On September 11, 1973, General Augusto Pinochet launched a violent coup d’état in Chile. The military junta terminated a three-year period of democratic socialism and introduced a dictatorship that lasted sixteen years.
During this time, thousands of Chileans, including students, laborers, and professionals, were killed, tortured, or “disappeared.”
Allegations of American involvement in the coup raised provocative questions of willful political subterfuge and suppression of the common people. The extent of Pinochet’s human rights violations, as well as rumors of American military intervention, received further scrutiny upon the arrival of Missing (1982), a film directed by Costa-Gavras. The movie, inspired by real events, reintroduced a complicated historical narrative that articulated the violence of political oppression, while refusing to sensationalize or normalize its effects.
In Missing, a young American couple, Beth (Sissy Spacek) and Charles Horman (John Shea), find themselves trapped in Chile amidst the bloody coup of 1973. One morning, Beth returns home to learn that her husband has been taken by Chilean officers.
Throughout the film, Beth and her father-in-law, Ed Horman (Jack Lemmon), fruitlessly appeal the American government for help. They navigate an interlocked web of bureaucracy, where Chilean military officials and American consul officers maddeningly shrug their shoulders. No one is willing to take responsibility for Charles’s disappearance, which creates a vacuum of paranoia, suspicion, and pain. Along their journey, Beth and Ed witness the atrocities of Pinochet’s regime and the chilling apathy of the United States government.
In the beginning, Ed represents the American “Everyman,” an affable, conservative man with an unwavering faith in his government. After a futile meeting with the American ambassador, Beth says, “I don’t expect a whole hell of a lot anymore…They don’t give a damn about [Charles].”
Here, Ed loses his patience and angrily responds, “I don’t want to hear any more of your anti-establishment paranoia.”
He often chastises Beth’s wariness and distrust of the U.S. embassy. In his eyes, her political idealism only serves to warp the integrity of the American officers. Tellingly, when Ed first arrives, he asks, “What stupid thing did Charles do to get arrested?” For Horman, a logical reason must exist for Charles’s disappearance. Moreover, it is his son’s “radicalism,” rather than American negligence, that he believes led to his arrest.
In Missing, Horman serves as an accessible gateway for the audience—his ignorance, his frustration, his suspicion of criticism geared toward the American government. He voices the thoughts and concerns that, ostensibly, many uninformed citizens might harbor. He is not distinctly “good” or “bad.” He is a man who lives a life markedly separate from the brutal political realities of American intervention and colonialism. He does not know. He has the privilege of not having to know.
Wagging a finger at Beth, he says, “A very good way of life it is, no matter how much people like you try to tear it down with your sloppy idealism.”
But who, exactly, possesses this “very good way of life”?
Ed has grown and thrived in a country that, until now, has supported him. An older white man, Horman lacks the foresight to acknowledge his own privileged status in the social hierarchy. He has been comfortable. When Beth bitterly condemns the American embassy, he self-righteously defends an institution that has kept him safe and prosperous. When he expresses annoyance or anger at Beth’s cynicism, he articulates a plausible reaction that many Americans in the audience might hold.
However, as the film progresses, Ed grows increasingly disillusioned with the American government. The embassy fails to provide solid solutions for finding Charles and its employees repeatedly regard Ed and Beth with condescension. In one scene, Consul Phil Putnam briefly mentions the difficulty of entering hospitals to look for Charles.
Beth bluntly responds, “Translation: You can break a leg tripping over all the bodies.”
She challenges their obscure language with a sharp, clarifying bite.
On their own, Ed and Beth travel to hospitals, morgues, and the National Stadium, which now serves as a mass detention and execution camp, in search of Charles. It is Ed and Beth who observe hundreds of Chilean citizens imprisoned and who walk past unidentified corpses. They witness a shocking reality of blatant human oppression. This visceral knowledge changes Ed.
Horman’s journey of gradual enlightenment shadows that of the broader audience. To be personally invested in him is to be, in a narrative sleight of hand, invested in a larger story of American imperialism and greed. To be personally invested in him is to be devoted to a heartbreaking struggle for justice—one that will not come.
When Ed wrathfully confronts the U.S. embassy, the ambassador responds, “If you hadn’t been personally involved in this incident, you’d be sitting at home, complacent and more or less oblivious to all of this.”
