travelling slowly

Atropellado

2011-12-18T17:01:00.000-03:00

que los motoristas cuiden a los ciclistas
que los motoristas y los ciclistas cuiden a los peatones
y que todos cuidemos a los niños
especialmente los más pequeños
que no saben cómo cuidarse
suena obvio quizás pero para algunas personas no lo es
que no se arranquen los que atropellen a alguien
que se queden para ayudar y para lo que sea
que paguen la cuenta los que deben pagar
a la ciclista torpe, estúpida y cobarde que atropelló a mi hijo de cuatro años y medio
a las 18:05 de la tarde frente al puesto de sopaipillas en Pedro de Valdivia con Bilbao
y luego se fugó
que pese en tu consciencia
que no olvides nunca el niño que estaba derramando sangre de su nariz, manchando la vereda con su sangre y manchando las manos y los brazos de las personas buenas que habían parado para ayudar llevarlo y para esperar a la ambulancia
que esa memoria quede incrustado entre tus ojos como la herida que esa maldita bicicleta tuya le hizo a él
que seas más consciente
que aprendes
que te comportes como la mujer adulta que eres
deberías saber cómo manejarse en el mundo
me cuesta creer que el único que supiste decir
tu miserable contribución
antes de que te levantaste del suelo y te arrancaste, fue
"ay, ay, me acaban de decir que me suba a la vereda".

Resuelto

2011-09-03T22:08:00.000-03:00

Este año mis "resoluciones de año" nuevo sólo tomaron forma en septiembre. ¡Mejor tarde que nunca! / This year my "new year's resolutions" only took form in September. Better late than never!

¿Dónde está el tigre?

2010-09-20T21:12:00.001-04:00

La primera vez que se nos perdió el tigre fue cuando mi hijo lo dejó botado y partió corriendo:
- "güíí, güíí" – gritaba mientras corría.
Había visto unos juegos para niños con resbalines y tuve que ir corriendo trás de él.
- ¿Dónde está el tigre? - le dije en cuanto lo alcancé. Retrazamos nuestros pasos y encontramos una pareja joven con un volantín de tigre.
- ¿Es suyo? - me preguntó la mujer, señalando a mi hijo pequeño, quién recibió de vuelta su flamante mascota voladora sin decirles palabra alguna.
Les dí las gracias y nos volvimos a la pelea. En un puesto de venta de volantines y accesorios compré un carrete de madera y más hilo, mientras que mi hijo se ocupaba jugando con varios carretes pequeños de hilo, hasta que uno empezó a desenrollarse:
- hasta allí no más - le dijo el dueño.

La segunda vez el tigre estaba volando cuando perdí el control repentinamente, sin razón aparente, y el tigre caía en picada hacía la tierra. Corrían personas de distintos lados y había una pequeña lucha hasta que un muchacho se pusó de pie con su trofeo en sus manos. Estaba envolviendo el volantín como para llevárselo a casa cuando llegamos ahí y nos enfrentamos con él.
- Disculpa - le dije - ese volantín es de mi hijo pequeño, se lo podría devolver, por favor?
Su mirada desafiante y el gesto negativo de su cabeza dejaron en claro que no.
- Mira, señor, aquí en Chile, especialmente en esta epoca y las fiestas patrias, volantín que se muere, caput, pertenece a él que lo encuentre - me explicaba en tono firme un señor cuarentón con lentes oscuros y cara de papá.
Protesté que en este caso me parecía un robo, pero me respondió sin vacilar:
– Aunque hubiera sido el volantín de mi vecino, ahora sería nuestro igual porque esas son las reglas que corren aquí – me explicaba, y estaba en eso cuando mi hijo, desconcertado y inquieto, empezó a sollozar. Hice un último intento para ver si podía conseguir el rescate de nuestro tigre, desplegando todos mis recursos y argumentos:
- Pucha, señor, mi esposa me advirtió de todo eso, me contó que cuando eran niños ella y su hermano lo pasaron mal en Parque O'Higgins porque les robaban sus volantines y les cortaban las cuerdas con hilo curado, y me pidió que no viniéramos acá porque no era seguro. Yo no estaba de acuerdo porque pensé que que los chilenos siempre me han tratado amablemente y tienen buen corazón, y no creí que nadie nos iba a tratar de esta manera, así que vinimos igual – le dije.
Lo pensó, y después de una pausa de varios segundos cambió de opinión:
- Devuélvales su volantín – instruyó al chico, y agregó, sonriéndose:
- Por esta única vez.

La tercera vez el tigre volaba bien alto cuando la cuerda se puso floja y cayó al suelo. El tigre, sin embargo, seguía volando alto, y por alguna causa desconocida el control de dicho tigre quedaba en manos ajenas. Fuimos a buscar a las personas responsables. Cuando nos acercamos al tigre algunas personas empezaron a señalar con sus dedos a una señora con dos niños, uno de los cuales estaba elevando nuestro tigre. Opté por ser amable.
- Ustedes encontraron un tigre, ¿no es cierto? - le dije al mujer en tono amable.
- Sí – me respondió sonriente la mujer, en tono igualmente amable.
- ¿Y no piensan en devolvérnoslo? - les dije.
- No puedo - me dijó el niño - será un regalo para mi primo.
- Está bien, se los regalamos – les dije.
- Devuélvale al chico su volantín – la mujer dijo al niño.
El niño me pasó el volantín, a regañadientes y con una cara de desilusión.
- ¿Es de su hijo? - me preguntó, y agregó - ¡chupete para el señor! - riéndose de mí.
A pesar de todo llegamos de regreso a la casa sanos y salvos, acompañados por nuestro tigre volador.

El día siguiente hice un poco de investigación en Internet y aprendí que mi esposa había tenido razón respecto a los peligros de encumbrar volantines en lugares como el Parque O'Higgins. Debido al uso del hilo curado – hilo cubierto con una mezcla de pegamento y polvo de vidrio – hace unos años un niño había muerto degollado en un trágico accidente, al sacar su cabeza de la ventana de un auto en marcha en el momento más desfortunado. Desde entonces elevar volantines con hilo curado es estríctamente ilegal, pero la práctica persiste, igual que tantas otras actividades informales e ilegales que sobreviven como parte de la cultura local. Aunque las leyes se dicten en el parlamento y el congreso, existen otras reglas que no están escritas, que no se anuncian, las que se establecen en la calle, y que pasan de generación a generación hasta que llegan a formar parte de la cultura y tradición del pueblo.

Acciones y reacciones

2010-03-21T22:30:00.001-03:00

Han pasado tres semanas desde el terremoto, pero seguimos con varios temblores al día, y todo está alterado todavía, como agitado y anormal. Aunque no hayan sufrido mucho directamente, todos andan como nerviosos. Mi hijo se ha puesto cada vez más violento y esta semana alcanzó su récord para botar mis lentes de sus marcos: 3 veces. Al parecer, anda haciéndoles competencia a los temblores, a juzgar por el estado en que deja nuestro living, si fuera temblor alcanzaría por lo menos grado 5 en la escala Mercalli. Las perspectivas y las prioridades de muchas personas han cambiado, para algunas personas sutilmente, para otras de maneras más directas y evidentes. Me doy cuenta que recién he estado poniendo más atención al presente y futuro inmediato. Por otro lado, los que deben tomar una perspectiva de largo plazo ya han empezado el proceso de reflexión, evaluación, planificación y preparación para el próximo terremoto grande, venga cuando venga.

La experiencia pos terremoto ha dañado la fe de muchos en la telefonía, especialmente la telefonía celular. Los operadores de dicho servicio declararon que ninguna red de telefonía celular en el mundo habría resistido un sismo de tal magnitud o el peak de la demanda que vino inmediatamente después. Esta explicación aparentemente no dejó tranquilos a los organismos del estado que consideran – con razón – que es su deber coordinar eficientemente la respuesta a emergencias tal como esta, y por lo tanto buscan sistemas de comunicación y de gestión que sean resistentes a sismos y otros golpes fuertes. Leí con interés que el ejército chileno decidió que invertiría en el despliegue de una tecnología antigua pero probada como es la radio VHF como un sistema de comunicaciones más resistente que complementaría a sus sistemas más convencionales. El gobierno, por su parte, empezó a evaluar el desarrollo de un sistema de telefonía celular que fuera resistente y exclusivo para los servicios de emergencia y funcionarios públicos. Mi esposa se indignó cuando Presidente Piñera (o Piraña, como a ella le gusta llamarlo), respondiendo a comentarios acerca de su auto-conferido aumento de sueldo (respecto al sueldo de la ex-Presidenta Bachelet), explicó que tenía muchos compromisos y que de otra manera la plata no le alcanzaría. A diferencia de los millones de chilenos que se quejan por lo mismo, él gana aproximadamente 47 veces el salario mínimo chileno.

En la oficina esta semana se vio la multiplicación de las iniciativas solidarias al igual que los decibeles de ruido. Se llevó a cabo un remate en el cual artículos del hogar o del aseo personal alcanzaron insospechados precios, y se empezó un club de intercambio cultural también conocido como el video club (que se ha diversificado en otros rubros tales como los libros y la música), y hicimos una noche de tragos, todo para el fondo solidario que por el momento está apoyando a Un Techo Para Chile. En una semana de actividad febril se recaudó algo como 25 lucas por nuca, que no es poco considerando que hace poco muchos aportamos al Teletón, que esta semana anunció que el monto total recaudado había triplicado la meta inicial. No sé muy bien porqué la solidaridad siempre debe ir acompañada por actividades placenteras, como si fuera un remedio tan malo que hay que dárselo al enfermo acompañado con azúcar. Quizás no sea necesario hacerlo así, pero es conveniente. De hecho, en algún momento de la semana pasada no pasaba nada y con algunos compañeros ibamos a elaborar una lista de montos comprometidos y hacer una colecta pasando de escritorio en escritorio pidiendo plata, una medida ampliamente rechazada pero que sirvió como amenaza o provocación para que todos hicieran algo. El correo electrónico perdió su primacía como medio comunicativo y empezamos a invertir nuestro tiempo en sistemas de comunicación alternativos, como por ejemplo hablar en un grupo grande en el centro de la oficina. Algunos no se han ajustado bien al nuevo sistema de comunicación. De pronto me di cuenta que uno de mis compañeros tenía unas cosas raras metidas en sus oídos. Había empezado a trabajar con tapones en sus oídos para contrarrestar el ruido, y me advirtió que como consecuencia de esta medida defensiva estaba prácticamente sordo. Me sugirió que prefiera el e-mail para comunicarme con él hasta nuevo aviso.

Aftershocks

2010-03-09T22:00:00.001-03:00

It has now been 10 days since the earthquake, which with a magnitude of 8.8 at the epicentre it was the second largest in Chile and one of the five biggest in the world since records began. Here in Santiago it was magnitude 8 and we are still feeling aftershocks every day. The earthquake was followed by tsunamis that caused devastation in the coastal areas closest to the epicentre. Every day new facts have been emerging about what happened and what is happening in the areas most seriously affected, some of which are very serious in their own right. The sheer magnitude and geographical scope of the catastrophe has made it difficult to take it all in and to put things in perspective. But I will try.

According to initial estimates, the earthquake destroyed half a million homes and damaged a million and a half more. It is estimated that over 2 million people, more than 10% of the population, have been very seriously affected by the earthquake. So far 497 fatalities have been confirmed across six regions stretching from the Araucanía in the South as far North as the Metropolitan Region (Santiago) and the region of Valparaíso. Over half of the fatalities were in the region of Maule (Talca), the second hardest hit region being Bío-Bío (Concepción-Talcahuano). I feel deeply affected by what happened, firstly because I got literally shaken out of my bed by the earthquake, which was a very scary experience, and secondly because one of the fatalities in the Araucanía region was the father of one of my colleagues, whose mother is also in a serious condition and awaiting an operation.

There is a Chilean saying that everyone is a general after the battle, and I will be no exception. Compared to other recent earthquakes of lower magnitude that have caused much greater loss of life, it is tempting to draw the conclusion that Chile was reasonable well-prepared. This might be true to some extent, but there is no room for complacency and it is clear that there are many lessons to be learned. In particular the failure of the tsunami early warning system and the complete disruption of the telecommunications and electricity networks are a major cause for concern. The breakdown of basic services following the event showed how in a frighteningly short space of time it became necessary to put two entire regions under military control. The earthquake caused not only physical destruction and loss of life but also widespread disruption to the networks, processes, services and institutions on which society depends. It is of vital importance that the weaknesses that have been exposed by last Saturday’s earthquake and the tsunamis that followed in its wake do not only provoke interest and controversy for a few years to then be gradually forgotten, as has tended to happen in the past. As well as rebuilding there needs to be real learning and real long-term improvements to the way systems work and the state of preparedness for major natural disasters.

For the moment, however, the priority is to help the people who are homeless, those who have lost family members, and other people seriously affected by the disaster. Last weekend there was a major television fundraising event that succeeded in raising about US$60m, which sounds like a lot but is really just a good start compared to what will be needed for Chile to recover and rebuild. The general in charge of the Maule region today announced that they have sufficient stocks of food and clothes and what is most needed are building materials and emergency shelters – many people are homeless and the autumn rains are imminent, which could lead to a public health disaster unless good quality emergency housing is provided quickly. If after reading this you want to help in some way, I recommend making a donation to Un Techo Para Chile (A Roof For Chile), the organisation that is in charge of building emergency shelters.

Shockwaves

2010-03-07T16:16:00.003-03:00

Saturday 27 February 2010

I got shaken out of bed in the early hours of the morning, the bed was moving, so was the floor and everything else. My wife managed to pluck our little son out of his cot just before the electricity failed and we were left to find our way in the dark, trying to keep our balance as the floor and walls shook violently and unknown objects banged an aggressive rhythm. We felt our way along the walls and out of the flat - time seemed to slow down as I wondered if this is how it all ends, so suddenly - then we were through the emergency doors and in the absolute darkness of the stairwell, where we sat on the cool tile floor and waited for what seemed like an eternity until the building stopped shaking. The only light was the faint glow of the little one's dummy, he was very good, maybe through still being half asleep, he did not cry or anything. Less than 2 minutes later the shaking had subsided and the emergency generator started, lighting the public spaces and the corridor in our flat.

We found the flat surprisingly unscathed: things had fallen off shelves, some tiles had come off the bathroom walls, there were some pools of water on the floor and some cracks had appeared at the tops of walls and at the corners of doorframes. The phone was still working, my wife called her family and was relieved to find they were all OK, just a bit shaken up. We put our clothes and shoes on, just in case. We spent the rest of the night camping out in the hallway with the front door open, to make use of the emergency lighting. The little one curled up and went to sleep between us.

We slept on and off, the time awake being spent pacing around, inspecting the damage, talking amongst ourselves and with the neighbours, and listening to the radio. The journalists at Radio Cooperativa were in the studio with their families, voices of children could be heard in the background. President Bachelet addressed the nation from the ONEMI (National Emergency Office) and asked people to stay indoors and to stay calm, they had experience of earthquakes. According to the USGS (U.S. Geological Survey) the epicentre was offshore in the region of Maule, close to the town of Cauquenes. The nearest cities were Concepción-Talcahuano and Talca. The estimated magnitude was 8.8 at the epicentre – a really big earthquake. They repeatedly asked for people from Concepción to please get in touch, but nobody did. Several old buildings in the central area of Santiago destroyed or severely damaged. Block of flats partially collapsed in Maipu. Tsunami, or no tsunami? Still no contact with anyone from Concepción. No news did not seem like good news, it was strange and ominous. Prison wall collapsed in Chillán, 260 prisoners escaped. Vespucio Norte motorway bridge collapsed at Miraflores. Airport damaged, flights diverted to Argentina. The earthquake had reached magnitude 8 in Santiago. I was nervous, feeling the effects of the adrenaline rush still, but happy that we were still alive.

I spent the first hour or so of daylight worrying about how to contact my family in the UK. Would they have heard the news? It seemed stupid now, but we had international calls blocked on our phone, and to make matters worse my pre-paid mobile phone had no credit on it. I borrowed my wife's phone and sent a text message to my sister, not knowing if it would ever arrive. We were just heading out the door to go shopping when the phone started ringing - it was my dad. Someone had seen the news on television and had told them what had happened. He was very relieved to hear that we were all OK.

We went to buy provisions. I had half expected to see big heaps of rubble but the street and the buildings looked remarkably unchanged. The main differences that were immediately noticeable were that most traffic lights were not working, and neither was the Metro. The streets were quiet and drivers at junctions were being courteous to each other and to pedestrians. We arrived at our neighbourhood bakery just as they were closing – they had no electricity, and so could not use their electric ovens. We ended up buying what we could in the corner store, although both time we visited they had just sold their last piece of fresh bread. Many people seemed to be doing the same as us getting provisions. The shopkeeper told us that the supermarket was closed – they were planning to open at later than normal, once they had cleaned up and got the shelves stacked again. We returned home with a bag of white bread, some pastries and some bottles of mineral water.

Family lunches are not cancelled unless absolutely necessary and today my wife's grandmother was lucky enough to have both electricity and water at her flat so we had lunch as planned with my wife's parents, her aunt and her grandmother. There was only one topic of conversation. My wife's aunt had not stopped screaming until the building had stopped shaking, her mum had tried to calm her down but without success. In my parents in law's flat the furniture had steadily advanced from the walls, almost reaching the middle of the room. The television news was scary. A tall building in Concepción, recently built, showed what looked like severe structural damage – broken windows and broken concrete. Cars lay upended and broken beneath the remains of the Miraflores bridge on Vespucio Norte motorway in Santiago. Every now and then the news kept cutting to a beach in Hawaii where people were being evacuated due an expected tsunami, although apparently some surfers felt that a tsunami was nothing they could not deal with. It was like watching a really unpleasant disaster movie, but this time it would not end any time soon and I could not just get up and walk out.

When we got back to the flat we were told by the concierge that they would be resting the generator at about 8 o'clock for an hour or so, which meant there would be no electricity and no running water – this depended on an electric pump. I quickly plugged my mobile phone into the socket in the hallway outside the flat, so it could partially recharge – it was no use for calling with but it had a radio, and deprived of Internet and TV, I really wanted to be able to listen to the radio. We laid out our most important things in the entrance hall and lit candles, so that when the emergency lights went out we were not left in total darkness. I listened to the radio for a while and wrote with pen and paper until I felt sleepy. There had been some really devastating tsunamis following the earthquakes and the early warning system had largely failed – a warning had been given but was later retracted. In many places police on the ground acting on their own experience and common sense had told people to evacuate and climb the hills, despite the absence of any official orders to do so. That night we slept on the futon next to the cot in the little one's room, it was closer to the exit and we felt safer all together.

Sunday 28 February 2010

I had become addicted to the news and had the radio on while we were having breakfast. There had been incidents of looting in Concepción and the mayor called on president Bachelet to send in the military before public order further deteriorated. A few months ago we had a modern gas boiler installed that is completely automatic but needs electricity to get going. We are finding that many modern appliances and systems are not earthquake-proof. My wife heated water for washing in the kitchen, and then carried it to the bathroom. I could not be bothered to do this, so I had a cold shower, which really woke me up. By the time we headed out to go to the supermarket, the emergency generator was being rested again so we had to make our way down three flights of stairs in the dark. The light on my mobile phone came in handy. The little one got scared and cried, but we got there in the end.

At the local supermarket, there was a sign saying no credit or debit cards accepted, cash or cheques only. The supermarket was much busier than normal, with the queues for the tills trailed most of the way down the aisles.

As we were shopping there was an announcement asking whoever was blocking the fuel lorry's access to the emergency generator to move their vehicle. About 20 minutes later, when we were in the queue approaching the half way point, all the lights went out. The supermarket was dimly lit from big Perspex panels on the roof at the back, and from the windows at the front. People stayed reasonably calm, with the exception of the little one, sitting on my shoulders, who was bored and pulled someone's hair. I took him outside, and looked in through the metal shutters that the supermarket staff had pulled down to block the exits – were they anticipating that some people might try to run out without paying? About 20 minutes later, they announced that they could not serve any clients because the tills would not work and they did not know how soon they would get the electricity back, so they asked everyone to leave. Everyone had to file out through the entrance, past the security guards. As we left we saw the police talking to someone, presumably to the selfish individual who had not moved his vehicle.

My wife advised against going to the Jumbo hypermarket – probably wisely – and I did not argue. I strongly dislike enormous supermarkets under normal conditions and had no desire to go there today, I felt nervous and apprehensive and I think many other people did too. I did not want to panic-buy or hoard things we would not need, but I did not want to get stuck without milk for my son, either. All the cows were in the south, as she pointed out, and it was not clear when production and transport would get back to normal. We had better luck with the smaller shops. The fruit and veg shop was doing a roaring trade and a few blocks further on we were able to get most of the other things on our list in a Big John convenience store. A client had commented to the person at the till “you will sell everything today, even your socks”, to which he had replied “yes, they are on special offer”, which had made us smile.

I tried to follow our normal routine as much as possible, so we had lunch, then the little one had his nap, then we went to the park and the playground. When we got back it was past 8 in the evening and my wife was happy because the electricity had come back on. That meant we had TV and Internet again. The TV news had given heavy coverage to incidents of supermarkets being looted in Concepción. Images of people carrying away televisions and washing machines had been picked up by national and international news networks and had caused outrage. Some areas of Santiago still did not have electricity or water – especially in the north of the city. In some of these areas there had also been incidents of supermarkets being looted and residents in areas without electricity were starting to organise themselves to defend their homes at night.

President Bachelet eventually declared a state of catastrophe and authorised the military to take control of the regions of Maule and Bío-Bío. One of the first measures announced by the military commanders in these areas was a curfew after 9pm every day with immediate effect, until further notice. Other warnings related to other forms of anti-social behaviour – indiscriminate price rises by shops and panic buying by consumers. Unreasonable price-hikes would be considered a crime, and maximum purchase limits would be imposed in the areas under martial law. This was the first occasion the military had such powers in Chile for over 20 years.

Monday 01 March 2010

I watched the TV news as I was getting up, or trying to get up. In reality I spent quite a long time staring at the screen because they were reporting from Constitución, a coastal town to the west of Talca, about 70 km from the epicentre. It had been hit by a tsunami an hour or so after the earthquake and the scene of devastation was terrifying. The town had been flattened, the journalist stood amidst the remains of houses and buildings; there was rubble and planks of wood everywhere. The only recognisable structures were the remains of houses that had been wrecked and looked like they had been swept some distance up the side of the valley before being dumped. A friend had told me about this place when I had been planning a holiday a few years ago, he had grown up here and described a lovely little seaside town in beautiful surroundings.

I decided to go to the office as normal. When I got to the 16th floor the door was open but the lights were off. As I went in I had to step over a fire extinguisher, broken glass, papers and folders that littered the floor. Bookcases and other pieces of furniture had fallen over, the contents of the library was on the floor, as were the printer and photocopier. Things were hanging from the false ceiling – pipes from the air conditioning system and light fittings, part of the metal framework was bent and bulging down. The office administrator was taking pictures - “Hello, did they not call you?” No, nobody had called. The entrance to the kitchen was blocked by fallen furniture, when I climbed on a desk to look over I could see that most of the contents of the kitchen cupboard was in a pile of broken glass and crockery on the floor. My books were on the floor and my LCD screen was face down on the desk, but my laptop computer was OK as it was tethered by the security cable.

Some other colleagues arrived one by one, and in each case we exchanged our experiences of the earthquake. All of my colleagues were OK and most of their families were, too. The office manager told me that one of my colleagues had lost his father and his mother was in a critical condition. Apparently a wall had collapsed on top of them, in Angol, near Temuco. I am not the most sensitive of communicators in English and am worse in Spanish, but I have got to the point where I prefer to have a go at saying what I feel needs to be said even if it comes out badly, and I felt so sad for my colleague that I wrote him a message.

The architects came to inspect the damage, in particular the ceiling, the lights and the air conditioning system. One of them expressed concern that there were so many people around without hard hats – it was not safe yet. The area of the false ceiling that was bulging down was caused by a lighting unit that was not attached to the concrete ceiling – according to the design it should have been hanging from wires but no such wires could be seen, and there were several other lighting units like this. The architect seemed concerned and annoyed that the installations had not always been done according to the design.

Several of my more senior colleagues remembered the last big earthquake, the one in San Antonio in 1985, and expressed bitter dismay about the incidents of looting and attacks on houses in areas still without electricity. “Natural disasters like this are supposed to bring out the best and the worst of people. We've seen the worst, where is the best?” asked one, who recalled how in 1985 many people worked together to organise and deliver help and supplies to those who were most affected by the disaster. While we were having lunch, she remarked how lucky we all were to be sitting down to eat with a full tray of food when so many people in the South would be hungry and thirsty. I was starting to feel really uncomfortable. I was going to have to do something.

The afternoon was spent talking with colleagues about their earthquake experiences, replying to e-mails asking if we were OK, and preparing to work out of the office for a while. The office needed cleaning and repair work that would take a few days before it would be fit for purpose again. There was no way I was going to even try working at home, my 2 year old son did not yet speak, did not understand the concept of work, and did not tolerate parents hiding behind closed doors. A colleague offered a quiet room with wi-fi in her house to anyone who needed a place to work, and I did not hesitate to accept. After some hesitation I wrote to my friend, I wanted to know if he and his family were alright, and I could not help but be worried after what I had seen on the TV in the morning.

In the evening I started investigating on the Internet about ways of helping people affected by the disaster. Friends and colleagues on facebook had already been thinking of the same thing, and there were many organisations that were already receiving aid in different forms that would be channelled to the people in most need: clothes, nappies, medicine, non-perishable food, bottled water, blankets, tents, hard cash of course also most welcome. Clothes seemed to be the most unhelpful way of helping; many organisations initially said they would receive clothes and later changed their mind, as they found that all too often the clothes people were willing to donate were not worth the work needed to deal with them. Someone speaking on behalf of one major relief organisation complained that they were trying to organise an emergency relief campaign, not the festival of the odd sock.

Mario Kreutzberger aka Don Francisco was organising an emergency Teletón – a 24-hour marathon television event - to raise funds for the main organisations involved in the disaster relief efforts. It was going to start on Friday night and aimed to raise a minimum of US$30m. While this would not be anywhere near enough to repair the damage wrought by the earthquake and the tsunamis, it would be an important injection of funds to get the relief effort started, with the initial priority being the wellbeing of the survivors and the construction of temporary housing before the start of the cold wet weather. A famous saying of Padre Alberto Hurtado, a Chilean saint, started going round and round in my head – “give until it hurts” - I was thinking how much I would have to give for it to hurt. I went to bed late but somewhat relieved that good work was being done and would continue to be done, with or without media attention. I was not sure yet how I would help, but help I would, as would many others in Chile and other countries all around the world. The terrifying destructive forces of nature had done damage, divided people and shown them at their worst, now we would have to get up, work together and show the good that people can do when they try their best.

El Terremoto

2010-02-27T08:00:00.004-03:00

Empezó a como las cuatro de la mañana, me desperté cuando mi esposa me remeció y me dijo "está temblando, muy fuerte". Salió disparada de la cama hacía el dormitorio de nuestro hijo y salí tras ella. Mientras caminabamos por el pasillo todo se movía, escuchabamos las vibraciones y golpes de los closets, los muebles... todo se movía, sonaba y crujía. No sé cómo tan rápido pero antes de que yo me diera cuenta de qué estaba pasando, ella había vuelto al pasillo con nuestro hijo de 2 años en brazos. En la oscuridad avanzabamos hacía la salida, sintiendo el camino con las manos en las paredes, mientras que el departamento se movía como un barco en una tormenta, mar adentro. Pensaba, como si estuviera soñando todavía, que quizás así la vida llega a su fin, de golpe, sin aviso y sin salida de emergencia, pero salimos del departamento. Cruzamos el hall en la oscuridad total, abrimos las puertas, siguiendo la vía de evacuación, y llegamos a la caja de la escala donde nos paramos y nos sentamos.

Mientras mi esposa rezaba ("Señor, para esto por favor, señor, para esto por favor"), mi hijo se quedaba quieto en los brazos de su mamá, con su chupete luminoso escasamente visible en la oscuridad. Estábamos solos, nadie más había salido. Nos quedamos allá durante un tiempo indeterminado, mientras el piso en que estabamos sentados se vibraba y se movía, y nosotros también. Cuando el movimiento terminó, esperamos un tiempo más para estar seguros, y luego volvimos al departamento. Las luces de emergencia se prendieron casi inmediatamente, iluminando el pasillo dentro del departamento, el hall y la via de evacuación afuera. Dejamos la puerta del departamento abierta para que entrara la luz de afuera, y el hall de entrada se convirtió en nuestro dormitorio y centro de operaciones para lo que quedaba de la noche.

