We just returned from a whirlwind visit to Santiago, and typical for us, timed to align with change.  It seems to be a recently developed skill of mine.  I have a knack for heading out the door just as the rain begins on an otherwise sunny day, and for planning travels to coincide with unanticipated major events.  Last year we left Santiago just twelve hours before Chile’s devastating earthquake, and this past week returned to Santiago on the day of the huge stock market drop.  My husband quips that we should probably stay home and never travel again for the sake of the world financial system.  Besides a global stock market drop, Thursday was also a day of huge student protests in Chile, centered in Santiago and extending throughout the country, during which nearly 900 people were arrested.  Previous protests have been mainly peaceful and in good humor, though things became a bit more personal when we found ourselves spending the morning on the subway faces immersed in scarves and jacket collars as we waited for the smell of tear gas to subside.

My toddler enjoys telling the story of how we held my scarf over her nose as the tear gas fumes encompassed us.  We unintentionally stumbled into the middle of Thursday’s protests in the capital city of Santiago.  We stepped out of the subway at the Salvador stop around 10:00 am, and noticed that only one exit remained open.  When stepping outside, we first saw a few students laughing and running, then later a large group heading in our direction.  My husband noted that the students were running from the tear gas, and my toddler and I headed back into the station while he surveyed the situation and snapped a few photos.

Once inside the metro station, I thought we had found a safe shelter.  However, the metro stations have great ventilation, and as the protests escalated trace amounts of smoke began seeping into the building.  Everything seemed to be in slow motion, until my husband ran back inside and said that we needed to leave, now, since a lot of tear gas was headed our way.  Suddenly, things were moving quickly, though the only super-human feat my adrenaline provided was the ability to run down a long flight of stairs holding my daughter without stumbling.

We ran, accompanied by two strangers who insisted on carrying the stroller, and then waited a small eternity for the next train.  After boarding, we couldn’t relax as the tear gas seeped into the train as well, and, upon switching lines, we got another dose as we rolled through the Parque Bustamante stop.  Nobody intended to teargas commuters, but thanks to the great ventilation we all were brought much closer to the protests that day.

It was one of the worst feelings I have ever had as a mother to stand there helpless on the metro while my little girl inhaled tear gas, knowing that she was breathing in some chemicals which could hurt her little body.  I lent her my scarf, which my  husband held over her nose, against her protests, until the metro air regained its normal smell of perfume, detergents, sweat, and lemon-scented cleaning agents.  My little girl, who never admits to pain or sickness, seemed to be in a bit of a daze, and said she felt “un poquito bien” (a little bit ok.)  We rode to the end of the line, then came back in, heading to the quiet suburbs to decompress and re-plan the remainder of our day to make it as tranquil as possible.

The feeling of not being able to shield my daughter weighs heavily on me.  It is tough to know who to blame for my daughter’s first taste of tear gas.  Were the students, high school kids with too much time on their hands, and an underfunded educational system, feeling frustrated with the government and letting the protests get out of hand?  Were the police, frustrated with months of ongoing protests and recent escalation (protesters with moltov cocktails, rioters burning La Polar department store) acting with excessive force?  Or am I to blame, with my track record for planning trips to occur when change is in the air or for trusting that super-mom instincts would forever keep my daughter from harm?