PART I of "Back to Seventeen: Diary of Miguel Enríquez – Biographical & Historical Commentary"

Warnings – Foreword – Preface – Introduction

Aug 24, 2025

"The people must prepare to resist, they must prepare to fight, they must prepare to win” *
(Miguel Enríquez’s speech in Teatro Caupolicán, some weeks before Pinochet´s coup d’état of September 11, 1973. He was assasinated by DINA forces (“Pinochet’s Gestapo”) on October 5, 1975)

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[TABLE OF CONTENTS of the whole book (parts I – V) listed at the bottom of this chapter] [The whole book “Back to Seventeen: Diary of Miguel Enríquez – Biographical & Historical Commentary” is available to free download at Libertarian Books Europe, in this link, from Sept 5, 2025]

Important warnings

First Warning

This work is a compilation of opinions and portraits: Miguel’s opinions of himself, of his partners and his friends; and my own portraits of those opinions. And so on. The book, inevitably, contains accounts of my own participation around the episodes described by Miguel in his Diary.

Subjective Objectivity

The problem arises ipso facto when we consider that the validity of a reality lies in what we think of it—that the objective is, in fact, our subjectivity. That a person becomes the sum of how we like or dislike them, and not what they are in relation to universally accepted parameters—such as those found in the science of logic or in the logic of science.

In scientific inquiry, we demand significance (for example, p < 0.01) between compared variables before we accept a finding as valid—before it can serve as a reliable foundation for further research.

Or in legal philosophy—whether Kantian (simplified: “do not do to others what you would not accept others doing to you”) or Justinian, with its modern derivatives demanding onus probandi: that the burden of proof lies with the accuser, not the accused.

Core principle is clear: if we wish to validate an opinion, it must be supported by demonstrable facts.

For 80.49% of my life (82 years minus the first 16), I have dedicated myself to the study of three disciplines: law, philosophy, and medicine. Their common denominator? Subjective opinion is of no use. Subjective epithets are even less useful—often worse than nothing. And when those opinions are born of resentment, helplessness, envy, or the projection of personal insecurity, they shouldn’t even be regarded as worth recording.

There is only one discipline superior to these three: Art.

Because in art, truth is expressed without the possibility of being discussed; it leaves no room for debate. You admire the opus, or you don’t.

The artist creates a work according to his own aesthetic truth. The spectator interprets it according to their unique sensibility—a perception that is personal, indivisible, and beyond dispute. His appreciation is his monopoly.

Complication

The problem becomes exponential when opinions—those we imprint in our private diaries—are directed at someone close to us. We describe what we think (or feel) we see in them, then mistake that interpretation for objective truth. We call it a "discovery." Others then cite our "finding" to build either praise or discredit in the future.

And to top it off, the cherry on this layered cake: we assign value to a person—usually a woman—as good, not-so-good, faithful, unfaithful, trustworthy, not quite, beautiful or not according to arbitrary standards. It embarrasses me to admit this remains a common practice.

This problem is perhaps best illustrated through the contemplation of a work of art.

Everyone has read The Picture of Dorian Gray. And those who didn’t skip the preface will recall Oscar Wilde’s words:

“It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.”[1]

And those familiar with the novel Molly Bawn know that Wilde may have lifted that philosophical insight from Margaret Wolfe Hungerford:

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”[2]

There will never be objectivity in portraying a person’s character—especially when we have shared experiences with them.

Conclusion:

What Miguel wrote about those close to him—particularly women—and what I write here in response, are nothing more than subjective reflections. As is the case with any diary of this nature, the distance between perception and reality remains a human and often flawed one.

Second Warning

As outlined in my preface, Miguel Enríquez’s diary is not a captain’s log recording the daily milestones of a voyage. Nor is it a political or military diary like that of José Miguel Carrera, filled with tactical reports or operational records. Nor is it comparable to Che Guevara’s combat diary, where political commentary and ideological insight color a detailed chronicle of guerrilla warfare –not to mention his notes referring the political behaviour of friends and foes.

Adolescence

Most of Miguel’s diary entries reflect the years of his adolescent youth. After we founded the MIR in October 1965—Miguel was 20 then—his personal and political diary entries became scarce.

A notable exception is the period of 1966–1967, particularly in connection with his beloved Alejandra Pizarro. After that, the diary seems to stop entirely. On April 28, 1969, he wrote again, only to bid farewell to his journal entries (see the chapter Miguel's Final Note: His Farewell to the Diary).

Politically, most of his entries cover 1962–1964—what might be called his political adolescence, just as what would later be the adult MIR, itself was going through its own formative phase.

By mid-1964, with the founding of the MUI at the University of Concepción, our political praxis began to take shape. Naturally, this shift also meant Miguel had less time—and perhaps less need—for personal diary writing. Instead, he authored a flood of organizational documents and theoretical texts as he rose to national leadership.

I believe Miguel continued writing privately in his diary even after the well-known “final annotation” of 1969. I recall seeing him in 1971, silently scribbling into a notebook in that old-fashioned way of his. I also know he had a lasting inclination to record his thoughts and experiences. Whether those later writings have been lost, withheld, or destroyed, we cannot say. Perhaps they will one day come to light—but it is unlikely they will surface within our generation.

In short:

a) Due to the deterioration of the manuscripts—hidden for decades in underground hideouts—along with Miguel’s notoriously difficult handwriting,

b) due to the scarcity of entries dealing with the political-organizational matters of the MIR, and

c) due to the absence of annotations regarding his later partners or personal relationships in the surviving pages of the diary,
what remains most visible and meaningful in the diary is Miguel Enríquez’s introspective record of his adolescence.

This period—spanning from age 16 or 17 to 21, when Chilean youth had, legally, only just reached the “age of majority”—forms a narrative of personal and political development. And it coincides, notably, with the early stages in the life of the political groups he helped found and lead, culminating in the creation of the MIR in October 1965.

So, what I found, it is the Miguel searching for himself, navigating his first steps in society, among the traps and enchantments of youth—hidden behind beautiful eyes and seductive forms. It is, in its own way, the story of Ulysses resisting the sirens, and, like him, Miguel eventually reaches his destination in his union with the graceful, intelligent, and sensitive Alejandra Pizarro.

That is the angle that captivated me most—because it was the period in which I knew him best. I was there: sometimes as a companion, sometimes as a witness, near or far, to most of his adventures, both personal and political. That is why I expand on many of his diary entries with my own commentary.

