Por Rodolfo Varela
On September 11, 1973, Chile was betrayed. And not only by the military who bombed La Moneda, nor just by those who raised weapons against their own people.
September 11 Minute by Minute: 1973 Chilean Coup (Radio)
Chile was also betrayed by right-wing politicians, by judges who looked the other way, by religious leaders who blessed the dictator, and by a press that lied, concealed, and actively collaborated with the repression.
I know this because I was there. That day, I was working at Radio Corporación CB114, along with over 20 colleagues, right in front of the presidential palace, La Moneda. From that station, we had the honor—and the historic responsibility—of broadcasting President Salvador Allende’s final message to the Chilean people, a voice of dignity that still echoes in the memory of the nation.
No one told me this. I didn’t read it in a book or hear it in a lecture. I was there. And I was there afterward, too—persecuted, tortured, and dismissed from my job. I was ultimately forced into self-exile, to protect my pregnant wife and our young son, who was only two years old. The dictatorship took away my homeland, my work, and my freedom. But it never took my memory or my dignity.
That’s why I speak out.
One of the most shameful episodes in Chilean journalism—and in national history—was the Colombo Operation in 1975. During that operation, the DINA (Pinochet’s secret police) fabricated a story claiming that 119 opposition members had died abroad in internal conflicts. The press repeated this falsehood without question.
The newspaper La Segunda ran the despicable headline: "Exterminated like rats."
Other newspapers followed suit:
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“The MIR kills 60 of its own abroad” (La Tercera)
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“60 MIR members executed by their own comrades” (El Mercurio)
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“Bloody MIR feud abroad” (Las Últimas Noticias)
This was not a journalistic error. It was complicity. It was criminal propaganda.
The press became an echo chamber for state terrorism, amplifying lies without investigation or compassion. Thirty years later, when many responsible had already died, the Chilean Press Association issued minor sanctions. Too little, too late.
But that was not the only betrayal. One of the most perverse and silent crimes was Colonia Dignidad.
This compound—run by the Nazi criminal Paul Schäfer—was a clandestine center for torture, disappearance, and sexual abuse, fully supported by the Chilean dictatorship and protected by conservative political sectors, judges, religious authorities, and even foreign diplomats.
It wasn’t just political prisoners who were tortured there. Children were also systematically abused, trafficked, stripped of their identities, and illegally adopted abroad. To this day, many victims still don’t know their true identity, and many families are still searching for their stolen sons and daughters.
Where were the judges? Where were the politicians who claimed to defend the nation? Where was the Church that preached morality?
They were silent. They looked the other way. They were complicit.
Today, 50 years later, some say we must “turn the page.” To them I say:
How do you turn the page when families still don’t know where their loved ones are?
How can there be forgiveness when the full truth has never been told?
As a direct witness, as an exile, as one of the voices who helped broadcast Allende’s last words, I say clearly:
Memory is not an anchor—it is a compass.
And forgetting is not peace—it is impunity.
To Chilean journalism—and especially to the younger generation of journalists—I say: do not repeat history. Do not remain silent in the face of injustice. Do not fear speaking truth to power.
Your duty is to truth, to justice, and to the people.
And to the people of Chile, especially the youth: do not be fooled by those who want to sugarcoat the past. What happened did happen, and it still hurts.
I was there. And as long as I have a voice, I will keep telling the truth.
Because silence is another form of betrayal.
And memory is a form of justice.
