Memory and protest graphics: Visual narratives of the Chilean popular uprising (2019–2020)

Introduction

The protests between 2019 and 2020 were the most significant social and political crisis in Chile since the end of the dictatorship in 1990. The rise in subway fares triggered protests, with suburban transport becoming the target of protesters’ attacks. In the capital, dozens of subway stations were burned or suffered various kinds of damage, with some remaining closed for months. However, the roots of popular indignation lie in decades of neoliberal policies and the delegitimization of the political system (Garcés, 2020). The structural transformations in the economy and politics over the last 47 years have weakened social bonds and produced feelings of immoderation, disenchantment, irritation and detachment among the citizens (Araujo, 2021).

Since 18 October 2019, marches, occupations of squares, street blockades, barricades and other forms of protest increased rapidly, creating a permanent state of social and political unrest. This disrupted everyday life and interrupted normality. The contentious occupation of public space hindered urban mobility and weakened the discipline of work and study schedules. Commerce was also affected, with branches of large stores, banks, supermarkets and pharmacies being ‘vandalized’ and looted. Owners installed large metal plates to protect windows and entrances, altering the urban landscape and creating the image of a besieged city. However, political-popular violence (Salazar, 1990) was not the only form of action. The cities also experienced an explosion of creativity in the repertoire of protest, with individuals and collectives mobilizing artistic resources to enhance the political meaning of the popular uprising.

Graphics became one of those resources, acquiring such intensity that discussions of a ‘graphic revolt’ (Bascuñán, 2020) or a ‘graphic explosion’ (Hidalgo, 2019) emerged. The walls and metal plates shielding commercial premises were adorned with graffiti, posters, murals, stencils and paste-ups. This cultural production created a graphic memory of the uprising. But protest graphics also refer to past struggles, actively integrating their content and symbols into the current mobilization. In this way, memory becomes a political tool that reinforces historical narratives and reconfigures them to respond to contemporary demands (Bolt and Jonsson, 2023).

The irruption of the past in political imaginaries and collective action forms during the popular uprising is notable. This is specifically true in the case of the ‘popular iconographic memory’ (Manzi, 2020: 170). This article focuses on graphic interventions during the 2019–2020 protests to interpret contemporary unrest. It serves as a ‘window’ into more extended struggles, connecting to other temporalities, such as activism and aesthetic strategies during the Unidad Popular, resistance to Pinochet’s dictatorship and the struggles of the Mapuche people, settlers, students and women after dictatorship (Bruey, 2021). The exceptional nature of these protests, due to their radicality and massiveness, provides a unique opportunity to examine political subjectivation dynamics and collective action dimensions. These aspects might be overlooked in less confrontational times, including the role the past plays in the present and the political uses of memory in constructing resistant political identities.

This article investigates how the graphic revolt articulates past, present and future by framing collective action and nourishing protest with affirmative memory. The overall objective is to understand how graphic art in urban spaces mobilizes the memory of past conflicts and struggles, thereby renewing political languages and identities. The article is organized as follows: first, we discuss the theoretical background of the relationship between aesthetics and protest. Next, we explore the spatial dimension of graphic practices and memory construction, followed by an examination of the link between memory and social movements. We then present the research method and materials used in the study. The findings are structured around four major visual narratives, each highlighting the political uses of the past in constructing political identities. Finally, we show how these graphic interventions do not merely reference earlier struggles; rather, they reshape political memory to define new resistant political identities, critique the current order and project utopian aspirations for a more equitable future.

Aesthetics of protest

The literature on visual protest during periods of social and political upheaval has adopted an interdisciplinary approach, recognizing the fundamental role of ‘aesthetics of resistance’ in fostering self-legitimization, identification and mobilization (Bogerts, 2022). Artistic practices are considered a privileged medium for meaning production, in part because they can appeal to imagination, emotion and direct experience in ways that more conventional political discourse cannot. Their immediate visual impact, combined with their physical presence on city walls or public spaces, breaks everyday routines and compels public reflection, facilitating a potent interplay between creativity and protest (Dittus, 2019). Artistic languages possess the power to construct alternative realities, propose new narratives about certain facts or situations and enable unique forms of questioning and communication. Acknowledging the crucial role of art in protests helps us understand that ‘aesthetic creation is a praxis inherent to emancipatory social movements. In other words, art is necessary to popular rebellion’ (Mare, 2020).

Protests are prominently mediated by images, including those from previous demonstrations. Visual representations are central to social movements, using symbols and images to mobilize, communicate causes and create a shared identity. They also play a critical role in the memory and perception of social movements (Rigney and Smits, 2023; Smits, 2022). Certain studies have emphasized the capacity of ‘aesthetic revolts’ to generate identity and memory elements that support the communities’ struggle in resistance, as seen in Zapatista and Chicano movements murals, and ACT UP’s graphics (Martí, 2022; Reed, 2005). These visuals reshape cultural symbolism into new activist iconography, strengthening community unity and social awareness. In Western Europe, the development of a ‘protest iconography’ that accentuates the role of ‘artistic utopia’ in the collective change projects of social movements has been examined, showing how the aspiration for social change is intertwined with the imagination of a better world (Ramírez, 2018).

