Brazil to host 2014 World Cup

Last week FIFA announced that Brazil will host the 2014 World Cup. This shouldn’t come as any surprise as Brazil were the only country to formally place a bid. I think this is great news for soccer. The World Cup tournament hasn’t been to South America, where the game is lived most passionately, since Argentina lasted hosted in 1978- that’s a pretty long time.

Furthermore, Brazil truly has a special relationship with the Beautiful Game. They are the only country to have won five World Cups and consistently produce wonderful players a la Ronaldinho, Robinho and Kaká.

It should be a truly special World Cup (the last two have been disappointing) and I hope to be reporting on it from Brazil.

Yalla ya Nasrallah

In July, 2006 Israel went to war with Hezbollah, a Shiite terrorist organization led by Hasan Nasrallah. Soon after the war began a certain song became ubiquitous on both Israeli and Lebanese airwaves: Yalla ya Nasrallah (loosely translated to Bring it on Nasrallah).


CLICK HERE TO WATCH THE VIDEO

In Israel the song became a rallying cry and at the same time lightened people’s tense minds. In Lebanon the Israeli Defense Forces periodically hacked into television stations to broadcast the song.

As an addendum, here’s a pretty good post war analysis. It’s from a German newspaper, but was written by an Israeli Journalist.

Garry Kasparov's International Relations Analysis

A few nights ago former World Chess Champion Garry Kasparov was interviewed on the Bill Maher show. Apparently he’s running for President of Russia, he has little chance of winning (he is very vocal about not liking Putin), but he offered an interesting take on International Relations.

Putin and Iran have been cozying up to each other and many blame this on the Bush Administration’s foreign policies. They argue that all Bush really does is unite people against us (Chavez also is warming up to Iran, and there has been a huge surge in anti-Americanism worldwide). However, Kasparov stated that Putin is in fact making a very calculated move. The Russian economy heavily relies on oil production. If oil prices fall so does the Russian economy, which would give Putin a lot of internal problems.

To ensure that oil prices are high he supports Iran. Iran is de-stabilizing the Middle East. It is attempting to get nukes, it is financing (at least in part) the Iraqi Shiite insurgents, and talks of invading Israel; indeed Iran might be the U.S.’s next target. This leads to marketplace uncertainty, nobody can very accurately predict how much oil will be on the market in the future, which leads to high prices.

This also sheds light on Chavez, who's pseudo-socialist economy also needs high oil prices. But why does it always seems that the U.S. foreign policy establishment is playing checkers while other countries are playing Chess?

Quote from Don Quixote

"It is better to lose with too many cards than too few, because 'this knight is reckless and daring' sounds better to the ear of those who listen than 'this knight is timid and weak.'"
-Don Quixote, Chapter XVIII

Hebrew: the Aleph

The symbol to the left is the Aleph, the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet and it’s the most appropriate way I could think of to begin this entry. It’s been gnawing at me for a while now that I don’t speak Hebrew. I’m Jewish (although I don’t know whether I’m a believer) and I’m a Zionist, so I should speak the Jewish language. With that in mind I signed up for a beginner Hebrew class at the 92nd Street Y and last night I began my Hebrew Odyssey.

After the typical introductions the instructor, a young Israeli woman who speaks perfect English, started speaking in Hebrew. I now know first hand the frustration and turmoil my English students experienced last year in Chile. The only words I was able to make out were “Shalom” and “Ivrit” (Hebrew).

Learning this language promises to be much more challenging than Spanish. English and Spanish share a vast amount of words due to the huge influence Latin and French played on the English language’s development. Hebrew, on the other hand, has very little in common with English (or Spanish for that matter).

By the end of the session we had already learned a lot. Well, we learned a tiny bit, but it really felt like a lot. I’m looking forward to the homework.

There's Nothing New Under the Sun

This is a link to an article about a modernist style painting done in present day Syria around... 9,000 BCE.

40th Anniversary of the Killing of Che Guevara

His back was to the wall and his head was held high as he spoke his last words, “be easy and aim well. It’s a man you’re going to kill.” Then, on October 9, 1967, Che Guevara was executed in a rural Bolivian school house. The bullets pierced his arm, his shoulder and his heart. Today marks the 40th anniversary of Che the human’s death and the birth of Che the symbol. Although it’s barely mentioned in the American media, it’s a pretty big story in the Spanish language press.

Most of us know Che Guevara superficially through his romantically heroic image emblazoned on t-shirts and Motorcycle Diaries, a 2005 movie starring Gael García Bernal about Che's youthful adventures. Indeed, in 2004 a very conservative friend of mine told me he admired Che because he fought for “freedom.” Sure, his image sells a lot of T-shirts, but who was Che Guevara? He was a leader of the Cuban revolution; but he was not Cuban and Che wasn’t even his real name.

He was born Ernesto Guevara de la Serna to an upper middleclass family in Rosario, Argentina (a city about 3.5 hours from Buenos Aires) in 1928.

