ABSTRACT
It was 11 September 1976, when friends drove me to Santiago’s international airport. I had a one-way ticket to the United States, and a valid passport with a visa. But 11 September was one week before the scheduled start of my mandatory two-year military service. I had been expelled from the University of Chile by officials appointed by the military regime of Augusto Pinochet, and my part-time job as a secondary school teacher was in jeopardy. My mentor at the Department of Philosophy was in prison and I was expecting the same fate for myself. My choices were either to leave the country or stay and be drafted, something I did not want to do under the current conditions of Chile. I did not know whether the airport police would have the information about my military status and so I reviewed my possible answers. I could say that I was leaving only for a short while, that I would get back in time. But with a one-way ticket? In Chile, where only the extravagandy rich could leave the country ‘for just a few days’? What was I going to do in the United States, anyway? I had already been through that airport in 1974, and in similar circumstances, not knowing about the future and not knowing if I would even be allowed to exit. I had been able to leave for Argentina at that time, but passing police inspection now would mean a departure in defiance of military law. Would I ever be able to come back?
