Carlos Prats (army) and Raúl Montero (navy). Once in power, Allende fulfilled his promise to respect the hierarchy. He did not appoint lower-­ranking personal allies to positions of institutional leadership. Over the next year Allende repeatedly praised the armed forces for their patriotic service to the nation. Speaking to newly promoted generals and rear admirals on April 15, 1971, Allende invited them to help build the “new Chile” and added, “There are no powerful armed forces in economically, culturally dependent countries.”41 Allende flattered the military’s sense of importance as guarantors of national sovereignty and agents of civic education. He in-

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Figure 9. Salvador Allende with his military commanders during a toast at the country’s annual military parade in Parque Cousiño, Santiago, Sep­tem­ber 19, 1971. The three men in uniform standing near Allende are (left to right) Carlos Prats González (army), César Ruiz Danyau (air force), and Raúl Montero Cornejo (navy). (Courtesy of the Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional de Chile, CC-­BY-­3.0-­CL)

voked Schneider’s martyrdom and placed military legalism within the discourse of Chilean exceptionalism. During Allende’s first State of the Union address on May 21—also Navy Day and the opening day of parliamentary sessions—Allende declared that Chile had decided to break its chains of underdevelopment just as Russia and China had done earlier in the century. However, Chile assumed the unique challenge of building the world’s first democratic, pluralist, socialist society. Critics, he said, refused to believe that the police and the military would ever support a constitutional government representing the nation’s popu­lar classes, but, he insisted, the armed forces would constitute the backbone of a more just social order. The critics “forget the patriotic consciousness of our armed forces and carabineros, their professional tradition, and their submission to civil power.”42 After the speech, Allende paraded alongside a mounted General Augusto Pino­ chet, then commander of the Santiago army garrison. The two men, it is interesting to note, appeared together on multiple occasions in 1971. In No­vem­ber

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Figure 10. Salvador Allende after his address to the nation, May 21, 1971. General Augusto Pino­chet, on horseback next to Allende, accompanies the presidential motorcade. (Courtesy of Archivo Fotográfico, Fundación Salvador Allende)

Pino­chet accompanied Allende during Fidel Castro’s tour of the country. No one could have imagined that their fates would one day be so intimately intertwined. In 1971 Pino­chet appeared like any other army officer: stern and dutiful.

The Popu­lar Unity’s Belle Epoque The UP’s first year went rather well. On No­vem­ber 4, 1971, Allende addressed a large group of supporters at Santiago’s national stadium to celebrate his government’s nationalization of the steel, copper, coal, iron, and nitrate industries. In 1971 industrial production expanded 12.1 percent, the GDP grew 8.6 percent, inflation fell from 34.9 percent to 22.1 percent, and unemployment reached a low of 3.8 percent.43 The government’s nationalization of US-­owned copper mines enjoyed strong middle-­class support. The initial successes, however, masked a shaky foundation. UP strategists had decided to deliver immediate benefits to the general population in 1971, especially in order to broaden support among the middle and ­working classes. As a result, Finance Minister Pedro Vuskovic decreed wage hikes and used pub­lic spending to create thousands of jobs—many of them redundant—­ with­out overseeing a commensurate expansion of industrial capacity. He expected demand to spur production and government price controls to over­come macro­

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economic disequilibrium, but the populist strategy backfired. In 1972 the government printed money to meet its obligations, having already exhausted much of its foreign exchange reserves. Inflation eroded workers’ incomes. Plummeting production resulted in scarcity, rationing, and black markets. Bread lines appeared across the country. GDP contracted. Meanwhile, the nationalization of US copper companies without compensation guaranteed that Allende would not find ready lenders in the capitalist world. Banks, to no one’s surprise, regarded his government as risky, and the socialist bloc offered no realistic alternative. Without lines of external credit Allende could not proceed with social and industrial investments.44 As the economy failed, direct-­action land occupations by peasants and slum dwellers accelerated. Partisan groups clashed in the streets. The opposition accused Allende of refus­ing to maintain law and order. Economic mismanagement—a largely self-­inflicted wound—set the stage for po­liti­cal confrontation. Officers’ memoirs are largely silent on events in 1971. Two exceptions stand out. First, Fidel Castro’s twenty-­five day tour of Chile beginning on No­vem­ber 10 raised eyebrows. The Cuban leader did not simply wave to workers and visit national monuments; he offered advice and opinions. Standing next to Allende, he divided the Chilean population into “the people” who supported the revolution and “the reactionaries” who did not.45 Castro’s speeches and interviews greatly annoyed the armed forces. What was this Caribbean dictator doing in their country? Castro represented a path to socialism that involved restructuring the military. None other than Che Guevara had ordered the execution of Cuba’s prerevolutionary high command. Second, women from diverse social classes participated in a mobilization on De­cem­ber 1 to protest the government’s economic policies as well as the presence of Castro. Dubbed the March of the Empty Pots and Pans, this protest was subsequently praised by Pino­chet as the heroic opposition of “apo­liti­cal” Chilean wives and mothers to a government threatening the nation. Six years later Pino­chet made De­cem­ber 1 National Women’s Day, and after 1973 conservative women represented a very important and reliable bastion of support for the military regime.46

The Armed Forces and Allende in 1972 In March 1972 the Interior Ministry allowed thirteen wooden crates from Cuba to enter Chile without passing through Customs. The government, in­clud­ing President Allende, claimed that the crates contained works of art, but the opposition did not believe a word of it. Congress subsequently impeached the minister responsible, Hernán del Canto, and suspicion hovered around Allende. By this point military intelligence had already begun delivering reports to General

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Carlos Prats about civilian extremists stockpiling unregistered firearms and munitions.47 These reports cast a dark cloud over everything. How many arms had already entered the country illegally? Many officers assumed Cuban involvement, leaving no question about the intended purpose of the weapons. In Oc­to­ber Allende signed the Law for the Control of Arms and Explosives, authorizing the military to search for arms, monitor extremists, and seize contraband. The law may have allayed some military fears about Allende, but officers continued to assume that the Left and the Right were both acquiring a significant capacity for armed conflict. As the economy deteriorated, a po­liti­cally conservative army general named Alfredo Canales tried to hatch an antigovernment plot. On Friday, Sep­tem­ber 8, navy commander in chief Raúl Montero informed Prats that Canales had approached Admiral Horacio Justiniano, a man he had no ties of friendship with, in Valparaíso to speak about a military overthrow of Allende. According to Justiniano, Canales told him that the army was unhappy with Prats’s unwillingness to confront the government and that a group of unnamed officers wanted to initiate a military coup. Canales indicated that if a general did not take control of the movement, a colonel with support from the middle ranks would. Canales clearly lacked actual support from the upper ranks, and Prats thought that Canales’s indiscreet contact with an admiral he hardly knew was meant to produce a crisis within the army that Canales could exploit for his own ends. General Canales’s retirement from active service affected the entire armed forces. First, it sent a strong message to the lower ranks that institutional commanders would not tolerate plotting. Second, it undermined any confidence that might have existed between the army and navy. Third, it harmed Prats’s prestige among army officers who were increasingly unhappy with domestic circumstances. On Sep­tem­ber 13 General Oscar Bonilla asked Prats to clarify the ­army’s institutional doctrine. Did he think that the role of the army was “not only to respect the constitution but to make it respected”?48 The question implied an obligation to intervene in the po­liti­cal sys­tem if army leaders thought the government had run afoul of the law. In pub­lic and in private, Prats always insisted that respecting the constitution meant that soldiers stood on the margin of politics. Public force could never be directed against the state or its people; “in the struggle among po­liti­cal parties we are neutral,” Prats said. He described the military’s role in national politics as po­liti­cal with a capital P, in the sense that officers could contribute ideas to the formulation of national policies, but a military role in sectarian politics, or politics with a lowercase p, was strictly off-­limits.49 Within a matter of weeks Prats and other officers found themselves thrust into a new po­liti­cal role. Allende faced relatively little resistance when he nationalized big banks and

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foreign corporations in 1971, but targeting the petite bourgeoisie proved different. Truck drivers in Aysén province (south­ern Chile) strongly resisted the government’s plan to nationalize their privately owned vehicles, and on Oc­to­ ber 9, 1972, the Confederation of Truck Drivers launched a nationwide strike in solidarity. These truckers threatened a total paralysis of vital activities, because they transported basic foodstuffs from rural to urban zones, distributed medicine, and moved components essential to the country’s strategic infrastructure. The Left angrily accused the strikers of being in cahoots with the United States and of holding the entire economy hostage. Without feasible alternatives to accomplish the movement of goods across the length of the country, Allende declared zones of emergency through­out the country and appointed military officers to govern them. The situation thrust a number of uniformed officers into a new and uncomfortable position. General Héctor Bravo, the chief of Santiago’s emergency zone, had to deal rather suddenly with a po­liti­cal crisis on behalf of the government. He issued demands for Allende’s opposition to abide by his decrees, but the opposition did not always follow them.50 These events echoed the 1947 coal miners’ strike. On Oc­to­ber 21 Allende asked the military to help his beleaguered government. Two weeks later the president swore in his first civil-­military cabinet: Admiral Ismael Huerta (Public Works and Transportation), air force general ­Claudio Sepúlveda (Mining), and Carlos Prats (Interior). To calm fears about partisan food distribution, General Alberto Bachelet received an appointment to direct the Boards of Supply and Price Control ( Juntas de Abastecimiento y Control de Precios), local administrative units designed to control prices and ration essential goods. Prats successfully negotiated a settlement between the government and the truckers, but the new cabinet marked a significant change. The press asked at what point military cabinet members constituted military po­liti­ cal support for the government.51 Allende’s gamble risked polarizing the armed forces. Most army officers did not want their commander in chief identified with a Marxist government; others viewed the president’s civil-­military cabinet as a mere strategy to co-­opt or acquire military support for a government unable to govern on its own.52 Admiral Ismael Huerta consented to Raúl Montero’s request that he accept Allende’s ministerial appointment, but the government post came with feelings of discomfort. Before Allende departed on a foreign tour, he gave a televised speech at the airport and received protocol salutes from his cabinet. The president wanted the world to see his civil-­military cabinet salute him as he headed off to address the UN General Assembly in New York. General Sepúlveda detested the fact that his sons would see him alongside the president; it implied air force collaboration with Allende’s government. Huerta said that Allende’s civil-­ military cabinet gave the president’s beleaguered government credibility, but it

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was not about collaborating with soldiers on matters of national importance, “We felt used like decorative elements,” he stated, with no part in the decision-­ making process.53 Once Allende returned from his foreign tour, Huerta and Sepúlveda informed him that they wanted to resign their positions in his administration. Allende applied la muñeca (wrist-­twisting). He warned both men that resigning would mean retirement from active duty, but the officers held firm. Defense Minister José Toha called for César Ruiz and Raúl Montero (the air force and navy commanders in chief, respectively) to keep their men in line, but the strategy backfired.54 Huerta became a hero in military circles for refusing, and Montero appeared to lack control of the navy. Prats, meanwhile, felt humiliated as the only officer still willing to serve. Allende may have retained the loyalty of his service chiefs, but the civil-­military cabinet helped turn officers against their institutional commanders.

Perceptions of the Military As the country’s po­liti­cal and economic crisis worsened, civilians could only speculate about the exact mood of the armed forces. Civilians knew that anticommunist sentiment existed through­out the armed forces, but it was difficult to gauge an institutional position on the present crisis, given the monastic life of soldiers and the strict prohibition on po­liti­cal commentary or interservice communication. In pub­lic statements, officers reinforced the impression of a taciturn, po­liti­cally unsophisticated social body.55 In No­vem­ber 1972 the newsmagazine Ercilla asked Carlos Prats if he thought Chile’s polarized po­liti­cal climate could produce a division of the army like the one that had occurred in 1891. Prats replied that the present era was too distinct to be compared to 1891, but his short answer masked underlying anxieties. Military intelligence was on high alert for po­liti­cal infiltrators, and the navy was resolved to prevent another naval mutiny.56 The same month Ercilla reflected on the unhappy position of the military. Chile’s far-­left groups called officers proimperialist capitalists while far-­right elements characterized them as robotic soldiers actively supporting a Marxist government. Right-­wing nationalists hoped the armed forces would establish an authoritarian state modeled on Franco’s Spain. Christian Democrats, in­clud­ing Eduardo Frei, eventually expected the military to overthrow Allende, proscribe Marxist parties, and organize national elections for the transfer of power to civilians. As the largest po­liti­cal party, the Christian Democrats stood to benefit from such a scenario. Then again, perhaps the military would establish a developmentalist dictatorship like the one in Peru.57 Colonel Hugo Moya’s essay “Participation, in Theory, of the Armed Forces in the Politics of Modern States,” published at the end of 1972, is noteworthy.

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Moya argued that external defense constituted the exclusive function of militaries in industrialized countries, but in the developing South­ern Hemisphere, mili­ taries had to defend national borders, maintain equilibrium in volatile po­liti­cal systems, stay apace of technological change, and rectify structural deficiencies in their nations’ po­liti­cal and economic order.58 On the last point Moya cited contemporary military regimes in Brazil, Peru, and Ecuador, all of which had begun building roads to connect isolated population centers to national markets. Moya considered such initiatives legitimate spheres of military activity because social and economic development affected national security. Echoes of these ideas had appeared in defense journals for some time, but never as a coherent thesis justifying military participation in the po­ liti­cal system. Moya believed that Third World militaries sometimes had to assume a role in sectarian politics to exclude ideologies that undermined steady incremental progress.

Military Voices in a Time of Crisis In 1972 the editors of El Memorial del Ejército de Chile published Spanish army captain Prudencio García’s article about his­tori­cal moments when po­liti­cal neutrality ceased to be an option: French and Italian soldiers had to decide whether to defy state authorities in World War II, just as Spanish soldiers had faced that choice in 1936. Expecting absolute neutrality from military officers in every circumstance, García wrote, denied their basic humanity. “In certain troubled situations,” he noted, “a soldier’s loyalty to the fatherland can force him to face a momentous choice: to choose quickly and decisively between two opposed po­liti­cal positions.”59 Speaking to the press after his retirement from active army duty, General ­Alfredo Canales explained that professional soldiers were obliged to stay out of sectarian politics and clumsy barracks uprisings, but in times of crisis they had the right to “judge the country’s situation and present their judgment to the competent authorities.”60 In May 1973 a group of retired admirals wrote to Raúl Montero, the navy commander in chief, with the same argument: the armed forces are not “castrated organisms, incapable of judgment or reason”; officers have a right to “take issue with the general thought of the government” on matters of national security as long as they express their concerns to civil authorities “through hierarchical channels.”61 In the spring of 1973, the editors of Revista de la Marina published two articles on the subject of military dissent. Both argued that soldiers had a moral duty to criticize civil and military leaders under certain circumstances. One cited German officers who viewed Kristallnacht as a barbaric pogrom but nonetheless remained silent, unwilling to risk their careers by speaking up.62 The other

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observed that many German army commanders believed that Hitler was plunging the nation into certain ruin, but they preferred to view themselves as professional soldiers rather than as citizens with a higher obligation to the nation. As a result they knowingly tolerated Hitler’s “satanic convictions” and his deluded ideas about the German capability to achieve victory over the Soviet Union.63 Discipline and hierarchy constitute essential military values, these authors reflected, but soldiers risked irrevocable harm to the nation if they carried out certain commands from civilian leaders. A soldier’s defiance of established authority is fraught with ambiguity and is not mere rhetoric. Some Chilean officers refused to carry out extrajudicial executions during the first two months of the Pino­ chet regime, taking morally courageous positions that cost them their careers.64 At the start of De­cem­ber 1972 Salvador Allende left Chile on a foreign tour with official stops in Peru, Venezuela, Mexico, the Soviet Union, Algeria, and Cuba and at the United Nations. In accord with the Chilean constitution, Interior Minister Prats assumed the vice presidency. From one vantage point Allende’s tour abroad offered a propitious time to consider military action. Retired naval officer and po­liti­cal conservative Roberto Kelly expressed enthusiasm for a coup when he visited his friend José Merino in Valparaíso, but Merino responded with prudent circumspection: “Getting rid of Allende is easy. But if we move now, we’ll have to take responsibility for this endless chaos, and they’ll blame us for the situation. The truth is we have no alternative project to save the country. Besides, in view of the global propaganda that exists in favor of this government, we can’t risk venturing alone on some unknown path.”65 Mature members of the high command—Prats, Montero, Huerta, and Ruiz— could imagine the results of a coup: massive bloodshed, soldiers blamed for the effects of an economic crisis created by the previous regime, fickle masses quick to criticize a government they had once welcomed, and unfavorable international opinion, although few in the armed forces could have imagined the depth of Chile’s isolation after 1973. As distressing as Allende’s Marxist government might be for someone like Merino, he remained mindful of what could accompany extraconstitutional military intervention. He did, however, instruct Roberto Kelly to establish contact with a group of economists to sketch out a national recovery plan.66

Turning Points Carlos Altamirano set the tone for the year ahead when he gave a speech at Caupolicán Theater in Santiago on Janu­ary 10, 1973. The Socialist Party president cast UP po­liti­cal struggles as historic “battles” to be won against “enemies” of the people in a “great class war.” He declared all revolutionary changes since 1970 ir-

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reversible and said that Chile faced a decisive choice between fascism and socialism.67 His party’s slogan, “Forward without compromise,” summed up the binary logic of the era: slavery or emancipation. Nine months later, a military regime deployed a similar rhetoric of war and liberation, except this time state violence accompanied the regime’s words. Before Salvador Allende’s election in 1970, a small minority of Chilean officers had tried to stage a preemptive military coup. Now, in 1973, a large number of officers, especially in the middle ranks, willingly wished to join an antigovernment action. However, officers in the air force and navy did not know what their counterparts in the army were thinking. Institutional rules made unofficial contact among the three services exceedingly difficult. Besides, all three commanders in chief appeared loyal to the president of the republic.68 Between February and May, several events made the entire armed forces aware of their shared opposition to Allende. In February 1973 the UP announced plans for the National Unified School (Escuela Nacional Unificada, or ENU), which proposed giving the government control of the curricula in parochial schools as a means to “transform each Chilean into an actor of his own destiny” and “secure the socialist system.” For critics, the reform was little more than a cynical attempt to acquire a social base of power and conquer the hearts and minds of Chile’s youth.69 The ENU particularly offended the navy, long known for its Roman Catholic culture. Massive protest marches forced Allende to delay implementing the proposal, which had a far-­reaching significance in the armed forces. Aware of strong military opposition to the initiative, Defense Minister José Toha convened a conference with Education Minister Jorge Tapia so that senior officers from each service branch could ask questions and make general observations. Toha apparently thought that giving officers a platform to speak about educational policy would do more good than harm. On Wednesday, April 11, Toha and Tapia met with approximately 180 air force, army, and navy officers in the auditorium of the Defense Ministry. Tapia endeavored to allay fears about the project and explain its good intentions.70 Patricio Carvajal, the head of the Joint Chiefs, acted as master of ceremonies, allowing dubious officers to individually express their concerns. Carvajal later wrote, “Everyone, absolutely all the officers who expressed opinions, opposed the ENU in strong language that confirmed the unanimity of thought in the armed forces high command. I would say that for the first time, interinstitutional suspicions began to fade away.”71 As Tapia responded to questions and vainly tried to persuade the gathered men of the project’s value, the dialogue shattered an important information asym­ metry. Now the high command of each service had seen and heard its colleagues

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oppose the ENU. By authorizing this rare interservice gathering, Toha had done wonders to break down the respective inscrutability and separateness of the services from one another. Military opposition to the ENU coincided with the formalizing of Chile’s po­ liti­cal stalemate. Congressional elections on March 4, 1973, reinforced the prevailing crisis. Allende’s enemies failed to win a two-­thirds majority in Congress and therefore could not impeach the president. Journalists and politicians began to say there was no democratic solution. At this point most Chileans expected some kind of decisive conclusion to the institutional crisis, not three more years of chaos. Increasingly, junior officers could not believe that Prats (army), Montero (navy), and Ruiz (air force) continued to fulfill their pledges of loyalty to the government. From the junior officers’ perspective, Chile’s commanders had a higher obligation to the nation and the constitution, not to a president and a coalition that were circumventing the law and plunging the nation into a process of self-­immolation.72 General Germán Stuardo reveals that the air force began putting together a concrete plan to overthrow Allende shortly after he and seven other generals met with the president on May 23, 1973. Stuardo says the exchange of opinions at La Moneda proceeded respectfully until General Orlando Gutiérrez stated that the military would eventually have to repress MIR extremists if Allende did not do so himself. The president snapped, “Don’t threaten me!” He then reminded the group that Chilean officers had never been permitted to speak so frankly with the president of the republic. The air force leadership walked away from the meeting convinced that Allende would never repress the MIR or backtrack from UP policies.73 On May 28, 1973, the association of retired generals and admirals published an open letter to President Allende that expressed gratitude to him for addressing the armed forces’ institutional concerns (i.e., the budget) before it outlined three principal societal concerns: economic disorder, perceived violations of law, and social peace. Class conflict, they said, undermined national security; national progress required human solidarity, not socioeconomic division.74 Separately, a body of retired admirals wrote a letter to Allende voicing similar concerns. Now the active-­duty officers could plainly see that their concerns matched those of the officers in retirement. Before April’s interservice meeting at the Defense Ministry, the three branches had had virtually no contact; institutional mechanisms worked to ensure that navy, air force, and army officers did not confer with one another outside formal channels. It was not just taboo to consult with officers from other services about po­liti­cal matters; any officer who knew of such contact was obliged to report it to his superiors. Referring to the beginning of 1973, air force general Gustavo Leigh said, “It was risky to touch on issues of this kind. There was no confidence

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to do it. Nobody knew who was who, no one had confidence in anyone. I did not know was happening in the army or navy.” 75 In June 1973 that dynamic definitively changed.

Emerging Interservice Contact Víctor Catalán, an army captain in 1973, remembers that “a secret survey had to be carried out in each military unit concerning the position of every officer and permanent staff member, classifying them into three categories: prone to military intervention, contrary to it, or neutral.”76 Something similar occurred in the air force and the navy, but only within each service. Interservice communication carried far greater risk. Carlos Prats observed something unusual when he met with his council of generals on June 25. The normally silent Sergio Arellano told Prats that he would not countenance a soldier serving as defense minister. Something was clearly wrong. Indeed, that night, attorney Jorge Gamboa Correa invited a very select group of military officers to his home in Santiago: Gustavo Leigh Guzmán (air force sec­ond in command), Patricio Carvajal (chairman of the Joint Chiefs), ­Ismael Huerta (surrogate for navy sec­ond in command José Merino), two more air force generals (Nicanor Díaz and Francisco Herrera) and four army generals (Sergio Arellano, Sergio Nuño, Javier Palacios, and Arturo Vivero). Gamboa did not participate in the meeting; he simply provided the space. What these men talked about is less germane than the fact that representatives of the high command from each service had gathered outside the formal channels. Other officers would come to subsequent meetings at Gamboa’s house. Here a unified conspiracy took shape.77 Civilians hostile to Allende played a major role in facilitating contact among the services. Federico Willoughby, a future spokesman for the junta, said that he and others created contact points for the services, bringing together officers from different branches so they could speak at civilian-­hosted parties and discover their like-­mindedness without breaking any institutional rules.78 In late May 1973 the leader of the ultra-­right-­wing group Fatherland and Liberty (Patria y Libertad, or PL), Pablo Rodriguez Grez, ordered his group to make contact with military units whenever possible and evaluate their attitude toward national events. PL’s leadership in Santiago wanted information about units disposed to overthrow Allende so that PL could offer its assistance when soldiers instigated an antigovernment conspiracy.79 This policy provoked a crisis that further deepened the contact among the services’ high commands. In early June Captain Sergio Rocha and Lieutenant Guillermo Gasset, both in the army’s Second Armored Regiment of Santiago, came to Rodriguez with a bold proposition: The essential condition for a successful military overthrow

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of Allende was relatively straightforward, they said, so only one fully committed army unit had to rise up. Once that occurred, the rest of the armed forces would join the movement.80 This is precisely what the high command feared: lower ranks subverting the chain of command in conjunction with undisciplined civilian groups. Rocha and Gasset wanted PL to supply gasoline for their regi­ ment’s tanks, act as intermediaries, and seize pro-­Allende radio towers. In his memoir PL member Manuel Fuentes repeatedly mocks Rocha and Gasset for their poor sense of logistics (they were not general staff officers). The PL lacked a paramilitary force capable of securing key locations, and the plan mistakenly assumed that Chile’s armed forces would readily join a movement launched by lower-­ranking officers. Nonetheless, the right-­wing group agreed to assist the plotters. At the end of June a putsch materialized.

The Tanquetazo Turning Point On the morning of June 29, 1973, Lieutenant Colonel Roberto Souper led six Sherman tanks, ten armored vehicles, and eighty soldiers to central Santiago. Just before nine o’clock the soldiers opened fire on the Defense Ministry and the presidential palace. These were not warning shots. More than a thousand rounds of machine-­g un fire erupted in the heart of the capital, and twenty-­two individuals died in the crossfire, in­clud­ing Sergeant Rafael Veillena of the army’s Second Division. Souper hoped that midlevel officers around the country would instantly join the mutiny. Meanwhile, Generals Mario Sepúlveda and Guillermo Pickering contacted Carlos Prats with news of the rebellion. Souper’s brazen act not only threatened to shatter the chain of command, it also held the distinct possibility of intramilitary bloodletting. The putsch, dubbed the Tanquetazo, did not succeed, but it was highly significant. With rebel tanks surrounding La Moneda, Prats ordered Colonel Julio Canessa to secure positions around the palace and return fire if Souper’s battalion used force. However, two captains and two majors under Canessa’s command refused to shoot at their brothers in arms or defend a government they believed was leading the country toward a dictatorship of the proletariat. Prats and other senior officers faced a similar predicament. They were trying to maintain discipline in restive institutions. Prats’s bold actions made the difference. He raced to the scene and achieved the surrender of one tank by confronting the crew directly, all while its commander had a machine gun pointed at him. Meanwhile, soldiers loyal to the government arrived under Pino­chet’s command. Before noon the remaining tanks fled, and the revolt did not spread to the provinces. Things could have turned out quite differently. Canessa wrote that it was the most difficult day of his life because the army’s unity had been in the balance.81 The high command imagined alternate scenarios. What if the rebellion had gained

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momentum to the point of fracturing the entire armed forces into scattered loyalist and revolutionary factions? The Tanquetazo illustrated the volatility of Chile’s po­liti­cal situation and the potential for spontaneous military uprisings. At the same time, army commanders had managed to get control of a complex situation in less than two hours while four loyalist columns took up positions around La Moneda. The event demonstrated unity at the top (Prats, Pino­chet, Pickering, and Sepúlveda) and the army’s remarkable agility as loyalist units operated efficiently to put down the revolt. Through it all, lower-­ranking officers, noncommissioned officers, and conscripts had followed orders. Before June 29, the high command wondered whether their subordinates would uniformly respect the chain of command to either defend Allende’s government or depose it. The Tanquetazo proved the integrity of Chilean discipline. The Chilean Left took stock of several positive outcomes from June 29. Most officers and conscripts in the armed forces ignored Souper’s call to join the uprising. The carabineros dutifully defended the government. Not a single army general revolted. Navy captain Arturo Araya, Allende’s personal aide-­de-­camp, revealed his loyalty to Allende by offering sound advice to the president’s security detail en route to La Moneda.82 As a result, the Left felt sure it could count on a portion of the high command to remain loyal when, and not if, another coup occurred. Nevertheless, the putsch changed the strategic calculus. Allende had called on the cordones industriales (industrial belts), his supposed bastion of worker support, to occupy the nation’s factories and prepare for a defense of the government. Some workers, but not all, seized factories, which dampened fears that popu­lar forces would mobilize in a unified way. Meanwhile, the Tanquetazo revealed the defensive capacity of Allende’s supporters. Progovernment paramilitaries positioned themselves on government ministry rooftops with light arms, but only the most committed loyalists resisted the putsch. “These are things we took into account,” writes Patricio Carvajal. Similarly, the event gave the entire military a legitimate reason to meet and discuss the country’s po­liti­cal situation.83 After the failed coup President Allende authorized the Joints Chiefs to draw up an internal defense plan for the entire armed forces in order to prevent po­ liti­cal infiltration of the military and control its points of communication. Such a plan, however, had a double significance. It could also be used against the government itself in a coup d’état. Finally, the Tanquetazo added to a growing sense of urgency among senior officers that junior officers might attempt another risky adventure.84 From the perspective of the high command, it was better to unleash a unified coordinated action. Air force general Nicanor Díaz said that talk about a coordinated coup and preparations for it began right after the Tanquetazo: “That’s when the contacts among the generals of the three institutions began.”85 On July 2, just days after the Tanquetazo, the high commands of all the ser-

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vices gathered to transmit their feelings to the Group of 15, an entity composed of five army generals, five admirals, and five air force generals. The group formulated a collective statement about national security concerns for delivery to the defense minister on July 4. Their report made explicit recommendations to the president: expel foreigners involved in the nation’s internal politics, police paramilitary groups, and stop issuing decrees based on legal loopholes. The document also expressed concerns about regional security and Peru’s recent submarine acquisitions. On the diplomatic front it urged strengthening relations with Brazil, Ecuador, and Argentina to offset the possibility of a united Peruvian-­Bolivian front.86 Although the Group of 15 made official recommendations or, more precisely, criticisms of the government, its real significance was to further contact among the high commands. When the group met again on August 5, its representatives agreed to intensify their efforts to stop junior officers from undertaking any independent actions and to progressively inform more colonels and naval captains about institutional feeling toward Allende and his government.87 Simultaneously, clandestine planning sessions occurred. During this whole process officers showed remarkable discipline as they controlled information without provoking a major crisis or scandal. Meanwhile, in July and August each service reviewed strategic locations across the country—ports, airfields, radio towers, and bases—and how best to secure them. When the military overthrew President Allende in Sep­tem­ber, domestic and international observers all commented on the precision of the takeover. Indeed, military leaders had been carefully reviewing their Internal Security Plans before the hierarchy set the coup in motion.88 All of this tactical and strategic preparation could be done under the guise of normal professional activities. It also prepared the leaders to conceptualize vari­ous threatening possibilities, real or imagined.

Allende’s Military Strategy When Salvador Allende took office he made sure to increase defense spending and the salaries of military personnel. After the economy crashed in 1972 the government insulated soldiers and their families from breadlines and scarcity, privileging soldiers as a social group. Allende warned the opposition that any illegal conspiracy would result in a counterblow of massive proportions.89 The power of this rhetoric depended on the credibility of such a claim that workers would tenaciously defend his government. The president then warned the opposition that trying to overthrow him would guarantee a civil war and great bloodshed. In August 1973 Allende said bluntly to Pino­chet, Merino, and Leigh that he would not go quietly in the event of a coup: “Gentlemen, be assured, I will not come

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out of La Moneda alive if you try to overthrow me. I will die here in my post as president of Chile. I’m not going to surrender myself to anyone.”90 Allende hoped that the promise of stiff resistance would deter a coup. Allende also relied on his personal charm and shrewdness. Patricio Carvajal, the head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in 1973, says that Allende preferred to meet with each commander in chief separately, avoiding joint meetings where the three officers could read one another’s reactions. He ingratiated himself with each man by calling him “my friend” or “savior of the country,” but he combined that affectionate informality with toughness. Allende did not shy away from un­ com­fortable confrontations or direct threats. When military ministers tried to resign from his government, Allende shifted responsibility onto their shoulders, saying that resignations would lead the country into civil war. When officers he had appointed to his cabinet tried to renounce their ministerial posts, Allende tied their continued leadership of their respective military institutions to remain­ing in his government. Carvajal said that “President Allende possessed a diabolical ability to manipulate men.” Carlos Prats condemned the suggestion that he and the other two commanders in chief, Raúl Montero and César Ruiz, had fallen “under Satan’s influence,” but he would be one of the first to recognize the president’s charisma and toughness.91 On the day of the coup, the instigators refused to speak with Allende precisely because they knew of his remarkable power to change men’s minds.

Allende Loses His Loyalists Army generals Mario Sepúlveda and Guillermo Pickering concurred with their chief, Carlos Prats, that the only legitimate solution to Chile’s po­liti­cal crisis involved constitutional mechanisms. Augusto Pino­chet appeared to agree as well. The carabineros’ commander in chief, José María Sepúlveda, as well as several other high-­ranking officers in that institution, remained firmly loyal to the president. To Admiral José Merino these police officers “appeared rather indifferent to the daily problems facing the nation.”92 In fact, the carabineros are something of a mystery in the unfolding drama. Few left records of their experiences from 1972 to 1973. On July 26, 1973, truck drivers launched a sec­ond nationwide strike to protest government-­mandated cargo rates. Shopkeepers joined to protest government-­ imposed prices, and then assorted professional groups went on strike, too. Allende announced a new cabinet on August 9, with Carlos Prats as defense minister, Raúl Montero as finance minister, and César Ruiz as minister of pub­lic works and transportation. It was a bold move for Allende to bring in all three military commanders in chief. He hoped it would forestall a coup, or at least

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give him leverage in the event that one occurred. Gustavo Leigh said, “General Prats’s position was that the armed forces had to keep assisting the government to prevent a criti­cal situation (coup or civil war) that could materialize.” In reality, the new cabinet irreversibly alienated Chilean officers from their chiefs.93 Most officers did not believe that Allende was serious about resolving the crisis. Earlier in the month they had communicated to him that if he wished to create another civil-­military cabinet he would need to appoint more officers to positions of authority and give them a free hand to deal with strikers. Nine days after the announcement of Allende’s new cabinet, Ruiz resigned, and his decision upset everyone. The air force council of generals wanted Ruiz to resign his cabinet post and remain commander in chief, but Allende had tied one title to the other. Leigh, next in line to become air force commander in chief, told the president that he would not assume command of the institution out of solidarity with General Ruiz. Rebuffed, Allende said he would pick Gabriel Van Schouwen, but Van Schouwen refused as well, saying, “If General Leigh doesn’t assume the position, neither can I, because right now the institution needs cohesion.”94 Leigh did accept the command of the air force, however, on August 17. Five days later the wives of several army generals visited Carlos Prats’s wife, Sofía Cuthbert, and presented her with a letter questioning her husband’s leadership of the army and informing her that their husbands felt embarrassed to wear their uniforms in public. Personal loyalty is a military virtue, and General Prats put it to the test. He asked the council of generals to sign a letter of support for him, but every general except Sepúlveda and Pickering refused. On August 23 Prats resigned as defense minister and as army commander in chief. Sepúlveda and Pickering also resigned from active duty. With the departure of these three generals, every division commander in the capital favored a coup. The army could seize Santiago. Likewise, procoup naval commanders could occupy Valparaíso and every other major port. Members of the UP urged Allende to get tough and retire officers believed to favor a coup, but such a shake­up carried the serious risk of backfiring.95 On Prats’s recommendation, President Allende appointed Augusto Pino­chet commander in chief of the army. Pino­chet had faithfully served as head of the army general staff, and in the weeks ahead Allende attempted to establish a personal bond with him. Winning his respect and loyalty could mean a fighting chance in the event of a coup. Allende hoped that Pino­chet could play a role in mobilizing loyalist factions and defending his government if the armed forces splintered. To deal with his precarious position vis-­à-­vis the army, Allende told Pino­chet that he wanted him to sack Generals Javier Palacios, Sergio Arellano, Oscar Bonilla, and Sergio Nuño—all known to have sympathies for a coup—

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but Pino­chet informed Allende that carrying out such an order would make him a traitor in the army’s eyes.96 Allende therefore could not reorganize the armed forces without breaking pledges he had made at the beginning of his government or incurring the wrath of the armed forces themselves. The navy’s internal dynamics resembled the army’s. Navy junior officers, the middle ranks, could not understand the apparent reserve and caution of their institutional chiefs. They complained about being asked to spend time away from their families during a national crisis. On July 23 Ismael Huerta received a declaration from junior officers expressing their frustration with the high command for failing to take a clear institutional position toward the Marxist regime. The document accused the high command of weakness and asked for information about the number of foreign guerrillas in the country as well as what Soviet ships were doing off the Chilean coast. The lower ranks wanted a coup. At the end of August a group of navy lieutenants went on strike over pay, access to food, and anger with the high command’s leadership. Just as army junior officers had revolted against their high command during the Tanquetazo, navy junior officers now challenged their superiors, albeit in a less dramatic way.97 Raúl Montero definitively lost control of the navy when he agreed to serve as Allende’s minister of finance on August 9. Thereafter, his subordinates openly defied him. Montero’s esteem had been in decline ever since he appeared with Allende after the Tanquetazo, and at the end of August the navy communicated to Defense Minister Orlando Letelier (Prats’s successor in this post) that it would recognize only José Merino as its chief. Montero resigned his cabinet post on August 28, and four days later the council of admirals met with Letelier to discuss the situation. Two admirals—Daniel Arellano and Hugo Poblete—supported Montero, but the rest demanded his resignation from active service. Allende refused Montero’s formal resignation on Sep­tem­ber 5, but the de facto command of the navy had already passed to Merino.98 The navy was not thinking only about domestic affairs in 1973. Military professionals are trained to consider the external forces affecting their fields of action. For procoup officers the issue of internal discipline was not the only calculation. How would Argentina and Peru react if a protracted internal conflict occurred in Chile? The navy surely did not trust the military authorities in Lima and Buenos Aires. In August 1973 Merino dispatched Roberto Kelly to Brazil on a secret mission. After conducting business in São Paulo related to poultry farming, Kelly contacted the country’s intelligence services with a request for information about the operational readiness of Peru’s armed forces and, more specifically, whether ­Peru’s nationalistic military regime might opportunistically exploit a military coup against Salvador Allende to reclaim territories lost to Santiago during the

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War of the Pacific (1879–1884).99 At a nondescript building in Brasília, the country’s intelligence services interrogated Kelly for a full day. He then received a simple assurance: Lima was planning no such action.

Civilians and Soldiers at the End Returning to Santiago in mid-­1973, Paul Sigmund was astonished to find once tranquil middle-­class neighborhoods organizing self-­defense militias. He wrote, “By August 1973, Chile had become an armed camp—and the armed forces were well aware of the extent of the distribution of weapons because of the arms searches they had been carrying out all over Chile since the beginning of July.” Speaking to the newsmagazine Revista Vea, Carlos Prats said, “Right-­wing extremists want to overthrow the government as soon as possible using soldiers, and left-­wing extremists seek a dictatorship of the proletariat.”100 Legal justifications for a coup developed after May 1973. All of Chile’s living ex-­presidents (Eduardo Frei, Jorge Alessandri, and Gabriel González), along with the Supreme Court and the Comptroller General, declared the government’s actions illegal and unconstitutional. On August 22 the Chamber of Deputies (the lower house of Congress) approved a resolution 81–47 that called on the armed forces to put an immediate end to all breaches of the constitution if President Allende did not. The Chamber of Deputies deliberately raised a question about the relationship between military power and civilian authority. “In a time of doubt and confusion,” wrote Ismael Huerta, “we asked ourselves who represents civil authority? Is it exclusively the executive branch? Obviously not; all branches of government make up civil authority.”101 The nation’s po­liti­cal crisis clearly put the military between a rock and a hard place. Everyone knew that soldiers would be directly involved in the denouement. Meanwhile, the judicial and legislative branches of government gave the armed forces a green light for a coup. Most officers were not about to side with the country’s elected president. Major Juan Barriga’s lengthy essay, “What We Should Know about Security and National Defense,” articulated a new institutional consensus. Published in the sec­ond quarter of 1973, Barriga proclaimed the right and obligation of the armed forces to participate in the po­liti­cal sys­tem when violent minorities refused to abide by the nation’s democratic framework.102 The essay did not identify any of these groups by name. PL employed assassination, sabotage, and other illegal tactics to combat the existing government. Meanwhile, the MIR and the Organized Vanguard of the People (Vanguardia Organizada del Pueblo) encouraged peasants and workers to seize privately owned lands and factories. Allende denounced such illegal actions, but he never jailed their members. His failure to aggressively deal with these groups damaged his credibility. The government, it seemed, was allowing extremists to precipitate a civil war. Barriga also pointed

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to Argentina’s demand for control of the Beagle Channel in the far south to illustrate the link between internal and external security. He observed that countries suffering from internal chaos exposed themselves to violations of sovereignty and even territorial depredations. But it was militants carrying guns who did the most to affect military perceptions. Neither the MIR nor the Organized Vanguard actually threatened the military’s monopoly on violence.103 However, their rhetoric and behavior significantly affected the military’s perception of Allende and his coalition. In July and August the MIR distributed pamphlets that stated “Soldiers, don’t die for the bosses. Live fighting alongside the people.” César Ruiz spoke on television about these pamphlets, calling them a treacherous attempt to divide the armed forces. In August Ercilla reported an incident in which members of the Movement of Popu­lar Unitary Action (Movimiento de Acción Popu­lar Unitario, or MAPU), a party in the UP coalition, visited barracks to post signs that read “Soldier, do not obey reactionary and procoup officials.”104 Such incidents crystalized military perceptions of the enemy within. Moderate officers who regarded Allende as a reformer in 1971 now saw his coalition exhorting the troops to disobey their superiors. Fernando Villagrán, a student and MAPU militant, recalls the attitude of his comrades toward the possibility of a military coup against Allende: “We always thought that if a coup materialized against Allende there would be a sector of the armed forces that would defend the constitutional government. And our mission, to the extent of our modest forces, would be to help them prevent the consummation of the coup.”105 During this convulsive period inexperienced youthful revolutionaries inspired by the cult of the heroic guerrilla proclaimed their willingness to defend the government with arms if the “reactionaries” attempted to overthrow it.106 Chilean officers knew that the UP lacked the training, strategy, and arms to mount a coordinated attack across the length of the country, but they feared that workers might flood the streets and paralyze factory production. These officers had studied twentieth-­century warfare. They knew that insurgencies could prove intractable once they put down roots in the civilian population. Moreover, the armed forces knew that UP militants were preparing for the possibility of armed conflict. Brian Loveman writes, “All the major parties of the Popu­lar Unity coalition made some, generally haphazard, efforts to train armed cadres for the eventual confrontation. Cuban military advisers and other foreign sympathizers provided arms and training to some of these groups. Army, navy, and air force intelligence services, aware of these initiatives, and perhaps overestimating the leftist cadres’ military capabilities in 1972–73, took countermeasures, in­clud­ing purges within the armed forces themselves to eliminate leftist sympathizers.”107 Progovernment sailors and noncommissioned officers suspected that their

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navy chiefs were preparing for a coup in early August, and they decided to inform Carlos Altamirano, the Socialist Party president. The navy swiftly arrested, interrogated, and discharged all these servicemen. Shortly thereafter, thirty-­three sailors sent a signed a statement to Allende, describing their detention, torture, and desire to defend the constitutional government. They denied any wrong­ doing apart from having alerted the existing government to a naval conspiracy. For the high command, these sailors had committed the unpardonable sin of violating the chain of command.108 Their letter did not receive an official reply. Allende, at this point, was really just waiting for a coup to occur. On Sep­tem­ber 8, 1973, Salvador Allende spoke with Carlos Prats at his home about organizing a simple plebiscite to confirm or deny his executive powers (a vote he would undoubtedly lose). Prats demurred. He insisted that a coup would materialize before an election could be put together. Allende responded, “Don’t you believe that there are some regiments loyal to the government, capable of containing the [coup]?” Prats insisted that neither Pino­chet nor Leigh could possibly maintain discipline among their colleagues or prevent a revolt against the government. To prevent a civil war, he urged Allende to leave the country, to temporarily abdicate. With a cold stare, Allende stood up and left.109

The Final Act The most enigmatic fig­ure at the end of the story is army commander in chief Augusto Pino­chet, the reluctant plotter. At the beginning of Sep­tem­ber the other commanders in chief, Gustavo Leigh (air force) and José Merino (navy), communicated through intermediaries about the dispositions of their services. Joint Chiefs head Patricio Carvajal asked General Nicanor Díaz if the air force would support a coup, and Díaz returned this message from Leigh: “When the navy emits a proclamation declaring itself in revolt against the government, I will immediately declare the air force in rebellion to support you.” Pino­chet, however, consistently refused to broach the subject of politics with his army colleagues.110 Generals Augusto Lutz, Oscar Bonilla, Sergio Arellano, Sergio Nuño, and Javier Palacios knew Pino­chet from years of service together, but his apparent loyalty to Prats and his inscrutable pub­lic face caused them to wonder whether he should be informed of the conspiracy. The CIA, meanwhile, had labeled Pino­chet too quiet and cautious for an important role overthrowing the government. Its 1971 report stated that “we assess the subject as [a] person who could possibly be neutralized by [a] conspiratorial group but who would not lead any coup.”111 That is actually what members of the army, Pino­chet’s own institution, thought after Prats’s resignation on August 23, 1973. The air force and navy might coordinate their plans with each other, but they did not dare to communicate directly with Pino­chet. There

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was talk of unseating him as army commander in chief, but there was also a fear of internal division. A decision would have to be made soon. The armed forces wanted to overthrow Allende before the traditional military parade on Sep­tem­ ber 19, when soldiers would make their protocol oaths of loyalty to the president of the republic. A change occurred on August 29, when Pino­chet spoke to the high command about strengthening interservice communications. According to one account he accepted the potential need for military intervention, depending on the circumstances. The council of generals evidently made a presumption of his loyalty to the army as opposed to the government. On Sep­tem­ber 8 General Sergio Arellano went to Pino­chet’s house with the news: the armed forces were going to overthrow Allende. “His [Pino­chet’s] reaction was a mixture of surprise and annoyance,” recounts Arellano’s son. “He seemed overwhelmed to learn that the only thing remaining was his adherence to a decision already made. [Arellano] explained that General Leigh expected a call from him sometime soon to initiate the task of coordination. Pino­chet asked for a few minutes to reflect; he would call him later. Leigh never received the call.”112 What should we make of Pino­chet’s reaction? Because Pino­chet was such a naturally suspicious, untrusting person, the fact that a group of generals had conspired without his knowledge would have led him to wonder what else they had kept from him. The army taught Pino­chet to follow protocol and fulfill orders, but he was also a tactician and cognizant of po­liti­cal realities. One may presume that he had considered the ramifications of a unilateral plot by the navy. He knew that restive officers might try to defy his authority just as Colonel Souper had defied General Prats. Right-­wing extremists had assassinated army commander-­in-­chief René Schneider in 1970, what would stop a similar group from targeting him. On Sunday, Sep­tem­ber 9, Socialist Party president Carlos Altamirano gave an inflammatory speech at the Caupolicán Theater. He did not merely accuse the navy of conspiring against the government, he acknowledged meeting with noncommissioned officers, read their names out loud, and called on the people to resist a naval plot. Immediately after the televised speech José Merino dispatched Admiral Sergio Huidobro to Santiago with a message for Pino­chet and Leigh, who were both attending a birthday party at Pino­chet’s house for Pino­ chet’s daughter, Jacqueline. Huidobro asked each man to sign a document committing them to overthrow President Allende on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973. On the back of the document Merino included two personal notes: “Gustavo: This is the last chance” and “Augusto: If you don’t apply every ounce of force at your disposal in Santiago, we won’t live to see the future.” The sources disagree on the exact words exchanged, but all agree that Pino­ chet hesitated. He asked his co-­conspirators questions and went to look for a

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pen in his office. Ultimately Pino­chet signed the document, but he was the least decided man in the room.113After the meeting he surely imagined everything that could go wrong: intercepted radio communications, insufficiently masked military movements, or premature mobilizations. What if he failed to enlist the support of army units outside Santiago? What if loose talk compromised the plot’s secrecy? On Sep­tem­ber 10 Pino­chet assembled a select group of generals to swear on the sword of Bernardo O’Higgins that they would reveal nothing of the secret plan (several of these generals had actually been plotting for months). He then formulated a credible excuse to mobilize army forces and received Defense Minister Letelier’s approval. In his memoir Pino­chet mentions worrying about pro­gov­ ern­ment forces in the north­ern territories, where the army kept just two battalions, or sixteen hundred soldiers. Pino­chet worried about army forces in north­ern Chile becoming isolated in the event of heavy resistance. What if the army commanders in Antofogasta and Calama were not sufficiently opposed to the government? He even imagined reinforcements arriving from abroad. The armed forces knew that Peru’s military government, if it so desired, could exploit Chile’s internal turmoil. Pino­chet remarked that had Lima wished to, it could have seized north­ern Chile in the first month after Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973.114 Meanwhile, General Leigh facilitated the coup’s execution by recruiting General César Mendoza (a member of the carabinero high command) as a junta mem­ber and thereby isolating the president from his carabinero loyalists. Before Sep­tem­ber 11 the president and Defense Minister Letelier expected Pino­chet to give them a fighting chance in the event of a coup. In fact, Allende initially refused to believe that Pino­chet was part of the conspiracy, assuming he had been imprisoned by procoup generals. On the morning of Sep­tem­ber 11 Pino­chet contemplated the potential scenarios: leaked information, the government undertaking effective countermeasures, or splintered army ranks. There is evidence to suggest that Pino­chet formulated a contingency plan to protect his family and possibly switch sides de­pend­ing on the course of events. Did he depart from his house at a relatively late hour (after seven o’clock in the morning) to maintain the appearance of normality, or was it to wait and see whether government authorities discovered the coup? At seven o’clock Allende called Pino­chet’s home. The general instructed his aide to inform the president that he was getting dressed. When the phone rang again, Pino­chet had departed.115 Allende raced to La Moneda. The navy had already seized Valparaíso, but he held out hope that loyal army and carabinero units would lead countercoup forces. The truth quickly became apparent. The armed forces had launched a unified revolt against the president of the republic. Allende hopelessly tried to make a deal of some kind with his erstwhile military chiefs. Pino­chet responded,

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“Surrender must be unconditional. No parliamentary negotiations!”116 Allende refused to accept the offer of a plane out of the country. He intended to die fighting inside La Moneda.

