Welcome to my world - Page 2
From Griffith REVIEW Edition 8: People like Us
© Copyright Griffith University & the author.
Written by Kevin Bannon
A SHORT TIME AFTER THIS CORDIAL MEETING, I HAD A REQUEST from Copley News Service for a detailed analysis of the Chilean economic scene. I filed 8,000 words, dwelling broadly on the obvious demographic dichotomy, the uneven distribution of wealth, the disempowered peasants and the like. The San Diego Union-Tribune gave the story front-page coverage in its Sunday edition. Other US papers followed.
As a result, the British ambassador – there being no Australian diplomatic representation at the time – received a call from the Presidential Palace complaining strongly about the article and insisting that he "call me to heel", as he put it.
Sir Charles Empsom spent a fruitless two hours or more trying to dissuade me from going ahead with part two of the story. When he saw he was making no progress with his proselytising, he reminded me that the Chilean Government could rescind my permanent resident visa and there was nothing he could do to help me in such an eventuality. He searched my eyes for some indication that I would ease his diplomatic burden by acquiescing to his urgings. But seeing I was obdurate, he brought the meeting to an end.
I left the embassy disconsolate and depressed, a depression that was heightened as I strode past the sombre castellated and crenellated Presidential Palace surrounded as it was by the Prussian-looking praetorian guard. On my way down Calle Moneda, I came face to face with Salvador Allende.
"Are you not a little rash to be striding past the Presidential Palace so nonchalantly?" he asked. Jesting? Baiting? No, I decided, there was a genuine note of concern in his voice.
"Well," I said, "when I left home this morning, we were still travelling in a democracy." And the words even then resonated with prophecy.
"Will you take coffee with me? Actually," he smiled, his eyes dusted with humour, "it is probably more rash to be seen talking to me."
Over coffee in the nearly empty Hotel Carrera, I teased him. "You know, reflecting on our dinner the other night, I recall that somebody once wrote: ‘We have no right to make someone happy against their wishes.' "
He was silent long enough for me to think I had offended him. "That," he said finally, "was James Boswell. A somewhat flippant remark, don't you think?"
"Well, I suppose you could call it a somewhat biased comment from the privileged class."
"Why do you raise it? I think you would agree it is a little cynical."
"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because we well-meaning souls are always trying to give people what they did not realise they wanted or even needed."
"In some socialist circles that would be considered a treasonable remark." A thickset, balding man wearing heavy-rimmed sinister sunglasses sidled past the table nodding: "Don Salvador." Allende raised his hand in greeting but said nothing. "Investigaciones," he said. That was Chile's version of the FBI. "They pop up everywhere." After a pause he added: "Now, young man, let me share with you the wisdom of a very old teacher who told our class of teenagers: ‘Never be afraid to try something new. Remember, amateurs built the ark and professionals built the Titanic.' "
"Very good. I might be able to use that sometime."
"Now," he said thoughtfully, "any more aphorisms you wish to dispense before we move to matters more germane?"
"Only one and that is germane to your campaign." The balding man from Investigaciones sidled past again. He hesitated for a moment beside the table and I thought he was going to say something. But after a second or two, he nodded to Allende and moved towards the door. Both of us eyed his departure in silence and then Allende said: "You were saying?"
"Yes, well ... " I lost my train of thought for a moment. "Perhaps it's not all that germane."
"May I hear it just the same."
"I'm pretty sure it was Damon Runyon who wrote: ‘The race does not always go to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's a good way to bet.' "
"Runyon, yes." He digested this for a moment, observing the man from Investigaciones as he reappeared and seated himself alone at a table near the door. "Good stuff," he said eventually, "but we revolutionaries are made of sterner material. We are not easily dissuaded." He glanced around the room before moving on. "Now let us talk about more serious things. I have read with considerable interest your article on the woes of Chile. There are some inaccuracies – unintentional, I am sure, and minor – but it did not spoil the thrust. Some penetrative stuff which one does not expect a foreigner to grasp. My staff tell me that it was also published in the United States."
I nodded. "It was first published there. What I ran in The South Pacific Mail were edited extracts."
"And was it edited, too, in the US version?"
"So far as I can determine, there appeared to be no editing at all."
His eyes locked on mine for a few moments. "What I can't understand is why a resident foreign newspaperman would want to expose himself like that to the wrath of the administration. My sources tell me that you have already received a warning from the Presidential Palace."
"You are well sourced," I replied. "As for the why ... well, I can only say that I wrote it as I saw it. It gave me no joy but I felt satisfaction in having recorded it as I did."
"Professional bravery or foolhardiness, but well done. And now may I offer you a little consejo (advice)?"
"Please do."
"Take care. Be resolute but not reckless."
"I'll try to watch out for the baddies. Thank you, senator."
"No, thank you, joven (young man). And remember: tread carefully, or as you English – and no doubt Australians – say: ‘Hasten slowly.' "
It was the last time I was ever to see Allende, although we talked on the phone from time to time. He was always generous with his quotes and constructive comments. His charisma never deserted him. His unrelenting commitment to the socialist cause remained steadfast even when many of his supporters wavered and foreign intervention eroded his political base. It was to lead to his lonely death in the bombed Presidential Palace on September 11, 1973. ♦
Extract from a memoir 'Feasting with Panthers', a work in progress.