Abstract

In 1976, Augusto Pinochet told Henry Kissinger that Chile was undergoing “a further stage of the same conflict which erupted into the Spanish Civil War.” Pinochet was not alone in this view; throughout the 1970s, Chilean rightists used the Spanish Civil War as a point of reference. This article explores how and why Chilean golpistas drew on the Spanish example in developing their ideas about political struggle. It argues that the Civil War—or at least one interpretation of it, in which the military had purged Spain of communism in a kind of Christian reconquest—was a key component of the paradigm that some anti–Salvador Allende revanchists used to understand their world. In so doing, the article sheds light on a strain of Chilean conservatism that looked not to the United States for inspiration but to Spain, demonstrating the value of integrating Europe into analyses of Cold War Latin America's transnational dimensions.

While attending the Sixth General Assembly of the Organization of American States, hosted by Chile in June 1976, US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger held a closed-door meeting with General Augusto Pinochet. The two men spent ten minutes alone together, their conversation not transcribed and therefore lost to history, before a handful of Chilean and US officials joined them for an extended, on-the-record discussion. Kissinger began the formal session with pleasantries, admiring the building in which Pinochet's office was housed and complimenting the Chileans on the smooth organization of the conference. His counterpart, however, had little interest in small talk. When Kissinger remarked on the “strong feeling of friendship” that he sensed from Chileans, Pinochet abruptly redirected the conversation. “This is a country of warm-hearted people, who love liberty,” the general replied, arguing that this was “the reason they did not accept Communism when the Communists attempted to take over the country.” He then offered an expansive take on the world-historical moment in which Chile found itself: “It is a long term struggle we are a part of. It is a further stage of the same conflict which erupted into the Spanish Civil War.”1

At first blush, this reference to the Spanish Civil War appears anomalous, even strange. Why would Pinochet, sitting in the Andes in the 1970s, invoke a 40-year-old conflict, one that had unfolded thousands of miles away, as a touchstone for interpreting Chile's Cold War crisis? Why not make a timelier reference, to Cuba or Vietnam? Yet Pinochet was not alone among Chilean conservatives in reading the politics of the 1960s and 1970s through the lens of the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939), in which insurgent troops known as Nationalists, ultimately led by Francisco Franco, overthrew the democratically elected Second Spanish Republic and established one of Europe's most enduring modern dictatorships.2 For example, Ismael Huerta, the Chilean junta's first minister of foreign affairs, likened the circumstances of postcoup Chile to those of post–Civil War Spain, arguing that both regimes had weathered “a grand campaign of smears and falsehoods” perpetrated by “international Marxism and those sectors sympathetic to it.” As such, Huerta reasoned, “Chile and Spain have much in common, and much to share.”3 And Jaime Guzmán, one of Pinochet's closest advisers and an author of Chile's 1980 constitution, was an avowed Francoist. Gremialismo, Guzmán's philosophy turned political movement, was central to the anti–Salvador Allende opposition and explicitly rooted in the military nationalism, conservative Catholic social thought, and mythology of a glorious Hispanic cultural inheritance that had undergirded the Nationalist uprising and that Franco had used to legitimate his rule. Pinochet's invocation of Spain was, therefore, no aberration. Rather, it reflected a key element of the junta's worldview, a source of insurrectionary inspiration in a country unaccustomed to military coups, and Pinochet's personal desire to frame himself as a soldier in a larger holy war.

This article explores how and why Chilean golpistas drew on the Spanish example in developing their ideas about political struggle. It argues that the Civil War—or at least one interpretation of it, in which the military had expunged Communist vice and disorder from Spain in a kind of Christian reconquest—was an important component of the paradigm that anti-Allende revanchists used to understand their world. At issue were both the particulars of the Civil War itself and the larger questions it had raised for societies with Spanish colonial pasts: about the social role of the Catholic Church and landed aristocracy, about who would define the meaning of Hispanic identity, about the changes wrought by industrial modernity, and about the nature and value of democracy itself. Accordingly, the article traces the genealogy of conservative Chileans' ideas about the Spanish Civil War, the cultural inheritance of Spain, and Francoism—three tightly bound phenomena—to show how Chilean rightists integrated them with local ideological formations and adapted them to the changing international dynamics of the Cold War. It bears noting that this analysis goes beyond the drawing of parallels between Pinochet and Franco or between the Spanish and Chilean political contexts, though striking similarities certainly existed.4 More interesting than parallels or comparisons, however, is how the contested narratives of the Spanish Civil War helped establish an intellectual and affective framework for conceiving of social conflict, one that people like Pinochet and Guzmán used in defining themselves as self-consciously historical actors. This was a dynamic and dialectical process, in which Chilean leftists' own romantic identification with the Second Spanish Republic—part of the Unidad Popular's cultural politics, as this essay also discusses—further incensed Allende's opponents and justified the notion of arresting the vía chilena al socialismo by force.

How the Spanish Civil War captured Chileans' imaginations owed much to the circumstances of their country's twentieth-century experience. Chile, like Spain, elected a Popular Front government during the late 1930s; several thousand Republican exiles resettled in Chile after 1939; communists and socialists were comparatively influential participants in mainstream party politics; and several prominent Chilean conservatives made a point of propagating the right-wing ideology of hispanismo. Chileans' ideas about what the Spanish Civil War had meant thus informed domestic political struggles well after the 1930s had come and gone, in ways that merit further consideration from scholars of the Cold War. Valuable historical work has been done to investigate the role of the United States in helping provoke the overthrow of Allende and in supporting the Pinochet dictatorship.5 However, seeing the dictatorship as primarily US-oriented in its intellectual and philosophical foundations—the understandable result of a focus on Pinochetista economic policy and on the role of Milton Friedman and the Chicago Boys—risks eliding the influence of other ideological formations. I suggest here, following the work of scholars like Tanya Harmer, that we widen our angle of approach when considering the international dimensions of Chile's Cold War experience.6 When we do so, we see that for the Chilean Right the memory and example of Spain informed the development of a powerful reactionary historical consciousness, one displayed to the world on September 11, 1973. Chilean conservatives' sense of historicity was shaped perhaps as much by Franco's state doctrine of nacionalcatolicismo and the ghosts of Spanish empire as by the imagined promise of neoliberal shock therapy. Their concerns, in addition to being economic and ideological, were religious and racialized, adapting for the Cold War era the idea of a transatlantic Catholic raza whose supposedly foreign elements had to be purged by a purifying violence. Put differently, the temporal and ideational horizon against which they situated themselves began not just with the Russian Revolution of 1917, but with the Crusades.

This discussion of Chile points toward the Spanish Civil War's greater impact on Latin American political culture. After all, the issues at the heart of the conflict, from the secularization of education to women's suffrage and land reform, resembled those with which Latin Americans grappled as their societies modernized. Latin America's republics had won their independence decades before, but their politics still reflected the influence of the institutions and practices that Spain had fostered, while complex ties of family, faith, language, and heritage continued to span the Atlantic. For better or worse (often for worse), many Latin Americans viewed Spain as the madre patria, seeing its political convulsions as, in some way, their own. For three incandescent years, the Spanish Civil War served as a living metaphor for those who disagreed, passionately, about how to organize their societies, and the energy that they poured into the cause did not dissipate with the Republic's defeat. Rather, it evolved, giving the Spanish Civil War a series of enduring Latin American afterlives: as inspiration, moral lesson, usable past, and cautionary tale. Latin Americans' mobilizations and countermobilizations regarding 1930s Spain thus both prefigured and helped shape the cycles of polarization and radicalization that came to characterize the long Cold War's later decades of revolutionary and counterrevolutionary engagement. As such, Spain's twentieth-century tragedy, as well as its transatlantic reverberations, merits inclusion as a signal episode in Latin America's “Century of Revolution.”7 It is my hope that this essay will spark further research on the salience of the Spanish Civil War, and Spain more broadly, within Latin America's Cold War imaginaries.

For his part, Pinochet, rather than simply seeking to emulate Franco, sought to transcend and succeed him. He was focused not only on forging order from a supposed chaos in his own country but on a larger, “long term” global war against Communism in which the Spanish Civil War represented a paradigmatic chapter. In his conversation with Kissinger, Pinochet observed, disapprovingly, that despite Franco's reign of terror, Communism was now, just a year after the Generalísimo's death, “springing up again in Spain.” Pinochet implied that in Chile, by contrast, he would crush it with a permanence that even Franco had failed to achieve.8

Background: The Spanish Civil War in Spain and Chile

The Spanish Civil War unfolded against the backdrop of the 1930s: the Great Depression, the rise of European fascism and Stalin's consolidation of power in the Soviet Union, and the gathering storm of global conflict. It began in July 1936 with a military uprising against Spain's elected leftist government. In brief, the context was as follows: Shortly after the ouster of dictator Miguel Primo de Rivera in 1930, Spaniards held elections and a victorious revolutionary committee proclaimed the Second Spanish Republic in 1931. The new Republican administration abolished the monarchy, passed a constitution guaranteeing an array of social and political freedoms, moved to nationalize public services and implement land reform, and attacked the institutional power of the nobility, the military, and the church. Fierce backlash ousted the Republicans in 1933, but following the Comintern's endorsement of a Popular Front strategy—which held that socialists, communists, and liberals should form coalitions to defeat fascism—they regrouped, narrowly winning elections in February 1936. Their hold on power was tenuous; in a mounting crisis that in some ways resembled 1970s Chile, the Republican government was divided among 33 parties, and strikes, land occupations, church burnings, and other militant actions from below challenged the parliament's more gradual approach to reform. Five months after the election, the National Rising, a generals' plot cast by its protagonists as a “glorious national crusade,” escalated into insurrection.9 While the rebels, known as Nationalists, enjoyed ample military and tactical support from Nazi Germany and fascist Italy, the international community, aside from the Soviet Union and Mexico, all but abandoned the self-sabotaging, internally divided, and outgunned Republican government, and Joseph Stalin's aid undermined the Republic's claim to moral authority. In April 1939 Franco declared victory, exacerbating an already severe international refugee crisis as Republican sympathizers fled Nationalists' revenge. Concentration camps, military tribunals, and extrajudicial executions followed; the new regime's goal was, in the words of one general, the elimination of “those who do not think as we do.”10

