We Found Ourselves in the heart of the Student Protest in Chile, read the story below.

Sebastian Perez

In the heart of Santiago, Plaza de Armas, we met Sebastián Pérez with a Charango in his hands, fingers picking at the strings. He smiled as Mardy introduced us, and greeted us without stopping his music, subconsciously playing and speaking to us at the same time.

He stood next to Mardy, who grinned and bounced and we talked. She was excited to find him amongst the crowds people in this large bustling square. He’s a CouchSurfing.com contact and very enthusiastic about what we’re doing. I was soon to find out that Sebastián may be the most interesting person I have ever met.

Sebastián is a postdoc of astrophysics at the Universidad de Chile, having earned his PhD at the university of Oxford the year before. He is deeply aware of the history of Santiago’s architecture, the details of the aboriginal people of Chile and their displacement and/or assimilation. He spoke of how his family was involved in the revolution of the military dictatorship of the 70’s & 80’s. Yet, it was still all light-hearted discussion as he walked us around cute outdoor markets near the plaza, looking for buskers.

Sebastián is a talented musician himself, is involved in the scene and knows some of the most talented street musicians. He told us he can help plan set a meeting with the best charango player in South America, Freddy Torrealba.

He invited TBP to document the student protest in Chile, happening that night. The protests were over the quality of education in Chile – they wanted better teachers and colleges – and happen about 3 times every week. They’d barricaded the University gates with desks and chairs, and were on strike since the summer began 5 months before.

Sebastián explained that these protests are dangerous and have been known to get rough, but Nick decided it’s relevant to the project (the uprising of the people against their government for freedom is what The Busking Project is all about).

Nick urged the team to stay home and away from the risk of filming this one, but I refused to let him go alone.

Blockade at the Santiago UniversityA blockade of chairs at the university entrance.

The beginning of the protest is the same as any other march I have attended. People walking up streets, sometimes singing, sometimes chanting. However, there are a few notable exceptions to the feeling of a normal protest.

First, someone tells me to take off my large, bug-eyed sunglasses. Laws related to the protests were recently been put in place about not covering one’s face so you can be filmed (or, as the students tell it, so that you have no protection from the pepper spray).

Second, there are large green tanks parked outside of our apartment, 20 blocks from where the protest settles. They are called “Wackos”, named after the spitting llamas to the north, as they have threateningly large water cannons on top. Sebastián explains that water is ‘peppered’; if the protests get out of hand, these cannons disperse them quickly.

The third exception is the man in the middle of the protest who has a shopping cart filled with lemons. He is selling to the protesters.

“Lemon juice takes away the sting of the tear gas” Sebastián says. When life gives you tear gas, make lemonade.

Nick Films a crowd in SantiagoNick Films the calm crowds

We walk until we reach the end filled with one or two thousand people – they are spread through many of the streets over the large intersection of 6 or 7 avenues.  Many of them are dancing, singing, drumming or juggling. We climb on top of a bus shelter trying to get a better vantage point to film. Once on top, we realize the glass is weak below us and that we are now on the “stage” from which the loudhailers are shouting from with megaphones. It’s a risk we are willing to take, this point of view is better than we could have asked for. The orange-red sun is just setting to the west, where I notice riot police standing in a firm line, in full black armor, shields ready, silhouetted by the sun setting behind them and their wackos. An ominous sight.

All the protesters seem to be waiting or socializing – but I am unsure what they are waiting for. There are a few who begin to taunt the police. At first they’re just using words and posturing. Soon it looks like a standoff is forming between protesters and the police. Then, finally, a small number of people begins hurling rocks and bottles towards the blockade.

Protest Stand OffThe Protesters Stand Off against the Police

Chaos ensues.

The police start up the wackos and begin to spray. There are announcements in Spanish on loudspeakers, which I assume tell everyone to go home or be arrested.  Everyone scatters at first, but then some come together again to try to reform their original stand off line. I see a molotov cocktail thrown.

The police throw tear gas canisters in return and drive the wackos forward towards us. That’s when people really start to run. Students are defenseless against the wackos. Pepper from the giant water cannons permeates the air itself, so every breath becomes bitter, but not painful. Yet.

My massive sunglasses do provide some protection and my gloves help cover my nose/mouth. Fear begins to settle in, and Sebastián gets down off the bus shelter, only to be hit by the cannon – he runs and we lose sight of him. Nick and I appear to be trapped on the shelter, as the water jets hitting people directly beneath us.

Neither of our options seem safe; do we descend into the chaos below or stand on our rickety, sagging bus shelter? Climb down into the line of fire or risk getting knocked off?

Thankfully, the wackos keep their aim low, so we can wait for the right moment. It comes, the wackos pass, and so we climb down and follow the crowds through the narrow streets.

The police begin to sweep the surrounding areas on horseback. It seems they are mostly attempting to disperse the crowds. Although the wackos seem like overkill, individual police officers do not seem to be trying to arrest, stop or pick on individuals.

We walk north-west 5 blocks. People are hanging around in groups, and the feeling is edgy but calm. There are no police here, and perhaps hundreds of protesters have come in this direction. All the local shops have pulled their shutters down and it gives an eerie feeling of a city in lockdown. We meet up with Sebastian and learn that he is fine, although a little wet and…peppery.

We loiter here for a while with the crowds, so Sebastian pulls out his charango and starts to play. It lightens the feeling of the square, and I decide to pull out my ball and juggle a bit. Within one minute crowds have formed around us. People are clapping to join the music and commenting on the weird body rolls I do with my stage ball.

One minute later, our crowd starts to leave, and I get an ominous feeling again. I turn around. Ten feet away, a wacko has pointed its cannon straight at me. I begin to run. It begins to spray. The cannons have a wider stream than I thought, because although I didn’t get a full-cannon-hit, I am still wet from head to toe. Eyes watering, coughing, sputtering and running – that’s all I know. Nick follows with the camera, laughing. I give the the camera “Hi Mom!”, as tears and snot run down my face, and we move on.

The crowds are mostly dispersing, the police are effective in their action and we go back to the apartment we are staying at to try to scrape the pepper spray off our bodies. The burning feeling lasts probably 3 days, a feeling not to be forgotten.