September 11, 2013 marks the 40th anniversary of
the U.S.-backed coup in Chile that transformed Latin America’s oldest democracy
into its most brutal dictatorship.
Among the thousands of atrocities committed by the military forces led
by the usurper Augusto Pinochet was the abduction and murder of Charles Horman,
a young American journalist living in Chile who learned about the U.S. role in
the coup.
In 1982, the story of Charles Horman’s disappearance and the
exhaustive efforts by his wife Joyce and his father Ed to find him, was
immortalized in the Oscar-winning film, Missing. There is a moment in the film in
which the US Ambassador to Chile says to Ed Horman, “Let's level with each
other, sir. If you hadn't been personally involved in this unfortunate
incident, you'd be sitting at home complacent and more or less oblivious to all
of this.”
Knowing their stories, seeing the deep love for Charlie that
drives them and binds them together as allies in seeking justice makes us, the
film’s audience, personally involved. It is their journey that gives the film
its moral force, placing it among a collective body of art that jolts us out of
complacency in the face of atrocity.
Storytelling is crucial to the fight for justice in every
realm, in no way more so than in knocking those of us outside a conflict out of
our oblivion and lack of empathy. Dehumanization of the “other”—as is well
documented—is a factor in setting the stage for atrocities to occur. It is
harder to kill or displace others it they are seen as human.
Stories are the connective tissue that binds us all together
as humans and allows us to know the “other:” to be able to see each other as we
see ourselves. Through storytelling, we discover who we are, and declare
ourselves as beings with individual desires, thoughts, feelings, and
circumstances. It allows us to be awake to new ways of creating our lives, and
collectively our societies. Stories let us conquer our fears, reconcile our
pasts, and reframe the conversation. And they allow us to name the thing that
happened: the tragedy, the atrocity, or the hurt.
As a tool of social justice, storytelling is of course not
without its risks. There are dangers of protecting identity, mapped out and
dealt with by organizations such as WITNESS or Videre. There are the risks of
propaganda and manipulation. And in today’s world of interconnectedness and
rapid-fire spread of content, there is the danger of inaccuracy, lack of
verification, or artistic license that misleads as much as it may inspire.
But to tell or listen to a story creates a bond of
recognition between teller and listener: “I too have seen this. I too have
suffered. I know you had a name, a way of dressing, a favorite food, a naughty
secret, or a man or woman you loved and held. As do I. “ When we can empathize,
we can act more justly to shape the policies that affect individual lives.
Facts, statistics, and generalizations are not enough, and often obscure the
real human cost of our policies and decisions.
And so storytelling becomes an essential element in
mobilizing public opinion and collective action both during and after a crime
against humanity, and in the discourse on accountability in the aftermath of
atrocity. These instruments of culture are an invitation to fight repression and
preserve a link to the past and a hope for the future. One can see these tools
at use in the South African truth and reconciliation commissions. At the
monuments at Gesozi, Plaza Mayor, or Dachau, and so many like them that ask us
to say “never again.” In documentaries like The Act of Killing, The Devil Came
on Horseback, or Nanking. And in the work of organizations like the Shoah
Foundation, Three Generations, or the Aegis Trust.
These storytellers write a love letter to humanity with
every stroke of the pen, keyboard, or paintbrush. With today’s technological
interconnectedness, we are able to create an environment of support for
truthful storytelling and cultural interventions in society and memory, crucial
to an informed populace that can fight repression and activate for justice. In
the face of history repeating over and over again, in Srebrenica, Rwanda, Egypt,
and at this very moment in Syria, we must.
For inspiration, we return to the story of Joyce and Charles.
Joyce has fought since the day of the coup 40 years ago, founding the Charles
Horman Truth Foundation in honor of Charlie and all the victims. Through the project, she tells the
story of her family, her journey, and everything she has lost and gained in the
time—a story that reflects the experience of families whose lives are altered
irrevocably due to violent events beyond their control, and one that is all too
common in the 20th and 21st centuries.
On September 9th, the CHTF will commemorate the 40th
anniversary of the coup by mounting a tribute to universal jurisdiction, to the
work of human rights defenders such as Baltasar Garzón, Juan Guzman, and Peter
Weiss, among others. It will also be a monument to the triumph of memory, and
the role of the story, in moving toward justice, reconciliation, and healing
for the past four decades, as well as a tribute to the international network of
non-governmental actors, institutional actors, activists, artists, and
survivors, who have all been bound together by a common cause, and a common
narrative thread. It is a testament to their humanity,
and to their love of it.
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