Historical Memory and Pablo Neruda

In Spanish class this week, I learned that the world for remember (recordar) comes from the word for heart (corazon). More or less, the word literally means to pass through our hearts again. For just a moment, we surrender ourselves to the act of letting an event back in and keeping it in our hearts for future reference. When studying history, we do something rather strange. We let an event that once passed through the heart of someone we may have never met take ours over and remain, let it become a part of our knowledge about the world.

This week, we studied Pinochet's 1973 military coup, the U.S.'s role in the violent overthrow and the widespread torture and human rights' abuses that followed. I'm no expert, but I think it's safe to say that being a political dissident during Pinochet's rule was scary and brave and life-threatening. As a result of my overly developed sense of empathy, it was not the easiest of weeks. Remembering is hard work and the study of history asks us to do it constantly and thoroughly without reprieve.

Torture Victim Photos (Park for the Peace, Santiago)

Afterwards, I was ready to get away for a bit, so this weekend, I went to Pablo Neruda's final house. We took a bus to Isla Negra, an hour and a half south from Valparaiso. Of all the houses, it was by far my favorite, stunningly beautiful and right on the ocean. However, having completed all 3 tours, I can't help but be a little disappointed. These series of museums fail to live up to the legacy of the man. The tours discuss Neruda's joy of collecting, his beloved wife and elaborate social life, while barely touching upon his politics. To present Neruda's life without talking about communism and socialism is a historical erasure of the most blatant kind.

I asked the tour guide about this one painting in his dining room that displayed some fruit wrapped in the conservative newspaper “El Mercurio.” Although she didn't know the story, she said her guess would be that it was a gesture towards the assertion that this periodical was only worthy to be used as a recycled good. Otherwise, Neruda's radicalism was barely even a footnote.

By depoliticizing Neruda ad presenting him as merely a “cultural” figure, by reducing him to a caricature, his foundation does a disservice to all the tourists that pass through. After all, we can't know about the world what we've never experienced or heard mentioned. We can't practice empathy unless we are presented with the opportunity.

Speaking of tourism...

I bought a button at the book store that displays a Neruda quote: “I confess that I have lived.” (I know, I know, further supporting the tourism-industrial complex...) He did live, fully and completely. But part of that life was his ties to the far left, his posts as senator and later ambassador to France and yes, also all his parties for his radical friends, some of whom would later become Pinochet's victims.

I went to Pablo Neruda's houses to experience something distinctly Chilean, but it was mostly a further lesson in something sadly universal: the flattening of historical memory in the pursuit of selling it. Now, perhaps, Pablo Neruda wouldn't mind this oversight in the promotion of his brand. After all, he was not only a communist but also, clearly, a big time property owner who had no qualms about amassing things (granted, beautiful things). But, perhaps, when Neruda passes through our hearts, he deserves to be remembered as fully as possible, contradictions and all.