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The Walls of Santiago: Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile
The Walls of Santiago: Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile
The Walls of Santiago: Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile
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The Walls of Santiago: Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile

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A photo-illustrated record of Chilean protest art, along with reflections on artistic antecedents, global protest movements, and the long shadow cast by Chile’s authoritarian past.

From October 2019 until the COVID-19 lockdown in March 2020, Chile was convulsed by protests and political upheaval, as what began as civil disobedience transformed into a vast resistance movement. Throughout, the most striking aspects of the protests were the murals, graffiti, and other political graphics that became ubiquitous in Chilean cities.

Authors Terri Gordon-Zolov and Eric Zolov were in Santiago to witness and document the protests from their very beginning. The book is beautifully illustrated with over 150 photographs taken throughout the protests. Additional photos will be available on the publisher’s website.

From the introduction:
In the conclusion, we take stock of the crisis of the nation-state in the contemporary era. This chapter brings events into the present moment, noting the ways President Piñera took advantage of the COVID-19 pandemic to reclaim the streets of Santiago, a phenomenon echoed in countries across the globe. While most of the global protest movements were forced to go underground (or into the ether), the Black Lives Matter movement surged in the United States and drew massive amounts of support both domestically and abroad, suggesting a continued wave of grassroots protests. We close with reflections on the continued relevance of walls in a virtual world, the testimonial role that protest graphics play, and the future outlook for revolutionary movements in Chile and worldwide.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 5, 2022
ISBN9781800732568
The Walls of Santiago: Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile
Author

Terri Gordon-Zolov

Terri Gordon-Zolov is Associate Professor of Comparative Literature at The New School in New York City. She is former Director of the Gender Studies Program at The New School and sits on the editorial board of WSQ. Her work has appeared in Latin American Literary Review, The Nation, and NACLA, among others

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    The Walls of Santiago - Terri Gordon-Zolov

    The Walls of Santiago

    Protest, Culture & Society

    General editors:

    Kathrin Fahlenbrach, Institute for Media and Communication, University of Hamburg

    Martin Klimke, New York University Abu Dhabi

    Joachim Scharloth, Waseda University

    Protest movements have been recognized as significant contributors to processes of political participation and transformations of culture and value systems, as well as to the development of both a national and transnational civil society. This series brings together the various innovative approaches to phenomena of social change, protest, and dissent which have emerged in recent years, from an interdisciplinary perspective. It contextualizes social protest and cultures of dissent in larger political processes and socio-cultural transformations by examining the influence of historical trajectories and the response of various segments of social, political, and legal institutions on a national and international level. In doing so, the series offers a more comprehensive and multi-dimensional view of historical and cultural change in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

    Recent volumes:

    Volume 30

    The Walls of Santiago: Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile

    Terri Gordon-Zolov and Eric Zolov

    Volume 29

    The Aesthetics of Rule and Resistance: Analyzing Political Street Art in Latin America

    Lisa Bogerts

    Volume 28

    Political Graffiti in Critical Times: The Aesthetics of Street Politics

    Edited by Ricardo Campos, Andrea Pavoni, and Yiannis Zaimakis

    Volume 27

    Protest, Youth and Precariousness: The Unfinished Fight against Austerity in Portugal

    Edited by Renato Miguel Carmo and José Alberto Vasconcelos Simões

    Volume 26

    Party Responses to Social Movements: Challenges and Opportunities

    Daniela R. Piccio

    Volume 25

    The Politics of Authenticity: Countercultures and Radical Movements across the Iron Curtain, 1968–1989

    Edited by Joachim C. Häberlen, Mark Keck-Szajbel, and Kate Mahoney

    Volume 24

    Taking on Technocracy: Nuclear Power in Germany, 1945 to the Present

    Dolores L. Augustine

    Volume 23

    The Virago Story: Assessing the Impact of a Feminist Publishing Phenomenon

    Catherine Riley

    Volume 22

    The Women’s Liberation Movement: Impacts and Outcomes

    Edited by Kristina Schulz

    Volume 21

    Hairy Hippies and Bloody Butchers: The Greenpeace Anti-Whaling Campaign in Norway

    Juliane Riese

    For a full volume listing, please see the series page on our website:

    http://berghahnbooks.com/series/protest-culture-and-society

    The Walls of Santiago

    Social Revolution and Political Aesthetics in Contemporary Chile

    Terri Gordon-Zolov and Eric Zolov

    First published in 2022 by

    Berghahn Books

    www.berghahnbooks.com

    © 2022 Terri Gordon-Zolov and Eric Zolov

    All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of short passages for the purposes of criticism and review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission of the publisher.

