I learnt about Los Prisioneros through the 'Hecho en Chile' programme on Radio Galaxia, presented by Sergio 'Pirincho' Cárcamo. Their music became our trench and musical poetry, like all other forms of struggles against dictatorship.
I was already listening to the 'Nuestro Canto' programme presented by Miguel Davagnino on Radio Chilena in 1976. From 1986 I listened to the music dissident to the dictatorship on Radio Umbral, played by the late Pedro Henríquez. This was the radio panorama that allowed us to hear the voices and sounds of resistance.
This is how I survived loneliness, first underground and then in prison, artistically cultivating my own politically revolutionary project. In prison, there was always a radio set to accompany my political ideas infused with poetry and hope.
The barking of the dog in 'El baile de los que sobran' sank deep into me. They were from before the coup, from 'Luchín' by Victor Jara, and reappeared as rock in popular music.
The loyal canine friend, always near the poor, can build us up again, repair our hope. This four-legged creature is nowadays an emblem of the popular uprising, through Negro Matapacos.
During a family visit, my 13-year old little brother told me that Los Prisioneros had rebel blood. This bout of affection, my brother, is what guides me to this day. Los Prisioneros were, are and always will be bearers of the struggles of mankind. Yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Victims remembered in this testimony:
Published on: 15 December 2019
it's another end of the month, with nothing new,
My friends ended up, just like you,
this year the games ended,
their twelve games.
Join the dance of those left behind,
no one will ever kick us out of here,
because no one ever really wanted to help us out.
They told us when we were kids,
play the studying game,
all of us men are brothers,
and together we should all strive.
You heard the advice
the eyes of our teacher,
The sun shone over our heads,
and it was all false,
because at the end of those games,
others ended up with laurels and futures
and my friends were left
Hey, I remember some stories
about the future
Hey, the time I learned about them I felt the safest.
Under our shoes
there's mud and concrete,
The future is nothing
like what was promised during those twelve games.
Others learned secrets you weren't told
Others were truly given
that thing called education
They would ask for effort
They would ask for dedication
And what for? To end up dancing
and kicking stones.
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