In its emotional, intellectual, and social concerns, his diary could be the diary of any one of us. Human development allows no young person to skip the difficult path toward psychological and emotional identity. It is universal.

Others may focus on different aspects—the political or organizational, for example—and I wish them success in discovering further material, in legible and publishable condition.

Third Warning

Some readers may question whether it is appropriate to make Miguel’s personal experiences public, considering they are part of his private life. I once shared that concern—especially when I began to encounter fragments of his writings.

But it was not I who made these diary pages public. That decision belonged to Carmen Castillo, who donated the materials to the National Archive of Chile. The Archive digitized the documents in full and made them publicly available. I would have preferred—indeed, I requested since 2023—that the material be given to me first, so I could edit it with the proper context and care. But fait accompli.

My role since then has been to offer context—to explain and frame Miguel’s personal reflections, which were already made public in full detail the moment Carmen Castillo made them available.

Importantly, I have refrained from commenting on, transcribing, or republishing any diary pages—even those included in the archive—that I feel reflect private matters not relevant to personality or opinion, but instead belong to Miguel’s strict privacy.

In this book, my repeated effort has been to place Miguel’s confessions about his social and emotional development within the framework of adolescent growth. Like all adolescents who are honest with themselves, he was following a necessary path toward psychological and emotional maturity.

What emerged was not a man burdened by a troubled youth—but a mature, confident revolutionary, standing at Caupolicán Theatre proclaiming:

“If they want war, they will have war.”

And who ultimately was killed on Santa Fe Street—a man, a hero.

Fourth Warning

In some passages, I found it necessary to expand my commentary—either because Miguel refers directly to me, or because his descriptions of political events differ from widely accepted historical accounts.

One example:

Historians have often claimed that our group withdrew—or was expelled—from the Socialist Party during the XX National Congress in Concepción (late February 1964), and only then sought entry into the VRM.

Yet Miguel’s diary reveals that as early as January—well before the said congress—he was already in discussions with VRM leadership in Santiago (specifically, the Trotskyist faction led by Dr Enrique Sepúlveda[3]) about the possible integration of our group.

When I returned from Cuba at the end of March that year, the version I heard—and I assume others did as well—was that the VRM became an option only after our “forced” departure from the PS. But Miguel’s diary suggests otherwise: he not only wanted to leave the Socialist Party—he wanted to shatter it into pieces, then hand over its most naive remnants to the voracious Trotsky-Stalinist feast of the VRM.

That’s why I initially opposed joining the VRM. But I followed Miguel there nonetheless—not because I had changed my mind, but because I had not changed my loyalty.

Fifth Warning

The poor legibility of Miguel’s diary pages is due not only to his difficult handwriting but also to the physical deterioration of the materials themselves. Amid these fragile pages, a few stand out for their sharp contrast and clarity.

Why? Because these pages appear to have been selectively enhanced—digitally restored through techniques like filtration, binarization, or desaturation. It’s hard to imagine another explanation. Perhaps this “selection” was made before Carmen Castillo submitted the materials for digitization.

Let us not forget that certain pages from Miguel’s diary—pages I have evidence they existed,[4] though I lack copies of the originals—were not included in the archive submission. And I’m not referring to the notebook held by Marco Enríquez-Ominami, to which I was granted generous access.

For my part, I’ve also tried to “clean” the diary pages I selected for commentary—with mixed results. I did what I could.

Restoring over 1,400 pages—pages degraded by time, moisture, and neglect—is a nearly impossible task. For me, the greatest limitation is simply time.

Marcello Vittorio Ferrada de Noli
Bergamo, April 17, 2025

Foreword

Nota Bene: In 2016, while preparing the first edition of my book Rebels With a Cause in Stockholm, I asked my dear friend Dr. Héctor Trautmann Hornickel to contribute a few lines recalling his memories of my friendship with Miguel Enríquez. Héctor, then a medical student at the University of Concepción and a close friend of Miguel, shared countless moments with us in social gatherings. He was also a courageous fighter, distinguishing himself in the protests that fuelled our successful struggle for university reform in 1968. Regrettably, when I published the manuscript four years later in Bergamo, Italy, I was unable—amidst my grief—to locate the full original text Dr. Trautmann had so kindly provided. Today, I am overjoyed to have recovered it, and I extend my heartfelt gratitude to Dr. Héctor Trautmann Hornickel for his enduring contribution. /Prof. Marcello Ferrada de Noli, 23 Aug 2025.

Foreword by Dr Héctor Trautmann

As for your friendship with Miguel, I can say that it existed for a long time, from childhood; that it was of extraordinary frankness, by heart; who shared similar ideals of social justice, democracy, and elevating the culture of our people; of how to improve the University of Concepción and extend it to the community, as its hymn says: “For the free development of the spirit”.

It was a joyful friendship, full of jokes, in which Miguel, with affection, always called you “Ferradita”; sometimes he corrected some of your opinions.

A friendship of an extraordinary intellectuality and culture for that age. You both shared with great pleasure music whether classical or folkloric, you by the guitar and Miguel singing with that very manly voice, songs by Zitarrosa, for example.

You were inveterate readers, you had any number of books, which you then commented on or discussed. I remember impromptu invitations from Miguel to lunch at his house, from the group, you, Bauchi, Luciano Cruz and the entire Enríquez family. Doña Raquel[5] did not look unhappy.

Those were real presentations, intellectual talks of a high level. Don Edgardo as moderator, he rebutted. Marcos with history. What a beauty; I remember the meetings with great joy and admiration.

I remember the trips to Playa Blanca; and that they shared long conversations about the university and other topics. Those were true and positive friendships of a committed youth, who wanted better changes, who marked a milestone in history. The beautiful memory is moving, and it is a pity that they are not with us.”

Preface

A Brief Account of My Encounter with Miguel

A partial view of the Ciudad Universitaria de Concepción (el Barrio Universitario)

Miguel began writing his life diary in 1960–1961. He was seventeen years old at the time. His pen carried the legacy of a lineage of prominent political figures, whose influence reached back through republican Chile and, earlier still, monarchical Spain.

We first met in 1956, between casual games and long conversations in the university campus of Concepción University—a natural meeting ground, as his father and my mother were both professors at the university. Miguel was twelve years old then, and he spoke with evident pride about his family (I describe this meeting in more detail in a later chapter).