Aparentemente los daños en el interior del departamento eran menores: se habían caído algunos azulejos en el baño de visita y los contenidos de un closet cubrían el piso del pasillo. Todos mis discos se habían caído y había algunos charcos donde el agua había filtrado de no sé donde. Pero no había vidrios rotos ni daños estructurales a la vista, salvo la esquina del marco de la puerta al pasillo, donde había aparecido una grieta diagonal hacía el techo. El teléfono funcionaba pero estábamos sin luz y fue necesario cortar el agua y el gas como medidas de seguridad. Nuestro vecino bajó y junto al conserje cortaron el gas y el agua para todo el edificio. Fuimos a los dormitorios y sacamos las cosas más necesarias: la ropa, las llaves, las billeteras y los celulares. Mi esposa encontró las velas y los fósforos, nuestra fuente de iluminación de emergencia. Llenamos algunos jarros con el agua que quedaba en las cañerías. Nos vestimos en el hall y a nuestro hijo también, hasta los zapatos por si acaso fuera necesario evacuar el edificio. Nos acostamos en el hall, mis colchonetas de ejercicio servían como cama. No hacía frío, una frazada bastaba para que mi hijo se quedara dormido otra vez, entre medio de su mamá y su papá.

Yo pasé el resto de la noche acostado al lado de mi hijo, durmiendo a ratos. Mi esposa no podía dormir, y se quedaba despierta escuchando la radio de su celular, moviendose de aquí para acá y allá, y retransmitiéndome las noticias más relevantes. "Está hablando Bachelet. Dice que no salgamos a las calles a no ser que se trate de una emergencia, que nos quedemos tranquilos, que tienen experiencia en esto." Más tarde, me comenta "No saben nada de Concepción, no han podido comunicarse". "Se cayó un edificio en Maipú". "Se cayó un muro de la cárcel en Chillán, los presos apretaron cachete y se arrancaron". "Fue grado siete y medio en Santiago, muy fuerte". "Se cree que habrá sido más de grado ocho en Concepción". Como la escala no es lineal, es logarítmica, eso significaba que en Concepción el terremoto habrá sido como 10 veces más fuerte que en Santiago.

Amigo

2010-02-21T23:12:00.002-03:00

Se dice que el enemigo de mi enemigo es mi amigo. Si es así, hoy me hice un nuevo amigo. La primera vez que lo vi, estaba en el baño, parado en la pared atrás del water, quedándose quieto. Sus patas eran largas y delgadas y las tenía dobladas alrededor de su torso como si quisiera ocupar la menor cantidad de espacio posible, de repente para no llamar la atención de su presencia. Yo miraba a la araña con reojo, porque algunas, las de rincón, son venonosas y sus mordidas pueden resultar hasta mortales para las personas. Intentaba distinguir sus rasgos físicos pero no lograba discernir detalles ni colores en la semi oscuridad del baño. Cuando prendí la luz no se movía mucho, y a partir de ese momento ya me sentía más tranquilo que probablemente no se trataba de un peligro para mi familia.

Las arañas de rincón son pequeñas, tímidas, de color pardo y rápidas de movimiento. No son agresivas, solamente muerden por autodefensa. Mi esposa también ataca cuando se siente amenazada y tiene su política de autodefensa, la del ataque preventivo. Yo, oriundo de un país donde las arañas son inofensivas, quería un trato justo para todas las arañas. Existe otro tipo de araña – la araña tigre – que es el depredador natural de la araña de rincón. Como la araña de rincón es común y vive en la mayoría de los hogares chilenos, es recomendable darle la bienvenida a la araña tigre como si fuera un gato en una casa infestada con ratones.

Miré la evidencia en Internet, especialmente las fotos. Las arañas en las fotos parecían gigantes. La araña de rincon era relativamente compacta, con las patas gruesas pero puntudas. Imaginaba que si esa araña fuera humana sería un ninja de estatura baja pero muy atlética, musculosa, antisocial, de pocas palabras, y por supuesto, letal. Me inspiraba temor, me daba nervios sólo verla en la pantalla. La araña tigre, en cambio, tenía las patas muy largas y delgadas, con rayas alternadas negras y amarrillas, supongo que por esas rayas habrá ganado su apellido. Ya había apostado que se trataba de una araña tigre cuando la dejé sola en el baño.

Volví al baño armado con un jarro de plástico transparente y un pedazo de cartón. Intenté atrapar la araña durante varios minutos, lo difícil era lograrlo sin amputar las patas por accidente con la boca del jarro. La araña andaba lenta de verdad, y me sentía cada vez más seguro de que yo inspiraba más terror a ella que ella a mí. Finalmente conseguí que entrara al jarro con sus ocho patas intactas y la llevé al living donde todavía entraba luz del día. Se veían claramente las rayas amarrillas y negras de sus patas. Araña tigre, araña amiga. Finalmente logré convencer a mi esposa, aunque me costó, tuve que abogar por la araña y mostrarle la evidencia fotográfica. En fin, la araña quedó en libertad y fue devuelta a las sombras del baño. Fue una pequeña pero significativa victoria para la nueva justicia arácnida en nuestro hogar. Espero que nuestra nueva amiga nos devuelva el favor a su manera.

Añejo

2010-02-14T23:46:00.000-03:00

"Añejo", la primera grabación de Perrosky (Algo Records 002, 2002, Santiago, Chile), se vendía únicamente en formato de casete. Sacar un disco que no es disco me parecía un interesante acto de rebeldía contra la tiranía de la última tecnología. Me gustaba el nombre también, el uso de ese adjetivo que acompañaba muchas veces a finos vinos y licores. Me hacía pensar en las bondades de un estado de madurez. Que envejecer o ser viejo no siempre es malo.

Había mirado ese casete varias veces antes de que finalmente me lo comprara, había dudado porque aunque teníamos varios equipos en la casa para reproducir casetes, yo escuchaba música más que nada en formato digital, o con el computador o con mi teléfono celular. Finalmente no pude resistir más y compré mi primer casete desde hace por lo menos 5 años. Sentía que no había comprado solamente un casete, sino una obra de arte retro vanguardista.

En la casa, abrí la casetera que había cerrado con cinta adhesiva para que mi hijo que tenía 2 años y medio no le causara daño. La música era minimalista, la voz de Alejandro "Perrosky" Gómez acompañada por su guitarra, el estilo blusero con toques de folclor, la grabación lo-fi y cálida. Añejo me parecía el adjetivo adecuado. Curiosamente, aunque yo estaba seguro que no me había visto sacar la cinta, mi hijo se dio cuenta casi al tiro que se podía abrir la casetera y empezó a jugar con ella. ¿Eso quería decir que la había estado probando todos los días? Tenía que volver a sellar la casetera después de cada uso con la cinta adhesiva.

En los días siguientes saqué el polvo de mis otros casetes, veteranos de los años ochenta y noventa. Encontré algunas joyas perdidas, entre ellas varias bandas que había descubierto en el festival de Glastonbury de Inglaterra cuando yo era todavía un estudiante universitario, tales como Rev Hammer, Rory McLeod, Mouth Music y The Skeleton Crew.

Decidí invertir un poco de tiempo y dinero y en los días siguientes aprendí cómo digitalizar la música de los casetes, utilizando un cable de audio y un software para la edición de audio. Me fascinaba ver cómo se visualizaba la música como ondas. Aprendí algunos pasos básicos para editar los archivos de audio, recortando las grabaciones para dejar un archivo de audio para cada pista. Me costó casi un fin de semana completo, pero finalmente logré a traspasar la mayoría de mis casetes a formato digital, incluyendo "Añejo", aunque no fuera consistente con el concepto artístico original de la obra.

La Ropa Nueva del Tío Escafandro

2010-01-31T23:25:00.006-03:00

Siempre me ha gustado el teatro callejero, desde cuando era niño. Mis primeros recuerdos de este tipo de espectáculo son de Francia, de París, cuando estaba allí de vacaciones con mi familia. Me recuerdo que había espacios públicos grandes y estos servían de escenario para mimos, payasos y malabaristas que entretenían al público de diversas maneras. Me emocionaban y me asustaban un poco, porque uno nunca sabía qué iba a pasar. Una vez una artista me invitó a participar como ayudante en un momento determinado de su espectáculo y me dio vergüenza. Me acuerdo que el tipo era simpático y cálido, no se molestó y de alguna manera me dio ánimo para que participara a pesar de mi nerviosismo.

Cuando era estudiante en Edimburgo todos los veranos había festival con espectáculos para todos los gustos y bolsillos. Durante las semanas del festival siempre había bastante teatro callejero, especialmente en The Mound, afuera de la galería nacional de Escocia. Los artistas callejeros que me gustaban más eran los que interactuaban con su público y con las personas transeúntes, y de alguna manera lograban momentos espontáneos de risa o de sorpresa, como si fuera mágica. Aunque probablemente había bastante arte, disciplina y práctica atrás de todo eso, yo me dejaba llevar igual y al final de los espectáculos buenos estaba riéndome feliz con todos los demás, hasta reíamos a los típicos chistes a la hora de la despedida y del pago.

Hasta el día de hoy me dejo llevar cuando se trata del teatro callejero. Cada vez que puedo, voy para ver lo que sea a sabiendas que es cada vez más difícil que me emocione. Esto fue el caso con "La Invitación", la última producción de la compañía francesa de teatro callejero Royal De Luxe, que hace poco se apoderó de parte importante del corazón de Santiago durante 3 días. Había querido llevar mi hijo conmigo, pero tiene solamente dos años y medio y no habla todavía, así que al final con mi esposa hicimos un trato, que mientras yo fuera a ver el espectáculo, ella cuidara nuestro propio pequeño gigante, y así ambos quedaríamos tranquilos.

Los gigantes aterrizaron en Santiago el viernes pero solamente alcancé arrancarme a verlos el sábado en la tarde. A esa altura ya estaba atrasado nuestro almuerzo, porque mi suegro había salido en auto para comprar pescado al mercado central, sólo para encontrar que la policía tenía las calles cerradas a la altura de Plaza Italia. Tuvo que dar la media vuelta porque le había costado encontrar un buen camino alternativo. La información que se difundía era más bien orientada a las personas que querían ver a las marionetas y no a las que querían encontrar el camino más conveniente para evitarlas. Salí con mis mapas sabiendo que el tío Escafandra debía encontrarse en el centro, entre la Alameda y el Mapocho. Quería conocerlo.

Iba a viajar en metro hasta la Moneda pero por una tincada bajé una estación antes en Bellas Artes. Allí di algunas vueltas antes de darme cuenta que simplemente había que seguir el flujo mayor de personas, porque todas estaban buscando lo mismo. En las calles del centro casi todas las tiendas estaban cerradas, las únicas cosas que se vendían en cantidades eran las fotos y banderas de la Pequeña Gigante y su tío Escafandra. Caminé por el Paseo Ahumada hasta llegar a la Alameda a la altura de la Universidad de Chile, y desde ahí lo podía ver en la distancia, era el tío, el gigante Escafandra, escoltado por no sé cuantos liliputenses aterciopelados y acompañado por el ruido del público y la música rock amplificada. Era casi como una escena de una de esas películas de ciencia ficción donde la tierra se encuentra bajo el ataque de marcianos enormes, porque realmente era grande el tío, y andaban abriéndole el camino policías de pie y a caballo, además del personal del festival que organizaba el espectáculo. Todos éramos pequeños liliputenses al lado del tío Escafandro.

Alguien con cara de guardia me preguntó si era prensa y me hice el loco porque quería moverme por la pista y no por la vereda, y había prometido sacar unas lindas fotos. No aguantaron mucho tiempo esa actitud antisocial y en poco rato me encontré codo a codo con el resto del público encima de la vereda, el gigante había pasado y tuve que buscar mi camino hacia la Plaza de la Ciudadania. Llegué a tiempo para ver el gigante sentarse y dormitar. Durmió durante un tiempo que parecía eterno, mientras miles de personas esperaban pacientemente. Nos acompañaban varios equipos de televisión y varias compañías de bomberos. Los bomberos eran las estrellas sorpresas de este intervalo porque echaban agua desde la altura al público, hasta algunos sectores del publico (los más secos) se ponían a gritar "queremos agua". El agua no me alcanzó pero sí alcancé a ver varios buenos arcos iris artificiales cortesía de los bomberos.

Finalmente llegó la pequeña gigante en su bote, con su impermeable amarrilla y su mirada permanente de qué-planeta-es-esta. A esa altura yo miraba con algo de indiferencia cómo la chica saltó a los brazos de su tío, después bailaba un rato, antes de quedarse sentada en la falda de su tío, y en esa postura ambos se quedaron dormidos. Era como las 9 de la noche, y pocos querían moverse. Por los altoparlantes hicieron un anuncio que el show había terminado, había muchos niños perdidos, así que por favor, que se vayan, y sobre todo que se bajen de la torre de amplificación ahora mismo porque sino se va caer y no habrá espectáculo mañana.

Durante los días siguientes me quedé dándole vueltas en mi mente, pensando en el significado de todo ese espectáculo gigante. Por un lado, me sentía casi obligado a decir que era magnífico, maravilloso, brillante, después de todo esa compañía es francesa y los franceses son los maestros del circo artístico, así que no podía ser otra cosa que no fuera genial. Esto me recordaba del cuento de Hans Christian Andersen de La Ropa Nueva del Emperador, en el cual todos se sienten obligados a decir que ven la ropa porque de no verla sería parecer como estúpido o incompetente. ¿Cómo podían haber invertido tanto esfuerzo, tanto trabajo, tantas horas de capacitación, y tanto dinero en algo que no fuera una obra maestra? Bueno, supongo que de igual manera que cualquier película grande que se fracasa.

No quiero decir que esta obra era un fracaso, muy dificilmente se podía decir eso de un espectáculo que haya traído tanta felicidad a las vidas de tantas personas, y que haya llevado a tantas personas a convivir amablemente en la vía pública sin que los fuerzas públicas sacaran los guánacos ni el gas lacrimógeno. Solamente que a mí, no me emocionó, no me provocó mucho sentimiento, no me hizo rire, nada de eso. Entregaron lo que se prometió a las horas y en los lugares previamente acordados, con relativamente pocas sorpresas. Supongo que eso es una de las cosas que extrañe más, que había súper poco de espontáneo o sorprendente, y casi nada de interacción con el público, incluso en esta oportunidad tomaron medidas específicas para impedir la interacción del público con los muñecos gigantes.

Por otro lado, me parece muy interesante el concepto de ese espectáculo tan gigantesco que nadie puede verlo todo, tan gigantesco que todos quedamos pequeños, como los liliputenses. Todos salen con un trocito que es suyo para recordar y para conversar, nada más. Me gustó también que este espectáculo haya sido de entrada liberada, así que las personas que obtenían los mejores puestos eran por lo general las más esforzadas o las más pacientes, y no las personas impacientes como yo con solamente un par de horas para gastar en eso. Todos tenían que convivir amablemente codo a codo con quien fuera, algo que nunca está demás practicar. Así que no puedo criticarlo todo, solamente el trocito pequeño que vi con mis propios ojos. A mí me entretuvieron más los bomberos cuando la gente gritaba "queremos agua", y me sorprendieron más con sus arcos iris. De repente estoy poniéndome viejo, quizás por mucho que me gusta pensar que sigo siendo joven adentro, estoy volviéndome viejo incluso adentro.

Nuevos vientos

2010-01-26T23:18:00.002-03:00

Algunos días antes de la segunda vuelta de la elección presidencial la oposición a Piñera empezó a consolidarse más. Incluso un extranjero descolgado como yo quien no votaba podía notarlo por las conversaciones en el casino a la hora del almuerzo y por los mensajes en Internet. Varias personas conocidas quienes habían votado nulo o blanco en la primera vuelta empezaban a reconsiderar sus opciones en la medida que les quedaba claro que ni nulo ni blanco iban a salir electos. Por todos sus desperfectos Frei les empezaba a parecer como el mal menor, el malo menos malo de una película mediocre. En una especie de negación de lo que se veía venir cada vez más claramente, algunos comentaban, "se ve peleado, será estrecha" como si no quisieran contemplar que después de 20 años en el poder la Concertación podría perder.

Hasta el clima se mostraba indeciso y cambiante, como si también estuviera evaluando opciones, intentando llegar a una decisión. Un día hacía calor como de costumbre en verano pero el próximo día amanecía nublado, fresco, corría un poco de viento, hasta caían gotitas de lluvia en algunas partes. El atardecer del viernes antes de la elección fue una cosa rarísima, el sol bajó detrás de un banco de neblina, de tal manera que era posible mirarlo directamente.

Hace tiempo yo estaba convencido que la Concertación había perdido y que iba a ganar Piñera. No me emocionaba demasiado, la experiencia de los partidos políticos ingleses me había dejado desilusionado y cínico. Yo no prestaba demasiada atención a las campañas, no vi los debates en la televisión, tampoco leía los programas de gobierno. Miraba y escuchaba pasivamente. Se hablaba más de las promesas de Piñera que de otra cosa. Un millón de empleos en los cuatro años a 2014. 6% de crecimiento en el PIB anualmente (Frei se restringía a prometer un promedio de 4%). En cada esquina de las calles colgaba la estrella cuasi hippie multicolor que decía Piñera, a veces acompañada por un cartel con fotografías de candidatos alegres, abrazados, con eslóganes tales como "así queremos Chile" y, sencillamente, "cambio". ¿Qué tipo de cambio? ¿Para quiénes?

El domingo, por primera vez en más de 50 años salió electo presidente un representante de la derecha chilena - la última vez fue Alessandri en 1958. Sebastián Piñera fue electo por un margen de 4 puntos sobre Eduardo Frei. Dieron la noticia que Piñera iba ganando con 51 puntos versus 48 puntos un poco pasado las seis de la tarde con solamente el 50% de los votos contados. El vocero del comando de Frei reconoció la derrota de su candidato un poco después. Era una transición histórica pacífica y casi silenciosa salvo por las bocinazos de los autos que circulaban por Avenida Pocuro. Hasta la editorial de El Mercurio el lunes dijo que el proceso de la elección había sido ejemplar e impecable, o algo de ese estilo.

Los derrotados empezaron a asumir lo que había pasado de maneras variadas, algunas personas comentaron el lunes que hasta el clima se mostraba triste, cuando caían gotitas de lluvia en algunas partes – un hecho inedito en el verano Santiaguino. "Ay, me molesta la cola" comentaba una compañera en la oficina, mientras otros compañeros sonreían porque – decían – había que disfrutar el momento, porque de repente pasarían otro veinte años hasta la próxima vez que un candidato suyo ganara una elección presidencial. Mi esposa despertó el lunes deprimida y pasó todo el día de mal genio. El martes despertó con ganas de escuchar a Silvio Rodriguez, ahora, más de una semana después, todavía el cantautor cubano suena diariamente en nuestra casa. El miércoles ya se sentía mejor, pero igual esa noche se dedicó a bajar todos los ejemplares de la revista ochentera "La Bicicleta" que podía encontrar en Internet. Era como si estuviera hundida en la nostalgia de las protestas ochenteras, de la vuelta a la democracia, del Sí y del No.

Yo andaba en otra onda, escuchaba con frecuencia a los Fiskales Ad-Hok, una banda chilena que criticaba a todo y a todos – hasta a veces a ellos mismos – y la banda que más hacía eco a mis sentimientos de desilusión acerca de la política, especialmente acerca de la Concertación. Para mí la Concertación se parecía mucho al partido laborista de Tony Blair, que era demasiado parecido a la derecha y a mi juicio bastante traicionero. Fueron Blair y sus compañeros los que hicieron lo que fuera necesario para que Pinochet pudiera volver a su patria por motivos "humanitarios". Ojalá que el general hubiera aplicado los mismos principios humanitarios a todos sus compatriotas durante los años de su dictadura militar.

Resumiendo cuentas, a mí me parece que habría sido patético si hubiera salido electo Frei, y hubiera sido un pésimo precedente que un tipo así pudiera repetirse el plato de presidente con tan poco mérito y tan poco esfuerzo. La elección de Piñera no me hace feliz ni por míster Piñi ni por la derecha, sino porque es una oportunidad para que las cosas cambien para lo mejor, para que soplen nuevos vientos. En los 4 años que vienen Piñera tendrá el desafío de cumplir su millón de promesas y la Concertación tendrá el suyo: de sobrevivir, de renovarse y de superarse.

Abrir boca. Meter pata.

2010-01-19T23:02:00.001-03:00

Cuando llegué a Chile por primera vez en el año 2000, mi nivel de español era bastante básico y el potencial para chascarros era grande. Afortunadamente mi profesor de español en Inglaterra me había advertido acerca de algunas trampas notorias o "amigos traicioneros" tales como sería decir "estoy muy embarazado" en vez de "qué verguenza".

No recuerdo haber dicho nada muy vergonzoso, pero sí puedo confesar algunos errores divertidos, sobre todo relacionados al mal uso de dichos chilenos y verduras. "Me importa un rabino" declaré en alguna ocasión, provocando la risa de mis compañeros, al igual que la vez cuando alguién me preguntó cómo me sentía y respondí "como un pepino". Estaba pensando en la abuela de mi esposa, quien a veces, cuando se sentía bien, decía "me siento como una lechuga", supongo que por la frescura de las lechugas. Una vez mi suegra me preguntó como me había ido en el trabajo y respondí, sonriendo, "bien, gracias, me dieron un ascensor", lo que le costó entender. Después de algunas preguntas y más explicación entendió que me habían ascendido.

Casi siempre han sido los momentos de pura incomprensión – generalmente causados por mi mala pronunciación - que han resultado más vergonzosos para mí. Por ejemplo, cuando me subí a un taxi y pedí que me llevara a Pedro de Valdivia con Pocuro, y no me entendía, y volví a repetir la frase, y tampoco me entendía, y así sucesivamente, "n" veces, hasta que finalmente el taxista exclamó "¡Ah! ¡Pedro de Valdivia con Pocuro!". A esa altura estabamos a pocas cuadras del destino.

Mi peor derrota fonética pasó cuando trabajaba como profesor voluntario en Infocap, la Universidad del Trabajador, cuando fui al casino para tomar té antes de la clase. Debería haber pedido "una taza de té" pero probablemente pedí "un taza de té". Mala concordancia + mala pronunciación + combinación extraña de palabras = incomprensión absoluta. La mujer que me servía me miró como si hubiera bajado en ese momento desde un nave espacial. Repetí mi solicitud algo como diez veces hasta que, frustrado y humiliado, tuve que recurrir al dedo para señalar los pasos: primero, dame una de esas tazas, ponle el agua caliente, y echale una de esas bolsitas. "¡Ah! ¡Quieres una taza de té!" Por suerte no tuve que pedir azúcar porque en ese casino los clientes nunca pedían su té o café sin azúcar.

Me frustro aún más en algunas situaciones sociales cuando a algunas personas (normalmente se trata de mujeres) les da lata preguntarme algo a mí por cualquier motivo y prefieren preguntarselo a mi esposa, quién está a mi lado. La rabia que esto me daba quedó templada levamente cuando mi esposa me explicó que a veces las mujeres preguntan a las esposas por las preferencias de sus maridos chilenos como si ellos tampoco estuvieran allí. Si es así, quizás debería tomarlo como una señal grata de integración social.

Finalmente, a veces he caído en la trampa del uso inadecuado de las palabras informales en la oficina. "Qué, ¿el Access solamente permite hasta 256 columnas? !Qué mierda!" exclamé hace un tiempo atrás, expresándome fluidamente y con tanta confianza como si hubiera estado hablando a amigos en un bar. "Precisamente, qué mierda", respondió mi compañero, sonriéndose. Por lo menos me entendió, y menos mal que no se trataba de mi jefe ni de un cliente.

Sinvergüenzas

2010-01-10T22:40:00.000-03:00

Entre 2002 y 2004 viví en Londres, y fue en esa época, antes de que volviera a vivir en Chile, que empecé a ver la teleserie británica Shameless (sinvergüenzas). La primera temporada salió al aire a principios de 2004, los martes a las 10 de la noche, y consistió de tan solo 7 episodios. Yo no era muy bueno para ver tele pero desde el primer episodio que vi me convertí en un fanático y un adicto. Vi todos los episodios, hasta dos veces algunos. No era difícil porque después de cada episodio emitían el capítulo de la semana anterior, y además esa primera temporada se emitió dos veces corridas.

En una época cuando las cámaras de la televisión estaban enfocadas demasiadas veces en la farándula, el éxito, la riqueza, la belleza y la decoración interior, Shameless era absolutamente alternativa, con su mirada fija en otra dirección. Era una especie de anti television, que mostraba con lujo de detalles la existencia de un grupo de vecinos de "Chatsworth Estate", un barrio marginal y deteriorado de Manchester, Inglaterra. Si bien "Chatsworth Estate" era ficticio, había varios barrios parecidos. En gran parte las historias se basaban en las experiencias reales del director de la teleserie, Paul Abbott, quién pasó sus años de juventud en tal lugar. Uno de esos lugares de mala fama, que suelen ser estigmatizados por el desempleo, la pobreza, el crimen y la droga. Sin embargo, los personajes de Shameless eran todos reales, cálidos, con sus momentos buenos y malos, con sus sueños y sus esperanzas. No eran todos santos ni mucho menos, varios personajes eran más bien anti héroes, fracasados según cualquier estándar normal, ejemplos vívidos de cómo no vivir. Sin embargo, y sin vergüenza, todos insistían en seguir su camino, tenían momentos de lucidez, cosas importantes que decir, y oportunidades para mostrar su lado bueno por reducido que fuera.

Shameless era demasiado buena, una entretención redonda, con buenas historias, personajes interesantes, buena música, buena fotografía, con buenos actores pero sin celebridades. Tenía el humor, el suspenso, el romance, y hasta la tragedia. Mostraba todos los matices de la existencia humana desde los más claros hasta los mas oscuros, nos hacía reír y a veces llorar. Mostraba toda especie de actos obscenos, violentos, ilegales, pero también actos de bondad, de solidaridad, de sacrificio y de fraternidad. Muchas veces dejaba al televidente el trabajo de interpretar lo sucedido y nos dejaba de qué conversar después de apagar la tele. Era televisión contundente y nutritiva para la mente y para el alma. Mostraba el lado duro de la vida con humor, respeto y cariño, sin estigmatizar ni caer en estereotipos cómodos.

Incluso le gustaba a mi esposa también, así que veíamos Shameless en familia todas las semanas. Hasta el día de hoy seguimos veyéndola. Hasta ahora todos los años han sacado la última temporada en DVD, que es ideal para mi esposa porque significa que puede verla con subtítulos. Nos limitamos a ver uno o dos capítulos cada semana para que la temporada dure una buena parte del año. En estos días la séptima temporada de Shameless está a pocas semanas de su estreno en Inglaterra y la octava está ya contratada.

Aventuras de texto

2010-01-03T22:55:00.002-03:00

Cuando tenía nueve años me encantaban los libros de fantasía, tales como El Hobbit y El Señor de los Anillos. Había leído también algunas novelas gráficas, tales como la versión comic de El Imperio Contraataca, que fue una experiencia agridulce por el final triste, que me dejó colgando ante un destino incierto junto a Luke Skywalker.

Por esos años la popularidad de las primeras computadoras personales en Inglaterra había ido creciendo y varios de mis amigos tenían computadoras flamantes en sus casas. Los modelos más populares eran el BBC-B, el Sinclair ZX Spectrum, y el Commodore 64. El ZX Spectrum era el más cotizado entre mis amigos porque tenía 128k de memoría RAM y tenía un rango más amplio de videojuegos disponible. En mi casa no teníamos computadora, y mis papás no estaban apurados para obtener una.

En ese entonces mi papá trabajaba en el departamento de informática de la universidad, rodeado de computadoras. A veces yo lo acompañaba a la oficina, en las tardes o en los fines de semana. Subíamos a su oficina en un ascensor extraño que se llamaba paternoster. A mí me encantaba porque no tenía puertas, no había que llamarlo, y no había que esperar. Siempre había un carro pasando. Había que subirse y bajarse justo en el momento adecuado, porque el carro no paraba. Era como una cadena de carros que daba vueltas continuamente, por eso se llamaba el paternoster; conceptualmente se parecía al rosario que se ocupa para rezar el padre nuestro. Como yo no era muy alto en ese entonces, podía jugar un poco y cuando íbamos bajando yo saltaba un poco antes de lo estrictamente necesario.

Mi papá trabajaba en uno de los pisos altos del edificio, que me gustaba a mí porque desde la ventana de su oficina se podía ver cómo la ciudad se extendía hacía el horizonte. Cuando visitábamos de noche me encantaba ver como brillaban las luces de la ciudad, me fijaba en los distintos colores de las luces de las calles, de los edificios y del tráfico que iba y venía.

Las computadoras de la universidad no eran como las de mis amigos. Estas computadoras no aceptaban casetes ni disquetes, eran solamente terminales por los cuales se podía acceder a unas computadoras grandes; las computadoras centrales. Las pantallas de las terminales tenían letras verdes que brillaban sobre un fondo oscuro. Las computadoras centrales no eran del todo fomes y académicas. Ofrecían algunos juegos, las aventuras de texto, que me mantenían ocupado durante horas mientras mi papá hacía sus cosas. Estos juegos funcionaban con solamente texto, nada de gráficos, nada de movimiento, y nada de sonido. Había que leer cuidadosamente las descripciones de los lugares, había que imaginar e intuir cosas. Había que avanzar en el juego mediante el ingreso de instrucciones sencillas, había que escribir en frases cortas como “norte”, “arriba”, “toma la linterna”, “bebe el agua”, cosas de ese estilo. Yo sentía que había alguien atrás de todo esto quien tenía sentido de humor, porque a veces al ingresar una instrucción extraña, equivocada, imposible o estúpida, el juego respondería en tono sarcástico o humorístico. Me acuerdo que una vez con mi papá dibujamos un mapa para ayudarnos a escapar de un laberinto. Me encantaron estos juegos durante esa época de mi vida. Había uno que se llamaba “Zork”, y otro, que era más viejo, que se llamaba sencillamente “Adventure”. Me parecía excelente que la universidad ofreciera juegos y aventuras a los estudiantes además de libros y lecturas.