    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

    Names: Gordon-Zolov, Terri, author. | Zolov, Eric, author.

    Title: The walls of Santiago : social revolution and political aesthetics in contemporary Chile / Terri Gordon-Zolov and Eric Zolov.

    Description: New York : Berghahn, 2022. | Series: Protest, culture & society ; volume 29 | Includes bibliographical references and index.

    Identifiers: LCCN 2021052651 (print) | LCCN 2021052652 (ebook) | ISBN 9781800732551 (hardback) | ISBN 9781800733220 (paperback) | ISBN 9781800732568 (ebook)

    Subjects: LCSH: Street art—Chile—Santiago—21st century.

    Classification: LCC ND2703.S26 G67 2022 (print) | LCC ND2703.S26 (ebook) | DDC 751.7/30983315—dc23/eng/20220215

    LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021052651

    LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021052652

    British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

    A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

    ISBN 978-1-80073-255-1 hardback

    ISBN 978-1-80073-322-0 paperback

    ISBN 978-1-80073-256-8 ebook

    This book is dedicated to the woman we met on Avenida Providencia on 27 October 2019.

    Contents

    List of Illustrations

    Acknowledgments

    Prologue

    List of Abbreviations

    Maps

    Introduction

    Part I. Memory Boxes

    CHAPTER 1. It’s Not 30 Pesos, It’s 30 Years

    CHAPTER 2. The Right to Live in Peace

    Part II. Revolutionary Currents

    CHAPTER 3. Evade

    CHAPTER 4. The Revolution Will Be Feminist or Will Not Be!

    CHAPTER 5. Wallmapu Libre!

    CHAPTER 6. Chile Woke Up

    Part III. Aesthetics and Politics

    CHAPTER 7. Poetry Is in the Street

    CHAPTER 8. It’s a Match!

    CHAPTER 9. Behind the Scenes

    Conclusions

    Epilogue: One Year Later

    Bibliography

    Index

    Illustrations

    Figure P.1. Façade of Centro Cultural Gabriela Mistral (GAM), 25 January 2020. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure P.2. The façade, made up of a shrine of ribbons, included Helia Witker’s painting of The Sacred Tree of Chile (center) and martyred Mapuche activist Camilo Marcelo Catrillanca (right). © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure P.3. GAM façade after authorities clandestinely erased the graffiti in the early morning hours of 19 February 2020. Courtesy of GAM.

    Figure P.4. The faint shadow of Always Resist remained on the painted-over façade of GAM. Courtesy of GAM.

    Figure P.5. A spattering of blood-red handprints on the façade of GAM. Close-up of photograph by Lucas Alvarado for La Tercera. Courtesy of La Tercera.

    Figure 0.1. Graffiti-covered statue of General Manuel Baquedano, which sits at the center of Plaza Italia (also known as Plaza Baquedano). Plaza Italia was subsequently renamed Plaza de la Dignidad or Plaza Dignidad by protesters. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 0.2. The metaphor of waking up was widely invoked in the protests. Here, a simple poster with the text Chile Woke Up located along Avenida Providencia is figuratively endorsed by the incorporation of a heart. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 0.3. In the early morning of 15 November 2019, a day after President Piñera unexpectedly agreed to hold a plebiscite to vote on rewriting the constitution, Plaza Dignidad appeared draped in white with the word PAZ (PEACE) hanging from the statue of General Baquedano. The effect was short-lived, as police ordered the art-activists to remove the installation. Photo via Twitter @RadioPortales.