He was a sickly kid and after graduating from high school studied to be a medical doctor. Upon graduation from medical school he began traveling. He practiced medicine pro-bono throughout Latin America until the early 1950’s when he met Fidel Castro and Co. in Mexico. He and his then-wife joined the Cuban independence movement. On December 2, 1956, the Cuban revolutionary forces set sail from the Yucatan peninsula on a rickety boat to fight against Cuba’s (then American backed) dictator Fulgencio Batista and conquer Cuba. They engaged the Cuban army in guerilla warfare on the Eastern side of the island. To be sure, they were not the only band of revolutionary fighters, they were one of many. But they were the most visible fighters and Fidel in particular was a hugely charismatic figure.

Ernesto transformed into Che while fighting in the Cuban jungle. Che is a popular term in Argentina, it means “hey/yo” and sometimes “dude,” and it’s a term Cubans do not ordinarily use. Guevara naturally used this term a lot and, to poke fun at him, his Cuban comrades began to call him “Che.” It quickly became his nome-de-guerre.

The Revolutionary forces toppled the Batista dictatorship on January 1, 1959 and Ernesto the sickly child was long gone. Out of the jungle emerged Fidel, his right hand man Che, and their band of fighters.

Fidel was able to maneuver himself to the lead among the various revolutionary factions and quickly consolidated control. Che took responsibility for executions, and was responsible for killing hundreds of people at the Cabaña prison. He killed Batista loyalists (and their families), ‘capitalists’ and dissidents who spoke out against the new Fidel-led regime. Many took to calling him “the butcher of Cabaña prison.”

He was a staunch, dogmatic communist and admired Joseph Stalin. He approved the killing of innocents, even children, if it strengthened his communist cause. He also dreamed of having “one, two, three Vietnams,” to kill as many Americans as possible and have a global communist revolution.

In 1967 Che left his wife and five kids in Cuba and traveled to Bolivia, where he hoped to spark a Communist insurgency. However, he never fermented local Bolivian support. On October 8, 1967 Bolivian forces, with the help of the CIA, captured Che. Forty years ago today he spoke his last words. Then Che was executed in a small school house in La Higuera, Bolivia. Perhaps Capitalism’s ultimate revenge is that his image is now used to make profits. But think before you wear that T-shirt.

(Does Che remind you of anyone in particular? How about Ayman al-Zawahiri? Al Qaeda’s number two and a qualified medical doctor.)

Christopher Columbus: A Portuguese Jewish Spy?

Today is Columbus Day. It’s a national holiday, but I’m stuck at work (at least I’m not broke like I was last year). Depending on who you are, you are either: 1 celebrating his discovery of the New World, 2 protesting the post-discovery era, or 3, you don’t really give a shit.

Anyway, when I was 13 I read a magazine article that alleged Christopher Columbus was… Jewish. Ever since that fateful day in my adolescence I’ve been fascinated by Columbus’ life story. He is one of history’s most famous figures, yet we actually know very little about the man and his background. Indeed, how did a slightly above average Genovese sailor gain access to the Spanish court?

People have contended that he was really a Portuguese spy, a former Catalan rebel, even a Marrano Jew. All of these theories are very interesting, if not all HIGHLY circumstantial. Here’s an article from today’s New York Times about attempts to trace his DNA.

Francis Ford Coppola Robbed in Buenos Aires

Francis Ford Coppola (the director of the Godfather) has been working on a new movie, entitled Tetro. The film is set in Buenos Aires and is about the rivalries in an Italian immigrant family of artists. He and his production company have been in Argentina for the past six months preparing to begin filming in February, 2008; But that date might now have to be postponed.

Two weeks ago a band of thieves broke into his Buenos Aires apartment, which doubled as his work station. They made off with a number of valuables, one of which was his personal computer, containing Tetro’s screenplay. The famous director is now offering a reward to get his material back.

This is terrible news for any movie buff or fan of Argentina (I consider myself a member of both categories), and I’m sure Coppola is distraught over all this as well.

If by any chance one of you thieves is reading this: Que le devuelvan sus cosas! Pelotudos!!

BRAZIL 3 - ARGENTINA 0

Today Brazil won the Copa America final 3-0 against Argentina; Brazil won and the sport of soccer lost. No, that’s not an outlandish statement. Brazil is known the world over not just for winning, but winning in unmistakable style. However, today they tossed their “beautiful game” aside for the “efficient game.” They did what they had to do to win- nothing more, nothing less.

The Argentines came out soft and let up an early goal to Brazil’s Julio Baptista. They then just couldn’t get going. Riquelme and Verón were unable to distribute effectively, so Argentina failed to adequately use the wings.

Brazil then nailed Argentina into the coffin with two more goals, both coming form counterattacks. Brazil were deserving winners of the game, but not the tournament.

To be sure, the way the Brazilians came together to battle adversity throughout the tournament was impressive. But they didn’t deserve to win the cup. Overall the Brazilians played very lackluster. Argentina played a bad match today but should be considered moral winners of this addition’s Copa América. Furthermore, Argentine coach Basile has found a good base of players to build upon for the 2010 World Cup, while Brazilian coach Dunga has made little long-term headway.

Copa America Update

The group stage and quarterfinals are over and only four teams remain in the Copa America: Argentina, Mexico, Brazil, and Uruguay.

