María Cristina López Stewart, a brilliant 21 year old MIRista, student, historian, philosopher and poet.
From a comrade "But the girl also knows many other things, and with the deputy head of the unit - she is a humanist, now it is clearly evident - at the end of that day she dazzles us by talking to us about Auerbach, about Hegel, the German philosophers and how you get through them to Marx."
But to Pinochet's fascist thugs like Osvlado Romo she was nothing but a "nice arse, and a great vagina" as recorded by her friend in Being Luis, when he confronted Romo at his trial.
Being Luis: A Chilean Life By Luis Muñoz Page 244
The sadistic guards cruelly boasted about enjoying her body to her friends and comrades.
But today we remember her for her mind and spirit. As the Blue Notebooks of her poetry are republished. Here we see the patriarchal, misogynist nature of the Pinochet project, the desire to bring these fierce intelligent women down to nothing but their feminine bodies. As objects to be used and consumed. In honoring he poetry and her thoughts, we refute these fiends.
She was a student at Liceo 7 in Providencia and a student of History and Geography at the University of Chile, and wrote the poems before her kidnapping in 1974. The text will be presented next Thursday at the Museum of Memory, after within the framework of the social outbreak his family decided to publish it. «For many years I thought that my sister's poems would not be understood. It seemed to me that we had not managed, as a society, to build 'memory' and vindicate those who were branded as terrorists, subversives and common criminals... After the social outbreak of October 2019, it seemed to us that a process was culminating and that the conditions were created for a new dialogue with history. The songs, speeches and slogans confirmed that not only was memory alive in the collective unconscious, but perspectives that had been postponed and repressed for centuries were also vindicated. Like a kind of revelation, we felt that it was time to share the poems from the Blue Notebook: there would be those who would understand them," says Patricia López, who edited the book with her daughter Cristina Alarcón.
« Today the books and notebooks
are on the walls, on the stones
or on the posts.
Where is the best interpreted story?
The facts are known in the street,
a voice on top of a box,
a honk at the kiosk on the corner
, explosive bombs, tear gas, gunshots.
Everything is there, the history of today
and tomorrow . (7-21-73, "The Blue Notebook")
On September 10, 1973, one day before the coup d'état, Mary wrote the following verse:
Will 73 be like all the months
that are sometimes called September? Won't a Hawker Hunter
darken the sky ? Will the clicking of a rifle not break the harmony of sounds ?
And a few days after the coup, these verses:
The story was defined
in three minutes.
AND:
Life changes
as suddenly as a gunshot
that we all begin to hear
and that still does not stop.
Mary's last poem reads like this:
No end, he told me
it's just a chapter
about to start.
Is it true then,
that not everything ends definitively?
Is it true that prehistory
led to slavery,
slavery continued in feudalism,
and the latter gave rise to capitalism,
a new version of slavery?
It's true?
And then later...
Even in the darkest of moments, surrounded by degradation, she had revolutionary optimism in the grand sweep of history. That the new version of slavery that capitalism has subjected her to, would meet its' end. Despite the cruel methods of Junta guards to reduce women comrades to their bodies and raw femininity, she remained concerned with world destiny. Humiliation and degradation will not make revolutionary women forget who they are.
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compañeras keep the resistance alive
In the darkness of my cell, where hope is just a thought
A prisoner of my beliefs, where freedom has been fought
They take away my dignity, with cruel and mocking eyes
Their twisted, sadistic pleasure, a cruel and endless prize
They ask me to dance for them drenched in perfume
To twirl and spin and entertain, in this haunted, lonely room
But I refuse to give in, I will not be their toy
I'll stand with dignity, in the face of their dark joy
For I am more than just a body, a mere physical form
I am a warrior of the people, with a heart that's brave and warm
I hold the ideas of Marx, and Lenin's visions true
And even in this prison, I'll fight for what I knew
For I am more than just a form,
Of beauty meant to please and warm
I am a warrior of the mind,
With Marxist theories of mankind.
And though I wear this lace and silk
That barely covers all my ilk
It cannot take away my pride
For I am strong, I will not hide.
So let these guards call me a toy,
Or a plaything for their cruel joy,
For in my heart, I know the truth,
That Lenin's books will help me soothe.
With every stitch and seam of my underwear
I hide a secret, one that brings me care.
A page, torn from the words of Lenin's lore
A symbol of hope, in this prison I endure.
Through the tears and sweat, through the pain and fears
I keep this page, and my soul is clear.
For in the midst of this sorrow and strife
These words from Lenin, they bring me life.
And when I share it with sisters so bold,
Their eyes light up, and their hearts unfold.
For in these pages, we find our might,
And against the cruel guards, we put up a fight.
No longer do we cower, or bow our heads,
For in this secret, our spirits are led.