Owing to the period's global ideological tensions and the inherent drama of the events, the Civil War attracted intense interest from around the world; indeed, it has been said that the conflict was “neither civil nor Spanish.”11 Chileans, themselves grappling with what Jody Pavilack calls “deep divisions over the definition and practical content of democracy,” were particularly riveted.12 As the writer Luis Alberto Sánchez attested, “Santiago was converted into a vast and tense observatory. The maps of the war, the slogans of the parties, and the battle songs of Spain made their way to Chile. . . . No city, not even Buenos Aires and Havana with their large Hispanic populations, was energized like Santiago.” One could easily have mistaken El Mercurio or La Opinión for Spanish papers, so extensive was their war coverage.13

Chileans at all points on the political spectrum found a Spanish camp to join; doing so gave them a framework with which to debate their own political concerns, which on the left in these years were internationalist by definition. Their various solidarity initiatives had a constitutive and, for some, a radicalizing effect—most famously for Pablo Neruda, who was moved to join the Communist Party as a result and whose 1937 España en el corazón remains among the world's most powerful literary expressions of Civil War sentiment. Leftists, from intellectuals to dockworkers, ardently backed the Republic, as did many Masons, a group collectively targeted by Franco for their secularism despite their otherwise heterogeneous political inclinations. Media outlets and diplomats took sides, particularly over the issue of giving asylum to fleeing Spaniards. Conservatives and many Catholics mobilized to support the Nationalists not only out of a generalized anticommunism or concern over the Republicans' religious politics but as a way to oppose Chile's own Popular Front coalition, which, like Spain's, was established in 1936.14 For example, Arturo Alessandri, Chile's president during the first years of the Civil War who privately called himself an “amigo de corazón” of the Nationalists, justified his crackdowns against both leftists and fascists as, in Paul Drake's words, “necessary to prevent a government like the Spanish Popular Front from taking office and provoking similar fratricide”—blaming the Popular Front, and not the insurrection against it, for the ensuing bloodbath.15 (Alessandri thus offered an early invocation of the dos demonios, or “two devils,” theory of conflict, which assigned equal culpability for political turmoil to the extreme Left and extreme Right and became omnipresent during the Cold War.) That Chile proceeded anyway, in 1938, to become one of just three countries, along with Spain and France, to elect a Popular Front government only amplified the Civil War's resonance.16 In the run-up to that election, one columnist for El Mercurio likened Pedro Aguirre Cerda, the Popular Front's presidential candidate, to the Second Spanish Republic's embattled president Manuel Azaña, warning that Aguirre Cerda, though “an Azaña of lesser significance,” was “surrounded by a destructive agitation”—namely, a coalition that included the Communist and Socialist Parties—“even worse than that in Spain.”17

Indeed, while the pro-Republic activism of Left intellectuals like Neruda and antifascist organizations like the Alianza de Intelectuales de Chile have received more attention, religious and conservative thinkers and politicians demonstrated that the Republic had no monopoly on Chileans' support.18 Chilean Catholics, like their counterparts elsewhere, opposed the Republicans' anticlerical policy agenda but also, more viscerally, were scandalized by reports of churches being burned and thousands of clergy being killed on the Republicans' watch.19 The Nationalists' effort to arrest the liberalizing project of the Second Spanish Republic was viewed sympathetically by defenders of older orders: landowners, businesspeople, the establishment media, rightist political parties. The insurrectionists' avowed intent to vindicate the traditions of early modern Spain appealed to those who shared a conservative interpretation of Spanish American history and a cultural nostalgia for what they imagined to be the true character of the madre patria. Moreover, the Falangist strain of Spain's insurrectionary coalition had an explicitly transnational dimension, encouraging the strengthening of cultural ties between Spain and its erstwhile colonies and appealing, in a clearly racialized fashion, to those Latin Americans who defined their heritage as peninsular. As such, the Nationalist cause easily found a Chilean constituency, not least because the Chilean Popular Front declared itself an ally of the Republic.20 Diverse tendencies on the Chilean right were represented in pro-Nationalist solidarity efforts, just as diverse tendencies on the Spanish right had united against the Republic. Chile's major newspapers, for example, each focused on the values of the particular Nationalist faction (Falangists, Carlists, etc.) with which they most sympathized: El Mercurio critiqued Republicans' failure to protect private property rights, while El Diario Ilustrado, funded by the Archbishopric of Santiago, extolled the countries' shared Hispanic and Catholic heritage.21

That shared Hispanic and Catholic heritage helped inform many Chileans' support for the Nationalist insurrection. Clergy throughout Chile, from local parish priests to Santiago archbishop José Horacio Campillo, celebrated masses for Franco; Catholic students professed their devotion to an ideal early modern Spanish past, decrying the decadence of modern life; and personal ties between Nationalist representatives and Chilean religious figures were strengthened by visits, correspondence, and public events in both countries.22 For instance, in early 1937 prominent Chilean Hispanists founded the Círculo de Estudios Hispánicos. The organization, “born of the filial fervor spurred by the Caudillo's gesture”—Franco's uprising—promoted “the cultural restoration of the traditional values of Hispanidad,” which to its members signified faith, family, and hierarchy, and situated imperial Spain as the source of authentic culture.23 The circle's dozens of members occupied important positions in Chilean intellectual and political life, including Thomist priest Osvaldo Lira, lawyer and writer Jaime Eyzaguirre, archaeologist Fernando Márquez de la Plata Echenique, senator Miguel Cruchaga Tocornal, and Manuel Garretón Walker, one of the founders of the Falange Nacional party (which became the Christian Democratic Party in 1957). Pro-Nationalist groups like the Círculo de Estudios Hispánicos raised funds for their cause and worked with the Spanish Falange's representatives and local branches, which imported and distributed far-right publications like Acción Española and La Voz de España.24

However, the Civil War also divided Chilean Catholics. The founding of the Falange Nacional in 1938 emerged from several years' worth of activity among a group of young intellectuals calling themselves the Movimiento de Estudiantes Católicos, which included Garretón Walker, Bernardo Leighton, and Eduardo Frei Montalva. As Yuri Contreras-Vejar writes, the group evinced an incipient split nearly from birth, with Frei Montalva and Leighton drawn to the liberal humanism of French philosopher Jacques Maritain and Garretón Walker, Eyzaguirre, and others gravitating equally strongly toward José Antonio Primo de Rivera, the intellectual father of the Spanish Falange, and toward the Hispanist, authoritarian ideas of Spanish political theorist Ramiro de Maeztu.25 When the Spanish Civil War broke out, it raised the stakes of these debates, making the different positions irreconcilable. The default position for Catholics, internationally, was that resisting the anticlerical policies of the Republican government constituted just war. As such, Frei Montalva and others in the Movimiento de Estudiantes Católicos, which until 1938 made its home within the Conservative Party, had initially been supportive of the Nationalist uprising; their use of the term Falange to describe themselves first appears in their journal, Lircay, in July 1936, the timing a sign of their identification with the insurrection.26 But Maritain, unlike many other high-profile Catholics, took a firm stand against the Nationalists, refusing to endorse Franco and blaming the rebels for the rapidly spiraling violence.27 Frei Montalva therefore changed his position. His decision was divisive within the Movimiento de Estudiantes Católicos: the most devoted followers of Maeztu, including Eyzaguirre, abandoned the group entirely. Those who remained, including Frei Montalva and Garretón Walker, left the Conservative Party and went on to found the Falange Nacional as a separate party.28 (Accentuating the divide, the Conservative Party Youth pledged their loyalty to Franco, whom they called a “moral leader,” and to his “bloody, but redemptive crusade.” In a statement, they wrote, “we hope that, as before, behind the red and gold flag, the white light of Spain will illuminate the South American republics, who are its daughters in blood and spirit.”)29 Garretón Walker continued to advocate the corporatist and anti-Communist positions of Maeztu, even participating in public events with representatives of the Spanish Falange, but he was outnumbered and out-argued by followers of Frei Montalva.30 Frei Montalva's tendency, and a Maritainian orientation more generally, carried the day within the young party. The Falange Nacional, despite keeping its original name until 1957, left its initial Falangist influences behind by the early 1940s; it would be other Chileans who, in the coming years, would adhere more closely to the ideology of the Spanish Falange and incipient Franco dictatorship.

No sooner had the Spanish Civil War ended than it entered the territory of political mythology, with versions of the tragic story immortalized by writers like George Orwell, André Malraux, and Ernest Hemingway and competing arguments assigning blame for the Republic's fall traveling to the Americas with the tens of thousands of exiles who resettled there. Indeed, it has proven challenging for historians to separate the history of the Civil War from the epic narratives surrounding it. This is due to several factors, including the primacy of Cold War–inflected interpretations of the conflict, bitter divisions on the matter within the global Left, and, most importantly, decades of Francoist censorship having destroyed millions of government documents, impeded access to what archives and forensic data remained, and discouraged victims from sharing their experiences.31 As a result, what Kristin Ross argues about the May 1968 mobilizations in France also holds true for Spain: the events of the Spanish Civil War “cannot,” in Ross's words, “now be considered separately from the social memory and forgetting that surround them.” This is to say that scholars seeking to reckon with those events must also take their complex afterlives—their mythifications and reworkings as well as their more literal traces, like the Franco dictatorship—into account. What's more, Ross shows for France how “that memory and that forgetting have taken material forms.” The same is true in Spain.32 There, scholars are still exploring forms of Spanish Civil War memory and forgetting, such as struggles over the exhumation of mass graves, and their impact on contemporary politics and culture.33

Another place to look for the Spanish Civil War's afterlives is Chile. Well after 1939, Chileans of varied political orientations took their ideas about what they imagined the Spanish Civil War to have been and used them to construct arguments about the kinds of societies that they wanted to build. While our focus here is on the evolution of right-wing ideologies, conservative interpretations of the Spanish question did not develop in a vacuum but rather, as we shall see, in dynamic tension with how Chilean leftists engaged with the cultural memory of the Republic. To understand why explicit references to the Spanish Civil War emerged in Chile during the Cold War and why they were significant, we must reconstruct the web of relevant actors, ideas, organizations, and events in the intervening decades.