Brazil should win handily against the Uruguayans tomorrow night, but the Wednesday night match up between Argentina and Mexico should be a memorable encounter. Argentina has steamrolled all oponents in their path, scoring a remarkable 13 goals in just four games. However, Mexico, under the tutelage of Hugo Sanchez, has made magnificent strides this month. Mexico (with the exception of Brazil) appears to be the only team capable of taking on the Argentines. Mexico's fate rests on the shoulders of Nery Castillo, Mexico's new young talent (the man is one hell of a dribbler).

I think Argentina will win the encounter. There's just so much to be said about the Argentine team. Alfio 'the Coconut' Basile has assembled a breathtaking, attacking lineup; man for man they are undoubtedly the best team in the world. They don't just win and score goals, they do so with a style that makes even Brazilians salivate. The past four games they have consistently strung upwards of 15 passes together. The game is played on the field, one only needs to look at the 2002 World Cup to recognize that, so I'm certainly not attempting to predict anything definitively, but I hope Argentina wins, they deserve it.

Copa America 2007 Preview

Ever since I can remember I’ve been infatuated with soccer. I still recall the summer the United States hosted the World Cup. It was 1994 and I was eleven years old. Every morning I woke up early to dig through the newspaper to find the Sports Section. Soccer in the US was even less popular than it is today, but the World Cup coverage in New Jersey was intense. I read every article at least twice, trying to absorb every bit of information I could. I still remember being heart broken when Maradona was found to be taking performance enhancers, the antics of Mexican goalie Jorge Campos, and all of Roberto Baggio’s clutch goals for Italy.

Most people abroad don’t believe an American could ever truly follow the sport. Yet it’s true, I did and I still do (I will post my thoughts on the USA-Mexico Gold Cup final in a few days). This summer my love affair with the beautiful game continues with the Copa América, kicking off tonight. The Copa América is the South American nations’ soccer championship- think of it as a regional World Cup- and Venezuela is hosting the three week tournament for the first time. Brazil and Argentina- the two countries to historically dominate South American soccer- are this year’s favorites. Argentina probably has a slight advantage.

Currently Argentina has, in my estimation, the best side in the world. For the first time since my unforgettable summer as an eleven year old, Alfio ‘el Coco’ Basile is back coaching the national side, known as the albicelestes,. The Argentine senior side hasn’t won a competition in fourteen years (the 1993 Copa América during el Coco’s first stint in charge), and will be out for blood. The albicelestes have brought in a full strength side featuring a good mix of veterans and youth. Look for them to play attractive attacking soccer. Success will hinge on how well playmakers Juan Roman Riquelme and Sebastián Verón combine in the middle of the park. Also, Lionel Messi is ready to lead; he’s 20 and is the newest ‘new Maradona.’ If the team clicks they could steam roll the opposition.

Probable Lineup: (4-4-2)

- Abbondanzieri -

- Zanetti --- Ayala --- G Milito --- Heinze -

- Mascherano -

- Cambiasso ------------------ Verón -

- Riquelme -

-Messi - - Crespo -

Juan Pablo Aimar and Carlitos Tevez will make key contributions off the bench.

Brazil, while still a favorite, is not coming with its full strength squad. No Ronaldinho, no Kaká, no Ronaldo, no Adriano. All the same, Brazil is Brazil. The seleção has heaps of talent and will rely on young players eager to make an impression on new coach Dunga (Brazil’s number five from the 1994 World Cup winning team).

The two standout players of the group, Robinho and Diego, know each other well from their years together in the youth ranks and senior side of Santos (Pelé’s former club). Their success will depend on how quickly they come together as a team and the productivity of Robinho, who’s coming off a mediocre season with Real Madrid. Striker Vagner Love could be the tournament’s break out star.

Probable Lineup: (4-4-2)

Hélton

-Maicon --- Alex --- Juan --- Gilberto

- Mineiro --- G. Silva -

- Elano -------------- Diego -

- Vagner Love - -- Robinho -

Lost in Spanish

I’m leaving Chile this weekend, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. But I do know what I’m going to miss the most. A year ago I spoke very formal Spanish. I addressed people using “usted” (to show respect) and didn’t know how to use too many curse words. My boss quickly put an end to that.

“You’re Spanish is decent, and you’re improving a lot, but you still sound really stiff,” Claudia, my boss, told me one day. I had been in Chile about a month and a half and was slowly getting used to my new life in a foreign land. “Many times, instead of naming the object we’re referring to, we just call it a “hueá,” she told me. Claudia was the coolest boss I had ever had. She was in her early thirties and always had a story ready, and by the way she carried herself you could tell she had seen her fair share in life. She was fast becoming my mentor on all things Chilean and my first lesson was how to speak “normally.”

“Write this down and study it,” she said. “Huevón and machucao both mean friend,” ‘Use the bathroom’ is ‘echar la pulenta’.” Then, as she got up from her desk to throw away her coffee cup, she stubbed her toe. “¡Concha-su-madre!” she exclaimed.