His words, while difficult to hear, are arguably true. Horman only traveled to Chile and immersed himself in its unstable political infrastructure because of his one private connection: his son. In this scene, the ambassador is not only speaking to Ed, but to the entire audience. We, too, have remained complacent because of our status as American citizens, far removed from the violence and duplicity of a military repression possibly supported by the United States.
For the Chilean people, this was the historical reality: while “justice” signified a comforting notion, its execution often served the aims of the dominant majority. It was those with power who wielded “justice.”
Previously, Ed existed on the upper tiers of the prevailing social structure. Now, however, he finds himself “othered.” He will not receive the “justice” of finding his son in a timely manner, nor will he receive direct accountability from the United States—because those two aims stand in direct opposition to the desires of the American government. Moreover, the audience will not experience the emotional catharsis of a just ending. They, too, must accept that Ed will not see his son. Beth will not reunite with her loving husband. The United States will not provide easy, placatory answers. This is a cognitive space of discomfort and pain, but it is necessary to disassemble safe preconceptions.
In real life, the Horman family returned to the United States determined to share Charles’s story with others and to learn more about the murky reality of his death. In 1977, the Center for Constitutional Rights (CCR) filed a lawsuit on behalf of Ed Horman. In Horman v. Kissinger, the CCR charged former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger and the State Department with complicity in the arrest and execution of Charles Horman. While the case analyzed the activities of the Chilean military and the American embassy, the lawsuit failed to gather significant traction because of “classified” documents and the inability to depose key witnesses. The case was dismissed “without prejudice,” meaning that it could be reopened if, or when, new evidence became available.
By 1983, the details of Charles’ arrest, including why the Chilean military targeted him and how they determined he engaged in “subversive” activities, lingered in stasis. These questions had not been solved, but had simply been pushed aside. The emergence of Missing spotlighted a bitter controversy, one which had been brewing for almost a decade.
At the same time, the film received significant backlash for its allegedly distorted view of American politics overseas. The U.S. State Department released a formal response to Missing, stating that its staff “undertook intensive and comprehensive efforts to locate Charles Horman from the moment it was learned that he was missing, to assist his relatives in their efforts to locate him, and also to learn the circumstances of his disappearance and death.”
These were the facts, as available in 1983: Charles Horman did visit Viña del Mar, a Chilean town where both coup conspirators and U.S. military officials were residing. He did take notes about possible American involvement in the overthrow of Allende. He was arrested by the Chilean military and murdered soon after. However, the American government staunchly denied allegations that American officials collaborated with the Chilean military to “disappear” Charles Horman.
Distress and anger at the film’s political implications resulted in another bout of judicial action. This time, the lawsuit was in defense of the American government. On January 11, 1983, three former American officials filed a $60 million libel suit against the makers of Missing: Nathaniel Davis, the United States Ambassador to Chile; Frederick Purdy, United States Consul in Santiago; and Captain Ray E. Davis, commander of the United States Military Group in Chile.
The lawsuit alleged that both the film and Thomas Hauser’s The Execution of Charles Horman: An American Sacrifice (1978) had falsely claimed that the plaintiffs were involved in the murder of Charles Horman. The suit stated that scenes from the film “were understood by those who saw the movie or heard of it to be stating and implying, directly and by innuendo, by the logic of the movie’s presentation and by the progression of its action, that the plaintiffs ordered or approved” his death.
However, none of these three officials were directly referenced in Missing, nor was the country in which the film took place explicitly called Chile. Although the suit was ultimately dismissed, its very existence revealed the extent to which Missing disturbed the American government.
Moreover, a number of news articles criticized the film for indulging in “anti-American” propaganda.
David S. Machlowitz’s 1982 review, “‘Missing’ Drowns in a Sea of Anti-Americanism,” declared, “Costa-Gavras…is virulently anti-American—portraying every U.S. diplomat as a heartless, evil Nixonian stooge.”
Yet, while Machlowitz reads the film’s American officials as “heartless” and “evil,” their portrayals are much more restrained and subtle. Consul Putnam and the American Ambassador do not exist as obvious caricatures, but as reserved political figures with agendas that differ vastly from the aims of Ed Horman. It is easy to become frustrated with them. It is easy to become angry with them. But this does not automatically make them “evil” men.