    Figure 0.4. A wall in Balmaceda Park, near Plaza Dignidad, reveals the proliferation of posters and the thematic content that typified downtown Santiago during the uprising. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 0.5. This graphic of a working-class woman confronting an armed policeman with a wooden spoon, child in hand, captures the idea of the museum of people’s revolt. This small glimpse of the exterior wall of the GAM, a location that assumed a unique role as an artistic canvas, meeting ground, and place of refuge for protesters, reveals the wide technical and aesthetic range of protest graphics and the layered nature of the walls themselves. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.1. A colorful, ethnically diverse poster located on a lamppost at Plaza Ñuñoa reads, Wooden spoons in the face of your bullets / And at the curfew? CACEROLAZO. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.2. This stencil, located on wall on Avenida Providencia, echoed a line of the spoken-word rap song, Cacerolazo, from the video montage by Ana Tijoux that was released on 21 October 2019, three days after the start of the uprising. It’s not 30 pesos, it’s 30 years quickly emerged as the central slogan of the estallido. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.3. This graffiti, drawn on a wall of the Avenida Irarrázaval in the middle-class neighborhood of Ñuñoa, provides an example of the polemical equivalency drawn by protesters between the dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet (1973–90) and current, conservative President Sebastián Piñera. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.4. Piñera or Pinochet? I don’t know, Rick . . . They look the same. This conflation of Piñera and Pinochet uses humor to make a critique by appropriating a line popularized by the US television show Pawn Stars. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.5. A stencil cleverly draws upon the movie title Back to the Future (1985) to suggest that Chile is in a circular time warp, perpetually linked to the legacy of the Pinochet era. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.6. A photo montage that appeared in the early days of the protests two blocks away from La Moneda Presidential Palace aligns a 1978 photograph of Pinochet surrounded by the military (above) with a widely circulated image of President Piñera as he signed the decree that authorized use of the military to quell the unrest. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.7. Simple, dramatic statements called attention to the number of dead (muertos) and wounded (heridos) by force of arms (armas) in the protests. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.8. This powerful stencil, Torture is happening in Chile [in] 2019, provides a potent denunciation of state violence against demonstrators. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.9. A glib graffiti found scrawled on the vandalized MetLife Insurance building on Avenida Pedro de Valdivia in Providencia references the University of Chicago-trained economists who implemented the shift to neoliberalism during the Pinochet regime. MetLife acquired ProVida AFP, one of the leading Chilean private pension fund managers, for $2 billion in 2013. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.10. A stencil on the Arzobispo Bridge, Copper for Chile / NOT for the Military, which depicts Chile as a floating, resource-rich strip of territory, demands that copper (cobre) benefit the nation, not the military. The Restricted Law on Copper, which earmarked 10 percent of copper profits for the military, was repealed in 2019 and will be gradually phased out over a twelve-year period. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.11. Dignity became one of the central protest tropes. This graffiti banner, which wrapped around a wall in the Bellas Artes district, includes an indigenous-styled design element. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.12. For all the grandparents who committed suicide so as not to be a burden / ‘Today the people rise up in your memory.’ This slogan was written on a low wall at the Balmaceda Park along the Mapocho River in Santiago. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.13. Alive they took them / Alive we want them back. This protest slogan, which first circulated during the dirty wars across the Southern Cone in Latin America, reemerged in the context of the estallido, here updated with the inclusion of the gender-neutral x. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.14. One of a series of individualized posters on Avenida Pedro de Valdivia in Providencia that emphasized the personhood of those killed by the military in the early days of the uprising. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.15. Using a fractal, cubist-influenced image, this poster calls attention to crimes against civilians and military impunity: Cardenio Prado / Run over during a peaceful demonstration against social injustices. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.16. This poster simultaneously celebrates a life and denounces state violence: Kevin Gómez Morgado / Assassinated by the military on October 21, 2019 in Coquimbo / 24 years old. Father of a 2-year-old girl. Lead drummer for the band Los Halcones. / In Chile, they are violating human rights. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 1.17. NO MORE IMPUNITY, a massive graphic mural near the Baquedano subway station. