Victor Jara’s Songs

1. Victor Jara’s Songs “The junta broke the fingers on Victor Jara’s handsThey said to the gentle poet “play your guitar now if you can”Victor started singing but they brought his body downYou can kill that man but not his songWhen it’s sung the whole world roundIf you can sing for freedom I can too” Holly Near “It could have been me” 1974

2. Essential Questions • What impact do songs have on social movements? • What is the historical context in which these songs are written and performed? • What makes a song effective in a cause?

3. Role of Music • Music has been used to lift the spirits of poor, oppressed and rebels. • Music has been used to communicate the ideas of change and protest. • From different historical eras from slavery, The Great Depression, Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam, individuals have shared their opinions of injustice.

4. Victor Jara • He was born on September 23, 1932. • He was a Chilean folk singer who challenged military rule. • He was imprisoned and tortured. • They broke his hands because he played his guitar to sing his protest songs. He taunted the soldiers by singing. He died on September 16, 1973. He was shot 44 times by the military who supported Augusto Pinochet.

5. Victor Jara was a peasantHe worked from a few years oldHe sat upon his father's plowAnd watched the earth unfoldHis hands were gentle, his hands were strongNow when the neighbors had a weddingOr one of their children diedHis mother sang all night for themWith Victor by her sideHis hands were gentle, his hands were strongHe grew up to be a fighterAgainst the people's wrongsHe listened to their grief and joyAnd turned them into songsHis hands were gentle, his hands were strongHe sang about the copper minersAnd those who worked the landHe sang about the factory workersAnd they knew he was their manHis hands were gentle, his hands were strong He campaigned for AllendeWorking night and dayHe sang "Take hold of your brothers handYou know the future begins today"His hands were gentle, his hands were strong Then the generals seized ChileThey arrested Victor thenThey caged him in a stadiumWith five-thousand frightened menHis hands were gentle, his hands were strongVictor stood in the stadiumHis voice was brave and strongAnd he sang for his fellow prisonersTill the guards cut short his songHis hands were gentle, his hands were strongThey broke the bones in both his handsThey beat him on the headThey tore him with electric shocksAnd then they shot him deadHis hands were gentle, his hands were strong Victor Jara of ChileLived like a shooting starHe fought for the people of ChileWith his songs and his guitarHis hands were gentle, his hands were strong by Adrian Mitchell, music by Arlo Guthrie Victor Jara

6. Oh hermano, oh hermano.Si tuviera un martillogolpearía en la mañanagolpearía en la nochepor todo el paísAlerta el peligrodebemos unirnos para defender,la paz.Si tuviera una campanatocaría en la mañanatocaría en la nochepor todo el paísAlerta el peligrodebemos unirnos para defender,la paz. Si tuviera una cancióncantaría en la mañanacantaría en la nochepor todo el paísAlerta el peligrodebemos unirnos para defender,la paz.Ahora tengo un martilloy tengo una campanay tengo una canción que cantarpor todo el país.Martillo de justiciacampana de libertady una canción de paz. El Martillo

7. Manifesto: English translation I don’t sing for love of singingor to show off my voicebut for the statementsmade by my honest guitarfor its heart is of the earthand like the dove it goes flying....endlessly as holy waterblessing the brave and the dyingso my song has found a purposeas Violet Parra would say. Yes, my guitar is a workershining and smelling of springmy guitar is not for killersgreedy for money and powerbut for the people who labourso that the future may flower.For a song takes on a meaningwhen its own heart beat is strongsung by a man who will die singingtruthfully singing his song. I don’t care for adulationor so that strangers may weep.I sing for a far strip of countrynarrow but endlessly deep. Yo no canto por cantarni por tener buena voz,canto porque la guitarratiene sentido y razón.Tiene corazón de tierray alas de palomita.Es como el agua bendita,santigua glorias y penas.Aquí se encajó mi cantocomo dijera Violeta;guitarra trabajadoracon olor a primavera,Que no es guitarra de ricos,ni cosa que se parezca,mi canto es de los andamiospara alcanzar las estrellas. Que el canto tiene sentidocuando palpita en las venasdel que morirá cantandolas verdades verdaderas.No las lisonjas fugacesni las famas extranjeras,sino el canto de una lonjahasta el fondo de la tierra.Ahí donde llega todoy donde todo comienza,canto que a sido valientesiempre será canción nueva. Manifesto

8. The right to live in peace Lyrics Victor JaraThe right to livepoet Ho Chi Minhstriking of Vietnamall humanity.No gun clearedthe path of your rice.The right to live in peace.Indochina is the placebeyond the wide sea,where the flower burstwith genocide and napalm.The moon is an explosionwhich merges all the clamor.The right to live in peace.Uncle Ho, our songFire is pure love,is the pigeon loftoil of olive.It is the universal songa string that will succeedthe right to live in peace. El Derecho De Vivir En Paz El derecho de vivirpoeta Ho Chi Minh,que golpea de Vietnama toda la humanidad.Ningún cañón borraráel surco de tu arrozal.El derecho de vivir en paz.Indochina es el lugarmas allá del ancho mar,donde revientan la florcon genocidio y napalm.La luna es una explosiónque funde todo el clamor.El derecho de vivir en paz. Tío Ho, nuestra canciónes fuego de puro amor,es palomo palomarolivo de olivar.Es el canto universalcadena que hará triunfar,el derecho de vivir en paz.