Bridging the 1930s and the 1960s: Right-Wing Hispanist Thought in Chile

The Spanish Civil War left a powerful intellectual legacy in conservative Chilean politics: an influential strain of right-wing Hispanist thought. This was a current that Franco nurtured throughout the Americas, building on local contacts established by foreign representatives of the Spanish Falange of the Juntas of the National Syndicalist Offensive party during the war.34 Immediately after the Second World War, the Franco regime spent several years as a global pariah, before Western powers like the United States and the United Kingdom decided that Franco's staunch anticommunism and Spain's strategic location trumped their prior conviction that a dictatorship installed with Nazi assistance should not be admitted to the international community.35 Seeking allies during that short interregnum, Franco acted on the Falange's major declaration of policy, the 27 Points, which included strong words about the future of transatlantic relations: “Regarding the countries of Spanish America,” it read, “we support the unification of cultures, economic interests, and power . . . we have a will to empire.”36 Accordingly, Franco sought to revive a Hispanic cultural empire, one predicated not on restoring direct territorial control—an impossible task—but on strengthening an imagined community of Hispanophone nations by exalting their shared linguistic and cultural foundation.37

Hispanist ideas, with their neoimperial cast, had been common features of Iberian political thought since the loss of Spain's empire. While individual Hispanists differed on details, they shared, according to Fredrick Pike, “an unassailable faith in the existence of a transatlantic Hispanic family, community, or raza (race),” one “distinct from all other peoples” and morally governed by Spanish “spiritual hegemony.”38 But in a twentieth-century context featuring the rise of US influence—with all the secularization, liberalism, English-language penetration, and materialism that doubters saw it entailing—conservative hispanidad took on another valence: as an antidote to the supposedly corrupting character of US-led Pan-Americanism. The Falangist writer and critic Ramiro de Maeztu, for example, argued that the Spanish-speaking peoples of the world, “their soul divided” by two “antagonistic ideals”—namely, the “suppression of spiritual values” offered by the Soviet Union and the “economic empire” of the United States—could “find solace nowhere else but in their core, which is la Hispanidad.”39 Suggesting that the Americas found themselves trapped “entre los yanquis y el soviet,” both of which represented “movements that are equally the enemies of the spirit of Hispanism,” Maeztu proposed Spanish Catholic spiritualism as the only morally viable alternative to superpower rivalry. He also claimed that it was the only way for Latin American elites to vanquish that rivalry's local expressions—for example, the “communist uprisings of indios” in Bolivia, Colombia, El Salvador, and Peru as well as “the North American interventions in Haiti, Santo Domingo, and Nicaragua.”40

To promote this vision of hispanidad, in 1940 the Franco regime created the Consejo de la Hispanidad, later renamed the Instituto de Cultura Hispánica (ICH), an entity charged with strengthening ties to Latin America.41 By offering scholarships for Latin Americans to study in Spain, publishing works by Hispanist writers, and endowing cultural spaces in the Americas where Catholic thought and hispanidad could be taught and promoted, Spanish officials hoped to restore the glory of the Spanish empire, reclaim hispanidad as a form of moral superiority, and shore up relationships with friendly nations at a time of weakness. ICH activities such as promoting the annual celebration of October 12 as the hemisphere's Día de la Hispanidad or Día de la Raza, a date still widely commemorated in the Americas, aimed to render natural and innocuous the idea that Latin America's links with Spain were strong, ongoing, and worthy of recognition. (Many Latin Americans viewed such efforts with skepticism; as the Afro-Cuban poet Nicolás Guillén observed, not only was it “scientifically absurd” to speak thus of race, but the framing of the holiday meant that “the only ones with the right to be honored are those with the same skin color, shape of nose, and thickness of hair as the descubridores.”)42 Not only should Latin America draw from its Spanish tradition, argued the promoters of transnational hispanidad, but it had the potential to perfect it. Alberto Martín Artajo, Franco's minister of foreign affairs, depicted the Americas, in contrast to “poor Europe, torn and in ruins,” as an “ironclad guarantee of the spiritual values that constitute the patrimony of our Christian civilization, which is today, disgracefully, threatened by exotic and impious credos.” Despite the “turbid founts of Communist proselytizing” spreading an “anti-Spanish defamation” in Latin America—a reference to Mexico's refusal to recognize Franco's regime—Martín Artajo attested in 1945 that Latin America was the “continent of hope” and the location of Spain's “heart.”43

While some Chilean observers rejected Francoist pretensions to imperial renewal, others welcomed them, integrating them into existing bodies of rightist political thought.44 The Catholic conservatives involved in the journal Estudios, for example, saw the principles detailed in Pope Pius XI's 1931 encyclical Quadragesimo Anno, particularly its call for social corporatism as a third way between capitalism and communism, favorably reflected in postwar Spain, and they based their aspirations for Chile's future, in part, on an imagined early modern Iberian past. Jaime Eyzaguirre, the longtime editor of Estudios and one of Chile's most influential intellectuals, was the country's foremost exponent of these ideas at midcentury. Inspired by Ramiro de Maeztu, Eyzaguirre understood hispanidad as a repository of Christian values against the corrupting forces of modernity. For example, in his Fisonomía histórica de Chile (1948), a version of Chilean history (or its “prehistory of blood and spirit”) that defied liberal historiography, Eyzaguirre depicted Chile not as “a strange flower suddenly and self-evidently sprouted” but as a nation whose lineage dated to “the distant day when for the first time Spanish voices—voices of the Christian West—were made heard in the air of America.” That moment, Eyzaguirre contended, provided “the thousand indigenous races, dispersed and disconnected, the fabric with which they could finally weave their solitary threads into a harmonious and common tapestry”; he argued that it was the common ancestry and linguistic heritage of early modern Spain that made the Americas more than “a simple accident of geography” and instead the bearers of a “collective soul.”45 His emphasis on the spiritual unity of the Hispanophone world—however in defiance of Latin American realities—echoed Maeztu, who argued for a “Spanish humanism” rooted in “the doctrine of Man as taught by the Catholic Church.”46

While Eyzaguirre had been engaged with Catholic social thought since the early 1930s, his philosophy crystallized by the late 1940s, after he had observed Chile's experiments with Popular Front rule and governing coalitions that included the Communist Party. As Renato Cristi and Carlos Ruiz note, “The historical model that guided his conception was Habsburg Spain, restored by Franco to the detriment of foreign utopias like liberalism and democracy.”47 This reflected a wider hardening in Hispanist thought following the Spanish Civil War, as the Nationalist insurgency and the Franco regime had weaponized the discourse of hispanidad such that it came to mean “Catholic and anticommunist.”48 In the Second Spanish Republic Eyzaguirre saw a monstrous creation of “the modern Spaniard, a ferocious beast who has abjured God” and “is only content with chaos,” a stain on the national character only redeemed when “from the sepulchre of El Cid rose a crusading cry,” that of Franco, “an imperious order that moved the race to cast off its lethargy and to take up, as in the past, the sword and the cross.”49 By invoking El Cid, Eyzaguirre thus likened the purging of Muslims, who in Reconquest mythology were cast as illegitimate invaders and the ultimate non-Spaniards, to the purging of Communists. Eyzaguirre applied a similar medievalist spiritualism to his histories of Chile and Latin America, stressing the importance of continuity in the face of what he saw as a series of ruptures. He was outraged by what he deemed the “hyperbolic revalorization of the indigenous” and “everything being done to cast the Spanish name into oblivion in these lands,” including the increasingly common use of the term “Latino-América” as opposed to “Ibero-América,” which he saw as a “dilution” of the hemisphere's true history. (After all, he wrote, “when the American indio, rescued from the obscurity of his idols, came to know the God of love and directed himself to Him with the tender and trusting voices of the Padrenuestro, he did not do it in French or in Italian but in the virile tongue of Castile.”) Eyzaguirre decried US interventionism, charged that critiques of Franco were vulgar rehashings of the Black Legend, and credited Iberian philosophers like Francisco de Vitoria with having formed not only Latin Americans' values but also their common essence.50

Eyzaguirre's were hardly solitary ruminations. Rather, hispanidad as a form of racialized right-wing nationalism had a broad appeal among postwar Chilean conservatives of various stripes, who combined ideas from Spain and elsewhere with homegrown intellectual currents like a reverence for the postindependence authoritarian leader Diego Portales. As Sandra McGee Deutsch notes, “Chilean radical rightists needed new sources of inspiration after 1945”—which is to say, after the global discrediting of Nazism—and they found them in Spanish-style Catholic authoritarianism and corporatism.51 The group of right-wing figures surrounding former Conservative Jorge Prat and the nationalist magazine Estanquero (1946–1954), for example, cited Franco, among others, as an inspiration, as did the Partido Agrario Laborista, the party founded in 1945 to unite the disciples of once and future president Carlos Ibáñez; Prat, as secretary-general of the Conservative Party Youth, had been a signatory to the franquista loyalty pledge in 1939.52 Contemporaneously, a group called the Movimiento Revolucionario Nacional Sindicalista (MRNS), modeled after the Spanish Falange and led by Osvaldo Lira, among others, offered yet another home for a militant anti-Communism rooted in Catholic social thought and, Mario Sznajder writes, “the lessons of the [Spanish] Civil War.”53 (The MRNS still exists today; its website notes that “our thought descends from the tradition of national syndicalism initiated by [Falangist theoreticians] Ramiro Ledesma and José Antonio Primo de Rivera in Spain.”)54

Yet Eyzaguirre was perhaps the most distinguished thinker of these various figures, and he was interested not only in the Chilean and Spanish past but in their present and future. Energized by what he saw as Franco's successes, Eyzaguirre devoted his writings to legitimating a certain kind of power, aiming to provide a historical and philosophical justification for the revivifying—or reinventing—of his vision of hispanidad's cultural and political tradition in Chile, whose core principles were order and liberty. To protect those principles, Eyzaguirre believed, Chile needed a strict social hierarchy of so-called intermediary organizations, like the military and the family, supervised by the state but fundamentally guided by the Catholic spirit. While this conception of intermediary organizations would have been an apt description of corporate early modern Spanish society, he applied it to decidedly more twentieth-century concerns. In Eyzaguirre's thought, the intermediary organizations, particularly middle- and upper-class guilds (gremios), were key to containing the disruptive forces of popular or working-class social movements, democratic participation, and liberalism itself.55 Moreover, Chileans, he argued, aspired “to see power exercised by an individual of character” and “a man whose mettle was unswayed by political cliques”—someone like Portales, whom Eyzaguirre exalted, and not like Allende, whom he reviled as “the standard-bearer of Marxism.”56 As the founder of the Academia Chilena de la Historia and the Instituto de Historia at Santiago's Universidad Católica—where Franco's ICH endowed a library and “sala española” in 1947 as part of its “dedicated plan to reconquer Chilean public opinion”—Eyzaguirre became almost synonymous with the Instituto de Historia's pedagogical approach, and he built an enviable platform there, as a writer and teacher, from which to advance his arguments.57 As Luis Corvalán Márquez writes, Eyzaguirre generated “numerous disciples who, from corporatist or gremialista positions, would, during the 1970s, distinguish themselves in their fight against the democratization processes then underway in the country.”58

