My memories of the pope

I never met the pope, but me and 12 million other people like me are deeply indebted to him.

You see, I am Chilean, and John Paul II changed the history of my country. Not only that, he did it three times.

First, in 1978, he sent an emissary to keep Chile and Argentina from going to war with each other over the Beagle Channel territories. Then, in 1984, he oversaw the peace treaty between the two nations.

Then, in 1986, he announced that he would visit Chile. Never before had a sitting pope visited the country.

For the next year and a half, the country, though mired in a military dictatorship, went into overdrive. Chilean and Argentinean singers recorded an album honoring his visit. Newspapers published weekly catechism about the meaning of the pope's trip. An anthem to his visit became a staple of every church service. And the pope had not even arrived yet.

I was a third-grader in Catholic school at the time, and by the time he arrived in Chile, me and my classmates knew everything there was to know about the pope.

What we did not know, is that this was a man with an uncanny ability to make you feel loved.

From the moment he descended from the plane and kissed Chilean soil (as he did every time he visited a country for the first time), my country felt loved, understood and blessed by this man with an extraordinary heart.

From the men in the Antofagasta prison in the north, to the mothers and children of the slums of Santiago, to the farmers in the south who gave him a baby sheep, to a dozen other places he visited during the six days he spent in Chile, we all felt as though he loved us all. And we loved him right back.

We loved him because he stood up for us. The country was in the middle of a 16-year dictatorship and he went to the palace of government to talk to Gen. Augusto Pinochet. When Pinochet asked him "Why is the Church always talking about democracy? One form of government is as good as another," the pope gently replied "No. People have a right to their liberties, even if they make mistakes in exercising them."

We loved him because he liked to laugh. When he met with 80,000 young people at the National Stadium, he asked them whether they wanted to renounce the idols of violence. The thunderous response shook the walls of the stadium.

"Yeeeesssss!!!"

Then he asked the crowd if they wanted to renounce the idols of easy money, greed and power. Once again, the youthful crowd did not disappoint him.

"Yeeeessss!!!"

Then, he asked them if they wanted to renounce the idols of sex and pleasure. Papal infallibility notwithstanding, perhaps not the best idea among such a young crowd.

"Noooooooo!!!!" came the response. And he chuckled.

We loved him because he was tough. He was celebrating Mass in front of 1 million people when the police began using tear gas to dismiss rioters who were burning tires to the pope's left. With tears in his eyes from the smoke, he went on, and ad-libbed a line into his speech that no Chilean has forgotten since. "Love is stronger."

By the time he left for Argentina, my nation of 12 million people was a different place than it had been a week earlier. It took a man from Poland with flawless Spanish to give it one final push toward democracy and reconciliation, towards nonviolence and solidarity. And he did it with a broad smile and an even broader heart.

We miss you, John Paul II.

Sebastian Moraga is the city and politics reporter for the Columbia Basin Herald.