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.18. This graffiti scrawl, They torture in $hile, transforms the C of Chile into a peso sign, suggesting that the nation is governed by market forces. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.19. Chile is not for sale, a slogan frequently found on the walls of Santiago, encapsulated the protests against the neoliberalization of markets and the neoliberalization of memory. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 1.20. Chile, if happiness doesn’t come, we will go looking for it. This optimistic slogan stenciled on the Arzobispo Bridge is based on the motto of the 1988 No campaign, Chile, happiness is coming. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 2.1. A bubble-style graffiti celebrating Víctor Jara, the folk-song artist killed by the military in the early days of the 1973 coup. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 2.2. A poster of Víctor Jara depicts him as a Catholic martyr (perhaps intended as a sly critique of the Church), above the title of his song The Right to Live in Peace, which emerged as a universal anthem among protesters. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.3. A stencil of Víctor Jara lifted from the cover of his 1971 album El derecho de vivir en paz, here from Avenida Vicuña Mackenna near the Baquedano metro station. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 2.4. This stencil of a peace dove, one of many that appeared in the early days of the uprising, contained the possibility of multivalent interpretations. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.5. Here, a series of doves in colors drawn from the national flag is bisected by the graffiti tag Socialism or Barbarism, a slogan popularized during the early 1970s. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.6. Titled with the song by Víctor Jara, this poster by Luis Acosta Vergara depicts a bird configuring its nest inside a discarded cacerola (cooking pot), symbol of the peaceful side of protests during the uprising. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.7. The revolution will not be televised, a slogan first popularized in the United States during the early 1970s and rekindled by a 2002 documentary on the attempted coup against Hugo Chávez in Venezuela. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.8. I Don’t Believe You Anymore. This poster, located on a wall at GAM, takes aim at televised mass media biases. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.9. I am no longer accepting the things I cannot change; I am changing the things I cannot accept, a phrase attributed to 1960s Communist Party member Angela Davis. Davis visited Chile in 1972 and returned in 2016 to participate in a dedication ceremony for a neighborhood named in her honor. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.10. Using a vulgar Chilean phrase, this poster of Jarvis Cocker, lead singer from the British band Pulp, plays with language and visual references at multiple levels to say screw you to the elites. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.11. We are one social body and It’s prohibited to give up. These contemporary slogans and images reference those that appeared on wall graffiti in France, the United States, and elsewhere during the 1968 student revolts. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.12. This silk screen of a cactus in bloom recalls the pop aesthetics of Andy Warhol and implicitly references the 1967 Cuban poster Canción Protesta by Alfred Rostgaard. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 2.13. Located outside the GAM, this paste-up by Fab Ciraolo depicts legendary President Salvador Allende as a contemporary hipster, dressed in a T-shirt with the kultrun symbol of the Mapuche. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 3.1. Graffiti spray-painted on a wall in the wealthier district of Las Condes in the early days of the uprising, To Evade = To Demand. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.2. Spray-painted EVADE on a wall along Avenida Providencia in the central commercial district of Santiago. Surrounding graffiti invokes other aspects of the rebellion. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 3.3. Elements of humor surfaced in various graphics, adding a sense of play and irony to the Chilean social revolution. In this poetic reconfiguration, Evade my love appropriates the initial call to arms (evade) and gives the term new, ambiguous meaning. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.4. A Keith Haring-styled dog, one that simultaneously invokes the iconic Matapacos dog of the estallido, here barking out the call to arms in the San Borja Park near the epicenter of the protests. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.5. These sprouting mushrooms, from a series stenciled in a variety of colors, convey a complex set of possible meanings around the term evade. Located on a wall near Plaza Ñuñoa. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.6. To the street. This text is accompanied by an anarchist fused bomb, integrating the themes of popular protest with the necessity of violence. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 3.7. Was it necessary to burn it all down in order to be heard? Yes!! This graffiti was found on the Avenida Providencia in the heart of Santiago in the days after the start of the social uprising. