Friday, December 30, 2022

Book Review: "The Last Two Years of Salvador Allende" by Nathaniel Davis

The Last Two Years of Salvador Allende (1985)
Nathaniel Davis (1925-2011)
480 pages

In September 1973, the democratically elected president of Chile, Salvador Allende, died during a military coup. He and his government were replaced by a ruling junta led by General Augusto Pinochet.

Beyond these indisputable facts, however, the history of the coup quickly became mired in controversy, as already in its immediate aftermath conflicting claims and accusations dominated the discussion. The clandestine planning and often-chaotic execution of coup attempts can complicate getting to the truth in such situations, of course. But, in addition, the publicly visible animosity of the United States to Allende and his policies – among conservative politicians, and corporate executives with economic interests in Chile – bred a myriad of suspicions about US involvement.

With Cold War tensions running high and the US government having repeatedly demonstrated its willingness to aggressively contest the spread of communism, it is perhaps not surprising that a belief arose that the United States played a direct and material role in the overthrow of Allende’s government. The questions raised were in fact sufficient to trigger a US Congressional investigation. Although that inquiry found no conclusive evidence of US involvement, the idea that US agencies in some way actively conspired to bring about the coup nonetheless became the dominant narrative of events in Chile, not just on the left, but also in the political center, both within the US and globally.

Nathaniel Davis, the US ambassador to Chile during the last two years of Allende’s government, begs to differ with that deeply entrenched understanding of the Chilean coup, however. In his book The Last Two Years of Salvador Allende, Davis claims that the US government actually avoided giving any implication of support to groups potentially working to overthrow the Chilean government, and that the coup in fact erupted largely out of the social, political, and economic conditions particular to Chile at that time.

Davis began his ambassadorship in Chile roughly a year after the September 1970 elections that lifted Allende to power, and he presents his case based on his vantage point at the heart of events, as well as his later discussions with relevant colleagues within the US government. In the opening chapter Davis summarizes the first year of Allende’s presidency, before then beginning his recounting in earnest with his own arrival on the scene, which, he argues, coincided with a moment when “the Allende government reached a turning point … both in the political and the economic sense.” (xiii) The bulk of the book, then, covers the two years from Davis’s arrival to the moment of the coup and its immediate aftermath.

Davis tells the story roughly chronologically, with chapters developed around critical moments in the mounting turmoil. In the final part of the book, he explores in detail controversial aspects of the conventional narrative of events in Chile during this period, including what role the US government played, and whether Allende was murdered or committed suicide on the day of the coup.

Broadly, Davis argues that US engagement during the Allende presidency was focused mainly on maintaining “institutional democracy in Chile” (398), by providing support for opposition political parties and organizations on the center and right, so they could continue to act as viable counterweights to Allende and those on the Chilean left who aggressively sought to curtail their activities. He claims that during his period as ambassador he was meticulous about the US delegation in Chile not providing even the appearance of support for the idea of overthrowing the Allende government. He further states that he has found no indication of any support being given to the coup organizers from other elements of the US government, based on the results of the investigations that occurred in the US Congress after the coup and on his discussions with key figures in the State Department, the CIA and others within the US government, as well as within the ruling junta in Chile.

Davis contends that the coup in fact needed no impetus from the US, that it grew organically out of the increasing political and economic chaos that gripped Chile as the Allende government and associated leftist groups pursued a shift toward a socialist state. The Chilean government’s actions led to opposition from not only right-wing nationalists, but increasingly those in the middle class and political center, with the country disrupted by repeated strikes that spread from truck drivers to a wide variety of other commercial organizations and even professionals. Ultimately, Davis concludes that Allende’s vacillation during this period – wanting to achieve the transition to socialism without violence but unable or unwilling to “impose discipline on his own coalition” (405) as they engaged in ever more militant actions – fatally undermined his presidency.