According to his brother, Marco Antonio Enríquez—a doctor in history from the University of Paris (Sorbonne)—the Enríquez dynasty traces back to the Admirals of Castile: nobles appointed by the Spanish crown who commanded the Castilian navy from the early 1400s through the late 1600s. These included Fadrique Enríquez, Alfonso Enríquez, Luis Enríquez y Téllez-Girón, and Fernando Enríquez de Velasco. During Chile’s colonial era, a member of this lineage, Juan Enríquez Villalobos (a knight of Calatrava), served as Governor of the Kingdom of Chile from 1670 to 1682.

But back in those summer months of 1956–1957, Miguel’s pride focused—beyond his father—on two of his uncles, Inés and Humberto Enríquez Frödden, both senators from the Radical Party. In time, Miguel’s father, Dr Edgardo Enríquez Frödden, would also ascend to an even more prominent political role as a minister of state.

As I’ve recounted in Rebels With a Cause, from the outset Miguel and I shared an affinity in our ideas and interests. Neither of us had much patience for post-childhood literature—or rather, we had long moved past it (authors like Edmondo De Amicis, Alexandre Dumas, etc.). Yet Miguel’s ideological outlook had already begun to take shape, influenced by his radical uncles and by his father, who, as the “Delegate of the Serenissimo”, held the highest Masonic post in Concepción.

At the time, Miguel’s discourse could be described as secular, liberal, and tinged with the ideals of social democracy—that is, aligned with the platform his uncles sought to represent. His paternal grandfather, Marco Antonio Enríquez, had been a lawyer and a member of the Liberal Party. His great-grandfather, a landowner, came from a conservative tradition.

Thus, in 1956, Miguel stood as both recipient and spokesperson for a liberal worldview, especially in social matters. He openly promoted the proposals of his uncle Humberto—ideas that might today, generously, be considered social democratic. And it was that secular, freethinking spirit that served as the basis for our connection from the very beginning.

As for myself, I was already a staunch liberal, an atheist, and—admittedly—a fervent anticlericalist. This, even though my family was deeply conservative and even helped fund the clergy. My grandfather was a monarchist who made a special trip to Genoa to vote in the 1946 referendum—against the abolition of the Italian monarchy.

My schooling in Catholic institutions and the often-absurd theological exegesis handed down by priests—sometimes reinforced with physical punishment—only deepened my rebellion and drew me into liberal and freethinking literature. That’s how I first encountered Enrico Malatesta.

And if older brothers influence us—whether by example, imitation, or conviction—mine was already a member of the Liberal Party’s youth wing. Meanwhile, Miguel’s older brother had begun reading the classics of Marxism, Lenin, and Trotsky—sources Miguel himself would soon dive into, with equal fervour.

Twelve years old

We met when Miguel was twelve years old. The following year, we became bench mates in high school, at the third year of humanities (3rd A) in the Liceo de Hombres Nº1 de Concepción.

Our political debut — or “premiere in society,” as we playfully called it — took place in April of that year, when we joined student and worker demonstrations protesting the fare increase from seven to ten pesos during the Ibáñez government.

Miguel’s involvement in that first protest in 1957, just after he had turned thirteen, represents an iconic milestone in analysing his social commitment over the years and until his death: he was not a user of minibuses. From our homes, we walked comfortably to school and university. Miguel’s struggle for Chile’s poor was always an absolutely altruistic endeavour, free from any personal need or interest.

The second cycle of secondary education was marked by concentrated reading of the classics—spanning literature, utopian socialism, Marxism, and beyond. It was then that Miguel outlined his engagement with Leninism and Trotsky’s critiques of Stalinism, while I focused on anarchist, existentialist, and libertarian philosophers.

In March 1960, Miguel met a new classmate at the Liceo of Concepción: Bautista van Schouwen Vasey (Bauchi), whose family had moved from Northern Chile to Concepción, due to his father, and engineer, had got a new job at the Huachipato Steel Mill. Van Schouwen followed then same ideological path than that of Miguel. Then, I was not any longer at the Liceo of Concepción.

In 1959, I had to leave the Liceo of Concepción (Liceo de Hombres Nº1) by parental decision. Although I enrolled in another school that year, it was a Catholic institution operated under the auspices of the Archbishopric of Concepción (the Instituto de Humanidades), which was quite different from my previous two years in a secular high school.

Here, allow me this personal recall: Ironically — or poetically — this meant that I was enrolled once again in a Catholic school. Not just any Catholic school, but one administrated under the auspices of the Archdiocese of Concepción.

This return to the bosom of ecclesiastical instruction came after years of me rebelling against it — against the catechism, the punishments, the absurdities of clerical dogma. It felt to me like an ironic rescue “by Heaven” — and a temporary one. Because soon after, I was able to return to a secular school, where my intellectual and ideological formation would continue with greater freedom.

This temporary detour back into Catholic education only reinforced my early conclusions: that dogma — of any kind — should never substitute thought. It reaffirmed my commitment to secular humanism, and made my later political choices all the more coherent and committed.[6]

Friendship from distance

Then, in 1960, when an earthquake damaged the old building of that catholic school (a calamity I facetiously called God’s punishment), my parents sent me to live with my aunt and uncle in the Valparaíso region, where I attended yet another school. My uncle, a military general,[7] was then deputy commander of the Tejas Verdes Regiment. There I had plenty opportunities to study my uncle’s textbooks and military manuals. As he has been trained in Fort Gulick, at a U.S. base, he shared, inadvertently, and amidst a great number of anecdotes, valuable information as to how well prepared the Chilean Armed Forces really were to technically defeat any revolutionary movement trying to seize power in Chile.

(In truth, it ends being the opposite. The power was seized by the military in the 1973 coup d’état).

Nonetheless, despite the physical distance, Miguel and I remained closely connected through frequent correspondence. After the school period finished at the end of that year, I came back to Concepción, and we resumed contact.

The Room on Roosevelt Avenue: Cradle of an Idea

1674 Roosevelt Avenue, Concepción. Residence of the Enríquez-Espinosa family

From 1961 onward, although Miguel and I pursued different careers at the University of Concepción — he in medicine, I in philosophy and law — our camaraderie endured, strengthened by frequent gatherings and mutual political work.

The core group remained: Miguel, his brother Marco Antonio, Bautista van Schouwen, Jorge “Guti” Gutiérrez Correa[8] (whom Miguel met during his first year of medical school), and myself. We shared not only ideas but a way of being.

We gathered eagerly and often in a small apartment that Miguel’s father had built for him in the courtyard of their residence at 1674 Roosevelt Avenue.

