Barcelona Metropolis

As part of the Exhumar la memoria [Exhuming Memory] project, a team of archaeologists is attempting to locate and recover the remains of the Palacio de La Moneda, the presidential palace of Chile, which was bombed and partially destroyed on 11 September 1973 during the coup d’état that overthrew Salvador Allende. Recovering the missing debris could provide valuable insights into that fateful morning.

Beginnings are deceptive. They close off the possibility of events that will remain in the shadows, simply because of the decision to start the story in one place and not another. In this uncertain logic, perhaps the true starting point lies at the end, where the excavation begins, and we start sifting through the layers of history.

The story I want to tell could have many beginnings. One might take place between 1975 and 1978, in the city of Santiago, Chile. During this time, a young woman, whom we’ll call A, arrives full of hope, ready to start a new life. She quickly finds work in a bar in the historic quarter, where she meets B and falls in love. They marry and purchase a plot of land to build the home for the family they hope to have. But money is tight, and they can only afford a piece of land that is more of a large pit than a plot – one that needs filling before they can build on it. The couple remains optimistic, believing they’ll soon find a way to level the ground that will become their home. While they wait, a group of lorry drivers comes for breakfast in the bar where A works. These drivers are in charge of removing the rubble from the Palacio de La Moneda, just a few blocks away, which was bombed by the military during the coup d’état. The dictator wants to restore the building so he can govern from there, like a democratic president, but first, he must clear away the debris of the destruction. A few days after the arrival of these new customers, A asks if the lorry loads of rubble they haul out each day could be used to fill the pit on her land. The lorry drivers consider her unusual request, and since A is friendly and serves them so well, they agree. Within a week, ten lorry loads of rubble from La Moneda are deposited on the site where, one day, a house will be built, children will be born, and A’s home and family will be established. All on the remains of the bombed La Moneda.

Another beginning might occur one afternoon in 2022. My friend, Pancho Medina, pulls out his phone to play me an audio message he received: “Yes, Panchito, what you remember is true. I told you my house was built on the rubble of the bombed La Moneda.” The voice is A’s. Pancho had met her years ago over tea at her house, where she had mentioned the unusual origins of her home’s foundations. Despite his astonishment, the memory of that conversation faded until, just a few months before the fiftieth anniversary of the military coup, it came rushing back. Pancho came over to my house with a question that had been troubling him: “Have you ever wondered where the remains of the bombed La Moneda ended up?”

Our focus has always been on searching for the missing bodies. During the 17 years of the Chilean dictatorship, around 2,123 people were killed, and by last year, 1,093 people were still forcibly disappeared. In total, 3,216 people were either executed or made to disappear. In 2023, the Chilean State, for the first time, took on the permanent responsibility of locating the bodies and launched a search plan. Fifty years after the military coup, this action comes too late, but it carries significant symbolic weight. And fifty years on, we can also ask other questions beyond the long-asked “Where are they?” We might, for example, consider questions of heritage. Or we might ask: where did the remains of the bombed La Moneda end up?

The morning of 11 September 1973

The most fitting scene to conclude with, and one that I should have considered starting with, is the events of the morning of 11 September 1973. On that day, President Allende arrived early at La Moneda. There, he listened to the first broadcast from the military junta, witnessed the arrival of the tanks and the start of the ground assault. He then delivered his final speech, after which the bombing began. For fifteen minutes, Hawker Hunter jets from the Air Force bombarded the palace, destroying its buildings and igniting a devastating fire. Just minutes later, the military forces entered La Moneda, where they find the president’s body on an armchair, beside the weapon he used to take his own life.

This summary forms part of the information contained within the remains of La Moneda, wherever they may be. The mysteries of that morning could be revealed by the rubble, if only we had the means to examine it. Covered in dirt and dust from history, we dig and inspect closely, hoping that something will emerge. As we continue, at about fifty centimetres deep, a small piece of tile comes into view. We use a brush to clear the area around it until we can see it clearly. It’s a chocolate-brown tile, as they refer to it. The family does not recognise it; they have no recollection of such a tile, and it doesn’t match the landscape of the house or the neighbourhood. Soon, another tile appears, and then another. Pancho and I celebrate the discovery, while Flora and the archaeologists laugh at us, knowing that nothing can be assumed and that everything needs to be verified. This process is more about asking questions than finding answers, much like writing a story.

In the midst of our excitement, a rusty nail about fifteen centimetres long turns up. We examine it with the reverence one might give a relic. It’s from the 18th century – though we don’t know this yet; further studies will confirm it. Even though this certainty doesn’t necessarily mean it’s from La Moneda, to us it feels significant. The nail, along with the tiles and brick fragments, was found in this unit, or maybe in one of the others; my memory is hazy as everything gets mixed up in the soil and memory once the layers of earth are disturbed. The answers that will make sense of this search will come in the future, if they come at all, as the next step in this project is to send our findings for further analysis. But we need more funding. And more momentum.

To close the excavations, there’s a procedure that feels almost like a ritual, yet Flora and her team perform it with an unsettling ease. Each hole is covered with a plastic raffia mesh, and the previously excavated material is thrown back on top. The river stones return to the depths, along with the stories this family has shared: their move to Santiago, the lorry drivers, La Moneda, the coup, Allende, the building of this house and their memories of the dictatorship. The earth goes back into the earth, just as we will return to our lives, changed by this experience. Before sealing the excavations, the team buries an envelope. Inside, they record the name of the person who carried out the intervention and the date, so that if someone comes across it in the future, they’ll know what it was and who was responsible. It’s a message for future archaeologists. We take part too, placing inside a coin, a receipt, and small fragments from this layer of life we are living in, as a way of thanking the earth for the gift of its forgotten memories. The children of the family add a drawing of the house and the possible remains of La Moneda beneath their home. Perhaps, in the end, history boils down to this – a tangle of times, memories and fragments of debris.

Today, we are still gathering fragments of La Moneda. We want to document that shattered body, whose pieces have ended up in the most unexpected places. Hidden beneath our feet, wrapped in dust and forgetfulness, as if they weren’t what they are – the bones of a true saint. The remains of the bombed La Moneda are closer than we imagined, and perhaps to tell our story properly, we must continue searching. But how long should we search? Does such a search ever really end? Just as beginnings are deceptive, endings probably are too. There’s no way to know when the story of a search concludes. When it comes to bodies, as long as one remains missing, the search will never be over. And common sense tells us, fifty years later, that this story, with its uncertain beginning, will likely never have an end.

This chronicle is part of the project Exhuming Memory by Francisco Medina Donoso. Prompted by the question “What happened to the remains of the bombed La Moneda?”, this expanded practice began its research phase on 11 September 2023 with an exhibition at the Centro Cultural Palacio de La Moneda. The project is ongoing, with the goal of retrieving the remains of La Moneda.