Furthermore, the term “anti-American” raises questions about what defined a “true” American. To criticize the actions of the administration was not to condemn all of America, but to emphasize the ways in which the country must be held accountable by its citizens and by the greater global community. The United States did not possess a “free pass” simply because it labeled itself “the land of the free.” Actions matter. To be the land of the free, the United States must actively enact measures predicated on the political principles of integrity and human dignity. Striving to improve the country, to fully implement the breadth of its democratic ideals, represents a distinctly patriotic goal.
As such, automatically agreeing with the United States, no matter its implications, is not “patriotic.” It is what allows horrible atrocities to take place, while hiding behind the guise of “loyalty.” It is weak and short-sighted and cruel.
After the film’s release, Costa-Gavras elucidated, “It’s a pro-American fact that this picture has been made at all…That is one of the biggest riches of democracy—to see problems, speak about them, and eventually correct them. This is one of the very few countries… where such a film could be made and shown freely.”
Dissecting the actions of the United States government was not meant to be destructive, but to serve as a necessary tool for accountability.
Additionally, while critics of the film condemned the purportedly villainous characterizations of the American embassy, Joyce Horman, the real wife of Charles Horman, commended their onscreen portrayals. According to Mrs. Horman, when she first asked the American Ambassador to check the National Stadium for Charles, he replied, “What do you want me to do? Check under the bleachers?”
At this time, ambassadors from other countries had entered the stadium to recover citizens. Yet, as Joyce articulated, “Our American Ambassador felt it necessary to insult me and denigrate my question that he go and look.”
She believed the film effectively captured the complete disregard and disrespect that American officials displayed for the gravity of her situation. Terry Simon, a close friend of the Hormans who also lived in Chile, described the “rude, callous, and indifferent treatment” they received from U.S. officials. In this way, the film forcefully depicts the helplessness, isolation, and grief they experienced while asking for assistance.
Sanitizing the negligence of American officials, neutering the horror of a brutal military coup, ignoring the reality of rows and rows of bullet-ridden, unidentified bodies—this is not objectivity. Neutrality does not represent objectivity.
In the New York Times review of the film, Vincent Canby wrote, “Among other things ‘Missing’ does is to convince you that, next time, you’re not going to waste your vote. The passive citizen is the citizen-victim.”
As such, the film does not seek to demonize the United States, but to consciously articulate the ways in which complacency and ignorance lead to a broader allowance of social ills, including torture, censorship, and political repression. Missing alternates between restrained nuance and visceral symbolism as a wake-up call, a bucket of ice water. It is supposed to hurt. It is supposed to be uncomfortable. Raw revelations usually cause pain.
Consequently, Missing not only carved out a necessary space for public dialogue, but also provided a forum for reflection. Mrs. Horman praised the reactions that it provoked from the audience, the “impact it had on the general consciousness of the United states citizen, the information that it was giving to people about this behavior of the United States government to Latin American democracy that…was overthrown.”
While the film premiered nine years after the actual events took place, the case of Charles Horman was considered “new” information to much of the broader public. Steven Volk, a member of the Chile Solidarity Movement, a worldwide program that sought to establish democracy in Chile, also celebrated the film: “Missing generated a lot of publicity for our cause and addressed many questions that I think the American people had about the situation overseas.” Public awareness and greater engagement with the global community were crucial products of the film.
Over the years, information on American activities in Chile during the 1970s has continued to surface, some of which contradicts the assertions of Missing and others which reinforce specific allegations. As mentioned above, the film directly links the violent downfall of Allende’s administration with United States intervention. According to a General Report on Chile, released by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in 2000, the CIA did not instigate the coup of September 11, 1973.
However, the CIA knew that the Chilean military was conspiring to overthrow Allende; the agency also maintained intelligence collection alliances with specific plotters. Although the American government was not directly involved in Pinochet’s seizure of power, the United States also made no efforts to prevent a military dictatorship from taking root.
