The night the people took to the streets

A few days ago, I had the opportunity to interview a political figure here in Salto who works with one of the two traditional parties--the Colorados. Historically, barring the dictatorship, either the Colorados or their political opponents, the Blancos, have held power in Uruguay. As of 2006, though, a new political force was elected into power, the leftist Frente Amplio (Broad Front). This group, which consists of various political groups including the Tupamaros, identifies itself as primarily socialist.

In many ways, the election of the Frente Amplio was an example of the Latin American political pendulum in action once again--the same device that regularly sees conservative leaders followed by liberal ones, and vice-versa. Following the military dictatorship, the Colorado party once again found itself in power. Due largely to the economic crisis preceding the 2006 elections, the people wanted a change. As I have been told on various occasions, even many of those who had supported one of the two traditional parties decided that perhaps 2006 was the time for a change...and the Frente Amplio was elected.

But, as the people soon learned, many of the promises of the socialist Frente Amplio party were hollow. Arriving on the scene carrying the baggage of its revolutionary past, the party found itself in a new millennium, and in a completely new context that had forgotten the Cold War and had embraced capitalism. While many people criticize the Frente Amplio for not pursuing the social and economic policies it had promised--and, additionally, for the corruption that plagues the Uruguayan government in spite of the party in power--some others have a more historical basis for their criticism.

A few weeks ago, while in Montevideo, I was walking to an evening movie when I noticed flyers littering the busy sidewalk and street.



I picked one up and read "The Revolutionary Socialist Party" along with the primary demands of the "party":



As I continued walking, I found another, somewhat different flyer, which contained a stark image of one of the individuals who was protesting Bush's visit earlier this year. Apparently, the man was arrested for protesting the visit, and the flyer was attempting to arouse criticism of the man's punishment:




As I continued walking to the movie, I found myself face-to-face with an enormous group of people marching down the street--there must have been tens of thousands of people, and, needless to say, the streets had been completely blocked. The somewhat shocking thing, though, was that the protestors were mostly silent, and only made a significant sound when they sang the national anthem. As I observed the march, I learned that the two flyers I found portrayed the two primary issues the manifestation was attempting to bring to light: the empty promises of the current government, and the preservation of the people's ability to protest.



One of the issues that emphasizes the disparity between the Frente Amplio's rhetoric and its actions is that of the "desaparecidos," or those individuals who disappeared under the military dictatorship. These people were purposefully imprisoned, tortured, and executed by the authoritarian government, but their files have never been disclosed. This has left an open wound in Uruguayan society (and the societies of Argentina and Chile, which also experienced vast "disappearances" under their respective dictatorships). When many of the individuals who are currently serving in the government were Tupamaro revolutionaries, they were directly threatened by these disappearances, and during their campaign it was an issue that was harped upon. Once in power, though, these same individuals have been forced to consider the practical and economic consequences of digging into their country's history and attempting to resolve this tragedy--an action that is even more controversial considering that the Uruguayan military has been given amnesty, and many people would like to put the period behind them, in spite of (or because of) the terror they suffered.



Many of the thousands of protestors that I ran into, though, were part of the group that would rather the government follow its rhetoric with action, and work to reveal the history of their disappeared loved ones. It is true that many individuals were marching simply to remember their lost loved ones so that such a tragedy never occurs again, as is apparent in the faces and signs that they carried:



For many others, though, the march signified an attempt to push the current government toward acting upon the promises it has made throughout its history. As the flyers revealed, the majority of these promises were made in a different context, and reflect demands that would have been valid during the Cold War. But are they still valid today?

This is the question I faced as I watched the march, and read the flyers that portrayed a persecuted man beneath the Golden Arches: is the United States still at fault for the difficulties Uruguay faces today (poverty, for example)? As an American, what is my role and responsibility in this? As I reflected upon these questions, I came to the realization that the people protesting the US were not only doing so because of difficulties they faced, but also because of sympathy they have for those who are suffering--namely, Iraqis. US imperialism is something that wounded Uruguay during the military dictatorship, and something that has left a scar ever since. In many ways, this experience has caused Uruguayans to be more sensitive when they perceive the influence of the US being used malevolently in other countries.

While interviewing the man I described at the start of this post, I asked him how he would change Uruguay's current society, if at all. He told me that he wishes the Uruguayan people could focus their attention on the future and how they can improve their country, rather than dwelling on the mistakes of the past.

In the months preceding my college graduation, I decided to use the time immediately after college to experience firsthand the suffering that many people in this world endure on a daily basis. I had tasted it in Mongolia, and a bit in Colombia, but I wanted to experience it further, believing it would affect me in a way that is necessary if I am to dedicate my career to human rights and development. Through the influence of various factors and forces, I eventually found myself in Uruguay, where, although I hear about this suffering occasionally (in the form it took under the dictatorship), I am about thirty years too late in seeing the suffering firsthand.

While visiting Paraguay a couple months ago, and being struck by the poverty there, I wrote in my journal the following thoughts, which were only reinforced last night as I watched an NBC special on the genocide in Darfur: "I sometimes wonder, when I see the utter poverty and suffering of another country, why I'm working in Uruguay, in complete comfort and security. I wanted so much to work toward alleviating that suffering, and still I find myself so far from it."