Protest Lego
Is anyone else out there haunted by that Isabel Allende interview from April, where she described fleeing Pinochet’s Chile? She began:
“Although things happened very quickly in Chile, we got to know the consequences slowly, because they don’t affect you personally immediately. Of course, there were people who were persecuted and affected immediately, but most of the population wasn’t. So you think: Well, I can live with this. Well, it can’t be that bad. So you are in denial for a long time, because you don’t want things to change so much. And then one day it hits you personally.”
For Allende, that day came in early 1975, over a year after the coup. She was a journalist; she was helping people on ‘wanted lists’ to escape; and she was related to the democratically elected president toppled by Pinochet (Salvador Allende was her father’s first cousin). She began receiving direct threats.
Leaving her husband and two young children, Allende fled to Venezuela, hoping to return after a short while. But then came the image I can’t shake:
“…a month later, my husband realized that I shouldn’t go back. And so he left. He just closed the door, locked the entrance door of the house with everything it contained and left to reunite with me in Venezuela. We never saw that house again, and everything it contained was lost…”
I realize there are important differences between Pinochet’s Chile and Trump’s America, but what’s striking to me about Allende’s story is how slowly reality revealed itself. After the coup, people in Chile—even those in a well-connected political family—didn’t know exactly how bad things were… until they did.
Back to the here and now:
We don’t have to know exactly how far we’ve slid to recognize what we’ve seen. Just this week: a governor threatened with arrest, a senator pinned to the floor and placed in handcuffs, marines readied for domestic deployment, the politicization of the armed forces, and the gleeful preparation of a military parade that will glorify weaponry, not service.
So, will I be in the streets on Saturday? Definitely.
Will I be chanting? Probably not. I have terrible rhythm—and it throws the writer in me, when the chants spontaneously turn to things I’d never say.
Will I have a sign? Yes. “Due Process.” It’s fundamental, and it’s the one message that has resonated in every space—red, blue, and purple—that I’ve visited, seeking common ground.
After a bit of milling around and reading other people’s signs, will I find some shade, sit down, and quietly assemble the Lego kit I got for Christmas? Yes. I believe in the value of protests, and I’m happy to add my body and my sign to the crowd. But I can only handle so much peopling, and Seattle’s gatherings have a spotty history; I plan to be part of the crowd, but I also plan to be doing something so peaceful, so dorky, it would be downright ridiculous to arrest me.
What are your plans?
I’d love to hear,
Kate
P.S. Do you like your organizing to be highly organized? Check out this glorious spreadsheet sent to me by Shannon Winakur. Now look at the map version!