One such disciple was Jaime Guzmán, who later became one of Pinochet's closest advisers. Strongly shaped by his teachers, especially Eyzaguirre and his Estudios colleague Osvaldo Lira—who spent the 1940s in Franco's Spain absorbing the Traditionalist, illiberal ideas of philosopher Juan Vázquez de Mella—Guzmán readily engaged with their interpretations of Catholic social thought and their take on the Spanish Civil War.59 In 1962, at the age of 16, Guzmán went on a class trip to Spain; he wrote breathless letters home to his mother (“there is nothing like this country, the most beautiful in all the world”) in which he described himself as an “arch-franquista, because I have felt that the Generalísimo is the Savior of Spain, because I have seen the distinguished personality he is, how content the people are with him, the good works he is performing, and the notable economic progress.” He assured her that even if “the retrograde world” failed to appreciate franquismo, “in Spain today there is absolute liberty, understood and oriented toward the public good and not toward satisfying the absurd principle of the French Revolution's ‘Liberté,’ which tends toward libertinage.”60 That year, Guzmán pledged his loyalty to Franco, publishing a forceful essay denouncing the Republic for “having violated the most intimate sentiments of the Spanish people by declaring itself secular and antireligious.”61 Guzmán's assessment of the Civil War and the Franco regime was incomplete, to put it mildly, but this did not stop the ambitious young intellectual from using this narrative as the structuring frame for his worldview.62

In 1963, Guzmán began law school at the Universidad Católica, described by historian Cristián Gazmuri as “one of the most reactionary academic spaces in Chile,” and there he built over the 1960s the networks that would constitute the first generation of gremialistas.63 Gremialismo, as Guzmán conceived it, was a heterodox take on corporatism. It was an integralist, conservative school of thought that privileged autonomous and supposedly depoliticized intermediary organizations, positioned between state and family, as the organizing structures for society, while at the same time embracing capitalism and, over time and thanks to the influence of Chicago School ideas, classical economic liberalism.64 (In this respect, Guzmán serves as a Cold War example of Fredrick Pike's argument, rooted in an earlier historical period, regarding the interplay of Spanish and US influence in Latin America: “In their attempt to maintain the sort of social structure inherited from their colonial past, Latin Americans understood that they could combine the ideals and values of hispanismo with the fruits of Pan-Americanism.”)65 Order, faith, and hierarchy were gremialismo's core principles, while liberal democracy, political parties, and universal suffrage were its antipodes; Guzmán was fond of quoting Franco's dictum that “there is no liberty except within order.”66 Gremialismo was based in the ideas of Eyzaguirre and Lira but sought to apply them in the political sphere, representing a shift from ideological orientation to movement. It was not only a defensive response to rising tides of leftist sentiment on Chilean campuses but a self-professedly “antipolitical”—though, of course, it was intensely political—“counterproject” to Marxism.67

The first test of Guzmán's movement, which in 1967 published its first Declaration of Principles, was that year's battle over university reform at the Universidad Católica. There, gremialistas pitted themselves against the student federation, the Federación de Estudiantes de la Universidad Católica (FEUC), which supported the educational reforms of Christian Democratic then-president Eduardo Frei Montalva.68 Guzmán's followers, who opposed the FEUC's pro-reform position on the grounds that the university was being unduly subjected to state interference and therefore illegitimately politicized, won the presidency of the FEUC but lost the university reform battle. In the process, however, they developed organizing skills, a sense of focus, and an insurgent esprit de corps that they would carry into the 1970s—for example, in the war against Allende's Escuela Nacional Unificada education program, which sought to secularize all levels of the Chilean education system and was therefore guaranteed to incense Guzmán and the gremialistas, who saw it as an unjust imposition of state power on the social autonomy of intermediate organizations. It is hard to overstate the contributions of gremialismo to the civilian and military opposition movements against Allende. During the early 1970s, as Guzmán himself put it, “gremialismo became the civic vanguard in the struggle against the Popular Unity,” with the Universidad Católica—“the bastion of anti-Marxist resistance”—as its stronghold.69

Thinkers like Lira, Eyzaguirre, and Guzmán provided an intellectual bridge from the 1930s to the 1960s, keeping one of the Spanish Civil War's afterlives afloat in Chile. Hispanidad, corporatism, and gremialismo were by no means a monolithic or hegemonic set of positions on the right, nor were they unchanging, particularly as US influence grew during the 1950s and 1960s. Nevertheless, they were important elements of conservative thought, representing, especially in the case of gremialismo, the chilenización—both via whole-cloth importation and via integration into locally rooted frameworks—of a corpus of ideas about religion, identity, and the state born of very different circumstances.70 That Chileans made use of aspects of Francoist and Falangist thought, as well as lessons derived from the Nationalists' seizure of power, speaks to the transatlantic impact of the Spanish Civil War and its aftermath. And because prominent members of the Right already had Spain on their minds as Allende rose to power, they were primed to perceive the Left's identification with the Second Spanish Republic—which dated to the Popular Front period and continued after it but blossomed during the Allende years—as a provocation.

Spain, Historical Memory, and the Chilean Left

Chilean leftists, like their conservative counterparts, integrated elements from 1930s Spain into their social and political imaginaries. In part, this reflected the general cultural memory of the Civil War within the global Left—how the Republic in its martyrdom, a lost cause of history, came to serve as a touchstone. But it was just as much a function of lived experience, as an entire generation of progressive Chilean political figures had entered public life during the heady days of the Chilean and Spanish Popular Fronts.

One of the most storied episodes in local political mythology, for example, indelibly associated Salvador Allende with the Second Spanish Republic. After the Republic's fall, Aguirre Cerda had dispatched Neruda to France to bring a small number of refugees to Chile, hoping to contribute to the humanitarian effort without incensing domestic opponents. The result, not quite what Aguirre Cerda had in mind, was the Winnipeg, a steamer packed with more than 2,000 exiles that pulled into Valparaíso in September 1939. Neruda called the mission “the crowning point of my life,” though El Mercurio denounced the Winnipeg as “a Communist ship with a soviet operating on board,” echoing the protests of conservatives throughout the Americas at the prospect of accepting Republican refugees.71 After the refugees settled in Chile, the Conservative Party politician Sergio Fernández Larraín, another devoted Francoist, solicited intelligence files on individual exiles—“foreign agitators,” as El Diario Ilustrado claimed—from the Spanish embassy to bolster rightists' arguments, brought to fruition with the Ley Maldita in 1948, that the Communist Party be banned from Chile.72 (Right-wing Latin Americans, displaying the common tendency to oversimplify the Spanish Civil War, assumed that the refugees were their ideological enemies, even though some of them—including some whose files Fernández Larraín had requested—became ardent anticommunists.)73 In any event, Allende, then the newly appointed minister of health for the Aguirre Cerda government, was present on the docks to welcome the exiles, an act that became legend and stuck with him through the rest of his political career.74

Allende would not have minded the association; as his wife Hortensia Bussi observed, the Spanish Civil War “marked him forever.”75 During the war itself, Allende, along with fellow Socialist and Communist leaders like Marmaduke Grove, Elías Lafertte, and Carlos Contreras Labarca, did pro-Republican solidarity work; after the war's end, Allende continued to sympathize with the Republican ideal, attending related activities throughout the 1940s and serving, along with colleagues like Alejandro Ríos Valdivia (his future defense minister) and Federico Klein (his future ambassador to West Germany), in the Comité Hispano-Chileno por la Amnistía de los Presos Políticos Españoles in the late 1950s and early 1960s.76 He also developed strong friendships with a number of Spanish exiles living in Chile. These included Francisco Giner de los Ríos, who gave Allende a copy of a book on humanist socialism by his uncle, the socialist Republican official Fernando Giner de los Ríos, that influenced Allende profoundly, and Allende's regular chess partner Víctor Pey, owner of the left-leaning newspaper Clarín.77 Allende's ties to the Republic were therefore both political and personal. As Antonio de Lezama, a Chile-based representative of the Republican government-in-exile, reported, Allende's “moral solvency is absolute, his affection for Spaniards and the Republican cause is extraordinary, his loyalty can be considered unbreakable, and his standing as a Mason is relevant and respectable.”78 That Allende had been a close observer of Spain's violence likely contributed to his position that the worst possible outcome for Chile would have been a civil war and to his ensuing decision not to arm sympathizers as the 1973 coup loomed.79

From the records kept by the Republican government-in-exile's representatives in Chile, we know that Allende's lasting affinity for the Republic was widely shared. Throughout the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, Chilean politicians, intellectuals, and activists protested the Franco regime's abuses and advocated for its political prisoners, held demonstrations against Francoist terror all over Chile, hosted lectures by Republican representatives as well as homages to figures like the poet Federico García Lorca, clashed over Spain (for example, at the Universidad de Chile's law school, where the rector was a vocal critic of Franco), commemorated key dates like the 25th anniversary of the Republic's founding, and organized acts of mourning for deceased Republican leaders.80 A range of perspectives was represented in these activities, from Radical Party members and Christian Democrats to Socialists and Communists. In 1962, for example, upon the deaths of Republican officials Diego Martínez Barrio and Indalecio Prieto, Radical, Christian Democratic, Communist, and Socialist senators gave long speeches in the Senate praising, on behalf of their parties, the Republican example and discussing its relevance for Chile. Senator Tomás Pablo, speaking for the Christian Democrats, argued—ironically, as it would prove in retrospect—that “whatever the ideological differences that might otherwise separate us, on this point we are united.”81