The Myth of a Monolithic Uprising On Sep­tem­ber 11 and afterward, the military chiefs moved swiftly to retire or eliminate their comrades who had refused to join the coup. Pino­chet arrested his personal aide, Major Osvaldo Zavala, and the army detained Colonel Renato Cantuarias. Weeks after the coup, army leaders purged another group of officers: those who were unwilling to carry out executions or countenance torture. Under Leigh’s leadership the air force imprisoned and tortured all po­liti­cally suspect officers: two generals, two colonels, four commanders, and seven captains. In the navy, Admirals Daniel Arellano and Hugo Poblete, Captain René Durandot, and Lieutenant Horacio Larraín lost their commands for po­liti­cal reasons.117 The junta crushed perceived or potential nonconformity. Jorge Magasich labels any member of the armed forces who refused to participate in the coup a legalist, because the law supported their refusal to obey orders from superior officers trying to overthrow a democratically elected president. At the same time the sheer complexity of Chile’s po­liti­cal situation in 1973 transcends a perfectly binary distinction between procoup forces and legalists. After all, the Chilean Supreme Court and the Chamber of Deputies had declared the executive branch in violation of the constitution. What did this mean for a soldier’s professional obligation to obey the president? Alberto Bachelet and Sergio Poblete had identified with the Socialist Party long before 1970. Some of their commitment to Allende had to do with preexisting partisan loyalty. The complexity of the situation belies easy judgments.

Imperialism and Foreign Influences in Chile In his final address to the nation, Salvador Allende said that “foreign capital and imperialism, united with reactionary elements, created the climate for the armed forces for break with their tradition.”118 The junta would have rebutted that Allende’s illegal actions, economic mismanagement, and toleration of armed paramilitary groups had moved it to intervene. Scholars do not agree on the relative importance of external and internal factors for the economic disorder and polarization that precipitated military intervention. One group of journalists and scholars emphasizes the Nixon administration’s efforts to undermine Allende and how those forces, largely out of his control, led to his demise. Another group judges external forces important but never predominant.119 This debate matters precisely because it influences whether we conceptualize military officers as sov-

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ereign actors embedded within a complex web of circumstances or as pawns in a game of superpowers. The history of US involvement in Chilean affairs is relatively well known, if misunderstood. US companies in Chile, such as Anaconda Copper and International Telephone & Telegraph, provided money to Allende’s opponents. In Wash­ing­ton, policy makers feared that a successful Marxist government in Chile could inspire the Left to challenge the United States in both Europe and Latin America. As a result, the Nixon administration devoted considerable energy to undermining Allende, short of providing material support for the coup itself. Less is known about the exact roles played by Cuba, the Soviet Union, and Brazil. We do know that the Soviet Union provided approximately $2 million to the Chilean Communist Party from 1970 to 1973, and dissident Soviet archivist Vasili Mitrokhin has said that Salvador Allende received $80,000 in cash in exchange for confidential information, but the latter claim cannot be verified.120 Invariably, books based on the secret documents of larger, more powerful states filter reality through the eyes of policy makers with broad strategic interests. As a result they tend to marginalize the importance of local perceptions and deeds. The Pino­chet File by Peter Kornbluh attributes the downfall of Allende and Pino­chet to US policy. In Christopher Andrew and Vasili Mitrokin’s book, The World War Going Our Way, Allende comes off as something of a pawn in the larger game of Soviet machinations to secure a foothold in South America. Chilean soldiers who trained in the United States from 1945 to 1973 were not foot soldiers of the Pentagon, just as the Chilean Communist Party had its own history and tactical outlook. Allende may have received gifts and money from the KGB and bodyguards and weaponry from Cuba, but that did not make him a manipulated actor of the Soviet Union or Fidel Castro. If Chilean officers shared the Pentagon’s opposition to international communism, so too did Allende and his coalition feel sympathy for revolutionary leaders and their movements across the socialist world. In my view, US covert involvement in Chilean affairs during the fifty days before Allende’s confirmation in Congress on Oc­to­ber 24, 1970, most clearly reveals the limits of US power. The Nixon administration wanted a military coup in 1970, but the armed forces refused to provide one. Nixon ordered the CIA to prevent Allende from reaching power, but the agency could not decisively alter the course of events. In fact, the agency’s role was basically limited to communicating a pledge of US support to fringe military officers willing to move against Allende or attempting to goad President Eduardo Frei into blocking Allende’s access to power, something he refused to do. For the duration of the UP government, the agency had to wait and see what would happen while it continued to pass money to Allende’s opposition. The United States sent messages to the armed forces that they could count

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on US diplomatic and financial support if they overthrew Allende, but the Chilean military was no stooge of the Pentagon. Shortly before Chile’s 1970 presidential election, the US State Department’s Division of Latin Ameri­can Affairs wrote that the “Chilean military is the only instrument in Chile capable of overthrowing Allende, but we hold out little promise that the military would move to this end on its own initiative, short of acts by Allende that were flagrantly subversive to Chilean institutions or directly menacing to the military itself.”121 By 1973 the military had concluded that Allende threatened the unity of their institutions and had flagrantly subverted Chilean law. The extent to which external forces affected the domestic landscape will continue to be debated, but it was always the perceptions of Chileans that mattered most for ultimate outcomes. The position of the Pino­chet generation in 1970 could be described as anticommunist but opposed to military intervention in civilian politics. There was no shortage of officers who viewed elements in the UP as dangerous internal subversives, but it remained to be seen how President Allende would deal with extremists. In 1970 soldiers and civilians alike wondered whether a left-­wing revolutionary government could do what no others had done since the Great Depression: accelerate economic growth, tame inflation, and meet the social needs of a growing population. Chilean soldiers and civilians alike reveled in the fact that their country defied stereotypes about Latin America. All of Chile’s neighbors except Uruguay were under military rule in 1970, making Chile a bastion of democratic pluralism in a sea of authoritarian military governments. Constitutional government formed part of the national identity, and professional soldiers could see the practical benefits of that type of government for stable development and the country’s international reputation. The whole idea of Chile as a consolidated democracy in which the military did not intervene in politics and in which national institutions had the unique capacity to weather a radical government mingled with the idea that extraordinary circumstances demanded military intervention. In 1970 a minority of Chilean officers, men like Roberto Viaux and Hugo Tirado, actively conspired to prevent Salvador Allende from reaching power. They regarded a Marxist government as an existential threat to the nation. Among the majority, however, professionalism, constitutionalism, and the notion of Chilean exceptionalism constituted firm barriers to any extralegal action. The Allende administration’s lack of fiscal discipline during the first year of government worsened the country’s social and po­liti­cal crisis. Thereafter, armed militias and the illegal actions of groups across the po­liti­cal spectrum revealed the potential for fratricide and violent cataclysm. In the face of the crisis, the Pino­ chet generation wanted to preserve the chain of command and stop spontaneous actions from the lower ranks that could splinter the armed forces into opposed

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factions. Events in March, April, May, and June 1973 brought officers into greater contact and forged a consensus that Allende was bringing the country irreversibly toward a civil war. Unfortunately for Allende, who always believed that he could count on loyalists, the three services acted in unison when they overthrew him. The Allende years reveal the importance of his­tori­cal memory in the Chilean armed forces and the anxiety of its leaders about Peru. The actual execution of the coup d’état illustrates the Pino­chet generation’s high level of training. The military concentrated violence and repression at the beginning of its takeover to preempt resistance and achieve full control of the country. Afterward the junta erected an efficient authoritarian state. The high command blamed the Left, in­ ternational communism, and civilian politicians for what happened during 1972 and 1973. That conviction fueled visceral anticommunism and an enduring belief in the legitimacy of the coup of Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973. Chile’s officers believed that they had decisively defeated a dangerous internal enemy aligned with Cuba and the Soviet Union. The depth of that consensus secured reliable military support for the duration of the Pino­chet dictatorship (1973–1990).

6 Soldiers before Pino­chetismo, 1973–1976

At 8:42 a.m. on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, the junta issued its first pub­lic statement demanding Salvador Allende’s surrender. Left-­wing media outlets received a warning to suspend their activities or face aerial and ground assault. The statement, fewer than 250 words, cited two principal reasons for the coup. First, Allende’s government had not adopted measures to arrest “the grave social, moral, and economic crisis that is destroying the country.” Second, the growing number of armed paramilitary groups trained and organized by parties in the UP “will bring the people of Chile to an inevitable civil war.” The statement also proclaimed that “Chilean workers can be certain that their social and economic gains up to the present will not be modified in any essential way.”1 These were not empty words. No one in the junta imagined a radical overhaul of the country’s labor codes. On the contrary, many officers hoped to secure the allegiance of the working class by constructing a progressive variant of capitalism, drawing from models in north­ern Europe and Japan. Speaking to Augusto Pino­chet on the day of the coup, Gustavo Leigh said the junta should publicly declare that the armed forces “aren’t against the people, we’re against the famine Mr. Allende’s Marxist government created, against the [bread]lines forming on the streets of Santiago, against hunger and poverty, against the socialism and misery Mr. Allende brought us.”2 For officers, Sep­tem­ber 11 represented a pronouncement or a movement, not a coup or an intervention, because the nation’s Congress and Supreme Court had declared Allende’s actions illegal. The junta, not to mention all the living ex-­ presidents, accused the UP of refusing to uphold judicial decisions, relying on legal loopholes to govern, and generally disregarding the constitution. Thus, the events of Sep­tem­ber 11 had to do with the right of a free people to rebel against a destructive government that was seeking absolute power.3 What the world noticed, however, was the violence. As relief washed over one part of the country happy to have Allende gone, Chile became a very, very scary place for the Left. At least 1,236 Chileans died for po­liti­cal reasons between Sep­tem­ber 11 and De­

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cem­ber 31, 1973, in­clud­ing 3 commissioned officers, 10 noncommissioned officers, and 15 enlisted men. The remaining 97.74 percent of that total were killed by agents of the state. During the same period, 20,329 po­liti­cally motivated detentions occurred, representing 61 percent of the grand total for the dictatorship. Most involved torture.4 No one expected such severe repression. The high command concurred on a major point of strategy when it overthrew Salvador Allende: this would not be a “soft” coup. One of the junta’s first edicts on the morning of the coup was an ultimatum that the presidential palace would be bombarded at eleven o’clock if Allende did not surrender; this was followed by a warning that all resistance to the junta “will be punished in the most drastic manner on the very site where the resistance occurs.”5 The precision bombing of Chile’s presidential palace, the most iconic and searing image from the coup, made a powerful statement about the operational capacity of the armed forces and their determination to crush all opposition. Patricio Carvajal, the head of the Joint Chiefs, summed up a major point of strategy: “We planned the movement to occur quickly and with concentrated violence as a lesson to everyone. With that, we avoided massacres in the ‘industrial belts’ and among people in the street protesting. It explains what we did over La Moneda. From a strictly military point of view, it seems to me that a company of special forces would have been sufficient to take La Moneda in one half hour. But we wanted to make an example. . . . In my opinion, the intensity, violence, and precision of the attack on La Moneda shortened the war, making it more efficient and less bloody.”6 Military training emphasizes preparation for every battlefield contingency, and Chile’s soldiers did not take any chances. The air force destroyed government-­ controlled radio transmitters in the morning. Pino­chet viewed northern Chile as a strategic vulnerability; he worried that it could become a staging ground for a communist insurgency supplied by outside powers (Peru, Cuba, and the Soviet Union). On Sep­tem­ber 10 Pino­chet took special care to speak with garrison commanders in Antofogasta and elsewhere.7 In the capital, commanders resolved to prevent the masses from surrounding the presidential palace. When the newsmagazine Ercilla asked Sergio Arellano why UP partisans had mustered so little resistance on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, the general replied that the armed forces had completely surprised them with “speed and decisiveness.”8 ­Nicanor Díaz said that one B-­26 bomber equipped with nose machine guns had dispersed a group of Allende partisans marching toward La Moneda by firing ahead of the crowd. Díaz explained that such a show of force demonstrated the will of the armed forces to crush all opposition and that such determination saved lives by averting a civil war or prolonged resistance.9 This is an important part of the reason that Chile’s military leadership opted for a “hard” coup. In neighboring Argentina urban guerrillas wreaked havoc with

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bombs, kidnappings, and targeted assassinations. In contrast, the rapid imposition of military rule in Chile accompanied by devastating force preempted any protracted struggle. Workers did not seize factories or barricade streets. By De­ cem­ber the military had destroyed insurgent resistance of any real substance. ­Julio Canessa even commented that the coup sent a powerful warning to Peru and Argentina about the consequences of picking a fight with Chile. 10 The coup’s protagonists achieved their po­liti­cal aims, but the shocking violence guaranteed global scorn for the duration of the dictatorship. The armed forces agreed that Marxism had caused the breakdown of Chile’s liberal democracy and that their first tasks were to purge Marxists from civic life and stabilize the economy, but what type of regime would they preside over in the interregnum? The high command spoke about changing the mentality of the country and applying a military ethos of discipline, efficiency, and realism to society. What did that mean in practice? Officers might agree on the importance of defeating “subversion,” but there was no consensus about the degree of repression that would be necessary to achieve that goal or how long the armed forces should stay in power. Was the mission to transform state structures or simply to uproot the armed Left and return power to civilians after minor modifications to the 1925 constitution? When the junta named Augusto Pino­chet its president, the announcement surprised Roberto Kelly. He recalled, “The idea I spoke about several times with [Admirals José] Merino and [Arturo] Troncoso was that they would designate a president and the junta would assume legislative functions.” That is, a junta would issue laws, and an appointed president would control the executive branch. The rest of the military would stay out of the po­liti­cal process. “To some extent, it was similar to Argentina’s arrangement. For us, the right man for the presidency was Admiral Ismael Huerta because he had distinguished himself within the armed forces for opposing the Popu­lar Unity government.”11 In Argentina the armed forces knew that appointing a president guarded against any one soldier becoming too powerful. However, the speed with which the Chilean armed forces organized their coup, combined with their po­liti­cal inexperience, left little time for such careful consideration. Friction quickly surfaced over who was really in charge. Gustavo Leigh not only expected the junta to govern as a collegial body, he also felt entitled to a certain authority within it because his appointment as air force commander in chief had come first. In addition, he had brought César Mendoza (the commander in chief of the carabineros) into the junta. Two days after the coup Pino­chet said to Leigh, “You might be the oldest by appointment, but protocol indicates that the [ranking of ] defense institutions is army, navy, and air force. Therefore I am the one who should lead.”12 By all accounts, Pino­chet possessed the qualities of a natural leader; he also commanded the largest and

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oldest branch of the armed forces. Everyone knew that primary responsibility for maintaining internal order would fall to the army. The first three years of military rule, especially the first six months, reveal a great deal about the ideas and orientations of the Pino­chet generation. The lack of consensus among the officers on repression, po­liti­cal economy, and the government’s initial direction ultimately gave way to policy coherence once Pino­ chet concentrated power into his own hands. By the start of 1975 what had once been a military regime became a highly personalist regime. However, Pino­chet’s preeminence does not mean that the armed forces or the junta ceased to matter. The Chilean armed forces’ ingrained discipline and reticence ensured that internal disagreements never erupted into open conflict. Pino­chet inherited a state and a military disposed toward strict adherence to the chain of command. Fear ensured silence. Moreover, a large segment of society believed that the armed forces had saved the country from becoming another Cuba. Thus, the government enjoyed a credibility that helped the regime weather external sanction and persistent international criticism. This chapter examines the character of the regime that took shape from 1973 to 1976.

The Early Days of the Regime The day after the coup the four junta leaders—Augusto Pino­chet, José Merino, Gustavo Leigh, and César Mendoza—agreed to divide up the responsibility for the different state ministries: Finance to the navy, Interior to the army, Labor to the air force, Agriculture to the carabineros, and so on. However, the structure of the government, its objectives, and its duration remained entirely unsettled, creating a power vacuum. Pino­chet initially said that the presidency would rotate among the four service commanders. Yet even if the presidency rotated, how would succession occur? Each junta member formed his own advisory council with loyal appointees. These general staffs prepared laws for the junta to consider and communicated with the officers who headed different state agencies. In Sep­tem­ber the army created the Junta’s Advisory Committee (Comité Asesor al Junta, or COAJ). This council, consisting mostly of army colonels and majors loyal to Pino­chet, represented an important base of support to the junta’s president.13 COAJ opposed a rotating presidency on the grounds that it would be divisive for each junta member to hold the same po­liti­cal standing. COAJ members also argued that there should be no specific timetable for a po­liti­cal transition. They viewed the period of 1970 to 1973 as having demonstrated the utter degeneracy of Chile’s liberal democracy. Thus the junta should lay out goals for a “new civic movement.” In the year ahead COAJ quietly drafted decrees making Pino­chet supreme chief

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of state and then president of the republic. At the same time, the navy and air force advisory councils were independent entities that jealously guarded each service’s autonomy and eventually placed legal constraints on Pino­chet’s ability to remain in power.14 Pino­chet and the junta were not one and the same. Pino­chet, like any successful politician, possessed incredible stamina and a prodigious memory. He never forgot a face, and he proved adept at sizing up men—cataloging their strengths, weaknesses, and usefulness to his objectives. Taciturn and serious, Pino­chet felt most at ease among soldiers.15 In the beginning just about everyone underestimated him. When the junta appeared on national television for the first time, Pino­chet, Merino, and Mendoza spoke about respect for constitutional structures and their obligation to restore order. Leigh stood out. With a disturbing scowl on his face, he blamed Marxism for the institutional breakdown and declared that the junta’s mission was to “eradicate the Marxist cancer from the fatherland until the final consequences.” As a group, the four men appeared rather unsophisticated. The pub­lic could not fully appreciate the institutional cultures from which these men came or the junta’s in­di­vidual personalities, which mattered greatly for the po­liti­cal outcome. Mendoza always voted with Pino­chet. The carabineros’ chief deferred to Pino­ chet’s authority and contributed to the pub­lic perception of a monolithic, unified junta. Pino­chet and Leigh, however, disliked each other from the start. They disagreed on policy issues, and whenever Pino­chet assumed new powers Leigh challenged him. On several occasions their disagreements devolved into insults and epithets. But Leigh and Pino­chet were also the “hard” ones when it came to the issue of repression, and they presented a unified face in public. They spoke of the government’s unbreakable unity. The threat of war with Peru or Argentina loomed over Merino, the navy’s commander in chief. He knew that early defense of the country would fall to the navy in the event of armed conflict. Like so many Chilean sailors before him, Merino had a sense of his­tori­cal responsibility. He wanted to live up to the standards of excellence established by his institutional forebears. His father, in fact, had been the last inspector general of the navy. Roberto Kelly once asked Merino why he didn’t assign more naval officers to COAJ. Merino replied, “I want to be well prepared for an eventual war with Peru . . . and I don’t want to have the best active officials distracted in other positions.”16 Indeed, the Chilean navy mustered the most credible deterrent of the three armed services during the crisis with Argentina in 1978. Merino had strong overriding priorities. He wanted to prepare the navy for external conflict and preserve the junta’s unity even if that meant compromise. Merino’s institutional orientation meant that the navy would be far less implicated in human rights violations than any of the other three armed services. Furthermore, Merino, like Mendoza, had no ambition to be president.

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Figure 11. José Toribio Merino Castro, the commander in chief of the navy from 1973 to 1990. His importance to the junta has not always been appreciated. (Courtesy of Archivo Histórico del Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Chile, CC-­BY-­2.0-­CL)

Hearts and Minds Military science recognizes the importance of pub­lic relations during wartime and the need to mobilize pub­lic support for national objectives, even when doing so requires exaggerations or, sometimes, outright lies. Soldiers call the battle for hearts and minds psychological or sociological warfare, and shortly after the coup the Chilean government publicized authentic images of machine guns, gas masks, mortars, grenades, and bazookas discovered at Salvador Allende’s home. Had the president of the repub­lic been preparing for civil war while denounc-

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ing it in public? Allende had condemned extralegal militias, but his house contained a mini arsenal.17 On Sep­tem­ber 16 the junta’s press secretary, Colonel Pedro Ewing, announced that UP militants had nearly implemented a sinister plan to impose a dictatorship of the proletariat. According to this conspiracy, called Plan Z, the president’s personal security team (the GAP) was going to assassinate military commanders at La Moneda on Sep­tem­ber 19 while the same fate was befalling members of the opposition and other officers assembled at Cousiño Park for the annual parade. Afterward the UP would proclaim the People’s Democratic Repub­lic of Chile and make the nation’s flag entirely red except for its lone star.18 From Sep­tem­ber 17 onward these fantastic allegations continued. Seized documents supposedly proved the Left’s intention to systematically murder thousands of its po­liti­cal opponents across the country—doctors, lawyers, journalists, and businessmen—in a massive Bolshevik coup. During its first months in power the military organized pub­lic viewings of weapons seized from left-­wing militants, and press materials designed for internal and external consumption showed arms stockpiles with the caption “Cannons, arms, munitions, and rockets sent to kill Chileans who did not agree with international communism.”19 A photograph of Allende in casual clothes pointing his AK-­47 appeared in vari­ous materials as proof of presidential duplicity. The Chilean military therefore had not merely overthrown an irresponsible government; it had overthrown internal enemies who wished to seize the state and align it with the Soviet bloc. Such claims derived credibility from Chile’s po­ liti­cal context in the months leading up to the coup. Extremists in the UP coalition had discussed the inevitability of violent confrontation. From July to August 1973 the Left and the Right had clashed daily in the streets. Thousands of foreigners had come to support Chile’s socialist revolution. To substantiate the claims of a coordinated conspiracy, Patricio Carvajal and a group of civilians assembled a collection of secret documents into the White Book, made pub­lic on Oc­to­ber 30. One document, titled “Report form the Military Committee of the Socialist Party,” outlined the need to contact po­liti­cally sympathetic officers in the armed forces who could provide early warnings of an impending coup so that the coalition could alert workers and prepare an armed response. Such a document, which is likely to have been authentic, lent an aura of credibility to the White Book’s fictitious claims. Similarly, the armed forces found photographs and psychological profiles of top military commanders with information about their po­liti­cal leanings.20 The White Book had a negligible effect on external perceptions of the junta because the foreign press doubted the book’s central claim. In Chile, however, the fabrication of Plan Z strengthened the people’s acceptance of a “war against internal subversion” that required censorship and repression. Active support from

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Figure 12. Seized arms on pub­lic display after the coup. (From the proregime brochure Chile Ayer y Hoy)

the general population made policy implementation much easier than would otherwise have been the case. It is important to emphasize that the junta absolutely believed it had saved the nation from civil war and a Marxist dictatorship. In early junta sessions, Admiral Merino expressed concern that Cuban ships might deliver arms to dissidents inside the country or use coastal islands as way stations for the transfer of weapons to the continent.21 The junta’s legislative minutes, Actas de la Honorable Junta de Gobierno (AHJG), are particularly valuable sources for this period because they reveal how the high command discussed issues outside the pub­lic forum. On Oc­to­ber 8, 1973, the junta’s first order of business was to “analyze, in detail, the worrisome fact that a scarce number of large arms have been found in spite of fact that [the Left] is certain to have at least five or ten thousand more arms buried or still circulating.” The junta believed it was battling internal subversives, aided by Cuba, who had a greater capacity for armed resistance than they actually did. In numerous personal accounts, torture victims recall their interrogators—­usually junior officers—demanding to know where the rest of the arms had been hidden. Sergio Arellano said, “We are not fighting against Chileans. We are fighting against fifteen thousand foreign criminals who were protected by the Popu­lar Unity government as well as a small number of devious Chileans.”22

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In a memo to Secretary of State Henry Kissinger on No­vem­ber 16, 1973, Assistant Secretary of State Jack B. Kubisch, one of the few US officials who demonstrated a fairly realistic understanding of the junta, wrote that international opinion was becoming a more significant pressure on the junta to ease repression, but he stressed that Chile’s military chiefs would decide for themselves what level of repression the security situation required. “[They] expected to be confronted by heavy resistance when they overthrew Allende,” he wrote. “Fear of civil war was an important factor in their decision to employ a heavy hand from the outset. Also present is a puritanical, crusading spirit—a determination to cleanse and rejuvenate.” The words cleanse and rejuvenate are particularly apropos. Speaking to the nation shortly after the coup, Pino­chet said that the armed forces would reestablish a democracy “purified of vices and bad habits that ended up destroying our institutions.”23 Early regime propaganda provides a sense of what Chilean soldiers found so repugnant about the period 1970 to 1973: socialist symbols, foreign revolutionaries, and students and workers chanting ideological slogans in the street.24 Flags from Cuba and the Soviet Union offended nationalist sentiments. The junta spoke of a depoliticized society in which citizens would fly only the Chilean flag. Students would study and workers would work. Above all, there would be tranquillity on the streets. Anger is part of the story, too. From 1972 to 1973 officers watched silently as their homeland came apart. They blamed journalists, politicians, and militants for creating the climate of partisan rancor and instability. Members of the high command recalled feeling both sadness and anger on Sep­tem­ber 11.25

A Just Rebellion The armed forces claimed to be defenders of the constitutional order. They charged Salvador Allende with violating the nation’s laws, and immediately after the coup the junta appointed a committee to begin studying modifications to the constitution.26 Speaking to a group of jurists and students in April 1974, Gustavo Leigh said that “what happened Sep­tem­ber 11 constituted the legitimate exercise of the right of rebellion against an illegitimate, immoral, and failed government that had deliberately and seriously separated itself from the common good and plunged the country into a state of hunger and fratricidal conflict.” Leigh defined the country as existing in a “state of internal war” in which the military government would apply a military code of justice. However, he insisted that the courts would retain their independence vis-­à-­vis the government (an untrue statement) and then acknowledged isolated instances of the security forces committing extralegal abuses. Nonetheless, Leigh warned his audience that when

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Marxists seize power, their first order of business is to install revolutionary tribunals and execute every one of their opponents. In a war with such dangerous adversaries, he insisted, citizens had to grant the government significant leeway.27 The legal argument for overthrowing Allende rested on the charge that he had systematically violated the Statute of Constitutional Guarantees, on which his presidential ratification had rested, and that after 1972 the nation’s General Council of Lawyers (Chile’s equivalent of the Ameri­can Bar Association), Supreme Court, and Comptroller General formally accused the government of un­ der­mining the rule of law with arbitrary and illegal actions. Leigh admitted, “It is not a matter of dispute that the [UP] government was legitimate in its origin, because it stemmed from the application of mechanisms provided by the constitution for the election of the president of the republic.” But, he added, the UP lost its legitimacy after repeated illegal actions, and the armed forces “came together in a monolithic union to depose the disastrous government” only after the “mass of citizens demanded our intervention.”28 Military officers called Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, a movement, and the junta claimed it had removed Allende on behalf of the truckers, doctors, lawyers, nurses, and small-­business owners who had paralyzed the country with antigovernment strikes between 1972 and 1973. One army publication described these vari­ous social groups coalescing in opposition to Marxism, at which point the armed forces “responded to the citizenry’s dramatic call and proceeded to say ‘Enough!’” Navy edi­tors described the Chilean people as solidly united in the task of rebuilding the nation from the ashes of material and spiritual ruin.29 In 1973 and 1974 most Chileans would not have objected to these words, but they also masked other, inconvenient realities: 40 percent of the population had steadfastly supported Allende’s government to its tragic end. In addition, a small but significant group of police and military officers had refused to join the coup. These sizable minorities did not fit into the narrative.

Mixed Messages The military government asked Chile’s population for collective sacrifice, and in 1973 it capitalized on an outpouring of popu­lar support. Diverse selections of Chileans gave wedding bands and other valuables to aid reconstruction efforts.30 The junta let food prices fluctuate rather than continue price fixing, and that decision caused immediate hardship for households across the country. The policy should be understood in the context of a military leadership disgusted by the populist measures of Salvador Allende’s government and convinced that there was no easy way forward. For the military, poverty was a regrettable ill to be reduced, but to think it could be completely eliminated indulged utopian fantasy. In February 1974 the government reduced pension benefits for retiring

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servicemen by 27 percent in spite of protests from their former colleagues. Officers defined themselves in opposition to civilian politicians, who had promised rapid social and economic development without asking for the necessary sacrifices.31 One week after Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, Interior Minister Oscar Bonilla visited a neighborhood in Santiago called Ho Chi Minh (leaving no doubt about its po­ liti­cal orientation) and asked a nervous housewife if she was afraid of him. To this question she boldly replied, “Yes, because there are rumors that you want to bomb us.” General Bonilla responded, “Do you believe that? We are here to solve problems. Tell me what the principal problem of this neighborhood is.” The residents communicated their desire for a health clinic, a school, and permanent housing. After the exchange Bonilla said, “I make no promises. What we have here is a challenge.” On a separate occasion, he told a group of workers, “We are not peddlers of promises, nor do we deal in illusions. We only promise hard work and self-­denial.”32 In Sep­tem­ber observers assumed that Bonilla would play an important role in the new government, since Augusto Pino­chet had appointed him interior minister. But as we will see, Bonilla belonged to a faction of army generals who worried about the regime’s pub­lic image and lower-­class perceptions of military authorities. The sensitivity Bonilla showed for the poor’s day-­to-­day struggles, however, did not alter his conviction that defeating “subversion” required terrifying sweeps of neighborhoods suspected of harboring “subversives.” On Sep­tem­ber 16 Bonilla felt compelled to address the affected communities in Santiago. Speaking on the radio and on television, he said that “those painful but indispensable raids do not seek residents.” The army, he insisted, was there not to punish partisans of an ideology but rather to look for hidden weapons and those willing to use them. He asked for patience and pledged to make information available to Chilean families about their loved ones who had been detained for questioning. He promised that the detention and interrogation process would occur within normal legal parameters. In the meantime, the people should trust the armed forces: “There is a great dawn coming for Chile. Have faith.”33 What should we make of this speech? Bonilla publicly acknowledged the raids and detentions, justifying them as temporary measures to secure illegal weapons from dangerous far-­left groups. The entire high command agreed that the circumstances demanded an initial period of intense repression. When Bonilla told the nation to trust the process and assured that it would eventually follow normative legal procedure, he did not foresee torture becoming an institutionalized practice among agents of the state. He saw the population as a front to be secured and whose goodwill the military needed to cultivate. He eventually came into conflict with officers who wanted the repression to have a much wider scope. Pino­chet, Gustavo Leigh, and Colonel Manuel Contreras believed that groups

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like the MIR had to be thoroughly uprooted from any bases of support in the general population. There could be no compassion for any Chilean who sympathized with Marxism. On Sep­tem­ber 30, exactly two weeks after Bonilla’s speech, Pino­chet sent ­Sergio Arellano south to Talca in a Puma helicopter as his personal representative to “accelerate and standardize the criteria for the administration of justice.” Arellano relieved Lieutenant Colonel Efraín Jaña of duty for showing insufficient alacrity in fulfilling the order to pursue and detain enemies. Jaña’s replacement, Olagier Benavente, said later, “I understood the procedure had changed. One had to be tougher to survive.”34 During the next three weeks Arellano visited military garrisons across the country; soldiers under his command summarily executed detainees and brutalized their bodies. The Caravan of Death, as his trip was called, left more than ninety Chileans dead and decisively altered embedded notions of legal behavior. Regional commanders received a clear message from Pino­chet’s personal representative: savagery would be tolerated. The violence horrified General Joaquín Lagos, the First Division army commander in Antofogasta. He believed that soldiers in Santiago had sullied the honor of his beloved institution. After discovering the mulitated bodies of fourteen detainees under his jurisdiction, Lagos delivered the victims’ broken remains to their grief-­stricken relatives. He then spoke with his commander in chief on Oc­to­ber 19. Lagos asked Pino­chet if he had ordered Arellano to carry out the massacres. Pino­chet answered no, but he appeared indifferent to the disturbing report of army behavior. The army retired Lagos from active duty in 1974. Like most of his colleagues, he remained silent for years to come about what had happened in Copiapó, Calama, and Antofogasta.35 The war against “subversion” proceeded with great intensity. In mid-­Oc­to­ber the military initiated joint operations to destroy guerrillas in the Nahuelbuta Mountains near Concepción. The junta feared that this small number of left-­ wing fighters could be supplied from across the Andes in Argentina and eventually grow in size.36 On No­vem­ber 11 Colonel Contreras made a detailed presentation before the junta, the defense minister, and the general staff chiefs about his plan to create a powerful state security apparatus, the National Intelligence Directorate (Dirección Nacional de Inteligencia, or DINA).37 The junta gave Contreras permission to establish the organization, but the presentation did engender a set of questions. How would the four services contribute personnel? How would DINA fit into the military chain of command? A CIA report distributed on Oc­to­ber 29, 1973, divided the military high command into two groups: hard-­liners such as Pino­chet and Leigh, who accepted summary executions as necessary, and moderates, who favored trials and the possibility of reeducating extremists. According to the report, a significant part of the army high command belonged to the sec­ond group, in­clud­ing Bo-

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nilla, Joaquín Lagos, Héctor Bravo, and Wash­ing­ton Carrasco. The CIA clearly had a reliable contact. The agency reported that Sergio Nuño strongly criticized the government’s summary execution of eleven workers at an explosives factory in Antofogasta when they were discovered to possess a blueprint of the factory and links to the extreme Left. Nuño brought the case to the council of ministers on Oc­to­ber 20 as an example of “unnecessary repression and alienation of the laboring class.”38 Pino­chet and Leigh refused to consider sof­tening the government’s internal security policies, although on No­vem­ber 16 the junta did discuss the negative impact of indiscriminate military raids on pub­lic perceptions of its government.39 In the months ahead the issue of repression would increasingly divide the high command. In De­cem­ber twelve attorneys boldly delivered a signed letter to the junta expressing concerns about the absence of legal norms and the unwillingness of state authorities to provide information about detained and missing individuals. The jurists, who had all opposed Allende and supported the coup, carefully framed the letter as one of concern for the existing government’s legitimacy. Pino­chet eventually summoned the group’s leader, Eugenio Velasco, to the Diego Portales building, where Interior Minister Bonilla angrily denounced the letter as an insult to the armed forces. Velasco later said that most of the attorneys in his group believed that “the four members of the junta didn’t have the foggiest idea what we were saying to them.”40

The Junta and the Working Class The junta’s Edict No. 31 insisted that Sep­tem­ber 11 did not represent an attack on the working class. It promised to maintain the social protections that workers had won through many years of struggle. However, the junta also made clear that social justice “will never be achieved with deception, easy promises, sinecure, or the criminal division of our people, but with honest work, shared vocation and unity of interest.”41 Edict No. 31 might be dismissed as empty rhetoric, since the working class wound up losing so much during the dictatorship, but the junta’s legislative sessions in 1974 show a leadership with genuine respect for the rights of labor. The junta had no intention of restoring semifeudal social relations in the countryside.42 General Sergio Nuño, the vice president of Chile’s Production Development Corporation (known by its Spanish acronym, CORFO), affirmed the need for incentives to increase production, but he explained that “the condition of the worker should be considered equally important inside a business. Unjust, arrogant, or arbitrary treatment should be totally eradicated.”43 Nuño had a hierarchical and disciplined vision of industrial relations: workers had an obligation

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to respect their managers, and managers had a reciprocal duty to show concern for their workers. Nuño explained to Ercilla that military officers were intimately connected to the problem of inequality and injustice because they commanded conscripts from every province of the nation who arrived for military service barefoot, semiliterate, and malnourished. He wanted poor Chileans to receive adequate health care and housing and to acquire an appropriate sense of morality and patriotism. After all, they constituted a sizable portion of the nation’s “internal front.” Gustavo Leigh of­ten declared his preference for a strong state endowed with the power to harmonize labor-­capital relations and direct economic development. Speaking to a group of industrialists, General Leigh said that the junta’s goal was to change the nature of the labor-­capital interaction with social policies that synchronized the interests of workers, owners, distributors, and consumers. Leigh told them, “Up to now Chilean business has been a battlefield. Today the concept should be completely different: businesses should be the harmonious grouping of capital and labor unified by a common sense of humanity.”44 The editors of Armas y Servicios (the service publication for army noncommissioned officers and junior officers) shared General Leigh’s attachment to some sort of corporatist model, declaring their preference for a strong “nationalist integrative state” that would provide a dignified quality of life for “responsible and disciplined” citizens of the nation.45 In No­vem­ber 1973 junta secretary Pedro Ewing said the government would never be opposed to “worker participation” or “delivering land to the people who work it.”46 During the first year of military rule several officers made statements about changing the country’s attitude toward labor relations. They explained that the best antidote to radical politics was social justice. Nicanor Díaz said succinctly, “Marxism did not appear in Chile by spontaneous generation, it was a consequence of and response to the selfishness of many entrepreneurs. We do not want to reinitiate the cycle. That is why we are devising new ways and rules to eliminate injustice. But more than anything, this requires a change of the mentality and attitude of employers to value the social problem.”47 Like many of his peers, General Díaz wanted industrial relations to be more like the military itself: disciplined, hierarchical, and unified by a common sense of purpose. The regime insisted that Chile would copy no other country, but several officers expressed appreciation for corporatist Spain or for social democracies in north­ern Europe where workers advised management, owned company stock, and participated in business decisions. In Oc­to­ber 1973 Qué Pasa asked General Javier Palacios, one of the origi­nal coup plotters, to define his ideological point of view. He gave an unexpected response: “I have been a socialist all my life. I think our people require a certain amount of state control, but only in some cases, like vital services, for example. I

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am a strong supporter of free enterprise and I also believe that private initiative should stimulate industry and commerce. I like the Swedish system, even though I’m convinced that we should never import a foreign formula but rather create our own.”48 The following week Qué Pasa asked General Nuño to describe the principal objectives of the new Business Social Statute. He replied, “The creation of a just company with which workers identify themselves and provide their enthusiastic initiative, experience, and labor in the certainty that their rights will be duly recognized and their contributions fairly compensated.”49 This vision of a cooperative capitalism butted up against severe economic constraints.

Ideological Pillars The Pino­chet generation venerated Chile’s Christian and Hispanic heritages. In fact, a Roman Catholic priest actually blessed the swords of young cadets at the Military Academy, and the navy expected its cadets to attend Mass, with exceptions only for Protestant minorities.50 Fernando Matthei and Gustavo Leigh assigned little importance to religion in their own lives, but both air force commanders deeply respected the traditional authority of the Church, an institution with its own hierarchy and professional clergy. Indeed, Christianity grounded officers’ identification with the West and served as a counterpoint to the atheistic materialism of the communist bloc. Pope Pius XI’s Divini Redemptoris (1937) constituted an important reference point in military journals. The encycli­cal condemned communism as intrinsically perverse and wholly incompatible with Christian teaching. Communism, wrote Pope Pius, robbed human beings of their free­dom and dignity. By all accounts Augusto Pino­chet and José Merino believed that the Virgin Mary had chosen them to save Chile from falling into the hands of communists. Their respective memoirs contain vari­ous references to divine guidance, and Pino­chet said that his military career started in 1933 precisely because he was fated to become army commander in chief on August 23, 1973, and therefore be placed in a position of leadership at a pivotal moment in the nation’s history.51 Those who knew Pino­chet and Merino well, in both personal and professional contexts, agree that the two men believed in miracles and their own role in saving the country from Marxism. The military rejected all of Marxism’s basic presuppositions: a presumed direction to human history, material forces as the determinants of social reality, proletarian internationalism, and class conflict as the motor of his­tori­cal change. Speaking to the nation in 1976, Pino­chet said, “Marxism is not merely a mistaken doctrine, as we have had so many in history. No. Marxism is an intrinsically perverse doctrine; therefore anything flowing from it, regardless of how healthy it may appear to be, is corroded by the venom that gnaws its root—it provides no

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room for dialogue or possible transactions.”52 Practically anything said to serve the aims of Marxism-­Leninism could be repressed. Under this vast umbrella fell universities, unions, national media, and other organizations in civil society, with one major exception: the military regime might deport foreign-­born priests or intimidate some ecclesiastical leaders, but the Roman Catholic Church retained significant autonomy. The Church in Chile tracked human rights violations and protected persecuted citizens. Clergymen continued to hold wide-­ranging po­ liti­cal views, from conservative to quite radical. Pino­chet favored a rightist expression of Catholicism called Opus Dei and regarded liberation theology, a left-­leaning expression of Catholicism, as hopelessly infected with Marxist ideology, but his government respected the institution from which all priests came.

The Declaration of Principles On March 11, 1974, exactly six months after the coup, the junta issued its Declaration of Principles. Drafted by COAJ and its team of civilian advisors (mostly conservative lawyers), the statement represented a heterogeneous confluence of ideas at the start of military rule, before capitalist restructuring or the 1980 constitution. The Declaration of Principles could be interpreted in different ways, and multiple parts of the statement conflicted with the institutional project that developed. The starting point for the declaration was a rejection of rigid ideology. It declared the junta’s po­liti­cal orientation to be pragmatic, nationalist, nonideologi­ cal, and nonutopian, explicitly rejecting the notion that there was one universally valid path to development. The junta promised pragmatic authoritarianism consonant with the nation’s his­tori­cal traditions and revered nineteenth-­century leaders. The declaration also affirmed the state’s right to protect itself from antinational groups and ideas. The new government would not be neutral to Marxism or any other po­liti­cal ideas bent on destroying Chile’s cultural and his­tori­ cal foundation.53 When Ercilla asked what type of po­liti­cal dissent would be permitted under the military government, Colonel Pedro Ewing explained that civilians did not have the right to deceive people with false po­liti­cal ideas. The armed forces would exclude anything that was anti-­Chilean or antinational or that undermined “authentic” nationalism.54 As for the crucial question of how long soldiers would hold power, the Declaration of Principles specifically indicated that the military regime would not represent a short his­tori­cal “parenthesis” between Allende’s administration and the next civilian government. Jurist and civilian advisor Jaime Guzmán had urged the junta not to set any timetable for a transition process. He believed that the historic moment demanded a complete reorganization of the state and that a timetable would limit the government’s ability to effectively reorder society. Most of-

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ficers actually thought they would need only three to six years to achieve their goals and oversee a democratic transition.55 Most believed that the constitution of 1925 required only minor modifications. Besides, a lengthy assumption of power was likely to elicit criticism from the population and harm military preparedness for its real function: defense of the fatherland. Guzmán, who admired Franco’s Spain and wrote many of Pino­chet’s speeches, helped conceptualize that new institutional order. He and other conservatives belonged to a domestic intellectual tradition that disdained Chile’s liberal democracy as infected with “demagoguery” and “po­liti­cal manipulation.” They thought the po­liti­cal sys­tem had veered away from the proven paradigm of the centralized, authoritarian, presidential sys­tem established by Diego Portales.56 They revered the same his­tori­cal fig­ures as the armed forces and believed in the revitalization of executive authority according to “national traditions.”

State and Society The Declaration of Principles recognized an inverse relationship between human liberty and government, such that “the greater the statism, the less effective free­ dom society has.”57 Statism, defined as excessive government control of the social and economic spheres of life, was identified as a major cause of the country’s institutional breakdown in 1973, because it had politicized public administration, harmed individual initiative, and created stifling, redundant bureaucracy. Reducing state control of production and allocation would make it impossible for future leaders to impose their vision of society on everyone else. But the Declaration of Principles went beyond the goal of creating a limited, ideologically neutral state. The junta declared its goal to “change the mentality of Chileans” about the role of the state in their lives.58 The state existed to serve individuals and help them, but the state would not solve all of life’s problems for each individual. The declaration contained corporatist language, affirming the state’s responsibility “to harmonize the understandable longings of each sector [gremios] with the national interest within the real possibilities of our economy.”59 Unclear was how the state would relate to professional associations, labor unions, and other social bodies. What role would the state play directing industrial development? How would the junta translate its principles, many of them vague or undefined, into concrete policies? In 1974 officers spoke of the need for a socially integrated society that harmonized liberty, social justice, and economic development. In such an endeavor there was no ideological recipe or universal model. Chile’s path would necessarily lack universal validity because it would be rooted in national traditions and his­tori­cal experiences. The Declaration of Principles defined Chile as a nation opposed to the atheistic materialism of socialist countries, which “enslaved

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man to the state,” but it also declared the nation in opposition to the consumer societies of Europe and the United States where “a materialism spiritually strangles and enslaves man.”60

The Military and the Market Material scarcity and inflation presented very immediate problems for the military regime. They also created a window of opportunity for a group of hard-­ nosed economists to present its itinerary for a radically different economic direction. These neoliberal technocrats, selected by the navy to advise the junta, wanted to transform Chilean society, not just lower inflation or increase the GDP. Eventually they convinced the junta to implement a shock plan, which, on the one hand, made sense to a profession that had been trained to make decisions with implied hardship. Capitalist restructuring also resonated with values like rationality, efficiency, and realism. On the other hand, the shock plan had a very high social cost, upsetting officers who feared Marxism would resurface if unemployment soared. The history of the Chicago Boys, so called because they mostly studied under conservative economists Milton Friedman and Arnold Harberger at the University of Chicago, dates back to 1956, when the school’s Economics Department agreed to provide postgraduate scholarships to a selection of outstanding students at Chile’s Catholic University in Santiago. As a result of this institutional connection, a group of Chilean economists became thoroughly convinced that free markets and monetarist principles could solve their country’s problems. This outcome was not a premeditated plan concocted in Wash­ing­ton. Milton Friedman and his Chilean protégés were out of step with the prevailing economic orthodoxies.61 Even President Richard Nixon declared himself a Keynesian after accepting the use of rent and price controls in response to inflationary pressures. Neoliberal ideology holds that human potential and free­dom is best achieved in an institutional structure in which the government enforces strong property rights, free trade, and competitive markets and is removed from economic decision making as much as possible. The government’s role is to guarantee the integrity of money, provide for external defense and internal order, and maintain legal structures to secure the proper functioning of the market system. Neoliberalism assumes that the common good will be achieved when as much human activity as possible is brought into the domain of the market. From one perspective, it makes sense that a group of Chilean students would be receptive to Friedman’s free-­market ideology. Chile’s economy had long been the most protected and regulated in all of Latin America, excluding Cuba. Some economists wanted to go in the exact opposite direction. In De­cem­ber 1972 José Merino told ex–navy captain Roberto Kelly to as-

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semble a group of economists who could formulate a recuperation plan for the country, and six weeks after Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, the government decreed a policy of free-­floating prices to correct for distortions. Speaking to Ercilla, Admiral Merino placed the policy in the context of market competition and efficiency. Asked whether Chile’s industrialists and merchants were ready for such competition, he replied, “Economically speaking, we believe that the only way to recover the real value of things that the entire population requires is for them to be sold at the price it costs to produce them. Besides putting us on a foot to export, with advantages, the surplus our domestic market cannot absorb, the sacrifice that we make today will result in prosperity and high living standards.”62 A statement like this so close to the start of military rule reflects Merino’s exposure to neoliberal ideas, but it should not be taken as a sign of institutional thought. Roberto Kelly, whom Merino selected to lead the National Planning ­Office (Oficina de Planificación Nacional, or ODEPLAN), said, “During the first months of government the great majority of [military officers] opposed privatizations and the liberalization of prices, etc. For them, the more state-­run companies, the better.”63 COAJ and DINA opposed liberalizing the economy. State socialism had been discredited, but state economic planning had not. The Declaration of Principles spoke of a social market economy founded on pragmatism and limited government intervention in society. What did that mean in practice? Junta meetings shed light on what the “social market economy” actually meant for key officers. On May 10, 1974, the junta met to discuss the privatization of enterprises nationalized by the previous government. Sergio Nuño, the vice president of CORFO, believed that some small businesses could successfully continue to be worker owned and operated. The trouble, he thought, was ensuring that the Chilean government would receive a fair market price when it sold shares of large enterprises to in­di­vidual workers. Oscar Bonilla interjected, “This problem should not be dealt with from strictly commercial criterion.” He believed that selling company shares to workers below market value made sense from a social perspective because it ensured that the property would remain in the hands of the in­ di­vidual workers and therefore give them a stake in their own productivity and prosperity. Gustavo Leigh championed a plan to create obligatory business committees that required workers to collaborate with their managers on improving efficiency and competitiveness. Bonilla called the plan unrealistic. He doubted the benefits of a forced “cooperative capitalism.”64 What is striking about the meeting is precisely what Nuño, Leigh, and Bonilla agreed on: the importance of workers having a stake in the process of production. Leigh and Bonilla agreed that Chile stood at a “historic moment,” with the unique opportunity to restructure capitalist relations and put an end to the old patterns of class struggle. The officers who attended this junta session concurred

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that reducing inflation was a priority and would require severe measures likely to produce unemployment, but the discussion had Keynesian hues as well. To ameliorate the effects of an austerity program, none other than Augusto Pino­chet suggested enrolling more conscript soldiers in infrastructure projects through­out the south­ern territories as a way to stimulate the economy. In all of these conversations officers agreed that realism ought to guide economic decision making and that the country’s bourgeoisie had to become more efficient. This meeting, eight months after the overthrow of Allende, marks the end of an era. Soon Generals Bonilla and Nuño, men who had actively planned the overthrow of Allende, would be marginalized in the government and removed from positions of authority.