In Chile, several works have underscored the importance of the political poster in the graphic struggle and resistance at different moments of contemporary history: from the Popular Unity, the dictatorship and the transition period to the recent social movements that inaugurated the second decade of the current century (Castillo, 2016; Londres 38, 2015; Manzi and Cristi, 2016; Museo de la Memoria y los Derechos Humanos, 2021; Vico, 2013). This literature covers the evolution of politically and socially motivated graphics, designed to influence public space and associated with related trades (e.g. typographers, sign painters, engravers, muralists). Particularly relevant was the action of artists and graphic collectives during the dictatorship, in a context of clandestinity and after the ‘cultural-aesthetic coup’ (Errázuriz, 2009; Errázuriz and Leiva, 2012): only a broad framework of practices and a complex web of social operations made that ‘graphic trench’ possible (Cristi and Manzi, 2017). Vico’s works rescue the political power and the prefigurative nature of this artistic-political tool, which reconnects us with the utopian dimension of activist memory: ‘the political poster reaches its essence and often the opportunity to become a symbol of unity, resistance, and expression of discontent, through messages of hope for a better society’ (Vico, 2013: 19).

These images not only reflect ‘memory of activism’ but also operate as ‘memory in activism’, actively shaping contemporary repertories and collective identities. This perspective underscores the significance of aesthetics and visual regimes in political projects; it also demonstrates how social and political crises create spaces for street art and motivate its production (Campos et al., 2021). This discussion brings to the forefront the importance of the spatial dimension of graphic action.

Artistic intervention in urban spaces

Street graphics are a political practice, appropriating public space (Trumper, 2021). The meaning of the statements closely depends on the object they are written on and their placement; moreover, ‘the place that receives the poster is transformed’ (Fraenkel, 2017: 325). The urban fragment that receives the graphic is re-signified, integrating it into a new symbolic universe: it no longer symbolizes the order to be altered or destroyed but becomes part of the order of those identifying with the protest. Thus, graphic action embodies an attitude of dissent, challenging established norms and inviting a re-evaluation of the status quo, encapsulating ‘aesthetic disobedience’ (Palma, 2020).

Furthermore, street graphics are performative, inviting observers to engage and participate in the protest’s dialogue, creating a dynamic ‘polygraphy’ where diverse voices and narratives converge, making the urban space a forum for democratic expression (Valenzuela, 2021). These interventions, by incorporating various perspectives and historical layers, emphasize the inherently political nature of public spaces, reflecting Trumper’s (2016) analysis of contentions politics. In this context, the city becomes an active space where citizens articulate and manifest their demands, viewing it as an architectural canvas for societal discourse (Manzi, 2020). Urban graphics underscore the ‘right to the city’, a concept where public space is crucial for democratic expression. Protests can physically and symbolically reconstruct urban narratives (Lefebvre, 1978; Oliva, 2020).

This perspective highlights how activist creativity in physical spaces becomes pivotal during intense mobilization. These ‘places of protest’ merge creative and destructive actions, reflecting past conflicts and shaping a new vision of society. An example is Chile’s decolonial de-monumentalization movement, which emerged in alongside the massive 2019–2020 anti-neoliberal protests. Nearly 400 monuments representing Spanish conquerors and colonial and nineteenth-century national heroes were pulled down, contested, or transformed (Badilla and Aguilera, 2021). This perspective allows for a more nuanced analysis of iconoclastic practices, viewing them as a language of image-creating protest rather than merely destructive acts. In these protest spaces, the ‘dream world’ becomes part of the conflict and another struggle tool. These ‘artistic spaces’, as Híjar (2012: 33) calls them, are the ‘realms of imagination and the creation of other realities, both as a vehicle for the denunciation of what will not return or what must not be forgotten, and as a means for the enunciation of a different future’. Thus, the images, symbols and slogans defining these protest spaces, in a way, prefigure the type of social relations desired by those resisting and fighting the current order.

From this viewpoint, artistic-political interventions are not only part of the appropriation and re-signification of public space but also engage in the ‘battle for memory’. This concept is based on the work of María Angélica Illanes (2002), which highlights the inherently contentious process by which societies interpret their past. Similarly, Peter Winn (2004) describes how ‘dominant’ and ‘dissident’ memories collide when marginalized groups challenge officinal narratives, while Steve Stern (2006) introduces the notion of ‘emblematic memories’, wherein specific events become symbolic flashpoints in these struggles. Hence, a ‘battle for memory’ entails an active contest over which accounts of key historical moments prevail, how they are transmitted and which are marginalized by hegemonic discourse. The processes of remembrance are closely linked to specific places (Nora, 2008); thus, political graphics, while mobilizing memory, re-signify and construct the public spaces they inhabit, highlighting the power of physical media in cultural memory (Vlessing, 2023).

The memory of and for activism

Since the recovery of Halbwachs’s pioneering works in the 1920s, various authors have examined the crucial link between identity and memory, emphasizing that the way we interpret, remember and commemorate the past is fundamental in constructing personal and collective identity (Eyerman, 2015; Olick and Robbins, 1998). From this perspective, identities are than the names we give to the ways we position ourselves in narratives about the past (Hall, 1997). Furthermore, when confronted with a conflicted past, community members develop a ‘trauma’ as a result of experiencing horrendous events that leave indelible marks on their group consciousness, forever imprinting their memories and changing their future identities (Alexander et al., 2004; Eyerman, 2019). This ‘cultural trauma’ also shapes the identities of future generations through intergenerational transmission (Assmann, 1995; Pollak, 2006).

The variability of these memories in different historical and cultural contexts reflects the complexity of the identity construction. Indeed, memory studies is inherently interdisciplinary, drawing on insights and methods from sociology, psychology, anthropology, history and literary studies to examine how societies remember, transmit and rework the past (Erll and Nünning, 2010). This broad-based approach enables researchers to unravel the layers of meaning and conflict inherent in memory and forgetting, making it a dynamic and constantly evolving field of study.