Un día cuando tomamos el paternoster, mi papá me comentó que si bien no era peligroso quedarse en el carro cuando daba la vuelta en la parte extrema de su viaje, había que quedarse quieto y no moverse. Me contó que algunos años atrás, alguien había muerto en un trágico accidente involucrando al paternoster, porque le había dado pánico y había intentado escapar del carro cuando empezó a dar la vuelta en el extremo más alto de su trayectoria. Una teoría acerca de ese accidente fatal con el paternoster decía que se trataba de una estudiante extranjera que asistía a un curso de inglés en el departamento de idiomas extranjeros que se encontraba en uno de los pisos altos del edificio con el paternoster. Ya que pasar de largo del último piso del edificio significaba pasar cerca de la maquinaria en un espacio poco iluminado, esta experiencia podría dar susto a algunas personas. Por esto, la administración había colocado carteles en todos los carros que advertían en letras rojas sobre un fondo blanco “pasar de largo en el carro no es peligroso”. Cuando por accidente pasó de largo después del último piso, esa estudiante, quien no dominaría el inglés, se habría quedado solamente con lo de “peligroso” y por eso habría entrado en pánico y habría intentado escaparse. Nunca intenté eso de quedarme en el carro para dar la vuelta. Me gustaban las aventuras pero nunca tanto.

La época de las aventuras de texto terminó para mí cuando mi papá llegó a la casa con una computadora nueva un par de años después. Tenía un nombre extraño que a mí me sonaba medio escocés, se llamaba Macintosh. En ese momento nuestra nueva computadora estaba de vanguardia porque tenía una mega (¡1000kb!) de RAM, un sistema operativo con una interfaz gráfica, y parlantes. Podía hacer sonidos como un televisor o un equipo de música. Traía algo que se llamaba un mouse que me servía para jugar a “Dark Castle”, un videojuego de esos en los cuales no había que leer casi nada y había que imaginar muy poco: se veía todo y había que hacer que el aventurero corriera, saltara, y gritara (de todo el esfuerzo) permanentemente. A mí me encantó.

New Year's Day Dream

2010-01-01T23:59:00.000-03:00

The doctor said I looked pink, and it was not the first time that I had heard that remark. High pressure, high blood pressure? I had seen other people turn pink when they got angry, as if they were going to explode. It brought back memories. I did not want to go there.

I had agreed to meet a friend at a certain time in Room B10. I had been there before, but I could not remember the way. I was already a bit late when I arrived and soon received a message from my friend saying that he had gone to get some food and that we could meet half an hour later than originally planned. The cathedral had a concentric design and seemingly endless passageways, stairs, rooms, and signs. Unsuspected corners, beautiful old stone, flowers, engravings. It reminded me of some other places designed for crowds; department shops and airports.

I got distracted trying to take a photograph, I wanted to line up several things and fit them all in the frame. After trying several different angles I still had not managed to do it, when I realised that I was in danger of being late again. I set off walking rapidly, I was surprised to pass an old friend on the way, but could not stop to talk, we just looked at each other and exchanged an awkward greeting. I was going to be late again, I felt ashamed as I rushed to get there, not knowing whether my friend would still be there when I arrived.

When I woke I had more clarity about what my new year's resolutions should be. A song was playing on the radio: "Anoche Soñe Contigo" (Last night I dreamed of you) by Kevin Johansen. "Qué lindo que es soñar! Soñar no cuesta nada" (How nice it is to dream! Dreaming doesn't cost anything").

Iquique Glorioso

2009-12-06T02:35:00.003-03:00

The centenary of the massacre of Escuela Santa María de Iquique was on December the 21st 2007. Some symbolic gestures were made – the day was declared a national day of mourning, a monolith was erected, a ceremony was held, speeches were made, music was played, some books were published (1). But I was none the wiser at the time.

I had an idea that something nasty had happened because I had heard of the famous record by Quilapayún and Luis Advis, the "Cantata Popular Santa María de Iquique", recorded in 1970. But it was not until we recently went on a short holiday to Iquique that I really learned what had happened over century ago, back in 1907. Somehow, being there made a connection, made it real, even though the Santa María school that is there now was built sometime in the 1930s, and there are no more eye-witnesses.

I thought we would need to ask around to find out where it had happened, but it was not necessary. One day we went to have lunch in the central market (Mercado Centenario), and I could not help to notice the mural covering the walls of the large building over the road - workers, desert, an enormous chilean flag painted at an angle as if it were rising bright red out of the earth - or sinking into it.

I asked a man on the street what the building was and he told me: “that’s the Santa María school – a century ago they killed a lot of people there.” We walked most of the way around the building, reading the grafitti which spoke loudly of bloodshed, murder, vengeance, memory, rebellion. The building itself was silent, and locked.

Through the metal shutters and an open door a sign could be seen: “cooperate with cleaning”. It seems a terrible irony that mass murder should have been carried out by members of the Chilean armed forces on the site of a school, an institution associated with teaching and discipline. How to teach history, discipline and citizenship in a place steeped with such a bloody history of its own?

While I was looking at a particularly lurid mural a door opened between helicopters, chimneys, skulls and rivers of blood and perhaps unwisely I stepped in.

Inside the school, it was clearly not in active use. Graffiti on the other side of the courtyard proclaimed “La memoria rebela contra el olvido” (“Memory rebels against forgetting”). Corridors and open doors, to unknown places. No time for exploring. I was politely told to leave, and so I left.

Down by the sea front, in the ex-aduana building (old customs house) on Avenida Arturo Prat Chacón, the local government had a local history exhibition. One of the exhibits was a model of the original Santa María school building, together with a poster titled “Honour and Glory to the Martyrs of the Santa María School of Iquique” that lists the names of some of those who were murdered, together with some details of where they worked. The tribute was touching, but it somehow seemed like a tiny gesture compared to such an enormous atrocity, however distant in the past it may be.

A short walk from the ex-aduana took us to the muelle de pasajeros (the passenger’s dock), where we took a boat tour. The main attraction of the boat tour was a buoy marking the spot where Arturo Prat’s boat the Esmerelda was sunk by the Peruvian battleship the Huáscar. Prat’s heroism in the naval battle of Iquique transformed him into Chile’s biggest naval hero. He had probably realised when he saw the number and size of the Peruvian boats that his small frigate the Esmerelda was doomed, but he did not flinch from the near-certain death that approached across the water, and gave the now immortal speech: "Men! The odds are against us, but let us take heart and be brave. Never has our flag been lowered for the enemy and I hope that this will not be the first time. For my part, I can assure you that while I live, that flag will fly in its place, and if I die, my officers will do their duty” (2). In one of the Chilean school textbooks the historian Walterio Millar really got into the spirit of the moment and added “With a rousing ‘long live Chile!’ close to two hundred patriot hearts answered him, ready to make any sacrifice” (3). As if he had been there, on the ship with them, watching the approach of a bigger, faster battleship.

The street map of Iquique reads like a history book: Arturo Prat Chacón, Esmerelda, Blanco Encalada, 21 de Mayo, Eleuterio Ramírez, Libertador Bernardo O’Higgins, 18 de Septiembre, Manuel Rodríguez, Manuel Bulnes, Diego Portales, San Martín, Bolivar, Colón. There is even an Avenida Oficina Salitrera Victoria. The road that links Iquique with the high desert plain where the nitrate works (oficinas salitreras) were located is called simply “Ruta A-16”. This would have been the route taken by the striking workers and their families who decided to make the journey to Iquique by foot, to seek dialogue with the authorities. They had been enduring slavery in all but name, living in company lodgings, receiving their pay in tokens that were only valid at the company shops, and whose value had been progressively declining over time. They had nothing left to lose but their lives, and so were prepared to take risks. Men, women and children disobeyed the orders of their employers and made the trek across the desert and down into Iquique, braving the extremes of the desert days and nights to reach the city by the only means of transport available to them: their feet. Was this not also bravery, heroism even?

On the 14th December 1907, Presidente Pedro Montt’s minister of the interior, Rafael Sotomayor Gaete, gave orders via telegram to the Intendente of Iquique, “the public force must make itself respected no matter what the sacrifice”, and a few days later emphasised “the public force must maintain order whatever it might cost” (4). On the 20th of December, representatives of the workers met with the Intendente Eastman in an office of the Buenaventura nitrate works. A group of workers and their families tried to leave the place and were shot dead by troops, they were buried the next day (5). The 21st of December it was the turn of the General Roberto Silva Renard to dialogue with the striking workers. The Santa María school was surrounded with troops, including several machine guns. The strikers were issued an ultimatum, they were told to leave and return to work. They had two good reasons to disobey: firstly returning to work at this stage would leave them empty handed and weakened, and secondly they feared for their lives given the deadly events of the previous day, and the naval warships whose guns could have been brought to bear on their exit route. Disobedience was punished with death: at the General’s command, soldiers armed with machine guns and rifles opened fire, and those who survived the bullets were attacked by the soldiers armed with sabres and lances.

Those who survived the massacre were marched back to work and treated with more brutality than before. Those who died were buried in a mass grave and the government of Pedro Montt decreed that death certificates should not be issued for them. Because of this, the number who died is still unclear, but given the number of people who were at the school and the weapons used against them, it is though to be around 2200. The popular Cantata de Santa María de Iquique by Luis Advis and Quilapayún goes further (6):

Three thousand six hundred died one after another
Three thousand six hundred were killed one after another

While the true number killed remains unknown, the estimates are of a similar order of magnitude to the number killed in the attacks on New York of September 11th , 2001 (7). The efforts made at the time to punish those accountable through the institutions of the government and the law were small and ineffectual. In 1914 General Silva Renard escaped gravely injured from an assassination attempt by Antonio Ramón Ramón, whose brother Manuel Vacca had been killed in the massacre.

Returning to the Naval Glories of Iquique in 1879, the Peruvian captain Miguel Grau, and later on the Peruvian authorities, treated the survivors of the Esmerelda – who were rescued from the sea by the crew of the Huáscar – infinitely better than the Chilean government treated its own citizens thirty years later in the episode of Santa María de Iquique. The British Vice Councillor in Iquique, Mr. Jewell, wrote “With all impartiality, I believe that the Peruvians, in their treatment of the prisoners of war set an example that should give them credit with any nation. I have also visited the cemetery and have seen that the prefect has already ordered that the tombs of Captain Pratt and the lieutenant Serrano should be marked with two simple crosses with their respective names, painted in a legible manner, so that when the occasion presents itself, there will be no difficulty in identifying the remains of these officials.” (8)

It has now been six months or more since I visited Iquique and I have put off finishing this several times. Maybe there is no neat way to finish this. It is an unfinished story, there is unfinished business. The first centenary of the massacre, in 2007, came and went, and what remains in Iquique is a dilapidated school on the site of the massacre, whose walls are daubed with graffiti, with a modest monolith at the corner of the streets Latorre and Amenategui, erected in 1957, with a plaque that reads “Homage of the workers and people of Chile to those who fell in this place, the 21 December 1907” (9, 10). There are no streets or plazas named “Martyrs of Santa María” but there is an Avenida Pedro Montt in Santiago, and another street of the same name in Valparaíso (11). The desert road that leads from the pampa down into Iquique has no name, just a route number.

Probably the biggest and most significant memorial is not seen but heard: the Cantata Popular Santa María de Iquique, composed by Luis Advís, originally recorded by Quilapayún in 1970 and later re-recorded as the Cantata Rock Santa María by the Colectivo Cantata Rock in 2007. This piece of music has crossed all sorts of boundaries, and has remained well-known during decades. For a start, it is an unusual composition that mixes elements of the classical cantata with popular music; folk music in the original version, with the most recent version adding rock music to the mix. The Colectivo Cantata Rock have a page in facebook and a webpage where the complete Cantata can be downloaded for free (12).

It is a shame that one hundred years has not been enough for justice to have been done, not even symbolic justice. If Pope John Paul II was able to apologize to so many individuals and groups of people who had suffered at the hands of the Catholic church over the centuries (13), why has the Chilean government been unable to offer any sort of apology for the actions of their predecessors? Is it because they silently reserve the right to wield this sort of repressive force in future, with similar impunity? I hope it will not be another hundred years before they find the way to make amends. Until something like this is done, it will continue being another case of “Ni perdón, ni olvido” (Neither forgiveness, nor forgetting).

(1) Centenary commemorations. http://www.emol.com/noticias/nacional/detalle/detallenoticias.asp?idnoticia=286165

(2) Arturo Prat. 21 de mayo de 1879. Cited in “Combate naval de Iquique”, Wikipedia: http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Combate_naval_de_Iquique

(3) ‘Historia de Chile’, Walterio Millar, 63rd edition, Zig-Zag, Santiago, Chile, 2000.

(4) Telégrafos del estado. http://www.cantatarock.cl/img_matanz/bot_galeria/galeria_alta/f18_541_747.html

(5) ‘Matanza de la Escuela Santa María de Iquique’, Wikipedia, http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matanza_de_la_Escuela_Santa_Mar%C3%ADa_de_Iquique

(6) ‘Cantata Popular Santa María de Iquique’, Luis Advis, performed by Quilapayún.

(7) ‘September 11 attacks’, Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/September_11_attacks

(8) ‘Carta del Vice Cónsul de Su Majestad Británica en Iquique al respecto de los prisioneros de la "Esmeralda"’, Wikisource, http://es.wikisource.org/wiki/Carta_del_Vice_C%C3%B3nsul_de_Su_Majestad_Brit%C3%A1nica_en_Iquique_al_respecto_de_los_prisioneros_de_la_%22Esmeralda%22

(9) ‘Un 21 de Diciembre’, Germán Altamirano, http://www.purochile.rrojasdatabank.info/santamaria.htm

(10) “monolito recuerdo matanza obreros de iquique 21 diciembre 1907”, http://www.panoramio.com/photo/4486927, by antioligarca

(11) “CGT culmina actividades por Santa María e inaugura monolito en homenaje a los mártires obreros”, Arnaldo Pérez Guerra, http://www.cgtmosicam.cl/reportaje_31.htm

(12) http://www.cantatarock.cl/descarga.htm

(13) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apologies_by_Pope_John_Paul_II

Tecnología y desarrollo

2009-11-30T23:26:00.003-03:00

Hablando con mi madre hace un tiempo atrás, me comentó que cuando yo era pequeño, la vida era más fácil porque no había tanta tecnología, y por lo tanto no tenían tantas cosas inadecuadas para niños. Tenía razón, porque me acuerdo que cuando empecé el colegio recién me di cuenta que otros niños veían algo que se llamaba televisión y yo no. En ese entonces no era solo que no tuviéramos, sino que no había varias cosas que hoy en día son casi omnipresentes en los hogares. No había computadores en las casas, ni celulares, ni videograbadoras, ni reproductor de DVD, ni microondas. En nuestra casa había una radio, un tocadiscos, y muchos libros. Mis papas tenían una cámara de rollo que les servía para ir poco a poco componiendo el álbum de la familia. Durante la semana, mi papá llegaba a la casa puntualmente para la cena familiar a las 6 de la tarde. Cuando a mi papá le tocaba trabajar algunas horas en la noche, se trataba de leer y corregir cosas con lápiz y papel. Nos movíamos por la ciudad caminando, en bicicleta, o en bus. El primer auto de la familia llegaría unos años después, cuando naciera mi hermana.

Ahora tenemos mucho más, pero dudo que estemos más felices por tener tantas cosas. Nuestro hogar del siglo 21 cuenta con computador, Internet banda ancha, Wi-Fi, webcam, y una de esas pequeñas maravillas: un todo-en-uno impresora-escáner-fotocopiadora. Un par de discos duros externos, dos o tres reproductores de MP3. Un teléfono de red fija, y dos teléfonos celulares. Un reproductor de DVD y videograbadora, dos televisiones, el tele cable, dos equipos de música, algo como 5 controles remotos. Varias cámaras, más de 5 contando las integradas en las celulares y el webcam. Una microondas en la cocina, una lavadora y una lavadora de platos en la logia. Una máquina de ejercicios. Mi hijo pequeño no percibe muchas diferencias entre estas cosas y sus juguetes. Esconde cosas en la impresora, hace lo que puede cada vez que alcanza el mouse, saca fotos apretando el botón del webcam, desenchufa todos los cables de la máquina de ejercicios, saca y pone DVDs hasta que quedan tan rayados que no funcionan más. Tiene algunas ideas de cómo funcionan las cosas pero no entiende todavía los conceptos que hay atrás. Hace algunos días, a la hora de dormir cuando apagué la tele, se fue atrás del mueble, tomó el cable, desenchufó la tele de la pared, y entonces lloró amargamente cuando la tele no se prendía.

La tecnología es algo que utilizamos pero también nos permite ser utilizados por otros. Fue a principios del siglo 19 que los Luddites protestaron en contra a las máquinas y procesos de la revolución industrial por el impacto de la nueva tecnología en su trabajo y su manera de vivir. Esa manera de vivir ya ha desaparecido completamente, pero siglos después las cosas fundamentales de la vida humana no han cambiado mucho. Por un lado, las motivaciones que nos empujan, los motores de crecimiento y de conflicto. Por otro lado, los límites del espacio, de los recursos, del tiempo, del cuerpo humano. Quizás la tecnología haya evolucionado tanto porque junto a las artes y la cultura, es una de las maneras que tenemos de extraer el máximo posible de la vida, y de contribuir a un crecimiento y un desarrollo que llegue mucho más allá de nuestros límites personales. Por un lado la tecnología sirve al lado egocéntrico del ser humano, y se puede ver en todas partes cómo permite a algunas personas sacar provecho del trabajo de otras personas y así ganar más dinero. Por otro lado, la tecnología también puede ayudar a las fuerzas del bien y a un desarrollo que sea sostenido en el tiempo. Ojalá que este desarrollo sostenido de la tecnología fuera acompañado por un desarrollo igualmente sostenido de nuestra capacidad para hacer las cosas bien y vivir bien.

Accidentes y advertencias

2009-11-15T21:49:00.003-03:00

No creo que aprenda a bucear, me da susto. Sé lo de las probabilidades, que también es riesgoso cruzar la calle, lo sé. Pero aún sabiendo todo eso, no lo haría, me conformo con mojarme las píes y chapotear en la orilla de una playa segura, una de esas con salvavidas a la vista y con harta gente en el agua. ¿Por qué? Tengo dos buenas razones.

Primero, porque cuando era estudiante, un día recibí una llamada de una amiga, quién, entre llantos, me contó que ese mismo día un amigo mutuo había estado buceando en un lago cuando su equipo de oxígeno sufrió una falla repentina. Había estado acompañado cuando pasó, y si no hubiera sido por la profundidad del agua y por el peso de su cuerpo con su equipo de buceo, su compañero lo habría llevado a la superficie a tiempo para salvarlo. Eso pasó en la temporada de exámenes y la combinación del accidente y el ambiente estresante fue potente. Pocos días después sufrí un ataque de úlceras que me hizo perder tanta sangre que caí desmayado en mi departamento. Por suerte mi compañero de piso estaba cuando ocurrió y llamó a la ambulancia. Me llevaron al hospital donde me aplicaron una transfusión de sangre. Me quedé hospitalizado como cinco días y me perdí el funeral de mi amigo.

Segundo, porque hace algunos años, cuando estaba de vacaciones en el norte de Inglaterra, vi a cuatro personas entrar al mar vestidas con trajes de goma – iban a bucear. Andaba con mi familia cuando vimos como empezaron a caminar por un camino elevado a la isla del faro, un camino que la marea había dejado casi totalmente sumergido. El mar estaba bravo y mi mamá exclamó con preocupación que le parecía riesgoso lo que estaban haciendo. En pocos momentos vi que tenía razón, porque las personas ya no estaban a pie, estaban flotando en el mar y la corriente estaba llevando algunas aparte de las otras, hacía el mar abierto. Sonaban gritos. Preguntamos a las otras personas y alguien ya había llamado a la guardia marina. Un helicóptero y una lancha llegaron y empezaron la operación de rescate. Una de las personas había logrado ponerse de pie nuevamente y salió del mar caminando sólo. El equipo en la lancha rescató a otras dos personas, quienes salieron del mar abrazándose y llorando. Al día siguiente, leí en el diario acerca del paradero de la cuarta persona. Cuando la habían encontrado los guardias marinas, había estado en el mar más de una hora. A pesar de todos los esfuerzos del equipo de rescate y del equipo médico, había fallecido unas horas después en el hospital.

No creo que yo sea excesivamente adverso a los riesgos, no más que otras personas. Aunque no me gusten los vuelos, los tomo. Hasta he volado en un planeador. Pero bucear, para mí, sería como extender la mano a un perro rabioso sabiendo que muerde cada vez que puede.

Escuchaba, y todavía escucho

2009-11-09T23:21:00.037-03:00

Cuando era un niño pequeño, descubrí la colección de discos de mis padres y conocí a The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, sonidos de los años sesenta que podrían haber sido de otra época, porque yo no había nacido cuando se grabaron esos discos. Sgt. Peppers. Revolver. The Sound of Silence. El olor a vinilo me encantaba, y los sonidos producidos por la aguja y el parlante escondido atrás de una grilla metálica aún más.

Un poco más grande, llegó el Heavy Metal, se instaló en mi vida e impuso la banda sonora a gran parte de mi adolescencia. Me arranqué un día sin permiso en bicicleta y gasté mis ahorros de muchas semanas en una entrada al espectáculo de Iron Maiden, tenía algo como 14 años y fue toda una aventura. Fui con algunos amigos nuevos del colegio, con los cuales la música me unía y a veces, más frecuentemente, me separaba, según nuestros gustos y temperamentos. Intercambiábamos casetes y esperábamos ansiosamente para saber las opiniones de nuestros amigos al día siguiente, las que a veces nos trajeron amarga desilusión. ¿Pero cómo? ¡A mí me parecen geniales! Fui el único miembro local del fan club de varias bandas que me importaban y de alguna manera me acompañaban, seres extraños como los Voivod y los Dead Kennedys. Pasaba horas en mi habitación después del colegio, con los ojos cerrados, escuchando mi música con mi estéreo personal. Me acompañó durante lo que fue una especie de fase de incubación.

Mis pobres oídos resistieron las embestidas de algunas de las bandas más estruendosas de la época, tales como Nuclear Assault, Sacred Reich, Napalm Death, Slayer, Sabbat. Después de la tocata de Nuclear Assault a mis oídos les sonó un pito como cuatro días. No fuimos la primera generación en arriesgar sus oídos de tal manera. Mi profesora de Biología confesó haber sido fanática de Deep Purple en su juventud y nos contó cómo se habían quedado mirando la pintura desprendiéndose del techo de la sala de conciertos por la fuerza del ataque sónico de la banda.

Poco después surgió el Death Metal y a mí me dejó frío. Alcancé a presenciar a los brasileños Sepultura y los Morbid Angel - los últimos, en mi opinión, no tenían gracia alguna - antes de la llegada de la banda que marcó un antes y un después: Nirvana. Soplaban nuevos vientos que trajeron a mi vida nuevos sonidos y nuevos amigos: The Pixies, Fugazi, Extreme, Billy Bragg, The Manic Street Preachers, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Levellers, The The. Empecé a disfrutar otros estilos musicales hasta entonces desconocidos para mi tales como el prog rock - según mi mamá, cuando escuchó por primera vez a Van Der Graaf Generator, música de pantomima.

Los años pasaron y en algún momento, sin darme cuenta, la música ya no era parte importante de mi vida, no era una compañera cercana como antes, se había transformado en música de fondo, para poner el ambiente. Empecé a aprender español, y escuchaba a Manu Chao, Ketama, Enrique Morente y Celtas Cortos. Estaba aprendiendo a bailar salsa, y me interesaban las chicas. En un momento de crisis económica estudiantil vendí un montón de mis discos, coincidentemente los que me daban más vergüenza. Adiós Iron Maiden. Yo ya había llegado a la vida adulta y esas bandas no me importarían nunca más.

Eso pensé, pero me había equivocado. Ahora han pasado más de diez años y en este tiempo el mundo ha sido revolucionado por el crecimiento aparentemente imparable de la computación y del Internet. La música ahora no se escucha en casete, y cada vez menos en CD, ahora se escucha en mp3 o se transmite directamente por Internet, en last.fm, YouTube o MySpace. Las nuevas formas de distribuir música han mostrado que la escala no necesariamente aplasta la diversidad; los seres extraños todavía existen y hasta se han multiplicado. La piratería es más fácil que nunca pero ahora no tengo la excusa de no tener dinero para comprar música de vez en cuando, así que si algo me gusta hasta que siento remordimiento de conciencia, lo compro.

La música me alegra la vida y no trae calorías ni afecta mis riñones. Además, conocer la música de un país es como conocer al país sin tener que viajar mucho. Voy conociendo a Chile acompañados por unos excelentes guías, algunos de antaño y otros de hoy día: Los Jaivas, Los Prisioneros, Los Tres, Victor Parra, Violeta Parra, Inti-Illimani, Quillapayún, Makiza, Chancho en Piedra, Joe Vasconcellos, Perrosky, Matorral, Mauricio Redolés, Nano Stern, Manuel Garcia, Guiso, Sinergia, Fiskales Ad-Hok. Los músicos chilenos reflejan en cierta medida la diversidad y los contrastes de este país tan improbablemente largo y angosto.

Mi colección de música últimamente ha crecido más rápido que nunca e incluso he vuelto a comprar algunos de los discos que vendí hace tiempo pensando que nunca iban a volver. Ahora escucho música cuando me levanto, en el trabajo, cuando vuelvo a la casa acostado en el sofá o en la cama. Con los audífonos puestos, la música se ha vuelto a transformar en una especie de amigo íntimo. Por primera vez en muchos años, de vez en cuando me doy el lujo de escuchar música y no hacer nada más, escucharla no más, tomando para mí unos momentos de tranquilidad o de diversión, de puro gozo, sin vergüenza.

Worn Out

2009-07-27T00:24:00.003-04:00

30 years in business. Open 7 days a week. Bread to bake, money to make. All those clients have worn out the floor, I said. You should see round the other side of the counter, she said. Come and have a look.

Pin It Down

2009-07-03T17:00:00.000-04:00

Most of the time when you are in smog it is difficult to see it. Misty, mostly. Makes it a bit harder to breathe, to get the oxygen you need from the air. But nothing dramatic. A bit of perspective helps, but the accumulation of smog across the line of sight can also trick the observer into thinking that the pollution is worse further away, in the distance. It is not necessarily so. To pin it down you need to get a perspective from high to low, that takes in the blue sky above and the layer of pollution covering the earth below.

Go Faster Stripes

2009-06-28T16:00:00.001-04:00

Some dogs look like their owners, and vice versa. Some cars tell you something about the driver. And some might be lying. I became curious about the go faster stripes on this elderly but vaguely sporty Renault that was parked up by the side of the road in Providencia the other day. The car looked out of place in what is quite a boring part of town - relatively wealthy, nearly all the blocks of flats have concierges and most of the houses have security measures such as CCTV, electric fences, etc. I thought it was quite probable that the car belonged to the concierge who was sweeping up the leaves outside the building - if the owner had been a resident or a guest they would have parked their car inside the property, not outside on the street. He was wearing a sporty sort of padded jacket, the sort that is used by people who like driving - or racing. I walked round the block a few times until he had gone inside before taking the photo. Sometimes when people are involved I take the photo first and give explanations later, but somehow on this occasion I felt uncomfortable about it. To be honest I would have had to admit I was taking a picture of the car because I thought it looked funny, and that would not have been well received by the owner of the car, unless the go faster stripes were an expression of a sophisticated sense of humour.

Carta abierta a los taxistas de Chile

2009-05-09T22:24:00.013-04:00

Taxistas de Chile: el día de hoy, uno de sus compañeros nos dejó a mí, mi esposa, y mi hijo (quién es una guagua de 21 meses) al lado del camino, negándose a llevarnos a nuestro destino. ¿Qué habíamos hecho para merecer ese trato? Yo fui el culpable, pues se me ocurrió reclamar al taxista por no tener los cinturones de seguridad en los asientos traseros del auto habilitados. O bien, no tenerlos operables. Igual que en muchos otros taxis chilenos, lamentablemente, el taxista hacía el show de tener sus cinturones a la vista, pero a la hora de intentar abrochar el cinturón, encontré que el enganche estaba abajo del asiento y era inaccesible. En fin, yo quería ponerme el cinturón, para así llevar a mi hijo con más seguridad, y encontré que no podía, así que reclamé.

El señor taxista intentó convencerme que los enganches de las cinturones estaban escondidos así en el interés de los pasajeros porque la mayoría los encontraba una molestia. Yo no me quedé nada convencido por este argumento, y el ambiente se puso un poco tenso cuando le pregunté al señor taxista si le interesaba la seguridad de sus pasajeros, especialmente los con niños chicos. Protestaba que los con niños chicos generalmente llevan una silla de guagua. Si hubiéramos llevado nuestra silla de guagua, tampoco habríamos podido utilizarla, sin tener operable el cinturón de seguridad. Le recordé al señor taxista que era además un requerimiento de la ley que los cinturones de seguridad estuvieran habilitados, y allí se mostró incapaz de mantener la discusión y a la vez manejar su auto, y nos pidió que nos bajáramos.