Turning Points Jurist Eugenio Velasco recounts that Oscar Bonilla summoned him to his office on May 16, 1974, and said, “I want to ask you, as well as Don Jaime Castillo Velasco, to help me stop the abuses.” Velasco asked how he could possibly help one of the most powerful men in the country. Bonilla replied, “The middle ranks have revolted [against the high command] and have been committing outrages.” In strict confidence Bonilla proceeded to reveal that the day before, he made a surprise visit to the Tejas Verdes School of Military Engineers, a detention center with a notorious reputation. Its commanding officer, Colonel Manuel Contreras, reluctantly showed Bonilla the facility, which was filled with unimaginable brutality: not just poorly treated detainees, but naked bodies hanging in the air with signs of repeated torture. Bonilla told Velasco that he immediately relieved Contreras of his command and had him arrested before returning to Santiago by helicopter.65 However, Augusto Pino­chet ordered Contreras’s release and promoted him. What transpired in the capital between Bonilla and Pino­chet remains a mystery. Like most Chilean soldiers, Bonilla kept quiet. He did not give any pub­lic indication of discontent. Preexisting traditions of constitutionalism and professionalism conflicted with Pino­chet’s emerging dominance. According to Hernán Millas, during a June meeting of the council of generals both Bonilla and Augusto Lutz spoke up against Pino­chet becoming president of the republic, saying that such a title could adversely affect international opinions of Chile and the government’s domestic legitimacy. Pino­chet, as everyone knew, had origi­nally said that the presidency would rotate.66 On June 11 Pino­chet shuffled his cabinet. He moved Bonilla from the Interior Ministry to the Defense Ministry (little influence in a military regime) and sent Lutz to Punta Arenas, a chilly subarctic outpost two thousand miles south of the capital. To the Interior Ministry he appointed a trusted ally, General César

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Benavides. Pino­chet sent Sergio Nuño and Javier Palacios on diplomatic assignments outside the country. The concentration of Pino­chet’s personal power occurred quickly, and members of the high command did not attempt to join forces to outmaneuver him. No one spoke to the foreign press. On June 14 the junta issued Decree Law No. 521 creating DINA, the secret police force endowed with broad powers to gather information, detain people, and carry out operations free from any judicial or legislative oversight. An outgrowth of the Army Academy of War’s DINA Commission, established in No­ vem­ber 1973, the new secret police force fell under the control of the junta but in practice answered to Pino­chet only. DINA personnel saw themselves as fighting an irregular war and therefore following a different logic from that of the conventional wars governed by the Geneva Convention. They considered the nation at war with subversives loyal to foreign governments and ideologies. The Chilean government therefore had every right to destroy those enemies. Bonilla and Lutz viewed the new security apparatus as counterproductive and as one more instrument of Pino­chet’s growing po­liti­cal power. Both generals protested DINA as a parallel institution, not subject to the army’s chain of command or the command of any service, for that matter. On one occasion Contreras informed the council of generals that he would channel information to Pino­chet alone. After Lutz and Bonilla objected, Pino­chet reportedly slammed his fist down on the table and exclaimed, “Gentlemen, I am DINA!”67 What came next had a chilling effect on government officials. Pino­chet ordered the murder of his predecessor. On Sep­tem­ber 30, 1974, DINA operatives assassinated Carlos Prats and his wife, Sofía Cuthbert, by car bomb in Buenos Aires. The shocking hit precluded any possibility that Prats might lead an opposition movement, and his murder, like the Caravan of Death (which began a year ago to the day), sent a clear po­liti­cal message to soldiers, dissidents, and exiles alike: no one, not even a former army commander in chief, was untouchable. Some officers chose to believe that the government would never do such a thing. Others understood the truth. The country’s security services had targeted a man widely respected in the army for his intelligence and humanity. Not only that, they had killed his wife in cold blood. The following month Augusto Lutz fell ill in Punta Arenas. Doctors operated on an ulcer, but his condition worsened, and he died at a military hospital in Santiago at the end of No­vem­ber. Mysterious circumstances surrounded the death and autopsy, and Lutz’s family suspected foul play—specifically, poisoning. Four months later Oscar Bonilla died in a helicopter crash, again under suspicious circumstances. Members of the government and army high command saw a strong man establishing his dominance and realized that he would punish anyone who spoke up or caused problems.68 On No­vem­ber 25 Sergio Arellano wrote a private, personal letter to his friend

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Augusto Pino­chet, using the informal tú instead of the formal usted. Arellano explained that he was concerned about powerful economic elites, lawyers, and economists hijacking the military movement for their own personal gain. “We should be wary of powerful people who applaud us,” he said. He warned that without popu­lar confidence in the country’s supreme authorities and their words, Marxism could resurface in Chile. He identified certain “incorrect practices of DINA and air force prosecutors,” saying that “they have mistreated many detainees in a rough and unnecessary way, submitting them to diverse pressures. . . . To this we must add the difficulty that their direct family members have had obtaining information [about them].”69 Like Bonilla and Nuño, Arellano worried that heavy repression would unnecessarily create enemies and worsen Chile’s already negative international image. Just two months earlier the US Congress had terminated security assistance to Chile. On De­cem­ber 17 Pino­chet presented Decree Law No. 806, prepared by COAJ, to fellow junta leaders César Mendoza and José Merino. It designated him president of the republic, not merely president of the junta. Both men signed. When Gustavo Leigh finally arrived, all that remained was for him to sign. Incensed, Leigh repeated his argument that the title president belonged to a head of state elected through constitutional mechanisms, and he refused to sign. Pino­chet angrily accused Leigh of threatening the junta and the unity of the armed forces. According to one account, Pino­chet shouted, “You seek power. . . . You are stubborn, egocentric, a, a, a politician!”70 All accounts agree that Pino­chet slammed his fist down on the table with such force that it shattered glass, cutting his hand and causing it to bleed. The junta’s unity was at stake. Merino and Mendoza urged Leigh to sign, which he finally did.71 The state already belonged to Pino­chet, but now he assumed the title president of the republic. In the 1980s Nicanor Díaz said, “Personally, I believe that this has not been a government of the armed forces; it’s a government of Pino­chet with a group of unconditional soldiers and another group of civilian profiteers.”72 Not long after the coup a significant number of high-­ranking officers had come to share this point of view.

The Economic Front In July 1974 Augusto Pino­chet appointed Jorge Cauas minister of finance. On No­vem­ber 14 the University of Colombia–trained Cauas addressed the entire cabinet. During the past four decades, he said, politicians had decreed automatic salary adjustments or assigned subsidies for lower-­income groups by printing money at the Central Bank. This caused inflation and sustained a vicious cycle of fiscal imprudence. In reality, he continued, there were three ways to finance the budget: taxation, loans, and currency emission; however, given the constraints

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on the amount of money Chile could borrow, acquire from internal taxes, or generate from export revenues, he could offer only two choices: dramatically reduce the budget or continue to print money and suffer inflation. “There are no miracles when it comes to the economy,” he concluded.73 Cauas made clear that halting currency emission would probably cause the unemployment rate to double. Nonetheless, he urged structural adjustment, budget reductions, and export promotion to finance pub­lic spending. Cauas spoke of sacrifice and urged bold action to rectify difficult realities. Such a discourse would have resonated, to some degree, with military officers. External conditions made austerity much more likely than prolabor redistribution. At the end of 1974 the price of copper plunged from $1.26 to 78 cents. This development guaranteed foreign exchange shortages. Meanwhile, the price of oil shot up during the 1970s and showed no signs of returning to the pre-­1973 level, when a barrel of crude cost $20. Military officers urged moderate, gradual economic reform; so did Christian Democratic economists, who advised the junta in the beginning. The Christian Democrats, however, favored a return to democracy within six years.74 In contrast, neoliberal advisors such as Cauas did not care about a timetable for redemocratization. In March 1975 ODEPLAN chief Roberto Kelly communicated to Pino­chet that the Central Bank had already printed far too much money for the entire fiscal year. Kelly recommended a decree granting extraordinary powers to the country’s finance minister. The junta signed the decree after Pino­chet and Leigh had discussed the matter privately. Economic Coordinator Raul Saez, a friend of Leigh’s, would retain the authority to negotiate the country’s external debt, but he would cease to exercise authority over internal economic matters.75 On April 14 Pino­chet once again shuffled his cabinet. Soldiers no longer made up the majority of his ministers. Endowed with new authority, Cauas proceeded to restructure tariff policy and massively cut pub­lic spending. The shock plan of 1975 marked a dramatic reversal of economic orthodoxy since the Great Depression, and it was painful. The GDP fell 12.9 percent, unemployment soared to 16.5 percent, and real wages remained one-­third lower than they had been in 1970.76 The young technocrats impressed Pino­chet. Their language, couched in notions of objective truths and scientific rationality, appealed to the geopo­liti­cally minded Pino­chet. Furthermore, the Chicago Boys lacked po­liti­cal ambition or intimate connections to the old parties. Though distrustful of politicians, Pino­chet had now found partners who would not undermine him domestically, and he offered them a unique opportunity to implement their ideas unconstrained by democracy. It was an alliance that suited all parties. COAJ actually opposed shock therapy, urging gradual changes instead. Likewise, DINA feared that civilian economists might take advantage of structural

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adjustment or pass useful information on to their friends.77 As we have seen, military culture tends to be suspicious of revolutionary ideologies or sudden breaks with the past. Fernando Léniz, the minister of economics from 1973 to 1975, accompanied Pino­chet to Arica, Copiapó, Concepción, and Punta Arenas, where together they to tried to explain the new economic model to assembled officers. Léniz’s successor, Sergio de Castro, recounts that cabinet meetings on the subject of what to do with industries nationalized under Allende tended to revolve around two criteria for military officers: did an enterprise have a strategic character, and what would be the social effects of any decision made? COAJ worried that radical economic measures with harsh social consequences could destabilize the government. There was also a strong mistrust of civilians. Officers lacked confidence in civilians, especially civilians who wanted to carry out structural adjustments quickly, before the regime lost po­liti­cal capital. De Castro remarks, “If I had to summarize, in one verb, what my job consisted of in the first stage of the military government, I would say that it was to ‘convince.’ . . . We would speak every time we could with ministers, businessmen, and members of the junta.”78 From 1975 to 1976, army and navy defense publications explained that forty years of what they called state capitalism had bequeathed Chile a legacy of distorted prices, budget deficits, misallocated resources, and insufficient private-­ sector investment. Shock therapy represented the painful remedy to inflation and inefficient production, realities that disproportionately harmed the poorest members of society. Navy officers affirmed monetarist principles—attention to money supply and balance of payments—while explaining how austerity measures conformed to the regime’s Declaration of Principles. For Chile’s bourgeoisie, shock therapy had clear winners and losers. Internationally oriented financial groups and agro-­export firms benefited handsomely. The state promoted internationally competitive exports of wine, fruit, fish, and wood. Many traditional industrialists and landholders went bankrupt. The Pino­chet regime was rather callous to the losers.79 Meanwhile, Revista de la Fuerza Aérea continued to emphasize the Declaration of Principles’ corporatist elements. One editorial right at the outset of Chile’s structural adjustment informed the institution that “several legal texts are in consultation or in the process of being adopted that will make possible improved social and economic treatment for workers, namely: the Business Social Statute and the revision and modernization of the labor code.” These plans, drafted by Labor Minister Nicanor Díaz and his team, envisioned obligatory business committees under state supervision. Air force leaders such as Díaz accepted the need to reduce inflation, but they also expected their legislative agenda to inaugurate a new, more cooperative version of capitalism in Chile. Behind this belief was the idea that national security depended on fairly remunerated jobs, access to health care, and social housing

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for the poorest members of society. The state, wrote the air force general staff, had a responsibility to “legally structure a progressive participation that encourages and welcomes the creativity of individuals and their organizations, in order to realize the humanization of relations between Chileans in an atmosphere of order and labor discipline.”80 In practice, these generals wanted the state to sponsor organizations for youth, women, and professional groups, mediate between labor and capital, and provide the general population with an overarching sense of social and economic security. The social vision presented in Revista de la Fuerza Aérea proved entirely incompatible with shock therapy. In March 1976 Generals Díaz and Francisco Her­rera resigned from the Labor and Health Ministries, respectively, because of their fundamental disagreements with Jorge Cauas, Sergio de Castro, and Miguel Kast. Regime technocrats emphasized market efficiencies. Air force officers emphasized social justice and the harmonization of labor-­capital relations. Herrera’s replacement as minister of health was Fernando Matthei, but unlike his predecessor Matthei converted to neoliberal precepts under the tutelage of the German-­born Kast, who devoted himself to social policy and especially the rectification of extreme poverty. Matthei reports that his time at the Health Ministry was difficult. Doctors complained of eviscerated budgets, low salaries, and low morale. Yet he also assimilated the economic philosophy espoused by the young technocrats around him. Writing about social expenditure in 1976, Matthei affirmed that deficit spending would only renew the old cycles of inflation and economic stagnation; he insisted that health-­care spending had to move in tandem with increased production.81 Between 1927 and 1931 the dictator Carlos Ibáñez had enacted a progressive labor code and had tried, unsuccessfully, to organize state-­controlled unions. His po­liti­cal model of state-­led industrialization and state-­administered social justice aimed to shore up government legitimacy and undermine the appeal of communism. Verónica Valdivia convincingly shows that Gustavo Leigh represents the continuity of Ibañismo, which urged rapid progress for the working class.82 In 1975 Pino­chet put macroeconomic stability first. Chile’s economic situation precluded any attempt to shift the balance of power toward workers.

Foreign Aggression One thing officers could easily agree on was that Chile faced a massive attack from Marxist enemies overseas. Raúl Bazán, Chile’s ambassador to the United Nations, explained to Ercilla that the junta’s negative international image was the consequence of exiled Chileans—those responsible for the nation’s institutional breakdown—cultivating the erroneous idea that Salvador Allende had enjoyed the support of an electoral majority before a cabal of ambitious generals

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subverted Chilean democracy and usurped power for themselves. Meanwhile, communist states and their allies in the West worked ceaselessly to ensure that world opinion remained hostile to the junta by propagating lies about the regime and undermining its efforts to rebuild the country.83 Foreign Relations Minister Patricio Carvajal repeatedly accused the Soviet Union of intervention in Chile’s internal affairs. He denounced Radio Moscow transmissions into Chilean territory and Soviet sponsorship of UN resolutions against his country. It was the height of hypocrisy, said Carvajal, for the Soviets to accuse any country of authoritarianism and human rights violations, given their own history. Gustavo Leigh said, “Chile accepts no lessons on the subject of human rights because this government came to power precisely to preserve them.” In official discourse, the military had acted to prevent the Left from seizing absolute power and murdering its enemies with impunity. The junta had assumed it would be able to count on support from the US government—few officers appreciated the changing relationship between Congress and the White House. In 1974, Santiago placed orders for $68.2 million worth of US armaments, in­clud­ing sixteen Northrop fighter jets. That year, however, Congress denied President Nixon’s request for $21.3 million of security assistance to Santiago.84 US lawmakers went even further in 1976, fully stripping President Gerald Ford of his authority to approve commercial arms transfers to Chile. Henceforth the sale of US weaponry would depend on a congressional certification that the Chilean government had not engaged in a pattern of gross human rights violations. The Kennedy Amendment, named for its passionate Senate sponsor, Ted Kennedy, demonstrated to Chile’s military regime that fervent anticommunism would not necessarily translate into automatic support from the US government. Chilean officers found the West’s withholding of po­liti­cal support incomprehensible. They viewed themselves as having frustrated the creation of a Havana-­ Santiago axis. At the same time, international consternation heightened the regime’s awareness that human rights abuses could have adverse po­liti­cal consequences. Had world opinion been a nonissue, it is reasonable to assume that the human rights situation might have been even worse. Sanctions put the military on notice that the world was watching, although the junta showed little inclination to change its internal security policies from 1973 to 1976.85 For a proud military, outside pressure tended to fortify a defiant attitude. The junta agreed that the external criticism was unjust, illegitimate, and stemming from a Marxist conspiracy.

The Moribund West The ideas of Soviet dissident and gulag survivor Alexander Solzhenitsyn permeated Chilean defense journals in the mid-­1970s. Solzhenitsyn accused the West

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of shamefully allowing the Soviet Union to permanently enslave people in Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Moldova, Poland, Bulgaria, Romania, Czechoslovakia, Hungry, and East Germany with the signing of the Helsinki Accords in 1975. This agreement between NATO and Warsaw Pact countries recognized the inviolability of existing territorial and ideological boundaries in Europe. According to Solzhenitsyn, true free­dom imposed duties and responsibilities on free peoples. Securing material prosperity, he said, motivated the West’s policy of peaceful coexistence and its growing reluctance to commit military forces to defend free­dom overseas.86 At West­ern universities Solzhenitzyn harangued students, professors, and journalists who admired Marxist revolutionaries like Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. He simply could not understand why anyone in the West would have sympathy for what he considered an intrinsically flawed ideology. The Chilean people, wrote the editors of Revista de la Fuerza Aérea, understood Solzhenitzyn’s message because they had experienced three years of Marxist destruction. “We unmasked the fraudulent possibility of any ‘peaceful path to socialism,’” said Gustavo Leigh, “May the tragedy we lived before 1973 serve as a warning to other people who are still free!”87 The idea of a cowardly moribund West provided emotional comfort to Chile’s government and bolstered the sense that it had a historic mission to defend West­ern civilization while friends and former allies capitulated. In this discourse the armed forces fought to defend an elevated concept of free­dom. On April 30, 1975, the United States evacuated its embassy in South Vietnam. Seven months later Fidel Castro sent ten thousand Cuban soldiers to assist Marxist forces embroiled in Angola’s civil war. Havana wanted to roll back the gains of US-­backed South Af­ri­can forces in the region, and although Wash­ing­ton did not believe it, Castro initiated the intervention without consulting Moscow. In 1977, however, Cuba and the Soviet Union both intervened to help Ethiopia defeat Somalia in the short-­lived Ogaden War. These events led conservatives to conclude that international communism had begun a new phase of expansion after the collapse of US influence in South­east Asia. Leigh accused the West of hypocrisy for watching indifferently as “Soviet imperialism put its claws into Angola, this time not just with the support of arms, but also with the direct intervention of more than 12,000 Cuban troops, who will remain in Africa as a looming threat to other nations on that continent.”88 Cuba’s involvement in Angola seemed irrefutable proof of Soviet duplicity. The Kremlin pursued an alleged policy of peaceful coexistence in Europe while Cuban soldiers intervened in regions across Africa and Latin America. ­Patricio Carvajal argued this point to Henry Kissinger in 1976. Other observers perceived Rhodesia and South Africa as the only serious checks on Soviet aggression in Africa.89 In their analyses of the international landscape, officers conceived of themselves as frontline Cold War warriors, having decisively halted Soviet expansion in South America.

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The National Security State By 1976 every country in the South­ern Cone had come under the control of an anticommunist military government espousing national security doctrine. The basic premise of this doctrine then was that communist states attacked other nations by supporting armed insurgents in those nations who shared the communist states’ ideology. Thus, a nation’s military might need to assume control of the state and protect it from internal enemies. Marxism, wrote Augusto Pino­chet, affected the internal front in two principal ways: “On the one hand, it infiltrates the vital nucleuses of free societies, such as intellectual and academic circles, the media, labor unions, international agencies, and, as we have seen, the ecclesiastical sector. . . . On the other hand, it promotes lawlessness in all its forms. Material disorder, with street agitations. Social disorder, with ongoing strikes. Moral disorder, with the promotion of drugs, pornography, and breakdown of families. . . . The final objective of this general disorder is to weaken societies the red sect does not control so [communists] can sink their claws into them at the opportune moment and convert them into new satellites of Soviet imperialism.”90 Pino­chet thought the United States had lost the Vietnam War precisely because it refused to muzzle internal subversives who turned domestic opinion against the conflict and forced President Nixon to abandon South Vietnam. At the end of 1984 Pino­chet excoriated three US congressmen who were pressuring him to hold democratic elections: “You lost half of Korea. You lost Vietnam. You lost Cuba. You lost Nicaragua, and you will lose El Salvador if you are not careful.”91 The national security doctrine that Chilean officers brought with them to government had basic pillars. First, Maxism had to be purged from society. Second, a strong and secure state required a healthy economy able to meet the material aspirations of the population while supplying revenue for social spending and arms acquisitions. Military governments therefore needed to achieve stable economic growth. Third, officers agreed that external security demanded a powerful conventional deterrent capable of winning regional wars while internal security required a mixture of repression and social justice.92 Military thought was heterogeneous at the outset of the dictatorship. One group of prominent generals hoped to dampen the appeal of radical ideologies by shifting the balance of power between labor and capital decisively toward the workers. Idealism characterized the first months of military rule. Officers spoke of a historic opportunity to establish the foundations of a more harmonious society purged of Marxism. Yet few officers in the Pino­chet generation contemplated the long-­term ramifications of a violent purge. Military values such as sobriety

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and realism informed economic decision making. Officers accepted austerity as a way to stabilize prices and tame inflation. The Declaration of Principles opposed Marxism and excessive government intervention in society, but it could be read as an ideological statement supporting the establishment of a corporatist state along the lines of Francoist Spain. The issue of repression divided army commanders. The Pino­chet generation wanted to achieve full control of the country and demonstrate the utter futility of resistance to all potential opponents; they agreed on the need for overwhelming force during the coup. However, the creation of a powerful internal security apparatus unsettled one significant group of army officers, who disapproved of its tactics, mission, and subordination to their commander in chief. At the end of 1974 Generals Oscar Bonilla, Sergio Nuño, Javier Palacios, and Sergio Arellano believed that civilian advisors and the secret police had betrayed the spirit of their origi­nal movement. By that point Pino­chet had already imposed a swift discipline on the army. He retired, isolated, or killed anyone who challenged his authority. As for the junta, a collegial entity, Pino­chet never fully controlled it. G ­ ustavo Leigh may have resented Pino­chet’s dominance, but in the end he signed every decree law that endowed Pino­chet with the powers he wielded. José Merino made an enormous difference for the fate of the military regime. He recruited the technocrats who transformed Chile’s economy, and he asserted his voice at criti­cal junctures. He also had two overriding priorities: preserve the junta’s unity and keep the navy ready to defend the fatherland from an opportunistic attack by Peru or Argentina. César Mendoza loyally supported Pino­chet. The armed forces’ overall discipline and silence on matters of internal discord, along with the junta’s reluctance to halt the concentration of power in Pino­ chet’s hands, ensured po­liti­cal stability and policy coherence as Pinochetismo—­ anticommunist repression, neoliberal technocracy, and the amelioration of ex­treme poverty—took shape. The establishment of a secret police force imbued with an ideology of internal war guaranteed that severe repression would wound the nation for years to come. The Pino­chet regime, however, did not draw strength from fear and repression alone. International opinion of the junta was exceedingly low, but a majority of Chileans actively or passively supported the regime. Many believed that the armed forces had saved the nation. In fact, in No­vem­ber 1973 Eduardo Frei wrote one of the most persuasive justifications for Allende’s overthrow.93 He also criticized distortions of the junta in foreign media. Three years later, however, Frei saw clearly what everyone else did: The Pino­chet regime had revolutionary ambitions. There would be no forthcoming democratic transition.

7 Defying the World and Restructuring the State, 1977–1981

Chile in the mid-­1970s was isolated, friendless, and vulnerable. Santiago faced arms embargoes from West­ern countries and moral censure from the United Nations. In June 1978 US ambassador to Chile George Landau indicated to his superiors, “It is only a matter of time before the army leadership realizes that the only way Chile will improve its relations with the rest of the world is by replacing Pino­chet.”1 That year Chilean soldiers prepared for an armed conflict on Cape Horn. That experience, which has rarely been appreciated in the historiography, endowed officers with the belief that they deterred Argentine aggression and saved Chile from catastrophe for the sec­ond time since overthrowing Salvador Allende. The period 1977 to 1981 revealed to Augusto Pino­chet and his junta that external critics could be defied and international sanctions surmounted. Crises did not weaken the regime; they strengthened it. And once General Fernando ­Matthei joined the government in 1978 the junta agreed on most policy issues. The 1980 constitution, ratified by national plebiscite, set up a controlled transition to civilian rule and provided the entire military with a powerful incentive to see the established legal structure reach a solid conclusion. Thus the turbulence of the late 1970s left the Pino­chet regime more united and capable of responding to future crises than would have otherwise been the case.

Global Censure and the 1978 Consultation On Sep­tem­ber 26, 1976, the Chilean secret police assassinated Orlando Letelier, a former Allende cabinet minister, by car bomb in the heart of Wash­ing­ton, DC. This brazen act of state terrorism was a reprisal for Letelier’s successful efforts lobbying West­ern governments to withhold arms and loans from Santiago. In 1977 US investigators determined the identities of the assassins and requested the extradition of one US citizen living in Chile and several DINA agents, in­clud­ ing Manuel Contreras.2 To deal with the situation, Pino­chet dissolved DINA in

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August and replaced it with the National Intelligence Center. He then isolated Contreras and made sure Chilean courts would not recognize the evidence presented by the Justice Department. The Letelier Affair affected not just US-­Chile relations but global opinion as well. On De­cem­ber 16, 1977, the UN General Assembly approved a resolution— written by diplomats in the Carter administration and cosponsored by Cuba— condemning the Chilean government for human rights violations and other abuses of power. Unlike past resolutions, this one could not be easily dismissed as Soviet manipulation. Of 135 voting countries, 96 approved the resolution (in­ clud­ing the United States, Venezuela, and Panama), 14 voted against it, and 25 abstained. Unlike past UN resolutions censuring Chile for the human rights situation, this one had a broader base of support and foreshadowed po­liti­cal and economic repercussions. Pino­chet addressed the nation. He called the UN resolution an unjust judgment and the vengeful work of exiled Chileans frustrated by “the defeat our coun­ try inflicted on international communism on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973.” Framing the resolution as an affront to national honor, he informed the nation that on Janu­ ary 4, 1978, all Chileans over the age of eighteen would be required to vote yes or no on a simple ballot question: “I support President Pino­chet in his defense of the dignity of Chile, and I reaffirm the legitimacy of the government of the repub­lic to lead the country’s process of institutionalization: Yes or No.”3 The national consultation, as it was called, would give every Chilean citizen the opportunity to reject foreign aggression. Pino­chet’s impetuous unilateral decision to poll the nation surprised and angered the junta. In separate letters Gustavo Leigh and José Merino condemned the electoral exercise. Merino said that such an act threatened the junta’s unity and he would not tolerate being put in such a situation ever again—strong words for the navy commander. Leigh shared his colleague’s reasons for opposing the consultation: a plebiscite could backfire and embarrass the regime, it created a potentially dangerous precedent, and Pino­chet had no legal right to call for it without approval from the junta. The letters indicated that the navy and the air force were unanimously opposed to Pino­chet’s decision.4 Everyone also understood the increasingly personalist nature of the government. The voting card read “I support President Pino­chet.” Comptroller General Héctor Humeres informed the executive branch that such an electoral event lacked a constitutional basis. Pino­chet replaced him with a loyalist, Sergio Fernández. In a deliberate and unprecedented breach of discipline, Leigh leaked both letters to the national press, which caused rumors to circulate. The US embassy reported that in spite of the Chilean military’s outward facade of unity, the plebiscite had “sharpened and brought into the open institutional divisions within the military.”5 Facing a climate of rumor and speculation, the junta granted per-

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Figure 13. “Let’s go Chileans! End this United Nations farce. All of Chile against the international aggression. Yes to Chile.” (From El Mercurio, De­cem­ber 31, 1977)

mission to a pair of journalists to inquire about the matter on De­cem­ber 28, 1977. Pino­chet maintained that personal differences did not alter the unity of the junta. Merino and Mendoza confirmed the statement. Leigh would only say, “This is no time to be doing press interviews.”6 Despite his indignation, Merino would not go so far as to openly challenge Pino­chet or align with Leigh, nor did Leigh approach Merino about taking some kind of action. The junta also accepted ­Sergio Fernández as comptroller. The vote on Janu­ary 4 was not completely free or fair. Those who supported a no vote could not campaign, press censorship negated the possibility of an open pub­lic debate, and there were no mechanisms to prevent repeat voting and ensure voter privacy. In the lead-­up to the vote, newspapers printed lists of professionals, union leaders, artists, and intellectuals who supported a yes vote. 7 Propaganda featured the image of a mother or father at the voting booth with

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the words “The destiny of Chile, of your family, is in your hands.” The official result was 75 percent voting yes (4,012,023), 20 percent voting no (1,092,226), and 5 percent of the votes annulled or declared invalid. How should we interpret the 1978 plebiscite? Some Chileans surely feared that the regime might monitor the vote and punish those who voted no or simply change the tally. At the same time, many citizens did consider the UN resolution a violation of Chile’s national sovereignty. What is certain is that the outcome affirmed Pino­chet’s personal authority, reinforced his preeminence within the junta, and showed, despite caveats, that his regime could mobilize millions of citizens for an act of solidarity with the government at a national level. After the plebiscite, the junta decreed a general amnesty for all crimes committed between Sep­tem­ber 1973 and March 1978. From one perspective the law equally benefited members of the armed Left and state officials who had participated in counterinsurgency operations. Army general Javier Urbina said the law “was necessary to pacify the spirits of all Chileans.”8 While the amnesty primarily reassured soldiers that they would never be charged with crimes for human rights abuses, the law did represent the dawn of a new era. The junta lifted the state of siege in favor of a state of emergency, which provided a measure of legal protection for unions and po­liti­cal dissidents. Agents of the state could not act with total impunity. Within the government itself, however, a group of dissidents wanted to reverse the country’s institutional direction.

The Air Force and Its Discontents From 1973 to 1976, the regime’s economic priorities had been relatively straightforward: lower inflation and reduce public-­sector spending. Shock therapy met both goals. The regime wanted to restore Chile’s credit rating and attract foreign capital, but as Chile emerged from recession in 1976, technocrats pushed forward a package of social and economic reforms that removed the state from economic decision making and circumscribed the government’s responsibility for social welfare. With the principles of market competition and consumer choice at the heart of their philosophy, Augusto Pino­chet’s economists wanted to liberalize labor and the financial markets, privatize social security, and redefine the government’s role in society. Military officers contested any wholesale implementation of such a vision. The state copper company, for instance, remained in pub­lic hands. The junta would not permit a privatization of that strategic asset. In all branches, officers questioned the wisdom of neoliberal policies. ­Gustavo Leigh feared that Chile’s high unemployment rate—one result of restructuring— could destabilize society. Chile’s free-­market reforms also clashed with the possibility of regional economic integration. At the start of the dictatorship, officers wrote about the Andean Pact as an agreement that represented the potential

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for improved relations with Peru and Bolivia and that also could accelerate economic growth within a common market. However, the Andean Pact required member countries to harmonize tariff policies and place restrictions on foreign capital in the trade zone. Addressing the junta in De­cem­ber 1975, Finance Minister Jorge Cauas explained, “No one is willing to join Chile in revising the mechanisms that allow foreign investment.” By 1977 the possibility of a subregional common market had ground to a halt.9 The decision signaled Santiago’s go-­it-­ alone foreign policy. When the regime’s technocrats drafted legislation for the privatization of social security, Leigh insisted that it was too risky for the private sector to manage people’s retirement savings. What if market interest rates plummeted or the nation’s currency depreciated?10 In another illustrative junta session, Sergio de Castro, the finance minister from 1977 to 1982, bemoaned the high cost of labor resulting from overly generous unemployment benefits. The solution to Chile’s unemployment problem, he said, was to liberalize labor markets and make it easier for employers to hire and fire workers. If employers had fewer obligations to compensate laid-­off workers, they would hire more and expand operations. After Castro had spoken, Leigh proposed the exact opposite: “Traditionally, one way to combat unemployment has been through emergency government ­programs, through either housing or pub­lic works programs because they stimulate the entire country, its industry, and its production. So I think that one way to overcome this—I am not a technician, I am not a specialist—would be to undertake extensive programs to build forty thousand or fifty thousand houses, which would create a huge demand for labor.”11 Castro rejected the strategy outright. He sermonized that Leigh’s plan would artificially increase the cost of labor and undermine macroeconomic stability. Besides, the organized working class would remain hostile to the regime regardless of any wage increases or favorable labor legislation, so why worry about their reaction? Leigh feared that policies perceived as antilabor would alienate the entire nation and worsen Chile’s negative image abroad. On this issue the air force and the navy were more sensitive to their country’s international image because it affected Santiago’s ability to procure technologically sophisticated weapons systems from West­ern nations.12 Health Minister Fernando Matthei recalls air force generals making comments during lunchroom conversations like “the government isn’t going to last another three months” and “this po­liti­cal economy is a disaster.”13 The air force high command thought that Pino­chet had violated the spirit of the Sep­tem­ber 11 coup by failing to construct the social market economy outlined in the Declaration of Principles. Matthei, however, had come to believe that the government’s new po­liti­cal economy represented a chance for Chile to abandon policies that had failed to produce growth. That put him at odds with his colleagues,

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who feared high unemployment and low wages augured a resurgence of Marxism and an ignoble end to the military government. On July 18, 1978, the Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera reached Chile. In it Leigh expressed the view that Chile ought to return to democracy within five years rather than wait for Pino­chet’s plan to hold presidential elections in 1989. He also said that if Orlando Letelier’s assassination proved to be the work of DINA agents, he would reconsider his participation in the junta. The interview caused a great stir. Leigh had violated an unwritten rule about contact with foreigners. Pino­chet spoke with José Merino and César Mendoza separately. Both agreed that Leigh had undermined their government by speaking to outsiders; such indiscretions harmed the perception of their monolithic cohesion. They agreed to his removal from the junta. Merino had no appetite for interservice conflict, but he now saw Leigh threatening their ability to govern effectively and oversee a stable transition. Pino­chet then polled key members of the government. On July 22 he summoned to his office Defense Minister César Benavides, Interior Minister Sergio Fernández, Justice Minister Mónica Madariaga, ODEPLAN chief Roberto Kelly, and two trusted army generals and said, “I want to know what you think about this situation and about an eventual removal of General Leigh.” Everyone present agreed that Leigh had to go. After the discussion Pino­chet ordered Madariaga to come up with a legal formula for Leigh’s expulsion from the junta.14 The whole process actually illustrates some of the collegial qualities of the military regime. Pino­chet sought approval from Mendoza and Merino, then conversed with key ministers. Afterward Pino­chet took precautions against the possibility of collective resistance from the air force by recruiting Matthei as a reluctant replacement in the junta. Matthei actually informed the air force general staff that he had been contacted by a junta member about a plan to remove Leigh, but he refused to go to Leigh’s house to discuss the situation. According to one account, Pino­chet threatened to dissolve the Chilean Air Force as an independent branch of the military if Matthei did not accept the appointment.15 On Monday, July 24, Merino, Mendoza, and Pino­chet declared Leigh “unable to perform his duties,” citing Decree Law No. 527, issued in 1974. All but two air force generals resigned in protest. Leigh’s departure from the junta took place without a violent struggle, but the armed forces lost its air force leadership during a time of serious tension with Argentina. The bitterness of the internal dispute and its ramifications for Chile’s national security strengthened Matthei’s resolve to impose a strict apoliticism on the air force.16 In the coming decade he withdrew men from government ministries and worked to cultivate a culture of professional detachment from politics. Matthei repeatedly emphasized that the air force neither was an armed po­ liti­cal party nor would it feud with or seek advantage over other institutions. He

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also stated publicly that he was “committed to the government until the very end.”17 In the future, the junta functioned much more smoothly, although Matthei never behaved like a junior partner during legislative deliberations. Like his predecessor, he demonstrated an independent mind. The same things can be said of Admiral Merino, who wished to avoid conflict with the army. He never forgot the navy’s politicization under Carlos Ibáñez and the disorder that followed the dictator’s demise. Merino would not countenance a repeat of 1931. These factors, among others, contributed to Merino prioritizing a stable po­liti­cal order and accepting Pino­chet’s position in the junta. Matthei and Merino did not always agree with Pino­chet, but the two leaders understood that internal politics could undermine the junta, their respective institutions, and harm the military’s ability to defend the country.

The War That Never Came In the early 1970s Peru achieved conventional superiority vis-­à-­vis its traditional rivals Ecuador and Chile. Was it to reclaim territories lost during the War of the Pacific (1879–1884) or press, by military means, for the favorable resolution of outstanding territorial disputes? The Peruvian government had turned to the Soviet Union for battle tanks and fighter jets after 1968. As a result Cuban military advisors arrived to assist with the new systems. Why had Lima gone to the Soviets if there was no ulterior motive? Mutual suspicion loomed over everything. When Peru’s armed forces completed a series of joint exercises in the country’s south­ernmost region, Santiago reacted with grave alarm. What did these war games mean? In 1974 US Ambassador Robert W. Dean tried to convince the head of Peru’s military government, Juan Velasco Alvarado, that Wash­ing­ton sought to balance its aid and assistance to regional powers, to which Velasco retorted, “You are both feeding and arming Chile.”18 In short, none of the parties involved trusted one another, and Velasco—openly hostile to Chile’s junta—did nothing to reduce bilateral tension before moderate army generals removed him in 1975.19 Seen from Santiago, Peru’s po­liti­cal instability reinforced a climate of uncertainty. What would stop hawkish generals from seizing control and pursuing a revanchist agenda? Against this po­liti­cal and military backdrop “Chile lacked important defense equipment such as antitank and antiaircraft weapons, and its few advantages lay in its defensive position and the superior organization and training of its military,” writes Mary Helen Spooner.20 Ironically, Chile had become weaker and more dependent on diplomacy to safeguard its borders under a military government. Without sufficient equipment the Chilean Army resorted to mining its borders while the navy scrambled to ready antiquated units for combat. The air force, utterly lacking adequate air defense systems, was the most exposed and vulnerable.

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A revealing encounter occurred on June 8, 1976. Secretary of State Henry Kissinger met with Augusto Pino­chet and Foreign Relations Minister Patricio Carvajal in Santiago. Kissinger thanked the dictator for overthrowing Salvador Allende, but he explained that the US executive branch, while friendly, could not prevent Congress from restricting the sale of weaponry. Kissinger raised the human rights issue, but Pino­chet had other priorities. He wanted to get a feel for how the United States viewed Santiago’s problems with Peru. Kissinger asked what Chile would do in the event of an emergency, and Pino­chet explained that the military was modifying older weapons and fixing junked units. He expected an unofficial pledge of US support, but the secretary of state was noncommittal, saying that circumstances would determine the US position if the two rivals found themselves embroiled in a military conflict. Kissinger offered sympathy and encouragement but no promises. Surprised by the response, Pino­chet invoked the East-­West conflict. He reminded Kissinger that Soviet aid had tipped the strategic balance of forces in Peru’s favor: “I am concerned very much by the Peruvian situation. Circumstances might produce aggression by Peru. Why are they buying tanks? They have heavy artillery, 155s. . . . Russia supports their people 100 percent.” Carvajal tried to convince Kissinger that the Cubans were operating in Peru as Soviet proxies.21 The transcript, more than any single document, shows just how nervous Santiago was about Peru. One month later Chile’s ambassador to the United States, Manuel Trucco, and  junta member Admiral José Merino met with National Security Advisor Brent Scowcroft in the White House. Merino explained that Chile’s navy could acquire spare parts for deteriorating US equipment only at great cost while the United States continued to supply Peru and Argentina.22 Scowcroft said the Ford administration was willing to help Chile locate spare parts from third parties, but the basic situation remained unchanged. Chile had few real friends. In De­cem­ber 1976 Chile identified Peruvian troops massing near the border with Ecuador. Was the mobilization meant to secure Peru’s north­ern frontier before launching an invasion of Chile’s Tarapacá province? Such a question might sound absurdly paranoid, but the imbalance of conventional forces made Peru’s troop movements impossible to ignore.23 Lima took steps to defuse the situation, but the scare emphasized the mistrust and jitteriness of Peru’s neighbors, who felt outmatched and unsure of Peru’s intentions. A CIA intelligence memorandum observed that “Peru’s immediate objectives, if [Peru] has any, probably could be met quickly and held by overwhelming force . . . [although] it might not be able to sustain an offensive for more than 72 hours. In any case, we believe the chances are slight that Peru will launch an attack against Chile in 1977.”24 Santiago could not afford to be smug about anything in light of its military supply problems and diplomatic isolation. When Pino­chet met with President Jimmy Carter in the White House on Sep­tem­ber 6, 1977, familiar themes re-

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appeared. The Chilean dictator stressed Peru’s arms buildup and emphasized the existence of Cuban advisors in Peru. Carter responded that US senators had received assurances from the Peruvian government that it had finished acquiring new hardware; US officials also emphasized the human rights issue and its negative effect on US-­Chile relations.25 Pino­chet spoke of a Marxist conspiracy against Chile. Meanwhile, a disagreement between Chile and Argentina presented the distinct possibility of armed conflict. In 1971 the two countries submitted their long-­standing dispute over the Tierra del Fuego archipelago to binding international mediation, and in 1975 the junta learned that the ruling was likely to be in Chile’s favor. This seemingly positive development came at a bad time, how­ ever. Chile lacked access to arms markets. In contrast, Argentina’s military did not suffer from supply problems of the same magnitude. What would stop the Argentines from rejecting the judgment and taking the contested islands by force? Buenos Aires knew that Santiago had problems with Lima. During one junta session Gustavo Leigh recalled Santiago ceding Atlantic Patagonia to Buenos Aires in 1879 as a measure to keep Argentina from entering the War of the Pacific. The junta agreed that it would not accept a bilateral accord granting territorial concessions to Buenos Aires. The junta resolved to exhaust every diplomatic channel, but not at the price of ceding territory. Julio Canessa summed up a shared feeling: “No one is willing to go down in history as the first Chilean soldier to surrender.”26 In May 1977 an international commission of jurists issued a decision supporting Chile’s claim to sole sovereignty over islands in the Beagle Channel— Nueva, Lennox, and Picton—in­clud­ing legal rights to the resources inside the contested maritime radius. Furious with the outcome, Argentina’s junta rejected the decision and demanded new negotiations. Although the two governments had been sharing intelligence to coordinate the capture and assassination of each other’s po­liti­cal enemies (Operation Condor), the period of cooperation based on a perceived mutual threat from “internal subversion” was coming to a close.27 By 1978 it had become clear that Buenos Aires would press, bilaterally, to define the disputed maritime boundary in a manner more favorable to the country’s geopo­liti­cal objectives. Admiral Emilio Massera, a hawkish member of Argentina’s junta, began making provocative press statements about defending the nation’s territorial integrity and demanding that Chile recognize the legitimacy of Argentine claims.28 Beginning in Sep­tem­ber 1978 a stream of worried cables flowed back and forth between the US State Department and its South Ameri­ can embassies. In No­vem­ber Argentina deployed ten thousand soldiers to south­ ern Patagonia while its navy and air force conducted well-­publicized war exercises. Chilean soldiers also deployed to the region, and the Defense Ministry mobilized carabinero units for combat roles.

Map 2. The Tierra del Fuego archipelago. Control of the islands off the Beagle Channel formed the basis of a major dispute between Chile and Argentina in the twentieth century.

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Throughout 1978 Chile’s outgunned navy scrambled to ready older air and sea naval units for action in the far south, where defense of the national territory would occur first. The navy hoped to benefit from the recent purchase of two small but highly maneuverable Israeli-­made missile-­launching ships (SAAR 4) that had demonstrated their combat effectiveness in the Yom Kippur War (1973).29 Admiral Merino looked at the situation pessimistically; confrontation seemed inevitable. Pino­chet, by all accounts, showed levelheaded leadership. He knew that war with Argentina could only harm Chile, so his government diligently pursued diplomatic negotiations while taking care to avoid provocative statements. The US arms embargo had no impact on Chile’s internal security apparatus, but the country’s external defense capabilities suffered greatly. Chile’s air force and navy lost access to spare parts for warships and aircraft. The United States did deliver eighteen F-­5E Tiger jet fighters, which it had sold before the 1976 legislation went into effect, but they arrived without the possibility of logistical support or armaments. Santiago’s other main supplier of armaments, Britain, severed military aid in 1974 and halted future arms deals. Initially, British dockers refused to handle Chilean cargo or release warships ordered by the Chilean government on account of the government’s human rights violations, and workers at a Rolls Royce factory in Scotland declined to recondition engines for Chile’s Hawker Hunter jets. All these weapons (frigates, submarines, and jet engines) eventually reached Chile, but their delivery was far from certain at first. In fact, it was not until Santiago’s dispute with Buenos Aires escalated sharply that British Prime Minister James Callaghan agreed to issue export licenses for four jet engines in June 1978.30 In the final three months of 1978 Chile’s military leadership prepared for war. A strategic committee headed by General Matthei prepared a national defense plan that assumed Peruvian involvement. Thus, Chile could not commit its limited human and material resources to just one theater of operation. The lion’s share of Chile’s air power and ground forces remained in the country’s north­ern and central zones, oriented toward Peru. Planners did, however, enjoy the advantage of having already prepared for defensive operations in the north.31 Arms procurement represented another serious obstacle. Years later Pino­chet said to a journalist, “We had to buy materiel; I’m not going to tell you when, or how, or from whom. . . . Chile was helped by friends who confidentially delivered arms to us so we could face the conflict. Secretly we acquired war materiel in Europe; we purchased rockets, the famous Mamba [German antitank missile]. Of course we paid four times the actual value of those rockets.”32 On No­vem­ber 1 US Secretary of State Cyrus Vance wrote to several embassies, “Frankly, the reports on the situation are confusing and constantly chang­ ing,” but in late No­vem­ber the US embassy in Buenos Aires reported to Wash­

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ing­ton that Argentina would occupy several uninhabited islands off the Beagle Channel if De­cem­ber’s talks broke down and Chile refused to make concessions.33 Chile, however, refused to meet Argentina’s demand for control of an island as a precondition to any future talks, and Pino­chet communicated that aggression toward inhabited Chilean islands would result in a counterattack. Hardliners in Argentina’s government demanded decisive action from their president, General Jorge Videla, to establish Argentine sovereignty over some territory in the Beagle Channel. They believed that a military action would force Santiago to negotiate. As with Peru, the situation possessed a volatile quality arising from po­liti­cal instability in Buenos Aires. Videla faced complex internal pressures and lacked full control of his government. The United States hoped to set up a negotiated settlement through multilateral pressure or through a third party, possibly the king of Spain or the Vatican. Though not eager to play the role of mediator, Pope John Paul II indicated a willingness to intervene if war appeared imminent.34 Analysts in Wash­ing­ton watched nervously as events deteriorated. US Ambassador to Argentina Raúl Héctor Castro reported that the Argentine junta would initiate military operations against Chile sometime in mid-­De­cem­ber. The armed forces’ high command, he said, was determined to take decisive action to resolve a dispute perceived as vital to basic national interests.35 Furthermore, Castro worried that Argentina had become rhetorically committed to military action after a string of ultimatums. At the same time Pino­chet made clear that Chile would repulse any aggression. He and the junta believed that compromise un­ der the threat of force would set a dangerous precedent. On De­cem­ber 14 President Carter called Pino­chet and Videla to urge restraint. The State Department instructed its military contacts to reimpress upon Argentina’s armed forces that using US weapons in an action against Chile would result in the suspension of all foreign military sales deliveries.36 US attempts at persuasion had no effect. On De­cem­ber 22 the Argentine junta launched an invasion named Operation Sovereignty. Its initial objective was to occupy islands off the coast of Tierra del Fuego and wait for Santiago’s response. If Chilean resistance did not materialize, Buenos Aires would negotiate a favorable settlement. To the surprise of most foreign observers, Admiral Merino dispatched the Chilean naval fleet with orders to engage the enemy. Fortunately, foul weather delayed the operation’s consummation, and in the meantime Pope John Paul II sent his personal envoy to offer mediation. Santiago accepted immediately, and Buenos Aires did, too, after some deliberation. Argentina’s junta knew that rejecting papal intervention would negatively affect the country’s external image. Also important was Chile’s refusal to back down. Argentina could see that any successful military action would not come cheap. The experience of preparing to defend the country with insufficient means left

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a significant his­tori­cal legacy for the Chilean armed forces. It laid bare the country’s external dependencies, prompted rapid growth in the domestic arms industry, and fostered a conviction that the military had saved the country twice, in 1973 and in 1978. Shortly before retiring from active duty, Pino­chet said that his greatest achievement was having avoided war with Argentina.37

The Navy and the Merchant Marine The Chilean Navy could look with pride on its urgent preparations to defend the nation’s territory in 1978. One year later, however, the institution lost a battle with the government over defense appropriations and subsidies to the country’s merchant marine. The conflict is noteworthy. In 1974 the junta strengthened legislation from Carlos Ibáñez’s administration to protect and subsidize the nation’s merchant marine.38 Laws written by the navy’s legal team used several mechanisms to expand the nation’s merchant fleet. First, only Chilean vessels could transport goods along the national coast. Second, legislation established a 50 percent target reservation for Chilean ships transporting goods abroad. Third, the state provided operation and construction subsidies, commercial concessions, and low-­interest loans to the shipping industry. Fourth, the state matched 35 percent of every shipping firm’s annual profits to help the firm acquire new ships and expand the nation’s domestic capacity. The legislation had a clear impact. In 1977 domestic shipowners were purchasing vessels from Brazil and Japan to transport new exports like fish meal and wood pulp. In 1978 the merchant marine’s cargo capacity surpassed a million tons, roughly double the capacity in 1973. Yet there was an unreconciled contradiction. The state had chosen to help one sector of the economy while it imposed market reforms on the rest of Chilean society. When this issue was brought up with the junta, the navy insisted that domestic shipping was a matter of national security; the merchant fleet deserved special treatment.39 Revista de la Marina insisted that all enterprises related to maritime activities —ship repair, shipbuilding, port construction, and port repair—had both economic and strategic value for the country. These maritime industries generated employment and enhanced the nation’s base of domestic technicians, but more important, Chile’s commercial fleet represented the nation’s ability to transport vital goods to and from the country. For this reason, among others, it was clear that “Chile’s naval industry requires special legislation to compete abroad since every country in the world, directly or indirectly, protects and subsidizes its shipyards being an industry with economic, strategic, and geopo­liti­cal effects.”40 Yet not all junta members shared this view. Fernando Matthei refused to sign legislation that treated Chile’s shipbuilders and merchant marine any differently from the nation’s less developed aviation industry.41

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In September 1979 Admiral Merino requested additional resources for naval acquisitions, but Finance Minister Sergio de Castro warned that printing money for deficit spending would cause inflation and adversely affect the way interna­ tional credit markets viewed the country. Pino­chet said, “I am in total agreement with you, Minister.” Merino invoked the crisis with Argentina. The military deserved different treatment.42 Matthei commented that fiscal discipline brought tangible rewards to the government. For instance, Chile’s foreign minister had recently been invited to Japan. Mendoza concurred. Legislation authored by the navy’s advisory council reached the junta in No­ vem­ber. It preserved subsidies and tariffs for the country’s merchant marine and quickly touched off an emotionally charged session. Miguel Kast of ODEPLAN called the law discriminatory to other economic sectors. The minister of transportation agreed: any protection and subsidies for maritime shipping ought to apply equally to air and land shipping. Finance Minister Castro said, “Frankly, I do not share the concern of the navy’s cabinet that the merchant marine must be the only activity of the country that is entirely out of step with the general po­ liti­cal economy.”43 Mendoza, Matthei, and Pino­chet agreed; they saw no compelling reason to maintain the old law. With great passion, Navy Auditor General Aldo Montagna argued that the merchant marine deserved special treatment because every other nation subsidized its commercial fleet either directly or indirectly. How would Chile compete with Japan or the United States? Chile’s shipping industry confronted a structural inequality that made commercial expansion into profitable routes exceptionally difficult. Navy officers reasoned that the junta’s “principle of subsidization” established the government’s right to intervene in the economy when in­di­vidual citizens could not accomplish things that affected the common good. In the case of the commercial fleet, the state had a national security interest to protect and promote its maritime industries. Merino and his legislative team lost the debate. Law No. 3059 terminated the old regime of protections and subsidies, but the issue lingered in naval discourse. For several years Revista de la Marina featured articles arguing that the government had implemented a po­liti­cal economy without pausing to study its effect on national interests.44 Captain Jorge Hadermann insisted that the mechanics of comparative advantage had to be harmonized with questions of national security. Since Chile had resolved to export what it could produce efficiently and import what it could not, oceanic transport acquired a new strategic importance. An open economy and dependence on external trade necessitated secure maritime transport. In the event of a world war, local conflict, or commercial boycott, Chile needed the ships and personnel to conduct its own coastal shipping and carry vital commodities such as fossil fuels back home. Without this external capacity, Chile would be subject to the whims of foreign vessels charging ex-

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orbitant prices or refusing to trade. The navy worried about leaving the nation’s commerce to the vicissitudes of supply and demand. Senior officers agreed; the government had not struck the proper balance between national security and economic rationalization. At the core of this issue was nationalism. The navy wanted Chile to carry its own cargo across international waters.45 The navy’s discussion of the merchant marine mirrored some of the tensions that free-­market reforms engendered through­out the military. Army generals Roberto Guillard, Fernando Lyon, and Alejandro Medina opposed the privatization of Entel, Chile’s state telecommunications company, on the grounds that telephone services represented the country’s nervous system. The generals believed that putting telecommunications in private hands would be dangerous.46 Yet these soldiers remained loyal to Pino­chet and his regime. Likewise, the navy’s disagreements with the junta never threatened the government’s basic unity. Respect for hierarchy across the armed forces—a preexisting trait—as well as stable mechanisms for the junta’s functioning muted conflict within the armed forces.