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.8. The complete devastation of the Baquedano metro station at the epicenter of the estallido, here shown nearly a month after the start of the protests. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.9. Solidarity, Unity, and Mutual Support. These keyword phrases of historical anarcho-syndicalism are here invoked in a sticker promoting a contemporary anarchist-punk philosophy. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 3.10. The widely circulated acronym for All Cops Are Bastards, popularized by British punk bands in the 1970s, was plastered across the walls of Santiago during the estallido. Note the depiction of the pig with a Nazi symbol, suggesting the fascist character of police and carabinero forces. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.11. When one reads little, one shoots a lot. This stencil incorporates the numbers 1312, code for the corresponding letters ACAB (All Cops Are Bastards). © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.12. An irreverent appropriation of Víctor Jara’s song title at the Plaza Juan XXIII along Avenida Nueva Providencia points to alternative imaginaries of the right to live in peace. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.13. An intricate mosaic across the street from the Gabriela Mistral Cultural Center (GAM) conjures the effect of stained glass to depict the iconic Negro Matapacos as a protective saint. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.14. The Negro Matapacos, here depicted once again as a saintly figure, invincible to the red pellet bullets that surround him. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.15. Here is a very different depiction of the Negro Matapacos, no longer saintly but a fierce, engaged combatant in the struggle for a future without fear. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.16. The themes of Negro Matapacos as saint and combatant are intertwined in this stencil found along Avenida General Bustamante. Note the flames protruding from the two Molotov cocktails that frame the image. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.17. A monumentalized version of the Negro Matapacos, created by artist Marcel Solá, on display in the Balmaceda Park near Plaza Dignidad. The sculpture was linked to a dog adoption campaign and later directly incorporated into street protests. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.18. An absurdist, fire-breathing version of the Negro Matapacos setting fire to the 1980 Constitution aligns the iconic dog with a more playful side of popular protest. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 3.19. This stencil, part of a series in a variety of color schemes that could be found across the city center, depicts the Matapacos as Still barking—alternatively translated as a command, Keep on barking—one month after the start of the uprising. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.1. A wall montage in Providencia features a stencil of the central feminist slogan, The revolution will be feminist or will not be. A smaller, woodcut-styled sticker in the upper corner depicts a clash between female protesters and the police. It includes a line made famous by Salvador Allende’s final radio address, History is ours and is made by the people. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.2. This photograph of shirtless encapuchadas directly references the central feminist slogan of the uprising through the succinct text Or will not be. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.3. This prominent paste-up on the walls of GAM, Lolo Góngora’s We Women Are Always on the Front Line, contains a cast of female figures fighting for a more equal and dignified society. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.4. Paloma Rodríguez’s Holy Dignity renders an allegorical female figure the patron saint of the revolution. Here the figure’s halo is enhanced by the gold frame of the Museo de la Dignidad. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.5. This graffiti on the side of the Arzobispo Bridge puts a feminist spin on the theme of evade: MACHO MAN, lose your privileges. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.6. The stencil A dead cop doesn’t rape calls attention to state violence against women in the present and the past, adding a gendered dimension to the more common ACAB (All Cops Are Bastards). © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.7. Legal abortion / Fire to the patriarchal state. A dark purple stencil accompanied by the raised fist of female solidarity denounces Chile’s tight legal restrictions on abortion. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.8. The metaphorical motto of the stencil Abort the heterocapitalist patriarchal system ties together the feminist call for reproductive rights with a systemic critique of capitalism, patriarchy, and heteronormativity. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.9. The paste-up by illustrator Marcela Paz Peña (Isonauta) Nicole Saavedra Bahamondes / Assassinated for Being a Visible Lesbian plays on the notion of visibility, rendering visible the danger of homophobic views and violence. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.10. The magenta graphic Fight Like a Girl was part of a diverse series of stencils and slogans across the walls that sought to raise up disempowered groups. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.11. "Without country / Without fear / Queer love is RESISTANCE