By the time of Allende's 1970 electoral victory, Chile confronted challenges like those that had divided Spain: tensions between advocates of reform and advocates of radical change; a movement of anticommunist hard-liners opposed to the elected government's very existence; the country's status as a proxy battlefield for larger geopolitical conflicts. The world had changed—the Cuban Revolution, the rise of liberation theology, and many other factors distinguished the 1970s from the 1930s—yet traces of Spain, woven into the affective culture of the Chilean Left over decades, remained present.82 These echoes were amplified by the collaboration of Republican exiles and Republic-identified figures like Pablo Neruda in the cultural and political projects of the Unidad Popular. For example, the Catalan painter José Balmes, a Winnipeg refugee, helped lead the Comité Internacional de Solidaridad Artística con Chile, which collected hundreds of donated artworks from around the world with the goal of democratizing Chileans' access to the visual arts.83 The same spirit informed the Museo a Cielo Abierto in Valparaíso, a set of 20 massive open-air murals to which Balmes and another exiled Catalan artist, Roser Bru, contributed works.84 A related project was the Unidad Popular's publishing house, Editora Nacional Quimantú, which sought to raise Chileans' consciousness by making books more affordable and distributing them widely; Carmelo Soria, a Spanish communist who migrated to Chile in 1946, worked as one of Quimantú's lead printers until Pinochet shut down the publishing house in 1973. (Three years later, after helping Allende supporters escape the country, Soria was murdered by the Dirección de Inteligencia Nacional, or DINA.)85

This dissident cultural memory of the Spanish Civil War and its aftermath also made its presence heard. The singer-songwriters of the Nueva Canción movement, who provided the soundtrack to Chile's political awakening, rerecorded and performed famous Civil War anthems like “¡Ay, Carmela!,” whose lyrics exhorted listeners to “resist” and to “end fascism.” Some of them also wrote brand-new songs about Republican resistance and Francoist tyranny, including Violeta Parra's “Qué dirá el Santo Padre,” in honor of the Communist militant Julián Grimau, killed by Franco's firing squads in 1962 (“See how they speak to us of liberty / when in reality they take it from us; / See how they proclaim tranquility / while we are tormented by authority / What would the Holy Father say?”), and Víctor Jara's “Vientos del pueblo,” an homage to the Valencian poet Miguel Hernández, who died in prison in 1942 (“Your threats do not intimidate me / you masters of misery, / the star of hope / will continue to be ours”).86 Rolando Alarcón, another Nueva Canción figure, released Canciones de la Guerra Civil Española (1968), an entire album of Civil War music, while the folk group Quilapayún included classic Republican tunes on its albums X Vietnam (1968) and Quilapayún 3 (1969). When asked to explain the popularity of Spanish Civil War music so long after the fact, Quilapayún's Eduardo Carrasco speculated that it was because “the cause of Spain”—by which he meant the Republic—“has always been experienced by la gente democrática, in our countries, as our own.”87

All of this would have looked, to an observer steeped in the ideology of conservative hispanidad, like the very type of atmosphere that the Nationalist generals saw as having justified their 1936 uprising. Allende was redistributing land, reforming education along secularizing lines, taking an internationalist position in world affairs, and expropriating foreign capital. Workers, defying Allende's appeals for moderation, seized factories in tomas. Unidad Popular militants increasingly used the language of fascism to describe right-wing resistance to Allende's policy programs—as did Neruda, who on national television in May 1973 explicitly referenced the horrors of the Spanish Civil War and cautioned that rightists sought to reproduce them in Chile. “I have the poetic, political, and patriotic duty,” he said, “to warn all Chile of this imminent danger.” For his part, Víctor Jara directed a series of nationally broadcast television programs that also used documentary footage from the Spanish Civil War to analogize Chile's impending doom. Each episode began with Jara singing an arrangement of a Neruda poem, with the refrain “I don't want my country divided.”88 It was not long before the language of civil war came into ready circulation, and on the left calls for “No to civil war!” and “No to the coup!” drew on leftists' awareness of the Spanish example. At rallies in the final months of the Unidad Popular, demonstrators carried placards with Spanish Civil War slogans such as “Creating Popular Power to Sweep Away Fascism”; some carried brooms to drive the point home.89 These gestures of identification with the Second Spanish Republic served multiple purposes: to highlight the extremism of anti-Allende opposition groups like the paramilitary organization Patria y Libertad but also to recast the Republic as a heroic united front against fascism—which it decidedly had not been—to inspire the equally fragile Unidad Popular alliance to hold strong.

In Chile as in Spain, however, appeals to antifascist unity would not be enough to detain the forces of reaction. Coup plotters and their civilian allies, seeking to rationalize an extraconstitutional seizure of power, blew out of proportion the news that Allende's personal security detail had been stockpiling weapons.90 This logic, too, evoked Spain, advancing a curious historical and moral calculus in which the Republic was to blame for the Nationalists' uprising by forcing the military's hand. For example, Guzmán argued that the Unidad Popular “had destroyed Chile's democracy and brought the country to the brink of a fratricidal confrontation,” creating the “objective situation of civil war” and thus requiring military intervention to deliver the country from chaos.91 Pinochet and intelligence officials in the armed forces, along similar lines, believed that Allende sought to “provoke a civil war in Chile so as to create a Communist State, as had occurred in other countries in the world,” and developed a series of contingency plans predicated on the necessity of preempting this putative civil war with a coup. After taking power, the junta published a document called the Libro blanco del cambio de gobierno en Chile, which provided an ex post facto justification by falsely claiming the existence of a secret Plan Zeta by Allende to remain in power by murdering Chile's military high command; the Libro blanco was coauthored by Gonzalo Vial, another disciple of Jaime Eyzaguirre's at the Universidad Católica. “It was,” Pinochet later wrote, “a question of life or death,” with civil war as the “inevitable” outcome if the military did not act.92

“The struggle between Liberty and totalitarianism, between Christian Nationalism and Marxism, is endless,” intoned the general at the 1975 ceremony commemorating his coup's second anniversary. At the ceremony, Pinochet lit a “Freedom Torch,” which burned outside the Diego Portales Building for the remainder of September, the “Month of the Fatherland.” Then, in a gesture that would have pleased local adherents of hispanidad, the torch was transferred to the Cerro Santa Lucía, where the conquistador Pedro de Valdivia had founded Santiago in 1541, “as a symbol of a country that wants to be truthful to its origins, to the very root of its nationality.” Democracy in Chile had amounted to nothing more than “failure and exhaustion,” the general pronounced, defending its replacement with a “nationalistic and Christian definition” of society. This “total combat,” he argued, “cannot be won in the economic field or by force alone” but rather had to be “solved in the field of intelligence and spirituality,” alluding to an authoritarian agenda whose objectives, encompassing nothing less than “constant spiritual renewal,” went well beyond economic restructuring. In so doing, he framed the struggle against Communism not only as occurring within Chile's borders but as a grander world-historical war linking various battles into a cohesive crusade, one in which the 1930s and the 1970s—and even the Reconquest—could be accommodated within the same conceptual frame: “Now our country has broken the chains of totalitarian Marxism, the great 20th Century Slavery, before which so many bow their heads without the courage to defeat it. We are thus once again pioneers in Humanity's fight for liberation.”93 The catalytic event for this supposed rebirth, as it had been in Spain nearly 40 years earlier, was a coup. Present in Santiago on September 11, one Republican exile later reflected on what he had seen: “It was as though I was reliving Spain,” he said, “in another dimension and another sense.”94

A Tale of Two Coups: Historical Consciousness in 1973

Among the first to liken Chile in 1973 to Spain in 1936 were Spaniards. After the coup, junta officials received “innumerable phone calls” of support from Spanish officials, who were reportedly “gratified by Allende's overthrow.”95 Luis Carrero Blanco, Spain's prime minister, commiserated with his Chilean counterparts over the critiques launched against them by “international Marxism,” a campaign “identical” to that suffered by post–Civil War Spain.96 Indeed, Franco was “practically our only ally” in Europe, fretted Francisco Gorigoitía, Chile's new ambassador to Madrid; while other countries suspended aid, Spain went out of its way to facilitate the junta's consolidation.97 The Franco government pledged funds to repair La Moneda; sent a plane loaded with 20 tons of supplies; conspired with the junta to bar Allende's daughters from entering Spain and muzzle media reports on his wife's speeches there; facilitated Chilean embassy efforts to ban books by Allende's aide Joan Garcés, films by director Patricio Guzmán, and concerts and recordings by Nueva Canción artists; and shared information about Chilean exiles passing through Spain—just as, decades earlier, conservative Chilean politicians had given intelligence on resettled Republican exiles to Francoist officials.98 Chile received intense coverage in the Spanish press because, as Gorigoitía observed, “the Spanish have watched the Chilean process unfold with their minds firmly rooted in the memory of the Republican years before the Francoist uprising.”99

In Chile, meanwhile, Guzmán reported that it was “difficult to put into words” the emotion that he felt on September 11, when the armed forces, having bombarded La Moneda and the country into submission, played the national anthem over the radio and thus “crowned the liberation of Chile from Marxism.” A month later, as the junta celebrated the coup's anniversary, Guzmán, holding back tears of joy, found that “the majestic solemnity of the act made us live the experience of that Chile that don Jaime Eyzaguirre taught us to love and admire, full of moral reserve and a sense of authority and dignity, with a modesty not exempt of glory.”100 The junta's 1974 Declaration of Principles, authored primarily by Guzmán, further reflected the influence of Eyzaguirre and Lira's corporatism and hispanidad, forged in the crucible of the Spanish Civil War. It affirmed the “Christian and Hispanic” character of Chile, a nation made up of “beings endowed with spirituality” whose interests were best served neither by “liberal individualism” nor by “totalitarian collectivism” but rather by the gremialista principle of subsidiarity, which required the state-enforced sanctity of private property rights while otherwise advocating the delegation of authority to intermediary organizations. The goal was to make Chile into “a country of owners, not proletarians,” a society that “neither fears nor vacillates in declaring itself anti-Marxist.”101

Pinochet's 1980 constitution, which Guzmán helped draft, also reflected gremialista influence. The constitution demonstrated its authors' belief in the necessity of limiting political pluralism by restricting the activities of political parties, outlawing “doctrines attempting against the family,” enshrining a permanent tutelary role for the military, and inscribing corporatist principles in law (for example, Article 1 stipulates that “the State recognizes and defends the intermediate groups through which society organizes and structures itself and guarantees them the necessary autonomy to fulfill their own specific objectives”).102 Prominent gremialistas, such as Sergio Fernández Fernández, continued as advisers and cabinet ministers throughout the dictatorship, and the party that Guzmán founded before his 1991 assassination, the Unión Demócrata Independiente, remained an important player on the right thereafter. And though the Pinochet regime, like Franco's before it, largely abandoned state corporatism in the economic sphere in favor of neoliberalism, it continued to circulate Hispanist and Hispanophile ideas on the cultural front, which in their exaltation of hierarchy and empire helped legitimate the suspension of liberal democratic norms.103

