This week sees the release of NO, the movie, which tells the story of the campaign that managed to win the plebiscite of October 5, 1988. A few years ago I published this story, and taking advantage of the occasion, and given that we are also celebrating 7 years of this blog, it seemed like a good idea to republish this post, which tells the story of two young men who took part in that historic day. So here it is, republished:

The hackers of October 5

Back then there was technological activism too. This is the story of a group of computer geeks, fighting with what they knew how to do, with computers and technology, to make sure that plebiscite was not rigged by the dictatorship. The story as told by MAZ and REM, two hackers fighting for the return of democracy, two of my best friends.

It is the morning of October 5:

MAZ: We’ve gone 30 hours without sleep ... I can’t feel my mouth anymore from the stench of cigarettes and coffee ... How are my folks and my sisters doing? ... We finished installing the last FAX machine last night in the living room of somebody’s apartment downtown, with the whole family there and coordinating with the building’s doorman, who fortunately is on our side, making sure he lets in the tally runners on motorcycles and bicycles who will bring the results of the polling tables from the voting centers, so the results can be sent to the collection centers ... We had a bug in the program that counts the table tallies, which we finished fixing last night ... My head hurts ... Fortunately the local network has worked well ...

We have to be careful not to kick the network coax ... There’s no time to make backups, but just in case they took away a set of 5 1/4" diskettes with the sources and the databases ...

You never know ... What time is my turn to go vote? Who’s going to take me? ... We’re having problems with the FAX operators ... Damn it ... It’s dead easy ... You put in the paper, dial the number and press the green button ... Why the hell isn’t that working? ... The modems have worked fine, thank goodness, but we have to use them sparingly because they caught on that we were moving data and the other day they took down some of our phone lines ... But those were the test ones ... The official numbers we’re only using for the first time now ...

We have to use the modems only as much as strictly necessary ... But we can send the files to the remote sites and that’s what matters ... The table openings are coming in ... They’re being set up early ... Let the Comando know ... Concepción is slow, have them send more poll watchers ... Or is it a problem with sending the information? They had to change a collection center at the last minute because the neighbors across the street caught on and ratted them out ...

What’s going on? Is it the tables that aren’t being set up, or do we have problems with the data flow? ... We have to run the opening count processes ... They’re showing cartoons on TV ... Have you heard anything from the Comando Central? We’re sore because they have Unix and money, and we have plain PCs and Clipper applications, but it doesn’t matter ...

Our protagonists are members of the backup group for the vote count, a secret group created in case the central group, the one everybody knows about, is somehow shut down by the government.

According to REM’s testimony:

For people who have read about the plebiscite, there were two counting lines, line N and line O. We didn’t exist, we were the backup in case the military decided to ignore the results. Our only defense was to go unnoticed. We were the clandestine ones, so very few people could know we existed, let alone where we were operating. In fact, only at the last minute did we find out where our own computing center was going to be. There we spent several intense hours on that 5th and 6th of October. There I spent my birthday, locked in.

One of the clearest memories I have is when we started getting problems from the collection centers. There were tables that couldn’t be entered because the system rejected them. Our system was based on collection centers with a system built in Clipper, which were the ones sending us the information. There was no way to change the programs. We had to find a solution fast, but first we had to find the problem. After a while we realized that the men’s and women’s tables were swapped, and we got in touch with the central command, who were the ones who had generated the databases we were using. They had the error too, had already spotted the problem, had fixed it and had forgotten about us. For them it was easy: their system was one Unix machine where they centralized everything. We couldn’t do that, so we had to look for an alternative solution, which we found after some good arguments. Do you remember how good the two of us were at fighting whenever we argued over some piece of development? The rest always looked at us as if all hell had just broken loose, and in the end we would reach an agreement and stay as good friends as ever.

During the morning they are taken to vote, in shifts, and always accompanied by someone. They must vote as fast as possible and come back, with little time to reflect on how important the event is. All of us who voted for the first time that day felt the same thing MAZ describes:

MAZ: ... I’m 22 years old and this is the first public vote I’m going to take part in ... Now I realize I have never voted in public life, although I’ve been lucky enough to vote many times at the University ... But this is different ... Electing a Delegate or a Student Union President is not the same as this real line, where I’m standing with dozens of people who are my neighbors ... I will never get to know them all ... I’m scared of tearing my ballot and getting it wrong ... One little line, just one little line ... The campaign’s TV spots said it and repeated it ... Take care of your vote ... Just one little line ... How many votes will be lost to people who, after so long, will take their ballot and express what they have not been able to say or do for so long? ... One little line ... Nothing more than that ... Did I vote right? Am I sure?...

Time to go back****

MAZ: .. What strikes me most is the silence of Santiago ... So different from the previous days, when I had to walk past the marches of one side and the other without being able to pin on a button for the NO...

