As a writer, I suppose I just can’t help it. Even when I am in the midst of a major crisis, I always end up absurdly fixing my attention on how people use words.
That is what happened when I heard the news that Jack Straw, the British Home Secretary, was not allowing General Augusto Pinochet to be extradited to Spain to face charges of torture. Juxtaposed to my sadness and dismay at the dictator’s upcoming liberation from the house arrest he has suffered in London since October of 1998, I found myself obsessively concentrating on one of the words, “minded,” that the Home Office had employed to announce Straw’s inclination to send Pinochet home. It is a peculiar use of the word, at least for a native Spanish language speaker such as myself.
The use of the word “minded” made it seem that Jack Straw was affirming that his judgement was not rushed or even absolutely definitive, welcoming objections and representations from concerned parties during the next seven days. He was subtly establishing that he had carefully weighed the medical reports which indicated that the General was too ill to stand trial, that the old man could not endure a prolonged judicial process. That is what Jack Straw’s mind, in all its wisdom, had discerned about Pinochet’s body.
But what of Pinochet’s mind? His legs, heart and prostate may have deteriorated beyond repair, but does that inevitably mean that his mental faculties are unable to comprehend what is going on around him, that he cannot follow the vicissitudes of a trial or give instructions to his lawyers?
I always dreamed of the miraculous moment when this arrogant man who has been accused of crimes against humanity would have to look at the face of his victims in a court of law and listen oh-so-slowly to the account of their suffering, when he would be forced to recognize the damage he inflicted upon them. That was and still is my dream, but I must reluctantly admit that if this culprit (or any other one) does not possess full consciousness, it would be senseless to submit him to prosecution. What would be judged is a mere husk of a man—the outward trappings of a mind-less human being—and no longer effectively Pinochet himself.
Is this the case of the Chilean General? Although I do not have the pathological reports of the British specialists and cannot say for sure, [Ed. Note: These reports were publicly released after this essay was written.] I suspect that Pinochet is still entirely and astutely his own self—in other words, someone who remembers clearly who he is and exactly what he did and what orders he uttered. I do not doubt that he can answer quite simple questions such as: What did you eat for breakfast this morning? And while we’re on the subject of breakfasts, do you remember sharing a morning meal each dawn with General Manuel Contreras, the Head of your Secret Police, one hour and a half each day for years and years? During so many hours and so many cups of coffee, didn’t you ever speak, not even once, of the disappearances of the opponents to your regime? Did you never mention, while you chewed your toast and jam, what was happening in the dark cellars that Contreras reigned over, not even a word about the howls that spilled out of those cellars with such intensity that people in the streets thought twice before daring to rebel or resist? And didn’t Contreras consult you—as his superior and Commander in Chief—whether it was really necessary to kill Orlando Letelier in Washington and so many others in Chile and neighboring countries?
These questions and so many others are still awaiting a response. If it is probable that now, due to Straw’s decision, they will not be asked in Spain, there is nevertheless a possibility that extensive answers could be demanded in Chile itself. After all, the Chilean government has incessantly insisted that conditions exist to bring General Pinochet to trial in his fatherland. Of course, given that the dictator has been excused by foreign doctors from the tribulations of due process abroad, what chance might there be to subject him to a trial in Chile?
The answer to that objection will, I believe, be offered by the General himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if Pinochet’s mind, alert and watchful inside his sick body, were to prodigiously resurrect upon disembarking in his native land. I wouldn’t bet against that intellect of Pinochet’s that Jack Straw considered incompetent to stand trial, suddenly throwing out opinions every which way, protesting his innocence and—who can doubt it?—greeting with extreme clarity and even coherence the hordes of fascist followers who will flock to celebrate their Leader’s impunity.
If this scenario were to transpire, in the likely case that General Pinochet recovered his mental aptitude with astonishing celerity (leaving quite a smear of pie on Jack Straw’s face), the men who govern Chile, if they are endowed with the slightest sense of decency, have but two alternatives. The first is to accelerate the pending accusations against the dictator, fully participating in the indictments and investigations, and expending as much time and energy in prosecuting Pinochet as they have spent defending him during the last 15 devoted months. The other option, which is even more drastic, would need to be espoused if it became evident that it is impossible, as many in the human rights community have always contended, to judge Pinochet in Chile; in that case, the government should promptly return the General to England or—why not?—send him straight to Spain. That is what an outraged world should demand: as soon as Pinochet airs his first opinion in public, as soon as he gives the slightest hint that he has a lucid mind of his own, as soon as he proves himself to be someone who thinks and remembers and apprehends, he should be rapidly arraigned in a court to answer his accusers. Or put in jail. As for Jack Straw, having discerned that he was fooled by the old dictator, he could mind and wind his way to Chile and bring Pinochet back with him to London.
It’s only a dream. Maybe my own mind has grown feverish, conjuring up a form of retribution for Pinochet that hasn’t a chance in the world of withstanding the hard test of reality. Maybe I need to console myself imagining a future world where nobody is above the law.
And yet, there is one judgement that Pinochet cannot escape.
The judgement of humanity.
Yes, humanity has a mind, just like Pinochet or Jack Straw or so many men and women whose death and torture the Chilean dictator presided over. That mind of humanity is not something mystical, a mere utopian illusion. What constitutes us as a species is the stuttering and precarious attempt through the ages to determine what it means to be human and what rights we hold due to the defining circumstance of having been born and how to insure that those who systematically violate those rights cannot avoid their final and personal responsibility, their day of reckoning.
The Pinochet case will remain a fundamental step in this search for a better humanity, a better mind for a different sort of mankind and womankind, the arduous construction of a universal consciousness. What happened with the insignificant and remote body of a second-rate dictator will matter far less, as time goes by, than the shining example that his arrest and extradition trial established forever. An accidental return to Chile of Pinochet does not invalidate any of the advances in human rights his detention achieved. English and Spanish courts have solidly established the indisputable principle that when a crime is committed against humanity, it is that humanity itself which has the obligation to prosecute and punish the criminal wherever he may find himself and however powerful he may be. And this is a principle that has clear practical effects: There are in the world today thousands of vile men who destroyed the lives of their fellow citizens, who raped and tortured their bodies, and who will not, solely because of the Pinochet extradition trial, be able to travel abroad, as they so cheerfully did in the past. These felons are, from now on, imprisoned within the confines of their own countries.
During the century which is opening, they will never again sleep well at night. Now it’s their turn to feel fear.
This is General Pinochet’s final gift to humanity.
Thank you, General.
Now it is your turn, you and the men like you, to feel fear.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The latest books by Ariel Dorfman, a Distinguished Professor at Duke University, are the memoir Heading South, Looking North (Penguin, 1999), and the novel, The Nanny And The Iceberg (Farrar Strauss, 1999). This essay has appeared in El País (Spain) and The Independent (London).