That small studio in the courtyard of Miguel’s family home on Roosevelt Avenue became, for a time, a true nerve centre. It was more than a meeting place; it was a hatchery of political vision. Conversations there ranged from adolescent anxieties to questions of revolutionary theory. Many of the early ideological foundations of what would become the MIR were first drafted in that modest room, amid books, notes, and heated debates.

As Ignacio Vidaurrázaga documents, and as Dr Edgardo Enríquez Frödden himself recalled, that room “at the back of the house” was indeed one of the first workshops of revolutionary thought that eventually materialized into political action.

Following, a testimony from Ignacio Vidaurrázaga, author and biographer of Miguel Enríquez:

“That part of the backyard at the dawn of this story was known to several conspirators. Among them were, of course, Marcello Ferrada Noli and Bautista van Schouwen. Andrés Pascal and a fellow student and comrade in struggle, Jorge ‘Bombita’ Gutiérrez, also came by.”

Vidaurrázaga’s biography of Miguel includes Dr Edgardo Enríquez Frödden’s recollections about that legendary place ––which Miguel´s father had given to Jorge Gilbert. The comment also refers to the significance of that room in this story:

"I always say it jokingly, that the MIR was formed in my children's room that they had at the back of our house."
Then, and immediately, he refers to how he appreciated what would be the organization that was forged at that time, among other places, in that piece of the background:
"It grew quickly and so violently, that very soon it became a majority among the student body of Concepción. It was a party of great honesty, violent, brave, but at the same time made up of extremely intelligent and prepared people." [9]

Then, Dr Enríquez Frödden reflects on how much he valued what would become the organization forged in that very space:

“It grew quickly and so intensely, that very soon it became a majority among the student body of Concepción. It was a party of great honesty, violent, brave, but at the same time made up of extremely intelligent and prepared people”.[10]

It was not just ideology; our activism manifested in protests, organizing, and discussions that stirred the university and city of Concepción.

That year 1961 we founded the MSI (Socialist Left Movement) and in 1963 the MSR fraction (Revolutionary Socialist Movement), while we were members of the Socialist Youth of Concepción, and eventually overtook the leading of its executive committee at the ‘Regional Concepción’. Then we founded the MIR in 1965.[11]

The Birth of a Political Commitment

During those early university years, Miguel’s political commitment deepened significantly. The ideas he had been absorbing since adolescence started to crystallize into action. Our small group of friends centred around his room became a hub for political discussion and planning. The combination of youthful idealism, academic study, and the harsh realities of Chilean social inequality created fertile ground for what was to come.

During that period, I think that in his inner life, Miguel lived in the same dichotomy as all those who genuinely undertake the revolutionary political task from a young age:

On the one hand, duty, one hundred percent dedication to a mission to which one must give one's soul all, all the time, and seriously.

On the other hand, their social ancestor does not abandon them; the unusual presence of the taste of the beautiful things in life, the classical musical notes that hit the temples; the aromas of ardent love confused in the elegant taste of that wine; the laughter that grew into laughter and died in tears and turned into nostalgia...

But that cultural intrusion is condemned to the instantaneous.

They, the full-time revolutionaries, do not allow those emotions to become uninvited passengers, stowaways aboard their guns.

And I think that, in me, Miguel projected that archetype of survival that he himself did not allow it, nor did he allow it.

He never criticized me for my hedonic revolutionism shared with a part-time artist endeavour.

On the contrary, he asks me clearly in the dedication of a book he gives me for Christmas 1966 ("The Forgotten Language", by Erich Fromm):

"So that you remember old Ferrada,
of the guitar, the poems
and women."

Miguel, while he insisted that I stay as "his" artist, did not predict an academic career for me. He says it in some way in his diary. But they would not be the only mistaken prognoses of his adolescent judgment. In any case, when I finished my doctorate in medicine at the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm, I dedicated my doctoral thesis to Miguel [Translation]:

"I dedicate this work to the memory of my best friend, from school to university and from children's games to the armed struggle, and who was best man at my wedding: Miguel Enríquez. Miguel was a brilliant medical student and later a promising neurosurgeon. He died heroically in active combat after a siege by fascist forces, during the armed resistance against the past military government in Chile.
The Cuban government, paying homage to the memory of the revolutionary leader, named the modern Havana Hospital "Dr. Miguel Enríquez Hospital." In the tribute speech, the Cuban Minister of Education, Armando Hart, ended his words by saying: "Long live those who wanted to take the moon by storm!'... ...
In addition, I dedicate this work to all my friends who remained in the prison camps of Quiriquina Island, the stadium and the prison of Concepción. They all fought and departed with honor. Particularly Dr. Bautista van Schouwen..."

Diverging Ideological Currents, Enduring Loyalty

Despite our early ideological consonance, Miguel and I would eventually take distinct intellectual paths. As he delved deeper into Marxist theory — particularly Leninism and Trotsky’s critique of Stalinism — I moved toward libertarian socialism, anarchist theory, and existentialist thought.

In fact, the more time passed, the more I returned to my liberal convictions. Yet these differences never disrupted our friendship or the political work we shared in those early years of the sixties.

Still, even when our lines of theoretical interpretation diverged — especially in the context of revolutionary strategy — I never distanced myself from Miguel personally.

On the contrary, I remained loyal to him until the end. I followed him even in the moments I disagreed, as when we joined the VRM (Revolutionary Marxist Vanguard) after the expulsion from the Socialist Party. I did not follow because I had abandoned my convictions, but because I had not abandoned my allegiance to him.

I was loyal to the comrade and the friend. Like a dog, perhaps — as Pablo de Rokha wrote when lamenting the death of the poet Winétt de Rokha: “like the dog that howls at your grave.”

The last meeting

Our last personal meeting was in 1971, when Miguel travelled to Concepción for the funeral of Alejandra Pizarro, his ex-wife. Miguel and Alejandra had witnessed my marriage in Concepción in 1968. This meeting with Miguel (1971) took place during a family meeting at the home of the rector of the University of Concepción, Don Edgardo Enríquez Frödden, who officially occupied it. Then Miguel was devastated with sadness, and I had never seen him like this with such sorrow. Ungrateful details of that occasion are related in a personal note, on page 224 of this book.

That last meeting with Miguel, for legitimate reasons, contrasted diametrically with the one we had had only months before, in that same house, in the midst of laughter and memories. That was when he arrived with his Austin Mini, in the company of Andrés Pascal, and he proudly showed me that he had learned to drive.