This interconnection between memory and identity is especially relevant in social mobilization processes, where the re-evaluation of the past becomes a valuable political and symbolic resource. In recent years, there has been an effort to examine how mnemonic practices shape social movements and how they re-signify the past based on the unfolding of current struggles (Armstrong and Crage, 2006; Badilla, 2019; Daphi and Zamponi, 2019; Zerubavel, 1996). By recalling and sharing stories of resistance and social change, a group’s sense of identity and belonging is enhanced, uniting individuals around a common cause. This memory acts as a source of inspiration and motivation, reminding communities of past struggles, achievements and injustices, laying the groundwork for collective action and forming shared identities, thus embodying an ‘affirmative memory’ (Iglesias, 2020b).

‘Active memory’ (Wagner-Pacifici, 2015) signifies the past’s impact on the present and aids in the mobilization and empowerment of social actors. Ann Rigney (2018) refers to the ‘memory-activism nexus’ and illustrates how the festive commemoration of the Paris Commune transformed the memory of defeat into a beacon of hope; her work shifts the focus of memory studies from traumatic memories to the cultural transmission of positivity and commitment to specific values. Moreover, social movements contribute to constructing collective memory by creating new events and narratives that become part of a society’s shared history. To examine the connection between memory and activism, Daphi and Zamponi (2019) propose a ‘movement-memory interface’, identifying three research areas: memory in activism – how the memory of previous movements informs and shapes the tactics, strategies, demands and identity of contemporary movements; memory activism – the actions of movements to commemorate certain events, figures or historical periods, engaging in a struggle for control over the interpretation of the past; and the memory of activism – examining how social movements are remembered. Merrill et al. (2020) rightly point out that these three elements often cannot be seen as separate entities. Indeed, this work is situated in the first dimension, memory in activism (Rigney, 2018), as it seeks to understand the role of memory in current struggles, but it inevitably works on the memory of activism, as the disputes of the present rework the past and transform or re-signify the memories of past movements.

The crossroads of memory studies and social movements presents a rich and nuanced sociological viewpoint for understanding how the construction and re-evaluation of collective memory affect the formation of social identities and the dynamics of social conflict. This approach enables the exploration of how memory contributes to the construction of social movements and how these consciously adopt memorialization strategies to promote the use of memory as a strategic tool for political mobilization and social transformation, challenging dominant narratives and aiming to amplify marginalized voices.

In this process, it is essential to highlight that the circulation and reinterpretation of such representations (or memories) through various channels – traditional media, digital platforms, photographic or audiovisual recording practices and so on – play a crucial role in how these images are interpreted and taken up by different audiences. Merely producing a particular discourse or image of the past is not enough; it is important to consider how that image is filtered, reframed, or multiplied by different media and actors. In other words, mediation is the dynamic process whereby the initial representation (for instance, the artistic creation) is transformed into a collective understanding (or multiple collective understandings) through channels of dissemination, practices of appropriation and audience responses. However, an exhaustive examination of these mediating processes lies beyond the scope of this work. In short, this intersection between memory studies, social movements and the dynamic processes of mediation sheds light on how representations of the past are continually created, disseminated and reinterpreted. From this vantage point, emphasizing the strategic uses of the past, memory serves as a mobilizing factor, driving and sustaining collective action. Memories craft political imagination and outline utopian horizons. The significant creative presence of the past in the ‘social outburst’ has adopted various forms of expression (Iglesias, 2020a). It is possible to observe mnemonic resources and practices in songs and slogans, in the renaming of streets and squares, in the destruction and alteration of monuments and in the repertoires of mobilization and organization forms. One avenue through which this battle for meaning unfolds is through street or urban writing, the iconography in the city. These graphic interventions in public spaces articulate and construct the ‘worldview’ of protestors, contributing to the creation of new frameworks of meaning for both current events and past conflicts, thereby transmitting memories. The control of the visual narrative of protests and their cultural memory is an active field of struggle, extending beyond the immediate moment of the protest itself (Merrill et al., 2020; Rigney and Smits, 2023).

Material and method

This study is situated in Valparaíso, a city offering a unique vantage point to examine the dynamics of protest linking activism, artistic-cultural practices and memory. Located about 100 kilometres from the capital, Valparaíso was historically a hub for social, economic and cultural development due to its major port status, earning it the nickname ‘Jewel of the Pacific’. Its working class and popular sociability traditions, along with the rich and diverse late nineteenth-century architecture which complements its unique topography of hills and ravines, have shaped its character. The city’s historic centre was recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2003. However, recent challenges, such as public funds misappropriation, investment shortages, natural disasters and notably, the impacts of the popular uprising and the pandemic, have sparked debates about its heritage value. In addition, Valparaíso is renowned as one of the world’s street art capitals, with murals and graffiti being significant features. Since 1990, it has also hosted the National Congress, adding a political dimension to the social movement’s modern repertoire, which often directs claims towards national authorities (Tilly, 2002).

During the 2019–2020 uprising, Valparaíso witnessed significant protest actions, primarily in the city’s flat areas near the coastline, which house public buildings and commercial entities from Plaza Sotomayor to the National Congress. This study analyses a corpus of 30 photographs documenting the protest graphics along this route, captured by the author. The images span from 19 October 2019 to 18 March 2020, showcasing various techniques and styles. They mark the period from the protest’s onset in Valparaíso to the government’s State of Catastrophe declaration and subsequent COVID-19 confinement measures. The photograph selection was guided by Visual Grounded Theory and theoretically purposive sampling (Konecki, 2021). This approach adapts the classic principles of Grounded Theory (Glaser and Strauss, 1967) to the analysis of visual material. It integrates systematic observation and inductive coding of images to generate categories and theoretical relationships directly from the data, rather than imposing pre-existing conceptual frameworks. The aim was to identify images with explicit textual or visual references to historical conflicts in Chilean history, including slogans, symbols, icons, or references to individuals associated with past political projects or social movements. The research sought to understand the purposes and methods by which these graphics mobilize historical elements within the popular uprising’s context. The goal is not to quantify the importance of visual references to the past in the overall graphics of the 2019–2020 protests, but to understand how the past is reworked and assigned meaning in the specific context of the Chilean protests. This allows for a deep exploration of the dynamics of memory and visual representation in social movements, which is where the main contribution of my work lies. By incorporating historical symbols, reinterpreting iconic images and visually linking past struggles to contemporary demands, these protest graphics not only reference history but also actively reshape it, positioning the past as a mobilizing force within the present conflict.