We came back from downtown after fixing the FAX ... It was a minor thing but the trip made it look hairy ... On top of that we had to drive fast ... There was nobody in the streets and they were starting to close off downtown ... We were scared, plenty scared ... We got back to our place very fast ... A company meeting room has never felt so cozy to me ... It’s starting to get dark, but while many people are starting to listen to the news at home and the TV is starting to give partial results, for us the work is only beginning ..

. We’ve already received results from many places .… Our first counts show the SI winning, and the dismay starts to creep in ... But the old foxes tell us ... Don’t be fooled ... The first tables are the most conservative, for many reasons we didn’t want to hear ... The numbers were telling us other things and the priority was to receive, process, count, add up ... And send the results we had ... There was no time to think ... Just look at numbers and process files ... But new results started coming in ... In many places the NO was starting to climb and to win ... The trend was reversing ... We watched Cardemil give the first official count, and in his speech he called the SI’s win an "irrevocable trend" with a ridiculous number of tables ... "They’re going to wipe us out" I think to myself, and I know several around me feel the same, but we have to keep going ... By 7:30 p.m. we had more than 25% of the count ... And the numbers were giving us different results .

And the tension starts to build

MAZ: We thought the NO’s victory was going to be overwhelming ... I expected over 70% ... But when we started getting results and we were barely making it over 50%, we were winning ... but lukewarmly. Where did we fail? What didn’t we see? Why isn’t what we did and denounced for so many years showing up in our country? What did we do wrong?... It doesn’t matter ... We have to process ... We have to keep going ... And we have to send what we have so that others can analyze it and preserve it ... "Guys, they closed off downtown ... There’s a high probability they’ll blow up the Comando Central next to the Diego Portales building ... Only the international press coverage is protecting it" ... The other lines are weaker ... "Get ready, because we may be the only alternative left" ..

REM’s birthday was that very day. In the end, friendship is more important than any political revolution. I’m not wrong; these young men think so too:

REM: The other thing I remember is that during that day and that night there was no time for anything but work. We had to turn out report after report and send all our counts to "the pool". What the hell was the famous pool? I’ve never been 100% sure. Some say it was an embassy, others that it was the church. The fact is that it was "something" where all our results ended up. Well, the thing is that at some point you stopped us all and told them it was my birthday, and they sang to me and there were hugs and a lot of emotion and... and everybody went back to what they were doing... all of us, even me, had our minds elsewhere...

MAZ: ... Happy Birthday, dear friend ... We sang you happy birthday, but really we were more worried about our files, about the TV and about the night wearing on ... We’ve remembered that birthday all these years over a drink, fewer times than I would like, but every time I hear something about the '88 plebiscite, my main memory is the hug we gave each other for your birthday ...

REM: That year I hardly celebrated my birthday. In fact I wasn’t with my family and I was with very few friends, but the gift I got was the best I could have received. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me, but I made it mine the very instant I learned that we had officially won.

So after that small celebration came the whirlwind of finishing counting the votes, and waiting for the result:

MAZ..around 1, they gave another count on TV ... Cardemil started reading the numbers ... First we were surprised that the percentage of tables counted was high, very high ... And our stomachs started to tighten ... We all stood in front of the television, in silence, packed together, almost without moving ... When he gave the official figures, we didn’t quite understand, because we couldn’t believe what we were hearing ... Maybe, used to the permanent lie, we weren’t prepared to hear a truth ... But it was true ... They were officially admitting that we had won ... By a little ... Maybe a point or so less than what we had counted, but that hardly mattered ... We started jumping in front of the television and hugging each other ... Somebody brought a couple of bottles of champagne and we soaked each other with them ... And we gave each other a hug, my friend, a big one, the kind that lasts a lifetime ... And I started crying like a little kid ... We won, compadre, we won ... And I kept crying while we kept greeting each other, jumping ... And the order came: Stop everything, shut the place down, we’re going out to celebrate, damn it ... And that’s what we did. I remember we got to Plaza Italia at about 3 in the morning ... Thousands of people ... Tens of thousands of people ... My body had nothing left, but with a warm heart and a permanent smile, tiredness doesn’t exist ... By car, on foot, with flags, confetti, whistles, champagne ... But what struck me most ... So many smiles, everybody was smiling ... I gave hundreds of hugs to people I didn’t know ... I climbed onto cars ... I waved a flag in front of the Diego Portales with all my strength ... And we went to the Comando, to meet up with everyone ... What a beautiful photo from that night ... My copy is kept among my favorite mementos ... What a beautiful photo, compadre ... Afterwards, in the morning I went to the University ... It was a party ... And in the afternoon, to Avenida Grecia ... From there, a few blocks’ walk to my house, to say hello to my parents ... And sleep, sleep ...

That day many of us celebrated. We were happy: the end of the dictatorship, joy had arrived.
With time we realized that it wasn’t entirely so, but that is another story. Historical processes are not as simple as people would like; a state of absolute happiness can’t be achieved. What matters is what remains, in this case friendship, and the example that young people, even the most techie ones, are capable of great things.

Sources:

The testimonies of MAZ and REM.