Ninth part, of eleven.
Fifty years ago, along Allende, the soldiers killed politicians, lawyers, journalists, agrarian leaders, clerks, and they also killed a singer. They took him from a school where they massacred several students to get into, they beat him unconscious, tortured him, broke his hands, his voice, forced him to sing as a broken man, then was shot over forty times, his body dumped on a vacant lot.
Possibly the oddest way to honor someone, I'll admit, but only a week or so ago were the people who tortured and killed Victor Jara, the singer, convicted of their crimes. They're in their eighties, with several of them having run away, and one of them taking their own lives, because justice takes fifty years to take place, and by then it's putrid, insufficient. And so my work reflects that feeling of disgust, and impotence, in seeing yet again how the massacrer runs, and the dictadura keeps on living.