The analysis intertwines two concepts: frames of collective action (Benford and Snow, 2000; Snow et al., 2019) and visual narrative (Banks, 2001). The former, derived from social movement studies, focuses on the interpretive processes constructing meanings around events, activities, places and actors, emphasizing the cultural dimension of social movements and their capacity to propose and contest narratives in public spaces, alongside assessing the impact of these ‘stories’ on collective action (Polletta and Gardner, 2015). The visual narrative concept underscores the role of images in constructing and conveying these narratives, acknowledging the graphics produced during the popular uprising constitutes a historical document that allows us to study that social process. Simultaneously, these artistic-political pieces ‘tell a story’ that reinterprets the past, analyses the present and envisions the future through a distinct lens. Thus, the visual narrative concept (or discourse) emerges from an intricate and diverse interplay between text and image, offering a multifaceted perspective on social movements.

The analysis process comprised three sequential steps, adapting Konecki’s (2021) visual narrative analysis grammar (‘multislice imagining’). First, the images were initially ‘read’ to become familiar with the graphic interventions’ corpus. Second, each image was transcribed into a written description to identify and characterize its signifiers, including visual elements (iconic signs) and words (textual signs), through open coding. Finally, an interpretative analysis was conducted to identify key categories, develop their properties and explore connections through selective coding. This process resulted in the categorization of protest graphics into four major visual narratives that incorporate memorial elements, as detailed below.

Results: visual narratives in protest graphics

Affirmative memory

The first narrative emerging from the analysis of graphic interventions draws upon trajectories of resistance and antagonism as sources of legitimacy for the protest, vindicating the past, specifically prior struggles and conflicts. The imagery of Salvador Allende and references to the Popular Unity through slogans such as ‘el pueblo unido jamás será vencido’ ¹ (the people united will never be defeated), or ‘poder popular’ ² (people’s power) connect the present with past endeavours, which, although truncated, harboured notions of an alternative society. ³ We also observe this in the graffiti ‘ven/seremos’, an ingenious play of words, referencing the anthem of the Unidad Popular, ‘Venceremos!’ (We shall overcome!). This phrase cleverly combines ‘ven’ (come) and ‘seremos’ (we will be), encapsulating a message of mobilization, unity and the forging of a collective identity. ⁴ The visual and linguistic pun not only evokes the historical call to action but also embodies the aspirations and spirit of the movement, making ‘ven/seremos’ a powerful symbol of both memory and ongoing struggle. In this context, these slogans activate militant memories serving as a ‘moral reserve’ – that is, a set of heroic precedents and ethical convictions from the past which legitimizes present struggles and strengthens participants’ commitment – sketching the contours of the political imagination. They visualize the future within the past and recast the memory of the efforts for social change in affirmative terms, by those who faced defeat, torture and despair, thereby replacing the victim’s image with that of the activist, fighter and militant, promoting a significant shift in left-wing memories. In turn, they offer a framework for present action, suggesting that the current struggles are a continuation of a history of antagonism and the pursuit of social justice.

Gladys Marín’s ⁵ vindication is inseparable from the recent rise of the feminist movement and is also tied to her deep friendship and political closeness with Pedro Lemebel, a writer and visual artist, an iconic reference of sexual dissidence, whose image has also been widely circulated during the popular uprising. In recent years, the Chilean feminist movement has emerged with unprecedented strength, becoming one of the most powerful and transformative social forces in the country. A key milestone was the ‘Feminist May’ of 2018, when a wave of student protests shook the country, demanding an end to gender-based violence, non-sexist education and equal rights. This movement laid the groundwork for the massive demonstrations of 2019–2020, where feminist demands became central to broader social struggles. The phrase ‘fight like Gladys’ (see Image 1) suggests a call to action or to emulate the values and struggles represented by Gladys, but in this case, it highlights the strength of the feminist movement working on reworking the past, re-signifying in a feminist key a figure who was previously primarily associated with communist militancy and the struggle against dictatorship.

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Image 1.

Poster ‘fight like Gladys’.

Regarding Commander Ramiro, ⁶ his return to Chile after 17 years of imprisonment in Brazil under extreme confinement conditions, and the public dissemination of his words, coincided with the protests when Sebastián Piñera’s government was enacting systematic human rights violations and imprisoning hundreds of demonstrators. The figure of Commander Ramiro repositioned the debate on political imprisonment and the state’s continuity in repressive logic. In this case, the circulation of his image reveals a complex area of the memory of armed struggle against the dictatorship: the emphasis is placed on the name of the militant, Mauricio Hernández Norambuena, rather than on his political nickname (‘Commander Ramiro’), which appears in smaller letters as shown in Image 2. Thus, the claim for human rights, even in the case of political prisoners, becomes more prominent than the vindication of his fight against the dictatorship or his subsequent revolutionary actions.

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Image 2.

Poster ‘freedom for Mauricio Hernández. Commander Ramiro’.

