More Civil Than War?

Chile was in ferment last week throughout its 2,800-mile length. Violence flared in many places, and a massive truckers' strike had brought the economy practically to a standstill. Santiago seethed with riots and demonstrations as extremist factions of both the right and left sought to impose their will upon President Salvador Allende Gossens' Marxist government. In an effort to stabilize his regime, Allende shuffled ministries like a deck of cards.

Talk of civil war was in the air and Allende continued to trade on it with his slogan "Allende or civil war." TIME Correspondent Rudolph Rauch cabled from Santiago: "A new possibility has emerged: Allende and civil war. Indeed, there are signs that this is the situation now--a civil war whose nature has gone unrecognized because it has been far too civil when judged by historical precedents, and because the President who has so often equated civil war with his own removal remains in office."

Even where no overt violence was erupting, travel and communications were either halted or unbearably difficult. Gasoline shortages kept many cars in their garages, and virtually none would venture out at night, when roads were strewn with miguelitos--double-S-curved pieces of steel guaranteed to rip any tire. A seat on one of the few buses in service required a booking several days in advance. Trains were running, but late and overcrowded.

Despite the pressures on him, Allende still displayed the fast political footwork and crowd-pleasing oratory that have kept him in office for three years. A crisis a day has become his staple fare, and he seems to thrive on it.

Last week's crises began with a brouhaha involving the armed forces. In Chile, unlike most other Latin American countries, the military has traditionally avoided involvement in politics. But recently Allende took leaders of the three armed forces into his Cabinet. Now military men are moving in and out in a revolving-door scene reminiscent of a Marx Brothers' movie. The first to spin was Air Force Commander in Chief General Cesar Ruiz Danyau. His job as Public Works Minister was to end the month-old strike of 40,000 owner-drivers of the trucks on which the nation's distribution system depends. But in a fishwifely spat with Allende, Ruiz contended that he had not been given the necessary authority, and quit. Allende gave the peacemaking task to an army man, General Herman Brady, who soon reported that the strike was almost--but not quite--settled.

Then General Carlos Prats Gonzalez, commander in chief of the army, who was doubling as Minister of Defense, threw in the towel. He had been goaded by powerful factions in the army and air force--and their wives, who engaged in rock-throwing demonstrations outside his home. They contended that Prats was compromising the military's traditional neutralism and demanded that he leave the Cabinet. He acceded when the opposition majority in the Chamber of Deputies rammed through a resolution charging that the military members of the Cabinet were violating their oath to defend the constitution by supporting a government that was acting illegally.

While shootouts and bombings erupted sporadically, Allende had recourse to his usual remedy: a speech. In the wake of Prats' resignation, hastily organized crowds marched in ordered battalions to Moneda Palace, chanting the President's name. The President kept them waiting five minutes, then appeared on the balcony for a momentary wave and ducked inside again--long enough for a microphone and loudspeakers to be set up. (They happened to be handy, as they always are.) Allende reappeared, and with characteristic karate-chop gestures launched into yet another attack on the "fascists" who, he alleged, were out to wreck his government. At week's end he faced further crises, including the likelihood that more military men would soon leave his government through that revolving door.

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