    ." One of numerous posters that celebrated the revolutionary role of gay, lesbian, and transgender communities and called attention to new political subjectivities. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.12. A Dadaist depiction of a bare-breasted female rebel against a backdrop of estallido hashtags and captioned by the central text In a State of Rebellion. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.13. This photograph provides an aerial view of a performance piece State of Rebellion by the radical feminist group Yeguada Latinoamericana. Photograph by Juan Pablo Miranda. Photo courtesy of Cheril Linett.

    Figure 4.14. Lolo Góngora’s stylized Not Yours, Not the Cops’, which became one of the iconic images of the estallido, reclaims ownership over the female body. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.15. Here body art is transformed into poster art: If you violate [rape] women, we will violate your laws!! Note the lit fuse designating the body as a potent weapon in the fight for autonomy and equality. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.16. This performance piece was staged in front of the burned-out façade of the Vera Cruz Church in the Lastarria neighborhood on 10 December 2019 (note the entrance sealed by metal sheets). The sign invites passersby to use the bodies of the performers as a canvas: What hurts you? What makes you angry? Write on us! © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 4.17. Wall graphics on the main avenues of Providencia and Alameda captured the energy of the flash mob dance A Rapist in Your Path that traveled across the globe in the fall of 2019. The graffiti mural THE OPPRESSIVE STATE IS A MACHO RAPIST is written in giant yellow bubble letters outlined in lavender and blue highlights. © Terri Gordon-Zolov116