That night, eating another bland dinner with my then-Chilean family, I decided to try out what I had recently learned. I asked my 35 year old host brother- who was a dick- to pass the salt. “hey machucao, could you pass me that hueá?” Everybody dropped their forks and stared at me, speechless. Ackward. “Who taught you that?” one of them finally asked after regaining composure. “My boss,” I said, still with no idea what was wrong. “Well, those words aren’t appropriate for the dinner table,” they told me. What I had just said roughly translated to, “hey motherfucker, pass me that shit.”

Fast forward six months and a string of bad words later. Claudia and I had already become friends and were catching up after mid year break. She asked me how I had been fairing with the Chilean ladies. "You know, some hits, some misses. . . nothing special." She started grilling me. “You mean you still don’t have a girlfriend here? I’ll tell you why you don’t, you know what I’ve noticed about you lately? You curse too much in Spanish. If you want to find a girlfriend you can’t use words like that!”

“Yeah? Well I wonder where I learned those words Claudia!”

“Hey, I taught you them, but I didn’t teach you to use them so much. So don’t blame me, huevón!”

. . . Fast forward to September and I'm walking down a twisting street close to my house. It's a beautiful spring day and the birds are chirping. I'm looking for a place to sit down, have a coffee, and plan my lessons for the week. As I stroll by one café the store front sign catches my eye:

--café con leche and muffin, 800 pesos--

That’s interesting, I think to myself. American breakfast food is hard to come by here, so I hadn´t had a muffin in months. I pass through the propped open door, take a seat, and the waitress approaches. “Un café con leche y muffin, por favor.” English words are often mispronounced here so I intentionally hispanized muffin, “moo-feen,” I said.

“Excuse me? What’s a moo-feen?” the waitress asks.

“You know, from the offer in the window.”

“Ooh, okay, but that’s pronounced ‘muffin.’ It’s an American breakfast food.” Chile 1, Me: 0.

Hardly anyone speaks English here and I’m almost positive the waitress knows less than 30 English words, but you never can tell which words they’re gonna get right and which ones they’re gonna butcher. Go to a liquor store and ask for Johnny Walker and the attendant will blankly stare at you. Instead you have to ask for a Joanie Wall-care. Hip hop, fairly popular in Chile, is pronounced ‘hip hope.’

But at the same time I’m certain I massacre Spanish words. To make matters worse, most Chileans aren’t actively trying to learn English whereas one of my reasons for coming here was to become fluent in Spanish. After close to a year here I’ve come a long way (on my resume I now say I’m ‘conversationally fluent’), yet I’m not quite where I want to be.

My Spanish skills go through ups and downs. Presently my Spanish is on the upswing, in September expressing myself was a gargantuan task, the last two weeks in October my Spanish was flying. I’m always trying to practice, learn new words, and improve.

Everyday I make the hour and a half journey from my place in downtown Santiago to San Carlos de Apoquindo, one of Santiago’s rich suburban neighborhoods in the foothills of the Andes. If it weren’t for the Andes- On a clear winter day the snow covered mountain tops glisten just a few hundred yards away- or the barbed wired fences- Chileans are extremely paranoid about crime- it would look like upper class American suburbia.

But an hour and a half is a hell of a commute. On the bus I listen to loads of music. I’ve now extended my Spanish language musical interests way beyond the typical Caribbean fare available back home. I especially like ‘los Fabulosos Cadillacs,’ a now defunct legendary Argentine rock group from the ‘90’s. I also read. Cafés supply newspapers here free of charge, so every morning I read El Mercurio, Chile’s largest- and slightly right wing- newspaper, over a cup of coffee. I’ve also read a lot of books in Spanish over the last few months. Gabriel García Márquez, Miguel de Unamuno, Eduardo Galeano, and Julio Cortázar are some of my favorite authors.

But the best way to improve is by, obviously, speaking. But speaking is easier said than done (there’s a pun in there, but I’m too tired to sort it out). Most of my friends here are fellow English teachers. We came down here at the same time not really knowing anyone, and began working together; so it was only natural that we would become friends. Chileans, in contrast to other Latin Americans, although very nice, are at first a little closed and standoffish. Moreover think about it, back home, when we meet foreigners our reaction isn´t, “hey! Great to meet you, let me be your friend!” It’s hard to form new friendships anywhere, much less in a foreign culture and in a language you still haven’t quite mastered.

In fact, the most I’ve connected with anyone here was a girl I randomly met in Argentina. This is the back story: Some friends and I were at a Santiago bar last June watching Argentina devastate Serbia 6-0 in a first round World Cup game. Convinced that Argentina would win the cup we bought bus tickets to Mendoza, an Argentine city just the other side of the Andes, for the weekend of the final. As luck would have it, Argentina was knocked out in the quarterfinals, but we didn’t care. We were going and that was that. The bus ride is normally seven hours, but in the dark Andean winter it took close to twelve. It was snowing heavily over the mountain pass and the international crossing, Chile’s most trafficked road with its largest neighbor, was temporarily closed. But we finally made it and were ready to party a lo argentino.