Yo me bajé bastante enojado, y no le habría pagado, pero mi esposa siendo menos conflictiva le pagó el monto mostrado por el taxímetro antes de retirarse con nuestro hijo y el coche. Seguimos nuestro camino a pie hasta el próximo paradero del Transantiago, y allí tomamos el bus que nos llevó a nuestro destino, sin discusión alguna y por la módica suma de $800. El Transantiago subió en mi estimación. Ojo, taxistas de Chile, sus clientes tienen alternativas de transporte, ustedes no los llevan como un favor, sino como la prestación de un servicio, y como todo servicio hay ciertos estándares de calidad y seguridad que los clientes tienen derecho de esperar ver cumplidos.

Para los que no la conozcan, existe una ley se llama la Ley de Transito, sírvanse leer el artículo relevante:

Artículo 79.- Los vehículos motorizados según tipo y clase estarán provistos, además, de los siguientes elementos:
10. - Cinturones de seguridad para los asientos delanteros. El uso de cinturón de seguridad será obligatorio para los ocupantes de los asientos delanteros. Igual obligación regirá para los ocupantes de asientos traseros de vehículos livianos, definidos por el decreto supremo Nº 211, de 1991, del Ministerio de Transportes y Telecomunicaciones, cuyo año de fabricación sea 2002 o posterior. En los servicios de transporte de pasajeros en taxis, cualquiera sea su modalidad, la responsabilidad del uso del cinturón de seguridad recae en el pasajero, salvo que dicho elemento no funcione, en cuyo caso será imputable a su propietario.

El taxista en cuestión andaba sin placas patentes, así que supongo que su auto era nuevo, muy nuevo, sin lugar a duda alguna fabricado después del 2002. Qué taxista más antipático y además ilegal. Ojalá que los taxistas que conozcan a este individuo (ver su código de vehículo en la foto de más arriba) u otros como él, que probablemente no son pocos, y que no comparten su rechazo de la seguridad de las personas y de la ley de transito, puedan enseñarles la importancia de tratar a las personas con respeto y no como si fueran objetos de carga. Recuérdenlo:

En los servicios de transporte de pasajeros en taxis, cualquiera sea su modalidad, la responsabilidad del uso del cinturón de seguridad recae en el pasajero, salvo que dicho elemento no funcione, en cuyo caso será imputable a su propietario.

Bay and Yonge, parallel lines

2009-05-03T21:07:00.012-04:00

Recently had 7 days in Toronto, work trip, not enough time for sleep, let alone tourism. Now back home but the stress still reverberates in tired old me. Could have been worse: at least insisted on city centre hotel, not sleeping near the airport this time. Sutton Place Grande Hotel on Bay Street, very comfortable, deco trying to revive times gone by sitting within a modern steel and concrete structure. Bay Street runs parallel and a block away from Yonge Street which cuts right across the city, and which some have argued is the longest street in the world. Yonge, pronounced "young", was a world away from Bay. From what I saw, Bay was straight, gray and boring, being dominated by tall office blocks.

Yonge was anything but boring. I just got to know the short section between Dundas and Bloor, which contained department stores, office blocks, restaurants, strip clubs, record shops, smoking shops, pubs, bistros, and numerous enticing sidestreets. The multicoloured flags flying outside some of the pubs seemed to reflect the multicoloured diverse nature of the place. The Ethiopian House restaurant just round the corner on Irwin Avenue was brightly painted in red, green and yellow complete with a set of traffic lights, and did not seem at all out of place. Stories in the paper of gang-related violence on Yonge Street sadly seemed consistent with other diverse, colourful places such as Brixton in London.

I had a few modest objectives for what little free time I would have. Sleep, eat, keep in touch with my family, buy some music, go to a concert. Curiously, the hunt for music provided the stimulus that got me out and about a bit. I started with Sunrise records on Yonge close to the corner with Bloor. They did not have what I wanted but recommended Soundscape and Rotate This. Took the TTC streetcar ("Ride the Rocket") along College Street to the Little Italy district. The TTC (Toronto Transit Commission) machines take money and give in return tokens that are like tiny shiny coins, it is like they have their own currency. Enjoyed browsing a bit in Soundscape. Not wanting to do the obvious, ate Sushi in Little Italy at a place called Ichiban Sushi; very nice it was too.

The next day I discovered a tardis-like second-hand record shop on Yonge that looked very unpretentious, not having any obvious name on the outside, but turned out to be called Refried Beats. They had a very good selection and tempting prices, and I came away with some CDs by local Toronto-based bands Broken Social Scene and Great Lake Swimmers. The Great Lake Swimmers were my main chance to fulfill the concert objective as they were playing on the Saturday night but punishing work schedule did not permit it, had to put up with listening to local sounds on the stereo in the hotel room while working.

Culinary highlights of the trip included the previously mentioned Ethiopian House and a brief visit to a little place called Magic Oven on Wellesley St West, just round the corner from Yonge. I had hardly slept and had not had breakfast, I was knackered and starving, although I found out that using words like knackered would get me blank expressions from Canadians. I liked the look of the menu and said I had just half an hour for lunch, could they do me a pizza? They said yes and somehow did it too, it was delicious if slightly undercooked but I could not complain about this as I had been the one in a rush. I later saw that the Magic Oven was a "Slow Food" restaurant, and I felt a bit bad about stressing them out with my demands for pizzas in record time.

I would have liked to sleep more and see more of Toronto but it could have been much worse. I was happy to have stayed somewhere central and in an interesting part of town, this way the few free hours I had were enjoyable and interesting. Just say no to airport hotels if you like to see where you are going.

Wolves in Sheep's Clothing

2009-03-29T17:09:00.019-04:00

A few days ago the Chilean chain of pharmacies Farmacias Ahumada (FASA) confessed to having colluded with two supposedly competing chains of pharmacies, Salcobrand and Cruz Verde, to systematically raise the prices of over 200 medicines over approximately a one year period up to December 2008. This is very serious, especially because these three chains between them have approximately a 90% share of the market. Interestingly, the other two chains still protest their innocence. These are the same three chains of pharmacies that in 2007 all refused to sell the morning after pill.

Collusion in the pharmaceutical industry is particularly bad because the victims will in many cases be people with chronic illnesses, elderly, or both. Furthermore, most medicines meet real needs, with few if any substitute products and therefore people cannot simply decide not to buy them or to buy less of them.

Could this case be only the tip of an iceberg? If the pharmacies were brazen enough to exploit their clients in this way, is it not likely that the same sort of thing has also been happening in other sectors of the Chilean economy, where purchases are less frequent and so it is less likely that consumers should notice a pattern to changes in prices? In the case of the pharmacies, it was a lawyer (acting as a concerned citizen) who noticed the suspicious increases in the price of an anticonceptive pill and eventually made a formal complaint to the Fiscalía Nacional Económica (FNE). This should be a warning sign to all of us to be more vigilant and to have the confidence to consult and if necessary to make a formal complaint when we suspect that something suspicious is happening. Also, hopefully it will provide needed impetus to the relevant government agencies to redouble their efforts to monitor markets, to collect evidence and to prosecute where necessary.

It is undoubtedly good news that some light has been shed on what appears to be a major case of collusion, and it will be interesting to see how the case unfolds over the coming months. Hopefully a successful prosecution in this case will act as a catalyst that will bolster ongoing efforts to fight collusion and other types of illicit economic activities that too often are allowed to thrive unnoticed.

Bolitas cafés saladas

2009-03-08T22:46:00.012-03:00

En nuestra oficina hace tiempo es costumbre que cuando alguien vuelve de un viaje, trae algo rico para todos, ojalá algo que sea típico de la zona visitada. Esta semana fue el turno de mi compañera colombiana, que volvió de visitar a su familia en el país cafetero. Tiene cara de buena pero estabamos a punto de descubrir que tiene un sentido del humor un poco torcido. Recibimos todos un e-mail mencionando unos dulces de café y unas bolitas cafés saladas en la cocina, "para que prueben".

Así que probamos. Los dulces de café marca Juan Valdéz ya eran bien conocidos y empezaron a desaperecer rápidamente. Las bolitas cafés saladas tenían el tamaño y el aspecto de granos de café y fueron varios los que tomaron una o dos bolitas sin mirar muy bien de qué se trataban, y efectivamente tenían sabor salado.

A mí me llamó la atención el tono con que me decía mi compañera "ya po Alex, venga" y pensé que había algo poco usual, al mirar el contenido del plato me percaté de que las bolitas cafés saladas tenían muchas patas.

Mirándolas bien (uso lentes, pero con mis lentes veo bien) no había lugar a dudas: eran insectos. La colombiana me explicó que eran hormigas conocidas como "Hormigas Culonas" por el tamaño de la parte trasera. Fritas, y saladas. Hice un pacto con una compañera, contamos a tres y para adentro. Comí una bolita café salada completa. Curioso el sabor, difícil describirlo. No era malo pero tampoco podría decir que era bueno, supongo que es uno de esos gustos que hay que acostumbrarse para apreciarlo. La colombiana comentó que para personas de la zona comer Hormigas Culonas era igual que comer maní; una especie de colación salada.

En la oficina las Hormigas Culonas dejaron sus huellas como pioneros en territorio nuevo, a algunos les dio asco, a otros risa, y capaz que alguien hasta el día de hoy piensa que comió granos de café salados. Un compañero me comentó en la tarde que durante la mañana había comido una trás otra de las bolitas cafés saladas y cada una había sabido mejor que la anterior, pero después de almuerzo ya no eran así de ricas. Me sorprendió lo rápido que algo exótico puede volverse ordinario.

Smog or Pure Air?

2009-02-18T00:07:00.005-03:00

I saw this advert on the Metro today and the cheek of it took my breath away. "Smog or Pure Air? You choose." it reads, unsubtly comparing a photo of smoggy Santiago seen from the air, almost certainly taken at midwinter when the smog is worst, with a photo of a bright new housing estate taken on a sunny day - probably taken not long ago, in the middle of summer. The visual comparison is invalid because the photos were almost certainly taken in different seasons, the perspectives and subjects are totally different, and most of all because smog is much more visible when looking across a long distance: showing a subject at short range means that even if there were smog, it probably wouldn't be visible. This is photography used to mislead. The camera never lies, it's the person behind the camera and their client who you've got to be careful about.

The place that is being sold, "Valle Grande" (Big Valley) is a large zone of new urban development in the Lampa district, about 30km to the North of Santiago. This is not far enough to escape the smog in the winter, as anyone who has flown into Santiago and seen the smog from the air will know. The air quality in Lampa will probably be better than in the city centre, but "pure air" is pushing it a bit.

What is worse, persuading people to move out into the suburbs - "only 15 minutes drive to Santiago" the blurb reads - will probably not help to decontaminate the city. While the publicity tries to transmit the idea that Valle Grande is a kind of Heaven on Earth that has pure air, endless green spaces for children to play in, schools, shops, sports clubs, and just a short drive from the smoggy metropolis (if you insist), for many people it will just be a dormitory town.

As the advert says, "you choose", and I hope people think carefully before making the choice of where to live, and do not let themselves be influenced by misleading publicity. Or they might find out, too late, that the grass is always greener... on the other side of the fence between them and the next big urban expansion project.

¿La Pura Verdad?

2009-02-12T22:28:00.021-03:00

A mí me parece obvio que un jugo de naranja que contiene azúcar agregado no puede ser 100% naranja, así que ingresé un reclamo frente a la empresa Watt's con el Servicio Nacional del Consumidor (el SERNAC). Hoy recibí la respuesta del representante de la empresa Watt's. Aquí voy a reproducir su carta en forma integra, junto a los varios artículos de la ley que cita. Aquí va...

Santiago, 12 de Febrero del 2.009.-

SEÑORES
SERVICIO NACIONAL DEL CONSUMIDOR
PRESENTE
REF: Nº CASO: 4105375
FECHA INGRESO: 23 de Enero de 2009.
ASIGNADO A: WIR

En relación al reclamo realizado ante su servicio, por don ALEX MITRANI RUT NºXX.XXX.XXX-X, quien considera que el etiquetado y rotulación del producto JUGO FRESCO WATT’S NARANJA o FRAMBUESA es incorrecto y falta a la vardad, respecto a indicar que es 100% de Naranja o frambuesa, según sea la variedad, vengo en evacuar el traslado otorgado señalando al efecto lo siguiente:
1.- Mi representada no incurre en ninguna infracción con la rotulación del producto JUGO NARANJA WATT’S en sus variedades Naranja y Frambuesa.

Vamos a ver.

2.- En efecto, toda la rotulación registrada en la etiqueta de los envases cuestionados por el consumidor, no vulnera los artículos Nº 28 letra a, 29 y 33 de la ley 19.496 del consumidor.

Bueno, referiendo a dicho ley, se tiene:

TITULO III
Disposiciones especiales
Párrafo 1º
Información y publicidad
Artículo 28.- Comete infracción a las disposiciones de esta ley el que, a sabiendas o debiendo saberlo y a través de cualquier tipo de mensaje publicitario induce a error o engaño respecto de:
a) Los componentes del producto y el porcentaje en que concurren;

Sí, de eso se trataba mi reclamo, precisamente.

Artículo 29.- El que estando obligado a rotular los bienes o servicios que produzca, expenda o preste, no lo hiciere, o faltare a la verdad en la rotulación, la ocultare o alterare, será sancionado con multa de cinco a cincuenta unidades tributarias mensuales.

Eso también me parece relevante.

Artículo 33.- La información que se consigne en los productos, etiquetas, envases, empaques o en la publicidad y difusión de los bienes y servicios deberá ser susceptible de comprobación y no contendrá expresiones que induzcan a error o engaño al consumidor. Expresiones tales como "garantizado" y "garantía", sólo podrán ser consignadas cuando se señale en qué consisten y la forma en que el consumidor pueda hacerlas efectivas.

Hasta aquí estamos de acuerdo respecto a las partes relevantes de la ley, pero que quiere decir ¿"no vulnera"? Sigo pensando que 100% Naranja significa, sin ambiguedad alguna, Naranja y nada más. Siguiendo con la carta...

3.- Por lo mismo, no es efectivo que se falte a la verdad al indicar que ambas variedades son 100% de la fruta respectiva, es decir, 100% Naranja o bien, 100% Frambuesa, puesto que ambos jugos sólo contienen, como materia prima principal y caracterizante (artículo Nº 112 del DS 977/96) el contenido de la fruta respectiva, sin mezcla de otras variedades de fruta, como lo sería una variedad mix o una tutti fruti.

¿En serio? Que un dicho no vulnera la ley no necesariamente implica que sea verdadera. Y eso de la "materia prima principal y caracterizante", si eso fuera verdad, se podrían describir a las "bebidas de fantasia" como "100% agua", y los nectars también podrían describirse como 100% fruta, ¿o no? Bueno, sigamos el camino, ahora referiendo al otro ley, el DS 977/96...

Artículo 112.- Cuando en el etiquetado de un alimento se destaque la presencia o el contenido de uno o más ingredientes caracterizantes, o cuando en la descripción del alimento produzca el mismo efecto, deberá declararse el porcentaje de él o los ingredientes masa/masa, en el producto final.

Eso es precisamente lo que el etiquetado de Watt's no hacía correctamente... pero volvamos a la carta...

4.- De igual forma, los artículos 107 y 109 del mismo cuerpo legal (DS 977/96) señalan todos los requisitos que debe cumplir la información registrada en el rótulo de un alimento, requisitos que el producto JUGO DE NARANJA WATT’S cumple a cabalidad, en especial lo referente a ingredientes y aditivos con sus nombres específicos y en orden decreciente, así como en idioma castellano, con caracteres visibles, indelebles y fáciles de leer.

Vamos a ver de que se trata todo esto. Aquí se pueden pasar por alto algunos párrafos, hay mucho detalle que no es directamente relevante.

Artículo 107.- Todos los productos alimenticios que se almacenen, transporten o expendan envasados deberán llevar un rótulo o etiqueta que contenga la información siguiente:
a) nombre del alimento. El nombre deberá indicar la verdadera naturaleza del alimento en forma específica. A este respecto, en él no podrán utilizarse términos tales como "natural" o "fresco" cuando esta condición es inherente a la naturaleza del producto mismo. Sin perjuicio del nombre podrá indicarse su marca comercial. En los productos sucedáneos deberá indicarse claramente esta condición.
Junto al nombre o muy cerca del mismo, deberán aparecer las palabras o frases adicionales necesarias para evitar que se induzca a error o engaño respecto a la naturaleza y condición física auténtica del alimento, que incluyen pero que no se limitan al tipo o medio de cobertura, a la forma de presentación o al tipo de tratamiento al que haya sido sometido.
No se permite el uso de términos que destaquen la ausencia de un componente no deseado tales como "no contiene...", "ausencia de ...", cuando el producto normalmente no lo contiene;
b) contenido neto expresado en unidades del sistema métrico decimal o del sistema internacional, mediante el símbolo de la unidad o con palabra completa. No deberá acompañar a los valores del contenido neto ningún término de significado ambiguo. Además de la declaración del contenido neto, en los alimentos envasados en un medio líquido deberá indicarse en unidades del sistema métrico decimal o del sistema internacional, el peso drenado del alimento;
c) nombre o razón social y domicilio del fabricante, envasador, distribuidor o importador del alimento, según sea el caso;
d) país de origen, debe indicarse en forma clara, tanto en los productos nacionales como en los importados. Un alimento importado que haya sido sometido en Chile a elaboración que cambie sus propiedades físicas, químicas, biológicas u organolépticas, se le deberá considerar como de origen nacional para los fines de la rotulación. Si sólo es envasado en Chile deberá indicarse expresamente esta condición y el país de origen;
e) número y fecha de la resolución y el nombre del Servicio de Salud que autoriza el establecimiento que elabora o envasa el producto o que autoriza su internación;
f) fecha de elaboración o fecha de envasado del producto. Esta deberá ser legible, se ubicará en un lugar del envase de fácil localización y se indicará en la forma y orden siguiente: (1)
- el día, mediante dos dígitos
- el mes, mediante dos dígitos o las tres primeras letras del mes, y
- el año, mediante los dos últimos dígitos.
En aquellos productos cuya duración mínima sea menor o igual a 90 días, podrá omitirse el año. En aquellos productos cuya duración mínima sea igual o mayor a tres meses, podrá omitirse el día.
La industria podrá identificar la fecha de elaboración con la clave correspondiente al lote de producción. En este caso los registros de esta última deberán estar disponibles en todo momento a la autoridad sanitaria; (2)
g) fecha de vencimiento o plazo de duración del producto. Esta información se ubicará en el envase en un lugar fácil de localizar y con una leyenda destacada. La fecha de vencimiento se indicará en la forma y orden establecido para la fecha de elaboración. El plazo de duración se indicará en términos de días o de meses o de años, según corresponda, utilizando siempre unidades enteras, a menos que se trate de “duración indefinida”, caso en el cual deberá consignarse dicha expresión. Los productos que identifiquen la fecha de elaboración con la clave del lote de producción, deberán rotular la duración en términos de fecha de vencimiento, mientras que los que indiquen expresamente la fecha de elaboración podrán utilizar la fecha de vencimiento o plazo de duración.
Los productos que rotulen “duración indefinida” deberán necesariamente indicar la fecha de elaboración; (1)
h) ingredientes, en el rótulo deberá figurar la lista de todos los ingredientes y aditivos que componen el producto, con sus nombres específicos, en orden decreciente de proporciones; (2)
i) aditivos, se debe indicar en el rótulo la incorporación de aditivos, en orden decreciente de concentraciones, con sus nombres específicos, con las
excepciones indicadas en el título correspondiente;
j) se debe incluir en la lista de ingredientes todo aditivo alimentario que haya sido empleado en las materias primas y otros ingredientes de un alimento, y que se transfiera a éste en cantidad suficiente para desempeñar en él una función
tecnológica;
k) instrucciones para el almacenamiento, además de la fecha de duración mínima se debe indicar en la etiqueta las condiciones especiales que se requieran para la conservación del alimento, si de su cumplimiento depende la validez de la fecha de duración mínima. En caso de que, una vez abierto el envase, el producto necesite de refrigeración u otro ambiente especial, deberá también señalarse en la rotulación;
l) instrucciones para su uso, el rótulo debe contener las instrucciones que sean necesarias sobre el modo de empleo, incluida la reconstitución, si es el caso, para asegurar la correcta utilización del alimento;
m) en el caso de los productos importados, el número y fecha de la resolución del Servicio de Salud que autoriza la internación del producto. Sin perjuicio de lo anterior, tratándose de productos alimenticios de importación habitual, y cuya autorización de importación y consumo sea otorgada por el mismo Servicio de Salud, éste podrá autorizar su rotulación en el país de origen.
Para estos efectos, a solicitud del importador o su representante, el Servicio de Salud emitirá una resolución en la cual autorizará que en las importaciones posteriores a una anterior que se adopte como referencia, el producto alimenticio venga, desde el país de origen, rotulado con el número y fecha de la resolución de autorización de internación y consumo, adoptada como referencia, debiendo figurar, además, el nombre del Servicio de Salud que dictó dicha resolución.
Los productos alimenticios que se importen bajo esta modalidad en materia de rotulación de los envases, deberán traer desde el país de origen una clave indeleble, estampada en el envase, que distinga inequívocamente los distintos lotes o partidas de producción, debiendo cumplir, además, con todas las demás normas de etiquetado vigentes. Su autorización de internación y consumo se efectuará partida por partida, quedando por lo tanto sujetos a todos los controles que la autoridad sanitaria debe realizar conforme a lo dispuesto en el presente reglamento.(1)

O sea, Watt's estaría cumpliendo con todas estas partes de la ley. Por supuesto, eso es lo que esperaría.

Artículo 109.- La información en el rótulo deberá estar en idioma castellano, pudiendo repetirse eventualmente en otro idioma. Los datos deberán señalarse con caracteres visibles, indelebles y fáciles de leer en circunstancias normales de compra y uso. No se permitirá sobreimpresión o cualquiera modificación de la información contenida en el rótulo original, salvo autorización por escrito de la autoridad sanitaria, con excepción de los productos importados cuya rotulación esté en otro idioma o no cumpla con las exigencias del presente reglamento en lo que a rotulación se refiere. (2)

OK, está bien. No tengo problema con esto. Siguiendo con la carta...

5.- Por lo tanto, al indicar en el envase que el producto es 100% Naranja o Frambuesa, según sea la variedad, se cumple con lo establecido en los artículos 107 y 109 del DS 977/96 y no se vulneran los artículos 29 y 33 de la ley 19.496 del consumidor.

Eso no lo entendí, me perdí. ¿Qué es la lógica ahí?

6.- A mayor abundamiento, cabe indicar que con fecha 29 de Septiembre del año 2008, la autoridad sanitaria regional (Seremi Salud RM) realizó una Auditoria sobre Etiquetado Nutricional Obligatoria de los Alimentos (ENOA) al JUGO FRESCO WATT’S 100% NARANJA, logrando una aprobación de 96.7% de cumplimiento, sin que se haya establecido que nuestro etiquetado y rotulación falte a la verdad, como estima particularmente el consumidor.
Es todo cuanto puedo informar y señalar, sin otro particular saluda atentamente a UD.
pp. Watt’s S.A.
Hugo Llanquilef Ortiz

cc. Gerencia Desarrollo y Calidad Watt’s S.A.
Departamento Jurídico Watt’s S.A.

Qué bueno que les haya ido bien con la inspección, pero JUGO FRESCO WATT’S 100% NARANJA es otro producto. De todas formas, se entiende la confusión, porque Watt´s tiene varios productos con la etiqueta "100%", y todos son distintos:
- JUGO FRESCO WATT’S 100% NARANJA es el producto tipo "premium" que contiene naranjas y nada más. Qué bueno, eso es lo que espero cuando un producto proclama ser "100% Naranja".
- "100% Naranja" es el jugo que sale en la foto, donde me parece que el etiquetado es engañosa, porque contiene otros ingredientes que van más allá que lo necesario para reconstituir jugo de naranja del concentrado (en particular, azucar).
- "100% Naranja Light" es jugo de naranjas concentrado, más agua y vitamina C. Aquí tampoco me reclamo, pero sirve como más evidencia que si esto es 100% Naranja, y dicen que lo es, al agregar azúcar no es posible que siga siendo 100% naranja.

Hay otra cosa más. Al parecer, a ese señor se le olvidó menionar el artículo 110 del mismo ley (DS 977/96), que dice:

Artículo 110.- La rotulación y publicidad de cualquier tipo no deberá contener palabras, ilustraciones y otras representaciones gráficas que puedan inducir a equívocos, engaños o falsedades, o que de alguna forma sean susceptibles de crear una impresión errónea respecto a la naturaleza, composición o calidad del producto. Asimismo, no deberán sugerirse ni indicarse efectos terapéuticos, curativos ni posologías.

Eso es todo, por ahora.

Unplug and Reconnect

2008-12-14T23:59:00.002-03:00

Lost Memories

2008-11-01T11:34:00.004-03:00

These are some of the things my son liked playing with when he had just learned to walk and was starting to explore his world. Apparently memories from this age are not easily accessible in later life, because there were no words with which to label and store them. These pictures are an attempt to glimpse the world from the perspective of a very small person.

Good News, Bad News

2008-08-03T23:34:00.005-04:00

There is a saying that no news is good news. This is maybe why some people avoid the news – a lot of it is not good. Some of it is really horrible, and leaves me feeling vaguely queasy for days after reading whatever it was.

A bit like a baby starts on purée and learns to eat increasingly chunky foods, practice and bitter experience have got me accustomed to bad news. Thus I am largely unperturbed by reading about suicide bombings in Iraq, or wedding parties being accidentally bombed by US warplanes in Afghanistan. I’m not indifferent, it is more like numbness, like a sort of local anaesthesia that prevents me from getting too emotional about distant events, no matter how horrible or unjust they may be. It may not be good, but it helps keep me sane. Maybe this is why, as people grow older, they tend to develop fixed ideas and prejudices. They cease to fully assimilate new bits of information, these just get skimmed over and slotted into one or more categories and build up, like tooth plaque or ear wax, over many years.

Sometimes events escape classification and leave me reeling, wanting to know why this, why that, why them, why there… questions that may never be answered. The media are good at telling us what happened, who did what to whom, how, when, and where, but they are less able to answer the many varieties of why that this information provokes. The answers to these questions can take years to emerge, and if they ever do, they may not be considered newsworthy. So, unfortunately, much news is bad news and contributes to making us a little bit more suspicious of strangers, a little more fearful of life, a little more nervous of what the future may bring for us and our loved ones.

Despite this, I am determined not to ignore the news or ignore the world beyond my immediate existence. I need to practice processing the information well, taking it in, digesting it, storing what is useful, and expelling what is not. New media such as blogs and flogs offer a world of smiling babies and real life experiences related with a dose of humour and informality rarely found in the main stream media. This all helps to diversify my information diet so as keep aware of what is going on in the world while relying a bit less on the ingredients and flavours of the traditional media.

We can and should also make things happen. The good news we can make might seem small, like putting a smile on someone’s face, or saying sorry, or learning from our mistakes and doing something better. But I would like to think that all the good things we do add up. If we try hard, and keep going, then taken together all the good things we do must add up to much more than all the bad things, however newsworthy these may be.

A Good Innings

2008-07-20T23:12:00.008-04:00

Little one, I was hoping you would meet your great grandmother Elsie but now it is too late. She got a lot older this year, sort of started living slower and then today she finally stopped. Nearly a century, a very good innings, a very good life. Two children, two grandchildren, one great grandson she only heard on the phone, saying “ah! ah!” and trying to suck the microphone as you always do. She’s gone after Bill who left us a few years ago.

Nana and Granddad in Worcester Park. They moved there when they were young and starting a family, when it was an area of new housing estates for young families, on the edge of London, they told me that in those days you did not have to walk very far to see fields, the countryside on the edge of the city. In those days (must have been the 1930s) very few people had cars, most people who worked in the city would walk down the hill to the station to take the train. People would walk, and sometimes meet other people and talk to them on the way. They soon got to know other people on the street, as they were all new to the area, and their children would play together in the streets. Hazel told me of playing games and of all the friends she made who lived on the same street or not too far away. The neighbourhood was full of people who knew each other; neighbours but also friends and some relatives – Elsie’s sister Nelly and brother George lived close by.

Elsie participated in the Guides group and also in the Church – she was a regular Church goer all her life, and when in the end she was unable to go, people from the Church would come and visit her. As she got older and outlived more and more of her friends and relatives, she grew lonely but the Church was a constant companion. I’m not a believer but I believe they helped a lot, and I believe they do a lot of good.

We lived far away when I was a child and I would see Nana and Granddad only a few times a year, especially at Christmas. I picked up bits of information, learned fragments of their lives, looked at old photographs in any old order. How they remembered the bombings during the war – a house down the road was hit and people were killed. How they and the children sheltered in a bomb shelter they constructed in the living room, with sandbags and other things I forget. How there was rationing and scarcity, how they had to make do and mend. Scarcity, not just during the war. Elsie and Bill both knew real scarcity when they grew up, neither was from a particularly well off family. Elsie told me how they would receive nuts and tangerines, and if they were lucky a comic book for Christmas and they counted themselves lucky. I remember the stocking I would find on Christmas morning, filled with nuts and tangerines and little toys, this was one of the nicest things about Christmas.