As for Pinochet himself, one indication of his regard for Franco came in the form of his attendance at the Caudillo's 1975 funeral. Pinochet was one of only three heads of state to make the trip, which came two months after the Spanish army awarded him the Gran Cruz del Mérito Militar, an honor bestowed in Franco's name. As Pinochet's motorcade wound its way from the airport to the services, Franco supporters ringed the cars giving the stiff-armed fascist salute, indicating that they saw the Chilean dictator as their hero's inheritor (figure 1). Pinochet's official statement of condolence accordingly stressed the theme of a Christian crusade against global Communism; in it he expressed sorrow for “the loss that the Hispanic world laments,” stating that “after defeating the forces that sought to destroy her people and distance them from their historical tradition, Spain reconquered her grandeur.”104 The presence of Pinochet, who in Chile had declared three days of official mourning for Franco's death, at the funeral was sufficiently offensive to the other international guests that Spanish authorities obliged the Chilean dictator to curtail his visit. Before leaving, however, Pinochet remarked that he wished to build something like the Valle de los Caídos—the hulking mausoleum where Franco and Falange founder José Antonio Primo de Rivera were buried—in Chile for himself.105 Franco, Pinochet reflected, “distinguished himself with his lucidity and courage in defending the patrimony of his people and of Christian civilization, and in fighting tirelessly against the Communist enemy.”106

In the end, what Pinochet shared most with Franco was his understanding of political violence as organic purification, his sense of personal mission, and his view of the struggle against Communism as an epic crusade of Christian reconquest. “The Nation,” declared Pinochet on the coup's third anniversary, “awakes today, transcending the aridity of its daily routine, with the fervor that on this date emerges in all its truth, clean, profound, and headed toward the future.” The blood spilled by “patriots” on September 11, 1973, he continued, “has fertilized our earth.”107 Like Franco, Pinochet undertook a campaign of state-sponsored violence that represented not the decomposition of state institutions but rather a purposeful process of state formation, one that accomplished by terror what it could never have achieved otherwise. That process was conceived as a long-range political project, encompassing not only the years of dictatorship but Chile's deeply compromised transition to democracy, which bore more than a passing resemblance to Spain's. The so-called constitutional scheme by which the Chilean military had arranged to preserve its power, with the help of intellectuals like Guzmán, was partly modeled after the amnesty-based Spanish transition and aspired, as Spain's had done, to keep democracy limited and dulled in the long term.108 Its effects can still be seen today.

Conclusion: Historical Memory and the Afterlives of the Spanish Civil War in Chile

The Spanish Civil War ripped Spain apart in ways that deeply affected its former colonies, generating afterlives far from its original unfolding. In a sense, therefore, the conflict helped create the ideological and intellectual conditions by which Allende and Pinochet each rose and fell. It generated mobilizations and countermobilizations that took on lives of their own, transcending their origins as engagements with faraway concerns to become part of the fabric of local politics. Of course, Spain's lasting resonance must be teased out carefully, without overstating the case. As long-standing contests over power in Chile intensified with the mounting Cold War, the Spanish Civil War and Francoism amounted to one input among many—and, in causal terms, one dwarfed by, for example, US intervention or the Cuban Revolution. The gremialista and Hispanist Right was always one of multiple conservative tendencies in Chile, and it ultimately proved more influential in the dictatorship's cultural and moral programs than its economic policy.

Yet we lose an opportunity to reflect on Spain's importance to twentieth-century Latin American history if we focus too narrowly on the question of direct causality. Looking instead at the curious, and sometimes contradictory, ways that ideas about the Spanish Civil War were remembered, transformed, and repurposed by Chileans opens up research questions about Spain's role in the Americas' Cold War imaginaries. Is it useful to think about late twentieth-century Latin America in terms of (post)colonial imaginaries? How can we better understand Latin Americans' lethal postwar divides over continuity and rupture if we look both to the North and beyond it? Shifting our view to Spain, I hope to have shown here, offers new perspective on Cold War dynamics, decentering the United States to consider other meaningful communities of affiliation for local revolutionaries and counterrevolutionaries, such as those uniting anticommunists and imperial nostalgists on both sides of the Atlantic. Going further, this study suggests that the Spanish Civil War may be just as apt a historical referent for understanding the violence of the Latin American Cold War as the more frequently invoked French and Russian Revolutions—not least because in Spain as in most of Latin America, unlike in France and Russia, the right-wing revanchists won.

Reflecting on Spain's resonance in the Americas also invites reflection on the nature of one type of historical memory, namely, how individuals and groups use narratives about the past to frame their understandings of the world and with what consequences. Part of why the Spanish Civil War was so meaningful for many Latin Americans—in the words of Miguel Lawner, a Communist Party militant who served the Allende administration as director of the Corporación de Mejoramiento Urbano urban development authority, “the Spanish Civil War, for our generation, was a fundamental chapter in our lives. Fundamental. Indisputably”—was because it intersected with existing debates over the many cultural and political legacies of Spanish colonialism, engendering or exacerbating conflicts about identity, heritage, race, and power.109 In turn, the Civil War itself, and the ways that Latin Americans engaged with what they imagined it to have been, helped to shape notions about ideological conflict that reverberated decades after the fact. Such echoes are challenging to trace in the historical record, but doing so affords scholars a fuller picture of how the counterrevolutionary violence of the Latin American Cold War was legitimated and why it unfolded with the ferocity it did. It also reminds us that historical memory is not always marshaled in the service of progressive or democratizing goals and that the same pasts can be put to starkly divergent political uses.

Both Chile and Spain still struggle with another form of historical memory: that of the people, movements, and freedom dreams destroyed by counterinsurgent violence. Indeed, the international post–Cold War justice and human rights movements have been transatlantically constituted, with Spanish jurists prosecuting Latin American generals using the legal principle of universal jurisdiction and, recently, Southern Cone jurists taking on Spanish Civil War cases that Spain's judiciary refuses to confront.110 In a sense, the Latin American judges investigating Francoist crimes today are returning the favor first offered by the Spaniards who prosecuted Pinochet during the 1990s. But that case, too, represented a settling of accounts, a stubborn persistence of historical memory, that dated back to the Spanish Civil War. Carlos Castresana, one of the Spanish lawyers who led the Pinochet case, only joined the long-shot effort because his Republican parents had been Civil War refugees. As he told the filmmaker Patricio Guzmán, Castresana had simply wanted to repay the “solidarity” that Chile had shown the Winnipeg passengers with an act of solidarity of his own.111

For their feedback on earlier drafts of this article, I am grateful to Peter Winn, Carlota McAllister, Sandra McGee Deutsch, Alejandro de la Fuente, Tamar Herzog, Silvia Arrom, Jeff Gould, Mark Healey, Carlos Aramayo, Louise Walker, Alyssa Bowen, Jocelyn Olcott, HAHR's anonymous reviewers, and the participants of the University Seminar on Cultural Memory at Columbia University, the Administrating Differences in Latin America seminar at Harvard University, and the Berkeley Seminar on Global History at the University of California, Berkeley.

Notes

1. US Department of State, “US-Chilean Relations,” Santiago, 8 June 1976, Digital National Security Archive, Chile and the United States (1679043545), pp. 1–2. See also “S.E. y Henry Kissinger: Diálogo en 3 niveles,” El Mercurio (Santiago), 9 June 1976, p. 1.

2. Spanish Civil War historiography is extensive; overviews include Thomas, Spanish Civil War; Viñas, Trilogía; Casanova, Spanish Republic; Preston, Spanish Civil War.

3. “Instrucciones al Embajador de Chile en España” (Ismael Huerta to Francisco Gorigoitía), 5 Oct. 1973, Archivo General Histórico, Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Santiago (hereafter cited as AGH, MRE), Embajada de Chile en Madrid (hereafter cited as ECM), vol. 64 OF-CONF-AEROG 1973, RIE 02088/77.

4. For example, the Republic's modernizing goals resembled those of the Unidad Popular, the 1936 Nationalist uprising was mirrored in Allende's overthrow, and both settings saw the insurrectionists embracing terror tactics that their adversaries largely eschewed. (Violence certainly took place behind Republican lines, but it was less extensive and less centrally directed than that of the Nationalists. On the more sharply asymmetrical use of violence in 1970s Chile, see Winn, “Furies.”) For comparative perspective on the radical and counterrevolutionary nature of conservatism in the US context, see Robin, Reactionary Mind.

5. Valdés, Pinochet's Economists; Dezalay and Garth, Internationalization of Palace Wars; Grandin, Empire's Workshop.

6. Harmer, Allende's Chile; Harmer, “Brazil's Cold War”; Harmer and Riquelme Segovia, Chile.

7. Grandin, “Living in Revolutionary Time,” 11.

8. US Department of State, “US-Chilean Relations,” Santiago, 8 June 1976, Digital National Security Archive, Chile and the United States (1679043545), p. 2.

9. On Franco's appeals to ideas of the Reconquest and the sacred, as well as the phrase “glorious national crusade,” see Viestenz, By the Grace of God, 20–22.

10. Emilio Mola, quoted in Preston, Spanish Holocaust, xv.

11. Barchino, “Los intelectuales chilenos,” 17.

12. Pavilack, Mining for the Nation, 31.

13. Sánchez, Visto y vivido, 98.

14. On Chileans' diverse reactions to the Spanish conflict, see Délano, Memorias; Drake, “Chile”; Garay Vera, Relaciones tempestuosas; Garay Vera and Medina Valverde, Chile; Barchino, Chile; Sapag M., Chile; Morla Lynch, España sufre; Núñez Morgado, Los sucesos.

15. Arturo Alessandri to Marta Larraín, Paris, 11 Aug. 1939, Archivo General de la Administración, Alcalá de Henares (hereafter cited as AGA), fonds (10)018.000 (Asuntos Exteriores, Embajada de España en Chile), box 54-09375; Drake, “Chile,” 260.