We had a great time, we went clubbing, had too much to drink, watched Italy win the World Cup and Zidane headbutt his defender (in the chest, damn), and met loads of people. Then Monday morning rolled around and we had to return to Santiago, it was the last week of the semester and we had lots of tests to grade and forms to process.

But there was one problem. An avalanche had fallen over the mountain pass. There was no way we could get back. “This happens every year,” the guy working the hostel front desk told me. He was sympathetic to our plight but couldn’t help but smile.

“Really? Well when do you think the pass’ll re-open? Tonight? Tomorrow morning?” I asked hopefully.

He laughed in my face. “Start dreaming on Friday.”

“¡Concha-su-madre!” I said. “We´re fucked.”

But it wasn’t so bad. I spoke to Claudia and she told me not to worry, I wouldn’t be fired. We made it back to Santiago Thursday afternoon, but in the meanby we were stuck at the hostel.

The last day there my friends and I met some Argentine girls around our age who were also staying in the hostel. Now I’m not generalizing to all Chilean females, but the vast majority of girls I have met here have been boring and/or dumb. Admittedly I am no Einstein or Picasso either, but when girls start telling you about their favorite colors. . . or that Chile is unique in the fact that different regions of the country have different accents. . . I mean come on.

But these girls on the other hand were really bright and interesting. They were in college studying International Relations, were much friendlier than their Chilean counterparts, and. . . actually had opinions.

But of the three the one who I connected with most was Cecilia. She was smart, easy to talk to, and "re-buena onda" - super cool. We talked about tons of stuff. But as the night wore on my Spanish started to slip. I had been up since dawn trying to figure out how to get back to Santiago, and now I had a few glasses of cheap wine in me. I was disappointed that I couldn’t say some of the things I wanted to, but this was the most I had bonded with anyone since I had come down here. If she had lived in Santiago I would’ve asked here for her number, but she didn’t so I asked for her e-mail address instead. She smiled and gave it to me. But, pointing her finger, she said, “improve your Spanish!”

Latin American News

Two interesting articles on the two most controversial topics in Latin America: Hugo Chávez and Cuba.

The New Yorker covers the paradox that is Hugo Chávez.

Foreign Affairs Magazine takes a look at post-Fidel Cuba and analizes recent U.S./Cuba Relations.

Mi Buenos Aires Querido... Random Thoughts and Observations

I just left Buenos Aires and I miss it already. Santiago's cool, but Buenos Aires is on a whole other level, it's got "onda" that intangible feeling that things are really happening. I would even venture to say that it's the only city I've been to that's comparable to New York. The city seems to go on forever and there's always something going on.

People from Buenos Aires look derisively at Chile, similar to how New Yorkers esteem say, Ohio. Upon telling Buenos Aires natives- called porteños- where I had been living the past year, they couldn't help but smirk and say, "Chile, heh."

The food in Buenos Aires was good... if you like meat and pasta because there's not much else. Fortunately I like meat and consider myself a spaghetti connoisseur, so no problems there.

More than a few people told me I had a "terrible mixture of a gringo and Chilean accent." Yeah well fuck you too, buddy. No but seriously, I was more amused than offended, but I was also envious because I loved the Argentine accent. I'm glad I learned Chilean Spanish. It's very difficult, Chileans speak very fast and chop off the beginnings and endings of tons of words, so next to Chilean Spanish other accents are a piece of cake. Argentines, on the other hand, speak relatively clearly, yet their accent is unmistakable. They speak with an almost Italian rhythm, and pronounce "LL's" and "Y's" as "SH" ("Sho me Shamo" instead of "Yo me LLamo"). I'm pretty good at the Chilean accent, but anytime I attempted the porteño accent people thought I was from Spain (¡coño!).

Everyday, around four or five o-clock, everyone would drop what they were doing and meet a friend or two for café con leche and a few sweet mini croissants called medialunas- literally "half moons."

Buenos Aires FEELS like a city. It has a cosmopolitan vibe and a lot of charm.

Many porteños know a fair amount of English. This got a little frustrating when, hearing even the hint of an American accent, they began speaking to you in English. That almost never happens in Chile.

Poverty was much more in your face than in the U.S. or even Chile. Every evening, no matter where I was I saw cartoneros (the homeless, many of them complete families), picking through the trash for scraps of food. According to porteños I met, the cartoneros are much more ubiquitous in the city now than before the late 2001 economic crash.

Rosario: While in Argentina I took a three day trip to Rosario, Argentina's second or third largest city depending on who you talk to. It's about four hours north of Buenos Aires and has a very different feel. It's much more laid back and Rosarinos (people from Rosario) were easier to meet than their Buenos Aires counterparts. It's also Che Guevara's birth place.

Argentines celebrate Christmas very differently than Americans do. They start the evening among family, but around 2AM everybody goes out and hits the clubs. It's one of the biggest party nights of the year.

I checked out all the tourist sites. I went to la Recoleta cemetery- where my grandfather used to sell flowers. I went to the Obelisco (whoever designed that had a Napoleon complex for sure). I went to la Boca, a historic neighborhood that sits next to the waterfront, if you walk two block away from el Caminito- the touristy street- you're in the ghetto. I bought some books on Avenida Corrientes and clothes in plaza Serrano. Even yet, I don't feel I know the city well at all. It's definitely a place I'd like to live in someday, and I hope that day is gonna come sooner rather than later.