I remember being taught at school that a significant part of the human body is water. In Nana’s case, I think that a lot of this was tea. At some point I realised that Nana mainly drank water in the form of tea. One cup for getting up, another cup for breakfast, tea for elevenses, tea after lunch, mid-afternoon tea, tea at tea-time. I reckon that six cups a day would be a conservative estimate. That makes 6*365*80 (presuming she started the habit at the age of 16); approximately 175,000 cups of tea. If loyalty schemes had existed earlier I think she could have earned enough tea miles for a trip to visit the plantations. I’m not sure if coffee ever passed her lips. I’m pretty sure that she never, ever ate a pizza or a curry. Healthy eating was another modern notion that she never swallowed. She not only fried food regularly, but she fried with lard and ate white bread with butter. Not margarine. When her daughter Mary developed Alzheimer’s at the age of sixty something, Nana voiced the suspicion on several occasions that it might have something to do with the amount of salads that she had been eating. For Nana, salad was something to be put on the side of the plate, and could never be a main course.

Elsie knew what she liked, and liked what she knew, especially her garden. She kept a beautiful garden together with Bill who also liked to garden. She even got to know some of the birds who visited to eat the breadcrumbs and drink the water in the birdbath – there was one called Priscilla. She would be out and about by herself until well into her eighties, and only reluctantly accepted help in the garden, and later on help in the home. I don’t think she ever used a walking stick or a hearing aid, unless it was in her last years and I was already too far away to know about it. I remember once we visited a few years ago and watched the last night of the Proms with Nana – she had the volume up so loud that your mum put ear plugs in when she was not looking. I think she hated losing her independence, hated not being able to go out of the house, hated not being able to take care of herself or to do her own garden. But she was grateful to all those who helped her, who accompanied her to the shops or fixed things in the house.

Elsie was not one to keep abreast of the latest technological developments, and those that did get installed in the house – Bill was a bit keener than her - would tend to go unused. The CD player gathering dust in the back room. The mobile phone gathering dust in the front room. The little radio transmitter alarm device around her neck to get help if she fell. She fell in the back garden once and hollered at the top of her voice. No-one came, and she lay there on the grass, shouting again and again until the neighbour came home and heard her. They asked her why she did not press the alarm device around her neck – she had forgotten that she had it. One thing she did use was the talking newspaper and talking books that she would get delivered, when her failing eyesight meant she could no longer read books. They helped to keep her relatively happy when she was spending a lot of time in her own company.

Elsie not only witnessed the second world war, she also witnessed the transformation of her neighbourhood and her country throughout almost a century. Elsie and Bill made some remarks about “coloured” people that some would have said were racist. If this was racism I think it was born of distrust and suspicion of the unknown, and was not born of malice. I have often thought that Granddad Bill died a little sooner after he was taken to hospital and was subjected to an environment full of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar food. In her last year or two Elsie had care workers visit her at home a few times a day, and they came from all sorts of places, including, if I remember rightly, Jamaica. Elsie told me that she generally got on very well with her carers, and that some of them would try to visit at a time when they could spend longer talking with her. In less charitable moments Nana would confess that it was exasperating that sometimes they would not be there at the time when she needed help. In any case she generally enjoyed their company.

The last time we visited, many of the residents of Worcester Park had paved over their front gardens so that they could park two or three cars out the front. I didn’t see any kids playing in the street. The friendly florist at the top of the road who was befriended by Nana had sold up, business had not gone well. Most people were doing their shopping in the big supermarkets and the local shops weren’t getting much trade. So many things changed, yet other things stayed the same. Neighbours would move out, and new neighbours would move in. Elsie would befriend the new neighbours.

Little one, Elsie sent you some presents. They took months to make their way to Chile but they got here in the end. A little furry bear that was hanging in your cot until you got old enough to stand up, grab it and try to bite it. It had little beady eyes that you could swallow so your mum hid it away in a closet. And a useful blue cloth bag that folds up and looks like it came from the Church. Sometimes you have to make do with what there is at hand.

A Bright Idea

2008-02-10T23:59:00.001-03:00

A Horse Called Hope

2008-01-12T23:30:00.001-03:00

Small World

2008-01-06T22:22:00.000-03:00

Unlucky Numbers

2007-12-09T15:08:00.000-03:00

References
Regions of Chile (English)
Regiones de Chile (Español)
'History of Chile, 1808 - 1994' by Simon Collier and William F. Sater, Cambridge University Press, 1996.

Speaking in English Day

2007-11-06T23:25:00.000-03:00

Taking Liberties

2007-11-05T07:57:00.001-03:00

Social Mobility

2007-11-02T00:55:00.000-03:00

Vaccine Nations

2007-11-01T00:04:00.000-03:00

Precious

2007-10-14T23:05:00.000-03:00

Time has flown, LB is already over 2 months old and is rapidly approaching 6 kilos. I am 33, "la edad de Cristo"; the age of Christ as some people have cheerfully remarked. The other day LB was described by the paediatrician as a "lactante saludable", which translates roughly as "healthy baby". My parents say he is a "little cutie". It is true, he is a little cutie, but he is also a lot of work, both physically and emotionally. Me and C both feel guilty sometimes because it is hard to conform to what we think we should be like as parents. LB does not always inspire tenderness and love, although to be fair a lot of the time he does. When he is having a bad time he writhes around in my arms, scratches my face and neck, head butts me and then cries even harder as if I had just hit him. In his happier moments he lies there waving his arms playfully and exclaims "a-ooh" from time to time. The other day C replied "a-ooh" back to him, and he seemed to smile and laugh in surprise. He has been letting us sleep most of the night, for which we are both very, very grateful.

Parenthood must be changing me, but so far these changes seem to be mostly superficial. Before I was an idealistic, introspective, slightly obsessive individual who some would describe as a "space cadet" and now I am still all of the above but also a dad. We both seem to be sneakily trying to keep doing the things we were doing before, but while the baby is sleeping. I am engaged in a perpetual battle against becoming old, and it is already clear that time is going to win. With a sinking feeling I realise that my own parents probably also continued to enjoy the things that they liked when they were younger, and also felt inside pretty much like they did 15 or 20 years ago - and they probably still do. Continuing to do the things I did when I was a teenager does not help much - when I was at school going to concerts was cool because apart from the live music it was sharing something older adults did. Now it is the other way round - when I recently went to a gig, to my horror I found myself surrounded by teenagers.

Time is more precious, less of it to waste. Can't write much, got to be brief. There is only so much that can be done in the gaps between parental duties. Now LB has been put to bed we also need to get to sleep, because he is like a little alarm clock that will wake us up in less than 4 hours. I have started thinking that patience and humour are like muscles, like special types of fitness that need to be developed by stretching them, exercising them. Fortunately me and C have been helping each other to get these qualities into shape for years. Otherwise suddenly caring for a baby would be like trying to run a marathon without any training. I might still feel like a teenager in a grown-up body at times, but I suppose I should be grateful to have reached parenthood only after having accumulated quite a lot of life experience.

A Punk Rock Show

2007-03-25T09:20:00.000-04:00

The Evens supported by Perrosky, Thursday 22 March 2007, Galpón Victor Jara, Santiago, Chile.

The "Galpón Victor Jara" turned out to be exactly what the name suggested - a large shed, with a stage at one of the short ends, a rake of seats at the other, and a large open space in between. I was surprised to find a small bar by the entrance, offering a range of alcoholic drinks - this was the first time I had found such a thing at a live music venue in Chile, barring the Fiestas Patrias marquees which are not typical. Probably about a thousand people could squeeze in if they sold out all tht tickets. I arrived about half an hour early, and was able to get a place at the front, just to the right of the stage. I had been doubtful about whether many people would come, but by the time the support act Perrosky came on stage a good crowd had assembled, big enough to make the place feel cosy without being too stressful.

The mysteriously-named Perrosky turned out to be two men in their thirties, both wearing chocolate-coloured suits and ties. The formality of their appearance was reduced somewhat by their hairstyles, the singer / guitarist having long hair and the drummer having the closest thing to an Afro that I have ever seen on a Chilean. Their music was wonderful, a stripped-down vital mix of rock and blues that got most people tapping their feet and generally enjoying themselves. The lead singer claimed that they were really nervous but it did not show at all once they got going. He also expressed a debt of gratitude to Ian Mackaye of The Evens for having inspired them to set up their own independent record label. They played a short set of six or seven songs, that left me wanting more - I later did what I have not done for ages, and rushed out to buy the album.

The interlude was marked by the usual movements of musical equipment off and on the stage, and was remarkably brief. One of the good things about duos is that it cuts everything down to a minimum. The Evens' set basically consisted of a living-room lamp at each end of the stage, and, er, that was it. The main stage lights were all switched off except for a single overhead spotlight that created strong shadows and made life difficult for those hoping to take photos.

Ian Mackaye and Amy Farina came on stage and The Evens' show started with a brief introductory speech from Ian, who as well as expressing how happy they were to be here in Santiago, said that it was an honour to play in this particular venue, owned by the Victor Jara Foundation, because "his (Victor Jara's) story... proves that music is no f***ing joke". Ian limited his efforts to communicate in Spanish to getting members of the audience who understood English to translate, which was not ideal but things seemed to muddle along quite nicely. He went on to explain that they wanted the concert to be a shared effort between them and the audience, something that unfortunately got lost in the translation (the woman who had been brought up on stage to translate did not know how to translate this and ended up saying something along the lines that they wanted everyone to have a good time together), but nevertheless was gradually put into practice by trial and error. The good thing was that Ian was not shy at all about speaking to the audience as if they all understood perfect English, and I got the impression that quite a large proportion of the message did get through to most people, if only indirectly as those that understood some English translated to their friends.

After requesting the crowd to listen, not talk ("we're a very quiet band, so if you want to talk, go outside") the music started with "Shelter Two", the opening track from "12 songs", their debut album. From where I was standing, the sound was perfect, with the guitar, vocals and drums all sounding distinct and well-balanced in the mix. A few layers of some of the recorded tracks were missing from the live versions of the songs, but the vast majority of the music sounded as good or better live - including the distinctive use of reverb on Amy's bass drum that made the beats echo as if in an enormous cavernous space.

Live, the songs were performed with an energy that is there in the recorded versions but does not come across with such force as it did on stage. Ian played his guitar with such energy that at times it looked like he was going to fall off his stool. Amy somehow managed to sing beautifully and play the drums at the same time, which was impressive - just playing the drums looks like hard work enough.

The audience was called on to collaborate with an "epic fade-out chorus" at the end of "You Won't Feel a Thing" - "Until the day you wake up" (repeat to fade). "What's 'fade out' in Spanish?" - no one knew, but the concept was somehow communicated anyway. We all sang along happily, and received an applause from the stage for our efforts.

There were several points where the sound of people chattering at the back of the hall was uncomfortably loud relative to the music, which clearly annoyed the band, prompting a bit of a telling-off from Ian: "We've come along way to play, people have paid money to hear us play, so please, if you want to talk, go outside ... you are f***ing with our show" Confrontation with elements of his audience has marked Ian Mackaye's career from the hardcore punk days of Minor Threat, whose fans' violent slam-dancing at concerts led to a change of musical style that was Fugazi. Fugazi's audiences were more peaceful but still occasionally featured confrontations between the band and aggressive members of the crowd, who were sometimes marched out of the venue by Mackaye himself. The progressive mellowing-out of Mackaye's music has continued with The Evens, and here the audience was peaceful and amicable, but just would not stop talking! Someone at the front insisted on asking Ian questions just as they were starting a song "Is this really the right moment to ask me that? ... we can talk about that later". Another person would repetitively call out "Full Disclosure" (a track from the last Fugazi album) and laugh at himself as if he had just done something really funny.

Ian commented at one point "we're going to have to ask them to close the bar" and went on to explain that "we normally try to play shows in places where music is not normally played ... because they always want to sell things, which is OK, but where things are sold, people have to talk ... music was here before industry, music was here before the music industry, music was here before the rock music industry, music was here before .. everything, and music's not a f***ing joke". Amy Farina was less talkative but did chip in with "I'm the nasty one, so watch out" and a charming smile when Ian was in mid-rant, saying "I'm not a nasty guy"... this added a much-needed dose of humour to the proceedings and lightened things up a bit.

We were called on to participate once more on "Mount Pleasant Isn't", with the chorus "the police will not be excused / the police will not behave". This song was put into context with the explanation that it was about the 1991 riots in the Mount Pleasant area of Washington D.C., when the response of the police was "like when there is something burning ... and you throw gasoline on it". This was a topic that would have been familiar to most people who have attended a demonstration in Santiago, which almost routinely end in violent clashes between police and demonstrators. It often seems like the use of water cannon and tear gas by the police just tends to exclude the non-violent demonstrators and turns the streets into an arena for running battles with hooded demonstrators armed with Molotov cocktails. We got the opportunity to practice the chorus a few times before the song, which was just as well because the first few attempts did not cut it. By about the third time we achieved the required volume and when our time came in the actual song Ian and Amy looked quite pleased, and we got some more applause for our efforts.

It was not all up-tempo sing-alongs, several of their quieter songs also got played, and I have to say it was almost like hearing them for the first time. In the bustle of day to day life there are times when I tend to not give music the attention it deserves if it does not produce instant gratification. For instance, "Sara Lee", despite suffering from the chattering noise coming from the back of the hall, was a really moving experience performed live, as were several other of the quieter songs. The recorded version of this song features some quiet, tuneful whistling at the beginning, and we were asked to fill in as Ian explained "I can't whistle live". I fear that we were not much better; Amy Farina seemed to be the only person who was up to the job of whistling tunefully.

The concert ended with "Everyone Knows", which was introduced with the words "this song is a celebration of George Bush leaving office (cheers from the crowd) ... governments are like the weather ... bad governemts can knock buildings down, but eventually they go, and the people put the buildings back up again ... there is lots of work to be done". The song did not really need much explanation, and was a joy to jump up and down and sing along to. To all those who are looking forward to the departure of Dubya, I would recommend the album "Get Evens" if only for this song - it perfectly captures the feelings of anger, indignation, frustration, of having been cheated, of wanting justice, and of eventually getting even; building up in a crescendo to the explosive salvo of "you're fired / from a job you should never have had".

By the time the concert was over I had been reduced to a state of dumb-struck bliss, feeling like a teenager again. Ian and Amy came to the front of the stage to meet the fans and my mind went blank, I did not know what to say. Other people seemed more prepared for the opportunity and asked some reasonably intelligent questions. I shook Ian by the hand and mumbled something pretty feeble and idiotic like "great show ... I saw you in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne in 1991 ... any chance of Fugazi getting back together?". He looked at me and I dread to think what he thought of me, but he said "Naah, we don't think like that ... We're The Evens now". Amy mentioned that they were heading on to Buenos Aires in about 5 hours, which would probably explain why they got cracking packing up their equipment after a short while, watched by a crowd of happy fans from the front of the stage.

I was left to float out of the door feeling inspired and with some happy memories, some of them a bit disjointed and out of context, like the point at which Ian said something along the lines of "This is a f***ing punk rock show ... punk is not about your clothes, punk is not about your hairstyle, punk is not even a type of music ... punk is a free space". The concert was memorable for the music but also for the spirit with which they approached the event, of wanting to make the show together with the audience. The song "if it's water" starts with the line "true, even doesn't mean the same as equal" and this idea was put into practice in the way they insisted on their right to play their music without being drowned out by chatter, but on the other hand tried to make us all part of the event, with minimal stage lighting and maximum interaction between the band and their audience.

Cones, Clones, Carrots and Sticks

2007-03-18T16:33:00.000-04:00

Last week, interviewed on a TV breakfast show as part of the celebrations of International Women's Day, President Michelle Bachelet took the opportunity to say that the level of service of Transantiago was unacceptable, and that in 3 days more a raft of measures would be announced that would improve matters. It was quite impressive to hear the word "unacceptable" used so openly, after so many occasions when the transport minister and others had tried to make the problems seem small and almost insignificant, using phrases like "fine tuning" to describe what was needed and saying that they were generally satisfied with the operation of the system. One of the things people tend to like about Bachelet is that she seems honest, speaks frankly, and can be quite informal, departing from convention on occasion. She is not a typical politician. Some commentators criticised her for not breaking off her summer holiday to come back and face the problems of Transantiago. But this distance from the implementation of the system seems to have become an advantage, as now she has been able to frankly criticise its failings where others have been defensive to the extent that they have lost credibility.

Last Saturday a long list of measures (23) was indeed presented, although some of these were things which had been announced previously. Amongst others things the measures included (1):
- the period within which people can make interchanges without paying extra will be extended from 90 minutes to 2 hours
- new express bus services connecting distant neighbourhoods to the main urban centres
- more bus priority lanes, and better enforcement of the existing ones
- the operating hours of the Metro will be extended, with services running from 6am to 11pm
- the Metro company will take on the responsability of running "clone buses"; bus routes that are identical to the routes served by the Metro and that are designed to take the pressure off the Metro at critical periods
- redesign of the system of taxis colectivos (shared taxis), in distant and low-density neighbourhoods, to help people get to the nearest bus stop or Metro station
- improving the frequency of night buses and checking that the services are in fact operated
- improving the public transport information at stops and maintaining the small army of 750 monitors working in the streets helping people
- extending to 400 the number of people monitoring that the bus operators comply with the frequencies and coverage stipulated in their contracts, and taking forward the installation of GPS systems for the same purpose, the GPS being installed in night buses in the first instance
- installation of 30 "payment zones" at key points on the network of trunk routes. These are fenced and gated areas where people validate their tickets before boarding the bus, thus allowing the people to board the long "bendy buses" using all the doors along the length of the vehicle.
- emphasising the penalties that will be used against operators that persistently fail to comply with their contracts, and new legislation that will facilitate the ultimate penalty which would be the cancelation of the concession. In this case the State would have to step in to operate the bus services for an interim period before appointing a new concessionaire. This is mainly aimed at the old-style bus operators (los microbuseros) who were granted the concessions of several of the local "feeder" bus services and one of the trunk routes, as these are the operators who have presented significant noncompliance with the terms of their contracts - especially the number of buses in operation.

This all sounds like it should help, and help is desperately needed. Transantiago has still been dominating the news and it has mostly been bad news. People fainting and having heart attacks on the Metro - one family is bringing legal action against the Metro company after a man in his fifties suffered a heart attack that was apparently related to lack of oxygen, while travelling on the Metro in the rush hour. Women being groped on the Metro - the first man was charged for this offence this week, after a series of shameful incidents which led to some people calling for women-only cars on the Metro. Road congestion related to a sudden surge in enforcement of bus priority lanes, with offending motorists being pulled over by the police and fined. One would expect that the bus priority lanes should also be good news for bus users in the short term, but this did not feature on the TV news - not yet, anyway. Maybe a moderate improvement to bus journey times is not sufficiently dramatic to justify a news feature? I suspect that to the extent that the improvements will take place in small steps and over a relatively long time period, the authorities will struggle to make the good news compensate the negative impact on public opinion caused by the disastrous debut of the system.

This week I started teaching an evening class at Infocap, the Worker's University, and I travelled there by bus and Metro, starting my journey at about 17:30. I was prepared for the worst but apart from passing a group of monitors helping a woman who had apparently fainted and was lying on the floor, the journey was uneventful. Dare I say it, on this particular occasion the journey was easier than it had been before Transantiago, because now I had my network map and knew exactly what buses would take me to my destination. My "Bip" card worked perfectly (just charging me once for the journey involving Metro and bus), and despite the crowd of people waiting for the bus, the bendy bus that arrived after about 5 minutes was big enough for us all with space to spare. This was just at the start of the peak hour, though. My students did not have such a positive impression, however. When recapping the SWOT analysis (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities, Threats), I asked them what Transantiago was. They answered unanimously that it was a threat. It has been an opportunity for some, however - an enterprising graphic designer called Raúl Aguilera has produced a range of t-shirts featuring the Transantiago buses and humourous slogans such as "Sorry boss, I came by Transantiago". He is one of the few people who has appeared on television full of smiles and laughter, urging people to be good-humoured about the situation. Maybe he should be advising the government.

1. Medidas que buscan agilizar el Transantiago, Rodrigo Cerda Quintana, El Mercurio, Sunday 11th March 2007.

Fine Tuning

2007-03-03T11:49:00.000-03:00

The last few weeks have probably been quite unpleasant for many of those dependent on public transport to travel between home and work. I am fortunate enough not to be one of them, so have been watching from the sidelines. But it has been impossible to ignore that some things are badly wrong. For the first few days, the TV morning news showed pictures of enormous crowds of people waiting for buses, people fighting to board buses and people hanging off buses. This was happening at Escuela Militar, where the Metro ends and many people need to continue by bus to get to their places of work. This was in the summer holidays and all the buses were free because the smartcard payment system was not operating - many commentators spoke nervously of what would happen in March when the schools started and people came back to the capital from their summer holidays.

Reporters went on to show how people were having to set off for work hours earlier in the morning, in some cases having to walk many blocks through dark and deserted streets to get to the nearest bus stop. The situation is no better at the end of the day, when some people who work in malls finish work at 11pm and have reported getting back to their homes in the early hours of the morning. This means they are burning the candle at both ends not through any fault of their own, but through the deficiencies of the public transport system.

There have been occasions where the lack of buses has been so bad that the normal order of things has totally broken down. The police stepped in and started transporting people for free on some police buses, armoured khaki-coloured vehicles that are more often seen in action at demonstrations and riots. There has also been some direct action by frustrated travellers: in the first few days when some operators had failed to get all their buses in operation, some travellers blocked the street, took over a bus and demanded that it take them to their destination. This last week a young man got so angry with the on-board smartcard validator that kept rejecting his "bip" card and flashing a red light that he punched it, putting it out of action and landing him in trouble with the law. Meanwhile, the black market in public transport has been developing, with so-called "pirate" mini-buses and supposedly out-of-action old yellow buses exploiting the gap that has been left by the removal of thousands of buses from the system. The police have been working at Escuela Militar during peak hours, helping to cram people onto buses, shutting the doors and signalling to the drivers when it was safe to move off.

It is interesting to note that to some extent, these problems may be a sign of history repeating itself. In a chapter of a recent book on Santiago, I read the following (my translation):

The recent history of public transport in Santiago can be divided in three periods. During the first, which ended in 1979, the State intervened actively as a producer (via the Empresa de Transportes Colectivos) and regulator of fares, routes and operating permits of the private transport companies. During this stage, the scarcity of supply was chronic and the quality of service was low. The social costs of the system were eloquently illustrated in the images - for those with the age to remember - of buses crammed full of passengers, some of whom travelled hanging on to the outside, and of the crowds of people at the bus stops, waiting for the buses that were too infrequent. (1)

It is interesting to note that one of the authors of this chapter was the previous Subsecretario de Transportes of the Chilean government, Guillermo Díaz. In 1979 there were 5,185 buses operating in Santiago. Subsequent liberalisations of the transport market resulted in improvements to the number of buses in operation, which grew to a maximum of 13,698 in 1990. This period had its own problems, in particular an ongoing increase in the public transport fares, and the social costs of congestion, accidents and pollution. From 1991 the State started taking a more active role again, aiming in particular to control and reduce the bus fares to a more reasonable level, fixing a relation between the bus fares and the actual costs of providing the services. From 1991 the number of buses fell gradually to just over 8,000 in 2001. Now, in 2007, Transantiago is operating with 5,600 buses - and despite what is supposed to be a much more sophisticated and optimised network of services, again there has been the sorry spectacle of people hanging on to the outside of buses.

I have so far experienced Transantiago mainly through the eyes of others, but even walking in the streets near the place where I work, it is impossible to ignore the long queues of people waiting for the bus (see photo above). Also, Sra. M. who helps us with cleaning and cooking once a week has been sharing her experiences with us. Whereas previously she had to take one bus to get to work, she now has to take 2 or 3, and the small feeder buses now all pass by full so she has to walk much further to get to the bus stop. It is taking her over an hour longer to get there. And as for the famous multimodal smartcard ticket, tarjeta bip!, that has not worked either: she charged it with $7.000 and the machine on the bus would not recognise it. When she went to complain, they told her they would have to send the card away to the lab to check that it had the amount of money on it that she claimed, before giving her a refund. In the meantime she would have to buy another one. All this as you can imagine would be pretty rough on anyone but to an elderly lady it is intolerable. She lost her temper and told her everything she thought of the system, rounding it off with a threat to bring a bomb the next time that might have landed her in trouble with the law if it had been in the UK or the USA.

Those involved in the planning and implementation of the system have tried to put a brave face on it, the Subsecretario de Transportes declaring on TV that the system was generally working OK and just needed "fine tuning", referring to the coordination of feeder and trunk bus services. One of the planners involved in the design of the system chided the journalists for concentrating always on the points where the system was failing and not mentioning the rest of the system which was, allegedly, working OK. They also reiterate frequently that they will do whatever it takes to make sure that the system works well eventually. It is true that in many respects the new system looks good on paper - there were aspects of the old system that were not working well either, and that Transantiago has been designed to fix. Transantiago offers contracts, fixed wages and improved working conditions for bus drivers. The new franchise holders have contractual obligations to the state and to the transport users. There is now an integrated ticketing system and a separate financial administrator that will pay the operators for their services - bus drivers no longer have to collect the fares. There is now an integrated public transport information system. There is also a service network that has been designed to optimise the use of the buses and to minimise the noise, congestion and pollution that they cause.

However, certain key elements of the original design of the scheme have not materialised - unfortunately this is a bit like building a house and omitting a few key structural elements. In order for the long, articulated "bendy buses" serving the trunk routes to compensate for their lower frequencies with faster journey times, they need exclusive bus lanes that would keep them out of traffic jams. These bus lanes exist on a few roads but have not been implemented thoroughly - I passed one of these the other day and it was clear that many motorists just use it anyway - effective enforcement and/or physical barriers will be needed for these bus lanes to work properly. It was originally visualised that each bus would be fitted with a GPS that would be used to monitor the service frequencies and the compliance of the operators with their contractual obligations. These would appear to be not working yet, because the authorities have had hundreds of monitors in the streets to check that the operators are providing the bus services they said they would. As a result of these two deficiencies, the effective frequencies of the buses on the trunk routes are poor and the journey times are much slower than they should be. Furthermore, the multimodal interchanges that were visualised as part of the original scheme have not been provided yet, and the extent to which the bus services would mesh with the Metro network seems to have been miscalculated - the chief of the Metro has had to appear on TV asking people to use the buses whenever possible because overcrowding on the Metro is much worse than was anticipated at this stage.

In the last few weeks there have been signs of improvement: the smartcard ticketing system did eventually start operations after about a week of free travel and more buses entered operation. The authorities also responded belatedly to the critics who had argued that off-bus ticket validation was needed to speed boarding - a sort of corral was installed at Escuela Militar where people can now date their tickets before boarding. The Metro has started operating from 6am, to synchronise operation better with the buses, and the possibility of it operating to later at night is being studied.

However, so far the main beneficiaries of the new public transport system have been car drivers, taxi drivers, pirate bus operators, cyclists, motorcyclists... A while ago El Mercurio had on its front page a pair of photos showing La Alameda (the main street that goes through the traditional centre of Santiago) before and after Transantiago. Before, the photo shows the street clogged up by a very large number of micros amarrillos (yellow buses). After, the photo shows a scattering of new Transantiago buses, some cars, and enormous stretches of clear asphalt. Car drivers are happy: there is much less congestion, and the vehicle restriction that normally starts in March will not start until April this year. To what extent this will bring environmental benefits is unclear, because experience elsewhere in the world has shown that freeing up extra capacity for cars tends to stimulate extra demand; if that proves to be the case in Santiago then the combined effects of extra road capacity and abominable levels of service on public transport may well accelerate car ownership and use.
Now March is upon us, and the real extent of the problems will become clear over the next few weeks as all the schools start the new year. Many are starting the term later on request of the Government, and some have also changed their normal school hours until the new transport system is working properly. Last year los Pinguinos organised major protests that eventually demanded the attention of the President and changed the government's program. At that time their demands were free public transport for school children, among other things. It does not take a great leap of the imagination to see that if Transantiago continues to cause needless suffering to large numbers of people and knock-on problems to businesses, the demonstrations this year could be much bigger and stronger, with disgruntled schoolchildren, students and workers joining forces. It is also clear that the opposition parties are seeking to make political capital out of the situation any way they can - they have even started setting up special phone lines to listen to users' complaints.

One year in and the new Bachelet government is being attacked on several fronts - several ongoing corruption scandals were causing damage before Transantiago, and now Transantiago is adding to their problems. Many of these problems have their roots in the previous administration of Ricardo Lagos, but still the pressure is on the new government to show that it can effectively deal with these problems and produce practical solutions rapidly. So far it has struggled to stick to its agenda - first la revolución de los Pinguinos, then corruption scandthe Chiledeportes and PGE corruption scandals, and now the fiasco that has been Transantiago, seem to have left them fighting fires and on the defensive.

