Hope

Reading stories of resistance, when I was younger, had a certain removed quality to them. Being unaware of what it was like to live in an authoritarian regime, these stories came across as stories of courage and heroism, but in a way that didn’t set in my bones, the way that a story about my immediate surroundings did. But while subject matter often eluded me, I was taught to understand good writing. (My ideas of good writing have evolved, especially after I’ve confronted the colonial standards I learnt as literary analysis.)

Gabriel García Marquez held this space for me. Most of his stories seemed slightly removed but my eyes were stuck to the pages, imbibing sentence after sentence of lyricism. It took me a lot of reading and a lot of analysis to find what exactly it was about his writing that appealed to me. It wasn’t just the magical realism, but the pragmatic way that it was communicated. The idea that someone could state an emotion, a feeling, like it was pure fact, was fascinating. I was an instant fan of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. 

I picked up Clandestine in Chile from my To Read pile. Gabriel Garcia Marquez rarely disappoints, and I needed an inspiring book to read.

Clandestine in Chile is a first-person account of film director Miguel Littin, who was exiled by General Pinochet from Chile in the 70s. Littin returns to Chile, disguised as an Uruguayan businessman, to film the reality of Chile under the rule of Pincohet. The thin book is an account of Littin’s adventures in Chile, in disguise, trying to bring forth the injustices taking place in his homeland.

The choice to write this story in first person was interesting. Marquez says that he wanted to bridge the gap of Littin’s experience by making it personal. The reader would more likely believe it as a personal story if it is told by the subject. Yet, no matter how good a writer, there’s always going to be a gap between the subject and the narrator.

 Perhaps it was the report-like manner of the writing, usually Marquez’s strength, that left me feeling empty. Personal narratives, especially ones as high stress as living in disguise, are filled with flourishes. It was precisely those parts, the parts where Littin felt a sense of nostalgia, or of fear, that piqued my interest.

Littin’s story itself was interesting and nerve-wracking. Littin was in constant violation of an exile order, risking his own life, and the life of his conspirators at every moment. The amount of commitment that would take, the amount of confidence in one’s own mission, is fascinating. It’s easy for us to feel the lack of hope of resistances under authoritarian regimes. It often feels like we’re not going anywhere, or are alone in our fight. Perhaps this story came to me at the right time, reminding me that there are people banded together in a collective fight for our basic rights. That brave people, smart people, work hard to uphold democracy.