THE BATTLE OF CHILE: THE COUP D'ÉTAT (Guzmán 76): [4.5]

Interestingly, this second film in the series opens with a list of  international honors and awards received. THE BATTLE OF CHILE received no end of acclaim after it was unveiled to the world, though it seems to have been slightly forgotten in the decades since. We seem to have forgotten how extraordinary the moments contained within these films truly are. I was struck, late in the film, by the smiling children gathered behind men being interviewed about a truck drivers' strike. It would not be long before those children grew up under the cold terror imposed by Pinochet's regime, before those socialist sympathizers would have no guarantee of safety to share their opinions. The film crew too would leave the country to assemble this gathered footage, casting these brief shared moments between them all as lost fragments of time in Chile's corrupted history. While certainly Patricio Guzmán has given the world at large a tremendous social and artistic gift in the form of his stupendous three-part documentary, it is the Chilean people who will benefit most from what he has done. Much like Antonioni's Chung Kuo, the service this film provides is a valuable, unmediated view of life during the Chilean political process in the first years of the 70s.

Using the word 'unmediated' when describing a documentary is a dangerous proposition, and it usually implies a misguided appeal to an objectivity that the camera's presence can't help but distort. I would, however, claim that the method used by Guzmán breaks new ground in this ongoing debate about cinematic objectivity. Certainly we can't claim that the parliamentary process was much affected by the camera (or, at least, no more affected than such a process would ordinarily be, considering the performative aspect of debate). And as intrusive as the camera seems to be when recording conversations in the factories or the street, the camera operators refrain from directly influencing the actions of their subjects. More ambiguous are the exchanges, about halfway through the film, between the frustrated workers and the man defending international interests. Here microphones swoop in to amplify voices, and cameras fixate on men who are gathered in a small room. Perhaps their debate was affected by their awareness of the camera crew? My opinion is that their single-mindedness and seeming fluidity in speaking suggests they were far more absorbed by the process of defending their viewpoints. The first film begins with Chilean voters giving their opinions about politics, a process obviously performative but no less useful for tapping into the energy of the people at that moment in history. In contrast, these men speak with little acknowledgement (in speech or demeanor) of being observed. They are impassioned, but it is in focused response to what the other has said. It is impossible to say for certain, so I'll also say that there is room even within that focus for self-consciousness. 

While we can't entirely remove the camera from the equation, Guzmán makes the right move in dwarfing his crew in the larger turmoil of the country. His choice aligns with the position of the Chilean people in Chile's slow destruction. At first they felt like they were part of their country's future, but soon they would find that that future was never theirs to decide. He and his editors may choose what to show us from the footage obtained, but what they do show us is almost uniformly a view from the sidelines. Possibly as a reaction to the danger posed by Tanquetazo coup (in which one cameraman was killed while filming, and which links this film to its predecessor), the crew now observes mostly at a distance. Trucks and tanks drive past, oblivious to the watchful eyes of the cameras. Guzmán and company can only contextualize what they film rather than provoking action from those directing these events. This film listens more than it asks, individual interviews notwithstanding. History marches onward, been removed from the hands of the people. They may occasionally voice their opinions to the filmmakers, but those opinions will no longer translate into political action. 

This is actually rather damning of the democratic process, as we see that creating socialism is not so easy as voting and letting representatives enact the voters' will. Representatives represent something larger and more intangible than their voters, which complicates the political process. Their only accountability is to themselves, and what are we to make of these men and their allegiances? Guzmán documents all kinds of outside interference and shifting loyalties in his films. The Christian Democrats sit idly by as the abortive coup begins, then reconsider and offer their support to Salvador Allende and Popular Unity afterward. A trial period begins where Allende and his government tentatively attempt to expropriate factories, and the Christian Democrats grow uneasy in their alliance with Popular Unity. Those fears are then preyed upon by fascist protests and the rightward wing of the Christian Democrats, who eventually make stiff demands of surrendering presidential power and halting nationalization. Allende refuses, and the end approaches.

Who can we blame? Is any one person or coalition to blame? The political process is an unwieldy one at the best of times, let alone when the fury of the United States is looming and the governing party's political goal is nothing less than the total transformation of a society. Did the Chilean Parliament fail the socialist enterprise, or did human fallibility fail the Chilean Parliament? The answer, of course, is both, but Guzmán's exhaustive documentation of the shifts in power provide us with some clues. We can see the elephants in the room of Swiss and English foreign investments in Chilean manufacturing. Those in charge of overseeing the harmonious continuation of business are unable to simply oust their investors, not even necessarily because of loyalty to those powers, but because Chile depends on the stability of trade relations to continue its reforms (particularly after the United States cuts its economic ties with Chile). The workers are tired of waiting, understandably so, but rashness and impatience would sink Chilean socialism faster than inaction. As always, the people are left waiting while vested interests outside their reach resist compromise.

Also at the ground level, we see Juan Cáceres, an experienced Marxist (since 1932!), give his opinion on just this matter. Though not a direct response, his opinion on the issue of arming the people in response to navy raids against socialists proves complementary to the view of a mother interviewed earlier. She wanted the government to arm the people because she and others agreed that they were helpless in the event of these raids turning from weapons confiscations to individual targeting. Cáceres recalls a similar instance when arming the people was a possibility that was refused. He cites an inevitable massacre as reasoning for this decision. It may leave the people vulnerable, but the alternative is chaos. "If you were the government, you'd have to do the same," he says in defense of strategic inaction.

True, but this also has a counterpoint, one far graver than a dissenting opinion. As Pinochet begins his takeover of the country, the raids do indeed turn lethal, with over 1,000 people killed. And this is before the forced internments in which tens of thousands of people were detained, many of whom were tortured. Would the opportunity for defense have made a difference? Maybe even deterred Pinochet from his plan of action? Morally this is not a game worth playing, imagining "what if" in terms of armed resistance, but each action made (or not made) by Allende's government creates a titanic reaction, which then births other equally unpredictable events. It's a game of chess very few people can play, but one all governments must. Allende and his supporters could only guess so far in the face of these mounting odds. The path to socialism was never going to be an easy one in the best of times, and this brave experiment, filmed and distributed so that we may always remember, shows us just how hard capitalism will fight back when it's under attack.

There's so much more I could say here. What about that television debate early in the film between a cocky young revolutionary and an irritable old politician? Such a clever encapsulation of the film's depth, particularly in the layers of deception the politician calculatedly creates. What about the United States' involvement in bringing down Salvador Allende, a fact made no less shocking by the passing of time? And then there's the immense dedication of the Chilean socialists, which I couldn't help compare to the apathy of American progressives. Lastly, I was floored by that quick pan from Allende's face to the grenade he was holding in that photo. So brief, but what a deeply powerful symbol of what elevates a man from a brave politician to a hero. I could come back to this film alone and write about it for days. The fact that it's preceded by a great film and followed by one probably every bit as great? Miraculous.

(photo credit: www.movieforums.com)