Both political figures, Gladys Marín and Commander Ramiro, act as a hinge between the anti-dictatorial resistance and the struggles of the 1990s. Their resurgence likely stems from several reasons, but their public repositioning helps to link the past with the present, legitimizing the current protest and articulating a critique of the prevailing social, economic and political models. These historical figures critique the ‘gatopardista’ ⁷ manoeuvres of the initial Concertación ⁸ governments. Their repositioning in public discourse forges a shared memory that links resistance to the dictatorship with opposition to the elitist and continuist pact of the transition to democracy, now unveiled as a ‘montage’ – an arrangement that merely seems to live up to its name, as depicted in Image 3. In the image, it reads: ‘Democracy is also a setup’. This stencil, made with quick and low-cost techniques, incorporates an interesting visual element in the word ‘setup’, representing a bomb about to explode, symbolizing the bursting of that false or manipulated democracy.

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Image 3.

Poster ‘democracy was also montage’.

The message captures a sentiment of disillusionment or distrust in democratic institutions, questioning the authenticity and effectiveness of the political transition and the institutional framework built since 1990. This means that by reintroducing these figures – historically associated with anti-dictatorial militancy – into the current protest, activists are not merely referencing a distant past but repositioning the memory of the transition as incomplete or compromised. Rather than accepting the official narrative of a peaceful democratic shift, these references highlight how authoritarian practices and elite pacts persisted beyond the formal end of the dictatorship, thus reworking the popular understanding of Chile’s recent history and framing the present protest as a continuation of that earlier struggle. Furthermore, the use of the term ‘setup’ is significant because one of the social movements’ criticisms of the State’s actions, especially those of law enforcement, is their repeated practice of constructing false evidence to incriminate social activists and militants in criminal activities.

More recently, student struggles, particularly the defiance of high school students, have emerged as a core element of this activist memory. Since 2001 (‘mochilazo’ ⁹ ), they have led various protest episodes in an ascending cycle of mobilizations, with significant moments in 2006 (‘penguin revolution’ ¹⁰ ) and 2011 (student movement). In October 2019, the call to evade subway fares (‘jumping the turnstile’) served as a trigger that expanded and radicalized the protests, in response to fare increases, state repression and trivialization of their demands. Image 4 shows the mural by graphic artist Giovanni Zamora, known as Giova, which captures that gesture, becoming a powerful symbol of the 2019 protests in Chile. The image captures a high school student’s evasion of the metro fare, artistically representing their act of insubordination and inscribing it in the cultural memory of the protest. It is an image that conveys determination and challenge. Moreover, the inclusion of the national flag in the background suggests the commitment of the younger generations to Chile: the overlay of the high school student (recognizable by their typical school uniform) and the flag implies that the nation’s ideals are directly related to the actions of the youth and their struggle for social justice. Therefore, the mural not only represents ‘the turnstile jump’ but also celebrates the spirit of activism and civic participation that was evident in that initial act of protest, whose legitimacy prevailed over the initial official attempts to label it as mere vandalism.

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Image 4.

Mural ‘high school student jumping the turnstile’.

In this narrative, termed affirmative memory, references to the Mapuche weichafe ¹¹ killed in the context of the land reclamation efforts by a sector of the Mapuche people are prominent. The image of Camilo Catrillanca holds symbolic significance, reproduced in various formats and techniques: drawing, screen printing, photocopy and a light installation by the Delight Lab collective, which projected his face onto the Congress building in Valparaiso (see Image 5). Light projections, widely used during the uprising, represent an ephemeral yet highly impactful form of intervention in public space. Unlike murals or posters, they allow for large-scale visual interventions that can momentarily re-signify spaces of power, such as government buildings, and circumvent physical and legal restrictions.

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Image 5.

Light intervention ‘may his face cover the horizon’ by Delight Lab collective. Projection on the National Congress, Valparaíso, Chile.

The mediating role of images in theses interventions introduces significant particularities. First, they emphasize the spectacular nature of visual narratives, as they can project large-scale images onto otherwise inaccessible sites, such as skyscrapers or highly protected institutional buildings. Second, they enable a more dynamic form of spatial appropriation: while murals and posters anchor memory in the urban landscape over time, projections are fleeting but capable of producing powerful visual statements. Finally, this type of intervention reduces the risk of identification or detention, as it can be executed from private spaces, making it a strategic tool in contexts of heightened repression. This was particularly relevant during the protests, when the government imposed a curfew to prevent people from taking to the streets, yet these projections allowed for the continued expression of dissent.

The widespread portrayal of the Mapuche community member murdered by forces of the ‘jungle commando’, a special Carabineros ¹² unit in Wallmapu (Araucanía), ¹³ can be attributed to the fact that 14 November 2019 marked one year since his murder. During this period, a graphic campaign involving 35 artists created visual tributes to his face, freely disseminated as part of a reflective exercise in the historical memory of the Mapuche people, honouring their fallen. ¹⁴ Furthermore, the widely reproduced close-up image of his face (identity card) presents a young man with a direct gaze and questioning eyes. Catrillanca has become a symbol of the protest due to the cruelty, indolence and spectacle of his assassination, creating a conducive environment for activists to amplify the self-historization process of ancestral violence against the Mapuche people within the protest framework. This widespread circulation of his image can also be explained by its adaptability to be reproduced on various material supports, especially in low-fidelity contexts like graffiti, banners and stencils, as well as in digital formats, as is the case with the silhouettes of other revolutionaries (Erbil, 2023). In this case, the replicability of the image and the use of several types of media allow for a constant visual presence that amplifies the message.