And on that occasion, he asked me to go for a ride on my motorcycle, he incognito, through the square in the centre of Concepción and back along the diagonal that overlooks the Barrio Universitario – as a greeting to the old days. He was then, again, the happy, smiling and intrepid adolescent Miguel.

But in our last meeting Miguel was sad, deeply mourning who has been his wife, her beloved Alejandra Pizarro.

Time afterwards Miguel wrote a letter to Irene, Alejandra's mother, in which he says, "Despite having separated, in fact he is the person I have loved the most". [12]

Miguel had moved to Santiago

Miguel moved to Santiago definitively in 1968 (he had been elected secretary general of the MIR in 1967) where he finished his medical studies. He lived clandestinely with his wife Alejandra in an apartment on the second floor on Bellavista Street, where I visited them several times. Even there we celebrated my birthday in 1969, a surprise prepared by Miguel in full hiding, and after he had called me from Concepción. I thought it was about an organic task, which in reality was instead a feast of joyful memories and exchange of dreams, of following in the wake of a moon that slipped out of our hands.

At that time (July 1969) we were keeping company with Miguel on the list of thirteen MIR leaders "fugitives from justice", decreed by the Christian Democratic government of Eduardo Frei (Minister of the Interior Pérez Zuchovic) when declaring the MIR outlawed. A couple of weeks later, on August 2, 1969, I was captured at a Carabineros roadblock, then handed over to detectives from the political police of Investigations – the henchmen of that time – who days later took me "strictly incommunicado" to the prison of Concepción, for further beatings.[13] Miguel was never arrested.

Even in the middle of those years 1968-1971 I continued to meet him on numerous occasions, both in Santiago and in Concepción. For my part, I never wanted to leave Concepción and that is one reason why the Political Commission entrusted me instead with the direction of the university brigade of the MIR, which later progressed in the direction of the group of teachers of the MUI and other tasks linked to the university.[14]

During that time, our differences in interpreting the social world and our role in changing it became more explicit. Miguel clustered his Leninism and the "What Is to Be Done"[15] of this was Miguel's what to do. I affirmed myself in the libertarian and humanist reading that began in my childhood with Voltaire and Malatesta.

Criticized first as an "anarchist," and then, for reading Marcuse, or Fromm, Miguel laments my "ideological conciliation" and "premature senility."

That is stamped by Miguel in a dedication of a book by Erich Fromm, that is stamped by Miguel in a dedication of a book by Erich Fromm, his gift for my birthday in 1966. Then I was twenty-three years old:

"As a first step in your ideological conciliation, in accordance with your premature senility..."

But despite being different in character, intellectual preferences and ideological and political thinking, our friendship was always very intense over the years. We also had serious organic distancing, such as in the period when I refused to be part of the VRM project. And even during the writing of the first political-military thesis of 1965.

The last comment – to my knowledge – that I have about Miguel about me is from when I was captured in the middle of the resistance activities in Concepción in 1973. According to a colleague in the organic environment of the Political Commission of the MIR at the time, when he heard the news of my capture from newspapers in Concepción and Santiago, [16] he "became sad" while commenting on my person in fraternal terms, according to the testimony. [17]

I must say that Miguel's Diary leaves pleasant and ungrateful opinions, occasionally ruthless, regarding all those who were close to him, girlfriends and loves, close friends, family. And I am no exception.

But, in summary, to finish this brief review of our friendship, I leave it to Miguel himself to give what he thought. This is what the custodian/curator of Miguel Enríquez's Diary for several years – the historian Marco Álvarez Vergara – transcribes in an email he sent me in 2016:

"I am the custodian of Miguel's trunk, which contains life diaries, letters, manuscripts and much more documentation. So far, I have transcribed the diary of life from 1961 (very complicated handwriting). In its pages, it repeatedly refers to you. There is more than one "I admire Marcello for his personality". He talks a lot about the fact that at that time he was "alone". Bauchi began to flirt with Inés; Darío traveled to the USSR; Lalo (Eduardo Trucco) "hardly saw him anymore" and he says very little about Rodrigo Rojas. But of you, he says: "Marcello supports me" (...) "He comes to pick me up to go to the big parties" (...) "no one makes me laugh so much with him", etc. And many other things." [18]

When Loyalty Interrupts Violence

To conclude, I want to relate an experience linked to my friendship with Miguel, which occurred during my time as a prisoner on Quiriquina Island, in October 1973.

Although Isla Quiriquina was part of the Talcahuano naval base, the prisoners were brought there from multiple locations in the region. Therefore, the interrogations of the prisoners were carried out by a military intelligence team made up of officers and non-commissioned officers of the Army and Carabineros of Concepción, one or another detective of the political police, plus personnel of the Navy. At that time the DINA did not yet exist.

The second time I am called for interrogation, I am entered into a room in which, behind a table that serves as a desk, there are three interrogators. Other armed sailors, standing and behind the desk. Sitting in the middle is an officer in Navy uniform and of European genotype (probably his name is Ary Acuña Figueroa – in charge of the Intelligence Department Anchor Two – since the physical type I refer to corresponds to descriptions that have been given to me by other ex-prisoners of that time and that identify him as such).

On his right side is a detective from Concepción who has a large book open, like the "book of the course" of the high school. I recognized this detective, of short stature, as one of the torturers during my detention in the Prefecture of Investigations of Concepción in August 1969. [19]

The detective shows the open book to the Navy officer and comments:

– "This is the one from the team of Miristas since they started at the university, a very good friend of Miguel Enríquez."

The Navy officer stares at me and immediately rebukes me:

– "Where is Miguel Enríquez! Where is he hiding!"

Before I can answer I receive an anonymous slap in the right ear from behind.

This was my answer:

– "I don't know where Miguel Enríquez is. I don't think anyone knows, except him. Nobody knows, because naturally they are all clandestine in Santiago. You understand. And I have always been in Concepción, as the detective knows."

The Lieutenant (in a different tone):

– "Yes, but if you are such a friend of Miguel Enríquez you should know where he is"

I answer:

– I don't know where Miguel Enríquez is. It's impossible. And if I knew where he is, I wouldn't say it either. If you were in a similar situation, I am sure you would not either. Because would you say where your best friend would be hiding?

Looking at the guard behind me, the officer raises his hand in a "stop" gesture, and after a few seconds in silence, orders:

– "Now, just take him back to the gym."