Curiously, it is not that the government does not have resources - the high price of copper on the international markets has produced enormous profits, a significant chunk of which has gone to the State but has mostly been invested outside the country. While they no doubt have their reasons for doing this, founded on economic theory and such considerations, it does beg the question why, when Chile has so many problems that need solving - in education, health, and transport to name but a few, it is not worth investing a bit more of this wealth in developing practical solutions and improving the quality of life of its people? And even setting aside the question of extra investment, the actual investments that have been made betray a questionable set of priorities - the sums of money invested in the new Line 4 of the Santiago Metro (aprox. US$2,000m), or the new tolled urban motorways (aprox. US$1,800m), were about 10 times the investment in Transantiago (aprox. US$200m), whereas the buses are used by about half the city's population, and the poorest half (2).

1. Díaz, G., Gómez-Lobo A., Velasco A., "Micros en Santiago", in Alexander Gatovic (ed), Santiago: Dónde estamos y hacía dónde vamos, Centro de Estudios Publicos, Santiago, Chile, 2006.

2. Aravena A., "Prólogo", in Alexander Gatovic (ed), Santiago: Dónde estamos y hacía dónde vamos, Centro de Estudios Publicos, Santiago, Chile, 2006.

Transantiago Trauma

2007-02-11T14:43:00.000-03:00

The latest Chilean media frenzy has been Transantiago, the long-awaited new public transport system which started full operations yesterday. For the last month or so there has been a public awareness and information campaign geared towards making people aware of the change and helping them ajust to the new system. The breakfast shows on TV have been giving fairly heavy coverage to the various ways in which the authorities have been trying to inform the population, and the reaction of the people to all this information. There is, for instance, the Transantiago map, which shows all the bus and metro routes for the whole city, with street-by-street route descriptions on the other side. These have been distributed free of charge to the whole city, and it quickly became apparent that some people are not the best at map reading. There is an information hotline. There is a website with journey planner. Despite all this, TV presenters in the streets seemed to have little difficulty finding passers-by with not much of a clue about any of this.

On the other hand, Transantiago is quite a big change. Gone are the yellow buses, gone is cash payment for tickets, gone is the "war of the centavo" with bus drivers racing each other to pick up the most passenger. Gone are the "sapos" (spies) who eked out a living by feeding bus drivers information on the relative positions of competing bus drivers. Bus drivers now have contracts, uniforms and steady wages. Payment is now via the "bip" card, a smartcard that can be used on the buses and on the metro, and that enables the payment of a single fare for a journey with several interchanges lasting up to 90 minutes. In theory. In practice this might have some problems because it depends on a radiocommunication system linking all the buses to a control system, and it remains to be seen how well this will work. The routes have been comprehensively reorganised into trunk routes and local "feeder" routes, and the bus services have been integrated with the underground Metro services. There is now an information system with maps, hotline, interactive journey planner, that should make travel by bus less dependent on experience or luck.

Much of this is definitely progress, although maybe not as much as could have been hoped for. The benefits of the system should include reduced congestion, reduced pollution, better conditions for workers, and improved quality of most aspects of the transport service. The disbenefits may include longer journey times for some people, in part due to lower frequencies and more interchanges. It is not yet clear what the result will be, once all these things have been taken into account. One would hope that the balance will be positive, with the problems gradually being resolved, but it will be some time before all the changes have worked through and the picture becomes clearer.

Yesterday was the first day of full operations, and I went for a trip to try out Transantiago. Bus stops in Providencia seemed more busy than usual, with fair groups of people waiting for buses. Could this be a first sign of lower frequencies on trunk routes? On several occasions I saw buses steam past, with people waving their hands and showing frustration as it passed. Unadventurously I took the Metro into the centre, getting off at Universidad de Chile, right in the heart of the traditional centre, on the Alameda. Here the picture was similar, but with much bigger crowds of people at the bus stops. It was saddening to see the scene of a bus passing without picking up passengers repeated several times. When a bus did stop, people started running a crowding up to it to try to get on. I hoped that this was not how things were supposed to be.

After a while it was time to head back. I plucked up my courage, and took the first bendy bus that arrived (the bendy buses are long single-decker buses that work the trunk routes), reasoning that it was going in the right direction so there was a good chance it would take me to where I wanted to go. I asked the bus driver if my Metro "Multivia" smartcard would work, and was told that all the buses were free that day! On insisting I was told that yes, it should work on the buses. Good, I was pleased. More people crowded on, until the bus was full with people backed right up against the doors. Some things have not changed that much, this was just like the old yellow buses. The driver set the bus in motion. We were crammed on like sardines, but hopefully we were moving in the right direction. Some of the people next to the driver started asking him things and complaining, at which point he started moaning back that whenever things went wrong the drivers always got the blame. I hope this is just teething problems, and not how things will be.

Pretty soon the bus changed course and I realised that I was going to get lost; it was time to get off the bus. The bus drove on for what seemed for a long time before it finally stopped. This is another change from the old system that many people will not like: the buses are only allowed to stop at official stops. The old yellow buses would stop more or less anywhere that someone signalled they wanted to get off. I was a fair way down Avenida Vicuña Mackenna, well off track. There was a group of people clustered in the little available shade at the bus shelter. We waited. A kid was walking up and down the central reservation, trying to sell ice lollies with admirable perseverance. Another Transantiago side-effect - the hundreds of people that used to work on the buses are not legally able to work on the new buses - at least for now. Apparently there is a law in the pipeline that would legalise the situation for a smaller number of salespeople to work on the new buses - probably with badges and uniforms.

We waited some more. I tried calling the information hotline - and was encouraged to find my call answered by someone who after a brief pause was able to tell me which buses to catch to get to my destination. I would have to change at Plaza Italia. After a good half an hour a little girl excitedly exclaimed "Here comes the bus!". And here it was, what a relief.

There was no room to get on at the front. I and several others started moving back, trying the other doors (all of which said "NO ENTRY"). Eventually I managed to get on at the last set of doors, right at the back of the bus. Again, not a good sign. I hope they get the number of buses right soon. It was a Saturday in the middle of the school summer holidays; what would it be like in the Autumn, at the start of the school year?

At Plaza Italia, I headed towards a likely-looking bus stop with a fancy green roof (sign of the larger type of bus stop). This one had a system map, a map showing the layout of the nearby bus stops, and a big poster giving details of the buses that stopped at different parts of the interchange. This would all have been well had it not been for the fact that half of the information showing where the buses stopped was obscured by the frame. I found myself peering between the poster and the frame, trying to make out the bus stop numbers - I could see some of them. In the end I walked up to a group of about six uniformed men who looked like bus drivers at the next stop along, and asked them. I was in the right place. This time there was a bit more space on the bus and the ride back to Providencia was without incident - although everything seems to go smoother when you don't have to pay.

Sunday and Monday are also free travel days - Tuesday will be the acid test for the famous "bip" card. After today's experience, I shudder to think of it. Trying to think positive, it may be that the evident problems with lack of buses and overcrowding will all be sorted out in the short term. But there are some things related to the design of the system that will be more difficult to resolve. The old yellow buses were ugly and noisy and polluting but they were fast and gave passengers what was virtually a door-to-door service. They have now been replaced by machines that are more modern, less polluting, and that do not race each other. But unfortunately this will probably mean for many people a substantially longer journey from home to work and back. There is also at least one of the new large bus franchise holders that has been foolhardy enough to install turnstiles on their buses, for the sake of revenue protection. I doubt that making public transport users suffer will protect their revenue in the long term. If this new system results in disillusionment with public transport, it will just hasten the rise of car ownership. This would mean extra car traffic rapidly filling up the extra road space that was freed up by removing hundreds of old yellow buses, and that would be very unfortunate.

Una de esas pequeñas cosas buenas

2006-12-23T12:41:00.000-03:00

"Jóven, jóven", me gritó el señor que cuida los autos, mientras yo iba caminando rumbo a la casa, perdido en mis pensamientos. Me dí vuelta y ví que la chica que empacó las bolsas venía detrás de mí, llevando una bolsa: "Se te olvidó esto" me dijo, sonriendo. "Ah, gracias..." Era una botella de vino que había comprado por si acaso. Fui a la casa un poco molesto conmigo mismo por ser tan volado e inconsciente, comprando cosas ricas para dejarlas botadas. Por otro lado, me sentí feliz por el sencillo acto de gentileza y honestidad que había recibido a cambio de mis doscientos pesos, y porque me habían llamado "jóven".

Heaven or Hell

2006-12-13T00:49:00.001-03:00

He's finally gone. In a predominantly Christian, catholic nation the differences in opinion on whether he's going up or down are striking. His supporters' argue various things but briefly, they say that he saved Chile from becoming a second Cuba, and that the free-market economic policies put in place by his regime laid the foundations for the Chile of today. His opponents argue, amongst other things, that the coup d'etat in 1973 overthrew a democratically elected government replacing it with a brutal dictatorship, responsible for executing and disappearing thousands of dissidents, and torturing or sending into exile thousands more. The fact that there was chaos under the Unidad Popular government of Salvador Allende is less controversial: there was chaos. But the causes of this chaos (to what extent the CIA and the Chilean business class were involved in stirring it up) and what would have happened in the absence of the coup are still points of controversy between the pinochetistas and their opponents. There is strong evidence that far from preparing for a totalitarian regime, in the days prior to the coup, Allende was planning to call a plebiscite that would have led to fresh elections and probably a government led by the Christian Democrats.

On Sunday one band of demonstrators gathered at the Hospital Militar to show their support for their fallen hero, singing, chanting, waving flags, holding pictures of the recently deceased. Meanwhile his opponents congregated at Plaza Italia, the traditional meeting point for massive demonstrations and post-match celebrations. As a foreigner living in Chile I was curious and decided to go to see both demonstrations.

First stop, the pinochetistas. I locked my bike up and could already hear people chanting. I was surprised to come across a group of vaguely punkish young people on the street corner chanting what sounded like a football chant: "CHI CHI CHI LE LE LE VIVA CHILE PI NO CHET". I would later hear the same chant used by his opponents, but with different words, not in the least complementary. I am pretty sure it is a football chant. Round the corner, in front of the hospital, there was a crowd of a few hundred people behind safety barriers, holding pictures and placards, waving flags, singing and shouting. The atmosphere was heavy with sadness, anger and aggression. Some middle-aged women held a small banner proclaiming "You saved Chile - today God opens heaven's door for you". I tried standing in the crowd but felt uncomfortable, and edged away to where several other people were taking photos. I did the same until I started overhearing a man saying nasty things coming in our direction: "spies ... stealing information ... seeing who's here ... they should go to Plaza Italia where all the other thieves are". The irony of a pinochet supporter complaining about people spying was not lost on me. This was no idle nastiness, though: we had earlier seen on TV how some of the pinochetistas had thrown coins at the reporters and shouted at them to leave.

Next, Plaza Italia. Here there were many more people, and many more police. The nucleus of early demonstrators that I had seen on TV had swelled and now the street was full of people, doing much the same sort of things as the other lot - waving flags, singing, holding pictures and placards - but there was an atmosphere of celebration, mixed with sadness and anger in some quarters. The flags were more diverse here: as well as the Chilean national flag there were many party and political flags particularly the Communists and the Socialists. Many banners and placards featured the faces of those who were executed or disappeared during the years of the dictatorship, in particular president Salvador Allende, who killed himself rather than surrender on September the 11th 1973, when he was betrayed by the commander in chief whom he had appointed. Several people were standing on top of one of the bus shelters, where a small sign had been stuck that said: "He died unpunished: murderer!" This was a common theme in a lot of graffitti that was freshly daubed on the walls that afternoon: justice and punishment. A large banner featuring the colours and logo of one of the local football clubs stated rather optimistically: "Not one step back: justice and punishment". After a while, a sound system arrived on a pickup and people started dancing and jumping: "He who doesn't jump is Pinochet" - a typical chant from the protests in the 1980s. One of the kids on the roof of the bus shelter was banging his fist on the metal roof in some sort of rhythm, the structure was swaying.

As the afternoon proceeded, relatives of the dead and disappeared led a march down the main street the Alameda to the Moneda (the presidential palace), and I started to see some people cracking open bottles of champagne. One man, smiling, was holding aloft a large portrait of Salvador Allende, and holding up a bottle of champagne in the other hand. On the way down the Alameda, we passed quite a lot of fresh graffitti. Some of the messages were relatively philosophical: "Your Karma never dies; you will pay for everything". Others, angry and vengefull: "You went to hell, maggot". These two messages were written on the walls of the Edificio Diego Portales; built during the Allende government as a cultural centre, it later became a centre of operations of the Pinochet dictatorship. After rallying outside the Moneda for about an hour there was a movement in the crowd and people started moving - quickly. Soon I saw why - the special forces had swung into action with their watercannon (mounted on an armored vehicle known locally as the "guanaco" - a type of llama that spits when angry). It was time to go home - for all but the most diehard and aggressive of the protestors, at least. Shortly after the sheets of water cut through the air I got my first - and hopefully my last - taste of teargas. It was definitely time to go home. Eyes streaming, I made my way back up the Alameda in the direction of Plaza Italia. Looking back, silhouetted against the road glowing in the rays of the setting sun I could see people throwing objects at the armoured vehicles. So these were the detested "violent elements" that regularly destroy public infrastructure and fight with the police and special forces, hiding their faces with hoods and masks (which also have the practical function of reducing the impact of teargas).

I am an atheist and as such don't believe in heaven or hell. I can see why some people do, though. Neither his supporters nor his opponents believe that justice was done on earth. One lot think he is away up to heaven, the other lot is convinced he is off down to hell. His supporters wanted a day or more of national mourning to be declared in his honour as an ex-president of Chile. In the end the government denied this claim, pointing out - and rightly so - that he was never a democratically elected president. He did get military honours as ex-commander-in-chief of the army, though. His opponents wanted to see him behind bars if only for one hour. In 16 years the Chilean justice system proved itself incapable of passing sentence on this most infamous of dictators. To some extent his death echoes the events of 1999 when he escaped the clutches of the international justice system that had caught up with him in London. He has definitively escaped the justice system this time: all legal against him will now be shut down.

So while I and many others would normally find it nasty and tasteless to celebrate someone's death, in this case I can see why some people make an exception.
This was the death of one man, believed by many to be ultimately responsible for the torture, execution and exile of thousands of his opponents. He was ruthless to his enemies even after they were dead, denying the wishes of the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda who had wanted to be buried by the sea at his house in Isla Negra. Neruda had to be buried in Santiago. Many of his opponents simply disappeared, leaving their loved ones haunted and restless ever since. So I can understand why some would probably dance on his grave if they could. They won't get the chance, though, because - perhaps with this sort of possibility in mind - he was cremated.

Strong divisions still mark Chilean society today. The demonstrations I witnessed on Sunday made it easy to imagine how in certain circumstances chaos and violence could break loose. The hardline right-wing and left-wing groups both sing the national anthem and wave the Chilean flag, but they do so looking in different directions, with different hopes and ideals in their hearts. The Chile they have in mind is only geographically the same country. While one group were crying with grief the others were only crying because of the effects of the tear gas. They chant the same football chants but with different words. One lot are sure they will see Pinochet in heaven, the other lot are convinced he is going to hell.

Noisy Neighbours and Nosy Neighbours

2006-12-10T11:07:00.001-03:00

Having endured the thundering noise of buses on cobblestones for months, we wanted to live in a quiet street. We were lucky and found a place in a really quiet street. What I did not know at the time is that, like many things, noise is relative. I had read about cases where people living next to railway tracks had got used to the noise of the trains. But there is nothing like personal experience to learn something. Now we don't have the buses, and live in a quiet street characterised by generally elderly residents, other noises we did not even notice before have taken prominence, and the noisier residents make themselves known.

We are not very noisy but possibly slightly noisier than average. I like to listen to the radio and play music in the mornings to wake me up. I keep expecting someone to complain when I turn the volume up so that I can hear the music in the bathroom, but no-one does. In March when Bachelet won the elections we felt the need to celebrate the election of Chile's first female president, and went out on the balcony to do a toast. I felt quite self-conscious because we seemed to be the only ones celebrating; the street was so quiet it was almost intimidating.

Some Argentinians with a little boy called Lucas live in the building next to us: I know this from C who is often at home during the day and routinely hears the cry "Luuuucas!". C even knows them by sight now, having heard "Luuuucas!" in the local supermarket.

Recently some English people have moved into the building next to us; one night when we could not sleep they were out on the balcony and I could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying. I considered asking them to talk more quietly but could not bring myself to do it; they were not actually being very noisy, it was just that there was very little background noise.

The building diagonally across the road from us has some gringos on the 10th floor. We know this because we have heard them shouting "goddamn" and other gringoisms when they occasionally throw a noisy party. Once they were playing electronic dance music and turned the volume right up at about 3am; on top of this there were girls out on the balcony, dancing and shrieking happily. We could see how one by one all the lights in the neighbouring flats came on, and someone must have gone to complain because after a while they turned the music down again. They seem unperturbed about being the only noisy ones in a building of about 60 flats. Once I could make out the music they were playing - Metallica and Iron Maiden - and this time there were no female voices to be heard. On occasions people have arrived by car at about 3am with the stereo blaring, shouting drunkenly over the top of it. The gringos are the prime suspects.

It is spring, and the birds in the trees start tweeting and twirping at about 6am. But the birds are not the noisiest of the early risers. For the last few weeks we have been woken up by a noise like a small foghorn coming from one of the neighbouring flats. I suppose it is a bit like singing, some people have a good singing voice and other people don't. This person has a nose which seems to have special acoustic properties. C calls him "the trumpet player"; we suspect it is a man but can't be sure. I'm all in favour of people keeping their noses clean but unfortunately this person wakes us up in the process. Friday was a public holiday and mercifully the trumpet player was away town Friday and Saturday; many people go out of town on the long weekends. But today they were back, playing their trumpet and waking us up at 9:30. On weekdays the performance is at about 6:30, after the dawn chorus but before my alarm, and I have started slipping into the nasty habit of getting out of bed, turning off the alarm, and falling back into bed again.

Enough is Enough

2006-11-17T19:13:00.001-03:00

Sometimes I tolerate something bad a long time before doing something about it. Even if it is something that bothers me every day.

On my way to work there is a road junction where the traffic lights for pedestrians are dangerously out of synch with the traffic lights for the drivers. Two main roads cross at an acute angle (like a pair of scissors with the blades just barely open), resulting in several vehicle movements where the distance from the vehicle stop line to the pedestrian crossing on the other side of the junction is much longer than normal - it must be at least 20 metres. This means that drivers seeing the amber light are faced with the typical dilemma of whether to speed up or slow down, and many choose the former course of action. These people step on it, but before they get to the other side the green man has already appeared for the pedestrians. As I'm sure you can imagine, this is quite a dangerous situation.

In case the imagination needs some help, and striving to keep abreast of the never-ending sequence of wonders that the internet offers us, I have uploaded some short video clips to illustrate the problem. In the first of these, taken last night at about half past nine at night when the traffic had died down a bit, a cyclist gets quite close to a sticky end. This is probably the most dangerous point of the whole dodgy intersection, because when you are waiting to cross the road, as this cyclist is, the traffic is coming from behind you and to your right. Fortunately he has the good sense, or experience, not to trust the green man and to look over his shoulder before crossing.

Not satisfied with my first effort, I took the second video this morning, on my way to work. This shows the situation in the rush hour, when I saw not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE cars cross the pedestrian crossing at speed when the green man was on.

The third and final video (for now) was taken on my way back to the office after lunch, on a different leg of the junction, with a medium traffic level. Note the nice men in the van who shouted at me as I filmed them. They didn't have licence plates on it either, tut tut.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, and my little camera in video mode takes ten frames per second, then my three video clips must be worth about 150,000 words. So why go on? Only to mention that we have written to the Traffic Control Unit about the situation (I have a colleague who used to work there), sharing the video evidence with them. They seemed to take this reasonably seriously and have said they will take a look at the problem next week and let us know what can be done. In the event that these promising words translate into an absence of concrete action in the coming weeks, I may have to consider other ways of generating pressure to act.

At the moment I am quite optimistic that they will be able to solve the problem relatively easily, but we will have to see. It is a busy intersection and it will probably not be trivial to solve the problem without getting either longer traffic queues or less green time for the pedestrians. As the green time for pedestrians is already about as short as it can be, they will probably be faced with the need to shorten the green time for the vehicles, which will reduce the traffic capacity of the intersection. This will inevitably make drivers unhappy, but between delaying rush-hour drivers a little bit more and putting the lives of pedestrians at risk, I would have thought the former must be the lesser evil.

The Glories of the Army

2006-09-19T21:42:00.000-04:00

Today was "Día de las Glorias del Ejercito" (Day of the Glories of the Army), and the army, navy, air force & police paraded most of the day in different parts of the capital. I have recently been bitten by the shutter bug and yesterday, in a moment of madness I suggested to my wife that we should go to watch one of the military parades in the evening - thinking that there would be a few good photo opportunities. Today I had more or less forgotten about the idea and was enjoying an after-lunch snooze when I was woken up by my wife - "the military parade is on the telly if you'd like to watch it". I grunted something and tried to go back to sleep but to no avail - the sounds of marching bands from the TV and of aircraft flying overhead conspired to keep me awake. I surrendered myself to wakefulness and went to join the rest of them who were watching the main military parade in Parque O'Higgins on the TV.

I don't know if it was put on for my benefit but in any case we all made an effort to make the most of it. My wife had got her knitting out, and I could not blame her. I started to see the attractiveness of knitting - somehow it is socially acceptable to knit in situations where it would seem antisocial to start reading a book. My father-in-law seemed to have been struck by the same idea - he was occupying himself unpicking a bunch of yarn that had got all tangled up. To be honest, there were some interesting things about the marching bands. For instance, it was the longest uninterrupted piece of Chilean TV broadcasting I have ever watched - normally there are adverts mixed in with the programming in roughly even proportions. Not this time: we were treated to approximately 2 hours of pure military parade viewing pleasure. I wondered whether this was an indication that the armed forces still inspire more than just respect in Chile - not even televised events of major national importance such as the presidential debates had been transmitted in their entirety free of commercial breaks.

I must say that the marching achieved its objective if this was to impress with the scale and discipline of the Chilean armed forces. It was not too long before I was thinking "gosh, they've got a lot of soldiers", and I must say I was also impressed that despite seemingly endless twirling of batons and beating of drums nobody seemed to drop their baton or let a drumstick slip. Not even the mounted soldiers who were beating their drums whilst "handling" (or should that be footling?) the reins with their feet. I was also very impressed by the mountain rescue soldiers who paraded accompanied by Saint Bernard dogs - who also seemed to behave like highly disciplined soldiers.

Perhaps sensing that I was close to dozing off, I was told that this was an abbreviated version of the parades that took place during the Pinochet military dictatorship. In those days the budget for the event was significantly larger: the parades would go on from the early afternoon until after dark, and the pomp and splendour would be reinforced by tanks and other armoured vehicles. The conversation turned to how these days, the only members of the armed forces who actively interact with the population at large are the Carabineros (police), whose training includes such useful things as how to deliver a baby if a mother cannot be got to hospital on time. Definitely something else to be happy about.

September, Month of Contrasts

2006-09-12T23:38:00.000-04:00

We are almost half way through September, a month that is laden with significant dates for Chileans. A month of contrasts: remembrance and celebration, conflict and unity.

The 7th of September is the day that in 1986 members of the Frente Patriótico Manuel Rodriguez tried and failed to assassinate General Pinochet near his country house in the valley El Cajon del Maipo. Five of his guards were killed as his convoy was attacked with machine guns and bazookas. Some say that the failed assasination did speed up the return of democracy to Chile, if only because of the shock and outrage caused by the military regime's brutal retaliation the following day. On the 8th of September 1986 many people associated with the opposition were rounded up and four were killed.

The 11th of September 1973 was the day of the military coup, when the the presidential palace La Moneda was bombed by the armed forces and Presidente Salvadore Allende died resisting the attack. This was not the first time that Santiago was attacked on this day. On the 11th of September 1541 Santiago was sacked and burned by Mapuche tribesmen led by Michimalonco, perhaps it was not entirely a coincidence that the plotters chose the day they did for the coup.

This year, the remembrance activities started on Sunday the 10th with a march to the Cementerio General that was marked by clashes with the police, as it is most years. This year the mayor of Recoletta, the district on the route of the march, ordered all public infrastructure that could be removed to be taken down and stowed out of harm's way. Last night (the night of the 11th) there were also violent clashes between civilians and the police: this morning the news was full of stories of gunshots, molotov cocktails, water cannon, bonfires, looting, people arrested and people injured. On the news they interviewed the spokesman of the Frente Patriótico Manuel Rodriguez and asked him whether he justified the act of throwing a molotov cocktail at the presidential palace La Moneda. He replied that they understood the motivation for doing it and that they justified any act carried out of people belonging to the social movements. Not a particularly tactful response, but then he is not a highly paid defense lawyer. Unlike Pinochet's lawyer, who, when asked recently about the atrocities commited by the security forces during the military dictatorship, replied with words to the effect of: "we can't justify them, but we can understand why those people might have done those things".

Now, of course the 11th of September is also remembered for the attacks on New York and Washington, but one grim anniversary does not cancel out another one: in 2001 the request by North American students living in Santiago that the Chilean government should change the name of Avenida 11 de Septiembre was politely but firmly turned down.

After so many grim anniversaries it is with some relief that the second half of the month is a time of celebration and happiness. The national flag is popping up on buildings all across the town, perhaps due in part to the fact that on the 18th patriotism is virtually a legal obligation: there is a law that says every public building and private house must fly the flag, with failure to comply being punishable by a fine.

The 18th of September is the anniversary of the first Chilean government which met for the first time on this date in 1810. "El Dieciocho" (the eighteenth) is the Chilean Independence Day and is celebrated with energy and enthusiasm, together with the 19th which is also a public holiday known as "Day of the Glory of the Army", with military processions and more general festivities. These two days are known as "Fiestas Patrias" and people enjoy many traditional activities such as dancing the national dance La Cueca, drinking a sweet acoholic drink called Chicha, eating a traditional sort of meat pasties (empanadas de pino), amongst others.

Finally, the last weekend in September is known as "El Dieciocho Chico" (the little eighteenth) because the scale of the Fiestas Patrias the normally leads to a general overstocking of food and drink, to such an extent that another weekend of partying is needed to eat and drink it all.

Pills, Papers and Statistics

2006-09-11T22:22:00.001-04:00

Since the sixties there is a popular saying in Chile about El Mercurio, the only "serious" Chilean paper: "El Mercurio miente" (El Mercurio lies). To put El Mercurio in context, imagine what it would be like if in the UK if there was only the tabloids, the Financial Times and The Telegraph. Well, that is roughly what the situation is in Chile, except that El Mercurio is probably more right-wing than The Telegraph. I am not an expert on the British papers - I only ever read one of them - but I liked the feeling of having a choice, and of feeling to some extent represented in the spectrum of opinions churned out by the media.

Anyway, the headline of El Mercurio's sunday supplement brought to mind another saying: "There are lies, damned lies, and statistics". The headline in question was "The people say NO to: the morning after pill at 14 without parent's permission / supporting Hugo Chávez / atomic energy". This three-pronged assault on present Chilean government policy was supported by the data of an exclusive survey that, on closer examination, began to appear rather suspect.

The survey consisted of 400 telephone interviews to people over 18, residents of Greater Santiago, with kids at school, who agreed to participate, and who had a land-line telephone in the house. They rang up to 4 times, and got a completed interview for 6 out of every 10 selected households.

What most annoyed me was the bit about having a telephone. To those of you living in "developed" countries there might seem nothing much wrong with this, so I will try to put it in context. At the end of 2004 there were 22 land-lines per 100 people in Chile, compared to 57 in the UK and 60 in the USA. According to the latest census (2002), just over half (51.5%) of Chilean homes had a land-line telephone. It is likely that this proportion will have grown somewhat over recent years and a fair estimate would be that presently approximately 57% of Chilean homes have a land-line telephone. The flip-side of this is that at least 43% of Chilean homes don't have a telephone, and weren't eligible for inclusion in the El Mercurio survey.

None of this would matter too much if it wasn't for the fact that the 43% of households that don't have land-line telephones include the majority of the poorest households in Santiago. Certain sectors of Chilean society are kicking up a fuss about the morning-after pill because they tried to get it banned but failed, and now the government is in the process of making it available free of charge at public health centres to all women and girls aged 14 and over, with or without their parents' permission. This would mainly benefit those people who can't afford to buy the pill in a pharmacy, where it has been on sale for months. If El Mercurio is not lying it is seriously misleading, because it says "the people" when what it means is people in upper- and middle-class households who could buy the morning after pill if they really needed it.

Another One

2006-09-07T20:32:00.000-04:00

The other day in the office our boss, Graciela, sent us all an e-mail inviting everyone to the meeting room at 13:00 to tell us some "news". This made everyone nervous because this had happened twice before in the last two months. It had been exactly the same when Alejandro had announced he was leaving, and also when Felipe had announced he was leaving. As a consequence of reduced numbers we were all having to work extra hours, and another departure did not bear thinking about. It was hard not to speculate what, or who, the news would be about. When we were all gathered in the meeting room, Graciela's eyes swept the room as she said "it is Josefina who has the news". The nervousness reached its crescendo...

Josefina gave a big smile and said "you can all congratulate me, because I'm pregnant!" The collective happiness was mingled with a palpable sense of relief.