US-­Chile Relations in the Late 1970s US politics perplexed the Pino­chet regime in the mid-­1970s. Senate subcommittee hearings chaired by Frank Church publicized instances of illegal conduct and abuse by the Central Intelligence Agency and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, in­clud­ing the CIA’s efforts to assassinate or overthrow foreign leaders. Critics of the hearings asked to what extent these security services’ capacity for effective action had been set back by the release of information about operational methods. US lawmakers seemed guilty of treason. In 1978 Congress restricted the CIA’s and FBI’s institutional autonomy and subjected both agencies to legislative oversight. Colonel Herbert Orellana questioned the ability of the United States to win the Cold War in such a domestic climate. He pointed out that Soviet leaders did not face critics at the highest echelons of power who wished to circumscribe the state’s national security instruments; Soviet leaders operated inside a one-­party sys­tem without a modicum of institutional transparency. The problem with US society, Orellana claimed, was that “since the late 1960s and especially after Watergate, its consensus about national security has eroded.”47 Chilean officers accused President Jimmy Carter of hypocrisy and misguided idealism in his foreign policy. A number of officers had witnessed ugly institutionalized racism while studying in the Jim Crow South, so by what moral authority did the United States lecture Chile on the subject of human rights? The United States had trampled on the sovereignty of Guatemala (1954), Cuba (1961), the Dominican Repub­lic (1964), and Chile (1964–1973) despite its stated commitment to the nonintervention cause of the OAS charter. One Naval Academy of War professor explained the poor state of US-­Chile relations as a by-­product of the belief by the United States that its form of democracy was universally

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valid, replicable, and exportable. As a result, US citizens could not understand any po­liti­cal sys­tem different from their own in spite of the fact that some countries, facing serious security threats, had legitimate reasons to establish authoritarian governments.48 US-­Chile relations reached their nadir in 1979. Augusto Pino­chet refused to hand over the Chilean nationals responsible for terrorism on US soil (i.e., the Letelier assassination). The Carter administration responded with sanctions, though not crippling economic pressure.49 Wash­ing­ton excluded Chile from joint naval maneuvers in the South Pacific, much to the chagrin of Chile’s military chiefs, who believed that diplomatic disputes should be separate from the two countries’ mutual security interests. On the whole, the period was marked by defiance. The Pino­chet regime saw US pressure as unjust bullying, and sanctions did little to change behavior. Colonel Victor Chaves described Chile as the “small but firm defensive stronghold in the Ameri­can South­ern Cone” that had already frustrated the creation of a Santiago-­Havana axis and that currently offered its victorious military legacy to the United States in the common fight against communism.50 What Chile lacked, Chaves said, was a reliable partner.

The 1980 Constitution Po­liti­cal observers have long noted the legalism of Chilean po­liti­cal culture. Obeying the rules is standard practice in Chile, especially compared to other Latin Ameri­can countries, and the ingrained traditions of legalism did not go away in 1973. Although Pino­chet ignored or circumvented laws that did not serve his objectives, the appearance of legality always remained important. In 1976 the junta appointed two ex-­presidents (Gabriel González and Jorge Alessandri) to the Council of State, charged with creating the basic text of a new constitution before the junta made final modifications. The regime’s leaders agreed that constitutional structures would give legitimacy to the military government at home and abroad. On July 9, 1977, Pino­chet gave a speech at Chacarillas Hill in Santiago. He spoke of a phased transition to civilian rule and outlined a vision of democracy that would be “depoliticized, authoritarian, protected, integrative, and technical.” Yet Pino­chet emphasized that his government would not hand power back to civilians until it had achieved all its goals and objectives. But when would the phased transition to civilian rule begin?51 Exactly three years later the regime announced that a new constitution would be put to a national vote on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1980. Among its salient features was that Pino­chet would serve an eight-­year presidential term, from 1981 to 1989. The constitution also established a new role for the military in the life of the nation. It created the National Security Council, composed of the army, navy, air force, and police commanders; the presidents of the Senate and the Chamber

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of Deputies; the chief justice of the Supreme Court; the comptroller general; and the president of the republic. However, the council would not merely advise the president at his or her request. Any two council members had the power to convene a council meeting and express opinions or concerns to the other members about anything that might compromise the nation’s institutional structure. From the regime’s perspective, the 1980 constitution was a modern document that protected the community from its internal enemies while guaranteeing in­ di­vidual liberty. Major Luis Zanelli summed up its logic when he wrote that “modern democracy should incorporate elements of control and self-­defense to secure its survival in an active and dynamic way.”52 The constitution promised po­liti­cal pluralism as long as competing ideologies did not endanger society or advocate violence. Anyone convicted of terrorism could lose his or her citizenship. The document also enshrined seven modernizations designed by the regime to depoliticize state policy in the areas of labor, agriculture, education, health, social security, justice, and pub­lic administration. For example, the 1980 constitution guaranteed the right to pub­lic or private health care, the right to pub­lic or private education, and the right to join or not to join a union. These provisions were meant to restrict the centralization of social power by prohibiting closed-­shop unions and creating a multitiered sys­tem of education and health care that would check the politicization of state structures. For its opponents, the constitution delivered a fatal blow to past collective solidarities and institutionalized a new regime of societal anomie.53 Other controversial aspects of this modernized version of democracy were that the armed forces retained exclusive control of their processes of retirement and advancement and that elected presidents could appoint commanders in chief from among the five most senior officers of each armed institution. The constitution also designated nine nonelected senators to be drawn from a pool of past presidents, Supreme Court justices, and military commanders. All this institutional structure ensured that civilians would not be able to undo what the military regime had built, because there were clear limits to civilian control of the po­liti­cal system. The constitution recognized a role for the military maintaining and protecting the constitution itself. The 1980 constitution gave the armed forces remarkable autonomy. Civilian presidents could not remove sitting commanders in chief. A separate law directed 10 percent of export revenue from the National Copper Corporation of Chile (a state-­owned company) to the defense budget. From a military vantage point, the 1980 constitution included key features to ensure that the armed forces would not be marginalized by civilians, underfunded, or abused by executive authority. It also introduced a sec­ond round in presidential elections to avoid a minority candidate from reaching power.54 The Academy of Military History declared it a modern, his­tori­cally evolved achievement. To dissidents, however, it was shameful praetorianism; the document deprived constitutional presidents of control

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over defense affairs, and the National Security Council established an independent role for the armed forces in the po­liti­cal system.

The 1980 Plebiscite Key po­liti­cal fig­ures questioned the legitimacy of any vote organized by the regime. What assurances did the Chilean people have that the government would abide by an unfavorable result? Eduardo Frei emerged as the opposition’s leader. What the military regime was doing, he said, had no his­tori­cal precedent; the new constitution violated Chile’s democratic traditions. Augusto Pino­chet countered that the constitution restored and revitalized an older civic tradition. The Catholic Church’s leadership shared Frei’s concerns and urged a no vote. G ­ ustavo Leigh called the constitution “institutionalization of the dictatorship” and the newest affirmation of Pino­chet’s personal power.55 The junta knew that issuing a constitution by fiat would lack legitimacy, so the regime allowed opposition media and national fig­ures to criticize the document, within limits. Before the plebiscite Pino­chet showed his ability to mobilize Chileans during his tour to promote the proposed constitution. Speaking to large crowds across the length of the country, he said that the constitution would restore Chile’s truthful civic tradition and inaugurate an era of authentic democracy free from the libertarianism and demagoguery of the past. To reject it would be to turn the clock back to 1973 and the possibility of yet another institutional breakdown. In August 1980 Frei organized a pub­lic gathering to oppose the constitution at Santiago’s Caupolicán Theater. He demanded open elections and a return to democracy. The next day Pino­chet responded with his own pub­lic event and warned of a return to po­liti­cal chaos if the constitution did not pass. Any election carried out in the context of a dictatorship is ambiguous. What role does fear play in people’s decisions? Opponents of the 1980 constitution had insufficient time to coordinate an effective response to the referendum, which was announced just two months before the vote. There were few safeguards to prevent repeat voting, and the government promoted the constitution with one-­ minute television slots in the run-­up to the event. In addition, many of Chile’s most po­liti­cally articulate citizens still lived in exile. The Chilean media certainly lacked complete free­dom, but criticisms were aired, and millions did vote no. It is also significant that Chile was in the middle of an economic boom at the time of the plebiscite: 8.3 percent economic growth in 1979. Middle-­and upper-­class Chileans enjoyed previously unthinkable access to automobiles and consumer goods. There was no immediate threat of war with Argentina. A year of grow­ing confidence and institutional consolidation put the government in a credible position to present the constitution as a positive step forward in 1980. To the elation of Pino­chet and his supporters, the constitution passed on Sep­

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tem­ber 11 with 67 percent of the vote. Critics insisted that irregular electoral procedures invalidated the outcome. Nevertheless, the vote represented a watershed moment in the nation’s po­liti­cal history. Opposition to the government from unions, clergy, and statesmen like Frei added an appearance of legitimacy to the contest, even if those groups had lacked unfettered access to national media. Moderate opponents like Emilio Filippi of the center-­left newsmagazine Hoy remarked, “There is no doubt Chile has entered a new phase. The president of the repub­lic has proclaimed it, and the Chilean people, supporters of the regime or not, have voted or chosen to abstain, making clear the passing from a seven-­year period of emergency to an eight-­year period of transition.”56 Chile remained a fractured nation at the start of the 1980s. Exiles had started coming home once the 1978 amnesty law went into effect, and Chilean dissidents increasingly gathered to think about their po­liti­cal strategies, but that activity in civil society did not change basic realities. The Constitution of Liberty, as the 1980 constitution was called, went into effect on March 11, 1981, and institutionalized the regime’s po­liti­cal and economic project. Pino­chet, unlike so many other military dictators in the West­ern Hemisphere, would spend the next eight years ruling as a constitutional president. From 1974 to 1981 Chilean soldiers shared the experience of preparing to defend the country’s borders. Of that period Julio Canessa recounts, “When I said to my subordinates that we were preparing for war, it was not some abstract consideration; everyone knew that war was a real possibility.”57 In 1978 young soldiers deployed to frontier regions north and south. This collective experience fostered cohesion in each branch of the armed forces and toughened the nerve of a regime that had already confronted hyperinflation, exhausted foreign reserves, international opprobrium, economic recession, and frontier tensions. After surmounting international sanctions and surviving so many crises, the junta would tenaciously defend its constitutional project in the years to come. British historian Arnold Toynbee found a receptive audience at Chile’s war academies in the 1960s and 1970s. His massive work, A Study of History, argued that civilizations survive when creative elites lead acquiescent masses into the future. This concept resonated with the military’s understanding of Diego Portales and Carlos Ibáñez, both identified as visionaries who had reordered the state during his­tori­cally criti­cal junctures.58 At the start of the 1980s the junta and a select group of jurists and economists believed that they had established a solid foundation for Chile’s prosperity for decades to come. At the end of 1981 a concern over Chile’s exchange rate and other signs of economic trouble appeared, but the military government possessed sufficient strength to weather the storms ahead.

8 Circling the Wagons The Survival of the Pino­chet Regime, 1982–1986

On March 11, 1981, Augusto Pino­chet began serving an eight-­year term of office in accord with the 1980 constitution. This was an enormous triumph for a man who had established a legal framework, approved by national plebiscite, to legitimize his perpetuation in power until the end of the decade. But the plight of the country itself was more tenuous: the economy was on the cusp of a colossal meltdown, producing po­liti­cal upheaval. In 1982 the GDP fell 14.3 percent. Unemployment surpassed 20 percent, and a quarter million Chileans enrolled in state-­administered minimum employment programs that offered shovel-­ready jobs to unskilled workers. Finance Minister Sergio de Castro and Interior Minister Sergio Fernández called for a deepening of the neoliberal model, but Pino­chet had had enough of their dogmatism. In April he unceremoniously accepted their resignations and began filling key cabinet posts (Economy, Interior, National Planning) with trusted military men. Not since 1973 had so many officers held cabinet positions. The symbolism of a military cabinet was not lost on the national press.1 Pino­chet was circling the wagons. The economic crisis that rocked Chile from 1982 to 1984 had internal and external causes. During the boom years, 1977 to 1980, the regime’s policy makers had refused to regulate the unscrupulous activities of domestic financial groups, which enjoyed easy access to credit and virtually no restrictions on their borrowing and speculation. The global recession of the early 1980s meant that Chile’s heavily indebted private sector could not obtain capital from foreign banks to repay its debts. Meanwhile, the international price of copper and other export commodities declined. Monetary policy also compounded the crisis. Finance Minister Castro overvalued the nation’s currency by fixing the Chilean peso to the dollar without making necessary adjustments.2 Facing a total collapse of the country’s capital markets, the government began bailing out banks and other financial institutions. After having imposed a free-­ market economy on the population, the government was now socializing the losses of the nation’s capitalists. To critics this was a sickening injustice. In May

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1982 Pino­chet spoke of reviving the idea of business committees to increase the interaction between labor and capital, a clear return to the German-­style capitalism and po­liti­cal economy favored by dissident air force generals Nicanor Díaz and Gustavo Leigh.3 In June Pino­chet devalued the peso. Was the regime going to do an about-­face and return to Keynesian economics? For the rest of 1982, criticism of the regime reached new and unexpected heights. Predictable criticism came from major union leaders as well as clergymen who had long urged the government to respect human rights and consider the needs of the poor. But dissatisfaction spilled over into less predictable social sectors. Former conservative president Jorge Alessandri blamed the government’s economic policies for the present crisis, and one-time supporters of the military government began to demand the restoration of democracy. In characteristic defiance, Pino­chet blamed the crisis on external conditions and accused the opposition of manipulating economic hardship for po­liti­cal purposes. In Janu­ary 1983 he said, “I repeat before the entire country today: the government is not going to alter the course the people of Chile have chosen in a free and sovereign manner.”4 On May 11, 1983, the nation responded to a call from the Confederation of Copper Workers to participate in a nationwide strike. Families kept their children home from school, banged pots, and chanted “¡Que Pino­chet se vaya!” (Pino­chet out of power!). After ten years of silence Chile erupted in catharsis. Even traditionally conservative sectors of society joined the protest. In subsequent months more protests occurred as students, journalists, politicians, and activists brazenly defied the regime. Po­liti­cal opponents demanded Pino­chet’s immediate resignation, but their tactics differed. Angry slum dwellers burned tires and barricaded streets. Pino­chet responded with force. Police and army units detained thousands during each protest cycle.5 On June 16 Pino­chet asked the junta for permission to impose a state of siege, but the junta denied his request, fearing that such a move would leave it with no alternatives but to abdicate power if the protests continued. Imposing a state of siege, the junta members reasoned, would harm Chile’s image abroad and play into the hands of an opposition that wanted to escalate the conflict. Fernando Matthei and José Merino compared the agitated po­liti­cal state to the outset of the Great Depression, and Merino in particular wanted to avoid a power vacuum like the one he remembered when another army general, Carlos Ibáñez, abdicated the presidency in 1931.6 Fortunately for the junta, its opposition had a rift to exploit. One group of po­liti­cal parties favored dialogue with the government. Another, the communists and other left-­wing radicals, rejected negotiation and called for mass insurrection. Although moderate po­liti­cal groups refrained from direct confrontation with security forces, many lower-­class shantytown dwellers used Molotov cocktails, rocks, and slingshots to draw the police into confrontation. This dy-

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namic put distance between the upper and lower classes. In June 1983 Pino­chet said, “We will confront the germs of subversion without surrendering.” 7 On the eve of the fourth protest, August 11, Pino­chet imposed a strict curfew and dispatched eighteen thousand soldiers to occupy the capital. Protesters banged pots and pans from their windows. This chapter examines why the Pino­chet regime retained its unity following the eruption of nationwide protests from 1983 to 1986. Cold War dynamics, his­ tori­cal memory, and the strength of Chile’s civil-­military coalition all mattered for the outcome; so did the armed forces’ shared sense of mission, which engendered a conviction that the fates of their services were bound together. The junta wanted to preserve the 1980 constitution and protect military personnel from a civilian backlash. This chapter also considers US-­Chile relations and the reasons for diminished US leverage in the country. In the 1980s the Reagan administration lacked two key instruments to influence a military government: weapons sales and security assistance. Pino­chet felt comfortable ignoring the advice and recommendations of Wash­ing­ton policy makers.

Why Did Pino­chet Survive the Crisis? Many observers expected the Pino­chet regime to collapse in the 1980s. Technocrats had promised that Chile’s per capita income would equal Portugal’s by the end of that decade. Instead the government was bailing out a bankrupt financial sector. The junta pledged to depoliticize the country, but politics had returned with a vengeance. In the words of one scholar, Pino­chet “lost cultural power” among a sizable chunk of the population, ceasing to be the man who had saved the country from Marxist totalitarianism and was guiding it toward peace and prosperity.8 A majority of Chileans favored po­liti­cal transition. However, Pino­ chet retained strong support within the armed forces. There were several reasons for this. First, officers considered leaving power from a position of weakness to be a taint on their distinction as an undefeated military. From this perspective, any premature departure from power was tantamount to military defeat and equivalent to capitulation and dishonor. Speaking to the nation on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1984, Pino­chet said that the constitutionally planned transition to democracy was irreversible.9 Twelve days later Raquel Correa published an interview with Fernando Matthei, who expressed, contrary to Pino­chet’s declaration, that he would be open to negotiating a conclusion to the military government before 1989. However, he warned the po­liti­cal opposition not to try to push the military government from power without a consensual agreement. He said of the armed forces, “Pressure is not going to make us capitulate; pressure can bring us to civil war, but not to a point of capitulation. [Those who believe the military can be pushed

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out of power] are completely mistaken; the only thing they are going to achieve is a hardening that is greater each time, and they can be certain that I personally will be one of the hardest. The armed forces wish to withdraw from power honestly and legitimately; they must return to the barracks with honor.” Individual officers might have favored a quicker transition to democracy, but they agreed that any exit from power had to be an honorable one. Admiral Merino said of the four armed services, “We arrived together and we will depart together.”10 On this point the junta was united. Second, armed militants added legitimacy to the regime’s national security doctrine and rallied the troops in each branch of the armed services. The existence of an organized communist party advocating mass insurrection bolstered the conviction that any transition to democracy had to occur within the confines of a protected democracy. Moreover, the junta recognized that handing power to civilians from a position of weakness not only jeopardized the institutional structure they had labored to establish but also made groups of officers vulnerable to criminal trials for human rights violations. In 1984 Argentina’s Admiral Emilio Massera insisted that he and his colleagues had fought and won a just war against subversion (the Dirty War), but because they lost the battle for domestic opinion they were being unfairly judged by the defeated. After having Massera’s statement read aloud during one junta session, Pino­chet said, “Gentlemen, we won the war of arms, but we are losing the psychological war. This is what will happen to us if we lose.”11 Third, Pino­chet handled his opposition adroitly with bait-­and-­switch tactics. Typically, he would make temporary concessions to the leaders of po­liti­cal or labor movements at pivotal moments before or during protest cycles and then reverse the government’s position once the immediate crisis had been averted.12 The dictator exploited his opponents’ divisions and blocked the creation of a united coalition. From 1983 to 1984 Pino­chet instructed his interior minister to initiate a “good faith” dialogue with the Democratic Alliance, a coalition of right, center, and center-­left po­liti­cal parties demanding the restoration of democracy. Pino­ chet, however, had no intention of accelerating the transition. The old infantry officer proved to be a formidable po­liti­cal adversary, and he enjoyed the support of institutions hardened from a severe recession (1975–1976), the near outbreak of war with Argentina in 1978, and sharp censures from the international community. The military government, wrote one navy officer, operated inside “an almost permanent state of war or crisis.”13 Fourth, the Pino­chet regime could count on a significant base of technicians, intellectuals, and former politicians who actively supported the dictatorship and checked the opposition’s ability to push the junta out of power. Chile’s twentieth-­ century conservative tradition enjoyed deep social and intellectual bases that distinguished Chile from other nations in the region. The bourgeoisie consistently

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supported Pino­chet even though a portion of the capitalist class, especially manufacturers, suffered huge losses during shock therapy (1975–1976). The private sector did not defect to the opposition during the next recession, and once pragmatic economic policy makers took over in 1985, landholders and businessmen forged a neoliberal coalition inclusive of all capitalist groups. No one ever turned on Pino­chet. Women represented another regime bulwark. Female voters preferred conservative po­liti­cal parties in greater numbers than their male counterparts did, and higher percentages of women than men of every social class supported Pino­chet’s government. Pino­chet’s wife, Lucía Hiriart, ran a charity for women and mobilized female po­liti­cal support for the government.14 Fifth, the domestic and foreign opposition could not infiltrate or divide the armed forces as a social body. One Reagan administration official said that Chilean military men were “the hardest possible target simply because they would not discuss politics with foreigners.” Pino­chet’s highly compartmentalized government meant that even the other junta members possessed little knowledge of the executive’s inner workings. This was, of course, by design. General Matthei told US Ambassador Harry Barnes that interservice communication was essentially nonexistent, that he had limited influence on executive matters and did not know what Pino­chet was thinking. Likewise, Hernán Büchi, long-time regime collaborator and finance minister since 1985, told US officials that he had no knowledge of the government beyond economic policy.15

The Pino­chet Regime and the Historiography In the mid-­1980s, scholars trying to understand the resilience of Augusto Pino­ chet’s regime focused on po­liti­cal and institutional factors that prevented disputes within the armed forces from erupting into open conflict. For instance, Pino­chet’s control over promotion and retirement allowed him to create a cadre of loyal subordinates. Genaro Arriagada wrote that Pino­chet channeled the army’s Prussian discipline and respect for hierarchy into unconditional support for his executive authority, all of which engendered a “tarnished professionalism.”16 At the same time, army morale appeared unaffected by Pino­chet’s institutional control. Disgruntled officers did not join the opposition or vocalize their concerns. Karen Remmer argued that Chile’s peculiar authoritarian structure—centralized, technocratic, and personalist—made possible the implementation of long-­term objectives and insulated the regime from internal politics or popu­lar pressure. Military governments in Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay established collegial power-­sharing arrangements and mechanisms to prevent single individuals from becoming too powerful. However, without a strong leader at the center of government, internal politics more easily devolved into open conflict during periods

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of crisis. In contrast, Pino­chet could count on a disciplined military establishment and a loyal, well-­organized civilian sector to support him without fear of dissident coalitions or interservice squabbles.17 In the 1990s Robert Barros acquired access to previously secret source material, which allowed him to demonstrate the collegial and constitutional qualities of the dictatorship. Pino­chet had to compromise with junta members during the writing of the 1980 constitution, and Barros convincingly argued that the power-­sharing arrangement reinforced regime stability.18 Moreover, the 1980 constitution legitimized Pino­chet in the eyes of his fellow soldiers, in part, because the document was not a mere facade. After 1981 officers expected fairness in elections, and the growing independence of the courts created a climate that did not always favor the dictator. Chile’s mass media, though not entirely free or unafraid, enjoyed some allowance to criticize the government. Pino­chet could not act with total impunity. Two significant events illustrate this point. On March 30, 1985, the bodies of three Communist Party members were found abandoned near the Santiago airport, their throats slashed. Public outcry surrounding what became known as the Slit-­Throat Case prompted the Supreme Court to appoint a special investigator, Judge José Cánovas. Four months later he identified five officers in the carabineros as the parties responsible for the disturbing murders. Thus, the Supreme Court had called for an investigation, the investigation had proceeded unimpeded, and the findings had immediate consequences. Facing strong pub­lic pressure, the junta forced carabinero commander in chief César Mendoza to resign on August 2—from his membership in the junta and as head of the carabineros. Furthermore, Mendoza’s replacement, ­Rudolfo Stange, shared the constitutionalist convictions of the air force and navy chiefs, Fernando Matthei and José Merino. The other significant event also occurred in 1985. Pino­chet wanted the Electoral Court of Chile, which was responsible for organizing and overseeing elections, constituted a mere thirty days before the upcoming 1988 plebiscite, but in Sep­tem­ber Chile’s constitutional tribunal ruled 4–3 that the Electoral Court would have to be set up well in advance of any election to ensure that voter registration and voting counts proceeded fairly. Matthei and Merino strongly supported the decision, and they observed that failing to respect the court’s decision would jeopardize the legality of the 1980 constitution.19 Pino­chet, the supposedly all-­powerful autocrat, lacked the power to reverse the decision, barring a constitutional coup.

Military Culture and Battle Optics In 1980 Colonel Jorge Muñoz wrote that armed Marxists had largely been defeated, except for small groups of subversives who persisted in their efforts to

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undermine order and free­dom. The real battle was a permanent and ongoing struggle against pedestrian enemies who undermined the regime with “words, rumors, foreign ideologies, and utopian solutions” in homes, factories, classrooms, and other social places. Shutting down this talk was essential to defeating subversion. Muñoz urged soldiers who heard this talk to insulate themselves from the po­liti­cal talk of civilian society, to take refuge in their own “mental fortress.”20 Muñoz divided the country into two camps: Chileans who supported steady progress and those who did not. His message for members of the armed forces was simple: any type of criticism directed at the government undermined the armed forces’ morale. Institutional strength required officers to place their faith in the president and the governing junta, to obey their superiors, and to ignore the siren song of opponents who criticized the regime. Finally, he put Sep­tem­ ber 11, 1973, on the Chilean military’s list of military victories and reminded his audience that bending before any po­liti­cal opposition before a mission was completed would taint the military’s victorious legacy. This type of thought, well established before 1982, insulated the armed forces from po­liti­cal pressure. On August 23, 1983, the junta and high-­ranking officers from each branch of the military gathered to celebrate Augusto Pino­chet’s tenth year as commander in chief of the army. The ceremony, which took place at the height of Chile’s social and economic crisis, reaffirmed Pino­chet’s authority and praised the armed forces’ monolithic cohesion. The vice commander in chief of the army, Julio Canessa, presented Pino­chet with the Collar of Merit for distinguished service as captain general—a title last held by Bernardo O’Higgins—and spoke of the mili­ tary’s “solid institutional cohesion” and “unwavering loyalty” to him. In return, Pino­chet assured his uniformed comrades that history would view their time in power as a transcendental point in the nation’s history. Implicitly he was saying that the present crisis was a temporary setback and that their fates were inextricably bound with his fate. He said, “The army, navy, air force, and carabineros have fulfilled countless missions of war and peace over the course of their history, and today they have reaffirmed their cohesion . . . in my position as general I am responsible to ensure that their honor is never tarnished.”21 Was the junta really united? At the start of the 1980s José Merino and ­Fernando Matthei favored a faster transition to democracy while harboring a concern that Pino­chet’s ambition to remain in power past his constitutional mandate could foster po­liti­cal instability. They also had a general weariness with military rule and a belief that their origi­nal mission was achieved once the 1980 constitution had gone into effect. However, the protests changed things. Matthei and Merino regarded the moderate opposition as untrustworthy when it failed to denounce violence or break all ties with the Communist Party.22 This context rallied the junta around Pino­chet and strengthened its resolve to see the constitutional timeline to its conclusion.

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Street protests became more furious and destructive after May 1983, not less. Chile’s long-­silent poblaciones (slums) exploded with rage, and these poor urban Chileans possessed a relatively high degree of organization and solidarity. They were not atomized. Military leaders had promised to depoliticize the country and restore order, but ten years later dissidents defied the regime on the street and in print.23 The Rettig Report (1991) identifies five military personnel murdered for po­liti­cal reasons in 1983—in­clud­ing one retired army general, Carol Urzúa Ibáñez, ambushed in front of his Santiago home. In 1984 leftists killed thirteen soldiers, ten of them carabineros. The attacks were also becoming more brazen and spectacular. On No­vem­ber 2, 1984, guerrillas detonated a bomb that destroyed a military bus traveling on the highway between Santiago and Valparaíso. Four noncommissioned officers were killed.24 Escalating violence was one reason observers thought Pino­chet might negotiate a po­liti­cal transition with the moderate opposition, because he wanted to marginalize the highly disciplined and well-­organized Chilean Communist Party. Proportionally the largest Communist Party in the Americas (excluding post­revolution Cuba), it had a deep presence in Chile’s unions and the urban working class and had proved itself resilient in the face of regime efforts to intimi­ date, murder, or exile its chiefs from 1973 to 1981. After 1982 the party decided to embrace all forms of struggle against the regime, in­clud­ing armed struggle. At the end of 1983 a group of communists formed the Manuel Rodríguez Patriotic Front (Frente Patriótico Manuel Rodríguez, or FPMR), which was explicitly dedicated to armed struggle and which rejected any negotiation with the regime. The FPMR saw the battle with Pino­chet in military terms. On the one hand, it was a fight to overthrow the regime by force. On the other hand, it was a sociological battle to win the hearts and minds of Chile’s citizens and overcome the regime’s efforts to confuse and disintegrate the masses’ collective solidarity. The FPMR’s stated aim was to undermine the military’s cohesion by putting a wedge between sectors of the military and Pino­chet. The FPMR understood that defeating Pino­chet meant changing the outlook of the armed forces. The organization’s official publication, El Rodriguista, explained, “To the extent that we Chileans make the country ungovernable for the dictatorship and reject the legality of Pino­chet, it will open a path toward free­dom and will also open the door for a real ‘dialogue’ with individuals inside the armed forces who wish to separate themselves from the tyrant and move toward democracy.”25 Officers saw the situation along the same lines. Communists were trying to foment chaos and disarticulate the military’s anticommunism. The armed forces, however, represented a bulwark against the possibility of Marxist parties ever seizing power. They would stand firm against opponents who tried to divide or politicize them.26 In defense journals officers reiterated that the 1980 constitution established a legal role for the military to safeguard the continuity of the ex-

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isting government. Officers also had clear conceptual categories through which to interpret the FPMR’s actions and its relationship to the po­liti­cal opposition. “Fighting subversion and terrorism,” wrote Major Jorge F. Perez, “does not constitute politicization or deprofessionalization of our functions; it is a normal, legally established mission.” Regime stalwarts did not recognize a legitimate po­ liti­cal opposition; they tended to see Christian Democrats and other moderate opponents as a single group that wittingly or unwittingly served international communism.27 FPMR militants aimed to precipitate a popu­lar insurrection against the government, and from 1984 to 1986 they carried out a number of high-­profile assassinations and acts of sabotage. Such acts, however, tended to strengthen regime unity; when state security forces committed publicized crimes—something that happened periodically—the fault for the violence belonged to the “terrorists” who had set out to provoke a disproportionate state response.28 In 1986 a young Chilean photographer and his companion were set on fire by the army during a street demonstration in Santiago. The Left, from the regime’s perspective, had created the conditions giving rise to such regrettable violence.

His­tori­cal Memory An abiding consciousness of Chile’s past helped sustain the junta. General Matthei described Admiral Merino as a sailor to the bone, deeply conscious of naval glories, in a way that “he felt the obligation to achieve the same level of greatness of the heroes of the Chilean Navy. He was also aware of the army’s role in forging the national character, something that reinforced good relations with General Pino­chet. The affection both men shared for their respective institutions led them to consider each other very close brothers in arms. Everything that the admiral has said or done should be understood in this described context.”29 The relationship between Merino and Pino­chet illustrates a larger truth about the army and navy. In spite of any institutional differences both services felt inextricably bound by a shared history, a fact that fostered an esprit de corps. Institutional memory provided another framework in which to view the crisis. In 1983 an editorial in El Memorial del Ejército de Chile recalled the army’s occupation of Peru from 1881 to 1883. During the War of the Sierra, Chilean units chased Peruvian guerrilla fighters across the countryside in a campaign characterized by “surprise attacks, ambushes, counteroffensives, marches, and countermarches.”30 These difficulties, however, did not break the resolve of the army to get a peace treaty signed and depart from Peru victorious. The analogy to the present was obvious. To abandon power at a moment of crisis would dishonor the armed forces and contradict their victorious tradition. This was a time of “counteroffensives, marches, and countermarches” en route to

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ultimate victory. From 1982 to 1984 the Academy of Military History gave several conferences about the role of the armed forces during moments of national crisis. Academics recalled officers who held high state office or served in Congress from the foundation of the repub­lic to the present.31 Army editorials described the armed forces as defenders of democracy and as a great reservoir of morality stretching back to the time of Pedro de Valdivia. From 1980 to 1986 the army wrote an institutional history that manifested self-­ glorifying tendencies.32 There was also a marked decline in the mention of the 1973 coup as an expression of popu­lar will. Increasingly, writers said the armed forces enjoyed his­tori­cal legitimacy to participate in national life. This discourse reflected a civil-­military disconnect. For a significant segment of the population, the military regime represented corruption and tyranny.

The Kennedy Amendment Ten Years Later In 1976 the Kennedy Amendment placed a total US arms embargo on Chile. Thereafter Santiago procured arms and technical assistance from Israel, South Africa, Brazil, and willing partners in Europe. Simultaneously the armed forces modernized its existing equipment. This process had a salubrious effect on Chile’s domestic arms industry and on the military’s capacity to repair and renovate existing weapons systems. Reflecting on the 1952 Military Assistance Program, Captain Hervé Dilhan wrote that the acquisition of older, of­ten obsolete ships from the United States had allowed Chile to maintain an active navy, but it also exacted a high price because Chile had to accept outdated norms, specifications, and operational systems from World War II–era vessels. As a result the navy saw its capacity for advanced engineering diminish. Chile’s Defense Ministry, however, contracted British shipyards to construct and modernize several frigates, submarines, and destroyers in 1967. The modernization program represented a significant upgrade of the fleet and the concomitant transfer of technology and training to Chile’s naval engineers, who put their skills to use in practical ways. For example, the navy purchased a merchant vessel from Germany in 1977 and then repurposed it to support the submarine fleet.33 The Chilean Air Force encountered problems of a higher order. Despite the delivery of eighteen US-­made F-­5E Tiger jets to Chile in 1976, the air force could not acquire spare parts for the duration of the dictatorship, although the Ken­nedy Amendment did allow a shipment of ejector seats. Likewise, British unions refused to release the Rolls Royce motors for Chile’s Hawker Hunter jets. ­Fernando Matthei says that even though the air force circumvented these problems with ingenuity and industrial espionage, it was still highly exposed and vulnerable during the crisis with Argentina. It had insufficient antiaircraft defenses

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and no radar systems. The army mined the north­ern and south­ern frontiers, but the air force had to modify mortars for use as antiaircraft projectiles even though such aerial defenses had little chance of being effective. Matthei comments that the experience of lacking the means to defend the country magnified his determination to ready the air force for any future conflicts.34 In 1982 air force editors remarked that Chile’s inability to acquire arms from the United States and some European suppliers during the crisis with Argentina dramatized the urgent need “to develop the national defense industry and to progressively diminish the excessive dependence on foreign suppliers.”35 By 1982 a number of private enterprises and state industries began to manufacture armored vehicles, airplane armor, and landing ships. The army’s munitions company, FAMAE (for Fábricas y Maestranzas del Ejército, or Factories and Workshops of the Army), increased production of gunpowder, mortars, aircraft bombs, naval artillery, hand grenades, antitank mines, and a variety of other implements of destruction. The domestic arms industry represented a strategic push to reduce external dependence and avoid a repeat of Chile’s precarious position in 1978. It was also a source of pride. In 1987 Matthei observed that it had been a full ten years since Chile had imported a single bomb. Meanwhile, Chile’s private arms industry had acquired contracts abroad worth approximately $400 million. “Senator Ted Kennedy did us a great favor by forcing us to make do on our own,” said ­Julio Canessa. Another general remarked that the growth of Chile’s domestic arms industry had a “trigger effect” on the entire armed forces’ technical sophistication and self-­sufficiency.36 In 1976 the navy’s Shipbuilding and Ship Repair Company initiated a $15 million program to improve the capacity for the repair and construction of auxiliary ships. Admiral Jorge Sweet, who served as the rector of the Chile’s Catholic University, sponsored partnerships between university technicians and naval engineers to modernize weapons systems on several ships in the national fleet, representing the type of civil-­military collaboration officers had dreamed of in the 1960s. Navy officers imagined a future in which Chilean engineers could design planes and ships suitable for the country’s specific theaters of operation. Such a vision had become conceptually possible once Israel Shipyards in Haifa had achieved “excellent design standards for the construction of high-­speed units, mainly missile-­launching boats of light and medium tonnage.”37 In 1985 the National Aeronautic Company of Chile (Empresa Nacional de Aeronáutica de Chile, or ENAER) modernized the electrical components of its Mirage jets and made other structural adjustments with technical assistance from Israel Aerospace Industries.38 The same year ENAER unveiled its greatest achievement: the T-­35 Pillán. In the late 1970s, air force officers realized that it would be feasible to manufacture a single-­prop training aircraft to alleviate pressure on

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its decrepit US trainers, which had become difficult to repair after the passage of the Kennedy Amendment. Although US legislation restricted the sale of military aircraft to Chile, there was no similar restriction on commercial aircraft, which allowed ENAER to contract with Piper Aircraft (a private US company) in 1979 for help manufacturing its Piper Dakota PA-­28. From this base Chilean Air Force engineer Fritz Deyer modified the Dakota into the Pillán, an instructional plane with two seats in tandem, increased visibility from the cockpit, and other modifications suitable for a training craft.39 Respected for its comfort, maneuverability, visibility, and competitive price, the Pillán has been exported by Chile to Spain, Paraguay, Guatemala, Honduras, Ecuador, El Salvador, Panama, and the Dominican Republic. Chile’s private sector also took advantage of the new po­liti­cal climate. Carlos Cardoen, a US-­educated metallurgical engineer with experience making explosives for the country’s mining sector, won state contracts to supply the Chilean Army with armored personnel carriers under a Swiss production license. By the mid-­1980s, Cardoen Industries manufactured a wide assortment of munitions, in­clud­ing rockets, grenades, mines, torpedoes, and, most famously, cluster bombs. His success led to exporting, and during the Iran-­Iraq War (1980–1988) Cardoen Industries sold $200 million worth of cluster bombs to Saddam Hussein. Regaled as a hero in military circles, Cardoen won fame as an innovative entrepreneur. Before getting into legal trouble over his dealings in Iraq, he developed a way to convert civil-­use Bell helicopters into multiuse military aircraft for sale in Third World markets. Chilean officers admired Brazil’s and Israel’s successful entry to the global arms trade, especially since export markets had permitted both countries to build efficient economies of scale while also satisfying their limited domestic needs.40 Notwithstanding a growing domestic capacity, Chile still had to depend on a handful of advanced industrial states for its most sophisticated weaponry. Fortunately for the junta, European arms markets opened up at the end of the 1970s. In 1979 France approved the sale of twenty French Mirage jets to Chile, and in 1980 British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher restored full diplomatic relations with Santiago before lifting a previous arms embargo. Unlike fellow conservative Ronald Reagan, Thatcher could approve commercial arms deals without legislative approval, and in greater secrecy.41 Yet what would stop Lon­don or Paris from placing restrictions on future sales, technical assistance, or spare parts? The Chilean Air Force could purchase obsolete bombers on less regulated markets and then modify those planes with parts derived from low-­cost combat jets and trainers, but the operating costs for older planes tended to be high because of their antiquated technology and greater consumption of fuel. Acquiring outdated hardware might be easier and cheaper, but

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it carried the disadvantage of incurring high maintenance costs and could result in long-­term technological backwardness.42 During the dictatorship the Defense Ministry negotiated global arms markets within tight fiscal constraints. The military could not take anything for granted; it had to maximize the value derived from advanced hardware like Mirage jets while also modifying or refurbishing older hardware. Supply problems elevated the armed forces’ technical expertise and willingness to innovate. At the same time, the navy and air force wanted better relations with the West. General Matthei, for instance, knew that getting top-­of-­the-­line air force equipment required a return to democracy.43

The Inter-­Ameri­can System and the Cold War Several unexpected events unfolded across the globe in 1979. The Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan to prop up a Marxist government in Kabul, Nicaragua’s Sandinistas overthrew the Somoza regime, and popu­lar demonstrations forced Iran’s shah to abdicate. In each case pro-­US governments had been overthrown, and the Sandinista triumph represented a victory for the Left in Central America. Soviet Premier Leonid Brezhnev even said, after invading Afghanistan, that he would not tolerate “another Chile.” These events convinced one group of observers that President Jimmy Carter’s foreign policy, with its human rights focus and liberal internationalism, had failed. Notably, Jeane Kirkpatrick, the US ambassador to the United Nations under President Reagan, argued that the United States had to work with friendly authoritarian regimes to advance US strategic interests and prevent future setbacks.44 Her ideas achieved a notable ascendance under Reagan. Regional trends, however, prompted the Reagan administration to alter course. Once democracy returned to Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay, US officials be­ gan pressuring Pino­chet for a peaceful transition to civilian rule. But these US policy shifts merely reinforced the dictator’s perception of the United States as unpredictable and inconsistent. One Chilean officer wrote, “US policy toward Latin America changes course constantly, it’s like a pendulum that swings from one extreme to the other.”45 Since 1968 US policy toward Chile had moved from Richard Nixon’s unequivocal support for anticommunist regimes to Jimmy Carter’s human rights agenda to Ronald Reagan’s blanket support at first for anticommunist governments and later support for South Ameri­can democratization. Chilean soldiers perceived US policy as unpredictable for a reason. Looking back on the period 1945 to 1975, officers at the Army Academy of War criticized Latin Ameri­can leaders for denouncing North­ern Hemisphere imperialism while simultaneously expecting rich countries to pay higher than market prices for Latin Ameri­can commodities or giving these countries prefer-

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ential access to heavy capital goods. Latin Ameri­can statesmen, they said, overestimated the power of the government and po­liti­cal ideologies to solve national problems. As a result, Chile veered away from “foreign policy pragmatism.”46 Events in the 1980s reinforced the conviction that it was naive to expect economic development or security from any other nation, international body, or regional organization. Colonel Máximo Venegas described the role of the United States in the West­ ern Hemisphere after 1945 as “massive” and “determinant.” For instance, the United States helped to form a generation of Latin Ameri­can military leaders who shared the po­liti­cal values of the West and were prepared to collaborate on the issue of continental defense. But in the 1970s pan-­Ameri­can sentiment, which had been so characteristic of the 1950s and early 1960s, gave way to geopo­liti­cal antagonism and aggressive nationalism, so that by 1975 armed conflict appeared likely to destabilize parts of South America. At this point, the US Congress had severely reduced or completely eliminated aid to most militaries in the hemisphere. Venegas writes: The Kennedy Amendment came into effect precisely at the moment when the situation in the subregion of the South­ern Cone was acquiring strong sources of tension that had already manifested themselves in a near outbreak of war between Chile and Peru in 1975 and the first signs of the serious crisis with Argentina that unfolded in late 1978. In this international atmosphere, the first direct po­liti­cal effect of the amendment was precisely to aggravate tensions, to the extent that it meant a real reduction of the military capabilities of the Chilean armed forces, especially the air force and the navy’s abilities to accomplish local deterrence in light of the region’s geographical conditions. The amendment significantly increased the already notorious military inequality between Chile and any of its potential adversaries with the exception of Bolivia. From this perspective, this initiative, instead of achieving its goal of po­liti­cal pressure, contributed to increased local tension, in apparent detriment of US interests in the South­ern Cone. During the 1970s Peru and Argentina felt much more secure about their suppliers in the Soviet Union and West­ern Europe, respectively. Perhaps the greatest irony of all was that Chile had been the “most loyal to US defense technology and thus most dependent on Wash­ing­ton for the technical efficiency of its defense structure.” Despite their frustration with US policy, Chilean officers acknowledged that US disengagement from the inter-­Ameri­can sys­tem tended to generate instability. Furthermore, there was no conceivable alternative to alignment

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with the United States. Venegas summed up that position when he said the Latin Ameri­can nations were “forced allies of the United States” in the Cold War.47 Argentina’s invasion of the Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas) in April 1982 revealed US loyalties and helped to discredit the inter-­Ameri­can system. Buenos Aires believed the Treaty of Inter-­Ameri­can Reciprocal Assistance, which committed signatories to assist each other in the event of external attack, would guard against the British trying to retake the islands. Argentina’s junta also assumed that Prime Minister Thatcher would negotiate a settlement of some kind and that Wash­ing­ton would not allow open hostilities between its two allies. Buenos Aires miscalculated. US Secretary of Defense Casper Weinberger quietly authorized Britain’s use of US airfields and naval bases, and Secretary of State Alexander Haig formalized US support for Britain on April 30 once his diplomatic effort to mediate the dispute failed. Argentina’s numerically superior army was not logistically prepared to defend the islands when the British task force arrived. According to Chilean officers, Argentina’s cardinal sin was a misguided faith in the role of diplomacy.48 The Falklands conflict, however, directly benefited Chile in several important ways. Pino­chet had supplied Margaret Thatcher’s government with ground intelligence and had authorized the British use of Chilean airspace for reconnaissance missions. He had also dispatched troops and submarines to the south­ern border with Argentina, forcing Buenos Aires to divert military resources away from the main conflict. After Argentina’s defeat Thatcher rewarded Santiago with favorable access to Hawker Hunter jets, three Canberra PR-­9 reconnaissance aircraft, long-­range radar, antiaircraft missiles, and over-­the-­horizon intelligence-­ gathering equipment.49 Now Pino­chet had a powerful European ally from which to procure arms, lessening Santiago’s po­liti­cal and military vulnerability. Moreover, Chile ceased to have a major external threat on its borders after the return of democracy to Argentina in 1983. In 1984 the Argentine pub­lic overwhelmingly approved the Treaty of Peace and Friendship with Chile, which established land and maritime boundaries on Cape Horn. The agreement formally recognized the disputed islands in the Beagle Channel as Chilean. The cumulative effect of these circumstances was to increase Pino­chet’s confidence on the international stage. The Cold War continued to cast a very long shadow over the West­ern Hemisphere in the 1980s. Bloody civil wars raged in Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua. The Maoist group Shining Path left a path of destruction across the Peruvian countryside. In north­ern Chile the FPMR received two huge shipments of weapons from Cuba in May and August 1986. Intelligence services unearthed several hidden arms caches, and the sheer quantity of the seized weaponry shocked the nation: more than three thousand rifles (mostly M-­16s), three hundred rocket

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launchers, along with heavy machine guns, grenades, radio equipment, and several tons of explosives and ammunition. What else might have been smuggled in? The FPMR’s arsenals reinforced the Pino­chet regime’s insistence that the armed forces had to play a continued role in the life of the nation as a bulwark against communism.50 Navy leaders felt certain that Soviet bloc fishing vessels just outside Chile’s territorial waters were collecting intelligence or communicating with dissidents. Admiral Merino said, “We know that the Soviets are not interested in fishing as much as making preparations for the future conquest of this continent.” When Mikhail Gorbachev became the Soviet premier in 1985, Chilean officers interpreted glasnost and perestroika as a stratagem to convince the West that the Soviets had abandoned long-­standing imperial aims. Any purported détente or cultural opening was merely an effort to penetrate the West and strengthen the Soviet position before the next offensive.51 The Chilean military’s view of the Soviet Union as an evil menace to world peace precisely matched the deeply held conviction of an actor-­turned-­politician named Ronald Reagan.