There was no torture on that occasion. The obvious loyalty of my friendship with Miguel saved me, I would say. I say this, in the context of the Navy officer's alleged loyalty to a close friend of his.

In other words, did that naval officer face a personal ethical dilemma?

I think so, since there is no other explanation.

That officer – if it was really Captain Acuña Figueroa –[20] was later accused, after the Pinochet era, of being allegedly responsible for the torture and execution of prisoners detained on Quriquina Island. He denied those allegations but was convicted by a court of law.

(P.S. In the first interrogation, the hard, and also baroque, I had been insistently asked about the whereabouts of the MIR's weapons... those that practically did not exist. Those of us who confronted the coup plotters in self-defence in the centre of Concepción in the hours or day after September 11, did so with private weapons. But that is a separate account of facts, to be soon published.

Miguel Enríquez Espinosa (1944–1974)[21]

Presenting the Diary

Contrary to what might be supposed, Miguel's Diary is not an itinerary of his political, organic or military work. It is not in the style of José Miguel Carrera's Diary. What has survived of Miguel's Diary are entries that are in significant part centred on his love life in adolescence and early youth, and his candid, honest confessions about his multidimensional development into the profession of man.

To properly interpret the thoughts and emotions that spring from the hyper-personal lines of the adolescent Miguel, the reader would need the crystalline pampering spirit of the author of the Diary. It would require that the reader himself be able to "go back to seventeen after living a century" – which means, in Violeta Parra's profound formulation, to "decipher signs without being a competent sage".[22]

Therefore, I ask that you understand me: my comments on the passages of Miguel's Diary that I transcribe here are not unquestionable; but they are written with affection to an unforgettable friend, and with great respect to a legendary hero in the history of our continent.

The diary entries that follow in this volume intends to offer a glimpse into the adolescent and early adult years of Miguel Enríquez. Although he died most heroically, at the age of 31, these pages wish to reveal not a statue cast in bronze, but a young man in formation: uncertain at times, emotionally vulnerable, intellectually voracious. They show us a Miguel who is not yet the national revolutionary leader, but the person who would become him.

These pages are intimate and at moments raw. I don’t mean to offend, but truth must come first before courtesy and sympathy. They wish to remind that even those who become symbols of historical change were once simply young people grappling with identity, love, friendship, ideology — and the burden of choosing who to be in the world.

This book is not a hagiography. Nor is it an attempt to enshrine Miguel as flawless. Rather, it is a portrait — albeit subjective— from someone who knew him, worked with him, and never ceased to accompany, even across disagreement and distance.

To read this diary’s fragments is not only to revisit Miguel’s own journey, but also, perhaps, to revisit our own years of becoming — those fragile, explosive, and decisive moments in which we set the trajectory for the rest of our lives.

And for that reason, we return.

We go back to seventeen.

Marcello Vittorio Ferrada de Noli
Bergamo, August 24, 2025

3. Introduction

Origin and content of the reviewed materials

I thank the Directorate of National Archives for the creation of the Miguel Enríquez Fund and for giving me access to the digitized materials of his Life Diary. I am also grateful to Marco Enríquez-Ominami who gave me the book that contains a large part of Miguel's writings in his diary of 1961, which are not the material available in the National Archives.

Other notes in the Diary of Miguel Enríquez's Life (hereinafter referred to in this text also referred to as "Diary" or "Diary of Miguel"), which are not found in the materials made public today, were kindly provided to me by Marco Álvarez Vergara, who was during some years the custodian of the Diary at the Miguel Enríquez Foundation.[23] Those passages provided to me by Álvarez Vergara also form part of the Diary materials referred in this book.

In the Diary of Miguel Enríquez's Life (hereinafter referred to in this text also referred to as "Diary" or "Diary of Miguel") there are very few reflections on organic or political matters of the political organizations of which he was a member, such as the Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR) – an organization of which he was its head from 1967 to 1974. However, he gives a few brushstrokes about episodes of our politico- organizational activity that led to the foundation of the MR.

But there are not notes on the founding itself of the MIR in 1965, or when he was elected secretary general at the 1967 congress, or on our lives in hiding in 1969 ––after the MIR was declared an outlaw organization, accused of subversion activities by Frei’s Cristian democratic government.

Either he did not write those reflections, or if he did write them, they are not part of the 1,280 manuscript pages that I have finally been able to read. That is, either they do not exist, or they could continue to be hidden, or they have been destroyed.

He does write instead about his trip to China when he was a university student.

So, in the core, what is the material that I have managed to identify and review from Miguel's Diary?

Essentially, the annotations concern his teenage years. He refers to his emotional growth, his first loves, the disputes with his friends at the time, his encounter with the experience of becoming a university student. And other personal situations of the sort.

The Journal presented here is about the growing Miguel. It's not the count of an elaborate human product. It is above all a logbook of his life in development; it is that of the child who becomes an adolescent and who describes his tribulations as he perceives his progressive changes – all while a social environment seems to him static and stereotyped.

And in its ethical style, Miguel Enríquez's Diary results in a tribute of honesty and seriousness with himself.

His ethical style

In my professional and research-academic life I have had to examine a good number of life diaries. And my conclusion is that Miguel, in the main, tried to be honest about his feelings, although in some passages those were clearly influenced by situations in his life that he had considered adverse to him. Further, honesty wise, Miguel used to correct those accounts later in his diary. (See for instance the Gloria Ochoa episodes).

A reader who is not very experienced about the nature of the human soul – and they are, and in all latitudes – will perhaps judge the descriptions he makes of himself childish. Others will say that he unnecessarily victimizes himself, that he exaggerates the social danger of his environment. Still others, that he overvalues himself messianically, considering himself superior to those around him when it comes to recounting the progress of his personality.

Or they could interpret his youthful relationship with women as insecurity or self-handicap, a situation that seems to progress from the purest shyness to a quasi “Don Juan”-like maelstrom in his adult life.

However, my conclusion is that Miguel Enríquez's entire life diary is the expression of a deep honesty with himself. It is a frank and very sui-generis attempt at self-analysis in a social context that in its turn evaluates itself through stereotyped canons.

Miguel´s constitutes an "objective" attempt – although always subjective, obviously – to measure his intellectual, emotional and physical progress in the itinerary of a life from adolescent child to adult man. And in the course of his texts, despite the fateful criticisms he occasionally has towards his close friends – myself included – he demonstrates above all an intrinsic kindness and empathy with his fraternal environment.