16. Milos, Frente popular; Pavilack, Mining for the Nation; Drake, Socialism; Moulian, Fracturas.

17. S. T., “Ante las dos perspectivas,” El Mercurio (Santiago), 23 Oct. 1938, segundo cuerpo, p. 5.

18. Barchino, Chile; Moraga Valle and Peñaloza Palma, “España”; Moss, “Political Poetry”; Caudet, “Chile.”

19. For other international influences on the Right, notably Nazism, see McGee Deutsch, Las Derechas, 143–92.

20. That said, Aguirre Cerda's government, unlike Mexico's, did not withhold recognition of the Franco regime, though it was slow to extend it. In 1940, Spain briefly severed relations with Chile to protest criticisms of Franco in Chilean newspapers and Chile's welcoming of Republican refugees.

21. Drake, “Chile,” 255–56; Sapag M., Chile, 105–6.

22. González Pizarro, “El catolicismo chileno,” 552–55.

23. Fernando Márquez de la Plata y Echenique to Tomás Suñer Ferrer, Santiago, 22 Nov. 1938, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09343.

24. See, for example, “Breve resúmen de la labor desarrollada por la Junta Nacionalista de Iquique,” Iquique, 8 Apr. 1938, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09343.

25. Contreras-Vejar, “Unorthodox Fate,” 61. See also Díaz Nieva, Chile.

26. Contreras-Vejar, “Catholicism,” 204.

27. Alpert, New International History, 129; Doering, “Jacques Maritain,” 489–91.

28. Cristián Gazmuri notes that the Conservatives blamed the activists from the Movimiento de Estudiantes Católicos for the 1938 electoral defeat of Gustavo Ross and hence the coming to power of the Popular Front. “These were the days of the Spanish Civil War,” Gazmuri writes, “and it was feared that in Chile the winning coalition would institute radical anticlerical policies, like those instituted in Spain in 1936. This atmosphere of fear catalyzed the internal opinion of the Conservative Party against the Falange” and helped produce the split yielding the Falange Nacional's founding as a separate party. Gazmuri, “Semblanza biográfica,” 40.

29. “La juventud conservadora al Gral. Franco,” El Mercurio (Santiago), 1 Apr. 1939, p. 15.

30. Díaz Nieva, Chile, 65.

31. On the destruction of archives, see Preston, Spanish Holocaust, xvi.

32. Ross, May ’68, 1.

33. See, for example, Viñas et al., Los mitos; Aguilar, Memory; Jerez-Farrán and Amago, Unearthing Franco's Legacy; Muñoz Soro, “In Search.”

34. Delgado Gómez-Escalonilla, Diplomacia franquista.

35. Franco weathered this period of international isolation with economic and diplomatic support from Juan Perón's Argentina. See Rein, Franco-Perón Alliance.

36. Payne, Falange, 127–28. See also Martín Artajo, Hacia la comunidad hispánica; Pérez Montfort, Hispanismo.

37. See Ramon Resina, “Whose Hispanism?”; Delgado Gómez-Escalonilla, Diplomacia franquista.

38. Pike, Hispanismo, 1–2.

39. Maeztu, Defensa, 54. On the Argentine coinage of hispanidad and Maeztu's time in Buenos Aires, see Finchelstein, Transatlantic Fascism, 146.

40. Maeztu, Defensa, 180–82.

41. Francisco Franco, “Ley de 2 de noviembre de 1940 por la que se crea el Consejo de la Hispanidad,” Boletín Oficial del Estado (Madrid), 7 Nov. 1940, p. 7649, https://www.boe.es/datos/pdfs/BOE//1940/312/A07649-07649.pdf; “Decreto de 5 de julio de 1945 sobre distribución del crédito concedido por Ley de 15 de mayo de 1945 para la intensificación del intercambio cultural de España,” Boletín Oficial del Estado (Madrid), 11 July 1945, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09369.

42. “¿El día de la qué?,” in Guillén, Prosa de prisa, 306.

43. Martín Artajo, Hacia la comunidad hispánica, 11, 15.

44. Journalist Ernesto Montenegro, for example, offered a critical take: “A Franco speaking in terms of the reedification of the Spanish Empire makes one think of those people who, in dreams, say things that are confused and incoherent. . . . It is not the peoples of America who must lean ‘toward’ Spain but rather Spain that must change course to follow the path of political and social progress laid out already by her American brothers, the path on which she had begun to march when militarists and fascists assaulted her from behind.” Ernesto Montenegro, “La República Española, nuestra hermana,” Aurora de Chile (Santiago), 4 Feb. 1939, p. 5.

45. Eyzaguirre, Fisonomía, 7–13.

46. Maeztu, Defensa, 67.

47. Cristi and Ruiz, “Conservative Thought,” 43.

48. Stavans and Jaksić, What Is La Hispanidad?, 5. See also Pike, Hispanismo. Liberal versions of hispanismo also existed, evidenced in exiles' efforts to defend the “‘good’ Spain” after the Republic's fall; Sebastiaan Faber argues that liberal exiles' “imperial nostalgia” served “to compensate for the shame, disillusion, and despair of defeat.” Faber, Exile, 270, 147.

49. Eyzaguirre, Chile, 60.

50. Eyzaguirre, Hispanoamérica, 13–14.

51. McGee Deutsch, “Fascism,” 28. On related dynamics in Argentina, see Kressel, “Hispanic Community.”

52. “La juventud conservadora.”

53. Sznajder, “Politics in History,” 185.

54. “Quiénes somos,” MRNS, accessed 5 June 2017, https://www.mrns.cl/w3/index.php/el-movimiento/quienes-somos. The group has had multiple incarnations; the latest dates to well after the dictatorship.

55. Pollack, New Right, 31–33.

56. Eyzaguirre, Hispanoamérica, 431–33. On conservatives' cult of Portales, see Sznajder, “Politics in History.”

57. Centro Documental de la Memoria Histórica, Salamanca, Fondo Fundación Nacional Francisco Franco, docs. 05965, 14870. On Eyzaguirre's pedagogy, see Gazmuri, Aylwin Oyarzun, and González Ransanz, Perspectiva.

58. Corvalán Márquez, “Nacionalistas,” 64–65.

59. Lira taught Guzmán at the Colegio de los Sagrados Corazones; for context on what Lira derived from Vázquez de Mella, see Lira, Hispanidad, 201–63.

60. Jaime Guzmán to Carmen Errázuriz, 10 Mar. 1962, in Guzmán Errázuriz, Mi hermano Jaime, 79–81.

61. Jaime Guzmán, “¡Viva Franco, arriba España!,” Revista Escolar, no. 436 (1962), reprinted in Castro, Jaime Guzmán, 195.

62. See also Castro, Jaime Guzmán; Huneeus, El régimen; Moncada Durruti, Jaime Guzmán.

63. Gazmuri, ¿Quién era Jaime Guzmán?, 33.

64. On the seeming paradoxes of gremialista thought and its evolution over time, see Cristi, El pensamiento político, 59–76, 161–76; Renato Cristi, “Jaime Guzmán: Gremialista y neoliberal,” El Mostrador (Santiago), 11 Dec. 2003. Franco, too, embraced liberal economic reforms from the late 1950s on.

65. Pike, Hispanismo, 323.

66. Guzmán to Errázuriz, 10 Mar. 1962, in Guzmán Errázuriz, Mi hermano Jaime, 80. Guzmán would later amend his position on political parties, founding the rightist Unión Demócrata Independiente.

67. Valdivia Ortiz de Zárate, Nacionales, 124. For a fuller accounting of Guzmán's political philosophy, see Moncada Durruti, Jaime Guzmán; Cristi, El pensamiento político; Castro, Jaime Guzmán.

68. That the gremialistas pitted themselves against Frei Montalva, an early if repentant supporter of the Spanish Falange, is a small irony worthy of note.

69. Quotes from, respectively, Jaime Guzmán, quoted in Pollack, New Right, 36; Jaime Guzmán to Carmen Errázuriz, 15 Oct. 1973, in Guzmán, Escritos personales, 86. See also Guardiola-Rivera, Story, 188–93.

70. Jara Hinojosa, “Mentalidades.”

71. Neruda, Memoirs, 146; “El ‘Winnipeg’ es un barco comunista a cuyo bordo funcionaba un soviet,” El Mercurio (Santiago), 28 Sept. 1939, p. 24.

72. “Agitadores extranjeros,” El Diario Ilustrado (Santiago), 3 Feb. 1946. See also “Remite varios comunicados de prensa cruzados entre esta Embajada y rojos españoles” (encargado de negocios, Spanish embassy in Chile, to ministro de asuntos exteriores of Spain), Santiago, 8 July 1940, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09375, doc. 225. The Spanish embassy in Chile spied on Republican exiles, intercepting their mail and infiltrating their anti-Franco activities; it saw Chile as, “along with Mexico, one of the planet's most strategic sites and infectious focal points, where a large contingent of our enemies swarms.” “Informe respecto de entrada y actividades de rojos españoles en este país” (encargado de negocios, Spanish embassy in Chile, to ministro de asuntos exteriores of Spain), Santiago, 8 Jan. 1940, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09375, doc. 11. Fernández Larraín helped author the Ley Maldita (known officially as the Ley de Defensa Permanente de la Democracia) and later served as Chile's ambassador to Spain.

73. On Republican exiles and the hemispheric politics of anticommunism, see Glondys, La guerra fría cultural; Iber, Neither Peace nor Freedom.

74. “Solidaridad para la democracia,” Frente Popular (Santiago), 15 Feb. 1937. On the Winnipeg, see Neruda, Memoirs; Ferrer Mir, Los españoles; Carcedo, Neruda.

75. José Martí Gómez, “Hortensia Bussi y Salvador Allende,” La Lamentable (blog), 11 Mar. 2013, http://lamentable.org/hortensia-brusi-y-salvador-allende/.

76. See, for example, “Banquete homenaje a don Alvaro de Albornoz,” 25 June 1944, Fundación Universitaria Española, Madrid, Archivo del Gobierno de la Segunda República Española en el Exilio (hereafter cited as FUE, AGSREE), fondo Chile 29/2; Acción Republicana Española, Junta Delegada, Santiago, “Memoria Anual,” 31 Jan. 1944, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 29/2; “Republicanos españoles recordaron la defensa de Madrid,” La Hora (Santiago), 29 Nov. 1943; “XX aniversario de la llegada del vapor ‘Winnipeg’: Gran acto de confraternidad Hispano-Chileno” (advertisement from the Comité Hispano-Chileno por la Amnistia de los Presos Políticos Españoles), 6 Sept. 1959, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 35/5.