Pino­chet and Reagan From 1981 to 1984, Pino­chet had a friendly US president to work with. The Reagan administration praised Chile’s market economy, voted for Santiago to receive import-­export bank loans, and invited the Chilean Navy to participate in joint exercises. The outbreak of protests, however, worried Reagan administration officials. US policy makers feared that financial instability might favor extreme forces such as the Communist Party. If a transition occurred, the United States wanted to strengthen the po­liti­cal center. In Sep­tem­ber 1983 US Assistant Secretary for West­ern Hemisphere Affairs Langhorne Motley wrote of the situation, “Our ability to decisively influence the course of events in Chile is limited. Overall diplomatic leverage is weak. Our connections to the opposition are improving but are not strong. . . . The military sphere is criti­cal but we cannot get to them in the absence of FMS [foreign military sales], normal training assistance, and the [congressional] certification issue.”52 Indeed, Wash­ing­ton had fewer mechanisms by which to influence Pino­ chet’s crucial base of support. The region looked different to Wash­ing­ton policy makers after Ronald Reagan’s reelection. In De­cem­ber 1984 the Department of Defense, the CIA, and the State Department agreed that Pino­chet’s perpetuation in power was likely to foster armed resistance and radicalize the country’s moderate po­liti­cal opposition. Rather than being an anticommunist bulwark in the South­ern Cone, the aging dictator seemed more of an impediment to long-­term stability.53 Although interagency disagreements existed on the best policy approach, the State Depart-

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ment was the most inclined to actively support moderate opposition groups in Chile and call on Pino­chet to respect human rights. During Reagan’s first term, US officials slowly learned something about Pino­chet: he basically ignored and dismissed their advice or warnings. In fact, Pino­chet frequently turned US complaints around. In No­vem­ber 1984 he communicated “shock” and “disappointment” with the US government for failing to appreciate the terrorist threat in Chile or acknowledge the free­dom that Chilean dissidents enjoyed.54 In 1985 the US embassy in Santiago wrote a plain assessment: “a democratic transition is impossible without the acquiescence of the military.” Only soldiers could change Pino­chet’s mind or remove him from power. Given this assessment, the embassy urged Wash­ing­ton to change congressional legislation so as to per­mit “improving ties through regular military-­to-­military contacts.”55 Harry Barnes, installed as the new US ambassador in No­vem­ber 1985, came to Santiago determined to meet with all the opposition parties, in­clud­ing Salvador Allende’s old Socialist Party. During the presentation of his credentials, Barnes started talking about the need for democracy, and Pino­chet interrupted him, saying, “Don’t come over here to interfere in our internal affairs.” Barnes actually wanted to exploit junta frictions. He hoped to divide José Merino, Fernando Matthei, and Rudolfo Stange (the head of the carabineros) during private meetings with each officer. In August 1986 Reagan officials sent General John Galvin to convince Chilean Army personnel that both the Reagan administration and the Pentagon saw Pino­chet as a threat to their long-­term interests. During a face-­to-­face meeting with Pino­chet, Galvin said that it would be in Chile’s interest to clarify the timetable for democratic transition. The dictator responded, “I will set Chile’s course without advice from anyone.”56 The US government, ironically, perceived Chile’s po­liti­cal dynamics through the same lens as the FPMR (the communist group dedicated to armed struggle and against negotiating with the regime), believing that the only way to force a transition was to put a wedge between Pino­chet and the armed forces. In July 1986 a strategy paper by Assistant Secretary of State for Inter-­Ameri­can Affairs Elliott Abrams and Ambassador Barnes repeated conclusions from the previous year: Pino­chet was determined to remain in power, and his ability to do so depended on continued support from the armed forces. Abrams and Barnes wrote to Secretary of State George Shultz, “Given that Pino­chet is the obstacle, he must be persuaded to change or be removed. The only viable approach is to convince the Chilean military that its institutional interests are jeopardized by continued unconditional support for Pino­chet. To do this we need to be able to communicate more easily and effectively with the military.”57 The impression one gets from these strategy papers is not confidence but impotence. The United States had to tread carefully while Santiago negotiated a repayment schedule with its creditors. Wash­ing­ton feared regional contagion if

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Chile suffered a default, and withholding World Bank or International Monetary Fund loans could destabilize the country and create a climate of instability that favored the Left. Economic sanctions represented a “nuclear option,” but in the absence of security assistance and training programs Wash­ing­ton had few means of communicating with Chile’s armed forces, which continued to loyally support the regime.58 Clandestine methods of penetrating Chile’s highly disciplined armed forces rarely proved effective, and Pino­chet, always the master strategist, limited the armed forces’ institutional contact with any po­liti­cally suspect outsiders. For Pino­chet and his hard-­line supporters, US pressure fit into well-­established conceptual categories. It was “foreign aggression,” outside intervention into the affairs of a sovereign state, and moral judgments that lacking appreciation of local conditions. The regime rejected Wash­ing­ton’s pretension to leadership over po­liti­cal changes taking place in the South­ern Cone and described the US Congress and State Department as hopelessly infiltrated by pacifists, Marxist scholars, and fifth columnists.59 In general, regime fig­ures believed that restored democracy required military participation and a peaceful transition to democracy required foreign actors to stay out of Chile’s internal process and for domestic actors to stop asking for outside intervention. Commentator Arturo Lane wrote, “For the democratic transition to be fruitful, it must be the product of the internal decision of the government with support from the armed forces. For this to occur, Chile’s diverse po­liti­cal sectors must commit to dispense with their tendency to internationalize Chilean politics. Presently, the US government is financing social and po­liti­cal sectors it considers democratic replacements.”60 In the end, US efforts to pressure Pino­chet and his military colleagues proved unsuccessful. Internal processes determined the timetables and the outcomes.

Operation Twentieth Century On Sep­tem­ber 7, 1986, militants from the FPMR ambushed Pino­chet’s presidential motorcade as he traveled from his home in Cajón de Maipo to Santiago. Using rocket-­propelled grenades and machine guns smuggled into Chile from Cuba, the well-­planned attack, Operation Twentieth Century, left five soldiers dead and wounded eleven more, but the rocket that struck Pino­chet’s car failed to explode, allowing the driver to escape amid hails of gunfire. Pino­chet did not regard his close call as dumb luck. The event strengthened his belief that he enjoyed divine protection. He was also quick to exploit the incident for po­liti­cal gain. Appearing on television that night in front of his bullet-­ridden Mercedes Benz, Pino­chet said, “We are in a war between Marxism and democracy.”61 The attempt on Pino­chet’s life marks a turning point in Chile’s po­liti­cal history. It discredited any notion that Pino­chet could be pushed out of power by

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force and caused the FPMR to split from the Communist Party as a result of tactical and strategic differences. Important opposition parties—Christian Democrats, Radicals, and Socialists—denounced the attack as counterproductive and reached a consensus that they would work within the constraints of the military’s transition framework. From one perspective, the assassination symbolized the dictator’s continued relevance. The fact that militants had received their weapons from Cuba bolstered a national security doctrine dedicated to repressing antinational subversives aligned with foreign powers. Pino­chet’s aura of invincibility was strengthened along with the notion that he alone could protect the nation from armed minorities. By the start of 1987 Pino­chet and his allies felt increasingly confident. The crisis had ended. Economic recovery proceeded at a healthy clip. Rising copper prices and falling oil prices made the government less vulnerable to debt and foreign-­exchange issues. National protests attracted fewer participants, and Pino­ chet felt confident enough to lift the predawn curfew on Santiago. The junta allowed exiles and regime enemies to return home.62 The Chilean military’s achievement of greater self-sufficiency in the years after 1975 helped diminish US leverage in the country, and professional journals conveyed a new confidence borne of those experiences. In 1965 El Memorial del Ejército de Chile printed seventeen articles either translated or transcribed from external sources (mostly Spain, France, Germany, and the United States), comprising a total of 251 pages, or 38 percent of all published content for the year. That fig­ ure remained roughly constant in 1970 and 1975.63 In 1980, however, army editors published only articles by Latin Ameri­can officers, and by 1985 the journal’s content was entirely Chilean. The change reflected Chile’s poor relations with the West as well as the armed forces’ growing technical sophistication and intellectual independence. In 1990, navy editors remarked with pride that the contributions of officers to Revista de la Marina were more origi­nal and covered a wider array of topics than at any time in the past.64 The same could be said for army and air force publications. The crisis from 1982 to 1984 tested Chile’s military-­civilian coalition. Scholarly explanations for the Pino­chet regime’s unity have tended to stress the dictator’s dominance of the junta and his ability to mute interservice conflict. This chapter has stressed other, deeply rooted cultural and po­liti­cal factors. Officers demanded an honorable exit from power, partly because they perceived themselves to be an undefeated armed force. They also saw the 1980 constitution as a long-­ term solution to the nation’s po­liti­cal instability, and civilian opponents would almost certainly reverse key aspects of the constitution if the regime left power amid a financial crisis and popu­lar mobilizations. Soldiers had been chased from power in 1931, and the Pino­chet generation remembered the disorder that fol-

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lowed, not to mention the humiliating rise of antimilitary republican militias. Given the scope and ambition of the 1973 intervention, much more was at stake in the 1980s. Meanwhile, the jail sentences handed to members of Argentina’s junta in 1985 provided a warning of what it could mean to hand power back to civilians from a position of weakness. Chile’s civil-­military coalition proved stronger and more durable than all others in South America in no small part because the institutional architecture created between 1977 and 1980 had deep intellectual roots in the nation’s conservative po­liti­cal tradition. The bourgeoisie never flirted with the regime’s critics, and Pino­chet enjoyed a stable base of popu­lar support for the duration of the dictatorship. The Cold War prism through which the military and its allies viewed domestic and international events always mattered a great deal for cohesion, especially after the resurgence of the Chile’s Communist Party as an organized presence with an armed wing receiving weapons from abroad.

9 Mission Accomplished The Transition to Protected Democracy, 1987–1990

When the armed forces handed power back to civilians in 1990, it was from a position of strength. The junta had controlled the process leading back to democracy, and the 1980 constitution enshrined a tutelary role for soldiers in the life of the polity. Speaking on the occasion of his retirement from active duty in 1990, navy commander in chief José Merino chastised everyone who had expected the military regime to bend before external threats or international isolation. The regime’s adversaries, said Merino, failed to appreciate the depth of pride and tradition that had sustained them during a difficult period of national service: “Sailors! In these 16 years we have given the best of our abilities; each one of us has carried out the task imposed by tradition [in spite of ] the difficult conditions imposed on us from abroad by foreigners and Chilean nationals who expected to make us fail. How wrong they were! Or rather, how ignorant they were of our enormous legacy of victory, which is why in spite of the silent and insidious fight against this small country, we have triumphed with the help of God and the ability of its people, even in the face of military threats at our borders by those who naively believed that our equanimity would diminish before so much treason and slander.”1 Merino’s speech captures a feeling shared through­out the military during the transition to democracy: Mission accomplished. We prevailed over foreign and domestic enemies in spite of arms embargoes, foreign boycotts, UN condemnations, social protests, and denunciations from Chileans abroad. We saved Chile’s democracy from communist totalitarianism. We successfully defended the nation from Peruvian and Argentine aggression. We built safeguards into a constitution that will prevent another institutional crisis. We tirelessly worked for the common good and could be confident that the nation was on a solid footing for a future of po­liti­cal stability and material prosperity. Our completed mission belongs to the armed forces’ list of historic victories. The same year, Fernando Matthei said to his comrades, “No type of opposition, boycott, embargo, protest, or cajolery could have changed our path one iota

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or stopped us from fulfilling our duty.”2 Thirteen years later Julio Canessa insisted that neither domestic opponents, “nor the messages of foreign governments influenced the military government’s decision to comply, with absolute fidelity, its itinerary toward full democracy.”3 In 1990 and in years to come, the Pino­chet generation spoke with a tone of defiant triumphalism about the transition to democracy, and one group of military authors cast the sixteen-­year dictatorship as entirely consistent with the ebb and flow of Chile’s po­liti­cal history, stretching back to colonial captain generals who had governed a forbidding country with hostile Indians. The armed forces, said Augusto Pino­chet in a speech to military cadets on Sep­tem­ber 17, 1990, enjoyed a his­tori­cal mandate to periodically direct the state’s evolution because they had created the nation-­state: “From the time of the conquest, men of arms led, controlled, and promoted the establishment of a new society.”4 This chapter examines the ideas espoused by officers at the conclusion of military rule. In 1990 the armed forces shared a conviction their institutions had modernized the country for everyone, not just a particular social or po­liti­cal group. Critics saw things quite differently: the military had terrorized a segment of society, clung to power, and imposed a harsh capitalist model. Such disparate narratives speak to the scars and deep divisions in Chilean society.

The 1988 Plebiscite In 1987 most opponents of the military government conceded that popu­lar mobilization was unlikely to push the regime from power. The government’s coalition was simply too powerful and too durable. The failed attempt on Augusto Pino­chet’s life in 1986 had magnified the dictator’s aura of invincibility, and the opposition camp agreed to participate in a constitutionally mandated plebiscite that could lead to a democratically elected civilian president. Agreeing to the regime’s constitutional timetable carried obvious risks. The junta would still control crucial aspects of any transition to democracy, and if Pino­chet won he would hold power until 1997.5 The military’s attitude toward this electoral event should be put into context. For years officers in each branch of the armed forces had publicly and privately stressed their “sacred commitment” to restoring democracy.6 However, the 1980 constitution did provide a legal mechanism for Pino­chet’s maintenance of power, and the dictator clearly wanted to remain president of the republic. Influential members of the Right recognized the imprudence of nominating a soldier rather than a civilian. Pino­chet may have enjoyed a stable base of popu­lar support, but he was far too polarizing to win a national election. Furthermore, the Right feared that an association with the dictator might undermine their parties’ national appeal.

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On August 30, 1988, the junta declared Pino­chet the government’s candidate in the upcoming plebiscite despite its misgivings. During the drafting of the 1980 constitution, the air force and navy had favored an open election rather than a plebiscite in 1988. The eventual compromise was that if Pino­chet won another eight-­year term of office, he would have to renounce his position as commander in chief of the army. Fernando Matthei and José Merino thought that eight more years of Pino­chet had all the makings of a volatile po­liti­cal situation with negative consequences for their respective institutions.7 Only the army high command actively supported Pino­chet’s intention to remain in power, a reality evidenced by the total silence in navy and air force journals from 1988 to 1989 on Chile’s po­liti­cal situation. In contrast, the army journal El Memorial del Ejército addressed the upcoming election and campaigned for Pino­chet as the only choice for the country’s stability.8 The opposition’s decision to accept the 1988 plebiscite came with drawbacks. The coalition that opposed Pino­chet, the Concertación de los Partidos por el NO (the Coalition of the Parties for a NO), took on a regime that enjoyed privileged access to channels of communication. The NO campaign would have to register millions of voters before the election (a major undertaking in and of itself ), convince voters that the election would not be rigged or result in violence, and mount an effective electoral campaign against a firmly entrenched regime. A survey of YES campaign propaganda (yes to eight more years of Pino­chet as president) presents a vision of what the regime thought it had accomplished: the transformation of Chile into a modern country with all the signs of progress—­ computers, fax machines, and modern consumer goods—that one might find in Europe or the United States. A comic strip described Santiago’s smog and traffic jams as visible reminders of the country’s dramatic progress since 1970. Vehicular congestion and air pollution were the happy problems of countries experiencing economic growth.9 The government proudly advertised the nation’s two-­tiered health-­care sys­ tem and market-­driven personal retirement savings accounts as examples of Chilean innovation and proof that Chile was ahead of the curve, not only in Latin America but also in the developed world in several respects. The NO campaign was quick to point out that for all the government’s talk of modernization, Chile retained a decidedly authoritarian po­liti­cal structure, quite unlike the West­ern nations its military leaders cited as points of reference. Since 1970 the number of private automobiles had increased fivefold, and the percentage of homes with television sets had nearly tripled. Similarly, washing machines, radios, and other domestic appliances had become far more abundant, not only in middle-­class homes but also in the homes of Chile’s poorest citizens. YES campaign materials highlighted the population’s access to consumer goods as a measure of national progress and emphasized the fact that Chile had

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diversified its export base to include salmon, wood pulp, fish meal, wine, and fruit, leaving behind the almost total dependence on copper. It might seem odd to glorify Chile’s place as a world leader in fish meal exports, but for the regime it demonstrated the achievement of an internationally competitive export economy, freed from dependence on a single commodity. The YES campaign slogan, “Chile: Country of the Future,” captures the regime’s claim that Chile represented a model of dynamism, efficiency, and global integration for Latin America. Many civilians shared this optimism.10 At the same time, the great economic transformation had clear winners and losers. The benefits of growth had not been evenly distributed. Aggregate poverty substantially increased from 1973 to 1988 among Chile’s lower-­middle class (especially former public-­sector employees) and the organized working class. Some pre-­1973 landholders and industrialists lacked the business savvy to succeed in the new order, and they saw their fortunes decline. The country’s real winners were concentrated in financial services. The bottom 10 percent, Chile’s most impoverished citizens, actually saw modest economic gains, too. NO campaign propaganda portrayed a very different society emerging from military rule, one that sociologist Eugenio Tironi described as fundamentally bifurcated into a modern globally integrated sector and a marginalized majority looking to the state for help. Some Chileans enjoyed a standard of living similar to that in the developed world, but millions more remained excluded from the process of modernization and unable to access the fruits of neoliberal free­dom.11 YES campaign propaganda frequently cited Chile’s infant mortality rate, the lowest in Latin America by 1988, as evidence of the regime’s success in ameliorating extreme poverty. This achievement had come about as a result of targeted social spending on prenatal care, milk programs, and assistance to groups living in extreme poverty and is partly why pinochetistas could be found among Mapuche Indians, shantytown dwellers, and the rural poor: they all thought the dictatorship had responded to their needs in ways that democratic governments never had.12 In contrast, the regime had shown contempt for the organized, po­ liti­cally articulate working class, which it considered hopelessly ideological and his­tori­cally pampered. The NO campaign promised to do more for those who had suffered under economic restructuring. YES campaign materials warned voters not to be duped by promises and demagoguery—development was an inherently slow process. The poor could not expect sudden improvements in their standard of living. Social progress could be achieved only within the realities of the nation’s market economy. YES campaign propaganda framed Pino­chet as the paternal fig­ure who stood above politics, never made unrealistic promises to the poor, and was always concerned with their well-­being. He was a protector of the nation who had avoided

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destructive wars with Argentina and Peru and had kept the country safe from Marxism. Accordingly, Pino­chet alone had the foresight and steadiness to ensure peace, stability, and social improvements for all Chileans. In pub­lic he spoke of Marxism’s persistent threat. Voting no, then, would plunge the nation into a repeat of the po­liti­cal polarization and economic chaos of the late Allende period: street protests, ration cards, factory seizures, class conflict, inflation, and breadlines. YES campaign propaganda presented the plebiscite as a black and white choice, a fork in the road between two opposing trajectories, one of regressive doom and the other of orderly development that only Pino­chet could provide. YES campaign alleged that the NO campaign contained cells of committed Marxists who would hijack a democratic victory to pursue their revolutionary aims and sow disorder. The NO campaign effectively counteracted the apocalyptic vision with an alternative image of a diverse, open, and unafraid democratic nation. Making outstanding use of new techniques in mass entertainment and communication, the NO campaign projected a positive vision of the future while the YES campaign focused on negative memories of the past and the need for continuity, order, and material progress. While YES campaign television advertisements replayed footage of street protests and breadlines from the Allende years, NO campaign advertisements imparted a sense that the country was on the cusp of recuperating the rule of law and a lost space for creative self-­expression. The NO campaign’s catchy slogan, “Chile, Happy Days Are Ahead,” captured this message.13 Overall, the competitiveness of the contest and the free­dom of dissidents to insult and attack Pino­chet’s government says something important about the constitutional nature of the dictatorship.

The Vote and Its Aftermath As the 1988 plebiscite drew near, observers worried about the potential for electoral fraud. If the NO campaign won, would the regime respect the results? Pino­ chet, after all, always seemed to win his po­liti­cal battles. Powerful internal factors worked to ensure a fair election, however. The navy and air force insisted on a legitimate election, and Chile’s constitutional tribunal guaranteed equal media time on television for the NO and YES campaigns in Sep­tem­ber. In addition, the US government and other international observers put pressure on the regime to hold a clean contest.14 Pino­chet and the junta knew that the world was watching. On Oc­to­ber 5, 1988, nearly four million Chileans voted no, representing 56 percent of the electorate. Pino­chet lost, but he did not concede right away. That evening the junta gathered to discuss the situation, and on his way into La Moneda Palace General Matthei deliberately told assembled reporters, “It seems to me the NO has won.” Inside the presidential palace he, Rudolfo Stange, and

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José Merino raised the issue of moving up the date for open presidential elections. Pino­chet shot back, “I’m not going anywhere.” Everyone understood the dictator’s intentions and stratagems. He could accuse communists of disturbances, seize the capital, and try to nullify the recent election. “We’re defeated, but with honor,” Matthei said. Merino added that violating the constitution would turn an honorable defeat into a shameful one. After other exchanges, Pino­chet instructed one of his aides to pass out a prepared document granting Pino­chet the authority to command the entire armed forces in the event of an emergency. Stange, Matthei, and Merino flatly refused to sign.15 Unlike in 1974, the junta decisively blocked Pino­chet’s ambitions. The plebiscite was a defeat for Pino­chet and his most committed supporters, but it was a defeat with qualifications. In 1990 Pino­chet could claim to have accomplished the origi­nal mission: he was handing power to an elected civilian in the context of a protected democracy. Moreover, three million citizens, or 44 percent of the electorate, had actually voted to grant Pino­chet eight more years in office. These citizens were neither mere dupes of government propaganda nor representatives of Chile’s wealthy and conservative groups. Pino­chet enjoyed a popu­ lar base of support, cross-­class appeal, and the ability to mobilize supporters with a passion and an intensity equal to that of his opposition. While the NO campaign had mobilized fifteen thousand volunteers to knock on doors and encourage people to register for the plebiscite, thousands of right-­wing women had gone door-­to-­door reminding mothers about the breadlines and the disorder of the UP era, encouraging them to vote yes.16 Pino­chet’s electoral support was not overwhelmingly rural, urban, or concentrated in specific regions. Tomás Moulian described the 1988 plebiscite as a Faustian bargain and a win-­ win situation for the regime. Pino­chet stepped down as president, but his constitution and laws remained secure. By accepting the plebiscite, civilian leaders had accepted the prevailing institutional order that allowed Pino­chet to remain commander in chief of the army until 1998, at which point he would become a lifetime senator, immune to legal prosecution for any crimes he had committed during the dictatorship.17 Did Pino­chet really lose in 1988? The extent to which the US State Department and other external participants influenced the outcome of the plebiscite mirrors the events of 1970 to 1973. The po­liti­cal outcomes of both periods were largely the result of an internal process directed by Chileans. Chile’s constitutional tribunals insisted on the transparency of the elections. General Matthei assured the opposition that the plebiscite would be free and fair. The junta’s members did not want Pino­chet to subvert the constitutional process they had labored to create.18 The role played by Chileans in the transition to democracy stands out above that of all the external forces. The junta was accustomed to weathering pressure

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from Wash­ing­ton, the United Nations, and West European governments. It had done so multiple times before. What mattered in 1988 was the will of the junta, the electorate, and the constitutional tribunals. Merino and Matthei refused to let Pino­chet annul the vote; they saw his illegal presence in power as a threat to their services’ institutional interests.

The New Nonnegotiable Role In the wake of Pinochet's defeat in the 1988 plebiscite, po­liti­cal commentators spoke of Chile’s happy return to democracy and the armed forces’ return, at long last, to their traditional role as professional, nondeliberative organs of state. From this perspective, Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, was an unfortunate rupture in an otherwise progressive democratic trajectory. Pino­chet’s critics wrote about doing away with certain provisions in the 1980 constitution, such as lifetime appointments to the Senate—which all army, navy, and air force commanders in chief received—or the president’s inability to remove military chiefs. The official army response to this talk was immediate: there would be no changes to the established institutional structure. “The constitution of 1980, supported and approved by a majority of all Chileans in a secret, free, and informed vote, had restored ‘authentic’ democracy.”19 The po­liti­cal climate in the transition period precluded any thoughtful reflection on the military regime’s mistakes. Immunity from crimes committed during the dictatorship clearly depended on circumscribed courts and civilian leaders. Major Eduardo Aldunate wrote on the subject of civil-­military relations, and he reserved his sharpest attack for the whole notion that Chile had ever been a “model democracy.” In reality, Chilean elites had built a formal democracy that responded to pressure groups and oligarchs but did little to incorporate ordinary citizens into civic life. Moreover, the military had undertaken three major interventions in the po­liti­cal sys­tem from 1891 to 1973. After two of those interventions, 1925 and 1980, new constitutions were promulgated. Chile was actually like other developing nations; it only appeared exceptional by comparison to its more disorderly neighbors. “In general, Chile has been a slave of its own myth: that of the exemplary democracy, which, in our judgment, is one of the many reasons there was such a vigorous external condemnation of events on Sep­ tem­ber 11, 1973.”20 Departing from the premise that Chile suffered from many of the same problems as other countries in the Third World, Aldunate distinguished between the professional roles of militaries in the developed and the developing world. In developed countries, soldiers focused exclusively on external defense. In Latin America, Africa, and Asia, professional soldiers had to prepare for conventional battle but also protect the nation from a constellation of internal threats.21 In

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the social democracies of West­ern Europe such an expanded role would be unthinkable, but European societies did not face domestic problems similar to those in the Third World, and civilian leaders were not forced to rely on the armed forces to resolve domestic conflict. It was a case of comparing apples to oranges. In Chile and other developing countries, civil authorities used military force, legitimately, during national emergencies but also to ensure orderly elections and neutralize acts that threatened internal stability. Colonel Carlos Molina Johnson also wrote extensively on the issue of civil-­ military relations during the transition. He made clear that the armed forces would not return to the barracks, as some citizens seemed to expect, as if nothing had happened the last sixteen years. Soldiers would not allow civilians to destroy the social, po­liti­cal, and economic model the military regime had created, nor would soldiers become a neutral instrument of civilian leaders, indifferent to all ideologies. The 1980 constitution had redefined military participation in the po­ liti­cal sys­tem such that “the moment the nation’s permanent values or its institutional regulations become endangered, clearly regulated legal channels now exist to permit the armed forces to participate in matters that demand their action.”22 The military had a constitutional obligation to ensure the system’s survival. Thus “the armed bodies of the republic, by the simple effect of their constitutional authority, now assume a leading role. The role of spectators, or sporadically of actors, is over.”23 Molina offered two primary reasons for a constitutionally established role. First, officers had been playing a de facto role in the evolution of Chile from Spanish conquistador Pedro de Valdivia to early republican presidents like ­Bernardo O’Higgins and Manuel Bulnes to twentieth-­century presidents like Carlos Ibáñez and Augusto Pino­chet. As members of the nation’s most patriotic institution, they embodied the nation’s values and were prepared to provide leadership at crucial moments and deal with internal disorder. Second, civilian leaders had a history of using the armed forces to resolve po­liti­cal turmoil. During the parliamentary repub­lic (1891–1924), elected leaders sent the military to crush industrial strikes by exploited workers while also refusing to enact progressive social legislation. Molina correctly pointed out that from 1932 to 1973, every civilian government used the armed forces to resolve internal conflicts. Civil authorities sent military officers to govern provinces during national emergencies and used them to negotiate with striking workers.24 When societal consensus broke down in 1973, politicians of every ideological stripe looked to soldiers as arbiters, even though the very same politicians might subsequently declare their opposition to military interventions. Recognizing these patterns, Pino­chet’s military government, unlike its predecessor in 1924, had enshrined the role of the armed forces in the life of the nation to obviate the need for any further interventions. Molina did not deny the existence of military conspiracies in the past. What

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he drew attention to was “the use of military force by po­liti­cal leaders, as the instrument to solve internal conflicts.”25 Given this history, he said, it was unacceptable to exclude the armed forces from the po­liti­cal system, unacceptable for them to suffer the ire of po­liti­cal elites who caused ruptures of national consensus but then asked the armed forces to intervene when institutional breakdowns occurred. Molina had a point. In the twentieth century Chile’s po­liti­cal class had never viewed the military as a neutral organ of state. Civilians of every po­liti­cal stripe had sought military participation when po­liti­cal consensus broke down in 1891, 1924, and 1973. One army general said simply, “Civilians are the ones who come knocking on barracks doors, not the other way around.”26 Both Aldunate and Molina wanted civilians to concede that civilians, not officers, created the conditions forcing military interventions in 1891, 1924, and 1973. The authors insisted that ambition and egotism did not motivate soldiers; rather, duty and patriotism motivated them to carry out legitimate missions of institutional stabilization, which had saved the country from collapse on multiple occasions. Civilians owed the military respect and gratitude, not hostility. Aldunate insisted that a positive civil-­military relationship depended on contact and cooperation but also reciprocal understanding and confidence. Civilian leaders had to accept that Chile had never been an exemplary democracy and that the nation’s soldiers had made valuable contributions to the country’s institutional development. If civilians tried to circumscribe the armed forces’ role strictly to external defense, problems were likely to emerge. The 1980 constitution’s establishment of the National Security Council, wrote Aldunate, created a legitimate channel for military participation in the life of the nation that ensured a healthy civil-­military relationship. Such a mechanism would negate the need for the armed forces to intervene in the po­liti­cal system.27 As such, civilians needed to recognize this type of institutional structure as his­tori­cally legitimate, not undemocratic. Molina and Aldunate dispelled certain myths about Chilean democracy, but they did not address a number of inconvenient facts. Sixteen years of a highly personalist military dictatorship was entirely inconsistent with Chilean history. The repub­lic had never been so estranged from civilian rule or so dominated by a single personality. According to the military’s own his­tori­cal imagination, Diego Portales had established the principle of impersonal authority. Pino­chet may have reestablished authority, but it was hardly impersonal. Portales was also famous for creating civil militias to check the army’s ambition. Similarly, there was a great deal that was unique about the 1973 intervention. Some aspects of it paralleled the 1924 intervention, but many others did not. The repression of the Pino­chet regime had no his­tori­cal precedent, and there was no reflection on the long-­term consequences of military rule for national unity. Tens of thousands had been tortured, and several thousand citizens had simply disap-

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peared. Finally, these authors avoided the complicated legacy of the Ibáñez dictatorship (1927–1931) and its poisonous consequences for civil-­military relations.

Polarized Perceptions In 1989 Rafael Valdivieso, a civilian regime supporter, wrote that the military had given birth to a stable and increasingly prosperous society from the ashes of a ruined one.28 Outgoing Interior Minister Carlos Cáceres agreed. The military government had restructured society for the good of all its citizens, deterred external enemies, and confronted the menace of internal enemies who wished to overthrow the existing order. Furthermore, the military regime had achieved all these things while being maligned abroad and subject to hostile acts by enemies like Cuba that sent arms to irregular armies inside Chile.29 Who could deny these enormous achievements? thought Valdivieso and Cáceres. Colonel Germán Garcia claimed that the construction of the Carretera Austral highway (completed in 1988) compared in his­tori­cal consequence to President Manuel Bulnes taking possession of the Strait of Magellan in 1842. This “titanic undertaking,” wrote Garcia, represented “Chile’s most transcendental effort in the entire century to overcome and modify nature.”30 By connecting isolated territories to the nation’s heartland, the highway laid a basis for future human settlement, strengthened Chilean sovereignty over the region, and blocked Argentina’s ability to expand. At the start of the 1990s Mexico’s and Brazil’s economic miracles had sput­ tered  along with Venezuela’s oil boom and Argentina’s military power. Latin America’s fragile democracies appeared weak. In the 1980s every Latin Ameri­can country had suffered financial crises and bloated external debts, but Chile, wrote Major René Meza, was different. Its national power was on the rise.31 Compared to the economies in just about every other country in Latin America, Chile’s economic prospects did in fact look brighter. Society’s perceptions of the recent past, however, were polarized and future civilian-­military relations promised tension. The army preferred to see the criticisms of the outgoing government as attacks originating from a small minority of professional politicians and revolutionaries, not the Chilean people. In 1990 an editorial in the army journal El Memorial opined, “It is increasingly clear that the country maintains a healthy affection for its military organizations.” Another proclaimed, “Today, Chile is a society, endowed with all the necessary elements to become a developed nation. Why not recognize, without false humility, that it was possible thanks to the armed forces?”32 At the start of 1990 Pino­chet initiated a monthlong tour of the coun­ try. This was his victory lap. Representatives from every regional capital spoke about the regime’s accomplishments in front of a MISSION ACCOMPLISHED ban­ner.33 Soldiers received medals with the image of a woman breaking free of

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shackles and the inscription MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. The opposite side of the medal read THE FATHERLAND IS ABOVE OUR LIVES. From the army’s view, a small number of enemies motivated by the desire for revenge were criticizing the outgoing government. In fact, a majority of Chilean citizens thought the regime had held on to power too long and had employed too much repression. In 1973 the junta had promised to depoliticize the country and achieve national reconciliation. In 1990 those goals had clearly gone unmet. Old po­liti­cal identities had survived the dictatorship, and state terrorism had irreparably wounded the national community both spiritually and physically. The military’s legacy would be decidedly ambiguous and contradictory.

An Uneasy Transition On March 11, 1990, Augusto Pino­chet handed the presidential sash to Christian Democrat Patricio Aylwin Azócar. Aylwin urged Pino­chet to abdicate, saying, “I’m not happy with you continuing as commander in chief of the army.” The old general replied, “Well, you may not be happy, but the constitution put me here.”34 Aylwin—like his successor, Eduardo Frei Ruiz-­Tagle—lacked the authority to unseat Pino­chet, nor could he alter the existing constitutional structure; initiating legal action against officers accused of crimes risked an institutional crisis. Civilians had to tread carefully; their control of the po­liti­cal sys­tem would have to wait. Just ten days after the handover of the government to civilians, militants from the FPMR entered the office of Gustavo Leigh and shot him in the face, abdomen, arms, and eye. Miraculously, he survived. Soon after, FPMR militants kidnapped the son of Augustín Edwards, the owner of the conservative El Mercurio newspaper, and held him prisoner for six months until the authorities rescued him from an FPMR safe house. On April 1, 1991, FPMR militants assassinated Jaime Guzmán, one of Pino­chet’s key advisors. These acts of vengeance symbolized the persistence of the Cold War in Chile, and from a military point of view they demonstrated exactly why the country needed a protected democracy. The collapse of the Soviet Union in the sec­ond half of 1991 took just about everyone by surprise. The Chilean Communist Party continued to exist, but it exercised little of its former electoral or cultural relevance in a po­liti­cal sys­tem designed to marginalize it. The increasingly anachronistic FPMR dissolved completely in 1997. The stated justification for many of the 1980 constitution’s most controversial features, such as the National Security Council, had been to protect the country from the institutional threat of Marxism. After 1991 that rationale lost its force. Until Pino­chet’s detention in Lon­don in 1998, the council served principally to protect military officers from being prosecuted for crimes committed during the dictatorship.

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Figure 14. Augusto Pino­chet (left) with his successor, Patricio Aylwin Azócar. (Courtesy of the Biblioteca del Congreso Nacional de Chile, CC-­BY-­SA-­3.0)

Shortly after his inauguration as president, Aylwin established the National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation, chaired by Raúl Rettig, to document human rights violations that had taken place during military rule. Six months later the commission issued the Rettig Report, which determined that at least 2,279 people had been killed for po­liti­cal reasons during the Pino­chet dictator­ ship.35 Army leaders angrily accused the report of failing to assign principal blame to the po­liti­cal groups that had created the conditions precipitating military intervention. The armed forces had used violence only to safeguard the nation from grave internal threats. Extremists, they said, bore responsibility for the institutional breakdown. Taking the Rettig Report as an attack on the honor of the army, El Memorial’s editors insisted that the report ignored the legitimate reasons for repression or the patriotic motives of officers who intervened: “We mustered a legitimate response to a real threat to the nation rooted in patriotism . . . the armed forces did not seek the po­liti­cal role his­tori­cal imperatives obliged them to assume in 1973.”36 Furthermore, military leaders saw the Rettig Report as divisive, having the opposite effect of fostering national reconciliation because it opened old wounds. The po­liti­cal violence from 1964 to 1990 belonged to an unfortunate part of the nation’s recent past, which everyone would be better off forgetting in the name of national unity. However, this position illustrates a fundamental contradiction of the regime dating back to its inception. The regime

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pledged to restore national unity yet simultaneously carried out a purge of the po­liti­cal sys­tem that involved murder and torture. The military could not undo this contradiction. The Pinochet regime was a peculiar twentieth century dictatorship, not so much for its anti-communism or application of violence. What made the dictatorship so distinctive was the degree to which it drew support from diverse sectors of society and the degree to which constitutional structures limited the dictator while simultaneously affording dissidents certain liberties after 1980. Pinochet's power was both broad and bound by rules. Crucially, General Pinochet enjoyed the backing of a disciplined military establishment that agreed on the essential legitimacy of the 1973 coup that overthrew Salvador Allende. From 1973 to 1990 a generation of Chilean officers served a government that survived diplomatic isolation, arms embargoes, threatening neighbors, and massive domestic protests. Officers agreed that they had patriotically led the country through a perilous time, when it was under siege and beset by hostile forces everywhere: regional adversaries, domestic enemies, and Soviet imperialism. Uneasi­ ness accompanied the transition to democracy, but the armed forces handed power to civilians from a position of strength. Preexisting aspects of Chilean military culture—apo­liti­cal professionalism, respect for hierarchy, and constitutionalism—played a central role in the resilience and longevity of the Pino­chet regime as well as its ultimate conclusion. The junta’s cohesion and agreement on key issues enabled the regime to weather internal and external crises as well as blunt the ambitions of Pino­chet. Another major source of strength was the simple fact that a sizable part of the general population believed that the armed forces had saved the nation. José Merino said to journalist Raquel Correa, “I did not stage any coup. We made a change of government because the citizens asked for it. Excluding the Socialist Party and Communist Party, the rest of the nation wanted it.”37 Indeed, a majority of the country wanted Allende overthrown in 1973, although few if any Chileans could have imagined the duration or repressiveness of the coming dictatorship. Soldiers transformed the nation and the state. They also left power deeply isolated from a large segment of the civilian population.

Epilogue

Before retiring from active duty Augusto Pino­chet said, “The army does not move a feather if unmolested. The lion sleeps peacefully, but when attacked it becomes angry.  .  .  . It would be best to leave the army and the armed forces alone.”1 From 1990 to 1998, the aging dictator stood above the transition to civilian rule as a symbol of the past half century’s violence and division. Soldiers did not face criminal proceedings as long as Pino­chet remained the army’s commander in chief. For most of the 1990s the Chilean economy grew at an average of 6 percent per year, and civilians did not alter the macroeconomic structure established by the junta. In the same period, successive center-­left governments reduced the country’s poverty rate to his­tori­cal lows, and today Chile is Latin America’s most developed country. In fact, the 2013 UN human development report ranked Chile alongside Portugal and Hungary, based on factors such as per capita income, life expectancy, and educational attainment. Apologists for the Pino­chet regime are quick to point out these facts. A retired army colonel with whom I spoke chastised former revolutionaries from Chile’s Socialist Party who prospered under the new market conditions. These “bourgeois socialists,” he said, brought the country to ruin, went into exile, and returned to benefit from what the military had built in their absence. ­Julio Canessa said something similar: “My military generation assumed the challenge of rebuilding a country consumed by hate and demagoguery. We restored the country’s unity, lifted it up, and gave it the tools to move forward. Mission accomplished and good-­bye. Others will be the ones to reap what we sowed.”2 In No­vem­ber 1998 Pino­chet traveled to Lon­don for medical treatment at a private clinic. While he was there, Judge Baltasar Garzón requested the dictator’s extradition to Madrid on the charge of murdering Spanish nationals. To the surprise of the world, British authorities actually detained Pino­chet, and legal proceedings unfolded for more than a year. Under house arrest Pino­chet published “A Letter to Chileans,” in which he spoke of the twentieth century’s violence,

Epilogue / 217

world wars, and ideological extremism. This his­tori­cal era, he wrote, presented a stark and unavoidable choice between two ideologically opposed camps: one based on respect for human dignity and West­ern values, and the other based on class struggle, atheistic materialism, and the enslavement of individuals to the state. In this clash of civilizations, he explained, the Chilean people had called on the nation’s armed forces to overthrow Salvador Allende and reject the Marxist path. Soldiers, he asserted, had patriotically assumed this moral responsibility. Two months later a group of left-­leaning historians issued a rebuttal, disputing any suggestion that Chile’s armed forces had received a mandate from the people in 1973. Rather, the military had acted as little more than an armed faction bent on destroying the Left.3 The two statements illuminated the enduring differences of interpretation about the period 1945 to 1990, especially over what caused the destruction of Chilean democracy and who bore the blame. Britain’s interior minister, Jack Straw, eventually declared Pino­chet medically unfit to stand trial and released him from custody in March 2000, but Pino­chet did not return home with his previous aura of untouchability. Chilean courts stripped him of immunity from prosecution. Pino­chet once said that he expected to meet his end at the hands of assassins; he never imagined living his remaining years in legal limbo or under house arrest. Even more harmful to his reputation was the evidence uncovered in 2004 that he and his family had secretly transferred millions of dollars to overseas bank accounts. This revelation forever damaged his claim to selfless patriotism. Since 2000, Chilean judges have tried dozens of retired officers for crimes committed during the dictatorship, and in 2005 civilians amended the 1980 constitution so that the president would have the authority to appoint military commanders. In 2004 army commander in chief Juan Emilio Cheyre spoke of abandoning the Cold War mentality that dominated institutional thought in the sec­ond half of the twentieth century. He wrote that the army had acted with absolute certainty in 1973 that its actions were serving the common good, but he added that the best intentions could not excuse human rights violations. Thus, “the Chilean army has made the difficult but irreversible decision to assume responsibility for all shameful and morally unacceptable acts [it committed] in the past.”4 Cheyre also wrote that the army was repositioning itself in Chilean society as a modern professional institution focused on the diverse threats of the twenty-­first century. He expressed his desire for the army to be perceived as an institution for all Chileans that valued human rights and collaborated with civilians. Soldiers, he said, were not a caste of citizens above civil society with the occasional obligation to correct their irresponsible compatriots. Cheyre was hardly uncontroversial among his colleagues, and some officers thought that his essay sullied the army’s honor and was an unwarranted acknowledgment of wrongdoing designed to please the nation’s left-­wing politicians.

218 / Epilogue

Despite all the po­liti­cal and legal drama since 1998, a simultaneous process of modernization has been unfolding. The Chilean military is transitioning to an all-­volunteer force with a high rate of female participation—approximately 15 percent of all personnel. The idea of female officers piloting combat helicopters would have been unthinkable not long ago. Today at least 10 percent of graduating officers in each armed service are women, and some years the rate is much higher, especially in the army and air force. Once a patriarchal institution of the highest order, Chilean women can aspire to the top ranks of the armed forces because they are no longer barred from training in combat weaponry.5 Chile’s military is now one of the most technologically advanced in South America, thanks to robust defense budgets. Until 2011 a constitutional provision reserved 10 percent of all revenue from the state copper company for defense. That money has been used to purchase German Leopard tanks, French Scorpène class submarines, Dutch frigates, and F-­16 fighter jets. Such acquisitions reflect Chile’s diversified arsenal, overall technical sophistication, and good relations with arms-­exporting states. In 2015 ENAER, Chile’s aviation industry, signed a cooperation agreement to jointly manufacture jet trainers with the Italian aerospace firm Alenia Aermacchi. There has also been a good deal of constructive cooperation between soldiers and civilian leaders despite periods of tension and disagreement. The biography of Chile’s first female president, Michelle Bachelet, recalls old wounds and shows how much has changed since 1990. The daughter of General Alberto Bachelet, Michelle grew up on military bases across the country, surrounded by the children of other officers. Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, changed everything. Air force leaders ordered the arrest and interrogation of her father, a Socialist Party sympathizer, for serving in Salvador Allende’s government. He died while in air force custody. After her own detention and torture the left-­wing Michelle fled into exile but returned several years later to complete medical school. The Bachelet family story, like the assassination of Carlos Prats in 1974, highlights some of the military’s most painful self-­inflicted wounds. Michelle Bachelet’s rapid rise to national prominence occurred after her appointment as defense minister in the administration of Ricardo Lagos (2000– 2006). Her qualifications to hold that cabinet position date back to the 1990s, when she enrolled in a course about military strategy at Chile’s National Academy of Po­liti­cal and Strategic Studies (Academia Nacional de Estudios Políticos y ­Estratégicos, or ANEPE), a creation of the military regime. After finishing at the top of her class, she won a scholarship to study at the College of Inter-­American Defense in Wash­ing­ton, DC. In many respects Bachelet embodies the type of civilian leader that Chilean officers had clamored for in the 1960s. Trained at ­ANEPE, she won acclaim for her ability to speak fluently with officers about security issues and long-­range modernization plans, in­clud­ing the integration of

Epilogue / 219

women into all branches of the armed forces. This type of mutual understanding suggests the potential for a more integrated model of civil-­military collaboration. With the end of the Cold War, officers no longer write about internal subversives linked to revolutionary movements in Havana or Moscow. Content found in the military’s professional journals reflects twenty-­first-­century security concerns: piracy, terrorism, drug smuggling, and international partnerships. A government white paper on defense aligned Chile’s security interests with advancing free trade, multilateralism, and hemispheric security. Peacekeeping missions express those foreign policy goals. Since 1990 Chile has contributed a small number of soldiers for UN missions in Cambodia, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Iraq, and East Timor. Most significant is that Santiago has deployed more than seven thousand soldiers to Haiti since 2004. That ongoing UN mission, led by Brazilian and Chilean commanders, has provided order and security while reconstruction efforts proceed. Chile also contributes peacekeepers to UN missions in Bosnia and Herzegovina. In Haiti and elsewhere the Chilean military enjoys a positive reputation for its professionalism. At home, pub­lic confidence in the carabineros recovered quickly after the dictatorship. Polls consistently show that a majority of Chileans hold the national police in high regard, which is noteworthy in a region where respect for police forces is of­ten low.6 In 2010 the armed forces provided relief and security to the parts of south­ern Chile affected by an 8.8-­magnitude earthquake and a subsequent tsunami, although a segment of the population expressed mixed feelings when civilian authorities gave the army control of several cities. The sight of armed troops patrolling streets where looting had occurred revived memories from the twentieth century. Augusto Pino­chet received none of the state honors afforded ex-­presidents when he passed away on De­cem­ber 10, 2006. Only military barracks flew the flag at half-­mast. President Bachelet accurately called Pino­chet a reference point of “division, hatred, and violence.” Some commentators dismissed him as just another Latin Ameri­can dictator who had enriched himself at the expense of his own people. Of course, Pino­chet’s legacy goes far beyond human rights violations and secret bank accounts. Between 2000 and 2011 the Chilean courts indicted 771 former state security agents of human rights crimes. Of these, 245 were convicted and sentenced. Of that total, 66 were serving jail sentences in Sep­tem­ber 2011.7 More recently, the Association of Relatives of the Po­liti­cally Executed brought two unsuccessful suits against Fernando Matthei, accusing him of criminal responsibility in the death of Alberto Bachelet. Surviving members of the Pino­chet generation generally view the legal proceedings against former officers as little more than po­liti­cal revenge. They might admit that their institutions committed crimes during the dictatorship, but that

220 / Epilogue

acknowledgment is tempered by a conviction that the Marxists struck first. That is, the Left must accept responsibility for dividing the country into friends and foes and for regarding liberal democracy as an obstacle toward the goal of constructing state socialism. General Matthei, who has repeatedly apologized for the air force’s misdeeds in the 1970s, summed up this perspective: “One must not forget that it was the Marxists who initiated a campaign of hatred and violence in a country where it did not exist before, and now they have been the ones allowed to judge the reaction to the hate they themselves created.”8 The Cold War’s legacy will linger in the memory of the institutions so attuned to their own traditions and history. Today’s generation of soldiers might agree that state-­sponsored torture can never be excused, but in light of the circumstances their services faced in 1973, the soldiers might also assert that absolute po­liti­cal neutrality is neither possible nor moral. In 1973 Chilean officers believed that their nation was on the cusp of a destructive civil war. Few if any officers from the Pino­chet generation would ever call into question the legitimacy or necessity of that fateful intervention.

Notes

Introduction 1. Frederick M. Nunn, The Military in Chilean History: Essays on Civil-­Military Relations, 1810–1973 (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1976), 305. 2. Eric Hobsbawm, The Age of Extremes: The Short 20th Century, 1914–1991 (Lon­ don: Abacus, 1994). 3. Edwin Dorn, Joseph J. Collins, William F. Ulmer, and Thomas Owen Jacobs. Ameri­can Military Culture in the Twenty-­First Century (Wash­ing­ton, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 2000), xviii. 4. María Eugenia Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet: Diálogos con su historia (Santiago: Editorial Sudamericana Chilena, 1999), 11; “Destiny Gave Me the Job,” Newsweek, March 19, 1984. 5. Tanya Harmer, Allende’s Chile and the Inter-­Ameri­can Cold War (Chapel Hill: North Carolina Press, 2011); Piero Gleijeses, Visions of Freedom: Havana, Wash­ing­ton, Pretoria, and the Struggle for South­ern Africa, 1976–1991 (New Chapel Hill: North Carolina Press, 2013). 6. John J. Johnson, The Military and Society in Latin America (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1964), 103–7, 250. 7. Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State: The Theory and Politics of Civil-­ Military Relations (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 1957), 1–58, 80–97; John J. Johnson, Po­liti­cal Change in Latin America: The Emergence of the Middle Sectors (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1958), 1–14. 8. Edwin Lieuwen, Arms and Politics in Latin America (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1960), 226–44. 9. José Nun, “The Middle-­Class Military Coup,” in Claudio Véliz, The Politics of Conformity in Latin America (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 1970), 66–118. 10. Guillermo A. O’Donnell, Bureaucratic Authoritarianism: Argentina, 1966–1973, in Comparative Perspective (Berke­ley: University of California Press, 1988). For an insightful critique of the assorted explanations for Latin Ameri­can militarism, see Alain Rouquié, The Military and the State in Latin America (Berke­ley: University of California Press, 1987), 1–16.