Judge named Amistad does not sentence him for his criticisms that he kept secret for himself in his life diary. Indeed, there are passages, even two or three viewpoints about me, that Miguel never dared or wished to tell me. He kept that for himself.

Nevertheless, thinking in the solidarity and constructive support that he always showed to me, I don't hold a grudge against him. "I forgive him" about those early pair of views about me, specially knowing that he was then occasionally resentful.

Some difficulties

At the times we went to high school, we had to handwrite a lot during the classes. Some teachers literarily dictated the content of their lessons. Since for a couple of years I was a bench mate with Miguel in high school, in addition to the series of handwritten documents that we worked together in the university years, I learned over the years to become familiar with his special and difficult writing – which includes his hieroglyphic calligraphy.

Hence, I have been able to decipher almost one hundred percent of all his text. The short missing fraction must be attributed to illegible words or phrases, partly because of their writing, partly because of the deterioration of the handwritten pages.

But what I transcribe from him is exactly what he wrote. Also, unvaryingly, I accompany the facsimiles.

In this study I also recount the vicissitudes that the manuscripts of the Diary had to endure during the half century in which they were hidden – by some people – from the public eye.

Preventing misinterpretations

I should note that in some episodes Miguel also describes himself very negatively, almost with "self-contempt," "self-handicap," or self-deprecation. However:

1. In what I know of him – and I think that others close to him would agree – there are no objective reasons in his conduct, whether social or political, that legitimize or demonstrate that he, subjectively, appreciated certain episodes of his life with excessive self-criticism or disproportionate demands on himself.
2. Therefore, a central effort in this book is to anticipate an explanation in defence of Miguel, regarding possible erroneous interpretations that could arise from Miguel's descriptions of himself.

I will give an example here. When Miguel entered the medical career, he was distressed in his Diary with the idea that, if he was admitted there, it would have been because of a "wedge": because his father, a medical doctor, was also a professor, and head of the Department of Anatomy, at that medical school.

Miguel really laments and problematizes his situation in the face of a potential "injustice" with respect to those who were not accepted at the school of medicine that year.

That made him feel "out of place," with a "lost self-confidence", and he had developed "complexes" about this and that, he says.

But objectively, Miguel had excellent grades, a high score in the Baccalaureate, an IQ evaluated as "superior intelligence" on the scale, and the interview with the admission commission was exemplary. (In addition, he finally obtained third place among his class when he graduated from medicine).

So, in the first place, I argue that there was no reason, or facts, that founded that self-destructive feeling. At the same time, this episode – rather than primarily showing a "poor" psychological reaction on the part of Miguel – shows us the clear pro-social justice trait that characterized his spirit and behaviour.

Secondly, Miguel's appraisals of himself, or what he perceives as a response from his social environment, are made by an adolescent, in the middle of a voyage – as it has been for everyone – in an unknown ocean that has not yet anchored him to his adult life.

That is, on several occasions in this book I stop to explain (even if it means "arguing against" Miguel's own perception) the real background of apparently negative episodes of behaviour described by him in his diary.

And with this, I wish to anticipate a response in case those episodes will be misinterpreted, or even misused or used against the memory of Miguel.

Book in Spanish version “Volver a los Diecisiete…” found to be read and free download, at Libertarian Books Europe, link here.

The material constituted by the Journal

The set of the Miguel Enríquez Diary material delivered by Carmen Castillo, and whose digitized copy I received courtesy of the National Archive, consists of 6 containers, which total 940 pages handwritten by Miguel.

The corresponding manuscripts from part of April 1961 to part of January 1962 in the book donated to Marco Enríquez Ominami – to which I had access courtesy of him – complete 340 pages.

Breakdown of National Archive Material:

Container 1, n= 346.
Container 2, n=97, Annotations from Feb 1966, notebook, fragments.
Container 3, n=206, annotations 1966, from 15 Feb – trip to China.
Container 4, n=40, some notes from March and April 1964, not personal (using 1964 agenda).
Container 5, n=85, a pair of notes from 1958 and another from 1960, agenda from "1958".
Container 6, n=166 entries from 11 April 1962, 1964, 2 minimal entries in 1965 (February and May), five in 1966 from Sept, and two from 1967, none from 1968 and only one from 1969 (28 Apr), in notebook. Total, N= 940 handwritten pages.

In summary, in this work on the Diary of Miguel Enríquez – including the material of Marco Enríquez Ominami – I have consulted 1,280 manuscript pages.

It is convenient to keep in mind that Miguel used small diary-type books with dates printed on each page for his notes. Therefore, the dates of their journal entries do not correspond to the printed dates that appear at the top of the pages of those diaries. These empty notebooks, from different years, had been given to his father, a doctor, by sales representatives of pharmaceutical laboratories.

Finally, only a fraction of the thousand pages of the Diary is reproduced as facsimiles in this book. A significant number of pages are technically illegible due to their material deterioration. One example of this is Miguel's notes during his trip to China, which constitute the subject with the second highest number of pages in all the material.

Other authors may select other passages, readable to them, or which they consider to be of special political importance. My work is not and does not pretend to be a complete transcription of Miguel Enríquez’s Diary.

For my part, I have only focused especially on aspects of Miguel's life that

a) he considered important in terms of his personal development,
b) whose context I had the opportunity to know closely and personally, and
c) or that could be more controversial to the reader than others – and, therefore, the need to clarify them positively for the benefit of the great personality of Miguel Enríquez.

Probably, after the publication of this book, criticism will rain down on why this or that is missing, or vice versa, why this is included and not that. One answer to them could be, “well, do take yourself the trouble to include whatever you think is missing.”

However, what will be always unobjectionable, it is that this work is the first book published on Miguel Enríquez’s Diary. And, if I could not do it before, it is precisely because those – people or institutions – who had a monopoly on Miguel’s manuscripts for decades, denied me access to them.

It should be also noted that all the books that make up the Diary were "rediscovered" by Carmen Castillo as early as 2003 – twenty-two years ago. And that all the pages of the Diary were completely being indexed at the Miguel Enríquez Foundation almost a decade ago (2016).

Even so, no material had been published so far about the Diary. And it is paradoxical that those who thought that the material in the Diary is too sensitive (because of the personal material it possesses), and therefore should not be published without "pruning" it, finally decide to hand it over in extenso to a public archive to which millions and millions of readers – including the enemies of Miguel's political project – will have access to each of its pages.

For my part, one task I have sworn to myself here with this book is to do my best to give a human context and a plausible rationality to the reflections of young Miguel.