    Figure 4.18. Isonauta’s The Oppressive State Is a Macho Rapist takes aim at the state, depicting a fierce female warrior holding a fireball slingshot. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.19. Lolo Góngora’s powerful paste-up The Rapist Is You! renders a key moment in the performance of A Rapist in Your Path. This formidable figure sports the signature green bandana of the #NiUnaMenos movement, suggesting solidarity with activists across the Global South. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 4.20. The block print graphic March 8, Liberated Woman (lower-left corner) celebrates International Women’s Day. The image, which features peasants in revolt under a Mapuche Wünelfe (or Star of Arauco), draws on a socialist-realist aesthetic to connect class, race, and gender struggles. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.1. Graffiti located across from Plaza Dignidad, RISE UP, MAPUCHE, points to the central issues of solidarity and identification with the Mapuche struggle that characterized the estallido. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.2. This stencil epitomized a common rallying cry found across the walls of Santiago, one that invoked the indigenous term for the vast expanse of territory formerly dominated by the Mapuche. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.3. This poster, originally designed by the Colectivo de Serigrafía Instantánea in 2017, shows the Mapuche Mother Earth figure (Ñukemapu) figuratively embodying the territorial scope of aboriginal Wallmapu, with the text Genocidal State and Out of Wallmapu. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 5.4. This assortment of stickers on La Alameda across from the Santa Lucia Hill contains various terms, phrases, and imagery that suggest an integration of anarchist-punk sensibilities and identification with the Mapuche struggle. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.5. A stencil of a Mapuche-stylized motif appears above the hashtag Resign Piñera. This design was stenciled onto a stone column in the city center of the northern Chilean city of La Serena. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.6. A silk screen of Mapuche activist Alex Lemún Saavedra, killed by security forces in 2002, polemically confronts a nationalist discourse that erases Chile’s indigenous peoples from the body politic: We all have Mapuche blood / The poor in their hearts, the rich on their hands. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.7. This Fight Is for You. One of numerous graphic designs that featured Mapuche leader Camilo Catrillanca whose assassination took place almost one year before the start of the estallido. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 5.8. An oversized poster designed by the Colectivo de Serigrafía Instantánea featured a close-up of murdered Mapuche activist Camilo Catrillanca and was plastered in serialized form across walls and the bases of monuments throughout the center of Santiago. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 5.9. This small stencil located on a wall in the middle-class district of Ñuñoa depicts an indigenous weichafe (warrior) armed with the stick used for palín, a ritualized sport closely identified with the Mapuche. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 5.10. Based on a lithograph by Javier Barraza, this playful and semiotically complex poster substitutes images of quiltros (the indigenous term for street dogs) for the mass of protesters who transformed the statue of General Manuel Baquedano at the center of Plaza Dignidad. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 5.11. Who Are the HEROES of Chile? This poster, which was located at the gate of the Faculty of Architecture and Urban Planning (FAU) of the University of Chile, is based on a photograph of a well-known monument to Mapuche chief Lautaro in the Chilean city of Curicó. The poster appropriates the typeface from a 2007 government-sponsored miniseries celebrating the nation’s founding fathers entitled Héroes. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 6.1. A pair of bold eyes with bubble tears appeared on the walls of Avenida Nueva Providencia only days after the social revolution erupted. These crying eyes anchored the graffiti on the wall and would soon become part of a layered collage. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 6.2. Soon this wall became a mesh of conflicting emotions. Graffiti scrawls, such as Chile is not a fool! and Dictatorship Piñicheti, added expressions of anger and unrest to the wall montage. If it is necessary, kill the president references a song of the same name by the Chilean punk rock band La Floripondio. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.3. Don’t give in to the oppressor. This graffiti tag, whose paint drips over the frame, seems to be crying or bleeding as well. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.4. Aguas libres can be read two ways: as Free Water, an imperative to render water a public good, or Liberate the Waters, a reference to the state’s controversial hydroelectric dam project that has upended indigenous communities living along the Bío-Bío River. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 6.5. This beautiful poster by the Brigada Chacón, Peace Can’t Land Because a Tyrant Has Blinded It!, makes a pointed critique of the state, suggesting that it is state violence that stands in the way of peace. A wounded, white peace dove flies sadly on against a vivid sky. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.6. A gritty graphic, In Chile they blind you, makes a simple, but cutting point. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.7. This hooded female revolutionary figure, whose body is covered in red bleeding eyes, was erased along with the rest of the original graffiti at GAM. As a way to keep the spirit of the revolution alive, the collective Ojonitido created a mosaic mural in her likeness (see Epilogue, figure E.1). © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.8. This clever and pointed graphic takes the form of an eye chart whose symbols read, Piñera, because of you 200 people will not be able to read this. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 6.9. This Brigada Ramona Parra (BRP) mural on La Alameda draws on the signature aesthetic of the Communist Party mural collective to support the estallido. One of the BRP members wears an eye patch and holds her hand up in the raised fist sign of solidarity. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.10. This work-in-process in the bohemian Lastarria neighborhood captures the ways in which the walls of Santiago became canvases during the social revolution. Red paint in the shape of Latin America drips from an eye from the first figure, suggesting solidarity of peoples across the Americas. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.11. More than three hundred statues and monuments across the country were defaced, and many of them bore signs of eye injury. This facsimile of the Greek statue Youth (Idolino) in the center of the northern city of La Serena is covered in splotches of blood-red paint. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.12. This stencil of a flaming, bleeding eye was printed on the base of a column in La Serena, accompanied by the intrepid motto Youth without fear. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.13. This magnificent arpillera, Embroider Your Eyes (Borda sus Ojos), pays tribute to the victims of state violence. A transnational effort, the tapestry is made up of 875 individual eye blocks that came from Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and the United States. The words at the bottom read, For those who can no longer see. Courtesy of the Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos, Santiago, Chile.