222 / Notes to Pages 6–8

11. Frank McCann, Soldiers of the Pátria: A History of the Brazilian Army, 1889–1937 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2004); Peter M. Beattie, The Tribute of Blood: Army, Honor, Race, and Nation in Brazil, 1864–1945 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001); Frederick M. Nunn, Chilean Politics, 1920–1931: The Honorable Mission of the Armed Forces (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1970). 12. Steve J. Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds: Memory Struggles in Pino­chet’s Chile, 1973–1988 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006); Florencia E. Mallon, Courage Tastes of Blood: The Mapuche Community of Nicolás Ailío and the Chilean State, 1906– 2001 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2005); Peter Winn, Victims of the Chilean Miracle (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004); Heidi Tinsman, Partners in Conflict: The Politics of Gender, Sexuality, and Labor in the Chilean Agrarian Reform, 1950– 1973 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2002); Margaret Power, Right-­Wing Women in Chile: Feminine Power and the Struggle against Allende, 1964–1973 (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2002); Patrick Barr-­Melej, Reforming Chile: Cultural Politics, Nationalism, and the Rise of the Middle Class (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001); Thomas Miller Klubock, Contested Communities: Class, Gender, and Politics in Chile’s El Teniente Copper Mine, 1904–1951 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998). In Chile the most influential monographs have had a similar focus on popu­lar subjects. Gabriel Salazar Vergara, Labradores, peones y proletarios: Formación y crisis de la sociedad popu­lar chilena del siglo XIX (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 2000); ­Rafael Sagredo and Cristián Gazmuri, Historia de la vida privada en Chile: El Chile tradicional; de la Conquista a 1840 (Santiago: Taurus-­Aguilar, 2013). 13. Mary Helen Spooner, Soldiers in a Narrow Land: The Pino­chet Regime in Chile (Berke­ley: University of California Press, 1994); Pamela Constable and Arturo Valen­ zuela, A Nation of Enemies: Chile under Pino­chet (New York: W. W. Norton, 1991); Steve J. Stern, Remembering Pino­chet’s Chile: On the Eve of Lon­don, 1998 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004). 14. See, e.g., Peter Kornbluh, The Pino­chet File: A Declassified Dossier on Atrocity and Accountability (New York: New Press, 2003); and Patricia Verdugo, Allende: Cómo la Casa Blanca provocó su muerte (Santiago: Catalonia, 2003). 15. Harmer, Allende’s Chile, 5–15; Kristian Gustafson, Hostile Intent: U.S. Covert Operations in Chile, 1964–1974 (Wash­ing­ton, DC: Potomac Books, 2007). 16. Carlos Huneeus, The Pino­chet Regime (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 2007); Robert Barros, Constitutionalism and Dictatorship: Pino­chet, the Junta, and the 1980 Constitution (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 1–9. 17. Verónica Valdivia Ortiz de Zárate, El golpe después del golpe: Leigh v. Pino­chet Chile, 1960–1980 (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 2003). 18. El Memorial del Ejército de Chile (bimonthly); Revista de la Marina (bimonthly); Revista de la Fuerza Aérea (quarterly). After 1973: Armas y Servicios, a journal for army noncommissioned officers and subaltern officers; Minerva, an air force journal dedicated to professional matters; Revista Chilena de Geopolítica; Seguridad Nacional. The latter subsequently changed its name to Política y Geoestrategia. I did not undertake a systematic review of the carabineros’ professional journal because its content was more narrowly

Notes to Pages 8–12 / 223

focused on the members’ marriages and obituaries rather than on the societal role of police forces, commentaries on history, national security, or international relations. 19. Estado Mayor General del Ejército, Historia del Ejército de Chile (Santiago: Ejército de Chile, 1980–1986), 8:35.

Chapter 1. Evolution of a Proud Tradition: Chile’s Armed Forces to 1931 1. Diegos Barros Arana, Historia general de Chile (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1999), 1:131–70. 2. Pedro Valdivia, Cartas de Pedro de Valdivia que tratan del descubrimiento y conquista de Chile (Santiago: Fondo Histórico y Bibliográfico José Toribio Merina, 1953), 42. 3. Guillaume Boccara, “Etnogénesis mapuche: Resistencia y restructuración entre los indígenas del centro-­sur de Chile (siglos XVI-­XVIII),” Hispanic Ameri­can His­tori­cal Review 79, no. 3 (1999): 425–61. 4. Alonso Góngora Marmolejo, Historia de todas las cosas que han acaecido en el reino de Chile y de los que lo han gobernado, 1536–1575 (Santiago: Ediciones de la Universidad de Chile, 1990), 115. 5. The story of the Mapuche Indians represents a striking counterpoint to general patterns of European conquest elsewhere in the Americas. For insight into what made these Native people different, see Robert Padden, “Cultural Adaptation and Militant Autonomy among the Araucanians of Chile” in The Indian in Latin Ameri­can History, ed. John E. Kicza (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1993), 69–88. 6. See Isabel Montt Pinto, Breve historia de Valdivia (Buenos Aires: Editorial Francisco de Aguirre, 1971). Valdivia, a city located in south­ern Chile, exemplifies the hardships in colonial Chile. The settlement suffered Dutch corsairs, devastating earthquakes, and regular attacks from Natives. 7. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 1:211. On the same page: “The [nation’s] military spirit is not an exclusive virtue of soldiers in the armed forces; every Chilean carries it in a potent and powerful form as a legacy of our ancestors.” 8. Arnold J. Bauer, Chilean Rural Society from the Spanish Conquest to 1930 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1975); Sergio R. Villalobos, Vida fronteriza en la Arau­ canía: El mito de la Guerra de Arauco (Santiago: Andres Bello, 1995). 9. Sergio Vergara Q uiroz, Historia social del Ejército de Chile (Santiago: Universidad de Chile, 1993), 22, 178, 215–16. 10. Mario Góngora, Ensayo histórico sobre la noción de estado en Chile en los siglos XIX y XX (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 2003), 71. The importance Góngora assigns to the Chilean frontier calls to mind Frederick Jackson Turner’s famous thesis about US development. See Frederick Jackson Turner, The Significance of the Frontier in Ameri­can History (Lon­don: Penguin, 2008). 11. Gregory Weeks, The Military and Politics in Post-­authoritarian Chile (Tuscaloosa: University of Ala­bama Press, 2003), 25. 12. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 1:211; Carlos Molina John­ son, Chile: Los militares y la política (Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1989); Eduardo

224 / Notes to Pages 13–18

Aldunate Herman, El Ejército de Chile, 1603–1970: Actor y no espectador en la vida nacional (Santiago: Comandancia en Jefe del Ejército, 1993); Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, “La participación del Ejército en la organización y desarrollo del estado de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 436, no. 3 (1990): 5–35. 13. Donald E. Worcester, Sea Power and Chilean Independence (Gainesville: University of Florida Press, 1962), 17–18. 14. Carlos López Urrutia, Historia de la Marina de Chile (Santiago: Andrés Bello, 1969), 59. 15. Rodrigo Fuenzalida Bade, La Armada de Chile desde la alborada al sesquicentenario (Santiago: Talleres Empresa Periodïstica “Aqui Esta,” 1978), 1:104–245. 16. Simon Collier, Ideas and Politics of Chilean Independence, 1808–1833 (Lon­don: Cambridge University Press, 1967), 257–58. 17. Jay Kinsbruner, Diego Portales: Interpretative Essays on the Man and His Times (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1967), 5. 18. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 27; Collier, Ideas and Politics, 7. 19. Francisco Acevedo Serrano, “El advenimiento de Don Diego Portales,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 107 (April–June 1968): 45–55. For a good criti­cal assessment of Portales, see Alfredo Jocelyn-­Holt Letelier, El peso de la noche: Nuestra frágil fortaleza histórica (Santiago: Editorial Planeta, 1998), 132. Letelier sees Portales as a dictator who developed a solution to the problem of authority in postcolonial Chile but not a legal framework of high ideals for all Chileans. He viewed the state as a tool to secure order for his own social class, not for establishing a his­tori­cal project. 20. Simon Collier and William F. Sater, A History of Chile, 1808–2002 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 71–124; Bauer, Chilean Rural Society, 50–57, ­140–41. 21. Collier and Sater, History of Chile, 103. 22. William F. Sater, Andean Tragedy: Fighting the War of the Pacific, 1879–1884 (Lincoln: Nebraska University Press, 2007), 27–43. 23. Ibid., 258–300. The Chileans lost 1,299 soldiers at Chorillos and Miraflores, with 4,144 wounded. Peru suffered a much higher casualty rate, approximately 10,000 dead and 5,000 wounded. 24. William F. Sater, The Heroic Image in Chile: Arturo Prat, Secular Saint (Berke­ ley: University of California Press, 1973); Editorial, “El ejemplo de Prat,” Revista de la Marina 640 (May 1964): 1–2; Editorial, “Proyección histórica del 21 de Mayo,” Revista de la Marina 646 (May 1965): 1–2. 25. Mario López Tobar, El 11 en la mira de un Hawker Hunter: Las operaciones y blancos aéreos de septiembre de 1973 (Santiago: Editorial Sudamericana, 1999), 46; Guillermo Izquierdo Araya, “Reflexiones históricas sobre la Guerra del Pacífico,” Revista de la Marina 731 ( July 1979): 498–506; Editorial, “El fin de una jornada,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 413, no. 2 (1983): 3–4. 26. William F. Sater, “Reflections on the War of the Pacific,” Bicentenario: Revista de Historia de Chile y América 4, no. 2 (2005): 5–15. 27. Alejandro San Francisco and Roberto Arancibia Clavel, eds., La Academia de Guerra del Ejército de Chile, 1886–2006: Ciento veinte años de historia (Santiago: Edi­

Notes to Pages 18–23 / 225

ciones Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2006); Editorial, El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 423, no. 3 (1986): 5–6; Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 8:35. 28. Alejandro San Francisco and Angel Soto, Un siglo de pensamiento militar en Chile: El Memorial del Ejército, 1906–2006 (Santiago: Ediciones Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2006), 12; Jorge Boonen Rivera, Ensayo sobre la geografía militar de Chile (Santiago: Imprenta Cervantes, 1902–1905). 29. Indalicio Téllez, Recuerdos militares (Santiago: Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2005), 33–112; Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 8:21, 141–42, 1­ 77–78. 30. William F. Sater and Holger Herwig, The Grand Illusion: The Prussianization of the Chilean Army (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1999); Enrique Brahm García, Preparados para la guerra: Pensamiento militar Chileno bajo influencia alemana, 1885– 1930 (Santiago: Ediciones Universidad Católica de Chile, 2003). 31. Roberto Arancibia Clavel, La influencia del ejército chileno en América Latina, 1900–1950 (Santiago: Centro de Estudios e Investigaciones Militares, 2002). Similarly, the Chilean Navy enjoyed such prestige that Colombia contracted Chilean officers to organize its Naval Academy in 1907. 32. Frederick M. Nunn, Yesterday’s Soldiers: European Military Professionalism in South America, 1890–1940 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1983); Frederick M. Nunn, “Emil Körner and the Prussianization of the Chilean Army: Origins, Process and Consequences, 1885–1920,” Hispanic Ameri­can His­tori­cal Review 50, no. 2 (1970): ­300–322. 33. Editorial, “Aniversario de la Academia de Guerra Naval y Especialidad de Estado Mayor,” Revista de la Marina 683 ( July 1971): 495–96. Fuenzalida, La Armada de Chile, 4:1063–66. 34. Fuenzalida, La Armada de Chile, 4:1325–26; Kenneth Pugh Gilmore, “Academia de Guerra Naval: Setenta años,” Revista de la Marina 744 (Sep­tem­ber 1981): 547–52. 35. Jacobo Neumann Etienne, “Discurso inaugural: Pronunciado por el Jefe del Estado Mayor General de la Armada,” Revista de la Marina 622 (May 1961): 366–74; ­Mario Barrios Van Buren, Historia diplomática de Chile, 1541–1938 (Barcelona: Ediciones Ariel, 1970), 51; Arnold J. Bauer, “Industry and the Missing Bourgeoisie: Consumption and Development in Chile, 1850–1950,” Hispanic Ameri­can His­tori­cal Review 70, no. 2 (1990): 227–53. The Spanish fleet bombarded Valparaíso on March 31, 1866, crippling the merchant marine and city infrastructure. 36. Pedro Romero Julio, “El dominio del mar,” Revista de la Marina 652 (May 1966): 307–22; Jorsef, “Presencia de Chile en los mares del oriente,” Revista de la Marina 674 ( Janu­ary 1970): 79–83; Caperol, “El mar como fundamento de nuestro desarrollo,” Revista de la Marina 679 (No­vem­ber 1970): 785–91. 37. Gustavo Díaz Feliu, “Influencia del mar en el desarrollo de Chile,” Revista de la Marina 616 (May 1960): n.p.; Editorial, “El porvenir de Chile está en el mar,” Revista de la Marina 668 ( Janu­ary 1969): 3–4; Patricia Arancibia Clavel, Conversando con Roberto Kelly V.: Recuerdos de una vida (Santiago: Editorial Biblioteca Ameri­cana, 2005), 117. 38. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 74–79; Sater and Herwig, Grand Illusion, 59–61. 39. Harold Blakemore, “The Chilean Revolution of 1891 and Its Historiography,” His-

226 / Notes to Pages 23–29

panic Ameri­can His­tori­cal Review 57, no. 4 (1977): 660–90. Dependency theorists viewed the civil war as a conflict between a nationalist president, who wanted to assert national control over the mines and bring new social groups into the po­liti­cal system, and Congress, which represented the aristocratic elites and erected an oligarchic sys­tem that responded to their interests alone. See, e.g., Michael Monteón, Chile in the Nitrate Era: The Evolution of Economic Dependence, 1880–1930 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1982). 40. Figures from Téllez, Recuerdos militares, 162. See also, Jorge Boonen Rivera, Par­tici­ pación del ejército en el desarrollo y progreso del país (Santiago: Imprenta y Encuademación El Globo, 1917). 41. Tobías Barros Ortiz, Vigilia de armas: Charlas sobre la vida militar, destinadas a un joven teniente (Santiago: Imprenta Universitaria, 1920), 48. The entire book is addressed to Barros Ortiz’s brother, Mario, who was an army cadet about to embark on a military career. 42. San Francisco and Soto, Un siglo de pensamiento militar, 19–21; Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejercito de Chile, 8:23. 43. Ronn Pineo and James A. Baer, Cities of Hope: People, Protests, and Progress in Urbanizing Latin America, 1870–1930 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1998), 200. 44. For a midcentury perspective on the Iquique Massacre, see Edmundo Gonzalez Salinas, “Repuesta al desafío del norte grande,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­ vem­ber 1964, 37–43. 45. Julio César Jobet, Recabarren: Los orígenes del movimiento obrero y del socialismo chileno (Santiago: Prensa Latinoamericana, 1955); Nunn, Chilean Politics, 12–18. 46. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejercito de Chile, 8:214; Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 121–22. 47. Harry Scott, Pensando el Chile nuevo: Las ideas de la revolución de los tenientes y el primer gobierno de Ibáñez, 1924–1931 (Santiago: Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2009), 21–25. 48. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 119–23. 49. Gonzalo Vial Correa, Historia de Chile, 1891–1973 (Santiago: Editorial Santillana del Pacífico, 1981–2001), vols. 3 and 4. 50. Scott, Pensando el Chile nuevo, 41–45, 118. 51. Ibid., 126–34. 52. Jorge Rojas Flores, La dictadura de Ibáñez y los sindicatos (1927–1931) (Santiago: Centro de Investigaciones Diego Barros Arana, 1993); Valdivia, El golpe después del golpe, 17–18. 53. Alberto Edwards, La fronda aristocrática: Historia política de Chile (Santiago: Editorial del Pacífico, 1959); Renato Cristi and Carlos Ruiz, El pensamiento conservador en Chile: Seis ensayos (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1992). 54. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 8:242. 55. Ernesto Medina Fraguera, Nuestra defensa nacional frente a la opinión pública (San­ tiago: Imprenta Benaprés y Fernández, 1941), 38. 56. Ejército de Chile, Familia aérea del Ejército de Chile: Historia de la aviación ejército en sus aeronaves (Santiago: printed by author, 2010), 9–14; Secretaria General de la

Notes to Pages 30–36 / 227

Comandancia en Jefe, Historia de la Fuerza Aérea de Chile (Santiago: Instituto Geográfico Militar, 1999), 1:81. 57. Máximo Errázuriz Ward, “Día de la Fuerza Aérea de Chile,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 106 ( Janu­ary–March 1968): 3–4; Secretaria General de la Comandancia, Historia de la Fuerza Aérea de Chile, 1:41, 447–50. 58. Patricia Arancibia Clavel and Isabel de la Maza Cave, Matthei: Mi testimonio (San­ tiago: La Tercera-­Mondadori, 2003), 109. 59. Rodolfo Martínez Ugarte, Historia de la Fuerza Aérea de Chile: 1913–1963 (Santiago: Fuerza Aérea de Chile, 1965), 1. Well into the 1960s the journal Revista de la Fuerza Aérea still featured obituaries of pilots who lost their lives on missions in the far south, where climatic conditions and the lack of infrastructure made air traffic perilous. 60. Empresa Editora Atenas, Las fuerzas armadas de Chile: Álbum histórico (Santiago: La Editora, 1930), 935–1007. 61. Diego Miranda Becerra, La policía y carabineros: Ensayos históricos y biográficos (Santiago: Concepción Visual, Arte y Diseño, 2004), 31–63; Alain Joxe, Las fuerzas armadas en el sistema político chileno (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1970), 67. 62. Ferene Fischer, El modelo militar prusiano y las fuerzas armadas de Chile, 1885– 1945 (Budapest, Hungary: Oxford University Press, 1999), 203–21. Hans von Kiesling, “Las experiencias de la guerra mundial y su importancia para el Ejército de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, March 1924, 335–53.

Chapter 2. First Years in Uniform, 1931–1945 1. Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, A Journey through Life: Memoirs of a Soldier (Santiago: Instituto Geográfico Militar, 1991), 27. 2. Victor Catalán Polanco, Los generales olvidados: Crónicas de un soldado desconocido (Santiago: Creacom, 2000), 21–26; Patricia Arancibia Clavel and Francisco Balart Páez, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert (Santiago: Editorial Biblioteca Ameri­cana, 2006), 32–33; Raquel Correa, Preguntas que hacen historia: 40 años entrevistando, 1970–2010 (Santiago: Catalonia, 2012), 23; Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 43. 3. Johnson, Military and Society, 110; Ismael Huerta Díaz, Volvería ser marino (Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1988), 1:17–18; Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 26; López, El 11 en la mira, 32–33. 4. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 32–39; ­Tobías Barros Ortiz, Recogiendo los pasos (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1984), 1:123, 127; Catalán, Los generales olvidados, 33; Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 61; Augusto Pino­ chet Ugarte, El día decisivo: 11 de septiembre de 1973 (Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1980), 17. 5. Catalán, Los generales olvidados, 57. 6. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 73–77; Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 154– 57; Alejandro Medina Lois, “Por qué quiero ser oficial,” Cien Águilas, no. 33 (1949): n.p. 7. “CORFO: La fórmula es participar,” Ercilla, Oc­to­ber 17, 1973; Barros, Recogiendo los pasos, 1:36; López, El 11 en la mira, 32–33. 8. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 66, 125; Cristobel Peña, “Exclusivo: Viaje al fondo

228 / Notes to Pages 36–41

de la biblioteca de Pino­chet” CIPER (Centro de Investigación e Información Periodística), De­cem­ber 6, 2007. 9. Tobías Barros Ortiz, Recogiendo los pasos (Santiago: Editorial Planeta, 1988), 2:11, 13. 10. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 279. 11. Collier and Sater, History of Chile, 223. 12. Barros, Recogiendo los pasos, 2:37; Luis Corvalán, De lo vivido y lo peleado: Memorias (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 1997), 17. 13. Carlos Prats González, Memorias: Testimonio de un soldado (Santiago: Pehuén, 1985), 59–60. 14. William F. Sater, “The Abortive Kronstadt: The Chilean Naval Mutiny of 1931,” Hispanic Ameri­can His­tori­cal Review 60, no. 2 (1980): 239–68. 15. Huerta, Volvería, 1:21. 16. Ibid., 1:394. 17. Patricio Manns, La revolución de la escuadra (Santiago: Ediciones ­Universitarias de Valparaíso, 1972); Germán Bravo Valdivieso, La sublevación de la escuadra y el período revolucionario, 1924–1932 (Santiago: Ediciones Altazor, 2000); Sater, “Abortive Kron­ stadt”; Fuenzalida, La Armada de Chile, 4:1174–75; Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 13:308; Carlos Tromben Corbalán, “The Chilean Naval Mutiny of 1931,” PhD dissertation, University of Exeter, Exeter, UK, 2010, 272–73. 18. Téllez, Recuerdos militares, 175. 19. “El consejo de guerra de San Felipe condenó a muerte a seis suboficiales del ‘Latorre,’” La Unión, Sep­tem­ber 18, 1931; “El fiscal pidió la pena de muerte para catorce suboficiales,” La Unión, Sep­tem­ber 24, 1931. 20. Tromben, “Chilean Naval Mutiny,” 259; Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 28. 21. “Los Comunistas tiñeron con sangre de humanos la fiesta divina de la paz,” El Amigo del País, De­cem­ber 25, 1931. 22. “Los luctuosos sucesos del viernes,” El Trabajo, De­cem­ber 27, 1931; “Una gran­ diosa manifestación de duelo público se exteriorizó en los funerales de los carabineros caídos en la refriega del viernes 25,” El Trabajo, De­cem­ber 29, 1931. 23. “Se ha descubierto un plan completo para establecer el Soviet en Vallenar,” El Amigo del País, De­cem­ber 30, 1931. According to this report, Vallenar was slated as the capital of the revolution because it was strategically located in the middle of Chile’s mining zone, inland and therefore safe from naval attacks, and in the midst of Antofogasta, Coquimbo, and Copiapó. 24. “Ante la verdad de los hechos y los acontecimientos últimos,” El Trabajo, Janu­ ary 5, 1932; “El asalto de un cuartel no es el efecto del hambre sino de la prédíca revolucionaria,” El Amigo del País, Janu­ary 6, 1932. 25. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 8:311; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 48; Actas de la Honorable Junta de Gobierno (AHJG), No. 14, June 16, 1983, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 26. Leonidas Bravo Rios, Lo que supo un auditor de guerra (Santiago: Editorial del Pacifico, 1955), 46–47; Paul W. Drake, Socialism and Populism in Chile, 1932–52 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1978).

Notes to Pages 41–48 / 229

27. Veronica Valdivia Ortiz de Zárate, La milicia republicana: Los civiles en armas, 1932–1936 (Santiago: Centro de Investigaciones Diego Barros Arana, 1992). 28. Huerta, Volvería, 1:26. 29. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 45; Bravo, Lo que supo, 54; Sergio Marras, Confesiones: Entrevistas de Sergio Marras (Santiago: Ornitorrinco, 1988), 97. 30. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 6:252–302. 31. Fuenzalida, La Armada de Chile, 4:1173–81; Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 8:306; Barros, Recogiendo los pasos, 2:15; Bravo, Lo que supo, 45. 32. Ismael Huerta Díaz, “El papel de las fuerzas armadas en el mundo de hoy,” Revista de la Marina 665 ( July 1968): 477–98. A central subject of this essay was actually Huerta’s reflections on plans for regional economic integration, which he regarded as inevitable and positive. 33. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 226–28; Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 74; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 41. 34. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 89. 35. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 87. 36. Florencia Varas, Conversaciones con Viaux (Santiago: Talleres Impresiones Eire, 1972), 49. 37. Genaro Arriagada Herrera, El pensamiento político de los militares (estudios sobre Chile, Argentina, Brasil y Uruguay) (Santiago: Centro de Investigaciones Socioeconó­ micas de la Compañía de Jesús en Chile, 1981), 34; Augusto Varas, Felipe Agüero, and F ­ ernando Bustamante, Chile, democracia, fuerzas armadas (Santiago: Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales, 1980), 78–86. These scholars believed that the Chilean armed forces lacked an official doctrine on their place in society from 1932 to 1973. As a result the Pentagon filled the ideological vacuum with its own national security doctrine. 38. Barros, Vigilia de armas, ii. 39. Ramón Cañas Montalva, “Crisis de tradiciones’rebelión de las masas,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1931, 611–14. 40. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 9:24. 41. Drake, Socialism and Populism, 82–266; Karin Alejandra Rosemblatt, Gendered Compromises: Po­liti­cal Cultures and the State in Chile, 1920–1950 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2000), 27–57. 42. Bravo, Lo que supo, 135–41; Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 242–44; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con Julio Canessa Robert, 27. 43. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 261–64. 44. San Francisco and Soto, Un siglo de pensamiento militar, 63. 45. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 9:49; Aguirre’s decrees for the Chilean-­ness Campaign can be found in Annex 1, 321–37. See also Barr-­Melej, Reforming Chile; Benjamin Subercaseaux, Chile o una loca geografía (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1973); and Oscar Pino­chet de la Barra, La antártica chilena: O, territorio chileno antártico (Santiago: Imprenta Universitaria, 1944). 46. Marras, Confesiones, 99. 47. Huerta, Volvería, 1:149–75. 48. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 87.

230 / Notes to Pages 48–57

49. Raúl Aldunate, “La guerra relámpago en Alemania,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, March 1940, 563. Cadets like Fernando Matthei and Julio Canessa, of German and Italian extraction, respectively, possessed certain sympathies with the Axis as a result of their ethnic backgrounds. 50. Varas et al., Chile, democracia, 104–5. 51. San Francisco and Soto, Un siglo de pensamiento militar, 60–70. 52. José Toribio Merino, “Miscelánea: Entrevista al comandante en jefe de la Armada de Chile,” Revista de la Marina 778 (May 1987): n.p. 53. Carlos Tromben Corbalán, La Armada de Chile desde la alborada al sesquicentenario hasta el final del siglo XX (Valparaíso, Chile: Imprenta de la Armada, 2001), 5:1569.

Chapter 3. The Gathering Storm: Postwar Politics and Institutional Frustration, 1945–1970 1. Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 23. 2. Ibid., 27–28; Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 128–38. 3. Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 72–77. 4. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 226. 5. Drake, Socialism and Populism, 281–90. 6. Brian Loveman, Chile: The Legacy of Hispanic Capitalism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 204; Jody Pavilack, Mining for the Nation: The Politics of Chile’s Coal Communities from the Popu­lar Front to the Cold War (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2011), 212–15, 231. 7. Brian Loveman and Elizabeth Lira, Las suaves cenizas del olvido: Vía chilena de reconciliación política, 1814–1932 (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 1999), 122, 124–25; Pavilack, Mining for the Nation, 258, 261. 8. Pavilack, Mining for the Nation, 266–77. The offshore islands used as detention centers included Q uiriquina (Concepción Bay), Santa María (Gulf of Arauco), and Daw­ s­on (near Punta Arenas). 9. “Envios de carbón extranjero, arribo de nuevos obreros y conscripción militar hicieron derrumbarse la huelga,” El Sur, Oc­to­ber 16, 1947. 10. “Los obreros de la mina de Schwager se apoderaron de ella y fueron desalojados,” El Sur, Oc­to­ber 22, 1947; “La gravedad potencial de lo ocurrido en Schwager precipitó ruptura con la URSS,” El Sur, Oc­to­ber 23, 1947; Pavilack, Mining for the Nation, 294. 11. “En manifestación ofrecida al Presidente de la República en Schwager, oradores rindieron homenaje a fuerzas armadas,” El Sur, No­vem­ber 4, 1947; “Crónica,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1947, 157–63. 12. Loveman, Chile, 217. 13. Bravo, Lo que supo, 185. 14. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 62; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 46. 15. Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 33–37; Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 133–38. 16. Carlos Huneeus, La guerra fría chilena: Gabriel González Videla y la ley maldita (Santiago: Debate, 2009), 16; Lessie Jo Frazier, Salt in the Sand: Memory and the Nation-­ state in Chile, 1890 to the Present (Durham, NC: Duke University Press), 11–17.



Notes to Pages 57–61 / 231

17. Editorial, “Reunión interamericana de comandantes en jefe de fuerzas aéreas,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 89 (April–June 1963): 3–4; Editorial, “El viaje del comandante en jefe de la Armada a los Estados Unidos,” Revista de la Marina 634 (May 1963): 3­ 51–52. 18. John Child, Unequal Alliance: The Inter-­Ameri­can Military System, 1938–1979 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1980). 19. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 9:84–85; see also Claude Gernade Bowers, Chile through Embassy Windows, 1939–1953 (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1958), 308–40. 20. Crónica Nacional, “Justa aspiración de Fuerza Aérea de Chile,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 65 (April–June 1957): n.p.; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 41. 21. Editorial, “Nuevo aniversario,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 72 ( Janu­ary–March 1959): n.p.; “La Fuerza Aérea de Chile condecora a dos amigos norteamericanos,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 75 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1959): n.p. 22. Brian Loveman, For la Patria: Politics and the Armed Forces in Latin America (Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources, 1999), 152; Joaquin Fermandois Huerta, Chile y el mundo, 1970–1973: La política exterior del gobierno de la Unidad Popu­lar y el sistema internacional (Santiago: Ediciones Universidad Católica de Chile, 1985), 89–93; Carlos Tromben Corbalán, Ingeniería naval: Una especialidad centenaria (Valparaíso, Chile: Imprenta de la Armada, 1989), 307. 23. Huerta, Volvería, 1:318. 24. Alberto González Martin, La última influencia: Efectos de la ayuda militar norte­ americana en el Ejército de Chile después de la Segunda Guerra Mundial (Santiago: Instituto Geográfico Militar, 2006), 9–10. 25. Ibid., 86; Tromben, La Armada de Chile, 5:1456, 1636. The general’s comment was made to me. 26. Horacio Arce F., “El Colegio de Guerra del Ejército de EE.UU.,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1957, 131–40; See also “Oficiales chilenos en fuerte Gulick,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1959, 148–50. 27. Sergio Arellano Stark, “Experiencias de un viaje a EE.UU. de N.A.,” 3-­part series, El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1958, 109–29, Janu­ary 1959, 131–45, and March 1959, 81–104. I refer here to Benedict Anderson’s idea of “pilgrimage,” in which the members of a group meet one another at an administrative center and discover their common interests and objectives, which create bonds that form the basis of an imagined community. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (New York: Verso, 1991). 28. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 88; see also Hellmuth Sievers C., “Operación oceano­grafica ‘Marchile I’ antecedentes y organización,” Revista de la Marina 616 (May 1960): 343–51. 29. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 132. Julio Canessa Robert had the same experience after his training mission in Italy. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General J­ ulio Canessa Robert, 60. Serving as a military attaché in neighboring South Ameri­can nations could also be financially beneficial. Cristián Labbé Galilea, Recuerdos con historia: Pino­ chet en persona (Santiago: Nuevo Extremo, 2005), 18; Arancibia, Conversando con ­Roberto Kelly, 110. 30. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 127.

232 / Notes to Pages 61–67

31. Ibid., 128–29; Arellano, “Experiencias de un viaje,” pt. 2. 32. Alfred C. Stepan, “The New Professionalism of Internal Warfare and Military Role Expansion,” in Authoritarian Brazil: Origins, Policies, and Future (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1973), 47–68. 33. School of the Americas, graduate database, http://www.soaw.org/; “US Army School of the Americas,” Military Review 4 (April 1970): 88–93. 34. The eleven officers were Manuel Contreras, Miguel Krassnoff, Olandier Mena, Manuel Rolando Mosqueira, Armando Fernandez Larios, Pablo Martínez Latorre, ­Sergio Espinoza Davies, Fernando Lauriani, Hugo Acevedo, Alfonso Faundez Norambuena, and Carlos Herrera Jimenez. The picture is different when we look at the school’s training of Central Ameri­can officers. According to Department of Defense investigations, from 1982 to 1991 the US Army distributed instructional manuals that accepted physi­ cal abuse, coercion, blackmail, and, indirectly, the execution of guerrillas. Dana Priest, “U.S. Instructed Latins on Executions, Torture,” Wash­ing­ton Post, Sep­tem­ber 21, 1996. 35. Ramón Salinas F., “La posición estratégica de Chile en la defensa del continente,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1947, n.p.; Julio von Chrismar Escuti, Geopolítica oceánica y austral: General Ramón Cañas Montalva (Santiago: Instituto Geográfico Militar, 2008); Howard Taylor Pittman, “Geopolitics in the ABC Countries: A Comparison,” PhD dissertation, Ameri­can University, Wash­ing­ton, DC, 1981, 1190–11. 36. Arturo Troncoso Daroch, “América Latina y su importancia para el bloque occidental,” Revista de la Marina 621 (March 1961): 131–54. 37. Prats, Memorias, 99–100; “The Inter-­Ameri­can Defense College,” Military Review 4 (April 1970): n.p. 38. Willard Leon Beaulac, Career Diplomat: A Career in the Foreign Service of the United States (New York: Macmillan, 1964), 27–31, 39. 39. Arancibia and de la Maza, Matthei, 121. 40. François Le Roy, “Mirages over the Andes: Peru, France, the United States, and Military Jet Procurement in the 1960s,” Pacific His­tori­cal Review 71, no. 2 (2002): 269– 300. 41. Andrew Barnard, “Chile,” in Latin America between the Second World War and the Cold War: Crisis and Containment, 1944–1948, eds. Leslie Bethell and Ian Roxborough (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 80; Pavilack, Mining for the Nation, 249. 42. Bravo, Lo que supo, 201–4; “Chile: The Plot That Failed,” Time, De­cem­ber 13, 1948. 43. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 59. 44. Ibid., 59–65; Prats, Memorias, 87. 45. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 80–81. 46. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 244–49. 47. Donald W. Bray, “Chilean Politics during the Second Ibáñez Government, 1952– 1958,” PhD dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles, 1961, 128–38. 48. Weeks, Military and Politics, 38; Augusto Varas and Felipe Agüero, El proyecto militar (Santiago: Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales, 1984). 49. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 139.

Notes to Pages 67–71 / 233

50. Augusto Varas, Los militares en el poder: Régimen y gobierno militar en Chile 1973– 1986 (Santiago: FLACSO, 1987), 15. 51. Benjamín Rattenbach, “Nuestra profesión militar,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 72 ( Janu­ary–March 1959): n.p.; Jacobo Neumann Etienne, “Discurso Inaugural: pronun­ ciado por el Jefe del Estado Mayor General de la Armada,” Revista de la Marina 622 (May 1961): 366–74; Hernán Hiriart Laval, “La política militar y la opinión pública,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1964, 15–19. 52. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 104. 53. Nicanor Díaz Estrada, “El problema del desarme latinoamericano,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 73 (April–June 1959). 54. René González Rojas, “Contribución económica de las FF.AA.,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Sep­tem­ber 1963, 9–24; Enrique Yavar Martin, “Reseña de la educación en el Ejército de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1968, 82–87; Eugen W ­ eber, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870–1914 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1976). 55. Editorial, “Labor cumplida,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 83 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1961): 5–7. 56. Fernando Olea Guldemont, “Guerra psicológica,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1962, 25–44. 57. Fernando Fernández Peréz, “La propaganda en el III Reich,” El Memorial del Ejér­ cito de Chile, May 1967, 12–26; Gustave Le Bon, The Crowd: A Study of the Popu­lar Mind (Lon­don: Ernest Benn, 1952). 58. Ernesto Hald Herrera, “La movilización y sus responsables,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1966, n.p.; Fernando Nicolas V., “Valoración de potenciales,” Revista de la Marina 678 (Sep­tem­ber 1970): 575–80. 59. Juan Barrientos Vidaurre, “La ciencia política y la seguridad nacional,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1967, 3–11. Barrientos thought the US government’s controversial attempt to create a social science model to assess the potential for violent, po­liti­cal upheaval in Chile and other Third World countries represented an exciting application of social science theory to a basic military problem. See Irving Louis Horowitz, The Rise and Fall of Project Camelot: Studies in the Relationship between Social Science and Practical Politics (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1967). 60. See, for example, Fernando Fernández Pérez, “Relaciones humanas,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Sep­tem­ber 1962, 3–12. 61. Enrique Lackington M., “Distribución del ingreso y moderación social,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1965, 63–78. Lackington was no socialist; he affirmed the importance of in­di­vidual initiative and the role of markets to reward innovation. 62. Prats, Memorias, 141; Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 97; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 68. 63. Tony Smith, “The Alliance for Progress: The 1960s,” in Exporting Democracy: The United States and Latin America, eds. Abraham F. Lowenthal and J. Samuel Fitch (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991), 71–89. For a review of US counterinsurgency strategy, see Brian Loveman and Thomas Davies, eds., The Politics of Antipolitics: The Military in Latin America (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1989), 163–78.

234 / Notes to Pages 71–76

64. “Divulgación en la Academia de Guerra,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1961, 2–10. 65. Ibid.; see also José Toribio Merino Castro, Bitácora de un almirante (Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1998), 53. 66. Eduardo Sepúlveda M., “Las relaciones públicas y las relaciones internacionales,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 88 ( Janu­ary–March 1963): 5–9. 67. Emilio Gonzalez Uriarte, “La Alianza para el Progreso,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1963, 87–98. 68. Tinsman, Partners in Conflict, 5–15, 173, 195. 69. Estado Mayor del Ejército, “La reforma agraria chilena,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1964, n.p. 70. Pedro Barbosa López, “La reforma agraria y el crecimiento demográfico de América Latina,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1964, 26–29. 71. Huntington, Soldier and State, 59–79. 72. Luis Valenzuela Reyes, “Misión de las fuerzas armadas y su participación en el ­desenvolvimiento normal de nuestra vida democrática,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1958, 22–36. 73. Luis Valenzuela Reyes, “Doctrina de mando,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1962, 11–24; Claudio López Silva, “Autoridad formal y liderato,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1970, 138–50. 74. Gustavo Carvallo G., “Reflexiones sobre la disciplina,” Revista de la Marina 632 ( Janu­ary 1963): 75–76; Sergio Fernández Rojas, “El hombre y la institución ejército,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1962, 3–10; Rolando Melo Silva, “El cumplimiento del deber militar,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1964, 3–13; Jorge Court Moock, “Libertad y disciplina,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1965, n.p. 75. Patricio Meller, The Unidad Popu­lar and the Pino­chet Dictatorship: A Po­liti­cal Economy Analysis (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), 62. 76. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 97–98. 77. Carlos Tromben Corbalán, “Cambios en el alto mando de la Armada de Chile: Un caso para el estudio de las relaciones civiles-­militares durante el gobierno de Eduardo Frei Montalva,” paper presented at the Center for Hemispheric Defense Studies, Santiago, Chile, Oc­to­ber 28–30, 2003; Prats, Memorias, 103. 78. Catalán, Los generales olvidados, 65; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 115; Marras, Confesiones, 124. 79. Marras, Confesiones, 39. 80. Roy Allen Hansen, “Military Culture and Organizational Decline: A Study of the Chilean Army,” PhD dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles, 1967; Prats, Memorias, 93–106; López, El 11 en la mira, 32–33. 81. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 104; López, El 11 en la mira, 48. 82. George C. Denny to the US secretary of state, “Military Unrest Serious, but Frei Administration Should Survive,” Oc­to­ber 3, 1969, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search .aspx. 83. Monica González, La conjura: Los mil y un días del golpe (Santiago: Ediciones Universidad Diego Portales, 2013), 30–34.

Notes to Pages 76–82 / 235

84. Varas, Conversaciones con Viaux, 95–96. 85. Ray S. Cline to the US secretary of state, “Chile: Causes of Army Discontent Seem Likely to Persist,” No­vem­ber 4, 1969, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx.

Chapter 4. Intellectual and Professional Formation, 1945–1970 1. Portions of this chapter origi­nally appeared in John R. Bawden, “Gazing Abroad, the Chilean Military’s Reading of International Events: Implications for Doctrine, Ideology, and Behavior, 1945–1975,” Latin Ameri­canist 56, no. 3 (Sep­tem­ber 2012): 5–30. 2. Marras, Confesiones, 125. 3. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 139, 212–13. 4. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 61–63; Correa, Preguntas que hacen historia, 28. 5. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 118; Labbé, Recuerdos con historia, 44. 6. See, e.g., Lesley Gill, The School of the Americas: Military Training and Po­liti­ cal Violence in the Americas (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2004); and Martha Knisely Huggins, Po­liti­cal Policing: The United States and Latin America (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1998). 7. Cristián Garay Vera, “En un entorno difícil,” in La Academia de Guerra del Ejército de Chile, 1886–2006: Ciento veinte años de historia, ed. Alejandro San Francisco and Roberto Arancibia Clavel (Santiago: Ediciones Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2006), 160–61. 8. Bernardo Parada Moreno, Polemología básica (Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1968), 51, 103–12. 9. René Álvarez Marín, “Conflagración en el medio oriente,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Sep­tem­ber 1970, 19–128. 10. Manuel Montt Martínez, La guerra: Su conducción política y estratégica (Santiago: Imprenta J. Cifuentes, 1955); Carlos Prats, “La conducción estratégica de una campaña en un teatro de operaciones,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1962, 15–83. 11. Florencio Zambrano Roman, “La base general nacional y la base general de las fuerzas armadas,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1966, n.p.; Guillermo Gómez, “Movilización, seguridad, economía de seguridad,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 108 ( July– Sep­tem­ber 1968): 3–9; Rubén Scheihing Navarro, “Prolegemónos sobre seguridad nacional,” Revista de la Marina 671 ( July 1969): 478–82. 12. “Solución política, no militar,” Ercilla, Sep­tem­ber 27, 1972; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 134. 13. Walter Dörner, “Formación académica en la Academia de Guerra,” in La Academia de Guerra del Ejército de Chile, 1886–2006: Ciento veinte años de historia, ed. Alejandro San Francisco and Roberto Arancibia Clavel (Santiago: Ediciones Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2006), 124. 14. González, La última influencia, 116–17. 15. Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 9:67–68. 16. Agustín Toro Dávila, “El conflicto Arabe-­Israelí,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Sep­tem­ber 1967, 15–47; Fernando Matthei Aubel, “La Guerra de los Seis Días,” Re-

236 / Notes to Pages 83–86

vista de la Fuerza Aérea 105 ( July–Sep­tem­ber 1967): 3–10; Luis Prussing Schwartz, “La Guerra Arabe-­Israelí,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1970, 45–80; René Álvarez Marín, “Conflagración en el medio oriente,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Sep­ tem­ber 1970, 19–128; Rene Álvarez Marín, “Análisis de la situación político—militar en el medio oriente,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile May 1971, 36–63. 17. Álvarez, “Conflagración en el medio oriente,” 125. 18. Julio von Chrismar Escuti, “Presencia de Naciones Unidas en el Canal de Suez en 1970,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 422, no. 2 (1986): 78–116; Edmundo González Salinas, “Operación ‘Gazelle’: La audaz ruptura que condujo al triunfo Israelí en la Guerra del Yom Kippur,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 422, no. 2 (1986): 68–77. 19. “Ecos del conflicto Indo-­Pakistano de 1965,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 125 ­(October–De­cem­ber 1972): 13–18. 20. Unlike in the 1965 war, however, India achieved an unqualified victory over Pakistan in 1971, forcing it to give up what would become Bangladesh. In service journals Chilean officers stressed that India had avoided the intelligence failures of the first war and effectively responded to Pakistan’s initial offensive with quick decisive blows. See “India y Pakistán: El otro conflicto de nuestros días,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 125 (Octo­ber– De­cem­ber 1972): 19–30. 21. Guillermo Gómez Aguilar, “Enseñanzas de la Guerra Indo-­Pakistana 1971,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 125 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1972): 31–37. 22. Pedro Ewing Hodar, “Experiencias artilleras de la Guerra Indo-­Pakistana,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1968, 133. 23. José Carlos Canete Petrement, “Guerra aérea total,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 93 (April–June 1964): 10–13; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 110. 24. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 68. 25. Roger Trinquier, Modern Warfare: A French View of Counterinsurgency (New York: Praeger, 1964), 6, 16–25. 26. Henry Grand D’Esnon, “Guerra subversiva,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, March 1961, 78–95; David L. Evans III, “Lecciones derivadas de las operaciones de contrainsurgencia,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 100 ( Janu­ary–March 1966): 68–74. 27. Agustín Toro Dávila, “Las modernas formas de la guerra,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1968, 3–16. 28. Catalán, Los generales olvidados, 62–64; Enrique Blanche Northcote, “La guerra de guerrillas,” 2-­part series, El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1962, 61–72, and Sep­ tem­ber 1962, 73–88. 29. Enrique Yavar Martín, “La guerra especial, forma de realización estratégica: Instrucción y adiestramiento de fuerzas especiales,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1967, 111–16. 30. Hernán Bejares G., “La Guerra de Vietnam,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1968, 68–103; Juan José Mela Toro, “Antecedentes de la participación de EE.UU. en Vietnam,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, March 1969, 62–70. 31. Julio Santibañez E., “El valor in­di­vidual en la guerra moderna,” Revista de la Marina 671 ( July 1969): 429–30. 32. Régis Debray, Conversations with Allende: Socialism in Chile (New York: Random House Trade, 1971), 77.

Notes to Pages 86–92 / 237

33. Manuel Contreras Sepúlveda, “Estrategia en la Guerra de Vietnam,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1966, n.p.; see also Fernando Nicolas V., “Reflexiones sobre la Guerra Indochina,” Revista de la Marina 679 (No­vem­ber 1970): 719–23. Pino­chet served as the sub-­director of the Army Academy of War from 1963 to 1967. He became acquainted with Contreras during the period when irregular warfare became a more important subject at the academy. 34. Agustín Toro Dávila and Manuel Contreras Sepúlveda, “Panorama político—­ estratégico del Asia sur-­oriental,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1968, 45–67. 35. Raúl Rettig et al., Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación (Santiago: Ediciones del Ornitorrinco, 1991), 1:37; Mónica González and Héctor Contreras, Los secretos del Comando Conjunto (Santiago: Ediciones del Ornitorrinco, 1991). 36. José Rodríguez Elizondo, Chile-­Perú: El siglo que vivimos en peligro (Santiago: Random House Mondadori South America, 2004); Javier Urbina, “Algunos recuerdos sobre la Academia de Guerra del Ejército, in La Academia de Guerra del Ejército de Chile 1886–2006: Ciento veinte años de historia, ed. Alejandro San Francisco and Roberto Arancibia Clavel (Santiago: Ediciones Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2006), 174–75. 37. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 193. 38. Ibid., 195. 39. US State Department, “Memorandum of Conversation,” June 8, 1976, http:// foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 40. John Child, “Geopo­liti­cal Thinking in Latin America,” Latin Ameri­can Research Review 14, no. 2 (1979): 89–112; Howard Taylor Pittman, “Geopolitics in the ABC Countries: A Comparison,” PhD dissertation, Ameri­can University, Wash­ing­ton, DC, 1981. In 1951, the Army Academy of War decided to teach geopolitics as a separate discipline rather than as one aspect of military geography. Dörner, “Formación académica,” 137. 41. Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, Geopolítica: Diferentes etapas para el estudio geopolítico de los estados (Santiago: Instituto Geográfico Militar, 1968), 21; see also Augusto Pino­ chet Ugarte, “Significado militar de las relaciones espaciales,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1964, 31–53. 42. Arriagada, El pensamiento político, 110–27; Eberardo Backheuser, “Leyes geopolíticas de la evolución de los estados,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1954, n.p. 43. Humberto Medina Parker, “Sangre y suelo de Chile—su geopolítica en acción,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1948, 110–20. 44. Ramón Valdés Martinez, Hector Bravo Muñoz, and Rolando Garay Cifuentes, “La geografía y el poder nacional,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1961, 6 ­ 7–94. 45. Pino­chet, Geopolítica, 66–67. 46. Arriagada, El pensamiento político, 138. 47. Humberto Maglioccheitti B., “Importancia geopolítica de las vías de comunicaciones aéreas en el Pacífico Sur,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 79 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1960): n.p. 48. Valdés, Bravo, and Garay, “La geografía y el poder nacional.” 49. Editorial, “Nuevo aniversario,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 72 ( Janu­ary–March 1959): n.p. 50. Julio Canessa Robert, “Introducción al estudio de la información estratégica,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1965, 14–35.

238 / Notes to Pages 92–97

51. Ibid. 52. J. Guido Soto Boggiano, “Las telecomunicaciones nacionales,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, March 1969, 148–53. 53. Juan G. Hutt Guenther, “El estado y el servicio de informaciones: Su influencia en la conducción política del estado,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1966, n.p.; see also James C. Scott, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998). 54. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 77. 55. Juan Barrientos V., “Reflexiones sobre la regionalización,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1975, 3–13. 56. Julio Canessa Robert, “Visión geopolítica de la regionalización chilena,” Seguridad Nacional 24 (1982): 13–36. 57. Jaime Garcia Covarrubias, “Reflexiones sobre el núcleo vital de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 415, no. 1 (1984): n.p. 58. Editorial, “Congreso Nacional en Valparaíso,” Revista de la Marina 787 (No­vem­ ber 1988): n.p. 59. AHJG, No. 159, Oc­to­ber 1, 1974, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 60. Carol Graham, “From Emergency Employment to Social Investment,” in The Legacy of Dictatorship: Po­liti­cal, Economic and Social Change in Pino­chet’s Chile, ed. Alan Angell and Benny Pollack (Liverpool, UK: Institute of Latin Ameri­can Studies, 1993), 27– 74; Winn, Victims of the Chilean Miracle, 125–63; Larissa Lomnitz, Chile’s Middle Class: A Struggle for Survival in the Face of Neoliberalism (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1991); Loveman, Chile, 289; see also Jaime Lavín Fariña, “Diez años de regionalización: Avances en el campo social en la X región de los Lagos,” Minerva 5 (De­cem­ber 1984): 17–22. 61. Rafael Valdivieso Ariztía, Crónica de un rescate: Chile, 1973–1988 (Santiago: Editorial Andrés Bello, 1988); Editorial, “Septiembre,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 435, no. 2 (1990): 3–4. 62. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 223.

Chapter 5. Salvador Allende and the Armed Forces, 1970–1973 1. Jorge Magasich A., Los que dijeron “NO”: Historia del movimiento de los marinos antigolpistas de 1973 (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 2008), 280–81; Sergio Huidobro Justiniano, Decisión naval (Santiago: Salesianos, 1999), 24; Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 73–75. 2. Unidad Popu­lar, Programa básico de gobierno de la Unidad Popu­lar (Santiago: Impresora Horizonte, 1970), 18; Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 102. 3. Ismael Huerta Díaz, “El papel de las fuerzas armadas en el mundo de hoy,” Revista de la Marina 665 ( July 1968): 477–98; Patricio Carvajal Prado, Téngase presente (Santiago: Ediciones Arquén, 1994), 175. 4. Paul E. Sigmund, The Overthrow of Allende and the Politics of Chile, 1964–1976 (Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977); Arturo Valenzuela, The Breakdown of Democratic Regimes: Chile, ed. Juan José Linz and Alfred Stepan (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978).

