Emma Sepúlveda. We, Chile: Personal Testimonies of the Chilean Arpilleristas. Washington, DC: Azul Editions, 1996; 191 pp. Paper $15.95. Available at local book stores.

In a now-famous poem of the 1930’s, "Questions of a Reading Worker," the German poet Bertolt Brecht wonders if history is really only made by ‘big guys’ such by generals, chief architects, emperors, kings and land lords? Or is it made by the ‘little guys’Ä the tailors, bakers, craftsmen and cooks? Did only the ‘big guys’ achieve glory or did not the ‘little guys,’ too, offer their talents, achievements, and sacrifices for the good of their countries?
One is reminded of Brecht’s questions when reading Emma Sepúlveda’s recent book of oral histories and testimonials of eight Chilean women. The women represent the ‘little guys’ - the seamstresses, peasant women, farm workers, domestic servants and union organizers. They share a common history insofar as their loved ones - be it their husbands, brothers or sons - were arrested in the aftermath of the 1973 overthrow of the democratically-elected government of Salvador Allende. The voices of these eight women stand for thousands of women of the "Disappeared" in Chile and Argentina. At first, the women went from prison to prison to find out about the fate of their men. They talked among each other and sometimes even to members of the international press. Then, many women across the country started meeting in churches and in social halls to tell their stories in a different way.

Out of the material of their children’s dresses, aprons and pants, pieces of lace, embroidery yarn, buttons and unraveled wool, these women create small pieces of tapestry about the size of college note pads. The arpilleras tell the stories of their villages being raided by police, of their loved ones being arrested, of their children crying for food, of women dancing alone because their husbands disappeared, and of their hopes for justice in spite of it. While they work on the arpilleras, many of the women have a photograph of their missing relative pinned to their chests. It is as if their voices having chanted for justice in the village squares or on the city plazas have turned inward. The silence of needles stitching, sewing, embroidering and crocheting seemed to carry over the voices yelling and screaming.

Over the years during her many trips to Chile, Emma Sepúlveda recorded the words of these women and photographed the arpilleristas during their work in Santiago. Often, for security reasons, she did not take pictures of the women’s faces but instead pictured their hands collectively creating tapestries of life and of hope. Listening to the women’s voices one hears the conviction of the materially poor but spiritually rich. Lack of formal education is no barrier to their being able to articulate eloquently their visions for a democratic Chile. "Individuals must unite in a collective effort so that humans may eternally live free," says Gala Torres Aravena. A nobility of spirit shines through these testimonies and the women are determined to persist even at great personal loss. "We let pass the opportunity to find a husband, the love of a man, and the chance to have our own family," says Victoria Díaz Caro. "I would have liked to have been a mother, I would have liked to do so many things, but I always felt my duty was to give my life to rediscover the path to liberty, not only for me but for all people."

These women stand up, as Nelson Mandela once said, in the "path of tyranny and injustice without seeking selfish gain." The women are representatives of the ‘little guys’ who show the way to social justice in Chile. Emma Sepúlveda - who among many things is also a professor of Spanish at the University of Nevada, Reno and a member of our board of directors - wrote a poem to honor those who stood up and who perished. The poem is taken from her book Tiempo cómplice del tiempo published in Spain in 1989 and it so eloquently concludes this important and impressive volume. It entreats us to read these testimonies, so that we, too, never forget that genocides kill real people.

No, no they are not numbers

they are not numbers

they are names.

("We, Chile" p. 187)

Viktoria Hertling