Sunrise

2006-07-20T23:57:00.000-04:00

This is the first week that I can remember having seen the sun rise twice. If all goes well I will be on holiday tomorrow, which will be nice. It seems a bit frivolous to be looking forward to a holiday where in other parts of the world people are facing terror, death, poverty, disease, war etc. But on the other hand, the ubiquitousness of grim news and all the riders of the apocalypse should not be enough to prevent our lives occasionally being brightened by happiness and laughter.

Look what we're breathing

2006-07-10T22:25:00.000-04:00

I've just spent been trying to pick the photos which best express the full disgustingness of the smog that hung over Santiago today. This is a topic I have written about before (here and also here), but I will keep coming back to it until it stops bothering me. After due consideration these are the ones I've come up with.

And this was after a few days of rain which everyone looks forward to because it cleans the air. What's really got me worried is that the government body charged with monitoring the air quality and declaring environmental alerts apparently considers that this level of air quality is "good".

This makes me wonder whether they are measuring the right thing, in the right places, and are interpreting the data correctly. To be fair, there are plans underway to improve the monitoring network and the metropolitan anticontamination plan. But I do wish they would hurry up with it! A bit of London-style congestion charging would probably do no harm, while they are about it, although I suspect this may still be some way off. As far as people are concerned, I get the impression that most of them ignore the smog and go about their lives as if it was nothing to do with them. About a month ago, when we were suffering one of the worst episodes of smog, which had actually been oficially decreed an "alert", I overheard a conversation in the lift where one man was telling his colleague about how he was going to drive home to have lunch with his family. I felt as shocked and indignant as if he had lit up in a no-smoking area, but I stayed silent.

Residential Segregation in Santiago

2006-04-26T23:09:00.000-04:00

"For in every state there are two hostile nations, rich and poor, which you may set one against the other." - Plato, The Republic.

Santiago is a geographically segregated city. The principal symptom of this segregation is that different neighbourhoods - and even groups of neighbourhoods - are made up of households of similar income. To a greater or lesser degree this can be seen in most cities. In Santiago the process of physical separation of different groups in society is much more extensive than I have seen it elsewhere.

A few days ago some of my colleagues were discussing attitudes about different parts of Santiago. Territories. It was that strange sort of conversation that is at once full of laughter and completely serious. One mentioned that years ago, at university, a German lecturer had tried to get across the idea of how terrible the Berlin wall had been. "Imagine", they had said, "an enormous wall cutting North to South across Santiago through Plaza Italia". This image totally failed to impress the majority of the students, as most of them lived in the wealthy eastern suburbs of the city, rarely going west of Plaza Italia anyway. Had such a wall existed, it would not have caused them too many problems although it might have added inconvenience to their occasional trips to the airport or to summer houses on the coast.

Plaza Italia was for much of the last century a symbol of the invisible dividing line between the wealthy "Barrio Alto", that extends from close to the centre eastwards up towards the Andes, and the rest of Santiago. As the years have passed it seems that this type of invisible boundary has multiplied, as many wealthy families move ever further up towards the Andes, where land is relatively cheap and large houses can be built. Another colleague mentioned that some people talk about "going down to Alto Las Condes" (Alto Las Condes is a large mall that hosts many expensive shops, located in one of the wealthier districts on the eastern side of Santiago); implying that they live so far up towards the Andes that this is a significant trip for them. Other people talk about the Américo Vespucio motorway as if it more or less marked the outer limit of their territory (the territory in question being the up-market neighbourhoods of Las Condes, Vitacura, and Lo Barnechea).

I have just been to a seminar at Infocap, "The Worker's University", where there were two speakers. The first was a sociologist, who presented lots of facts and figures to characterise the poorest quintile of the Chilean population. The second was an ex-student of Infocap who is currently a volunteer at the same institution, who told of her own experience of life in this segment of the society. She is a single ("spread the word", she joked) mother with eight (8) children, aged six and up. Her speech was direct and hard-hitting, asking for solidarity with the poor and on-going responsability to the poor: "we expect a lot of you, your parents have invested a lot in you, and we - through the state of Chile - have invested a lot in you too". One of the things she said was that the dividing line between the rich and the poor in Santiago is not at Plaza Italia, "it's further down than that" (meaning further away from the Andes) - which is more or less the opposite of the perspective shared in the social circles of my work colleagues. This contrast in points of view highlights the gulf separating the richest and the poorest in Chilean society. My colleagues are not ultra-rich, but many of them would belong to the top decile of households in terms of their income. The difference between the per capita income of the top decile and the bottom decile in Chile was commented on in an earlier post.

The sociologist mentioned that one of the risk factors related to poverty is simply being unlucky enough to have been brought up in a neighbourhood that is stigmatized for poverty and all the social problems that go with it. This is about as unjust as it comes: on top of being brought up in less than ideal conditions, young people then suffer prejudice because of where they come from, regardless of how able, amiable or well-educated they might be. Employment discrimination based on factors such as where a person lives is illegal under Chilean law, but sadly it still seems to be quie prevalent. For instance, a recent inspection of 7369 job adverts by the government Work Directorate found that 12% specified illegal selection criteria (asking for a photo, or specifying age, sex, physical appearance, etc.). This is just the tip of the iceberg: most illegal job selection procedures will never come to light. I have heard several accounts of people working in human resources in Santiago who have been asked to do an initial filter of job applicants based on where the prospective candidates live, amongst other factors such as their school and / or university.

The process of physical segregation in Santiago has not unfolded by accident. For many years there has been a process of immigration to the capital from rural areas and other regions of Chile. The most vulnerable of these immigrants will have ended up living in makeshift accomodation on marginal land, either on the edges of town or on land undeveloped for other reasons - the floodplains of the the River Mapocho for instance. For many years, every year certain parts of Santiago flood and it is always the poorest areas which are the worst affected. The process of physical segregation was given a big push forward under the military dictatorship of General Pinochet. The following map shows the scale of the military government's programme of relocation of settlements. It has been borrowed from http://revistaurbanismo.uchile.cl/n1/2.html , where further details are available in Spanish.

Between 1979 and 1985, approximately 30,000 families were forcibly relocated from campamentos (shanty-towns) principally in the wealthy districts of central Santiago, Las Condes, La Reina, Providencia and Ñuñoa to peripheral areas in the south and west of the city, such as the present district of La Pintana. This at the time was a semi-rural area where there was lots of cheap land available for cheap and basic social housing developments. Some of the families were given small, basic homes, others were given the "self-build" option and a piece of land with the basic infrastructure connections (water, sewage, electricity).

It is enough to look at a street map to see that the often numerically similar residential densities of poor and wealthy neighbourhoods can hide an enormous difference in the type of construction. Poor neighbourhoods are characterised by a dense network of narrow streets (so narrow that their names have to be printed extra-tiny on the map for them all to fit on) with few trees and no grass, and minimally sized houses mostly of one single floor and a few rooms. On the other hand, the wealthy neighbourhoods of equivalent residential density are made up of wide, tree-lined avenues lined with solidly built blocks of flats. The further one goes up into the "barrio alto", the more extreme the measures of security become. Tower blocks and "condominiums" with metal railings, CCTV and security guards ("concierges") gradually give way to houses surrounded by walled guardens with signs saying "mind the dog" (in Spanish, obviously). And they all have dogs, most of them enormous, formidable types. In both cases, people who are from the other side of Santiago are noticed: in the "barrio alto" they are noticed by the security guards and by the guard dogs. As for the more "popular" neighbourhoods (as they are euphemistically referred to), if you don't live there and don't know people who do, friends or family gently suggest that you should not go there, because you will be a target for theft or maybe worse.

What are the effects of residential segregation? The most obvious negative impacts affect the poor families who live far from potential jobs and markets, surrounded by others in equally difficult circumstances, and often in neighbourhoods were some opt for the "easy" money offered by the drugs trade and other forms of crime. Many of these people have to spend a long time on a bus to reach their precarious employment that pays them a minimal wage. On the other hand, those who live in the wealthy neighbourhoods live in an environment that is slightly unreal. Things are clean and modern. They can get everything they need without straying too far from the comfort zone that is populated mainly by people like them. But there is a downside. They live everyday with fear and distrust for those who are not like them, fears that are fed by daily doses of news stories about shootings, robberies, murders, rapes and other horrific incidents. Nannies and cleaning staff are kept on a tight leash lest they steal or commit other unsavoury acts. Most of their kids are ferried to and from school by car. Surely it can't be healthy to have so much separation, fear and distrust in a society, can it?

Yesterday the TVN television programme "Animal Nocturno" showed a candid camera following the ex-presidential candidate Sebastián Piñera who had been dressed up as a homeless person. He tried to attend a meeting at Chilevision, the TV channel that he owns, but was turned away. He was also turned away from another meeting at one of the government ministries. At the end of the day he went to his own flat, where he knew that a dinner was to be held, and begged for help as several friends and family members walked past on their way to the dinner. The only ones who gave him something were one of his brothers (who is an Archbishop), who gave him $100 (that's 100 chilean pesos, about 10p or a quarter of a dollar) and his son, who also gave him $100 and a piece of chocolate ("that's all I have", he said). Nobody recognised him, not even his wife of thirty years. Later, when questioned about his experience, he mentioned that the degree of rejection and distrust he had felt was more or less proportional to the wealth of the individuals in question. Probably the worst thing about residential segregation is that it tends to perpetuate itself. Segregation leads to fear, distrust and prejudice of those who are not like ourselves, and these attitudes tend to maintain or exacerbate the segregation over time.

Probably a fair way to start to improve things is by breaking down the mental barriers that say "stay away from there, don't go there", and to get to know different people and different neighbourhoods. I was fortunate enough to go to a state high school in a neighbourhood where there was a mix of people from different backgrounds, and it was a very happy and rewarding experience - I was surprised and delighted to find that everyone got on quite well. Previous to that I had suffered several years in a "rough school" dominated by kids from the surrounding council housing estates, where bullying and fighting were rife. I survived, beaten but unbowed. I was lucky to be able to change school, though - most of those kids would never have had the choice. What I don't know is how I would have turned out if I had been sent to one of those private schools where people send their kids to be educated with "the elite".

Birth Rights

2006-04-15T21:55:00.000-04:00

When I was 17 I was struck by the thought that I had enjoyed an essentially privileged upbringing, in a "good home"; with parents that loved and cared for me, with a good education. This thought was accompanied by the realisation that many of my generation might not have been so lucky (not wishing to idealise my upbringing nor disparage the upbringing of others). Trying to make sense of this, trying to make it seem fair, I imagined that each person had the duty to justify their existence by contributing to the world in proportion to the privileges and talents that they had been given through accident of birth. I say "accident" because although from the parent's point of view there may be nothing accidental about it, from the child's perspective they had no say in the matter at all.

The following thought experiment is an attempt to distill some of the ethical issues that have worried me and motivated me since I was a teenager.

Thought Experiment: Birthrights

A scientist points out that the most efficient way to ensure equal opportunities is not by redistributing wealth, but by redistributing new-born babies. They observe that new-born babies have many of their life opportunities decided by the parents that will nurture them through their formative years. What is more, babies do not choose their parents, nor do they deserve them (however good or bad they might be). Therefore, the argument goes, giving each baby an equal chance of being brought up by each family would eliminate one of the most basic causes of inequality and injustice. Some people might in fact be raising their own children, but would not be sure of it for many years. In the interest of developing cohesion and solidarity between different social groups, it would be permitted for young people to be reunited with their genetic parents from the age of 25.

Without going into technical details, the system would work like this: all babies born on any given day would be taken from their genetic parents, without being seen by them, and an adopting mother would be chosen at random from the complete list of those who gave birth on that day. Everyone would cooperate "in the public interest" so that the process would run smoothly and without conflict. The link between the adopting parents and the baby they have been given would be formalised on a "birthrights certificate" and the data of the adopting parents and the baby would be stored on a state database. The adopting parents would be formally responsable for the given baby, in the eyes of the law, as if it were their own child. The database would also store the information on the genetic parents of each baby, and of other people genetically related to them, but this data would be classified and would not enter the public domain for 25 years. Until then, no parent would know who has their child, nor whose child they have, and no child would be able to find out who their genetic parents or other relations were until the age of 25. The state database and an identity card system would permit people to check for the existence of blood relations with prospective partners (indeed, people would be obliged by law to do this).

What would the consequences of such a system be? How would the parents be affected? Would the experience of childhood be tangibly different? How would it affect you? How would it have affected you had the system been operational at the the time you were born? Would you vote for or against this system if a plebiscite were to be held on the issue tomorrow? Why?

For my part, I must say that I do not advocate this system as a viable policy, nor would I vote for it in a plebiscite. The right of parents to bring up their own children is something very few would deny. The "birthrights" system is far too close to the nightmarish stuff of novels such as "Brave New World" and "1984"; it implies a society with a frightening degree of control of individuals by the state. Trying to implement such a system, while it might indeed eliminate some sources of injustice and foster certain virtues in the society, would undoubtedly bring with it a whole host of problems and iniquities. Throwing the baby out with the bathwater, indeed.

Why bother writing about it, then? For three reasons. Firstly, I would argue that the extent to which new-born babies have equal opportunities in life is a good measure of the fairness of human society, both within any given nation, internationally, and comparing different periods of time. Secondly, the mental exercise of thinking "that could be my child living in that situation" is a useful way of empathising with other people living in different circumstances. Thirdly, the thought experiment shows how the concept of equal opportunities is not straight-forward: the "Birthrights" system apparently guarantees equal opportunities for all at the moment of birth, but presents a paradox in that from that moment on there might be no tangible difference from the point of view of the children - some would still be relatively better-off, and others relatively worse-off, just like now.

Equality of opportunities, as promoted by politicians such as Tony Blair, can be a treacherous concept. Making life like a game in which everyone has an equal chance to participate might seem fair. But the fairness of the system is highly dubious when the winnings of one generation can be freely invested to improve the chances of their children.

Don Quixote Rides Again

2006-03-19T16:11:00.000-04:00

I listened with interest to this week's programme of In Our Time, all about Don Quixote, and it got me thinking. I have often thought that there is something more than a little quixotic about blogging; the blogosphere is an almost unlimited world for those who want to get out there and seek adventure, fighting for their own version of justice. I am not saying that blogging is necessarily quixotic, but I will argue that Don Quixote de la Mancha, the classic novel by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, has some relevant things to say to bloggers.

Blogging is quite a recent phenomenon; the immensely popular Blogger software first appeared in 1999, and blogging has only become a mass activity in the last 2-3 years. Up until a few years ago the opportunities to publish writing were relatively limited, and the subjects, style and quality of published writing was regulated by the editors and the economics of the publishing industry. Publishing on paper necessarily limited the number of published writers to a small proportion of the number of readers. The internet and the advent of blogging has removed all of these limits, and consequently all of the frustrated writers who have for years been reading and developing their ideas have been offered an outlet for their creative energies.

The blogger has a lot of freedom to write – and to publish – whatever they fancy. What is the criteria for deciding what to publish and what not to publish? Whatever the individual blogger feels happier about publishing than not publishing; in some cases this may be what they judge to be “good”, or “quality”, in other cases it may motivated by nothing more refined than the desire to mark territory in cyberspace, to say “I was here”. Outside the countries where there is state censorship, unless the material is offensive, illegal or libellous, presently the only system for separating what is good from what is not are the indicators generated by the search engines. Irrespective of how little success they might have in generating interest from the outside world, the motivated blogger can just keep going, writing about more or less whatever they deem to be worthy of their attention. Just like the news media in the holiday season, although there might seem to be nothing really important to write about, something will always appear on the horizon at the right moment.

In any case, the success of a blog is not necessarily measured in how many page views it generates, or whether it attracts a loyal readership from 50 different countries. In some respects a blog can function just like a diary, where the chief beneficiary is the writer – it keeps them happy, it keeps their head in order, it keeps them sane (or serves as an escape valve for their eccentricity). Many diary writers keep writing for years with a readership of one – themselves. The key difference between blogging and diary writing is that bloggers perform in public, for all the blogosphere to see. They want to change some small part of the world with their writing, even though that part might be very small indeed. They are brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to publish their thoughts, opinions and creations for all the world to see. Many bloggers (myself included) prefer not to use their real name, using instead an invented name - just like the gentleman from La Mancha.

I suspect that many bloggers read a lot, like Don Quixote, and they have a lot of mental fuel to keep them running. If reading books of chivalry until the small hours made Don Quixote mad, I reckon that excessive time spent in front of a computer screen, working, blogging and surfing the web could make people at least slightly eccentric, especially in the case where most social interactions take place on-line. Blogging gives people the opportunity to get "out there" in cyberspace and do something with their mental energy, to express themselves, to publish their opinions of things and have others publish their opinions about them. Bloggers, like the honourable gentleman from La Mancha, are almost by definition people of leisure who can afford to spend some free time in front of their computer screen, even if this means spending a little less time with friends and family. Probably more than one blogger has felt the efforts of their nearest and dearest, who may have tried to convince them to stop spending so much time in front of their computer!

Adventures in the blogosphere, whilst perhaps not being as physically satisfying as attacking fearful enemies on horseback, do include many of the ingredients of the gentleman from La Mancha's adventures: travelling (in cyberspace), quests, arguments, fights, righting wrongs, encounters with people from different places and backgrounds. Most bloggers have some sense of "honour" that guides their on-line interactions, and whilst they may be prepared to say fairly terrible things about people they dislike or disagree with, they will usually draw the line somewhere.

Another aspect of blogging that reminds me of Cervates' work is the way in which blogs contain different layers of information, reflect the world we live in, and to some extent exert their own influence on the world. In the second part of Don Quixote de la Mancha, many of the people that Don Quixote meets have read the first part of the book (published ten years previously), and already know what to expect. The feedback loops that exist between the blogosphere and the real world operate much quicker than this. On-line interactions and the creative process of writing a blog can result in changes in the blogger's life, which in turn change the course and the content of the blog. Many bloggers are part of on-line communities where news can travel fast and actions can be coordinated rapidly. Using hyperlinks, permalinks, and other tools of the internet, blogs refer to and comment on other blogs, the traditional media, current events, the arts, reports and statistics. Sensitive documents now have many more ways of being leaked than being "accidentally" left on photocopiers. Cervantes' story is told by multiple voices including the author, the translator, and the characters. Blogs are also written with different voices, ranging from the relatively distant voices that comment on things and expound ideas to more intimate voices that tell of personal experiences, thoughts and emotions.

A typical dictionary definition of quixotic describes something that is idealistic and impractical. In this short essay I have described some connections that I see between the adventures of Don Quixote and the activities of bloggers. It could be argued that almost any artistic or idealistic endeavour (particularly that which is not particularly successful, or which is entirely leisurely / voluntary) shares some of these characteristics. Maybe so, maybe that is partly why Cervantes' work has appealed to so many for so long. If Cervantes had lived in the early years of the 21st century, would Don Quixote have been an elderly gentleman blogger, and Rocinante his trusty but dated computer with a dial-up connection to the internet? Who knows. What I am sure of is that while blogging is not necessarily an activity characterised by delusion, impractical ideals and vanity, these pitfalls exist and bloggers should take care to avoid them.

Playing Chicken Crossing the Road

2006-03-01T22:32:00.000-03:00

I was half way across the road when the car came towards me around the corner, crossing the stop line at some speed. Perhaps rashly I kept walking, and the car came to an abrupt halt a few meters short of me. I was close enough to look the driver in the eyes, "where are you going?" I asked, a bit cross, though I don't think she heard me. She almost smiled, in a strained sort of way, as she waited for me to pass. I finished crossing the road and waited for my wife, P., to catch up. "You should be more careful, you could have been killed and she would have just gone to jail - if that", she chastised me gently. There may be some truth to this, but it is a point on which we always disagree.

P. needs a green light or else about 100 meters clear of traffic before she will cross a road, whereas I often go for it with much less favourable conditions. This difference in attitudes is deeply rooted. I tend to think of other road users as generally reasonable, rational souls who will slow down if they see a pedestrian in the road ahead, and I am also quite confident about my own ability to get out of trouble. Several years ago, P.’s brother was run over and almost killed on a pedestrian crossing (with the green light for pedestrians). She consequently has much less trust of drivers, probably rightly so, and also does not like to rush, preferring to wait for a while. I will try to learn this lesson before I learn it the hard way, I am sure it would increase my life-expectancy.

I despise the abuse of power, which is how I see it when drivers try to intimidate pedestrians who have the right of way. This can be seen quite a lot in Chile, where the highway code and the traffic signals are designed to allow drivers to turn left through pedestrian crossings when the pedestrians have the green light. In theory they are only allowed to do this if there are no pedestrians crossing. In practice, most drivers are OK but some will try to zoom round the corner before the pedestrians have started crossing, which is nasty because other cars tend to “follow the leader”. So, I have learned to get out into the road as quickly as possible when the green light shows. This usually works, but can be unnerving when I am faced by a driver trying the zoom tactic, when the situation starts to resemble a game of chicken. Why did the chicken cross the road?

Looking at the situation from the other side of the windscreen, I know that many drivers dislike it when pedestrians cross the road where there is no formal crossing, and when cyclists ride without lights or act as if the traffic signals and the highway code do not apply to them. I tend to disagree, but can sympathise with this point of view; they do not want to hurt anyone, and inevitable end up slowing down to reduce the risk of accidents. Then there is the other type of driver who wants to get to where they are going as soon as possible and who doesn’t think too much about more vulnerable road users – who should look after their own safety. I suspect that these people also tend to drive their kids to school “because the roads are not safe”. Perhaps the worst kind of driver is the reckless kind who drives to calm down when they are angry, who drives when they have drunk too much, who drives when they are stressed or tired - and woe betide the person who dares to cross their path at the wrong moment. I remember once having to swallow my anger at having almost been knocked off my bike – when the driver screeched to a halt and made clear that he was willing to have another go (“damn, missed”). The only good thing about the reckless drivers is that they go as quickly as they arrived.

More than once I have thought that the windscreen – or windshield – is a good example of how people are willing to disrespect and mistreat other people given a certain amount of power and a certain degree of separation. The car gives the driver both of these things. Power: the car is a potentially lethal weapon, it can be used to threaten and on the occasions that pedestrians or other road users are killed, in most parts of the world the sentences applied by the justice system show a great deal of lenience and the culprits are often back on the road in a short while. Could it be that in many parts of the world, taking away the right to drive would be effectively taking away the job and the lifestyle? Separation: people who use the car every day tend to live far from where they work, and spend most of their time driving through streets that are not inhabited by their family, friends, colleagues or neighbours. Often we do not even know our neighbours, anyway – how many times have we been disturbed by loud music and have had no idea of who was having the good time?

The car was out of sight. As we walked on, I felt the rush of adrenaline, with nothing to use it for. P. commented "Dinosaur on wheels", and we laughed.

The Air that We Breathe

2006-02-16T23:30:00.000-03:00

Several weeks ago I was returning from Puerto Montt to Santiago by air. I had chosen a window seat on the east side of the plane, because I planned to enjoy the view of the Andes. On the route to Santiago, we flew over the tenth region (Los Lagos), the ninth region (Auraucanía), the eighth region (Bío-Bío), the seventh region (Maule) and the sixth region (Libertador General Bernardo O’Higgins). It was a sunny day, and the lakes, fields and mountains of Chile spread out bright beneath us, a glorious natural tapestry under the bright blue sky. The cordillera, the Andes mountain range, gradually rose up as we left the flatlands of the Chilean lake district behind. I was looking forward to see the high mountains in all their majesty close to Santiago – there are peaks that are so high they are still covered in snow in the middle of summer. I was to be disappointed.

A good fifteen minutes before arrival in Santiago, we entered a cloud of smog, or “esmog” as it is known locally. Here my descriptive abilities begin to fail me. Imagine a tiny little plane flying into the smoking carriage on an intercity train, one of those that only has the one smoking carriage. The air was a bit like that, but looked dirtier. The mountains could just about be glimpsed through the grimy air, as a bulky nondescript mass, not quite the majestic soaring snow-capped peaks I had been hoping to see. I was appalled. A quick taxi ride from the airport and I was back home. My wife hugged me, sniffed me, and said “you smell smoky”. That was the smell of the Santiago air. I was quite appalled by this experience, not least because summer is the best time of the year for breathing in Santiago; the winter brings with it the worst of the smog.

Santiago with its 5.8 million people accounts for more than a third of the population of Chile. Amongst those 5.8 million people there are 970,000 cars; approximately 167 cars per 1000 inhabitants (1). This is a rate of car ownership significantly lower than other major cities in more industrialized nations, such as London (350 cars per 1000 inhabitants) (2), Paris (383 cars per 1000 inhabitants), Copenhagen (225 cars per 1000 inhabitants) and New York (210 cars per 1000 inhabitants) (3). In terms of economic development, Chile is also some distance from the more industrialized nations: with a GDP per capita of approximately US$4,590 it ranked 69th in the world according to the handy “Pocket World in Figures”, The Economist, 2006.So can the air pollution really be that bad?

The table shows a comparison for three key pollutants for Santiago and London, using data from 2001.The comparison is not ideal, as it is comparing data from two specific automatic measuring stations, but it is enough to get an idea as both are located close to the central area of each city.Looking at the annual averages, in all cases the concentrations of pollutants are higher in Santiago than in London, and the breach is even bigger looking at the 95^th percentile data – this gives an idea of the more extreme air pollution events.

Concentrations of three key pollutants at automatic measuring stations in Santiago and London, 2001 (4),(5)

	Annual mean		95th percentile
	Santiago 2001	London 2001	Santiago 2001	London 2001
Pollutant (units)	Estación F	Camden	Estación F	Camden
Ozone (µgm^-3)	27.4	23.0	100.0	60.0
Carbon monoxide (mgm^-3)	1.2	0.7	3.9	1.4
PM10 (µgm^-3)	79.0	29.0	155.0	56.0

As a reference, the European Community limit for PM10 is 30µgm^-3(annual average) (6).Still referring to 2001, the annual average concentration of PM 2.5, the fraction of particulate pollution thought to be most damaging to human health, was 35µgm^-3 in the metropolitan region (Greater Santiago) (7), compared to the EC limit of 20µgm^-3. Why is the air pollution much worse in Santiago, when London is bigger and has much higher car ownership? While there are a number of factors that explain the difference, one of the most significant could well be the local geography.

If you were looking to build a city in a place with good ventilation, you would do well to avoid places like the spot where Pedro de Valdívia founded Santiago in 1541. It is in a basin, surrounded by mountains on all sides except the south and south-west where there are gaps. Unfortunately, a lot of the time the wind comes from the south-west. It is a bit like having only one window open in a closed room – you need more than one opening to get a really good current of air going. It is not just horizontally that Santiago has ventilation problems. It also has bad problems with the vertical flow of air. In normal conditions, the air in the atmosphere gets cooler with increasing altitude. This means that the hot air near the earth’s surface tends to rise, dispersing pollutants upwards into the atmosphere. Sometimes, however, an “inversion layer” of hot air forms higher up in the atmosphere, trapping cooler air beneath it like a lid on a saucepan (8). This can happen in summer and in winter, but tends to happen more often in winter, which is the time of the year when the worst incidents of smog occur.

The Renca Hill - once targeted for demolition

The recent history of people trying to solve the air quality problems of Santiago is scattered with the wreckage of bold ideas and brave words (9):

1983 - General Sergio Badiola, head of the Metropolitan Authority, claimed “The problem of air pollution will be overcome within three years”;
1986 - General Osvaldo Hernández, head of the Metropolitan Authority, assured the population that the air pollution would be under control in one year’s time;
1989 - Reinaldo Borgel, a geographer of the Universidad Católica, together with the Military Geographical Institute and the Metropolitan Authority, proposed to dynamite the Renca Hill, as a means of opening up a ventilation corridor between Santiago and the coast.
1990 – “In eight years we will have finished with the air pollution”, Eduardo Arriagada, president of the Special Commission of Decontamination.
1992 - The engineer Heberto Castillo proposes the installation of gigantic ventilators.
1994 – Joaquín Lavín, then mayor of Las Condes, tried bombarding the clouds with dry ice to produce rain.Most of the water evaporated before it reached the ground.
1994 – The engineer Gamadiel Insulza proposes the installation of giant ventilators in Santiago, that would collect the pollutants and would send them, via a system of pipes, to underground pits.
1996 – not dissuaded by the failure of his earlier attempt, Joaquín Lavín tries sending aircraft to spray 60,000 litres of water over Las Condes, but once more the water evaporates before it reaches the ground.
1998 - The head of the Metropolitan Authority, Ernesto Velasco, starts the anti-smog campaign “one month early” by washing the streets of the capital.The experts liken the measure to “sweeping the sea”.
2002 – New Decontamination Plan aims to finish with the “pre-emergencies” within the next 3 years.

On the other hand, some practical measures have been adopted (10):

1978 – Limits defined for Nitrogen Dioxide, Carbon Monoxide, Total Suspended Particles and Ozone.
1987 – the start of the system of restricting vehicular access to central Santiago at times of poor air quality (the system works by blocking the entry of vehicles whose license plates end in List X, where the numbers included in List X are changed by rotation and according to the intensity of the air pollution);
1988 – vertical exhaust tubes become mandatory for buses. The Ministry of Transport suggests clearing the smog by bombarding the cloud of smog with chemicals;
1989 – The start of the present system of automatic measuring stations to monitor air pollution in the capital.
1990 – The Master Plan for Santiago aims to reduce by 20% the emissions from point sources, impose additional vehicular restrictions and ban the burning of wood and coal.
1991 – Limit established for PM10 particulates.
1992 – A law is passed to force industry to reduce its emissions to a certain level within 6 years. Those polluters not complying will be shut down on critical days and must compensate for their excess emissions.
1998 – start of the present system of forecasting critical air quality episodes, that gives 24 hours advance warning.
2000 – The Council of Ministers of the Environmental Commission approves applying vehicular restriction to vehicles with catalytic converters on “pre-emergency” and “emergency” days.
2002 – New Decontamination Plan with 18 measures, including phased renovation of the bus fleet, changes to emission limits, revised vehicle fuel regulations, amongst others.