Notes to Pages 97–103 / 239

5. For a perspective on the Allende years from the vantage point of textile workers who seized the factory where they worked, see Peter Winn, Weavers of Revolution: The Yarur Workers and Chile’s Road to Socialism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1986). For an analy­sis of conservative women, see Power, Right-­Wing Women. On the agrarian reform and politics in the countryside, see Tinsman, Partners in Conflict. On Chile’s indigenous community, see Mallon, Courage Tastes of Blood. Interviews with pro-­Allende navy personnel appear in Magasich, Los que dijeron “NO.” 6. Gustafson, Hostile Intent; Harmer, Allende’s Chile; Kornbluh, Pino­chet File; Patricia Verdugo, La Casa Blanca contra Salvador Allende: Los orígenes de la guerra preventiva (Madrid: Tabla Rasa Libros y Ediciones, 2004). 7. Thomas C. Wright, State Terrorism in Latin America: Chile, Argentina, and International Human Rights (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006), 57. 8. Prats, Memorias, 141–42. 9. Ibid., 156. 10. Ibid., 154; Huerta, Volvería, 1:396. 11. Rouquié, Military and State, 148; Prats, Memorias, 148. 12. Huerta, Volvería, 1:155; Paul E. Sigmund, “The Chilean Military: Legalism Undermined, Manipulated, and Restored,” Revista de Ciencia Política 23, no. 2 (2003): 243; see also Héctor Espinoza Núñez, interview with Rene Schneider, El Mercurio, May 8, 1970. 13. Marcel Niedergang, “Deux mois avant l’élection présidentielle,” Le Monde, July 1, 1970. 14. Huidobro, Decisión naval, 21–37. For a criti­cal analy­sis of Allende’s relationship to Marxist-­Leninism, see Cristián Garay Vera, Entre la espada y la pared: Allende y los militares, 1970–1973 (Santiago: Ediciones Centro de Estudios Bicentenario, 2014). 15. Winn, Weavers of Revolution, 139–43. 16. Huidobro, Decisión naval, 24. 17. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 117. There is no outstanding biography of Salvador Allende. This is a major lacuna in the historiography. 18. Debray, Conversations with Allende, 119. Practically every apologist for the 1973 coup cites this remark as proof that Allende never intended to abide by the constitution. 19. Florencia Varas, Gustavo Leigh: El general disidente (Santiago: Ediciones Aconcagua, 1979), 121; see also Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 157. 20. Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds, 15, 25–32; Debray, Conversations with Allende, 61–62, 163–67; see also Luis Hernández Parker, interview with Carlos Prats, Ercilla, No­vem­ber 1, 1972. 21. Harmer, Allende’s Chile, 232–34. 22. John Dinges, The Condor Years: How Pino­chet and His Allies Brought Terror to Three Continents. New York: New Press, 2005, 50–60. 23. Cristián Pérez, “Salvador Allende, apuntes sobre su dispositivo de seguridad: El Grupo de Amigos Personales (GAP),” Estudios Públicos 79 (Winter 2000): 45. 24. Ibid., 46–49, 53. Carlos Prats said that Allende’s security detail should have come under the jurisdiction of the carabineros. He even went so far as to call it illegal. Correa, Preguntas que hacen historia, 34. 25. Prats, Memorias, 165.

240 / Notes to Pages 104–111

26. Ibid., 167. 27. Ibid., 168–69; Huidobro, Decisión naval, 24; Carvajal, Téngase presente, 176; Huerta, Volvería, 1:405; Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 101. 28. Joseph Novitski, “Allende Rebuffs Some Demands of Chile’s Ruling Party as Unnecessary,” New York Times, Oc­to­ber 1, 1970. 29. Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 78, 101–2. 30. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 158; Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 102; Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 49–50. 31. Edward Korry to US State Department, “Ambassador’s Response to State,” Sep­ tem­ber 12, 1970; Edward Korry to Henry Kissinger, “Eyes Only Message I Have Just Sent to USCINCSO,” Sep­tem­ber 21, 1970; Edward Korry to U. Alexis Johnson, “General Mather on My Proposal to Inform Chilean Military That We Are Suspending MAP Training Pending Review after Oc­to­ber,” Sep­tem­ber 22, 1970. US State Department memos, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 32. Leonov indicates that the Soviet Union viewed Latin America as a zone of US influence but also as a place where Moscow could weaken its main adversary by infiltrating US intelligence agencies, acquiring US technology, and cultivating military or financial ties with anti-­Ameri­can nationalists. 33. Patricio Q uiroga Zamora, Compañeros: El GAP, la escolta de Allende (Santiago: Aguilar, 2001), 251–22; Harmer, Allende’s Chile, 101. 34. Gustafson, Hostile Intent, 79–138. 35. “‘Pagó con la vida su lealtad a la constitución,’ declaraciones del presidente electo,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1970, 30. 36. “Agravio a Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1970, 28–29; “FF. AA. leales al cumplimiento de su misión,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ber 1970, 21; “El General René Schneider Chereau,” Revista de la Marina 678 (Sep­tem­ber 1970): 665–66. In 1974 Augusto Pino­chet’s secret police assassinated Carlos Prats, and air force general Alberto Bachelet died in the custody of his comrades after being detained and tortured. 37. Huidobro, Decisión naval, 24; Huerta, Volvería, 1:407–9. 38. Editorial, “Nuevo gobierno,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 117 (Oc­to­ber–De­cember 1970): 3–4. 39. Editorial, “Información del cobre,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 123 (April–June 1972): 150; Editorial, “1972 y las batallas del cobre,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 125 ­(October– De­cem­ber 1972): 102–4. 40. Prats, Memorias, 51. 41. “Reclamo la presidencia de las FF.AA. en los esfuerzos por un Chile Nuevo,” La Nación, April 15, 1971. 42. “El mensaje presidencial: Construiremos la primera sociedad socialista demo­ crática y pluralista,” Las Noticias de Última Hora, May 21, 1971. 43. Salvador Allende Gossens, Salvador Allende Reader: Chile’s Voice of Democracy, ed. James D. Cockcroft (New York: Ocean Press, 2000), 117–18; Collier and Sater, History of Chile, 343. 44. Felipe Larraín and Patricio Meller, “The Socialist-­Populist Chilean Experience: 1970–1973,” in The Macroeconomics of Populism in Latin America, ed. Sebastian Edwards

Notes to Pages 111–116 / 241

and Rudiger Dornbusch (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 175–222; Jonathan Haslan, The Nixon Administration and the Death of Allende’s Chile: A Case of Assisted Suicide (Lon­don: Verso, 2005), 98–99. 45. Allende, Salvador Allende Reader, 126–45. 46. Power, Right-­Wing Women. 47. Prats, Memorias, 253–56; Sigmund, Overthrow of Allende, 171. 48. Prats, Memorias, 289–90; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General J­ ulio Canessa Robert, 118. 49. “Hombre, General y Vicepresidente,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 29, 1972. 50. Prats, Memorias, 297–312. 51. “Gabinete cívico-­militar el co-­gobierno,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 8, 1972; “Hora de deliberaciones,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 15, 1972; Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 272–79. 52. Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 273. 53. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 161; Huerta, Volvería, 1:445, 450, 462–63. 54. Huerta, Volvería, 1:487–91. 55. Prats, Memorias, 24. 56. “Hombre, general y vicepresidente,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 29, 1972; Magasich, Los que dijeron “NO,” 273–76. 57. Hernández, interview with Carlos Prats. 58. Lieutenant Colonel Hugo Moya V., “Participación, en teoría, de las fuerzas armadas en la política de los estados modernos,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, No­vem­ ber 1972, 65–68. It is interesting to note that US military officers had begun expressing similar ideas. From 1970 to 1973, Revista de la Fuerza Aérea editors published at least half a dozen articles by US officers who wanted civilian leaders to consider a new internal security role for the military in light of racial conflict and student radicalism. 59. Prudencio García Martínez de Murguía, “El militar y la política,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1972: 86–89. 60. “El retiro del General Canales,” Ercilla, Sep­tem­ber 27, 1972. 61. Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 183–84. This group of retired admirals expressed concern about tensions with neighboring countries and asserted that the UP’s association with Cuba would harm Chile’s relations with Brazil’s anticommunist military government. The admirals urged strengthening the diplomatic front by improving relations with Brazil, Colombia, and Ecuador and by reestablishing civilian discipline. This was not the first time officers had argued for their right to “discuss and analyze” national problems within certain parameters, especially in view of the fact that civilian authorities repeatedly incorporated military officers into their cabinets and officers had the right to vote in elections. See Fernando Montaldo Bustos, “Ningún Cuerpo puede deliberar,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1953, 79–84. 62. P. M. Flammer, “La crítica entre los militares,” Revista de la Marina 693 (March 1973): 144–52; see also L. F. Buenos Romero, “Objetores de conciencia,” Revista de la Marina 695 ( July 1973): 353–599. 63. Ladislao D’Hainaut F., “Moral naval militar,” Revista de la Marina 693 (March 1973): 82–86. 64. Jorge Escalante, La misión era matar: El juicio a la Caravana Pino­chet-­Arellano (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 2000), 15–16.

242 / Notes to Pages 116–123

65. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 138. Kelly had been working for conservative business magnate Augustín Edwards since 1968. 66. Kelly asked a group of conservative economists at the Catholic University of Chile to prepare a detailed plan for economic recovery and in June 1973 Kelly started passing chapters of their proposal to navy officers, in­clud­ing Admiral Merino, who became commander in chief of the navy in Sep­tem­ber. Impressed by the bold free-­market vision, ­Merino eventually tapped several of the authors to advise the junta, since the navy was given control of economic affairs. Before the end of Sep­tem­ber, two hundred copies of the report, El ladrillo (The Brick), had been distributed to military authorities. Patricia Arancibia Clavel and Francisco Balart Páez, Sergio de Castro: El arquitecto del modelo económico chileno (Santiago: Editorial Biblioteca Ameri­cana, 2007), 176. 67. Carlos Altamirano, “Discurso en al acto de proclamación de los candidatos del Partido Socialista,” Janu­ary 10, 1973, http://www.socialismo-­chileno.org. 68. Huerta, Volvería, 2:22–26. 69. Punta de Talca, “Declaración de la asamblea plenaria del episcopado sobre la Escuela Nacional Unificada,” April 11, 1973, Centro de Estudios Miguel Enríquez, http:// www.archivochile.com/; Huerta, Volvería, 2:10–20. 70. Huerta, Volvería, 2:13–15. 71. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 167–68. 72. López, El 11 en la mira, 64. 73. “General (R) Stuardo: Otra vez en el aire,” Ercilla, February, 20, 1974; Marras, Confesiones, 128; López, El 11 en la mira, 70–71. 74. Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 196. 75. Varas, Gustavo Leigh, 129. 76. Catalán, Los generales olvidados, 99. 77. González, La conjura, 179–80. 78. Marras, Confesiones, 13. 79. Manuel Fuentes Wendling, Memorias secretas de Patria y Libertad: Y algunas confesiones sobre la Guerra Fría en Chile (Santiago: Grijalbo-­Mondadori, 1999), 231–32. 80. Fuentes, Memorias secretas, 271. 81. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 129–32. 82. Pérez, “Salvador Allende,” 64–66. 83. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 172–73, 187; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 132–40. 84. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 49, 188–89; Marras, Confesiones, 14. 85. Marras, Confesiones, 105. 86. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 65–75; Huerta, Volvería, 2:45. 87. Huerta, Volvería, 2:77. 88. Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 206–7; Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 119–20; Carvajal, Téngase presente, 180–87. 89. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 238–48; Debray, Conversations with Allende, 93. 90. Varas, Gustavo Leigh, 123. 91. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 22, 179–80; Prats, Memorias, 34, 51. 92. Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 224.

Notes to Pages 124–130 / 243

93. Varas, Gustavo Leigh, 124; Haslan, Nixon Administration, 196–207; Nunn, Military in Chilean History, 284–87. 94. Varas, Gustavo Leigh, 126. 95. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 183; Prats, Memorias, 441. 96. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 130–34. 97. Huerta, Volvería, 2:61; Aranciabia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 148. 98. Sergio Arellano Iturriaga, Más allá del abismo: Un testimonio y una perspectiva (Santiago: Proyección, 1985), 42; Merino, Bitacora de un almirante, 221–23; Aranciabia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 149. 99. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 145–47. 100. Sigmund, Overthrow of Allende, 227; Prats, Memorias, 32. 101. Huerta, Volvería, 2:38. 102. Juan D. Barriga M., “Lo que debemos saber sobre seguridad y defensa nacional,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1973, 51–79. 103. Peter Winn, “The Furies of the Andes,” in A Century of Revolution: Insurgent and Counterinsurgent Violence during Latin America’s Long Cold War, ed. Greg Grandin and Gil Joseph (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010), 239–75. 104. Huidobro, Decisión naval, 143–48; “Contraofensiva de los ultras,” Ercilla, August 15, 1973. 105. Fernando Villagrán, Disparen a la bandada: Una crónica secreta de la FACH (Santiago: Editorial Planeta, 2002), 13. 106. See, e.g., articles in the communist newspaper El Siglo, the progovernment ­tabloids Puro Chile and Clarín, and the opposition paper El Mercurio for the month of ­August and the first eleven days of Sep­tem­ber 1973; see also Jorge G. Castañeda, Utopia Unarmed: The Latin Ameri­can Left after the Cold War (New York: Vintage Books, 1994). Castañeda identifies an obsession with armed struggle among young revolutionaries. 107. Loveman, Chile, 254. 108. “Carta de los marineros torturados a Salvador Allende y a los trabajadores de Chile,” August 1973, Centro de Estudios Miguel Enríquez, http://www.archivochile.com; see also “Infiltración en la Armada,” Ercilla, August 15, 1973; “La subversión del Almirante Latorre,” Ercilla, August, 22, 1973; and Magasich, Los que dijeron “NO,” 49–51. 109. Prats, Memorias, 509–10. 110. Marras, Confesiones, 105–6. 111. Gustafson, Hostile Intent, 213. 112. Arellano, Más allá del abismo, 45, 47–48. 113. Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 222–23. Oscar Sepulveda, “Gustavo Leigh, ex integrante de la junta del gobierno: ‘Pino­chet no quería, temía por su vida,’” Caras, Sep­ tem­ber 4, 1998. Leigh says that Pino­chet’s uncomfortable position in the army probably accounts for the reason he vacillated when asked to join the conspiracy. In his own account of Sep­tem­ber 9 Pino­chet affords importance to Leigh but shows little vacillation. He even infuses a his­tori­cal perspective into his subsequent evaluation: “Leigh told me that nothing would come of a military intervention if we did not act together. In this respect, I was very aware of what had occurred during the revolution of 1891, when the

244 / Notes to Pages 130–133

armed forces acted separately, and how that had cost thousands of lives.” Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 149; see also, Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 321. 114. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 281, 324; Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 174. 115. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 155; see also Spooner, Soldiers in a Narrow Land, 34–38. 116. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 95. 117. Magasich, Los que dijeron “NO,” 9–16. 118. Allende, Salvador Allende Reader, 240. 119. For the first group, see Robinson Rojas, The Murder of Allende and the End of the Chilean Way to Socialism (New York: Harper & Row, 1976); Lois Hecht Oppenheim, Politics in Chile: Democracy, Authoritarianism, and the Search for Development (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1999); and Stephen Kinzer, Overthrow: America’s Century of Regime Change from Hawaii to Iraq (New York: Macmillan, 2007). For the the sec­ond group, see Joaquin Fermandois Huerta, “¿Peón o actor? Chile en la Guerra Fría (1962–1973),” Estudios Públicos 72 (Spring 1998): 149–71; Gustafson, Hostile Intent; and Harmer, Allende’s Chile. 120. From 1970 to 1973, the United States spent roughly $8 million to bankroll Allende’s opposition. See US Senate Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations, Covert Action in Chile, 1963–1973 (Wash­ing­ton, DC: US Government Printing Office, 1975); Leonov, “La inteligencia soviética.” Former KGB officer Nikolai Leonov commented that the politburo decided to deny a major subsidy to the UP in 1973 because Allende refused to consolidate his control of the nation’s security forces or firmly repress his opposition. From the Soviet point of view, supporting a lost cause made no sense in light of the harm it would do to relations with the United States. On the issue of Soviet support for the Communist Party, see Olga Uliánova and Eugenia Fediakova, “Algunos aspectos de la ayuda financiera del Partido Comunista de la URSS al comunismo chileno durante la Guerra Fría,” Estudios Públicos 72 (Spring 1998): 113–48. The Soviet Union provided $400,000 to the Chilean Communist Party in 1970, and by 1973 that fig­ure had increased to $650,000, totaling about $2 million for the entire period. Apart from financial assistance, Chilean Communist Party cadres flew to Moscow for training, education, and recreation. Such experiences, argue Uliánova and Fediakova, forged powerful attachments to the international socialist movement and its sense of his­tori­cal inevitability, and these trips help to explain the willingness of Chilean communists to endure hardships and persecutions. Vasili Mitrokhin, a dissident KGB agent and archivist, brought a trove of notes about KGB activities to the West when he defected to Britain in 1992. His information led to the unmasking of Soviet spies through­out the West, which makes his story difficult to ignore. At the same time, Mitrokhin brought only notes of secret documents, not copies of the origi­nals, to confirm his claims. Christopher Andrew and Vasili Mitrokhin, The World Was Going Our Way: The KGB and the Battle for the Third World (New York: Basic Books, 2005), 1–114. The large amount of foreign exchange and imported luxury goods found in Allende’s Santiago home after the coup make Mitrokhin’s allegations about Allende credible. Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds, 41. 121. Charles A. Meyer to U. Alexis Johnson, “Extreme Option—Overthrow of Al­ lende,” August 17, 1970, US State Department memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search .aspx.

Notes to Pages 135–143 / 245

Chapter 6. Soldiers before Pino­chetismo, 1973–1976 1. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 121. 2. Ibid. 92. 3. Manuel A. Garretón Merino, Roberto Garretón Merino, and Carmen Garretón Merino, Por la fuerza sin la razón: Análisis y textos de los bandos de la dictadura militar (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 1998), 59–61; Gazmuri Riveros Gazmuri, Patricia Arancibia Clavel, and Alvaro Góngora Escobedo, Eduardo Frei Montalva (1911–1982) (Santiago: Editorial Universitaria, 1996), 476–96. 4. Rettig et al., Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación, 2:1364– 66. Sergio Valech et al., Informe de la Comisión Nacional sobre Prisión Política y Tortura (Santiago: La Comisión, 2005), 191–92. 5. Garretón et al., Por la fuerza sin la razón, 58. 6. Carvajal, Téngase presente, 188–89. 7. Pino­chet, Journey through Life, 324. 8. “General Arellano: la batalla de Santiago,” Ercilla, De­cem­ber 19, 1973. 9. Marras, Confesiones, 111. 10. Paul H. Lewis, Guerrillas and Generals: The “Dirty War” in Argentina (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2002), 33–82; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Ca­ nessa Robert, 238–48. 11. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 160–61. 12. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 160. 13. González, La conjura, 447–48. 14. Barros, Constitutionalism and Dictatorship, 1–2, 52–55. 15. Labbé, Recuerdos con historia, 33, 75–76. 16. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 179. 17. See articles in El Mercurio from Sep­tem­ber 17 to Oc­to­ber 31, 1973. 18. Hernán Millas, La familia militar (Santiago: Editorial Planeta, 1999), 23–24; Magasich, Los que dijeron “No,” 22–24; Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds, 31–56. 19. Anonymous, Chile, ayer y hoy (Santiago: Editora Nacional Gabriela Mistral, 1975). 20. Secretaría General de Gobierno, Libro blanco del cambio de gobierno en Chile, 11 de septiembre de 1973 (Santiago: Editorial Lord Cochrane, 1973), 110–15. Vasili Mitrokhin claims that the KGB made intelligence available to the Chilean Communist Party. This may account for the profiles of military commanders found at Communist Party and Socialist Party headquarters. Andrew and Mitrokhin, The World Was Going Our Way, 82– 85; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 142. 21. AHJG, No. 5, Sep­tem­ber 19, 1973, No. 7, Sep­tem­ber 21, 1973, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 22. Ibid., No. 17, Oc­to­ber 8, 1973, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso; Patricia Verdugo, De la tortura no se habla: Agüero versus Meneses (Santiago: Catalonia, 2004), 72. “General Arellano: la batalla de Santiago,” Ercilla, De­cem­ber 19, 1973. 23. Jack B. Kubisch to Henry Kissinger, No­vem­ber 16, 1973, US State Department memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx; Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 167. 24. Marcelo Maturana, Three Years of Destruction (Santiago: Asociación Impresores de Chile, 1973).

246 / Notes to Pages 143–150

25. López, El 11 en la mira, 98–109; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 148; Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 217. 26. Sigmund, “Chilean Military,” 243–44. 27. Gustavo Leigh Guzmán, La Junta de gobierno frente a la juridicidad y los derechos humanos (Santiago: Editora Nacional Gabriela Mistral, 1974), 9. 28. Gustavo Leigh Guzmán, “Celebración 21 de Marzo de 1974,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 130 ( Janu­ary–March 1974): 4–9. 29. Editorial, “Reflexiones en torno a un proceso histórico,” Armas y Servicios 2 (April 1975): 5–6; Editorial, “El aporte solidario chileno a la reconstrucción del país,” Revista de la Marina 698 ( Janu­ary 1974): 1–2. 30. Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds, 64. 31. AHJG, No. 92, February 14, 1974, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso; Gustavo Leigh Guzmán, La junta de gobierno se dirige a la juventud (Santiago: Editora Gabriela Mistral, 1974). 32. “La visita del general,” Ercilla, Sep­tem­ber 26, 1973; Maturana, Three Years of Destruction, 37. 33. González, La conjura, 421–23. 34. Ibid., 430. 35. Andrea Lagos, “El general que acusó a Pino­chet,” El País, Janu­ary 28, 2001. Lagos eventually spoke on national television about the Caravan of Death, and to Chilean judges who used his testimony to bring charges aginst Pino­chet in 2001. Escalante, La misión era matar. 36. AHJG, No. 6, Sep­tem­ber 20, 1973, No. 22, Oc­to­ber 18, 1973, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 37. Ibid., No. 33, No­vem­ber 12, 1973. 38. Central Intelligence Agency, “Difference of Views on Need for Hard-­Handed Repressive Measures,” Oc­to­ber 28, 1973, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 39. AHJG, No. 36, No­vem­ber 16, 1973, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 40. Millas, La familia militar, 42. 41. Garretón et al., Por la fuerza sin la razón, 85. 42. AHJG, No. 70, Janu­ary 15, 1974, No. 84, Janu­ary 19, 1974, No. 132, May 10, 1974, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 43. “CORFO: La fórmula es participar,” Ercilla, Oc­to­ber 17, 1973. 44. “Los esbozos de una política,” Ercilla, August 7, 1974. 45. Editorial, “ABC del nacionalismo,” Armas y Servicios 3 (Sep­tem­ber 1975): 10–11. 46. “Coronel Ewing: La ideología del gobierno militar,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 21, 1973. 47. “Hacia el tiempo social,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 27, 1974. 48. “General Javier Palacios: Valeroso desde teniente,” Qué Pasa, Oc­to­ber 25, 1973. 49. “CORFO por dentro,” Qué Pasa, No­vem­ber 2, 1973. 50. Arancibia, Conversando con el General Roberto Kelly, 31. 51. Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 127, 228; Pino­chet, El día decisivo, 29, 51; Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 37, 100. 52. Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, Address by H.E., the President of the Repub­lic of Chile (Santiago: Impresora Filadelfía, 1976), 46; see also Canis Venatici, “La Pax Soviética,”

Notes to Pages 150–158 / 247

Revista de la Marina 710 ( Janu­ary 1976): 51–57; and Luis Bravo Bravo, “Breve estudio crítico del marxismo,” Revista de la Marina 714 (Sep­tem­ber 1976): 497–512. 53. La declaración de principios de la junta de gobierno, section 1, http://www .archivochile.com/. The declaration rejected not only the Russian Revolution and the Chinese Cultural Revolution, with their pretensions to universal applicability, but also modernization theory, which posited the universality of the North Atlantic experience. 54. “Coronel Ewing: La ideología del gobierno militar,” Ercilla, No­vem­ber 21, 1973; see also Carlos Durán P., “Política de tratamiento de la opinión pública,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, March 1975, n.p. 55. González, La conjura, 425. 56. Huneeus, Pino­chet Regime, 139–69; Renato Cristi, El pensamiento político de Jaime Guzmán: Autoridad y libertad (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 2000). 57. La declaración de principios, section 2. 58. Ibid., section 3. 59. Ibid. 60. Ibid. 61. Juan Gabriel Valdés, Pino­chet’s Economists: The Chicago School in Chile (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 62. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 135; “Almirante Merino: El timón econó­ mico,” Ercilla, Oc­to­ber 31, 1973. 63. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 180, 201. 64. AHJG, No. 132, May 10, 1974, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 65. Hernán Millas, “Cuando Bonilla arrestó al general Manuel Contreras,” La ­Época, March 17, 1991. 66. Millas, La familia militar, 54. 67. Patricia Lutz, Años de viento sucio (Santiago: Editorial Planeta, 1999), 205; Millas, La familia militar, 55. 68. Lutz, Años de viento sucio, 212–22; Marras, Confesiones, 21–25. 69. González, La conjura, 536. 70. Ascanio Cavallo, Manuel Salazar, and Oscar Sepúlveda, La historia oculta del régimen militar: Memoria de una época, 1973–1988 (Santiago: Editorial Grijalbo, 1997), 61. 71. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 161; Carmen Gardeweg, “El general Leigh: Pensamiento y sentimiento 48 horas después de ser destituido en 1978,” La Segunda, Sep­tem­ber 30, 1999. 72. Marras, Confesiones, 115. 73. AHJG, No. 171, No­vem­ber 14, 1974, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 74. Eduardo Silva, The State and Capital in Chile: Business Elites, Technocrats, and Market Economics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996), 102–11. 75. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 213–16. 76. Collier and Sater, History of Chile, 369–73. 77. Arancibia and Balart, Sergio de Castro, 175; Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly, 214–18. 78. Arancibia and Balart, Sergio de Castro, 184–88, 194. 79. Silva, State and Capital in Chile, 102–11; Claudio Aguayo Herrera, “La política

248 / Notes to Pages 159–163

de libertad de precios,” Revista de la Marina 707 ( July 1975): 393–96; Gustavo Pfeifer Niedbalski and Jorge Fellay Fuenzalida, “Los elementos del mercado,” Revista de la Marina, 709 (No­vem­ber 1975): 687–90; Rolando Vergara González, “El fenómeno inflacionario,” Revista de la Marina 709 (No­vem­ber 1975): 683–86; Héctor Barrera Valdes, “Seminario estrategia de desarrollo económico para Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Janu­ary 1976, 5–13; Editorial, “El sistema económica nacional y el programa de recuperación económica,” Armas y Servicios 4 ( Janu­ary 1976): 14–32. 80. “Política social de gobierno,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 135 (April–June 1975): 20–21; “Programas integrales de desarrollo: Una solución a la extrema pobreza,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 140 ( July–Sep­tem­ber 1976): 28–39. 81. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 208–23; Fernando Matthei Aubel, “La salud y el gobierno,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 139 (April–June 1976): 2–5. 82. Valdivia, El golpe después del golpe, 17–18. 83. “Tres etapas para un proceso,” Ercilla, May 15, 1974; AHJG, No. 5, Sep­tem­ber 19, 1973, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 84. 93 Cong. Rec. 32717 (1974); Foreign Assistance Authorization Arms Sales Issues: Hearings Before the US Senate Foreign Relations Committee, 94th Cong. 141 ( June 17, 1975). 85. Gonzalo Vial Correa, Pino­chet: La biografía (Santiago: El Mercurio–Aguilar, 2002), 1:277, 293; Lars Schoultz, Human Rights and the United States Policy towards Latin America (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1981), 349–50. 86. Alexander Solzhenitsyn, “Los grandes perdedores de la tercera guerra mundial,” Armas y Servicios 3 (Sep­tem­ber 1975): 14–16. The essay’s title, “The Big Losers of World War III,” refers to the idea that World War III commenced on August 15, 1945, and was lost, symbolically, on April 30, 1975, when the United States evacuated its embassy in Saigon. See also Jorsef, “Estrategia de la dominación mundial por el marxismo-­leninismo,” Revista de la Marina 708 (Sep­tem­ber 1975): 167–74. 87. Editorial, “Discurso pronunciado por el General Gustavo Leigh G.,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 138 ( Janu­ary–March 1976): 2–5; Editorial, “Solzhenitzin y la libertad,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 140 ( July–Sep­tem­ber 1976): 18–19; Editorial, “La perpelidad de Solzhenitsyn,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 141 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1976): n.p. 88. Santiago Murphy Rojas, “África, agresión a occidente,” Revista de la Marina 714 (Sep­tem­ber 1976): 584–85; Luis Melo Lecarus, “El surgimiento de la Guerra Fría: Paz basada en la fuerza?,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1977, 45–54. 89. US Department of State, “Memorandum of Conversation,” June 8, 1976, http:// foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx; Alfredo Hernandez Camus, “África y la defensa de occidente,” Revista de la Marina 715 (No­vem­ber 1976): 661–62; Francisco Ghisolfo Araya, “Sudáfrica y el expansionismo soviético,” Revista de la Marina 743 ( July 1981): 415–28. 90. Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, “Seguridad nacional,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, Sep­tem­ber 1976, 3–7. 91. John Hickman, News from the End of the Earth: A Portrait of Chile (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998), 186. 92. Gerardo Cortés Rencores, “Introducción a la seguridad nacional,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, May 1976, 44–63. 93. Gazmuri et al., Eduardo Frei Montalva, 476–96.

Notes to Pages 164–172 / 249

Chapter 7. Defying the World and Restructuring the State, 1977–1981 1. Robert Pastor to Zbigniew Brzezinski and David Aaron, “Conversation with Our Ambassador to Chile, George Landau,” June 28, 1978, National Security Council memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 2. John Dinges and Saul Landau, Assassination on Embassy Row (New York: Pantheon Books, 1980). 3. “Se convocó a plebiscito nacional,” El Mercurio, De­cem­ber 22, 1977. 4. González, La conjura, 537–42. 5. US embassy in Santiago to US State Department, “Taking Stock of the Chilean Plebiscite,” Janu­ary 24, 1978, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 6. AHJG, No. 336, De­cem­ber 28, 1977, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 7. See articles in El Mercurio from De­cem­ber 25, 1977, to Janu­ary 3, 1978. 8. Urbina, “Algunos recuerdos,” 175. A fact of Chilean po­liti­cal history is that amnesties consistently follow po­liti­cal crises. Loveman and Lira, Las suaves cenizas del olvido. 9. AHJG, No. 254, De­cem­ber 23, 1975, No. 299, March 9, 1977, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso; Juan Chiminelli Fullerton, “El Pacto Andino y su influencia en la economía nacional,” Armas y Servicios 1 (De­cem­ber 1974): 28–39. 10. AHJG, No. 337, Janu­ary 2, 1978, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 11. Ibid., No. 343, April 24, 1978. 12. Varas, Gustavo Leigh, 29. 13. Ibid., 29–33; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 240. 14. Arancibia, Conversando con Roberto Kelly V, 247; Marras, Confesiones, 72–74. 15. Pamela Jiles, “El capítulo más duro de la familia Bachelet,” Clinic, March 3, 2005. 16. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 273–84. 17. “Soldado y no político,” Ercilla, July 30, 1980; “Discurso Sr. Comandante en Jefe,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 150 ( Janu­ary–June 1979): 2–3. 18. Richard J. Walter, Peru and the United States, 1960–1975: How Their Ambassadors Managed Foreign Relations in a Turbulent Era (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2010), 291. 19. Rodríguez, Chile-­Perú. 20. Spooner, Soldiers in a Narrow Land, 112. 21. US Department of State, “Memorandum of Conversation,” June 8, 1976, http:// foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 22. National Security Council, “Memcon of Meeting with Admiral José Merino of Chile,” July 21, 1976, Gerald Ford Presidential Library, Ann Arbor, MI. 23. Zbigniew Brzezinski to James Carter, “Your Request for an Assessment of Peru’s Military Threat and Appropriate US Response,” March 5, 1977, National Security Council, Jimmy Carter Presidential Library, Atlanta, GA. 24. Central Intelligence Agency, “Peru: An Assessment of the Threat,” February 23, 1977, Carter Library. 25. Jimmy Carter and Augusto Pino­chet, “Memorandum of Conversation,” Sep­tem­ ber 6, 1977 Staff Material: Pastor, North/South Country Files, Box 9, Folder 2, Carter Library.

250 / Notes to Pages 172–177

26. AHJG, No. 190, April 15, 1975, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 231. 27. Dinges, Condor Years, 221–25. 28. Jon Marco Church, “La crisis del canal de Beagle,” Estudios Internacionales 41, no. 161 (2008): 7–33. 29. Tromben, La Armada de Chile, 5:1509–10; Patricia Arancibia Clavel and Francisco Bulnes Serrano, La escuadra en acción, 1978: El conflicto Chile-­Argentina visto a través de sus protagonistas (Santiago: Grijalbo, 2005). 30. Michael D. Wilkinson, “The Chile Solidarity Campaign and British Government Policy towards Chile, 1973–1990,” European Review of Latin Ameri­can and Caribbean Studies 52 ( June 1992): 57–74. 31. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 253–67; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 193–203, 284–94; Humberto Julio Reyes, En la estrategia y en la política: Memorias de 35 años, 1974–2009 (Santiago: Editorial Maye, 2009), 1­ 81–82. 32. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 183–84. 33. Cyrus Vance to selected embassies, “Beagle Channel Situation Report,” No­vem­ ber 1, 1978; US embassy in Buenos Aires to US State Department, “Memcon of GOA Beagle Contingency Plans: Seizure of Unoccupied Territory,” No­vem­ber 24, 1978. US State Department memos, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 34. Laudy, “The Vatican Mediation of the Beagle Channel Dispute,” in Words over War: Mediation and Arbitration to Prevent Deadly Conflict, ed. Melanie C. Greenberg, John H. Barton, and Margaret E. McGuinness (Lanham, MD: Rowan & Littlefield, 2000), 298–99; Church, “La crisis del canal,” 14–19; US embassy in Buenos Aires to US State Department, “Beagle Channel: Possible Mediation Role by Pope,” De­cem­ber 5, 1978, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 35. Raul Hector Castro to US State Department, “Subject Beagle Channel: Impending Military Hostilities,” De­cem­ber 7, 1978, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 36. Cyrus Vance to US embassy in Buenos Aires, “Subject: Beagle Channel Dispute,” De­cem­ber 16, 1978, US State Department memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search .aspx. 37. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 176. 38. Editorial, “Lo hemos dicho siempre y hemos sido escuchados,” Revista de la Marina 700 (May 1974): 223–24. 39. “Política de fomento de la marina mercante,” Revista de la Marina 717 (March 1977): 139–44; Oscar Manzano Villablanca, “Chile y su marina mercante,” Revista de la Marina 720 (Sep­tem­ber 1977): 480–85; “Noticiero,” Revista de la Marina 724 (May 1978): 480–85. 40. “La armada y los intereses marítimos,” Revista de la Marina 731 ( July 1979): ­517–19. 41. AHJG, No. 367, April 25, 1979, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 42. Ibid., No. 377, Sep­tem­ber 6, 1979, No. 378, Sep­tem­ber 13, 1979. 43. Ibid., No. 381, No­vem­ber 6, 1979. 44. Editorial, “Política Marítima Nacional,” Revista de la Marina 739 (No­vem­ber 1980): 517–22; Enrique Medina Aedo, “El concepto costo-­efectividad: usos y abusos,” Revista de la Marina 738 (Sep­tem­ber 1980): 461–69; Abel Osorio Espinoza, “Evaluación social de proyectos,” Revista de la Marina 741 (March 1981): 167–74.

Notes to Pages 178–184 / 251

45. Jorge Hadermann Valenzuela, “Marina mercante y securidad nacional,” Revista de la Marina 743 ( July 1981): 403–6; Tomas Sepulveda Whittle, “Marinas mercantes latino­ americanas,” Revista de la Marina 746 ( Janu­ary 1982): 79–94; Oscar Buzeta Muñoz, “La marina mercante prospectiva geopolítica,” Revista de la Marina 747 (March 1982): 149– 70; Sergio Ostornol Varela, “ASMAR y la industria naval,” Revista de la Marina 749 ( July 1982): 449–54; Francisco Ghisolfo Araya, “Marina mercante nacional,” Revista de la Marina 752 ( Janu­ary 1983): 37–42; Eri Solís Oyarzún, “Nuestra marina mercante,” Revista de la Marina 755 ( July 1983): 489–502. 46. Raquel Correa, Malú Sierra, and Elizabeth Subercaseaux, Los generales del régimen (Santiago: Editorial Aconcagua, 1983), 197. 47. Herbert Orellana Herrera, “La comunidad de inteligencia de los Estados Unidos de Norteamérica,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 405, no. 3 (1980): 10–29. 48. Carlos Carrasco Acuña, “Programa de asistencia militar y las ventas militares de EE.UU. al exterior,” Revista de la Marina 712 (May 1976): 279–90; Samuel Ginsberg Rojas, “Crisis del sistema interamericano,” Revista de la Marina 728 ( Janu­ary 1979): 24–31; Andrés Huneeus, “Nuestras relaciones con EE.UU.,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 402, no. 3 (1979): 48–54. 49. Vanessa Walker, “At the End of Influence: The Letelier Assassination, Human Rights, and Rethinking Intervention in US–Latin Ameri­can Relations,” Journal of Contemporary History 46, no. 1 (2011): 109–35. 50. Victor Chaves Dailhe, “Carta abierta,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 397, no. 1 (1978): 43–51. 51. “Cumpleaños con enigma,” Hoy, July 9, 1980. 52. Luis Zanelli Ripoll, “Política y estrategia en los 30 años de Guerra Fría,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 401, no. 2 (1979): 28–34. 53. Sergio Cea C., “Aspectos preponderantes de la constitución política de la Re­púb­ lica de Chile de 1980,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 409, no. 1 (1982): 12–19. 54. Luis Beas Valenzuela, “Bases de nuestra carta fundamental: Algunos antecedentes sobre las constituciones de 1818, 1833 y 1925, el movimiento militar de 1924 y la nueva institucionalidad,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 405, no. 3 (1980): 40–60; Jaime Ojeda Torrent, “Realidades vividas durante los gobiernos comprendidos entre 1964 y 1973,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 433, no. 3 (1989): 194–97. 55. “General Leigh: ‘Votaré no,’” Hoy, August 27, 1980; “Plebiscito: La estrategia del Caupolicán,” Ercilla, Sep­tem­ber 3, 1980. 56. “Editorial,” Hoy, Sep­tem­ber 16, 1980. 57. Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 287. 58. Arnold Toynbee, A Study of History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972).

Chapter 8. Circling the Wagons: The Survival of the Pino­chet Regime, 1982–1986 1. Loveman, Chile, 281, 293; see also the domestic coverage in Hoy, April 26, 1982. 2. Alejandro Foxley, Latin Ameri­can Experiments in Neoconservative Economics (Berke­ ley: University of California Press, 1983), 40–90. 3. “Una fecha con dos caras,” Hoy, May 11, 1982. 4. “La comezón derechista,” Hoy, Janu­ary 5, 1983.

252 / Notes to Pages 184–190

5. Cathy Lisa Schneider, Shantytown Protest in Pino­chet’s Chile (Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, 1995). 6. AHJG, No. 14, June 16, 1983, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso. 7. Perla Carreto Carpio, “Gusto secreto por el peligro,” Hoy, June 22, 1983, 7; Javier Martinez and Alvaro Díaz, Chile: The Great Transformation (Wash­ing­ton, DC: Brookings Institution, 1996), 32–33. 8. Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds, 328; Brian Loveman, “Military Dictatorship and Po­liti­cal Opposition in Chile, 1973–1986,” Journal of Interamerican Studies and World Affairs 28, no. 4 (1986): 1–38; see also AHJG, No. 19, July 19, 1983, Biblioteca Nacional del Congreso, the legislative session in which the junta discussed negative perceptions of its activities and the public’s call for greater transparency. 9. “Tradicional mensaje de S.E. el Presidente de la República,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 417, no. 3 (1984): 12–13. 10. “El aterrizaje político,” El Mercurio, Sep­tem­ber 23, 1984. 11. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 376. 12. Central Intelligence Agency, “Chile: Pino­chet under Pressure,” July 1, 1984, http:// foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 13. Tromben, La Armada de Chile, 5:1538. 14. Cristi and Ruiz, El pensamiento conservador en Chile; Silva, State and Capital in Chile, 216; Lisa Baldez, Why Women Protest: Women’s Movements in Chile (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 113–21. 15. Morris Morley and Chris McGillion, Reagan and Pino­chet: The Struggle over U.S. Policy toward Chile (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 60, 143. 16. J. Samuel Valenzuela and Arturo Valenzuela, Military Rule in Chile: Dictatorship and Oppositions (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), 123. 17. Karen L. Remmer, “Nepatrimonialism: The Politics of Military Rule in Chile, 1973–1987,” Comparative Politics 21, no. 2 (1989): 149–70. 18. Barros, “Personalization and Institutional Constraints: Pino­chet, the Military Junta, and the 1980 Constitution,” Latin Ameri­can Politics and Society 43, no. 1 (2001): 5–28. 19. Barros, Constitutionalism and Dictatorship, 293–303. 20. Jorge Muñoz Pontony, “La trinchera mental,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 405, no. 3 (1980): 110–17. 21. “10 años en el cargo de comandante en jefe del Ejército,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 413, no. 2 (1983): 5–10. 22. In 1989 Merino said, “For me, personally, I would have preferred to hand over the government [to civilians] in 1980 once we passed the constitution.” Merino, Bitácora de un almirante, 514; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 365. 23. Philip Oxhorn, Organizing Civil Society: The Popu­lar Sectors and the Struggle for Democracy in Chile (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1995); Alison J. Bruey, “Organizing Community: Defying Dictatorship in Working Class Santiago de Chile, 1973–1983,” PhD dissertation, Yale University, New Haven, CT, 2007. 24. Rettig et al., Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación, vol. 3. This volume includes the names and biographies of the victims of po­liti­cal violence.

Notes to Pages 190–193 / 253

25. “Editorial,” El Rodriguista 21 (1986): n.p.; “La guerra sicológica: Un arma del régimen,” El Rodriguista 20 (1986): n.p.; Publications of the Frente Patriótico Manuel Rodríguez, Politics in Chile, Roll No. 43, 1987, Princeton University Latin Ameri­can Pamphlet Collection, Princeton, NJ. 26. See, e.g., Julio Canessa Robert, “El Partido Comunista y el sistema institucional democrático chileno,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 432, no. 2 (1989): 26–79. 27. Jorge F. Perez Labayru, “Policialización de las fuerzas armadas una respuesta,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 428, no. 1 (1988): 37–40. 28. Arturo Álvarez Sgolia, “Clase magistral dictada por el director de la Academia Nacional de Estudios Políticos y Estratégicos,” Política y Geoestrategia, 31 (1984): 5–14; Mario Navarette Barriga, “Ceremonia de inidicación del año lectivo 1984,” Política y Geoestrategia 32 (1984): 102–9. 29. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 318. General Matthei characterized air force officers as more individualistic than their counterparts in the army and navy, in part because of the nature of the profession. They take orders from superior officers, but each pilot also enjoys a high degree of autonomy in the cockpit. 30. Editorial, “El fin de una jornada,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 413, no. 2 (1983): 3–4. 31. “Academia de Historia Militar,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 410, no. 2 (1982): 9–12; Enrique Cañas Flores, “Militares en el Congreso Nacional de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 411, no. 3 (1982): 124–35; Gustavo Cuevas Farren, “Las FF.AA. y el desarrollo político e institucional de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 415, no. 1 (1984): 7–29. 32. Editorial, “Historia del Ejército de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 424, no. 4 (1986): 3–4; Hernán Vidal, Mitología militar chilena: Surrealismo desde el superego (Minneapolis: Institute for the Study of Ideologies and Literature, 1989). 33. Hervé Dilhan Boisier, “Adquisición de buques de guerra,” Revista de la Marina 742 (May 1981): n.p.; Tromben, Ingeniería naval, 314–18. 34. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 284, 294. 35. “Industria bélica en Chile,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 160 ( July–Sep­tem­ber 1982): 28–29. 36. “Discurso pronunciado por el Sr. Comandante en Jefe,” Minerva 12 (April 1987): n.p.; Arancibia and Balart, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 264; Caupolicán Boisset Mujica, “La importancia de la investigación tecnológica para el desarrollo de la Fuerza Aérea de Chile,” Minerva 5 (De­cem­ber 1984): n.p. 37. Tromben, La Armada de Chile, 5:1555; Werner Wachtendorff Latournerie, “Diseño nacional para construir buques,” Revista de la Marina 761 ( July 1984): n.p.; Juan Chales de Beaulieu Montero, “Diseño nacional para adquirir buques,” Revista de la Marina 762 (Sep­tem­ber 1984): 549–55; Ernesto Zumelzu Delgado, “Ingenieros para la construcción naval: La experiencia de Chile,” Revista de la Marina 763 (No­vem­ber 1984): 694–97; Victor Montaño Mardones, “La industria naval israelí,” Revista de la Marina 779 ( July 1987): n.p. 38. André Pérez-­Cotapos D. and Francisco Poblete B., Alas de Chile: Aeronaves de la fuerza aerea, 1913–2006 (Santiago: Aguilar Chilena de Ediciones, 2005), 104.

254 / Notes to Pages 194–198

39. “Historia del Pillán: Entrevista al Sr. Comandante en Jefe,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 161 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1982): 22–27. 40. Justin Hibbard, “The Chilean Connection: Carlos Cardoen—Arms Dealer to Iraq, Former Friend of the US Government, and Now Fugitive,” San Francisco Chronicle, March 2, 2003; “Interview with Lieutenant Brigadier George Belham Da Motta (Brazilian AF),” Minerva 3 (April 1984): 5–12; Altienu Pires Miguens, “La industria bélica de Brasil,” Revista de la Marina, 777 (March 1987): n.p. 41. Mark Phythian, “‘Batting for Britain’: British Arms Sales in the Thatcher Years,” Crime, Law and Social Change 26, no. 3 (1996–1997): 278–81. 42. Renato del Campo Santelices, “Las ventas militares y la penetración ideológica,” Minerva 3 (April 1984): 18–40; Sergio Linares Urzua, “Calidad y cantidad,” Minerva 1 (August 1983): 23–52; Jaime González Ortega, “Industria nacional o importaciones: Di­ lema de países en vías de desarrollo para su equipamiento militar,” Minerva 9 (April 1986): 8–24. 43. Morley and McGillion, Reagan and Pino­chet, 143. 44. Jeane Kirkpatrick, “Dictatorship and Double Standards,” Commentary 68, no. 5 (1979): 34–45; Spooner, Soldiers in a Narrow Land, 147. 45. Hernán Verdejo Rojas, “La política exterior norteamericana,” Minerva 13 (August 1987): 12–23. 46. Professors at the Army Academy of War, “Evolución del sistema internacional,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 423, no. 3 (1986): 35. 47. Máximo Venegas F., “La brecha tecnológica con Estados Unidos y la defensa continental,” Minerva 14 (De­cem­ber 1987): 7; see also Carlos N. Schwemmer Díaz, “Industria bélica en países en desarrollo,” Minerva 21 (August 1990): 13–27. 48. Horacio Justiniano Aguirre, “Conflicto Atlántico Sur: Política y estrategia,” Revista de la Marina 751 (No­vem­ber 1982): n.p.; Patricio Carvajal Prado, “Entrevista al Sr. Ministro de Defensa Nacional,” Minerva 2 (De­cem­ber 1983): 5–8; “La guerra de los errores,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 414, no. 3 (1983): 31–38. 49. Paolo Tripodi, “General Matthei’s Revelation and Chile’s Role during the Falklands War: A New Perspective on the Conflict in the South Atlantic,” Journal of Strategic Studies 26, no. 4 (2003): 108–23; Lawrence Freedman, The Official History of the Falklands Campaign (Lon­don: Routledge, 2005) 2:390–99. 50. Daniel Carrasco Leiva, “La crisis centroamericana y en particular la situación en El Salvador,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 426, no. 2 (1987): 19–23; Guillermo Holz­ mann Perez, “El rol de las fuerzas armadas frente al terrorismo,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 426, no. 2 (1987): 94–101. 51. “Miscelánea: Entrevista al comandante en jefe de la Armada de Chile,” Revista de la Marina 778 (May 1987): n.p.; Eri Solís Oyarzún, “El expansionismo ruso, una constante histórica,” Revista de la Marina 759 (March 1984): 157–60; Enrique Montealegre J., “El expansionismo soviético en América Latina,” Minerva 16 (August 1988): 3–27. 52. Langhorne Motley to Lawrence Eagleburger, “Chile Policy,” Sep­tem­ber 23, 1983, US State Department memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 53. Langhorne Motley to deputy secretary, “U.S. Policy toward Chile,” De­cem­ber 20, 1984, US State Department memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx.

Notes to Pages 199–205 / 255

54. Morley and McGillion, Reagan and Pino­chet, 86. 55. US embassy in Santiago to US State Department, “The Military Leadership-­ Mission, Po­liti­cal Views and Inter-­Service Relations,” April 29, 1985, http://foia.state .gov/Search/Search.aspx. 56. Morley and McGillion, Reagan and Pino­chet, 140–43, 174–75. 57. Elliott Abrams and Harry Barnes to George Shultz, “Strategy Paper,” July 8, 1986, US State Department memo, http://foia.state.gov/Search/Search.aspx. 58. Morris Morley and Chris McGillion, “Soldiering On: The Reagan Administration and Redemocratization in Chile, 1983–1986.” Bulletin of Latin Ameri­can Research 25, no. 1 (2006): 1–22.” 59. Arturo Lane Ortega, “La política exterior norteamericana y sus contradicciones,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 425, no. 1 (1987): 47–51. 60. Hernán Cubillos, “El punto de vista de Chile,” Minerva 14 (De­cem­ber 1987): 15– 20; Arturo Lane Ortega, “La política norteamericana y el establecimiento de regímenes comunistas,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 424, no. 4 (1986): 45–47. 61. “Nightly News,” Televisión Nacional de Chile, Sep­tem­ber 7, 1986, http://www .tvn.cl/. 62. Morley and McGillion, Reagan and Pino­chet, 200–201. 63. The percentage of translated or transcribed articles in El Memorial del Ejército de Chile stayed roughly constant from 1965 (25–35 percent) to 1975, except that in 1970 and 1975 there was an issue missing each year from the collection I examined, making a precise fig­ure impossible. 64. Editorial, “Nuestro último decenio,” Revista de la Marina 794 (Janu­ary 1990): 5–7.