Building on both his firsthand knowledge and his conversations with high-ranking sources, Davis develops a careful and thorough history of the final two years of Allende’s government, making a convincing case that US involvement, if not completely innocent, did not materially support the coup, and further that Allende died by suicide. Nonetheless, he faces a difficult dilemma throughout the text, one highlighted by a comment he makes at one point, referring specifically to the previous few pages of the book but that could be applied to the book as a whole: “The preceding pages may have the flavor of personal apologia.” (330) He recognizes that many, if not most, readers will come to his book with the deeply held conviction that the US was in some way involved in the instigation and prosecution of the coup, and that this belief means that every claim of innocence and non-involvement that Davis makes for himself, and for the US government more generally, will be met with, if not outright skepticism, then at least the shadow of doubt.

And it’s easy to understand why. Unless a reader is inalterably convinced about what happened in Chile in the early 1970s (US-led coup or not), it can be difficult to read Davis’s account without feeling oneself caught in a kind of hall of mirrors: his narrative and conclusions seem logical and persuasive, but at every step one wonders if one is being misled by misdirection, or careful selection of the facts. Davis himself acknowledges this dilemma at one point with a trenchant quote (that applies all too well to present-day conspiracy theorists in the US as well):

As Flora Lewis of the New York Times has commented, “everything that comes out [about US government actions] makes skepticism look nearer the mark on public affairs these days than credence, though there is also the danger of what David Reisman wisely calls ‘the gullibility of the cynical.’ (307)


It could in fact be argued that Davis somewhat undermines his own case, in that sense, with his pointed decision to focus tightly on the two-year period he spent as US ambassador in Chile. Although he presents convincing arguments about the limited US involvement in Chile during that time, by limiting himself to just the short period of his involvement – even if that was admittedly the critical moment – he tends to imply a rather benign picture of US global engagement more broadly. And much as one can argue that the US has been a force for good in the world, as Flora Lewis noted in her article linked to above, and as can be understood from a variety of other sources, the US government has often enough in its history aggressively intervened in countries to get its way, including directly resorting to armed intervention. Such engagements occurred repeatedly in the twentieth century in the Western Hemisphere alone, including in Chile in support of Pinochet in the years after Davis had left for other shores.

Such activities in fact impacted Davis himself, just two years after he left Chile: he reports having been eased into a low visibility role in the State Department – transferred to a post in Switzerland – after “Secretary [Henry] Kissinger and I had come to disagree profoundly on covert US intervention in Angola.” (387) One can take this as supporting Davis’s credibility, while still leaving room to wonder what he might not have been in the loop about what was happening in Chile.

Toward the end of his book, Davis highlights an important, more global, consequence of the dominant narrative implicating the US in the coup: it obscured the lessons of the coup for those on the left. Belief that the US aggressively tipped the scales in Chile led communists and socialists elsewhere to ignore the critical economic, social and political problems that Davis argues profoundly undermined Allende’s government and goals. Rather than coming to grips with the true causes of Allende’s failure in Chile, he argues, the belief in US involvement meant that 

communist advocacy of the Chilean Way and the peaceful road to socialism has effectively been replaced by the historically more orthodox Marxist-Leninist view that the dictatorship of the proletariat must normally be achieved through armed struggle and violent revolution. (393)


 By contrast, his account makes evident that Allende and the left in Chile lost the political center and with it any hope of success. It becomes clear that charting and executing a path to any significantly different political, social and especially economic future requires some level of majority support, as least passively, if one wishes to avoid a path of revolutionary violence, as Davis argues Allende did.