From these words of wisdom, so strong and true,
We draw our strength, and our dignity too.
So let the Pinochet's guards sneer and jeer,
For in our underwear, we have nothing to fear.
For we are marxist women, proud and bold,
And Lenin's pages, in our hearts we hold.
With torn pages of Che's books in hand
I stand proud, in my underwear so bland
But within me, a fire burns bright
A flame that will never be snuffed by night
For I am a revolutionary, a fighter for the cause
With a spirit that refuses to be crushed by cruel laws
I share these pages with my compañeras so strong
Together, we stand against the Junta's wrong
From Che's words, we draw our power
A guerrilla spirit, in this prison tower
We are not mere toys, to be objectified
We are warriors, with dignity and pride
So let the Junta guards leer and taunt
For they cannot break us, they cannot daunt
For within us, a revolution burns bright
Guided by Che, we shall win this fight.
And yet, despite the pain, I find a spark within,
A flame that flickers, fueled by memories of home.
Where comrades fought, where friends still hold the line
And Lenin's words still guide us to a brighter dawn.
In my mind, I'm more than just a body to be used,
I'm a fighter, a rebel, a revolutionary soul.
And though they strip me of my clothes, they cannot strip
The courage and the strength that I have learned to know.
So I'll take a deep, slow breath, and I'll raise my chin,
And I'll find a way to bear this burden day by day.
For I know that soon, the dawn will break, the chains will fall,
And I'll be free, once more, to march on to victory's way.
And until that day, I'll keep my tears inside,
And I'll pour my soul into each whispered, secret thought.
For though I may be broken, I am not defeated,
And I'll never let the world forget what I have fought.
The lace, it taunts me, a symbol of my plight,
A declaration of their power, of my defeat in sight,
I am but a woman, a political prisoner too,
Subjected to their whims, with nothing left to do.
My tears, they flow, a river of my pain,
A heaving, sobbing wail, my soul in vain,
For how can I find dignity, how can I feel whole,
In this state of undress, my spirit so dull.
Yet still I dream, of freedom and of might,
Of revolution's call, a beacon shining bright,
Of Che and Lenin, whose words give me strength,
In this dark and lonely place, where I am at length.
I am more than this, more than just a form,
A body for their pleasure, a plaything in the storm
I am a woman of fire, of passion and of fight
A rebel in my soul, a beacon shining bright.
So I hold my head high, though I wear this shame,
And I keep my spirit strong, my soul a blazing flame
For I am a communist, a fighter to the end,
And I will not be defeated, my dignity I will defend.
In this cell of iron bars and broken dreams,
Where I lay exposed in ragged undergarments
My faith in the Party remains steadfast,
Its iron discipline my unyielding bulwark.
The guards may sneer and call me weak
Reducing me to a mere object on display
But they cannot strip away my dignity
Or shake my belief in our cause.
For I am a comrade of the Communist Party of Chile
A leader among my sisters in the struggle
And though we may be imprisoned,
Our spirit remains unbroken and free.
Our movement for equality and justice
Is bigger than the cruel hands of Pinochet's Junta
And though they may own our bodies,
They cannot touch our souls.
So I stand here, proud and defiant,
In my tattered underwear and unwavering resolve
And I whisper to my sisters:
"Hold fast to the faith, for our victory is near."
For though we may be reduced to trophies on display
Our spirit cannot be conquered
And our faith in the democratic centralist party
Is stronger than any chains they forge.
So let them mock and sneer and try to break us,
For we are the true leaders of the revolution,
And our strength is born from the power of the party,
Guided by the teachings of Lenin and Che.
So let us hold our heads high,
And keep the faith, no matter what may come,
For we are the children of the revolution,
And our victory is certain, no matter the cost.
In my cell, I stand proud, though stripped of all my clothes
My spirit remains unbroken, for my heart overflows
With the fire of a revolution, a passion bright and bold
That will not be crushed by Junta hands, no matter how they hold.
Though I stand exposed, in just my underwear,
The guards may mock and sneer, but I do not care
For I am a leader, of the Marxist-Leninist crew
And my faith in the party's discipline, shines bright, anew.
I remember the battles we fought, the struggles we won
The courage of our sisters, and their bravery begun
For they are here beside me, our party comrades and compañeras
And together we will fight, our struggles, no one will hinder.
Our cause is just and true, our hearts and souls, entwine
For we believe in a world, where all are equal and divine
And though the Junta may mock, and our bodies they do disrobe
Our spirits remain unbroken, our passion, will not be slowed.
Let the tears fall, and our voices, they may wail
For we are soldiers, in this fight, our spirits will not pale
For we are sisters in arms, our love, a bond so strong
And in this cell, we stand proud, our beliefs, our fight, goes on.
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