These visual narratives reframe historical violence as a struggle for a cause rather than mere victimization. Camilo Catrillanca symbolizes the Mapuche people’s struggle, joining a long list of Mapuche fighters killed by the State in the first two decades of the twenty-first century. In this way, the memory of the weichafe (warrior) provides an example of resistance and inspires forms of struggle.

Memory of state terrorism

A second narrative that was reinterpreted with the uprising pertains to State terrorism. The government’s response to the protests – declaring a State of Emergency, enforcing curfews, deploying military forces, engaging in systematic and intentional repression aimed at causing injury and adopting war rhetoric – catalyses the memory of political trauma caused by dictatorship (Lira and Castillo, 1993). The repression and human rights violations escalated dramatically, particularly during the first two weeks, evoking the darkest periods of the dictatorship. ¹⁵ However, unlike in the early years of the post-dictatorship era – when fear and powerlessness led to social disintegration and paralysis – during the uprising, these memories did not inhibit collective action. On the contrary, they fuelled political mobilization.

The memory of repression appears to have been one of the factors driving the protest, as many individuals relived the collective trauma induced by torture and political persecution. Human rights organizations mobilized, reinstating practices of denunciation and, even, commemoration. The photographs of people who were killed during the protests of 2019–2020 began to circulate on various material supports, such as murals, banners and portraits, connecting with the visual memory of the disappeared detainees of the dictatorships in the Southern Cone or, more recently, of the 43 students from Ayotzinapa, Mexico (Dufays, 2023). These images become powerful tools of activism and remembrance, linking material support with political action and collective memory. Various testimonies and artistic-political interventions reflect a reworking of this ‘shared trauma’ (socially and intergenerationally transmitted) that encourages organization and struggle in the new generations, which are not subjectively blocked by the ‘chronic fear’ (Lira, 2010) established by the dictatorship.

Protest graphics reinforce this memory through various visual strategies, such as equating 2019 with 1973 or merging Piñera’s face and name with Pinochet’s (‘Piñechet’). Some compositions depict Piñera as a demon, emphasizing the authoritarian continuity between the dictatorship and his government (see Image 6).

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Image 6.

Stencil ‘Piñera demon’. It reads ‘evade’, one of the slogans of the revolt.

By portraying Piñera alongside the phrase “Out Dictator!” (Image 7), protest graphics explicitly assert continuity between past and present repression, thereby contesting the official narrative and strengthening collective resistance. By linking Piñera to Pinochet, these images not only denounce the persistence of authoritarian practices but also promote a collective reinterpretation of history, actively rejecting silence and impunity. Many of these protest graphics directly challenge official narratives by exposing facts and assessments that mass media and institutions have historically overlooked. For instance, murals and stencils recalling victims of state violence not only commemorate these individuals but also counteract dominant discourses that attempt to minimize or erase such events from public memory. By reclaiming public space as a platform for alternative histories, these visual interventions establish a counter-narrative that integrates past struggles into present mobilizations.

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Image 7.

Poster ‘out dictator!’

Memories that redefine national identity

The popular uprising generated meanings that profoundly challenged the constitution of the Chilean State and its patriotic symbols: the narratives on national identity were vigorously shaken and transformed. The slogan ‘It is not 30 pesos, it is 30 years’ encapsulates a reckoning with the post-dictatorship era in terms of its continuity with the dictatorship’s social, political, economic and cultural model. It represents a negative social assessment of the past decades rooted in a collective memory of the failures committed by those in power, deepening that political and economic model. This memory of the post-dictatorship period is one of discomfort, disappointment and a sense of betrayal. It is a critical memory because it is neither ‘archaic (n)or nostalgic’ (Didi-Huberman, 1997); it confronts the present with the past, breaks with the apathy or resignation characteristic of the nineties and reclaims something once had or at least expected, generating hope and desire for the future: ‘la alegría nunca llegó’ (joy never arrived) is one of the slogans that critically reinterprets that period and the transitional model by confronting the campaign slogan of the Concertación in the 1988 plebiscite, ‘la alegría ya viene’ (joy is coming).

Simultaneously, the prominence of the Mapuche people’s symbols – such as the wenufoye (Mapuche flag) – problematizes the history of colonization and usurpation of the Mapuche nation’s territory. Their ancestral and heroic resistance (it is important to recall that the State Internal Security Law, enacted during the dictatorship, was recurrently applied against Mapuche political prisoners during the post-dictatorship) stands as one of the symbols of struggle and ethical reservoirs during the popular uprising. The legitimacy of Mapuche’s demands, especially regarding territory and autonomy, raises objections to state construction and the need to reinvent the nation-state.

In this context, a graphic piece that gained considerable repercussion is the Chilean flag dyed black, which began to circulate from the first days of the uprising and went viral, reproduced with various techniques and mediums, as Images 8 and 9 show.

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Image 8.

Light intervention ‘in Valparaíso they are tortured’ Delight Lab collective in collaboration with the La Fabrika collective.

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Image 9.

Poster ‘(the black Chilean flag) kills’.

Interestingly, this image was not created in the context of the protests; however, according to its author, ‘the feelings that gave rise to this icon were and are so deep and real that someone would have designed it during the outbreak’ (Gubbins, 2021). In Valparaíso, the image of the black flag was utilized by the Pésimo Servicio collective as part of a campaign called ‘Chile mata’ (Chile kills) to memorialize those who died during the uprising (they printed it on posters, billboards, T-shirts and flyers, among other media), to highlight that the State ‘was killing people, that it has killed people throughout history, and that it was important to install that simply and strongly’. ¹⁶

Once again, the use of the black flag harks back to a history of human rights violations and political violence, denouncing that these state practices are not confined to the dictatorial period but continue in the present. National symbols, in this case, the flag, which represent the nation, and specifically the state forces, reproduce violence and repression.