Although published in 1985, and exploring a period from just over a decade earlier, Davis’s essay provides startling commentary on the events of the last several years in the United States. With prophetic concern, Davis notes that 

It has been a long time since North America has been subjected to such a rending of the social fabric as Chile experienced before and after 11 September 1973. I hope Americans would react differently, but I am not sure they would. (369) 

Certainly, although our current moment in the US has little of the profound disruption that occurred in Chile over the period covered by Davis’s book, the “rending of the social fabric” that has been experienced here over the past decade or so would seem to confirm Davis’s doubts. His expectations for how citizens should instead react serves as a powerful reminder of what is lacking now:

The Declaration of Independence speaks of “a decent respect to the opinions of mankind.” Americans do care that divergent points of view should get a decent hearing. We must feel ashamed when rancor silences discourse. We must be concerned that public servants not be pilloried…. As the old saying has it, we must get about the task of raising our voices a little lower. (397) 

One could, admittedly, argue that for every public servant unfairly pilloried, others have been all too willing to lead the charge of their constituents into a divisive partisan environment in which rancor silences nuanced discourse.

In The Last Two Years of Salvador Allende , Davis comes across as an ambassador of the old mold, a career diplomat with a deep understanding and respect for his position and work. For those familiar with only the claims that the CIA played an active role in overthrowing Allende, his book paints a clear and comprehensive picture of a country spiraling into chaos, needing no outside help to be tipped over the edge into a violent coup. Far from vilifying Allende, however, he acknowledges his respect for the former president of Chile, highlighting his virtues as well as his failures. His balanced presentation paints a believable counterpoint to the narrative of US overreach in Chile, however often such overreach may have taken place elsewhere.


Other notes and information:


Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf

Friday, December 9, 2022

Book Review: "Dune" by Frank Herbert

Dune (1965)
Frank Herbert (1920-1986)
694 pages

I’ve enjoyed science fiction for about as long as I can remember. On my bookshelves I still have stories I ordered from Scholastic Books in elementary school, such as Trapped in Space and The Runaway Robot. Back then I knew by heart all the times that Star Trek reruns would be shown on our local channel 50, and I eventually read the complete series of written adaptations of the show by James Blish.

Over time I discovered Isaac Asimov, devouring all his novels and short story collections (and quite a few of his nonfiction releases as well), and, from there, Bradbury and Clarke and so many, many others. A look at my virtual bookshelf of fiction reviews for this blog makes clear that my interest in sci-fi continues unabated.

On the other hand, fantasy has never attracted me. Although the line between science fiction and fantasy can be thin, and I suppose one could argue that the magic of warp drives and other far-out technology is not so very different from that of dragons and wizards, the latter never appealed to me. To be clear, I don’t consider one genre better or worse than the other; it’s just that my personal preference has leaned toward science fiction.

I recall having ordered from Scholastic Books one of The Lord of the Rings trilogy and not getting more than a few dozen pages into it before I set it aside. Admittedly, it was The Twin Towers and I only realized years later that I’d started with the second book in the series, which can’t have helped. But that early reading experience soured me on fantasy, or at least confirmed whatever opinion I may have already had. (I will admit that, years later, I very much enjoyed the epic sweep of the Peter Jackson films.)

All of which leads to why, despite having read so much science fiction over the years, I’ve never read Dune. Somehow, at some point, I got it into my head that it was fantasy, and that was that.

Then, over the last decade or so, a friend and fellow sci-fi aficionado (hey John!) found out I hadn’t read it and was amazed: “How can you like science fiction so much, but have never read Dune?” His recommendation made me rethink my position, but I still didn’t quite get around to reading it – until now. The final impetus came from seeing the new movie version over this past summer and loving it. Looking into it, I discovered that the movie had only covered the first half or so of the book, and I decided I wanted to read the whole thing before the sequel is released.

For those who come to this post without having read the book or seen the movie, Dune is set in our far distant future, when humans have spread widely throughout space to colonize many planets. It opens on one such world, Caladan, ruled by Leto Atreides, the reigning Duke of the House Atreides. We soon learn that the Emperor of the Imperium of planets has asked the Duke to shift the seat of his kingdom from Caladan to Arrakis, a planet known as Dune because of its vast desert.