The Death of a Latin American Dictator

Augusto Pinochet died an old man of 91 last Sunday, December 10. He was being treated in a hospital after suffering a heart attack the week before. He had been improving until Sunday afternoon when he passed away after experiencing a massive stroke. He died at 2:15 in the afternoon. Five seconds later every TV channel and radio station in Chile began broadcasting the breaking news. The information broke everyone’s day.

People began to mourn outside the hospital where he was being treated. A huge crowd of well-wishers, mostly elderly women, had been holding vigil outside the hospital. Upon hearing of Pinochet’s death many broke down crying and sobbing, all with an undertone of bitterness over what “they” had done to him.

Meanwhile, in downtown Santiago… Crowds began to form independently in the Plaza Italia and in front of la Moneda, Chile’s presidential palace, popping champagne, throwing ticker tape, and chanting victoriously. In front of la Moneda the scene later turned violent. Rocks and Molotov cocktails were thrown at the ready-for-anything-decked-out-in-riot-gear police. The violence finally ended only after the police sprayed tear gas, brought out water canons, and made arrests. There was also similar violence and protests in the “poblaciones” Santiago’s poor outlying South side neighborhoods.

Monday morning things had returned to normal. The buses were running and people went to work. There were no big protests. Life went on. But what happened in Chile the day before was now front-page news the world over. “Pinochet Dead.” My favorite headline was Argentine left wing daily Página 12’s “What Has Hell Done to Deserve This?"

So who was Pinochet? He was… In order to talk about Pinochet one first has to talk about Salvador Allende. Allende was the Chilean socialist party presidential candidate in 1972. He won the election. Chile, at the time, was an extremely poor country and Allende’s economic policies did not help things. The CIA was also no help, paying workers to go on strike and fomenting unrest. The country as in turmoil then came September 11, 1973. Allende’s chief of staff, Augusto Pinochet, who conversely had a reputation for loyalty, led a coup to oust his commander in chief. He surrounded la Moneda with tanks and demanded Allende relinquish power and flee the country. Allende instead committed suicide in his la Moneda, which was then made rubble by the Chilean air force.

Pinochet then dismissed congress and took full control of the government, first along with a few other generals, then consolidating power for himself. He killed and or tortured many former Allende supporters, left wing activists, union leaders, and assassinated dissidents abroad. He created a secret police, the DINA to clamp down on dissent.

He also firmly aligned himself with the US government and Margaret Thatcher. He embraced neo-liberal economic policies. He called in young Chilean economists, known as the Chicago Boys because they were mentored by Milton Friedman at the University of Chicago. After some initial pitfalls the Chilean economy boomed, growing at least 4.5% every year after 1984. The Chilean standard of living increased and the foundation was set for today’s Chilean economy- the strongest in the region.

However, by 1988 Chile was being ostracized and isolated internationally for not embracing democracy Pinochet finally succumbed to pressure and called a national plebiscite to determine whether he would remain in power or if elections would be held. He never thought he’d lose the plebiscite… He lost. As a post script, he was later found to have upwards of $25 million in foreign bank accounts.

That’s a basic outline of events, it’s a very interesting story, so if you want to learn more, read a book.

It’s now 2006 and even though Pinochet doesn’t loom like he once did over Chile, he’s still in the back of man minds. He’s a very controversial figure and you never really know what a Chilean is going to say about him. People can’t even agree on what to call him. The left- as does the international community- calls him a dictator, while the right refers to his regime understatedly as “just a military government.” The country is split on his legacy.

One Position:
Coups are not in a general’s job description. Chile had a democratically elected government and a long democratic tradition, all of which were made rubble when la Moneda was bombed to the ground and Pinochet ascended to power n 1973.

After basically assassinating the President, he had death squads roam the country hunting for communists and socialists and anyone deemed “undesirable.” He turned the national soccer stadium into a quasi-concentration camp where many people were tortured and/or killed. There was no freedom of the press or of expression. After he left power he was found to have upwards of 25 million dollars in foreign bank accounts. Ahem, corruption?

Opposing Position:
Pre 1973 Chile was in a very dire situation. The economy was in shambles and many people didn’t have enough to eat. Pinochet came in and, after years of tumult, steadied the ship. No more protests, no more disorder, and the economy drastically improved.

As for the killings and disappearances: for a long time Pinochet followers claimed that the reported torture and killings were propaganda and never actually happened. The disappeared simply packed up and went elsewhere. After it became all too evident that horrible things really did go down, they began to contend that anybody killed was a “terrorist” and that he (Pinochet) should have killed more people- that’s a direct quote from the lady I used to live with. Simultaneously many argued Pinochet wasn’t aware of everything going on.

His millions stashed away? It wasn’t him. It was his wife and kids who were corrupt and pilfered all the money (some seriously argue this).