    Fig. 6.14. The individual blocks bear simple slogans, such as Justicia, or symbolic designs. Each eye block is a work of art in of itself. Courtesy of the Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos, Santiago, Chile.

    Figure 6.15. In an implicit response to President Piñera’s claim that we are at war with a powerful enemy, this poster reads, Violence is that the state takes out your eyes. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 6.16. This poster draws on comic conventions to make a powerful critique. A young girl whose wisdom exceeds her years holds a sign that reads, They want to take out our eyes because they know that we have already opened them. The image is a reappropriation of a government education promotion ad. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 6.17. With 200 fewer eyes, we can still see. By November 2019, more than two hundred eye injuries had been reported. This surreal protest graphic on a steel façade in Providencia brings this point home by depicting two hundred singular eyes. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.1. This rendering of Pablo Picasso’s Guernica by street artist Miguel Ángel Kastro, here located on a wall in the Lastarria neighborhood, underwent multiple iterations. It evolved from a digital illustration that the artist referred to as Black October (Octubre negro) to a street poster with explanatory descriptions to a large-scale mural. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 7.2. A large-scale banner proclaims Poetry Is in the Street at the entrance to the shuttered National Library on La Alameda. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 7.3. A graffiti message on a wall in Providencia calls for – [Less] Police, + [More] Poetry, underscoring the aesthetic aspects of the social revolution. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.4. A minimalist silk screen appropriates the classic 1960s-era expression Make love, not war by centering a female encapuchada, who says, Make art, not war. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 7.5. Reflecting a leitmotif common to many protest graphics, this series incorporating Molotov cocktails uses wordplay and color juxtaposition to create a vibrant image that appears itself to be on fire. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.6. This retrograde style postcard graphic, with its hybrid semantics, images of the modern (utopian) city, and use of collage, embodies many elements of futurism. The text reads: "Contribute to form the world of the future / god of fire, the most destructive." © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.7. This stencil incorporating typographical experimentation and arithmetical symbols (common to Chilean graphic signage) reflects features of Dada, as well as the tradition of concrete poetry. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.8. During the estallido, the walls themselves became evolving collages and political palimpsests, as is reflected in this snapshot of the façade of GAM. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 7.9. These eye balloons, shown here in the Taller de Gráfica Inmediata of the GAM, were filled with helium and released at Plaza Dignidad in mid-December 2019. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.10. This complex graphic incorporates the skull of the huemul, the South Andean deer that Chile claims among its national symbols, in a futurist scenario that conveys apocalyptic despair and hopelessness. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.11. A loyal pack of quiltros (street dogs) accompany a lone survivor of the decimated city, slingshot at the ready, who vows to mourn the lost tears and to fight not to forget. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.12. This poster aptly embodies the grotesque, while containing an ambiguous set of messages regarding the persistence of struggle in the face of state violence. Drowned and blinded, the text reads. We carry on. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.13. This complex, biting critique of President Piñera (holding the leash) and his carabineros has overtones of some of the satirical, politically charged works of the German Expressionists in the interwar period. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 7.14. During the estallido, street vendors sold all kinds of protest iconography, from bandanas and T-shirts to magnets, mugs, flags, and fans, which featured the key motifs and slogans of the uprising. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 7.15. Here an entire display is filled with beautifully designed iterations of the Negro Matapacos in the form of wall magnets and small prints suitable for mounting. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 7.16. These young women set up shop in front of GAM, where they offered a variety of artisanal, hand-designed cloth prints and face masks that incorporated slogans and imagery drawn from the protests. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 8.1. This stenciled serialization of Moai-inspired masks (from the Rapa Nui culture of Easter Island) reflects elements of a pop culture aesthetic process. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 8.2. This graphic, which uses onomatopoeia to convey the sounds of the cacerolazo, directly emulates the aesthetic sensibility of Roy Lichtenstein, a figure closely identified with the Pop Art movement of the 1960s. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 8.3. An elaborate mural along Ramón Carnicer Street integrates various aspects of the social uprising iconography, such as the barred eyes and zombie-like police. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 8.4. Here, protest figures drawn in a style evocative of that popularized by Keith Haring are depicted as waging battle against the carabineros. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 8.5. A stencil playfully depicts an alien beamed down from its mothership, coyly referencing First Lady Cecilia Morel’s off-the-record comment that the protests appeared like an alien invasion. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 8.6. This stencil also riffs on the alien theme, conveying an attack on the city of Santiago by alien forces. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 8.7. Aliens take power, a minimalistic white graphic on a wall along Avenida Providencia, builds on the alien theme. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 8.8. A sign in the Plaza Ñuñoa features a space alien flashing the peace sign and proclaiming, We’ve come for Human Rights, an ironic riposte to the first lady’s off-the-cuff comment. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 8.9. Paloma Rodriguez’s It’s a Match series, a play on the Tinder dating app, brings together unexpected couples in extraordinary times. This paste-up on the wall of GAM puts the spotlight on Cleopatra and Mark Antony, now joined together in a revolutionary cause. The bloody tear has been added by a spectator. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 8.10. It’s a Match 2.0 pairs a male protester with a gas mask head with a retro pin-up figure turned protester. The words Front Line are written in gothic script on the male protester’s chest. In an Instagram post, Rodríguez dedicated this work to all the women and men who fight. © Terri Gordon-Zolov.

    Figure 8.11. An angel done in the paste-up style by the artist known as Caiozzama on a wall on La Alameda, near Plaza Dignidad. She carries aloft the hashtag Resign Piñera while she floats along a wall transformed by a palimpsest of posters, stencils, and graffiti tags. © Eric Zolov.

    Figure 8.12. Affixed to a protective barrier located across the street from Plaza Dignidad, this paste-up by Caiozzama depicts a partially blind Christ holding aloft a sign that intones, "Do not forgive them, for they know

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