77. John Dinges called Clarín “the backbone of Allende's leftist experiment”; Pey credited its support of Allende with tipping the 1970 elections in Allende's favor. Dinges, “Curious Case.” On Pey, see Mendoza, Todos confesos, 121–24; on Francisco Giner de los Ríos, see Francisco Giner de los Ríos, interviews by Elena Aub and Enriqueta Tuñon, Madrid, Oct.–Dec. 1979, Nov. 1981, Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Mexico City (hereafter cited as INAH), Archivo de la Palabra, PHO/10/ESP.2. A copy of these interviews is housed at the Centro Documental de la Memoria Histórica.

78. Antonio de Lezama to Fernando Valera, Santiago, 25 Aug. 1952, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 30/2. The Second Spanish Republic maintained a government-in-exile until Franco's death; largely symbolic after the 1940s, it enjoyed diplomatic recognition from a few countries and kept a local representative in Chile through the 1970s.

79. On Allende's restraint, see Winn, “Furies,” 240.

80. See “Manifiesto de la Agrupación de Ayuda a la Democracia Española,” La Nación (Santiago), 17 Nov. 1948; Augusto d'Halmar et al. to the chargé d'affaires of Spain in Chile, Santiago, 30 Aug. 1948, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54/09369; “Estudiantes de derecho intensificarán intercambio cultural chileno-español,” El Mercurio (Santiago), 24 Nov. 1948; “XXV aniversario de la República Española” (advertisement, Agrupación Chilena de Ayuda a la Democracia Española/FRAP/Partido Radical/Falange Nacional/Comisión de Españoles Antifranquistas), 14 Apr. 1956, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 39/2; “Al país: A las instituciones democráticas de Chile y de América” (open letter from the Liga de la Defensa de los Derechos del Hombre), n.d., FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 35/5; “Solidaridad con el pueblo español” (advertisement, Directiva Nacional de la Confederación de Trabajadores de Chile/Comisión Hispano-Chilena/Alianza de Intelectuales de Chile), 27 July 1946, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 29/1; Osvaldo Valencia and Guillermo Ovalle (Comisión Hispano-Chilena de Ayuda al Pueblo Español) to Antonio de Lezama, Santiago, Sept. 1947, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 28/1; Antonio de Lezama to Elías Lafertte, Santiago, 26 Mar. 1947, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 28/1; Alejandro Ríos and José Oller (Comité Hispano-Chileno por la Amnistía de los Presos Políticos Españoles) to Antonio de Lezama, Santiago, 24 Aug. 1959, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 32/1; Comité Chileno de Solidaridad con la Democracia Española, “A la opinión pública,” Santiago, 26 Apr. 1960, FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 32/1.

81. República de Chile, Diario de sesiones del Senado, 28 Mar. 1962, session 62A. A copy of this document can be found in FUE, AGSREE, fondo Chile 42/6.

82. On liberation theology, Pinochet, when asked in an interview about Vatican II, replied, “I do not accept that religion can be modernized, this cannot be. I do not accept, for example, that a priest should go around wearing blue jeans.” Correa and Subercaseaux, Ego sum Pinochet, 56. Emphasis in original.

83. The project went underground after the coup, reemerging after 1990 as the Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende. José María Rondón, “Un museo para Allende,” Esquenocomo (blog), El Mundo (Madrid), 18 Oct. 2013, http://www.elmundo.es/blogs/elmundo/esquenocomo/2013/10/18/un-museo-para-allende.html.

84. This project was also interrupted by the coup, which forced Balmes and his wife and artistic collaborator, Chilean painter Gracia Barrios, to leave Chile; as Balmes recalled, “for me it was a double exile,” immortalized in the couple's painting Dos exilios. Coloane, Vidas, 94.

85. Caso Carmelo Soria CL MMDH 00000376-00001, Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos, Santiago, Archivo de Fondos y Colecciones; Varas, Los tenaces, 141–67.

86. Violeta Parra, “Qué dirá el Santo Padre,” on Recordando a Chile (Una chilena en París), 1965; Víctor Jara, “Vientos del pueblo,” on Manifiesto, 1974. Jara kept Hernández's complete works, along with a copy of the Bible, on his bedside table. Jara, Victor, 208.

87. Eduardo Carrasco, quoted in Ossa Martínez, “Recuerdo,” 72.

88. On Neruda's and Jara's televised references to the Spanish Civil War, see Jara, Victor, 204.

89. These signs are visible in protest scenes captured in La batalla de Chile, la lucha de un pueblo sin armas, directed by Patricio Guzmán (New York: First Run/Icarus Films, 1993).

90. Allende never seriously considered arming Chilean workers, despite golpistas' claims; see “Extremistas,” in Pinochet, El día decisivo, 245–52. See also Harmer, Allende's Chile, 232–34.

91. “Pronunciamiento de 1973,” in Guzmán, Escritos personales, 99.

92. Pinochet, El día decisivo, 73–77.

93. Pinochet, Chile Lights, 9, 44, 47, 54–55, 57–58.

94. Giner de los Ríos, interviews, INAH, Archivo de la Palabra, PHO/10/ESP.2.

95. Quotes from, respectively, “Contesta circular confidencial no. 28: Repercusiones en España de sucesos chilenos” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 24 Oct. 1973, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 64 OF-CONF-AEROG 1973, dispatch 1479/19; “Spanish Reaction to Events in Chile” (US ambassador in Madrid to Department of State), Madrid, 18 Sept. 1973, accessed 11 July 2016, WikiLeaks (1973MADRID05339_b), https://www.wikileaks.org/plusd/cables/1973MADRID05339_b.html.

96. “Amplia respuesta a circular confidencial no. 2, contenida en nuestro oficio confidencial número 126/10” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 29 Jan. 1974, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 70 OF-REX-TELEX 1974, dispatch 143/12.

97. “Plantea situación PEGASO en relaciones hispano-chilenas” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 29 Mar. 1974, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 70 OF-REX-TELEX 1974, dispatch 418/45.

98. See ibid; “Fondos para publicidad y para contrarrestar acción antichilena prensa internacional” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 27 Dec. 1973, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 64 OF-CONF-AEROG 1973, circular RIE-DC-DA 1764/212; “Libro de Juan [sic] Garcés” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 25 Feb. 1974, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 70 OF-REX-TELEX 1974, dispatch 286/24; “Se suspende exhibición en España de película sobre Chile” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 5 Nov. 1973, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 64 OF-CONF-AEROG 1973, dispatch 1527/198; “Discos propaganda política sobre Chile” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Patricio Carvajal), 22 May 1975, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 76 OF-RES-SEC 1975, memo 883/68; “Informe sobre actuaciones del Conjunto Quilapayún” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 25 Oct. 1974, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 71 OF-ORD 1974, memo 1606/580; Francisco Gorigoitía to Juan José Fernández, 25 June 1974, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 70 OF-REX-TELEX 1974, telegram 469; Francisco Gorigoitía to Juan José Fernández, 4 Feb. 1974, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 70 OF-REX-TELEX 1974, telex RIE no. 22. On Chilean conservatives' collusion with Francoist officials in the 1940s, see “Remite varios comunicados de prensa cruzados entre esta Embajada y rojos españoles” (encargado de negocios, Spanish embassy in Chile, to ministro de asuntos exteriores of Spain), 8 July 1940, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09375, doc. 225; “Remite una nota con fichas de comunistas españoles” (encargado de negocios, Spanish embassy in Chile, to ministro de asuntos exteriores of Spain), 13 May 1940, AGA, fonds (10)018.000, box 54-09375, doc. 172.

99. “Reacción en España ante nueva situación política en Chile” (Francisco Gorigoitía to Ismael Huerta), 20 Sept. 1973, AGH, AMRE, ECM, vol. 64 OF-CONF-AEROG 1973, dispatch RIE no. 1319/177. This was especially true among Spanish leftists, for whom the coup was painfully resonant; as the Partido Comunista de España's publication Mundo Obrero pointed out, “the cause of the Chilean people is our own cause.” “La causa del pueblo de Chile es nuestra propia causa,” Mundo Obrero (Madrid), 3 Oct. 1973.

100. Guzmán to Errázuriz, 15 Oct. 1973, in Guzmán, Escritos personales, 86.

101. “Declaración de principios del gobierno de Chile,” Santiago, 11 Sept. 1974, Archivo Chile, Centro de Estudios Miguel Enríquez, accessed 13 July 2017, http://www.archivochile.com/Dictadura_militar/doc_jm_gob_pino8/DMdocjm0005.pdf.

102. Constitution of the Republic of Chile, 21 Oct. 1980, article 1.

103. Jara Hinojosa, “Mentalidades”; Jara Hinojosa, “La ideología franquista.”

104. “El mundo expresa su dolor,” ABC (Madrid), 21 Nov. 1975, p. 45.

105. Federico Utrera, “Pinochet quería un funeral como el de Franco,” Interviú (Madrid), 22 Dec. 2006.

106. Pinochet, El general Pinochet, 11.

107. Ibid., 6. On the Chilean church's adoption of these tropes (violence as sanctification and purification, the redemptive power of blood) from Nationalist rhetoric in the 1930s, see González Pizarro, “El catolicismo chileno,” 570–72; Caudet, “Aproximación.”

108. On Chile's transition, see Stern, Reckoning with Pinochet; on the comparison with Spain's, see Aguilar and Hite, “Historical Memory.”

109. Miguel Lawner, interview by author, Santiago, 28 Jan. 2015.

110. Martín-Cabrera, Radical Justice; Encarnación, Democracy; Roht-Arriaza, Pinochet Effect; “La Argentina pidió la captura de 20 imputados por crímenes del franquismo,” Página/12 (Buenos Aires), 31 Oct. 2014, http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/ultimas/20-258820-2014-10-31.html; “Judge Opens Investigation into Death of Spanish Poet Federico García Lorca,” Guardian (London), 17 Aug. 2016.

111. The Pinochet Case, directed by Patricio Guzmán (New York: First Run/Icarus Films, 2001).

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