A Troubled Memory? The Transnational Trauma of Chile’s 1973 Coup 

by Adeline Vasquez-Parra

On September 11^th, 1973, General Augusto Pinochet led a military coup in Chile, overthrowing the democratically-elected President Salvador Allende. This event marked the onset of a brutal dictatorship that lasted from 1974 to 1990, characterized by widespread human rights abuses including torture, kidnappings, and the exile of thousands of Chileans. Between 500,000 and 1 million Chileans fled the country. Between 10,000 and 15,000 found refuge in France from 1973 to 1989 while Canada welcomed 7,000 refugees between 1973 and 1978. The coup’s impact reverberated far beyond Chile’s borders, reshaping global diplomacy, inspiring human rights activism, and altering the lives of those who fled. 

As a child of this diaspora, I was born and raised in France and Belgium with Chilean relatives who eventually resettled in Canada. I want to reflect on how the history and memory of Chile’s September 11^th, 1973 have been preserved across the Atlantic. This historical moment can provide for the re-building of a transnational memory of refuge, reinforcing its continued significance in our shared understandings of democracy. But this memory offers more than just moral “lessons.” It provides an opportunity to reflect on the intersection of history, diasporic memory, and the craft of historical memoir. As French historian Ivan Jablonka discusses in his books, blending history with personal narration helps us approach the past in unconventional ways. Rather than presenting facts as isolated elements of a distant era, this approach reveals how they actively influence our present, reflecting the wounds they have imprinted on us.

Preserving History Across Borders

Both Canada and France have made efforts to integrate the history of Chilean political refugees into their broader national narratives of refuge. In France, specific archives at the Office Français de Protection des Réfugiés et Apatrides (Ofpra) are devoted to their arrival. Similarly, the Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21 in Halifax, Nova Scotia records the experiences of these refugees and their descendants through oral history. 

 Québec’s relationship with Chilean political refugees is particularly notable. This is thanks to its numerous Catholic missionaries in Chile and the formidable generosity initiated by the Comité Québec-Chili, created in 1973 by trade unionists Michel and Suzanne Chartrand. Their newspaper, Chili-Québec Informations, remains available online today. Published in 1979, Pierre de Menthon’s autobiographical book Je témoigne, Québec 1967, Chili 1973 is also an illustrative example of a transnational first-hand account. De Menthon served as French Consul General to Québec in 1967 and to Chile in 1973, sheltering hundreds of political activists in his Santiago embassy during the coup. 

Rethinking a Transnational Memory of Refuge

The process of integrating these narratives in France or Canada often reflects the unique priorities and perspectives of host countries, leading to selective memory and omissions of actual refugee experiences. These cultural differences result in distinct yet interconnected interpretations of the coup and political exile from the Chilean state, host societies, and the refugees themselves. Conservative Chilean historians, notes Chilean historian Marcelo Casals, have often justified the collapse of Chilean democracy by blaming the “radicalization” of the left, and the revolutionary actions of the Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria (MIR).

Reflecting on the memory of the coup in France, I am struck by how the French consistently sought to both victimize and “Frenchify” the refugees, obscuring their heterogeneous voices. This tendency was evident in the extensive cultural production—films, music, and murals—produced in France showcasing a distinctly French moral perspective on the coup and its aftermath, sometimes in collaboration with the refugees themselves. The French constructed an idealized image of heroic “intellectual” refugees, as is well captured by Julie Gavras in her 2006 film, Blame it on Fidel. This representation expressed a specific (and possibly naïve) comprehension of both refugee and political activism while overlooking the brutal realities of exile, the specific needs of “refugee-survivors” who had endured torture and detention, and, of course, the internal conflicts within families. 

In Canada, memories of national and local humanitarian efforts combined with pragmatic approaches to community rights shaped by the arrival of other “Cold War refugees.” These groups were often viewed with ambivalence by Canadian society. This ambivalence extended to Chilean refugees. Despite facing similar skepticism, the Chileans were respected for their distinct ethno-cultural characteristics, as they actively contributed to preserving a unique group culture. But on both sides of the Atlantic, most refugees participated in the circulation of objects and artifacts, such as arpilleras (patchwork pictures), which were specifically created by arpilleristas—women resisters, widows, and mothers of political prisoners—for the diaspora. These objects carried political messages and served as fundraisers to support political prisoners back in Chile.