These works connect the current power structure with the authoritarian and colonial origin of the Republic of Chile. The skull, created by graphic designer Harold Bustos, deconstructs the patriotic symbols in the flag, such as the huemul, ¹⁷ condor, shield, or motto ‘by reason or force’, to encapsulate the essence of the Chilean State: a ‘murderous State’ (see Image 10).

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Image 10.

Poster ‘killer state’.

The recontextualization of national symbols in protest art is a powerful form of political critique, as it challenges official representations of the nation and expresses discontent with dominant state narratives. The use of Mapuche symbols and the reconfiguration of national symbols, such as the Chilean flag dyed black, reflect and contribute to a profound redefinition of national identity, linking colonial and authoritarian pasts with current struggles for recognition and justice. By visually reinterpreting national symbols and embedding them with new meanings, protest graphics actively construct counter-narratives that redefine national identity beyond state-sanctioned discourse. This re-signification process links historical grievances to present demands, fostering a collective sense of belonging grounded in resistance.

Circulation of memories of struggle and transnational repression

While methodological nationalism was a predominant approach in memory studies, in recent decades, it has been increasingly questioned. Recent research has pointed out that this framework, focused on the construction of collective memory within the confines of the nation-state, is insufficient to understand the circulation and reinterpretation of memories in an interconnected world (De Cesari and Rigney, 2014). In response to these limitations, a transnational approach emerged, examining how experiences and memories cross geographical and cultural borders and how the media play a key role in this process. The proliferation of global symbols and slogans in protest graphics – such as the acronyms ACAB or 1312 – demonstrates this transnational circulation. During the social uprising in Chile, explicit references to conflicts in other parts of Latin America were observed, such as the protests in Ecuador against Lenín Moreno’s economic measures in October 2019. Likewise, a memory of human rights violations by the Colombian state emerged, with graphic allusions to the so-called ‘false positives’, demonstrating how certain frameworks of collective memory are articulated beyond the national sphere.

The presence of symbols and slogans that cross borders in Chilean protest graphics illustrates how the memory of struggle and resistance is transmitted and renewed in a transnational context, facilitating solidarity and the exchange of tactics among global movements, primarily facilitated by the circulation of people, mass media and social networks. By integrating references to conflicts and resistances in other regions, visual interventions in Chile become nodes of a network of activist memories, demonstrating how experiences of injustice and oppression, as well as resistance tactics, are transnational. The digitization of these graphics transformed them into archives of the uprising, facilitating their transnational circulation.

One graphic piece is particularly interesting for contemplating the transmission processes of memories and graphic practices (see Image 11). A poster co-created by the collective Taller Fábrika and visual artist Danny Reveco, distributed in Valparaíso, depicts a confrontation between Carabineros and a group of people carrying banners with the slogans of social and political struggles like No + sacrifice zones; No + AFP. No + sacrifice zones refer to a movement opposing ‘Sacrifice Zones’, areas heavily impacted by industrial activities, leading to severe environmental degradation and adverse health effects for local populations. These zones arise from policies favouring economic growth over environmental and community well-being, resulting in pollution, loss of biodiversity and social injustices. They are a global issue, often challenging the balance between industrial development and sustainable, equitable practices. No + AFP refers to a Chilean movement against the AFP (Pension Fund Administrators), the private pension fund system in Chile, criticizing it for providing inadequate retirement benefits and promoting social inequality. Both movements were significantly active in the cycle of social conflict prior to the outbreak, and interestingly, their names revive the ‘No +’ slogan, which refers to an action by the Art Actions Collective (CADA) that developed deeply disruptive and avant-garde urban interventions during the dictatorship. Their artistic actions challenged the authoritarian practices of the regime and the institutions that upheld them, conceiving art as a necessary social practice that dissolves the traditional distance between artist and viewer. Their ‘No +’ action is perhaps the most significant because it was conceived as an open text to be completed by citizens, according to their specific claims. Different Chilean artists conveyed this message on the walls of Santiago; subsequently, the slogan was massively used by various collectives throughout the country as a public symbol of political resistance and non-conformism (Carvajal et al., 2019). This action continues to operate today.

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Image 11.

Poster ‘be marginal, be a heroine, be a hero’.

But at this point, we are interested in highlighting that at the top of the poster, the phrase ‘be marginal, be a heroine, be a hero’ echoes Brazilian artist Hélio Oiticica, whose experimental work aimed to transform art into a tool for social change, blurring the lines between artwork and viewer, making his creations interactive. His anarchist ideals, sexual orientation and transgressive lifestyle during the Brazilian Dictatorship rendered him unclassifiable. In his quest to transcend bourgeois values, he engaged with the favelas, embracing their expressions of ‘marginality’. In 1968, he repurposed a newspaper photograph of a ‘bandit’ who had executed a policeman, killed by the death squad, to craft the flag poem ‘seja marginal, seja herói’. This piece sparked the marginália or marginal culture movement, and the artist faced accusations of glorifying crime.

The poster combines graphic and textual elements to communicate a message of activism, resistance and the urgency of confronting repressive policies. At the bottom, the definition of ‘state of exception’ and the powers granted to the government by its declaration constitute an exercise in political education. The revival of the slogan, which articulates heroism and the revaluation of the marginalized, interprets the profound significance of an uprising that unfolded without the leadership of political parties or unions; rather, it bore an anti-institutional mark amid a crisis in traditional forms of organization and representative democracy. It has been described as a flaite, cuma, or lumpen ¹⁸ uprising, highlighting the popular and marginal nature of most of the protesters. The terms themselves convey the disdain and denigration ‘high culture’ and professional politics have for the impoverished, branding them as barbarians, savages or pre-modern, thus in need of cultivation and indoctrination.