Santiago has had some gloomy moments in recent years, like in 1991 when the WHO ranked the Chilean capital as being the third most polluted city in the world. However, it now seems as if the range of measures that have been adopted to deal with the air pollution are having some effect. While the government did not meet its target of zero pre-emergencies in 2005 (the first took place on the 17^th of April), and some of the changes that were promised in the latest Decontamination Plan have been delayed, the trends since 1997 have been positive: significant reductions in the concentrations of key pollutants, and reductions in the numbers of critical events. The “pre-emergencies” have been steadily getting fewer in number, and there have been no full “emergencies” since 1999 (11).

While there are some reasons to be optimistic, there is no room for complacency if further improvements are to be made. Chile’s recent energy supply problems caused some industrial energy users to switch from natural gas to more polluting fuels, perhaps the key reason for the failure to meet the target of zero “pre-emergencies” in 2005. The rate of car ownership will almost inevitably continue to grow in coming years, and there is plenty of room for growth judging by the levels reached in more developed countries. On the other hand, this is no reason to be pessimistic, providing that sensible planning processes and policies are implemented and kept in place.

Car ownership in the UK is much higher today than it was in the 1950s, but there has been no repeat of the terrible smog that struck London in 1952. This is partly because it was so terrible that it prompted the Clean Air Act of 1956 and the Clean Air Act; Tall Chimneys of 1968 (12). Today there are ongoing efforts to keep air pollution under control in the UK, and with good reason. While London does not suffer from Santiago’s geographical conditions, relentlessly rising traffic has replaced coal smoke with vehicle exhaust fumes as the number one cause of air pollution. London was struck by a serious smog incident once more in 1991, although not quite a real "pea souper" as they used to be known (13). My mother recently recalled that during the great smog of 1952 it was difficult to see your hand in front of your face in the daylight.

Santiago has much less capacity to tolerate air pollution than other cities, mostly due to its geography and climate, and this is something that the population and its government must learn to live with. No amount of brave words nor dynamite will solve the air pollution problems of this growing metropolis. Perhaps the intolerant natural environment of the city can be turned from an enemy into an ally. Adaptation and evolution are needed, and the measures currently in the process of implementation would appear to be steps in the right direction. One of the main dangers is underestimating the difficulty of the challenge: too many times in the past have people rashly promised to have the problem of air pollution beat in the next few years. Efforts must be focussed on continuously taking significant steps in the right direction, and on keeping going, not letting up. I would like to think that one day in the near future, Santiago will be seen not as a modern case study in the health hazards of air pollution, but as a modern example of how to solve the problems of air pollution.

Sources

(1) Diagnóstico del sistema de transporte público, http://www.transantiago.cl/web2005/presentaciones.htm

(2) Mayor of London – Transport Strategy – Facts and Figures, http://www.london.gov.uk/mayor/transport/facts-and-figures.jsp#cars

(3) International Association of Public Transport, http://www.uitp.com/home/index.cfm

(4) Santiago data: Estadísticos del Medio Ambiente 1999 – 2003, INE, http://www.ine.cl/ine/canales/chile_estadistico/medio_ambiente/pdf/anuario2003.pdf

(5) London data: http://www.airquality.co.uk/

(6) Cinthya Arguedas Gourzong (2002), Análisis de las Normas de Calidad de Aire en Chile, Estados Unidos, México y la Comunidad Europea, SESMA

(7) Evolución de la Calidad del Aire en Santiago 1997-2003, CONAMA, http://www.cmmolina.cl/1708/articles-64917_pdf.pdf

(8) “Thermal Inversions and Photochemical Smog”,http://daphne.palomar.edu/calenvironment/smog.htm

(9) Elizabeth Simonsen (2002) 4.000 chilenos morirán este año por la contaminación, Qué Pasa 26th April 2002.

(10) Ibid.

(11) CONAMA, op. cit.

(12) The Great Smog of 1952, Met Office. http://www.met-office.gov.uk/education/secondary/students/smog.html

(13) Michelle L. Bell, Devra L. Davis, and Tony Fletcher (2004) A Retrospective Assessment of Mortality from the London Smog Episode of 1952: The Role of Influenza and Pollution. Environmental Health Perspectives Volume 112, Number 1, January 2004 http://ehp.niehs.nih.gov/members/2003/6539/6539.html

Bachelet Victorious

2006-01-15T23:05:00.001-03:00

Standing on an open-air stage close to the San Fransisco church on the central street La Alameda in Santiago, Michelle Bachelet started her speech by saying "who would have thought it 15, or 10, or 5 years ago, that Chile would elect a woman as president". She went on in her speech to say many fine things about Chile, her commitment to her country, even her defeated election opponents; she was clearly moved by the occasion and spoke with feeling and charisma. In a particularly moving and memorable moment of the speech she remembered and paid tribute to her father, Alberto Bachelet, an Air Force general who was captured and tortured by the DINA after the military coup and as a result died in Santiago public prison in 1974; "I would have liked to give him a hug on this night".
Five minutes ago my wife was delighted to see the moon rise up from behind the foothills of the Andes, something she had never seen before in her life. "The moon is an important symbol of femininity", she explained, "It is a good sign". It is true that there is much that seems symbolic on this day; the election of a president who is the daughter of a military man, who suffered imprisonment and torture during the Pinochet dictatorship, and who went on to study Defense and to be the first female Minister of Defense. She is, as many Chileans are, a single mother, but is also a confessed agnostic in a country where Catholicism is the norm. President Lagos in his speech this afternoon said that the election of Bachelet is a sign of progress, that Chile is becoming more modern and more diverse. I hope he is right. I also hope that Bachelet will take the opportunity of going on holiday, and will come back full of energy and enthusiasm for the challenges ahead when she assumes power on the 11th of March.

Bachelet Brings Piñera Down to Earth

2006-01-15T20:40:00.000-03:00

With 97,52% of the ballot boxes counted the result is conclusive: Michelle Bachelet of the Coalición por la Democracia is president elect; Sebastián Piñera recognised her victory in a lengthy, emotional speech that also claimed the result was a "triumph" for his own coalition, the Alianza por Chile. Piñera, who spent the hours between casting his vote and the first results piloting his helicopter over Santiago with a select bunch of journalists (ElMostrador.cl), was brought rudely down to earth by the news that Bachelet was heading for victory with 53,51% of the counted votes, a margin slightly greater than expected, and significantly greater that that obtained by the actual Presidente Lagos over his opponent Joaquín Lavín in 1999 (Lagos was elected with 51,31% of the votes, also in the second round). I am happy to say that the machismo referred to in my earlier post has not been evident in the results of the election: Bachelet got 53,72% of mens' votes, and 53,33% of womens' votes. Bachelet will be Chile's first female president. In his speech, Piñera admited defeat gracefully, wishing Bachelet well, praying that God would guide her as the new President of all the Chileans, and expressing his commitment on behalf of the Alianza to continue with the project they had started and as an effective opposition in the new government. Bachelet later went to meet Piñera and his wife at their headquarters, and as the victorious Bachelet and the defeated Piñera cordially greeted each other on the stage at the hotel, the directional microphone worn by Piñera captured his words, which were broadcast live on TV: "I will visit you, you will see that it is not easy to govern a country..."

Michelle Bachelet to Make History in Chile

2006-01-15T18:57:00.000-03:00

It is 18:50 in Santiago and it now seems almost certain that Michelle Bachelet will be the next president of Chile. According to the official government website 67,31% of the ballot boxes have been counted. Bachelet has 53.22% of the 4,612,578 votes counted. The proportions of the vote are similar for both men and women, and Bachelet is ahead in all but one of Chile's 13 regions (the southerly IX region of the Araucanía being the only exception, where Sebastián Piñera has 53,56% of the vote).

Presidente or Presidenta?

2006-01-14T23:55:00.000-03:00

Tomorrow, Sunday the 15th of January, Chilean voters will decide who will be the president for the next 4 years: Michelle Bachelet, candidate of the Concertación, or Sebastián Piñera, candidate of the Alianza. If elected, Bachelet will make history by becoming the first woman president of Chile. This would be a very significant event in a country where sexism and in particular machismo are all too common. On the other hand, Chile, as with some other Latin American countries has historically had many children being brought up by single mothers, this goes right back to the times of the colonization by the Spaniards. The Chilean anthropologist Sonia Montecino has written a book on this subject called "Chile - País de Huachos" (a Huacho is someone brought up by their mother, with an absent father). So as well as having a strong tendency towards machismo, Chilean men are also accustomed to women taking on both female and male roles in family life. In recent years this has increasingly been true of women in their working lives, and Michelle Bachelet might take this to another level tomorrow.

Up to now Chile has only had presidentes, Michelle Bachelet would be the first presidenta (the feminine form of the noun). In the phase leading up to the first election on the 11th of December, the Bachelet campaign used the word presidenta. Since the start of the second-round campaign, they switched to presidente, and this change did not pass unnoticed my media commentators. Some suggested that the change was made to somehow win over some of the many macho male voters who have difficulty accepting the idea of a woman as president. In the final televised presidential debate Bachelet was asked specifically about this change from Presidente to Presidenta, and her response was that Presidenta did not rhyme in the phrase "Se siente, se siente, Bachelet presidente" (this is a typical election campaign chant where "se siente, se siente" translates roughly as "you can feel it, you can feel it ). The defeated presidential candidate and now campaign manager for Piñera, Joaquín Lavín, when asked afterwards about the performance of Bachelet, singled out this response as being the finest moment of "la Michelle" as he condescendingly refers to her.

With friends like these...

Bachelet has suffered much worse in recent months, for instance when Nicolás Eyzaguirre, the Ministro de Hacienda (something like the Chancellor of the Exchequer, head of the Treasury in the UK) referred to her as "mi gordi" (my fatty) in an extended interview with the newspaper La Tercera. He later made a public apology, explaining that he was a friend of Bachelet, and that his use of the phrase in the interview must have been unconscious (unfortunately the whole of Chile was made conscious of it very rapidly by the national media). Sr Eyzaguirre went on to admit that his use of the phrase was tainted by machismo and that "Chileans must make more progress with the equal treatment of women" (interview with Radio Cooperativa, 22 August 2005). Bachelet responded "nobody calls me fatty" (interview with El Mercurio, 22 August 2005), and despite said friendship the chances of Eyzaguirre continuing as Minister look doubtful, even if Bachelet wins.

More friendly words came from Sebastián Piñera, who also claims to be a friend of Bachelet. He said in an interview with the newspaper Las Últimas Noticias (20 November 2005), "this shows that Michelle Bachelet has a grave lack of character, leadership, capacity, knowledge and will" - he was referring to the collaboration of public figures such as Luisa Duran, the wife of Presidente Lagos, in her campaign. Asked whether this meant she was not fit to be president, he replied "to be president of Chile much more is required, one will have to take difficult decisions and face very tough situations. There will be no godmothers, godfathers or walking-sticks". The reporter went on to ask "But she and you are friends, aren't you?" Piñera replied "Yes. We are friends".

... who needs enemies?

The allegations of Piñera about Bachelet stretch credibility, and may have harmed his credibility with the moderate Chileans that he has so desperately been trying to win over. Chilean political spectrum. Michelle Bachelet has by no means had an easy life, and has more achievements, abilities and experience than most, as the Wikipedia article shows. There is an anecdote that when in 2002 she became Minister of Defense (the first woman to occupy this post), she launched into her first meeting with the top brass with the words: "I am a socialist, an agnostic, separated and a woman, but we will work together". She is also a single mother of two children. Oh, and she speaks three foreign languages (English, French and German).

Piñera also has a very impressive CV (see Wikipedia article), which makes it all the more ironic that during the presidential campaign a minor scandal errupted because Piñera had "Teacher at Harvard" on his CV, when it emerged that he had only been a teaching assistant. That was not the first time he has been touched by scandal; nor is it the first time he has tried to get a woman rival out of the way by damaging their public image. In 1992 his first attempt to become president was foiled when a recording of a mobile phone conversation between him and a friend was played back to him on live TV (the so-called Piñeragate episode). In the recording, him and his friend Pedro Pablo Díaz had been discussing how to publicly expose the contradictions on key "moral" issues of Evelyn Matthei - a rival Renovación Nacional pre-candidate for the presidency - while appearing to do it in a friendly manner. Parts of the transcription that seem particularly relevant considering Piñera's recent statements about Bachelet are where he says "The advantage is that it elegantly leaves her looking like a lost little girl" and "Don't make her a victim. So say 'Listen, Evelyn, look... ' as if you were her friend. Like you are giving her advice". These quotes are based on a transcription of part of the book "Piñera versus Matthei", by Carolina García de la Huerta and Francisco Javier Piriz. The "friend" theme cropped up again recently when, in the second televised debate, Piñera alluded to how him and the rival candidate Tomás Hirsch knew each other from way back and came from very similar backgrounds. In an interview with The Clinic (7 December 2005), Hirsch flatly denied this claim, saying "He is a liar ... [before the debate] I had never met that man", and "He asked me when I started to work. I started in '78, developing photos with my brother. He replied: 'aah, see, you started before me, you were a businessman before I was'. But how was I a businessman if I developed photos in a tiny shop? My brother took photos of babies and marriages and we developed them".

Considering the available evidence, I suspect that Piñera has been systematically trying to undermine public confidence in Bachelet whilst all the time appearing to be clean and nice, like he is a friend doing her a favour by making sure she does not get a job that would make her unhappy. I hope that Chileans will not let themselves be fooled by wolves in sheeps' clothing.

Happy New Year

2006-01-02T22:09:00.000-03:00

I was warned by my wife to expect hugs on arriving at the office: apparently it is customary to greet close friends and colleagues with "happy new year" and a hug (or at least a handshake) on first seeing them in the New Year. I should point out that while hug is the closest translation of the Spanish abrazo, what is meant is not precisely throwing one's arms around someone. It is difficult to describe in words but I will try: it is something like a combination of a handshake and gentle back-slapping (man to man) or a besito (sideways-on peck on the cheek) and again gentle back-slapping (man to woman, or woman to woman).

Being English, I was glad to be warned, so I could prepare myself for the onslaught of warm Chilean New Year greetings (the English are not renowned for their warmth and use of physical contact in greetings and social interactions). So I arrived and was careful to greet each and every one of my colleagues with "happy new year", all prepared to engage in any hugging that might be necessary. I must confess I have learned to appreciate being warm and friendly to people (and people being warm and friendly to me) in a way that I never quite got into back in the UK. Out of 8 people I got 3 proper warm Chilean greetings, the sort I had been warned about, and 4 "happy new years" (no hugs, handshakes or back-slapping).

Perhaps my expectations had been raised too high, or on the other hand maybe they were going easy on me knowing I was English. The majority of those who arrived late snuck around me with no greeting at all, (something I can understand being a frequent late-arriver, but I had thought that the urge to give a New Year's greeting might have overcome the urge to dissimulate arriving late). Oh well. For every behavioural norm there is variation amongst different people, and the Chileans are no exception. Maybe there is some truth in the saying that they are "the English of South America". I have been here over a year now and am happy to say that I could empathise with most of them, particularly the late-arrivers.

Wishes and Resolutions

2005-12-31T19:02:00.000-03:00

It is time to reflect on the year that has almost gone and look ahead to the new year ahead. Many times in the past I thought up lists of New Year’s resolutions, full of fresh hope and determination, but forgot them before the year was out. In Chile it is customary to think of New Year’s wishes, and not resolutions. On the surface of it, there is a lot of difference between the two approaches: a resolution is about resolve and intent, "I will... "; whereas a wish is more an expression of hope and desire. Whether or not there is a real difference depends a great deal on the probability of the resolutions being achieved, and our ability to influence it. Of course there are many other attitudes and practices relating to New Year: some people pray for things, others meditate, many do not do recognise the day as anything special because of religious, cultural or other reasons. What is probably common to the majority of people is the occasional need to stop, to take stock of what has happened and to consider the future.

This is something that has entered the culture of many businesses, where some sort of an annual review process is undertaken in the hope that it will contribute to the professional development of the employees and the greater good of the organisation. In my workplace, the annual review objectives are supposed to be "SMART": Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic, and Time-bound. Errrm, isn't that what a job is supposed to be all the time? This process tends to lead to tension between trying to get extra things done in the year ahead (priority #1 for the supervisor) and the practicality of the objectives being achieved (priority #1 for the person being reviewed). Something similar tends to happen (at least to me) with New Year's resolutions: if I don't plan some grand changes, it hardly seems worth making the resolutions, but if I DO plan some grand changes, I will probably realise about half way through the year that I am way off track, will never achieve them, and as a sort of psychological defence mechanism they will soon be forgotten. But maybe that's just me. On the other hand, in both work and personal contexts, good and positive things inevitably happen in the year, many of which were unplanned, and all of which will be reflected on happily as part of the year's achievements.

The prospect that a person has of influencing their future in a determined manner is debateable, and this itself may depend on the attitude of the individual. I don't want to get tangled up with issues such as free will, and determinism; I admittedly know very little about them, and it is after all the weekend. Neither do I wish to compete with Robert Burns who already wrote the wonderful poem "To a Mouse" that amongst other things considers the prospects of mice and men to plan their future. So I will restrict myself to wishing you a very positive and productive new year, and resolving to make the most of it.

Season's Greetings

2005-12-25T20:03:00.000-03:00

The traditional centre of the Santiago has aquired a reputation as a favourite haunt of pickpockets, shoplifters, and other petty criminals. Media reports have given a lot of coverage to crime, particularly in the run-up to the first round of the election on December the 11th, and a recent TV documentary showed a "best of" compilation of about a years' worth of CCTV footage of robberies, thefts and muggings. So it was with some trepidation that I ventured out of the relative safety of Providencia and into the perilous zone of El Centro. "Be careful", I was warned before heading out, "this is the worst day of the year to go into the centre, it will be full of people". I mentally prepared myself, readying my defenses for potential attempts to do away with my camera or my wallet.

The Plaza de Armas is in the centre of the centre, a large public square surrounded by important and historic buildings. It is known amongst locals as being a meeting place for many Peruvians in Santiago; it was here where the television crews came to gather the opinions of Peruvians on what then appeared to be a looming diplomatic crisis about the maritime boundary between Chile and Peru. I did my best not to look like a tourist (which is quite difficult when you stand at least six inches taller than most Chileans), and kept my bag firmly by my side. But I could not resist taking photos, which probably scuppered my not-looking-like-a-tourist efforts.

The square was dominated by an enormous artificial Christmas tree, decorated with gaudy baubles, ringed at the bottom by garish red banners for a certain well-known fizzy drink, and flanked incongruously by large palm trees.

Two unlikely-looking Santa Clauses competed passively for the custom of parents with small children. Every so often a kid was given the treat of having their photo taken with el Viejito Pascuero, as he is known in Chile. Yesterday the temperature was about 30°C, and it was clear that the poor Santa Clauses were feeling the heat. While their sleighs were adapted to run on wheels and the wooden reindeer probably would not complain, their outfits looked like they had come direct from the North Pole. This is of course the idea, but surely Santa's magic would have produced a more practical outfit suited to present-distribution in warm places? Perhaps one day some local artist could do them the favour of depicting Santa Claus in his summer outfit? It would be incorrect, however, to sneer at Santa Claus being totally out of place in Chile. The figure of Santa Claus is a composite character that has come from different sources in folklore, history, mythology, and different cultures around the world; there is a very interesting Wikipedia article on this subject.

The Cathedral was an oasis of shade, cool air and quietness. A nicely-mounted nativity scene attracted a regular flow of visitors, but the crib was at that hour still vacant.

I am happy to say that I was not the victim of, nor did I witness, any thieving, fighting or other bad behaviour on my visit to the centre of Santiago. People went about their business peacefully, and I did not feel threatened. I suspect that tales of crime and violence in the media often generate a sensation of fear and aprehension that is out of proportion with the reality of the situation. Whilst it cannot be denied that there is crime and theft in the centre of Santiago, and that visitors should be careful, the same could be said of any big city in the world.

My wife had to twist my arm a bit (metaphorically speaking) to get me to agree to put up a christmas tree in our home. "Bah, humbug", was more or less my response, but I felt so Scroodge-like that I had to give in. So we now have a christmas tree, and I must admit it gives the place a nice Christmassy feel, despite having been made in China and put together out of the box. I must say I have mixed feelings about Christmas. I cannot deny that as a child it was wonderful to receive surprise presents, to find a stocking at the foot of the bed bulging with goodies on Christmas morning, to spend time with family and relatives. As an adult, this magic has faded somewhat, as the pressures generated by the rituals of the festive season sometimes seem to outweigh the benefits. When people complain about the commercialisation of Christmas I must say they have a good point. I was interested to find that some economists agree: Christmas generates a dead-weight loss to the national economy, through the difference between the price paid by those who give the presents and the price that those receiving the presents would have been willing to pay. My family in Chile have adopted the very practical Secret Santa approach, which seems like a nice compromise between buying everyone presents and buying no-one presents.

On the subject of buying presents, there is currently a noticeable proliferation of two types of adverts: (1) places that sell things (supermarkets, department shops, etc.) are urging people not to let mundane financial considerations prevent them from reaching the more profound goal of buying their loved ones the presents they deserve, and (2) banks are offering them the "helping hand" of loans, etc. in their hour of need, again appealing to noble instincts with slogans such as "Peace and Love. You've Just got to Ask for It" What, peace and love? No, the Super End of Year Loan. I'm not going to rant any more about the lamentable inequality of the distribution of wealth in Chile, I would just like to express the hope that people should not succumb to the advertisers' cunning ploy of linking noble instincts to blatant consumerism. In theory, happiness is priceless and comes from actions and relationships, not from possessions, although in practice I'm sure that having sufficient income to meet basic needs is a big plus. Happy Christmas.

Nothing Against Chile

2005-12-25T16:01:00.001-03:00

I have a nasty feeling that some Chileans reading this blog might ask themselves why this Gringo criticises their country so much, and why he doesn't go back to where he came from if he doesn't like it here... If this is so, my last post will only have aggravated this perception. To set the record straight, my intention is not to pick on Chile but to learn about it, and to make some small contribution to the debate about issues that are important to this country. I would do the same if I were living in the UK, and I would probably be just as critical, as similar patterns of inequality can be seen there, and in many other parts of the world.

For example, Jonathan Freedland recently wrote an interesting article on the growth of inequality in Britain, (The Guardian, 23 November 2005). He notes that "When Margaret Thatcher came to power in 1979, just under 6% of national income went to the top 1%. That figure stood at 9% a decade later, but under Tony Blair it has risen to at least 13%: a tiny group taking nearly an eighth of our collective wealth." These statistics are income statistics (as were the Chilean statistics in my last post); the distribution of wealth would most likely be even more unequal if one were to consider family savings. This is something that is probably impossible to do, as many of the super-rich will keep their savings in offshore accounts, out of sight and out of reach of the taxman - might sound familiar to any of you who have been following the Pinochet case.

I suppose the thing that is most troubling about the unequal distribution of income, in whichever country, is that there is no reason to believe that the accumulation of wealth is in all cases related to merit. On one hand, communist systems have in general produced dismal results, dragged down by corruption, suppression of individual freedoms, the lack of incentives to innovate and excel, and the consequent "brain drain" of their best talent. On the other hand, the relatively-unfettered capitalism that has become the norm in many countries too often offers freedom and hope in the style of a grand "national lottery": everyone can participate, everyone has a chance of being a winner, but the poorer you are, the higher is the relative cost of participation, and the slimmer are the chances of success. To be fair, the problem is widely recognised and there have been some positive steps taken to improve the situation, for instance the Child Trust Fund or "baby bond" that was recently implemented in the UK (not without controversy). But there is still a long way to go until the day when the benefits and opportunities enjoyed by all members of society are proportional to what they deserve.

Growth with equity in Chile: a real possibility or wishful thinking?

2005-12-20T23:37:00.000-03:00

Recently there has been a lot of talk by the presidential candidates about the problem of inequality, and with good reason. Out of the 57 countries classified by the UNDP as having a high level of human development, Chile is bottom of the class in terms of the equity of the distribution of wealth. In Chile, the richest 10% of the households enjoy an average income approximately 40 times that of the poorest 10% of the households. In 2000, Chile had a Gini index of 57.1 (where 0 would be perfect equality and 100 perfect inequality), compared to 40.8 for the USA, 36.0 for the UK, 31.9 for Bulgaria, and 25.8 for Norway (all countries in the category of high human development, according to the UNDP's 2005 Human Development Report).

The outgoing President, Ricardo Lagos, once made a commitment to crecimiento con igualdad: growth with equity, meaning that everyone would get their fair share the benefits of economic growth. While Chile has seen plenty of economic growth in the past 4 years, critics have pointed to the lack of improvement in the distribution of wealth. The following table, based on statistics from MIDEPLAN, the Ministry of Planning, shows the proportions of total autonomous household income (not including benefits) enjoyed by each 10th of the population, ordered from I (the poorest 10%) to X (the richest 10%).

The data show that the distribution has stayed very much the same right across the period from 1990 to 2003, and the difference between the shares of the richest 10% and the poorest 10% is frankly shocking.

In a recent interview (El Mercurio, 18 December 2005), the presidential candidate Sebastián Piñera (representing the right-wing Alianza por Chile) was asked what would be his biggest objective as president. He responded "I want to be the president that managed to defeat poverty in Chile". He went on to give a fairly confusing account of how it would be possible to eliminate extreme poverty in Chile in the next four years, deftly mixing up statistics on GDP growth targets, the poverty gap, and the poor. To be fair, I'm not sure if it was he who was confused, or the journalist, or both, but I as reader definitely ended up confused. The only thing that was clear was that he planned few radical changes: the main idea seemed to be that given the expected growth of 25% in the economy over the next four years, a fairly modest proportion of this (1.7 percentage points), if directed at the poorest families by drip-irrigation, would get them up and over the poverty line. Was this a subconscious agriculture reference or a hint of a land-owner mentality? Is he thinking of ways to improve the crop of poor families in future years? A sort of fertilizer to make them stronger and happier?

I did some research into a figure of 1.7% of GDP that Piñera mentioned would need to be trickled down towards the poorest in society in order to get them over the poverty line. What I came up with was that the most recent figure on the poverty gap in Chile was indeed 1.7%, but this was not 1.7% of GDP, but the average difference between the household income of the poorest families and the poverty line, expressed as a percentage of the poverty line (technical note: the so-called "poverty gap" indicator is one of the Foster-Greer-Thorbecke family of poverty measures, FGT(1), where FGT(0) is the "head count" or incidence of poor families in the population; both are percentages but of different things).

What is the poverty line? The definition changes from country to country; in Chile there are two official poverty lines (according to MIDEPLAN): the line for extreme poverty or indigencia (which translates roughly as being the limit of starvation) is the income needed to buy the food that supplies the minimum quantity of calories needed for continued survival. The other poverty line is rather arbitrarily defined as being twice the value (in income) of the extreme poverty line. So, in conclusion, what came across as being rather impressive in newsprint (1.7% of 25% economic growth) appears to be something else in reality: a small fraction of the minimum income needed for survival by the poorest families in Chile. I hope Piñera is not planning to grow them up until they are fit for harvesting. Data on the changes over time in the proportion of Chilean households living in poverty and extreme poverty apparently show a significant improvement, as the following graph shows.

The data appear to show a significant improvement in the situation. How can this be consistent with the data we saw earlier that show no improvement in the distribution of wealth over the same period of time? The main explanation that occurs to me is that while over this period of sustained economic growth wealth has trickled down to the poorest families, rather more has fallen on the upper layers of the Chilean jungle. In this sense, crecimiento con igualdad could be interpreted not as "growth with equity" but as "growth without change"; everyone gets richer, but in proportion to their previous level of wealth. Of course that was not the spirit of the words, and despite being fairly skeptical about the promises of presidential candidates, I honestly hope that the phenomenon of prosperity with equity will be much more evident in the years ahead. The chances for radical improvements to the lot of the poorest groups in Chilean society do not look very good, however; the most probable scenario would seem to be "business as usual", and we have seen what that scenario implies for the distribution of wealth. The binomial system used in Chilean elections means that whichever of the main two coalitions gets the presidency, in practice they cannot do much without the agreement of a significant proportion of the other coalition. So, for all the rhetoric of the presidential candidates, the possibility for real change is dependent on the government being able to agree on the best course of action. Let us hope that when they do agree on what to do, it will be in the best interests of all of the Chileans. Perhaps this is why so much emphasis is placed on the personality and the leadership abilities of the political candidates: whoever is elected will have to knock heads together and forge a consensus if they are to have any chance of achieving their objectives, however laudable those might be.

The figures in this article have been borrowed from various documents produced by the Fundación para la Superación de la Pobreza.