This contrasted with other “Cold War refugee communities” in Canada like Hungarian and Russian Jews whose resettlement was less intertwined with ongoing transnational political activities. “Ethno-specific organizations were created in order to maintain cultural attributes,” writes founding executive director of the Canadian Centre for Victims of Torture Joan Simalchik. (97) But she also notes that “the (Chilean) exile community coalesced around solidarity activities that sometimes perplexed the larger host society and frustrated the refugees” due to a lack of galvanizing support from the population. (98) The integration of Chilean refugees in the mid-1970s was mostly facilitated by religious organizations like the Regional Interfaith Immigration Committee in Winnipeg. This period also witnessed a broad coalition of groups from the New Democratic Party, the Canadian Association of University Teachers, and World University Service to various community organizations such as the Centre d’Orientation et de Formation pour les Immigrants (COFI) in Québec all mobilizing in support of Chilean refugees. These mobilization efforts in favour of Chilean refugees led to significant reforms in Canada’s immigration policies, including changes to the process for granting political asylum to individuals persecuted for their political beliefs or activities, as outlined in the 1976 Immigration Act. 

The Complexities of Inheriting the Coup

For many children of Chilean political refugees, the connection to Chile has often been tinged with feelings of estrangement. We grew up in a diasporic culture distinct from both the broader Chilean expatriate community and the evolving realities of Chile itself. Cultural symbols like arpilleras or protest singers and bands such as Victor Jara and Illapu became markers of a Chile that existed primarily in exile. The diaspora also had its own internal heroes like Orlando Letelier, who was assassinated in Washington, D.C. in 1976 along with American political activist, Ronni Karpen Moffitt. While deeply meaningful to the diaspora, these cultural figures often felt disconnected from the lives of Chileans who remained in the country. 

But diasporic memory is also fraught with internal conflicts. Early on, some refugees were accused of being economic migrants who had “stolen” political refugee status to seek better opportunities abroad, notes writer and political refugee in France Ricardo Parvex. And while all political resisters suffered under the dictatorship, racial and social differences within Chilean society often persisted in exile, further complicating relationships within the diaspora. Bourgeois, highly-educated refugees—particularly those involved in MIR leadership—frequently overshadowed the experiences and memories of poorer, less-educated refugees due to their ability to speak or write about repression publicly. This raises questions about whose narrative should be prioritized when recalling a traumatic event in a diasporic context and who is entitled to best represent others while in exile. This is precisely why “narrating” history addresses the gaps left by both official and diasporic records. French historian Ivan Jablonka exemplifies this approach in Histoire des grands-parents que je n’ai pas eus (2012) where he confronts the rigor of archival research with personal storytelling and memories. His narrative not only reconstructs the tragedy of his grandparents who perished in the Holocaust, but also reveals the silences, taboos, and emotional weight carried through generations of family.  

The Fragility of Democracy

Eventually, the experience of Chilean political refugees underscores the precarious nature of democracy as a regime that, when left unguarded, can easily collapse. Today more than ever, the memory of September 11^th, 1973 should serve as a stark political lesson that power must be wielded for the collective good, scrutinized relentlessly, and held accountable at all costs. Pinochet’s ascent to power shows what happens when individual ambitions and authoritarianism, fueled by intense political polarization, override the principles of electoral integrity.  

In reflecting on this piece, I am reminded of my personal connection to a history I barely know. My father sought political refuge in France as a university student. Like many children of political refugees, my knowledge of those tumultuous years in Chile and what occurred “before exile” is limited. 

We should therefore rethink the memory of political refuge as a dynamic, ongoing transnational process enriched by personal quests and narratives that continue to impact our world. The Chilean diaspora of political refugees has imparted profound lessons on the intricacies of exile, international solidarity, and the vital need to safeguard democracy. Yet, the memory of exile is also uncomfortable, grounded in the lived realities of loss, trauma, and displacement. These experiences must be addressed not only by mental health services and international justice, but also critically examined by new generations to fully understand their insidious and long-lasting impact on individuals and societies. 

Adeline Vasquez-Parra is an Associate Professor of North American History and Civilization at Université Lumière Lyon 2.

Further Reading

Jay Blumler, Mario Alvarez Fuentes, “The 1970s Chile: lessons and warnings for contemporary democracy,” Media, Culture & Society, 2019: 1-10.

Marcelo Casals, “The Chilean counter-revolution: Roots, dynamics and legacies of mass mobilization against the Unidad Popular,” Radical Americas, 6.1, 2021: 1-17. 

Suha Diab, “The Canadian Government’s Response to the Chilean Refugees,” Refuge, 31.2, 2015: 51-62.

Musée de l’histoire de l’immigration, Paris, « L’exil des Chiliens en France ».

Francis Peddie, “Chilean Refugees: Lessons of Past and Present,” ActiveHistory, 2015.

Eva Salinas, “How the Chilean coup forever changed Canada’s refugee policies,” The Globe and Mail, 2013.