Conclusion

During the peak months of protest between October 2019 and March 2020, graphic interventions in public spaces became a powerful means of articulating social unrest and embodied the worldview of the protesters. This worldview was rooted in the conviction that the post-dictatorship order had failed to address structural inequalities – such as economic injustice, political exclusion and the enduring legacy of authoritarian practices – and thus demanded a radical re-foundation of society. Many of these images also showcased an intersectional focus, linking feminist, indigenous and student struggles in a shared critique of neoliberalism and elite dominance.

Some of these protest graphics not only captured the emotions and demands of the moment but also served as cognitive devices that reconstructed and transmitted collective memories. By linking the present with past conflicts and resistances, these images – when read together – form a visual ‘text’ that reveals the political meanings of the uprising. Through them, narratives that intertwine different temporalities are questioned and constructed, contributing significantly to the making of ‘the other history and the other historical memory’ (Híjar, 2012: 33).

The findings of this study highlight how Chilean protest graphics do not merely reference the past but actively mobilize and re-signify it as a political tool for resistance and the construction of collective identities. By intertwining elements from previous struggles – such as the Unidad Popular, Mapuche resistance and student mobilizations – these images challenge dominant historical narratives, reinforce alternative interpretative frameworks and help shape new political subjectivities. In doing so, they do not simply evoke pre-existing resistant political identities but actively shape them, reinforcing a sense of collective belonging and providing a visual language through which movements articulate their demands and situate themselves within historical continuum.

Rather than serving as decorative or symbolic elements, protest graphics operate as active instruments in the reconfiguration or historical memory. Whether through murals, posters, or ephemeral forms like light projections, their presence in public space reinforces their function as both sites of memory and tools of political action. Even when physically removed, their digital circulation ensures that they continue to shape collective memory beyond the moment of protest. This dynamic interplay between material and digital memory revels that protest graphics are not simply complementary to the uprising but one of its defining forms. They produce counter-narratives that challenge dominant historical interpretations and transform public space into a contested site of memory and resistance.

In contrast, ‘official imagery’ generally refers to the visual and discursive frameworks promoted by state institutions and mainstream media, which have long portrayed Chile as a case of successful democratic transition – stable, consolidated and institutionally robust – often emphasizing economic growth and reductions in poverty. Prior to the uprising, Chile was frequently depicted as a Latina America ‘oasis’, a model of order and progress. This celebratory narrative downplayed the persistence of structural injustices and the enduring legacy of authoritarian practices, thereby concealing the deep social tensions that ultimately fueled the revolt.

By subverting these dominant frames, protest graphics construct counter-visualities that foreground the continuity of past struggles, the reactivation of silenced voices and the urgent need for structural transformation. The visual field thus becomes a site of social and symbolic conflict – one where memory, resistance and meaning are at stake. In this light, the graphic revolt cannot be reduced to a mere visual accompaniment to the uprising; rather, it emerges as one of its most distinctive and defining forms. This perspective highlights how graphic protest does not merely document the movement but actively mobilizes memory by reclaiming and re-signifying past struggles. Through symbols, historical references and visual interventions, protest graphics challenge official narratives and transform the urban space into a living archive of resistance. Even when physically removed, these images gain new life through digital dissemination, amplifying their reach and ensuring their continued role in shaping collective memory and protest narratives.

It is crucial to recognize the importance of material supports in this process. The diversity of these media – from more permanent murals to ephemeral posters –influences not only the visual permanence and accessibility of the messages but also how memories and identities are experienced and remembered in public space. More enduring supports provide a constancy that can reinforce the impact of collective memories, while ephemeral ones, by their transient nature, reflect the urgency and fluidity of protest movements. Each type of visual medium contributes to the circulation of memory in ways that reflect its unique characteristics. Light interventions, being temporary and context-specific, create moments of high intensity that can be captured and shared through digital media, extending their impact beyond their immediate physical presence. Stencils, with their replicability, allow the same message to be reproduced in different contexts, strengthening memory through repetition and ubiquity. Murals, being permanent, establish a continuous reminder in public space, anchoring memory in the urban landscape and providing a lasting point of reference for the community. Together, these media not only preserve and circulate memory but also reactivate and re-signify it within the context of contemporary struggles. This diversity of media and techniques highlights the role of different cultural producers who, through their material choices, play a crucial role in the dynamics of the memory-activism nexus, where the temporality and materiality of graphic interventions play a crucial role in shaping collective memory and identity. Nevertheless, this remains a dimension that calls for further exploration in future research, to more deeply examine how material and technical choices influence the ways in which memory is produced, circulated and re-signified within the context of contemporary social struggles.

This article explores the intersection of social movement studies, cultural memory and artistic practices to underscore the vital role of visual expression in shaping collective identities and contesting dominant historical narratives. Focusing on the Chilean case – particularly in the city of Valparaíso – it examines how protest graphics transmit and re-signify political memories linked to the struggles of the Unidad Popular, the resistance against Pinochet’s dictatorship, the Mapuche people and post-dictatorship social movements, thereby contributing to the democratization of public space. In contexts marked by a crisis of traditional forms of representation and the absence of programmatic discourses, these images infuse political meaning into mobilization, articulate new subjectivities and project utopian horizons. Valparaíso’s history of artistic and political activism, along with its status as the seat of legislative power, makes it a key site for observing how graphic production contest urban space and constructs counter-narratives that challenge official discourses.