But it is up to the reader to elaborate his own interpretations of what Miguel wrote.

Keys in the transcription of the texts of the Diary:

"[...]" means non-legible word "[[...]]" means unreadable phrase I should also point out that Miguel made very frequent use, more than grammatically necessary, of the semicolon (;).

So sometimes you must read its semicolon as if it were just a comma or a period in a row. In very few cases I have added, in parentheses, the meaning of an abbreviation. For example, in "Rev. Socialist," I have transcribed "Rev. (Revolution) Socialist."

At last: In the transcriptions of Miguel's texts, I have preserved the punctuation used by him in the sixties, that is, rather than periodic sleight of hand by the Royal Academy of the Spanish Language complicated our writing by suppressing accents and capital letters.

Finally, only a fraction of the thousand pages of the Diary is reproduced as facsimiles in this book.

A significant number of pages are technically illegible due to material deterioration — for example, Miguel’s notes from his trip to China, which make up the second-largest portion of the entire collection. Other authors may choose different passages — perhaps those more legible to them or which they believe hold greater political relevance.

Hence, as disclaimer, my work is not, and does not pretend to be, a complete transcription of Miguel Enríquez’s Diary.

For my part, in selecting the readable pages, I have focused particularly on aspects of Miguel’s life that:

a) he himself considered important for his personal development,
b) I had the opportunity to know directly and closely,
c) or that might be more controversial to readers than others — and which therefore deserve clarification, in favour of the real Miguel Enríquez, as we remember he was.

Two months has passed since I published this book in Spanish. However, no criticism has arisen on any aspects. None about what is missing or, conversely, about what has been included.

What is beyond dispute, however, is that this is the first published book based on Miguel Enríquez’s Diary. And if I was unable to do it earlier, it is precisely because those — whether individuals or institutions — who held a monopoly over the manuscripts for decades, denied me access to them.

Finally, it should be noted that all of the books that make up the Diary were “rediscovered” by Carmen Castillo as early as 2003 — twenty-two years ago. And that the pages of the Diary were fully indexed at the Miguel Enríquez Foundation nearly a decade ago (2016).

Even so, until now, no material from the Diary had been published in the for of an academic article or a book. And it is paradoxical that those who believed the Diary to be too sensitive (due to its personal content), and who therefore thought it should not be published without being “pruned,” finally decided to hand it over in extenso to a public archive, where millions — including enemies of Miguel’s political project — will have access to every single page.

For my part, one of the commitments I’ve made with this book is to do my best to provide a human context and a plausible rationality to young Miguel’s reflections. But it is up to the reader to form their own interpretations of what Miguel wrote.

NEXT CHAPTER:

REFERENCES and NOTES
[1] Oscar Wilde, Obras Completas: El Retrato de Dorian Gray. Editorial Aguilar, Madrid. 1ª edición 1943. ISBN 84-03-00093-6, Pag. 91.
[2] Wilde's work is from 1891, Wolfe Hungerford Hamilton's from 1878.
[3] Miguel does not specifically name Dr Enrique Sepúlveda, but he refers to "the political secretariat" of the VRM, which was then led by E. Sepúlveda. Moreover, at the meeting of our group (MSR) in April of that year, held in Concepción, the one who represented the leadership of the VRM was Dr Enrique Sepúlveda.
[4] Marco Álvarez Vergara, who during some years was the first custodian and curator of Miguel Enríquez’s diary, sent to me transcriptions of passages written by Miguel in his diary, that referred to me in warm and positive terms –such as, “Marcello supports me”, “I admire his personality”, etc. (Mail from Marco Álvarez Vergara, 11 Mar 2016). I reproduce a facsimile with those transcripts later in this book.

[5] Raquel Espinosa Townsed, Miguel’s mother.

[6] See my book “Return to Malatesta”, Libertarian Books Europe, ISBN 978-91-981615-4-0.
[7] General Patricio Zuñiga, then a major of the engineering branch. He was since then a friend and comrade-in-arms with Augusto Pinochet, to whom he met while both were professors at the Military Academy of the Chilean Army since the late 50’s.
[8] Jorge Gutiérrez Correa left our political group around 1964-65. He never participated in MIR.

[9] Ignacio Vidaurrázaga, La infancia y la adolescencia de Miguel Enríquez en Concepción. Interference, October 5, 2022.

[10] Id.
[11] M Ferrada de Noli. The Origins of the Revolutionary Left Movement, with a commentary on the theses of Prof. Eugenia Palieraki and Luis Vitale. Libertarian Books Europe. Stockholm 2016, Bergamo 2021. ISBN 978-91-88747-19-8

[12] Waldo Díaz and Pilar Palma, The Eventful History Behind Enríquez's Sister, La Tercera, August 7, 2009.

[13] "Incommunicado Ferrada". Article with that name in the newspaper "Noticias de La Tarde", Concepción, August 5, 1969.
[14] At Miguel's suggestion, the Political Commission of the MIR nominated me as a candidate for rector of the University of Concepción in 1973. It was presented by Nelson Gutiérrez, but refuted by the regional secretary Manuel Vergara (expelled from the MIR in September 1973).
[15] Book by V. I. Lenin,published in Izkra, Moscow, 1902.
[16] La Tercera, Santiago, October 5, 1973; Diarios de Concepción El Sur, Crónica and Diario Color, October 1973.
[17] Comment delivered in Malmö, Sweden, by a colleague who had been a COP secretary in Santiago. She was then (1976) a member of the "GAM" groups in Malmö, and whom I visited in organic tasks on behalf of the MIR leadership in Stockholm (Juancho). She is the wife of a former member of the Central Committee of the MIR, Álvaro Rodas; but I don't remember his name.
[18] Mail from Marco Álvarez Vergara, 11 Mar 2016.
[19] Rebels with a Cause, op. cit. pp. 71–76.
[20] I never knew his name at the time of the events. But, as I have pointed out, his physical description, which I later shared with other former prisoners held at the Talcahuano naval base near Quiriquina Island, would correspond to an officer with that name.

[21] Photo: Amy Conger. (reproduced in Sputnik, 25-03-2021)

[22] "To return to seventeen / After living a century / It's like deciphering signs / Without being competent sage" – Violeta Parra (1962). "The Last Compositions", 1966.

[23] The Miguel Enríquez Foundation, which was initially chaired for years by Andrés Pascal Allende, corresponds to an initiative of Marco Enríquez Ominami.

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