What do I think?
Allende’s government was no walk in the park. Nevertheless it was a democratically elected government. I’m an opponent of all dictatorships, be they left or right. There’s simply no excuse for a coup and an ensuing repressive 18 year dictatorship. As for Pinochet no knowing about the torture, killing, and corruption; he famously quipped while in power, “not even a leaf moves in Chile without me knowing.” He was a Latin American caudillo dictator who happened to institute sound economic polices.

Endearing Things to say to a Chilean

Endearing things to say to a Chilean:

1. I heard that the pisco in Peru is better.
2. You guys suck at soccer.
3. I love George Bush, in fact, I worked on his last campaign.
4. Chilean wine is over-rated.
5. A Completo is just a hotdog.
6. Argentine girls are better looking.
7. Argentine wine tastes better.
8. Anything good about Argentina.
9. What's up with your funny accent?
10. ¡Huevón! (pronounced way-OWN)
11. ¡Re-ándate a la concha tu ma're, ahuevonao machucao!

10 months in Chile: Reflections

Last February I came to Chile to teach two semesters of English at DuocUC, a DeVry-esc post-secondary institute in Santiago. December has now descended upon us and the second of the two semesters is coming to an end. There only remain final oral presentations to hear, papers to grade, and students to fail (just kidding upon failing students… well, not really).

Last semester I had a relatively good bunch of students. They were generally interested in learning English so long as they didn’t have to work too hard, and we had some fun in class. In contrast, at the opening of the second semester my new students didn’t really care for English at all. They saw my class solely as a requirement -or obstacle- they had to take on to get their degree. I tried not to become jaded but I felt whatever magic there was from the first semester had disappeared. However, things began to change somewhere around the semester’s midpoint. Class started to improve, unfortunately I have no idea why, and the students began to show a better attitude. Many have told me they want to take English with me again next semester. To be sure, I’m uncertain if this is because I was an effective teacher or an easy grader.

Before I left a year ago I tried to act cool. “A year abroad ain’t no thang,” I said to myself and people I knew. But honestly I was scared out of my mind. I had studied abroad in Madrid for a semester in college, but that was for four months. I spent most of my time with fellow American students and came into little contact with the local population. On the other hand this was the real deal. I’d be living daily life for a year in a foreign country to which I had never been. “How would I feel six months down the line? How much would I miss my family? My friends? The New York mindset?” A year, I thought, was a pretty long time to spend away from home, and I was taking a dark step into a completely unknown situation.

So how do I feel almost a year on? Pretty damn good, actually. Sure, I’m not going to lie and say I don’t go through patches where I feel home sick. That’s only natural. But what I’ve learned is that a year is not that long to spend in a foreign country. I feel like I’m just now getting to know Chile. Moreover, everyday here potentials presents a new challenge. I never know when I’m going to discover something new. Teaching English, while not my career goal, is a pretty cool job. It’s much more interesting and fewer hours than whatever I’d be doing right now if I were in New York.

So I’ve decide to stay a bit longer…

Are you Brazilian?

“Could I ask you a question... Are you Brazilian?” asks the lady working behind the counter at my neighborhood coffee shop. Someone asking me where I’m from is perfectly reasonable as my accent gives me away as a foreigner here in Chile. Nonetheless a Brazilian accent in Spanish is very distinct- like an Italian accent in English- and my Spanish does not sound Brazilian by any means.

“No, why? Do I sound Brazilian?” I inquire, playing along.

“Not really, you just have very special eyes. I’ve only seen eyes like yours a long time ago on a trip to Rio.” I was flattered, too bad the woman looked to be in her 50’s. But I couldn’t help but think, “what do eyes, even a pair as beautifully jaw dropping as mine, have to do with being from Brazil?”

Apparently reading my thoughts, she replied, “You just have that look to you.”

It doesn’t hurt one’s self-esteem to be taken for Brazilian, but the preceding incident is hardly the first time I’ve been asked something of the sort. I just have that “look” of ethnic ambiguity. I’m 5’7’’ with black hair, light brown eyes, and olive skin. I could plausibly be from a host of different places, and I get mistaken all the time for anything and everything across the olive-complexioned spectrum. Brazilian... Italian... Lebanese... the list goes on. But the situation gets messier once I reveal my true identity. “Soy de Estados Unidos,” I’m a gringo.

“¡No puede ser!” It can’t be! People respond in bewilderment, almost challenging what I've just told them.

Most people I have met here in Chile have a pre-conceived notion of what an American is supposed to look like, and I certainly don’t fit that bill. “I thought all Americans were tall and had blond hair and blue eyes!” they say, half to me, half to themselves.

“Well, George Bush doesn’t have blond hair or blue eyes...” I retort.

“Yeah but it’s not the same. He still looks American.” Not wishing to argue the point as to what an American is supposed to look like, I drop the subject and move on. But slightly different variations of the same conversation happen so often it begs me to ask myself, why do people here believe Americans are all lily white skinned blondes? After all, it's the United States of America, not Northern Europe.

Chileans come into contact with very few Americans. As I have written in previous posts, Chile is surrounded by natural barriers, the Andes to the east, and the Pacific Ocean to the West. Moreover, it's far from the United States, very far. Because of the infrequent contact, they obtain most of their information about the U.S. and its citizens from exported American pop culture, namely movies and TV shows.