Dune, despite its forbidding appearance, is the most important planet in the Imperium, being the sole source of a substance known as melange, colloquially referred to as spice. Spice slows aging and, more importantly, has psychological effects that allow navigators to operate spaceships successfully at faster than light speeds, an ability fundamental to the management of the Imperium. For that reason, the House that rules Dune has the opportunity to become fabulously wealthy. With control of the planet coveted by many of the Houses of the Imperium, the Duke recognizes the implicit danger in receiving the Emperor’s grant of title for the planet. He knows that the previous rulers in particular – an aggressive and relentlessly savage House known as the Harkonnen – will stop at nothing to regain their lost possession and control of the wealth it generates. Nonetheless, the Duke also realizes that he cannot risk rejecting the Emperor’s offer without losing face.

The setting soon shifts to Dune, where the Duke begins resettling the House Arrakis. He is accompanied by his “formal concubine,” Jessica, who is a part of the Bene Gesserit, a “school of mental and physical training” for select women that enables its graduates to exercise significant control over themselves and others through what can roughly be described as a profound understanding of meditation and psychologically. The pair have a son, Paul, the central character of the story, who Jessica has secretly – against the explicit rules of her order – been training in the ways of the Bene Gesserit.

The native inhabitants of Dune, the Fremen, are at first skeptical of their new rulers the Atreides, though happy to be rid of the draconian Harkonnen. When the Harkonnen and their allies then attack the Duke’s forces in a violent bid to retake Dune, Paul and his mother escape deep into the vast desert that surrounds the planet’s habitable zone, and they and the Fremen must decide whether to make common cause against a powerful, vicious and relentless enemy.

Herbert develops his story around the eternal themes of byzantine political intrigue and cutthroat competition for power and wealth. Though many technical marvels exist in the distant future he imagines, they support the story rather than dominate it. Instead, it is advanced mental and physical training that plays a pivotal role in the story. The members of the Bene Gesserit form a powerful sect-like group, and starkly differentiate between those who have some level of such powers and are considered human, and the vast majority in the Imperium who they consider, effectively, as little better than animals; and, though the Bene Gesserit play a highly visible role throughout the Imperium, their goals remain shrouded in mystery to outsiders. Ultimately, their powers and mystique come to play a decisive role as Paul and his mother attempt to win over the Fremen.

Certainly, with the Bene Gesserit, Herbert introduces mysticism and some level of psychic-like powers into Dune. But, the story never tails over into fantasy, at least for my taste. Instead, it is a thrilling tale of political maneuvering and infighting, of the desire for vengeance and the risks that it can unleash. I found myself in the position that perhaps best indicates a great read: I wanted to rush ahead ever quicker to see what would happen next but kept trying to slow myself down so that my immersion in the world Herbert has created would last just that much longer.

And, I’m now definitely looking forward to reading the sequel, Dune: Messiah, soon.


Other notes and information:

The actual final trigger for reading Dune when I did was that I came across a gorgeous edition that’s been released as part of the Penguin Galaxy series, along with five other “greatest masterworks of science fiction and fantasy.”  That you can’t judge a book by its cover may well be true, but I’m an incorrigible sucker for a beautiful edition of a book I plan to read anyway. 

 The novel comes with a variety of appendices. Some of them are directly useful in reading the story, such as in particular the Terminology of the Imperium, a glossary of words particular to the world Herbert has created. Others provide background information on the planet Dune, the Bene Gesserit and other topics; I chose not to read those until after I’d finished the story, to keep the experience as ‘fresh’ as possible (given that I’ve already seen the new movie version). The additional bits of information are vaguely interesting, but when you read them, as I did, desperately hoping to stay immersed in the story I’d just finished, they weren’t particularly satisfying…


My review of the sequel, Dune Messiah, now posted, and linked to at right.


 

Have you read this book, others by this author, or even similar ones by other authors? I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts.
Other of my book reviews: FICTION Bookshelf and NON-FICTION Bookshelf