I sat in the Sanctuary of the Immaculate Conception
on a hill above Santiago. Many signs said SILENCE. Also,
CAREFUL OF THE PLANTS. I sat on a bench reading
The Revolution of 1936-1939 by the poet Kanafani.
It is 54 years since he wrote the book, brief but shaped
like Black Reconstruction, beginning with chapters called
The Workers, The Peasants, and The Intellectuals, before
the one called Revolution. In Santiago it is four years since
the estaillido social. There is still smoke everywhere and downtown
spontaneous goth style. I sat there with the history and I
sat there with the book like everybody does. The book’s
introduction refers matter of factly to the most advanced form
of political struggle (the armed struggle). The revolution
in Palestine is not over. It is twelve years since the Port of Oakland
which is not over. It is eight years since Standing Rock
which is not over. It is three years since the George Floyd Uprising
which is not over. If you look down from this hillside you can see
that Santiago is a vast city, vaster than you imagined. You can see
there will not be enough water soon. You can see the stadium
where many people were tortured and killed, some of whom were
Victor Jara. It is 50 years and 15 days since the coup
which is not over. Nothing is over, that is the only certainty.
The other certainty is that everything ends, even this.
