A monument to memory

A year ago, in the last week of December, I was in Santiago, Chile. As I watched the changing of the guard in front of the imposing Presidential Palace (La Moneda), on the day after Christmas, I could not shake off the images of the same palace from another time. Years ago, while reading about Chile, I had first encountered pictures of raging fire and ribbons of smoke coming out of the rooms of the palace that was being bombarded by jets and ground forces. As I prepared to go to Chile last year, I saw those images again. Those pictures, from September 11^th, 1973, were captured by journalists and reporters, who saw their country descend into chaos as yet another US-sponsored coup derailed democracy. The architect of that coup, Henry Kissinger, famously remarked about Chile: “I don’t see why we need to stand by and watch a country go communist because of the irresponsibility of its own people.” As a result of that coup, Augusto Pinochet came to power and unleashed a reign of terror, torture and enforced silence. Those images danced in my mind as I saw the pomp and ceremony unfold before me, in front of the same La Moneda.

Two days later, I visited a museum in central Santiago called the Museum of Memory and Human Rights. The museum that opened in 2010 is built to commemorate the victims of human rights violations during the Pinochet years that started from the coup at La Moneda and continued for the next 17 years. The museum has sections that show life in Chile before the coup, the damning evidence about CIA’s role, the brutality of the Pinochet regime and the impact it had on citizens all over Chile. There were news reels and interviews, documents and news clippings. There were also stories of exiles and those who found safety in other countries.

Perhaps the most impactful part of the museum is what ordinary citizens contributed to it. These included pictures from families of loved ones who were taken away, letters written by children in orphanages believing their parents were in another place, and small gifts that were sent to prisons by the family members, who did not know that there was no one left on the other side to receive them. The museum, though small in size, left an extraordinary impact on me.

The mission of the museum is simple — to remember and preserve the memory. Memory of a particular time and memory of the people who lived, survived and died in that time. The evidence from research shows that such museums do work. A study in 2021 showed that Chilean university students who visited the museum, regardless of their political beliefs, displayed greater support for democracy, justice and healing well after they had visited the museum.

As we look back on 2023 we should ask ourselves: how are we preserving the memory of those who have been wronged? In our collective amnesia, we are likely to remember the events of the last few weeks, but likely to forget that just six months ago several hundred of our own people died in the sea in Europe trying to seek a more dignified future. What have we done to their memory? What about those who suffered the wrath of mobs in Faisalabad? What about the suffering of the Baloch families? And those who have been told to pack up and leave in a few weeks, to a country that they do not recognise, leaving their entire life behind. And what about those whose stories were not significant enough to be told? The list from years and decades prior is going to be just as painful, if not more.

At this time of the year, it is perhaps fashionable to think about person of the year, or a list of biggest stories. But our reflection of 2023, or the years prior, cannot be just a summary of the greatest hits. It has to be deeper than that. It has to be about preserving and honouring the memory of those who were wronged, and a resolve to do better.

Published in The Express Tribune, December 26^th, 2023.

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