If you're in the US right now then turn on the TV and take notice. If the show you've just tuned into isn't marketed towards a minority group then the characters- while not necessarily blonde and blue eyed- have a vaguely waspish look. This is especially true of the American shows broadcast in Chile, Orange County being a prime example. On the big screen non-wasp looking actors are few and far between unless the movie is about drug dealing or the mafia.

After people here arrive to the acceptance stage of my being American the conversation moves on to this. "So, tell me, what do people in the U.S. think of Chile?" Basically all Chileans ask me this question. Okay, perhaps that's an exaggeration; let's say 99 percent of them. I should add that this represents a massive cultural difference. Would we, as Americans, ever ask a foreigner that question? No, probably not. It would be a very loaded question for an American to ask a foreigner, but it's more than that. We, to put it plainly, don't really give a shit. There are positives and negatives to that attitude, but it's true nonetheless.

But what do we Americans think of Chile? Take a few seconds to think... That's right. Nothing. Maybe we confuse it with Mexico or the Dominican Republic, but that's about it.

I've been in Chile for about nine months now, which really is not that much time. But what do I think of Chile? That's for my next post.

Update: La Pensión

About a month ago I moved from the Chilean household where I had been living to a pensión. The pensión, a cross between a boarding house and a hostal, has been great so far. It’s located in Barrio Brasil, a neighborhood in downtown Santiago that, while historically poor, is rapidly gentrifying. Santiago is basically an ugly city and there are not many memorable places, but Barrio Brasil is one of the few exceptions. It is one of the few neighborhoods with character, there are a lot of old buildings, hole-in-the-wall bars and cheap restaurants. There’s also a plaza with street musicians, a fairly size-able Peruvian population, two subway lines and a plethora of bus lines run five minutes from my new place.

Why did I move out of my old place? It just wasn’t working out. Officially I had been living with a “Chilean family.” Nevertheless, that is deceptive phrase. Often times, in an effort to genuinely emerse themselves, travelers choose to live with a host country family. In theory the idea sounds great, but it’s very hard to get a “family.” Many times the host family doesn’t take you in seeking a true cultural exchange, they’re just trying to find some extra cash. Other times it's just a person with a spare room rather than a family.

My situation fell into both aforementioned categories. I lived in Providencia, an upper-middle class Santiago neighborhood, with Chely- an old, grumpy, aristocratic Chilean woman- and her dog Wilburt (I swear to God that was the dog’s name). Willburt, a black lab so big he could’ve taken down a lion, was a great dog. Chely on the other hand was aloof and uninterested in most of life. She rarely left the house and was so fond of Augusto Pinochet (Chilean Dictator from 1973 to 1988) that she had framed pictures of him in almost every room of her home (a few were even signed). We hardly ever spoke for more than two or three minutes at a time and I can count on one hand the times we ate a meal together. Granted, Chilean mores are very different from American ones, but a picture paints a thousand words:

Chely employed a housekeeper, Rosita. There were miniature bells placed throughout the house and, instead of calling Rosita over to help with something, she would just ring the nearest bell. Imagine Rosita’s daily humiliation having to respond all day to a bell... Needless to say, Rosita didn’t stick around too long.

The only benefit to Chely’s place was that it was extremely cheap. But I finally found a different place with a comparable rent, so I peaced the hell out, nah mean?

Compared to Chely’s the pensión is astounding. I now have daily human contact at home. Most of the people there are Chileans from outside Santiago who have come to the capital looking for work. Almost all of them are super cool and everyone has a story to tell. A random gringo tourist or two is usually thrown into the mélange, and I’ve become the unofficial pensión translator (I’ve drastically improved since Legal Aid). To be sure, the pensión’s Crown Jewel, is the family that both administrates and lives there. There’s a mom and pop with their four daughters- ages two, six, eight, and ten- an aunt, and “la uelita,” the grandmotherly matriarchal figure who’s the true mover and shaker of the pensión. So ironically even though I ditched my Chilean “family,” I’m actually living with a real one now.

As food is not included in the rent, I’m also cooking on my own - it couldn’t have come sooner either, Chely’s food tasted like rain soaked five year old cardboard. I never really learned how to cook, so now I’m learning on the fly. It hasn’t been easy, a few weeks ago I messed up rice- don’t ask. But now, after some trial and error, I’m proud to say I’ve mastered pasta. I make my own meat sauce too, take that Emeril!

The only gripe I have is that I’ve been dubbed Martín. My first day there “la uelita” mistakenly referred to me as Martín. “Ummm, it’s actually Benjamín,” I politely told her. “Oh right, sorry,” she said. But she never could get it and kept calling me Martín.

After the umpteenth time correcting her she finally informed me, “look, I’m not young anymore, there’s a lot of stuff I can’t remember, your name being one of them. You look like a Martín, so that’s what I’m going to call you.”

I don’t know what the expression on my face conveyed, but- basically telling me to get over it- she then added, “but don’t worry, I like the name Martín a lot. It sounds really nice.” What could I do? So now I’m stuck for a while with this lifeless, colorless name. ¡Puta la hueá!