9. Abre sendas por los cerros,Deja su huella en el viento,El águila le da el vueloY lo cobija el silencio.Nunca se quejó del frío,Nunca se quejó del sueño,El pobre siente su pasoY lo sigue como un ciego.Correlé, correlé, correlá,Por aquí, por allí, por allá,Correlé, correlé, correlá,Correlé que te van a matar,Correlé, correlé, correlá.Su cabeza es rematadaPor cuervos con garra de oro,Cómo lo ha crucificadoLa furia del poderoso. Hijo de la rebeldía,Lo siguen veinte más veinte,Porque regala su vidaEllos le quieren dar muerte.Correlé, correlé, correlá,Por aquí, por allí, por allá,Correlé, correlé, correlá,Correlé que te van a matar,Correlé, correlé, correlá. El Aparecido

10. cinco milen esta pequeña parte de la ciudad.Somos cinco mil¿ Cuántos seremos en totalen las ciudades y en todo el país ?Solo aquidiez mil manos siembrany hacen andar las fabricas.¡ Cuánta humanidadcon hambre, frio, pánico, dolor,presión moral, terror y locura !Seis de los nuestros se perdieronen el espacio de las estrellas.Un muerto, un golpeado como jamas creíse podria golpear a un ser humano.Los otros cuatro quisieron quitarse todos los temoresuno saltó al vacio,otro golpeandose la cabeza contra el muro,pero todos con la mirada fija de la muerte.¡ Qué espanto causa el rostro del fascismo !Llevan a cabo sus planes con precisión arteraSin importarles nada.La sangre para ellos son medallas.La matanza es acto de heroismo¿ Es este el mundo que creaste, dios mio ?¿Para esto tus siete dias de asombro y trabajo ?en estas cuatro murallas solo existe un numeroque no progresa,que lentamente querrá más muerte. Pero de pronto me golpea la concienciay veo esta marea sin latido,pero con el pulso de las máquinasy los militares mostrando su rostro de matronallena de dulzura.¿ Y Mexico, Cuba y el mundo ?¡ Que griten esta ignominia !Somos diez mil manos menosque no producen.Ay, canto qué mal me salescuando tengo que cantar espanto.Ay, canto qué mal me salesAy, canto qué mal me sales. ¿Cuántos somos en toda la Patria?La sangre del companero Presidentegolpea más fuerte que bombas y metrallasAsi golpeará nuestro puño nuevamente¡Canto que mal me salesCuando tengo que cantar espanto!Espanto como el que vivocomo el que muero, espanto.De verme entre tanto y tantosmomentos del infinitoen que el silencio y el gritoson las metas de este canto.Lo que veo nunca vi,lo que he sentido y que sientohara brotar el momentohará brotar el momento. “Estadio Chile”

11. There are five thousand of us herein this small part of the city.We are five thousand.I wonder how many we are in allin the cities and in the whole country?Here aloneare ten thousand hands which plant seedsand make the factories run.How much humanityexposed to hunger, cold, panic, pain,moral pressure, terror and insanity?Six of us were lostas if into starry space.One dead, another beaten as I could never have believeda human being could be beaten.The other four wanted to end their terrorone jumping into nothingness,another beating his head against a wall,but all with the fixed stare of death.What horror the face of fascism creates!They carry out their plans with knife-like precision.Nothing matters to them.To them, blood equals medals,slaughter is an act of heroism.Oh God, is this the world that you created,for this your seven days of wonder and work?Within these four walls only a number existswhich does not progress,which slowly will wish more and more for death. But suddenly my conscience awakesand I see that this tide has no heartbeat,only the pulse of machinesand the military showing their midwives’ facesfull of sweetness.Let Mexico, Cuba and the worldcry out against this atrocity!We are ten thousand handswhich can produce nothing. How many of us in the whole country?The blood of our President, our compañero,will strike with more strength than bombs and machine guns!So will our fist strike again!How hard it is to singwhen I must sing of horror.Horror which I am living,horror which I am dying.To see myself among so muchand so many moments of infinityin which silence and screamsare the end of my song.What I see, I have never seenWhat I have felt and what I feelWill give birth to the moment.Will give birth to the moment.How hard it is to singwhen I must sing of horror.How hard it is to singHow hard it is to sing…. “Chile Stadium”

12. U2 in “One Tree Hill” 1987 And in the world, a heart of darkness, a fire zoneWhere poets speak their heart, then bleed for itJara sang, his song a weapon in the hands of loveYou know his blood still cries from the groundIt runs like a river, runs to the seaIt runs like a river to the sea