Chapter 9. Mission Accomplished: The Transition to Protected Democracy, 1987–1990 1. José Toribio Merino Castro, “Cambio de mando institucional,” Revista de la Marina 795 (March 1990): 217–18. 2. Fernando Matthei Aubel, “Discurso pronunciado por el Sr. Comandante en jefe de la FACH,” Revista de la Fuerza Aérea 185 (Oc­to­ber–De­cem­ber 1990): 2–4. 3. Arancibia and Maza, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 301. 4. Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, “La participación del Ejército en la organización y desarrollo del Estado de Chile,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 436, no. 3 (1990): 5–35. 5. Wash­ing­ton Office on Latin America, Conditions for Chile’s Plebiscite on Pino­chet: A Report Based on a Joint WOLA-­CIIR Delegation to Chile (Wash­ing­ton, DC: Catholic Institute for International Relations, 1988). 6. US embassy in Santiago to US State Department, “Military Leadership-­Mission.” 7. Barros, Constitutionalism and Dictatorship, 283; Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 392–96. 8. Editorial, “Libertad Sin Demagogia,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 429, no. 2 (1988): 3–4; “Homenaje a S. E. el Presidente de la República, Capitán General Augusto Pino­chet Ugarte, con motivo de cumplir 15 años de mando de la institución,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 429, no. 2 (1988): 5–17.

256 / Notes to Pages 205–212

9. “Todo entiende y gil engaño visitan Chile,” The 1988 Plebiscite in Chile: A Collection of Documents, microform, Princeton University Latin Ameri­can Pamphlet Col­ lection. 10. Joaquín Lavín Infante, Chile, revolución silenciosa (Santiago: Zig-­Zag, 1987). 11. Eugenio Tironi, Autoritarismo, modernización, y marginalidad (Santiago: Ediciones Sur, 1990), 157; Winn, Victims of the Chilean Miracle. 12. Stern, Battling for Hearts and Minds, 350–51; see also Graham, “From Emergency Employment to Social Investment.” 13. José Luis Piñel Raijada, La cultura política del ciudadano y la comunicación política en TV, en la transición política del plebiscito chileno (Madrid: Centro Español de Estudios de America Latina, 1992), 15–16. 14. Morley and McGillion, Reagan and Pino­chet, 261–320. 15. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 408–11. 16. Margaret Power, “Defending Dictatorship: Conservative Women in Pino­chet’s Chile and the 1988 Plebiscite,” in Radical Women in Latin America: Left and Right, ed. Victoria González and Karen Kampwirths (University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2001), 299–324. 17. Tomás Moulian, Chile actual: Anatomía de un mito (Santiago: Lom Ediciones, 1997), 50–59. 18. Huneeus, Pino­chet Regime, 395–407. 19. Editorial, “FF.AA. y de Orden y democracia plena,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 433, no. 3 (1989): 3–4. 20. Eduardo Aldunate Herman, Las FF.AA. de Chile, 1891–1973: En defensa del consenso nacional (Santiago: Estado Mayor del Ejército, 1989), 196. 21. Ibid., 31–3; Claudio López Silva, “Las fuerzas armadas en el tercer mundo,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile, July 1970, 11–51. 22. Carlos Molina Johnson, “Chile: Los militares y la política,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 432, no. 2 (1989): 80–90. 23. Carlos Molina Johnson, “La constitución política, la obediencia y la no deliberancia militar,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 434, no. 1 (1990): 20–31. 24. Molina, Chile, 24. Gabriel González Videla used the army to resolve industrial conflict and repress communists from 1947 to 1948. Carlos Ibáñez del Campo used the army to restore order after urban riots in 1957. Eduardo Frei Montalva deployed the army to end a copper strike in 1966, which resulted in eight deaths at the El Salvador mine. Salvador Allende brought officers into his cabinet to negotiate agreements with striking workers in 1972. 25. Ibid., 195. In 1939, 1969, and 1973 officers attempted three failed po­liti­cal plots. In the 1940s and 1950s there were two secret societies with clear po­liti­cal orientations. 26. A retired army general made this comment to me in 2007. See also Estado Mayor General, Historia del Ejército de Chile, 8:314. 27. Eduardo Aldunate Herman, “Fuerzas Armadas de Chile, 1891–1973: Especta­dores o actores?,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 430, no. 1 (1988): 5–7. Since the constitutional reforms of 2005, only the president of the repub­lic can convene the council. 28. Valdivieso, Crónica de un rescate.

Notes to Pages 212–220 / 257

29. Carlos Cáceres, “Fuerzas armadas y democracia,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 434, no. 1 (1990): 5–15. 30. Germán Garcia Arriagada, “Carretera longitudinal austral: La respuesta a un desafío,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 433, no. 3 (1989): 90–122; see also Mario Arnello Romo, “Visión geopolítica de Chile en el año 2050,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 433, no. 3 (1989): 76–89. 31. René Meza Larenas, “Hacia un reordenamiento del mapa geopolítico de sudamérica?,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 433, no. 3 (1989): 160–70. 32. Editorial, “Cumpliendo la misión,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 436, no. 3 (1990): 3–4; Editorial, “Septiembre,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 435, no. 2 (1990): 3–4. 33. Labbé, Recuerdos con historia, 146. 34. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 229. 35. Rettig et al., Informe de la Comisión Nacional de Verdad y Reconciliación, 1:32– 40. The Rettig Report assigned responsibility for the collapse of Chilean democracy to po­liti­cal groups on the Left and the Right who rejected democracy and looked to armed struggle as the correct path to assuming power. The report identified ideas taught at the Army Academy of War as the ideological point of origin for a national security doctrine and assigned a role to the United States in provisioning this ideology. It also identified the military’s lack of knowledge of Geneva Convention norms as a factor contributing to human rights violations. The Rettig Report assigned responsibility for the most egregious human rights violations (physical disappearance) to DINA, highlighting that the organization was not accountable to any state body, only to Augusto Pino­chet himself. DINA’s power, entirely unchecked until 1977, was backed by an ideology of internal war that legitimized violence directed at its perceived enemies. The lack of limitations on DINA’s ability to commit acts of violence by an independent judiciary, the Comptroller General, or the legislature made possible the most extreme abuses of human rights. 36. “Editorial,” El Memorial del Ejército de Chile 437, no. 1 (1991): 1–3. 37. Correa, Preguntas que hacen historia, 151.

Epilogue 1. Oyarzún, Augusto Pino­chet, 236. 2. Arancibia and Maza, Conversando con el General Julio Canessa Robert, 14. 3. Sergio Grez Toso and Gabriel Salazar Vergara, Manifiesto de historiadores (Santiago de Chile: Lom Ediciones, 1999). 4. Juan Emilio Cheyre, “Ejército de Chile: El fin de una visión,” La Tercera, May 11, 2004. 5. Jen Ross, “In Traditional Chile, Meet the Soldiers with Pearl Earrings,” The Christian Science Monitor, No­vem­ber 7, 2005. The Naval Academy opened its doors to female cadets in 2007. 6. Michelle D. Bonner, “The Politics of Police Image in Chile,” Journal of Latin Ameri­can Studies 45, no. 4 (2013): 669. 7. “Juicios por derechos humanos en Chile y la región,” 2011, Instituto de Investiga­ ción en Ciencias Sociales Universidad Diego Portales, http://www.icso.cl. 8. Arancibia and Maza, Matthei, 206; see also López, El 11 en la mira, 145.

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Index

Academy of Military History, 81, 180, 192 Actas de la Honorable Junta de Gobierno (AHJG), 142 Aguirre Cerda, Pedro, 46–47, 52–53 Air Force, Chilean: character, 253n29; creation and early history, 29–31, 227n59; differences with Pinochet, 167–69, 207; role suppressing internal revolts, 39, 56; size of, 43. See also armed forces, Chile Air Force Academy of War: debates, 81, 82– 84, 89; founding, 30, 43 Aldunate, Eduardo, 209, 211 Alessandri, Arturo, 26–27, 42–43 Alessandri, Jorge, 58, 67, 77, 107, 126, 179, 184 Algerian War, influence of, 78, 84–85, 87, 94 Allende, Salvador: incorporation of m ­ ilitary officers into cabinet, 113–14, 116, 1­ 23–24; initial efforts to overthrow, 103, 106, 112, 116–117; overthrow and death, 130–31, 135–36; personality and contradictions, 101–3; reassurances to the armed forces as president-­elect, 104–5; strategy for dealing with the military during presidency, 114, 122–24. See also Popu­lar Unity (UP) Alliance for Progress, 71–72, 77. See also Cuban Revolution Altamirano, Carlos, 100, 116, 128–29 Alumnos aliados (oficiales aliados), 60, 231n27. See also Military Assistance Program Andean Pact, 167–68, 229n32 Andes Mountains, 9, 31, 35, 38, 46, 102, 146 Antarctica, 35, 47, 154

antiaircraft, 59, 83, 170, 192–93, 197 anticommunist; anticommunism, 1, 4–5, 45, 48, 52, 57, 60–61, 65, 77, 95, 100, 106, 114, 133–34, 160–63, 190, 195, 198 antimilitary backlash, antimilitarista, 2, 3, 38, 41, 43, 49 Antofogasta, 15, 76, 89, 130, 136, 146–47 Arab-­Israeli conflict, 80, 82–83, 88–89, 94, 174 Araucanía/Araucanian, 9–11, 17, 31, 94 Aracena Aguilar, Diego, 43. See also Air Force, Chilean: creation and early history Arellano, Sergio, 128–29, 136, 142, 146, 155, 163–56 Argentina, 31, 35, 38, 46, 91, 146, 195, 212; relations with Chile, 16, 19, 31, 59, 67–68, 74, 89, 99, 122, 125, 127, 137, 172–76, 196– 97, 212 Arica, 15, 32, 158 Ariostazo, 46 aristocracy/aristocratic/aristocrats, 11, 13, 15, 18, 25, 44 Armas y Servicios, 148, 222n18 armed forces, Argentina, 4–5, 20, 57, 64, 75, 85, 186; compared to Chile’s armed forces, 14, 21, 33, 42, 52, 66–68, 80–85, 136–37, 171, 187, 202 armed forces, Brazil, 4–5, 20, 57; arms production and procurement, 64, 192, 194; compared to Chile’s armed forces, 46, 66, 187; influence on Chile, 95, 106, 115, 195; national security doctrine, 62, 87; overseas missions, 49, 219

278 / Index armed forces, Chile: constitutionalism, 2, 98, 138, 154, 188, 201, 207–8, 215; discipline, 2, 3, 17–19, 29, 32, 34–35, 39, 42–44, 50, 73, 77, 98–99, 116, 120–22, 125, 128, 137– 38, 148, 163, 165, 187, 188, 190, 200; domestic arms industry, 29, 176, 192–95, 218; institutional memory, 1, 3, 6, 16, 22–23, 32, 41–43, 134, 191–92, 215, 220; lore, 11, 17, 22; overseeing elections, 46, 204; professionalism, 18, 25, 29, 31, 42, 52, 60, 64, 67, 77, 103, 133, 154, 187, 215, 219; reticence, 3, 138, 154, 163; social orientations, 27, 70–71, 147–49; travel overseas, 20, 35, 43, 59–63, 83, 231n29; values, 29, 35, 38, 44, 72–73, 77, 116, 152, 162–63. See also antimilitary backlash; civil-­military relations; defense journals; interservice relations; intraservice repression armed forces, Peru, 15–16, 19–20; arms procurement, 64, 74, 88, 170–71, 196; compared to Chile’s armed forces, 17, 46, 52, 66–67, 81–85, 88, 99, 114–15; conventional superiority, 88–89, 98, 130, 170–71 Army, Chilean: colonial period, 11–12; frustration with po­liti­cal sys­tem early twentieth century, 25–26; professionalization, 18–20; role in politics early twentieth century, 26–29; size of, 43. See also Ariostazo; armed forces, Chile; Civil War of 1891; For an Auspicious Tomorrow (PUMA); Pigs’ Feet Plot; Tacnazo; Tanquetazo; War of the Pacific Army Academy of War, 4, 18, 20, 52, 71, 74, 80, 82, 84, 87, 90, 155, 195, 237n33, 237n40, 257n40 Asia, 5, 48–50, 100, 209; East, 20; South, 21, 83–84; Southeast, 161 Atacama Desert, 15, 63, 82, 91 Atlantic Patagonia, 16, 172 autarky, 90, 108 Aylwin Azócar, Patricio, 213–214 Aysén (province), 94, 113 Balmaceda, José Manuel, 3, 21–23 Barnes, Harry, 187, 199

Barrios Tirado, Guillermo, 54, 58 Bachelet, Alberto, 108, 113, 131, 218–19 Bachelet, Michelle, 218–19 battles: Angamos, 15; Chorrillos, 15, 224n23; Concón, 23; Iquique, 16; Lircay, 14; Miraflores, 15, 224n23; Tucapel, 10; Yungay, 14. See also Peru-­Bolivia Confederation; Spanish; War of the Pacific Beagle Channel, boundary dispute with Argentina, 68, 127, 172–75, 197. See also Argentina: relations with Chile belle epoque: after the War of the Pacific, 21; first year of Allende’s presidency, 110 Bellow, Gunter von, 18. See also Germany: influence on Chilean Army; Military Academy Benavides, César, 155, 169 Bío Bío River, 9–10 Bolshevik Revolution, 25, 141. See also Soviet Union Bonilla, Oscar, 112, 124, 128, 145–47, 153–56, 163 Boonen Rivera, Jorge, 18 bourgeoisie, 25, 100, 154, 158, 186, 202 Brasília (city), 106, 126 Brazil: relations with Chile, 106, 122, 125, 132, 192, 241n61 Bravo, Leonidas, 42, 56 breadline, 122, 207–8 Britain/British. See Great Britain Bulnes, Manuel, 210, 212 Business Social Statute, 149, 153, 158 cadets, 2, 16, 18–19, 34–36, 38–39, 41–42, 49– 50, 56, 66, 75, 79, 149, 204, 226n41 Calama, 51, 130, 146 Canales, Alfredo, 112, 115 Canberra (jets), 89, 197 Canessa, Julio, 37, 43, 56, 79, 84, 92, 120, 137, 172, 182, 189, 193, 204, 216 Cape Horn, 164, 197 capitalism, 6, 102, 104, 135, 158, 184; officers view of, 70, 77, 149, 153. See also bourgeoisie Captain General, 12, 189, 204 Carabineros: attacks on, 38, 190; early history and founding, 24, 27, 31–32; German influ-

Index / 279 ence on, 31–32; loyalty to Allende, 121, 123; mobilization for war, 31, 172; recovery of reputation after Pinochet, 219; relationship to the po­liti­cal system, 38, 40, 43, 51, 109, 130, 138, 189; size of, 43. See also armed forces, Chile Caravan of Death, 146, 155; opposition to, 146, 246n35. See also state terrorism Cardoen, Carlos, 194. See also armed forces, Chile: domestic arms industry Carretera Austral (highway), 93, 212 Carter, Jimmy: foreign policy, 171, 178, 195; sanction of Pinochet regime, 165, 179. See also Letelier Affair; Plebiscite of 1978 Carvajal, Patricio, 2, 39, 89, 104, 117, 119, 121, 123, 128, 136, 141, 160–61, 171 Castillo, Sergio, 74, 76 Castro, Fidel, 71, 84–85, 161; relationship to Allende and the Popu­lar Unity, 100, 103, 106, 132; visit to Chile in 1971, 110–111. See also Cuban Revolution; grupo de amigos personales Catalán, Víctor, 35, 75, 119 Catholic University, 152, 193, 242n66 Cauas, Jorge, 156, 159, 168 caudillo, 14, 48, 65 Caupolicán Theater, 116, 129, 181 center-­left, 70, 77, 99, 182, 186, 216 Central Bank, 156–57 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 7, 107, 128, 132, 146–47, 171, 174, 178, 198 Chamber of Deputies, 126, 131 Cheyre, Juan Emilio, 217 Chicago Boys, 93, 152, 157, 242n66 Chilean Federation of Labor, 25, 39–40 Chilean-­ness Campaign (La Campaña de Chilenidad), 46–47 Chrismar, Julio von, 83, 91 Christian Democrats (po­liti­cal party), 70, 74, 103–4, 106, 114, 157, 191, 201, 213 Chuquicamata Copper Mine, 76. See also c­ opper Church, Frank, 178. See also United States: covert intervention in Chilean affairs Church, the (Roman Catholic), 3, 13–14, 45,

48, 57, 117, 149; defense of human rights, 150, 181 CIA. See Central Intelligence Agency civil-­military relations, 12, 44–45, 52, 54–56, 61, 66, 68, 74–75, 77, 107, 113, 114, 124, 185, 192–93, 202, 209–12, 219, 256n24 civil war, 4, 13, 27, 42, 97–98, 102, 122–24, 126, 128, 134–36, 140, 142–43, 161, 185, 197, 220 Civil War of 1891, 3, 11, 22–23, 32, 81, 226n39 Clausewitz, Carl von, 18 class, military’s relationship to: lower, 17, 24– 26, 56–57, 145, 184–85; middle, 5–6, 25–26, 28, 53, 57, 73, 101, 110, 126, 181, 205; upper, 5, 99, 181, 185 class conflict, 108, 118, 149, 207 closed-­shop union, 180. See also Constitution of 1980; neoliberalism COAJ. See Junta’s Advisory Committee coal: strategic importance, 81, 110; strikes 51, 54–55, 113; towns, 56, 93 Coalition of the Parties for a NO, the NO campaign, 205–8. See also Plebiscite of 1988 Cochrane, Thomas, 13, 21 Cold War, 4, 7, 49, 52, 56, 57, 61, 77–78, 161, 178, 185, 195, 197, 202, 213, 217 College of Inter-­Ameri­can Defense, 218 colonial Chile, 10–12, 223n6. See Spanish commander in chief, 7, 12, 17, 22, 29, 30, 39, 41, 43–44, 53, 74, 76, 80, 99, 102, 104, 112–13, 115, 123–24, 128–29, 137, 139, 140, 146, 149, 155, 163, 188–89, 203, 205, 208, 213, 216– 17, 242n66 Communist Party of Chile, 2, 27, 39, 41, 53– 54, 56, 68, 101, 105, 132, 186, 188–90, 198, 201–2, 213, 215, 244n120, 245n20 Comptroller General, 126, 144, 165–66, 180, 257n40 concentration camps, 51, 55–57, 154, 230n8 Concepción, 10, 14, 53–54, 56, 93, 146, 158 Concertación de los Partidos por el NO. See Coalition of the Parties for a NO Confederation of Copper Workers, 184 Confederation of Truck Drivers, 113 Congress: Chilean, 3, 22–24, 26–29, 43, 54–

280 / Index 55, 64–66, 93, 97, 101, 103–7, 111, 118, 126, 132, 135, 192, 226n39; United States, 4, 59, 64, 156, 160, 162, 171, 178, 196, 198–200. See also Kennedy Amendment; Law for the Permanent Defense of Democracy conquistadors, 9–11, 210 conscripts, 23–24, 35, 43, 47, 69, 75, 96, 98– 99, 121, 148, 154 conservative: clergy, 150; economists, 152, 242n65; governments, 13–14, 26, 67, 194; historiography, 14, 28; lawyers, 150–51; military orientations, 72, 101, 112, 116; sectors in Chile, 48, 64, 161, 184, 186, 202, 208, 213; women, 111, 187, 208 Constitution of 1833, 14. See also Portales, Diego: po­liti­cal project Constitution of 1925, 1, 27, 137, 151, 209 Constitution of 1980, 1, 3, 150, 164, 179–183, 188–190, 201, 203–4, 209–11, 213, 217 constitutionalism. See armed forces, Chile: constitutionalism constitutional tribunal, 188, 207–9 Contreras, Manuel, 86–87, 145–46, 154–55, 164–65, 232n34, 237n33 Copiapó, 40–41, 146, 158, 228n23 copper, 76, 167, 206, 218; international price of, 157, 183, 201; nationalization of, 81, 108, 110, 167, 180; US-­owned mines, 63–64, 76, 110, 132; workers, 184 Coquimbo, 38–39 CORFO. See Production Development Corporation Coronel, 55–56 coups, military, 7, 13, 46, 61, 101; in Argentina, Brazil, and Peru, 62, 66–67; ideological basis for, 20, 61–62, 70, 87–88, 162; preemptive, 98, 101, 117; scholarly interpretations of, 5–6. See also Allende, Salvador: overthrow and death; Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973 countercoup, 13, 97, 121, 130 Cuba(n), 64, 102–3, 116, 134, 138, 143, 152, 162, 165, 178, 190; in Africa, 161; influence in Peru, 170–172; support for the Popu­ lar Unity, 106, 111, 132, 241n61; weapons

for the Chilean Left, 112, 127, 136, 142, 197, 200, 201, 212 Cuban Revolution, influence in Latin America, 62, 71–72, 84–87, 92, 100, 111 Cuthbert de Prats, Sofía, 124, 155 de Castro, Sergio, 158–59, 168, 177, 183. See also Chicago Boys; neoliberalism Declaration of Principles, 150–153, 158, 163, 168, 247n53 deber de cumplir, el, 73. See also armed forces, Chile: discipline defense, military, and professional journals, 8, 12, 20, 46–47, 58, 69, 73, 85, 115, 149, 160, 190, 201, 219, 222n18. See also Memorial del Ejército de Chile; Revista de la Fuerza Aérea; Revista de la Marina democracy, Chilean, 7, 73, 97, 102, 106, 160, 211, 217, 257n35 democratization, 157, 195 Díaz, Nicanor, 48, 68, 119, 121, 128, 136, 148, 156, 158, 184 DINA. See National Intelligence Directorate disappearances, 57, 85, 257n40. See also state terrorism Dirty War, 186 Divini Redemptoris (papal encyclical), 149 don de mando, el, 73. See also armed forces, Chile: values earthquake, 11, 43, 69, 75, 219, 223n6 Easter Island, 20, 35, 41, 63 East-­West struggle (ideological), 50, 63, 171 economic crisis: under Allende, 114, 116, 135; under Pinochet, 183, 189 economy policy: after the Parliamentary Republic, 26–27, 42, 45, 52; during the Parliamentary Republic, 24, 210; under Allende, 110–111; under Pinochet, 93, 152–53, 156– 59, 187. See also capitalism; Chicago Boys; po­liti­cal economy Edwards, Alberto, 28, 226n53. See also conservative Edwards, Augustín, 213, 242n65

Index / 281 ENAER. See National Aeronautic Company of Chile enlisted men, 38, 136 ENU. See National Unified School Ercilla, 114, 127, 136, 148, 150, 153, 159 Ewing, Pedro, 83, 141, 148, 150 exceptionalism, Chilean, 14, 102, 109, 133, 209 export commodities, Chilean, 37, 63–64, 153, 157–58, 176, 183, 206. See bourgeoisie extraconstitutional, 104, 116. See also armed forces, Chile: constitutionalism extremists, po­liti­cal, 114, 119, 145. See also Fatherland and Liberty; Movement of Popu­lar Unitary Action; Organized Vanguard of the People; Revolutionary Leftist Movement FAMAE. See Factories and Workshops of the Army Falklands (Malvinas) War, 197 Factories and Workshops of the Army ­(FAMAE), 193 fascism: generic right-­wing, 45, 53, 117; Mussolini’s movement, 44–45, 49 familia militar, la, 3, 107. See also interservice relations fatherland, 3, 16–17, 20, 29, 31, 34, 37, 65, 98, 108, 115, 139, 151, 163, 213 Fatherland and Liberty (PL), 119–120 Fernández, Sergio, 165–66, 169, 183 Fernandez Reyes, Rafael, 58 F-­5E Tiger (jet), 174, 192 fifth columnist, 68, 200. See also subversive/ subversion First Division, 76, 146 fish meal, 176, 206 foquismo, 87. See also guerrilla: fighters For an Auspicious Tomorrow (PUMA), 65– 66. See also Ibáñez del Campo, Carlos Fort Bragg, 69, 85 Fort Gullick. See School of the Americas FPMR. See Manuel Rodríguez Patriotic Front Franco, Francisco, 47–48, 114, 151, 163 Franco-­Prussian War (1870–1871), 18

free-­market, 1, 92, 152, 167, 178, 183, 242n66 Frei Montalva, Eduardo, 99, 104–5, 107–8, 114, 126, 132, 163, 181, 256n24 Frei Ruiz-­Tagle, Eduardo, 213. See also Constitution of 1980 GAP. See grupo de amigos personales GDP. See Gross Domestic Product general staff, 8, 18, 21, 56, 62, 79, 120, 124; editors of defense journals, 8, 20, 70, 72, 80, 107, 159; role played in the Pinochet regime, 79, 138, 146, 169 Geneva Convention, 155, 257n40 geography, Chilean: central valley, 9–12, 35, 90–91, 93; far south, 21, 35, 91–92, 127, 172, 174; north­ern deserts, 15, 35, 63, 82, 90– 91. See also Andes Mountains; Antarctica; Atacama Desert; Patagonia Geopolítica (book by Augusto Pinochet), 91 geopolitics, 18, 20, 32, 63, 79–80, 87, 90–94, 157, 172, 176, 196 Germany: arms sales to Chile, 18, 29–30, 174, 192, 218; immigrants to Chile, 5, 159, 230n49; influence on Carabineros, 31– 32; influence on Chilean army, 11, 18–20, 23, 201; influence on Chilean geopolitics, 90; as model of government, 25, 184; Nazi, 47–49, 115–116 Glories of the Navy Day, 16, 109 González Videla, Gabriel, 2, 51, 53–56, 64, 126, 179 goose-­stepping, 18, 23, 34 Great Britain, 8, 15, 48, 83, 95, 244n120; arms sales to Chile, 20, 29, 74, 174, 192; influence on the Chilean navy, 11, 13, 21, 32, 49; relations with Chile, 47, 192, 194, 197, 216–17 Great Depression, 37, 133, 157, 184 Gross Domestic Product (GDP), 81, 99, 110– 111, 152, 157, 183 Group of 15, 122. See also high command, military: Allende years Grove Vallejo, Marmaduke, 26–27, 40–41 grupo de amigos personales (GAP), 102–3, 141

282 / Index guerrilla: fighters, 71, 78, 85–87, 101, 125, 127, 136, 146, 190–191; warfare, 61, 84–85 Guevara, Ernesto “Che,” 85, 87, 111, 161 Guzmán, Jaime, 150–51, 213 Haushofer, Karl, 20, 90 Havana, 101, 160–161, 179, 219 Hawker Hunter (jet), 74, 83, 174, 192, 197 health care, 35, 74, 148, 158–59, 180, 205 Herrera, Ariosto, 46. See Ariostazo Herrera, Francisco, 119, 159 high command, military, 22, 27–29, 38, 59, 61– 62, 64–66, 74, 76, 79, Allende years, 97– 99, 101–2, 105, 111, 116–131, 134, Pinochet years, 136–147, 154–55, 168, 175, 205 Hiriart de Pinochet, Lucía, 87, 187. See also conservative: women Hispanic culture, 5, 11–13; importance for Chilean officers, 149 Ho Chi Minh, 85–86, 145 Hoffmann, Alfredo, 54–55 Huáscar (ship), 16–17 Huerta, Ismael, 2, 34, 39, 41–42, 48, 59, 98, 105, 113–114, 116, 119, 125, 126, 137 Huidobro, Sergio, 101, 129 Ibáñez del Campo, Carlos: collapse of first government, 37–39, 41–42; involvement in conspiracies, 46, 49–50, 64; legacy, 2–3, 11, 159, 170, 176, 182, 184, 210, 212; revolutionary movement and first presidency, 27–33, 55; sec­ond presidency, 65–67, 77 Ibañismo/Ibáñista, 27, 38, 65, 67, 159 Incan empire, 9, 14 Indo-­Pakistani Wars, 78, 82–83, 94, 236n20. See United Nations: military observers industrial/industrialization/industrialized, 5, 10, 24, 27, 45, 53, 68, 71, 78, 81–84, 90, 110, 115, 121, 136, 147–48, 151, 153, 158–59, 192, 194, 206, 210 inter-­Ameri­can, 49, 52, 57, 63, 72, 84, 104–5, 195–97, 199, 218 internal front, 69–70, 148, 162 internal security plans, 97, 122, 147, 160

internationalism: left-­wing, 102, 149; liberal, 195 interservice relations, 3, 8, 23, 37, 98, 101, 114, 118–20, 129, 169, 187–88, 191, 201; See also Civil War of 1891 intraservice repression and violence: in air force, 127, 131, 218; in army, 106–7, 120, 127, 129, 131, 155; in navy, 125, 127–28, 131. See also Civil War of 1891; Tanquetazo Iquique, 15, 24, 51, 54–55, 57 Iquique Massacre, 24–25, 57, 226n44 Isle of Snipe, 68, 75. See also Argentina: relations with Chile Israel, 8, 68, 86, 192, 193. See also Arab-­Israeli Conflict Japan, 21, 49, 135, 176–77 John F. Kennedy, 71–72, 77 Joint Chiefs of Staff, 89, 98, 117, 119, 123, 128, 136 junior officers: contact with poor Chileans, 23–24; frustration with government, 25– 26, 76; frustration with the high command, 25, 118, 125; involvement in repression, 56, 142; overseas assignments, 61–62; support for extraconstitutional acts, 27, 46, 66, 121–22. See also Ariostazo; armed forces, Chile; saber-­rattling; Tanquetazo junta, Chilean: character, 137–39, 187–88; collegiality, 163, 169; divisions, 156, 165–69, 176–78; legislative role, 92, 155–56, 163, 169–70, 177; role blunting Pinochet’s ambition, 188, 207–9, 215 Junta’s Advisory Committee (COAJ), 138–39, 150, 153, 156–58 Kast, Miguel, 93, 159, 177. See also Chicago Boys; neoliberalism/neoliberal reform Kennedy Amendment, 160, 174, 192–97 Keynesian, 69, 152–54, 184 KGB, 132, 244n120, 245n20 Kiesling, Hans von, 31. See also Germany: influence on Chilean Army Kissinger, Henry, 7, 89, 98, 105–6, 143, 161, 171 Körner, Emil, 18–19, 23, 25, 30. See also Germany: influence on Chilean Army

Index / 283 labor-­capital relations: before the Alessandri administration, 15, 24–25, 27; during the González administration, 51–57; during the Pinochet regime, 147–48, 151–53, 156–59 Lackington, Enrique, 70, 233n61. See also armed forces, Chile: social orientations Lagos, Joaquín, 146–47. See also Caravan of Death laissez-­faire, 24, 70 landholding elites, 72, 158, 187, 206 land reform: army attitude towards, 71–72, 74 Lautaro, 9–10. See also Spanish Law for the Control of Arms and Explosives, 112 Law for the Permanent Defense of Democracy, 55–57 left-­wing/leftist/the Left, 51, 53, 64, 84, 87, 98– 100, 102, 107, 112–13, 121, 127, 132, 134–35, 141–42, 160, 190–191, 195, 200, 217–18, 220, 257n40; See also Movement of Popu­ lar Unitary Action; Organized Vanguard of the People; Popu­lar Front; Popu­lar Unity; Revolutionary Leftist Movement Leigh Guzmán, Gustavo: alienation from government, 165–69; during Allende’s presidency, 10, 118–19, 122, 124; early career and training, 2, 78; failed assassination of, 213; justification for and role in coup against Allende, 128–30, 143–44, 243n113; po­liti­ cal orientation, 135, 143, 148–49, 153, 159, 161, 184; relationship to repression, 89, 131, 139, 145–47, 160; role in junta and conflict with Pinochet, 7, 137–39, 156–57, 163, 181. See also Ibañismo/Ibáñista; interservice relations Letelier, Orlando, 125, 130, 164–65, 169 Letelier Affair, 165 Línea Recta, 66. See also Ibáñez del Campo, Carlos: sec­ond presidency López Tobar, Mario, 17, 34 Lutz, Augusto, 62, 128, 154–55 Manuel Rodríguez Patriotic Front (FPMR), 190–191, 197–201, 213

Mao Zedong, 61, 197 Mapuche Indians, 10–11, 31, 206, 223n5. See also Araucanía/Araucanians Marxist-­Leninism, 86, 102–3, 239n14 Massera, Emilio, 172, 186 masses: control or manipulation of, 69, 70, 182, 190; as disenfranchised group, 17, 25; fickleness of, 48, 69–70, 116; military e­ ducation of, 13, 23–26, 70; po­liti­ cal force in twentieth century, 37–38, 42, 44, 62, 136 Matthei, Fernando: early career and t­ raining, 2, 56, 60–61, 65–66, 81; on human rights abuses, 219–20; joining the government and junta, 159, 164, 168–69; personality and background, 5, 149, 170; relationship to junta, 176–77, 184–85, 187–88, 191, 199, 203; role during frontier tensions with Peru and Argentina, 75, 88–89, 174, 192– 93; support for a transition to democracy, 189, 195, 205, 207–9 Maxwell Air Force Base, 30, 61 Melo, Mario, 99, 103 Memorial del Ejército de Chile, 18, 46, 60, 115, 191, 201, 205 Mendoza, César: relationship to junta, 130, 137–39, 156, 166, 169, 177; relationship to Pinochet, 139, 163; resignation, 188 Merchant Marine, 21–22, 176–78, 225n35 Mercurio, El, 166, 213 Merino Castro, José Toribio: during Allende’s presidency, 104–7, 116, 122–25, 128–29, 137, 215; during transition to democracy, 184– 89, 203–5, 208–9; early career and training, 2, 39–41, 49, 90; personality and ideology, 3–4, 34, 149, 198; preoccupation with external defense, 125, 139, 142, 171, 174–75; relationship to neoliberal economists, 152–53, 177; relationship to Pinochet and junta, 138–39, 156, 163, 165–66, 169– 70, 191, 199 Messianic, 31, 55 Military Academy, 2, 13, 18, 34–36, 38, 41, 48, 75, 149

284 / Index Military Assistance Program, 58–59, 67, 74, 104, 192 military culture, 3, 8, 52, 158, 188–89 ministers of government: defense, 27, 31, 35, 44, 58, 74, 76, 97–98, 107, 114, 117–20, 122–26, 130, 146, 154, 169, 172, 192, 195, 218; finance, 110, 123, 157, 168, 177, 183, 187; foreign relations, 99, 160, 171; health, 159, 168; interior, 24, 53–54, 111, 113, 116, 138, 145, 147, 154, 169, 183, 186, 212, 217; national planning, 93, 153, 157, 169, 177, 183; pub­lic works and transportation, 53, 123 Mirage (jet), 64, 74, 193–95 Mitrokhin, Vasili, 132, 224n120, 245n20. See also Soviet Union: relationship to Allende and Popu­lar Unity mobilization: for war, 23, 26, 46, 81, 130, 171; po­liti­cal, 53, 97, 101, 111 Modern Warfare (book by Roger Trinquier), 84 Molina Johnson, Carlos, 210–211, 256n22 Moneda Palace, La, 66, 107, 118, 120–121, 123, 130–131, 136, 141, 206 Montero, Raúl, 98, 104, 108–9, 112–15, 123, 125 Movement of Popu­lar Unitary Action (MAPU), 127 Nahuelbuta Mountains, 146. See also guerrilla: fighters; subversive/subversion nationalism; nationalist, 4, 6, 14, 23, 27, 28, 42, 44, 46–48, 64–65, 81, 88, 98, 103, 114, 125, 143, 148, 150, 178, 196, 226n39, 240n32 nationalizations, 81, 108, 110–111 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 82 National Academy of Po­liti­cal and Strategic Studies (ANEPE), 218 National Aeronautic Company of Chile (ENAER), 193–94, 218 National Commission for Truth and Reconciliation, 214, 257n35. See Rettig Report National Intelligence Directorate (DINA), 146, 153, 155–57, 164, 169, 257n35 National Planning Office (ODEPLAN), 93, 153, 157, 169, 177 National Security Council (Chilean), 179, 181, 211, 213

National Unified School (ENU), 117–18 National Women’s Day, 111. See also pinochetista (Pinochet supporters) nation-­state, 24, 85, 90, 204 Native people, 9–10, 12 NATO. See North Atlantic Treaty Organization Naval Academy, 2, 13, 16, 21, 39, 49, 178, 225n31, 257n5 Naval Academy of War, 21, 178 Naval Mutiny of 1931, 2, 37–40, 42, 49 Navy, Chilean: creation and early history, 10– 11, 13–16, 22, 32; differences with the junta, 176–78; involvement in the po­liti­cal sys­ tem before Allende, 26–27, 41, 53–55, 65, 74; Naval Mutiny’s effect on, 39–40, 42, 49; professionalization, 20–21, 50; reaction to Allende’s victory, 99–101, 104–5, 107, 112, 114, 115, 117–19, 125, 127; relationship to peripheral regions, 35, 91; size of, 43; US influence on, 59–60; See also armed forces, Chile; Civil War of 1891; Great Britain: influence on the Chilean Navy; Naval Mutiny of 1931; War of the Pacific Navy Day. See Glories of the Navy Day neoliberalism/neoliberal reform, 94, 152–53, 157, 159, 163, 167–68, 178, 180, 183, 187, 206 Neumann, Eleodoro, 54–55 Nixon, Richard, 7, 62, 98, 131–32, 152, 160, 162, 195 noncommissioned officers, 35, 38–40, 43, 62, 76, 121, 127, 129, 136, 148, 190 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 63, 161 north­ern Europe, 135, 148 north-­south axis (south­ern and north­ern hemispheres), 63, 115, 195 Novoa Fuentes, Oscar, 42–43. See also armed forces, Chile: professionalism Nuño, Sergio, 35, 119, 124, 128, 147–49, 153– 56, 163 OAS. See Organization of Ameri­can States Oceania, 20, 22 ODEPLAN. See National Planning Office

Index / 285 O’Higgins, Bernardo, 12–14, 21–22, 32, 130, 189, 210 Operation Condor, 172 Operation Sovereignty, 175. See also ­Beagle Channel, boundary dispute with Ar­ gentina Operation Twentieth Century, 200–201, 204 Opus Dei, 150 Organization of Ameri­can States (OAS), 57, 67, 89, 178 Organized Vanguard of the People (Organized Vanguard), 126–27 Palacios, Javier, 119, 124, 128, 148, 155, 163 Panama Canal Zone, 62. See School of the Americas pan-­Ameri­can, 85, 196 Parliamentary Republic, 23, 42, 70, 210 Patagonia, 16, 35, 172 Pax Ameri­cana, 59, 64 peasants, 6, 12, 23–24, 38, 40, 47, 53, 70, 72–73, 93, 97–98, 100, 111, 126 Perón, Juan, 66 personalist, 138, 165, 187, 211 Peru, 2, 9–13, 20, 34–35, 197; relations with Chile, 4, 14–16, 59, 64, 67–68, 74, 88–89, 91, 99, 116, 122, 125, 130, 134, 136–37, 163, 168, 170–172, 174–75, 191, 196, 203, 207 Peru-­Bolivian Confederation, 12, 14 petite bourgeoisie, 113, 144, 153 Pickering, Guillermo, 120–21, 123–24 Pigs’ Feet Plot, 64 Pillán, T-­35 (airplane), 193–94. See also armed forces, Chile: domestic arms industry PL. See Fatherland and Liberty Pinochet generation, 2–4, 7, 11, 24, 32–33, 37, 41, 46, 49, 50, 52, 56, 66, 75, 77, 96, 103, 133–34, 138, 149, 162–63, 201, 204, 219–20 Pinochetismo, 7, 27, 163 pinochetista (Pinochet supporters), 111, 187, 202, 204, 206, 208 Pinochet Ugarte, Augusto: academic formation, 36, 79–80, 89–94; accumulation of powers, 138–39, 155–56, 163, 167; conflict with other officers, 7, 131, 137, 139, 154–56,

165–69; death and legacy, 216–20; early life and training, 2, 34–36, 41, 48, 67; failed assassination of, 200–201, 204; limits to power, 188, 204–5, 207–9; personality and ideological conviction, 3, 12, 48, 51–52, 137, 149–150, 162; po­liti­cal and economic project, 151, 156–57, 159, 179–182, 208–210, 213; relationship with Allende and the Popu­lar Unity, 98, 101–5, 109–110, 121–25, 128, 243n113; relationship with the US government, 160, 162, 171–72, 178– 79, 185, 187, 195, 198–200, 208; role during González presidency, 2, 51–52, 56, 130; tactics with opposition, 3, 184–86; travel overseas, 20, 48; use of violence, 146–47, 154–55, 164. See also armed forces, Chile; interservice relations; intraservice repression and violence; Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973 Pisagua, 51–55. See also concentration camps Plan Z, 141–42 Plebiscite of 1978, 165–67 Plebiscite of 1980, 164, 181–83 Plebiscite of 1988, 94, 188, 204–9 poblaciones. See slums/slum dweller Poblete, Hugo, 125, 131 Poblete, Sergio, 108, 131 polarization, po­liti­cal, 49, 77, 85, 97, 114, 131, 207, 212 po­liti­cal economy, 1, 7, 45, 138, 168, 177, 184. Polemología básica (book by Bernardino Parada), 80 Popu­lar Front (po­liti­cal coalition), 45–48, 52 Popu­lar Unity (UP), 49, 81, 96–98; allegations of illegal behavior, 111, 122, 135, 144; mismanagement of economy, 110–111; po­ liti­cal strategy, 100–101, 108–9, 116–18, 124, radical members, 99, 102–3, 127, 135; relationship to armed forces, 108–9, 133 population growth, Chile, 45, 49 Porta, Fernando, 99, 104 Portales, Diego: legacy, 22, 28, 32, 41, 147, 151, 182, 211, 224n19; po­liti­cal project, 12– 14, 17 Prat, Arturo, 16–17, 32 Prats González, Carlos: at Army Academy

286 / Index of War, 18, 79–81; assassination, 155, 218; early career, 2, 38; professionalism, 66, 98–99, 103, 107, 118; relationship to inter-­ American system, 59, 63, 74; relationship to Popu­lar Unity, 70, 81, 108, 112–16, 120– 24, 126–29. See also intraservice repression and violence preemptive attack, 78, 82, 88–89, 95 private sector, 53, 72, 75, 81, 158, 168, 183, 187, 194 problema de nuestra educación militar, El (book by Alberto Muñoz), 25 procoup officers, 124–25, 127, 130–31 Production Development Corporation (CORFO), 147, 153 protests against the Pinochet regime, 184–92, 198, 201, 203, 215 “Prussians of South America,” 26 pub­lic opinion, 48, 68–70, 140–42 public-­sector, 27, 94, 167, 206 PUMA. See For an Auspicious Tomorrow Punta Arenas, 31, 68, 92, 154–5, 158 Radical Party, 45, 53 rank-­and-­file, 49, 96 Reagan, Ronald: policy towards Chile, 185, 194–95, 198–99 Rebellion of the Masses, The (book by José Ortega y Gasset), 36, 44 regionalization, 92–93 repression, state, 1, 2, 7, 52, 54, 57, 100, 114, 134–39, 211, 213–14; disagreements about, 137–39, 146–47, 156, 163; justification for, 70, 84–88, 141–45, 162. See also National Intelligence Directorate; state terrorism republican militias, 14, 41–43, 202 retired officers, 6, 40, 46, 59, 66, 71, 190, 216– 17; role during Allende’s presidency, 99, 105, 115–16, 118, 241n61 Rettig Report, 190, 214, 257n35 Revista de la Fuerza Aérea, 58, 107–8, 158– 59, 161 Revista de la Marina, 20, 115, 176–77, 201 Revolutionary Coordinating Junta, 102

Revolutionary Leftist Movement (MIR), 99, 102–3, 118, 126–27, 146 right-­wing/the Right, 99–100, 102–3, 106–7, 112, 114, ,119–20, 126, 129, 141, 204, 208 Rocha, Sergio, 119–20 Rogalla von Biberstein, Hermann, 18. See also Germany: influence on Chilean Army Rolls Royce, 174, 192 roto chileno, el, 17 Royal Navy (Britain), 21, 47 Ruiz, César, 109, 114, 116, 118, 123–24, 127 Russian Revolution, 25, 247n53 saber-­rattling, 26, 28, 64 Schneider, René, 18, 66, 80, 99, 103, 106, 129 School of the Americas, 62, 232n34 Schwager coal mine, 54, 56 security assistance, 5, 59, 61, 156, 160, 185, 200. See also Military Assistance Program Senate/senator: Chilean, 26, 40, 58, 101, 105, 179–80, 208–9; United States, 160, 172, 178, 193, 244n120 Sep­tem­ber 11, 1973, 8, 87–88, 95, 106, 123, 129, 130, 134–36, 144–45, 153, 165, 179, 185, 189, 209, 218; joint preparations for, 121–130; legal argument for, 2, 143–44; military strategy, 136–37, 163; po­liti­cal support for, 131, 135, 144, 147, 163, 215. See also coups, military Sepúlveda, Mario, 120, 123–24 shantytown. See slums/slum dweller Shipbuilding and Ship Repair Company, 105, 193 siempre victoriosas, jamás vencidas, 2, 185, 189, 203 Sinai Peninsula, 83, 89 Síntesis geográfica de Chile, Argentina, Bolivia y Perú (book by Augusto Pinochet), 80 Six-­Day War, 78, 82–83, 88. See also Arab-­ Israeli conflict Slit-­Throat Case, 188 Snipe Incident, 68, 75. See also Argentina: relations with Chile slums/slum dweller, 61, 73, 111, 184, 190, 206

Index / 287 socialism, 41, 72, 77, 100–103, 111, 117, 135, 153, 161, 220 Socialist Party of Chile, 100–103, 116, 128–29, 131, 141, 199, 215–16, 218, 245n20 Solzhenitsyn, Alexander: concept of World War III, 248n86; influence in Chile, 1­ 60–61 Souper, Roberto, 120–121, 129 South Africa, 161, 192 South­ern Cone, 47, 64, 83, 162, 179, 196, 198, 200 South Pacific, 15, 20, 32, 63, 104, 179 Soviet Union, 2, 49, 55, 67, 82, 116, 143, 170, 195–96, 213; influence on Left, 25, 84; military perception of, 88, 134, 136, 160–161, 198, 219; relationship to Allende and Popu­ lar Unity, 59, 101, 106, 132, 160, 240n32, 244n120, 245n20 Spanish: Civil War, 47; conquest of Chile, 9–11; empire, 10, 12. See also conquistadors; Hispanic culture: importance for Chilean officers special forces, military, 69, 87, 136 Stange, Rudolph, 5, 188, 199, 207–8 state of siege, 53, 167, 184 state terrorism, 93, 164, 213. See also National Intelligence Directorate; torture Statute of Constitutional Guarantees, 101, 104, 144 Strait of Magellan, 21, 212 strikes: antigovernment, 56, 144, 162; industrial, 24, 51, 53–54, 210; subversive/subversion, 51, 55–56, 70, 79, 85, 87, 94, 133, 137, 141–42, 145–46, 155, 162, 172, 185–86, 188–89, 191, 201, 219 Supreme Court, of Chile, 126, 131, 135, 144, 180, 188 Tacna Regiment, 46, 76 Tacnazo, 76–77, 99, 104 Talcahuano, 38–39, 55, 105 Tanquetazo, 119–125 Tarapacá province, 15, 51, 171 tear gas, 55, 107

Tejas Verdes School of Military Engineers, 154. See also torture; National Intelligence Directorate Thatcher, Margaret, 194, 197 Third World, 115, 194, 209–210, 233n59 Tierra del Fuego, 172–73, 175 Toha, José, 114, 117–18 torture, 57, 62, 85, 128, 131, 136, 142, 154, 157, 211, 215, 218, 220, 232n34, 240n36 Treaty of Inter-­Ameri­can Reciprocal Assistance, 57, 104, 197 Troncoso, Arturo, 63, 137 underdevelopment, 20, 71, 109, 198 UN General Assembly, 4, 113, 165 United Kingdom. See Great Britain United Nations, 78, 88, 95, 116, 195, 203, 209, 216, 219; military observers, 83–84; sanction of Pinochet regime, 4, 88, 159–60, 164–65, 167; Security Council, 82–83 United States, 21, 161, 177, 205; covert inter­ ven­tion in Chilean affairs, 57, 107, 244n120; criticism of, 63–64, 152, 162, 178–79; hemispheric power and influence, 4, 6–7, 49, 52–53, 57; influence on military allies, 8, 30, 58–62; military assistance to Latin America, 57–58, 67, 174, 192–93; opposition to Pinochet, 198–200; relationship to allies, 82–83, 95; relations with Chile, 4, 71–72, 101, 104–6, 132, 165, 171, 175, 178, 195–97. See also Kennedy Amendment; Military Assistance Program; Organization of Ameri­can States; Treaty of Inter-­ Ameri­can Reciprocal Assistance UP. See Popu­lar Unity US army posts, 60, 69, 85 US embassy, 161, 165, 174, 199, 248n86 US State Department, 63, 133, 172, 198, 200, 208 Valdivia, Pedro de, 9–10, 192, 210 Valenuzela, Camilo, 98, 107 Vallenar, 40–41, 228n23. See also Ibáñez del Campo, Carlos: collapse of first government

288 / Index Valparaíso, 13, 15, 21, 24, 35, 38, 93, 101, 105, 112, 116, 124, 130, 190, 225n35 Velasco, Eugenio, 147, 154 Venegas, Máximo, 196–97 Viaux, Roberto, 43, 48, 76–77, 98–100, 103– 7, 133 Viet Cong, 86–87 Vietnam War, 78, 84, 161–62; influence on Salvador Allende, 86; influence on Chilean armed forces, 84–87, 94 war games, 78–79, 170 War of the Pacific: causalities fig­ures, 224n23; fear of revanchism, 98, 125–26, 170–71; memory of, 12, 172; origin and consequences, 10, 15–17; veterans of, 11, 25, 34 War of the Sierra, 15, 191

Wehrmacht, 48–49 West­ern civilization (the West), 49, 63, 88, 160–61, 195–96, 198, 201, 205, 244n120 West­ern Hemisphere, 49, 52, 59, 85, 106, 149, 182, 196–97 West European; West­ern Europe, 57, 60, 209 working class, 6, 25, 39, 44–45, 53, 94, 96, 98, 110, 135, 147, 159, 168, 190, 206. See also class, military’s relationship to World War I, 2, 21, 24, 34, 48 World War II, 1, 4–5, 32, 48, 230n49; effect on Chile’s armed forces, 48–49, 82, 84, 90, 115, 192; effect on the West­ern Hemisphere, 49, 57 YES campaign, 205–7. See also Plebiscite of 1988