Moreover, while the United States did not explicitly intervene in 1973, the American government did attempt a separate coup in 1970 to prevent Allende from taking office. While working with three different groups of plotters, the CIA subsidized the kidnapping plot of Chilean Army Commander Rene Schneider, who defended Allende’s right to serve as president. The intelligence agency provided tear gas, submachine-guns, and ammunition to the second group. Although the CIA withdrew support for the third group four days before the attempted coup, this same group still kidnapped Schneider and fatally shot him.
Thus, although Missing proved incorrect on the details of Pinochet’s coup, its broader political analysis of American intervention remains astute. In misguided efforts to combat subversive, “Communist” activities abroad, the United States initiated contact with a volatile, dangerous group of opponents. Rather than respect the newly-instituted democracy of Chile, the United States sought to cripple its political infrastructure for its own aims.
Over the years, the Horman family has continued to investigate the mysteries surrounding Charles’s death, specifically in regards to purposeful American negligence. A U.S. Department of State document, dated August 25, 1976, originally surfaced during Ed Horman’s suit against the government in 1977. However, a large portion of the document remained redacted due to “sensitive” information. The available section of the memo revealed that the State Department considered the case “bothersome” and feared “intimations…of negligence on our part or, worse, complicity in Horman’s death.”
The document advised employees to defend the actions of U.S. officials. While the memo did not prove American complicity, it also did little to assuage the suspicions and fears of the Hormans.
However, an influx of declassified materials allowed new, troubling details to emerge. In 1999, under the Freedom of Information Act, the National Security Archive compiled and released a collection of declassified records for public consumption, including a non-redacted version of the 1976 memo.
In this copy, the document included a particularly damning line: “There is circumstantial evidence to suggest… U.S. intelligence may have played an unfortunate part in Horman’s death.”
While Missing originally received criticism for its allegations that the United States had conspired with the Chilean military to silence Charles Horman, this memo proved that such suspicions had merit. Even the United States government, despite its loud, bold assertions, was uncertain about its own involvement in Horman’s disappearance.
Recently, the circumstances surrounding Charles Horman’s death have acquired further evidence that both validates the claims of the Horman family and incites greater frustration, anger, and pain. In 2014, the Chilean court ruled that American military intelligence agencies provided the Chilean army with information that led to the deaths of Charles Horman and antiwar activist Frank Teruggi in 1973.
According to the court’s decision, American naval officer Ray E. Davis notified Chilean officials of the movements of Horman and Teruggi, which spurred their arrests and subsequent executions. During this time, the FBI had conducted an investigation on the men to compile evidence of their “subversive activities.” The court sentenced Pedro Espinoza, a retired army intelligence officer, to seven years for the murders of Horman and Teruggi. Rafael González, previously a member of Chilean Air Force intelligence, received a sentence of two years of police supervision as an accomplice in the Horman murder. It was also revealed that Davis had secretly been living in a nursing home in Chile and had died there in 2013.
After fifty years, the harrowing circumstances surrounding Charles’s death had reached an unsettling conclusion.
At the same time, the implications of the Chilean court’s ruling also produce more questions, specifically in regards to American political exploits. To emphasize a troubling fact: Davis had been one of the plaintiffs who had filed the libel suit against the creators of Missing in 1983. Davis had been one of the plaintiffs who had argued that he had not abetted Charles Horman’s death. Davis, commander of the United States Military Group in Chile, had not only lied about his complicity, but had also taken action against the family who had suffered the devastating loss of their son. He had been an American official in a position of power and he had abused his position, again and again.
Costa-Gavras’s Missing dissects the ramifications of American political tactics abroad, delving into how these methods fuel, rather than prevent, governmental corruption, persistent violence, and economic inequality in other countries. The film shows that these moments of brutal repression were not and will never be normal.
Launching a violent coup against a populace is not normal. Executing citizens for “subversive” behavior is not normal. Refusing aid, ignoring genocide, concealing the extent of such human rights violations—this is not normal. It has happened, and continues to happen, much too frequently. For many, it is a daily nightmare. Yet, despite its regularity, it is not normal. Holding the country accountable is not acting “anti-patriotic,” but endeavoring to apply the abstract principles of democracy into concrete form.
The United States should not normalize bigotry and oppression for the sake of a more palatable narrative, or to enable an easy, sanitized patriotism.
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