A Song Beyond Time and Borders: El Pueblo Unido

Semiha Durak

I first came to know the slogan “The People United Will Never Be Defeated” in Spanish—a chant that settled into my memory before I could grasp its weight, its defiance, its quiet promise of a world yet to come. It was the summer of 1996 when I first heard the song “Freedom for Chile” by Bulutsuzluk Özlemi.  In a single breath, it told the story of Salvador Allende, the coup in Chile, and the dark forces behind it—conveying enough history to fill hundreds of pages. And in its chorus, it cried out: El pueblo unido jamás será vencido. Even though I didn’t yet know what the words meant, the lyrics lingered on my tongue. And once I learned their meaning, they made a home in my soul: “The People United Will Never Be Defeated.” It stood there like a secret hiding in plain sight, defying those who insist that changing the world is impossible.

When I finally heard the original El pueblo unido jamás será vencido, performed by Inti Illimani, it felt like a call to believe that another world was truly possible.

The song carried a kind of magic—binding hope, resistance, and solidarity into a single melody.

Now, at a time when another slogan of resistance—There is no salvation alone; either all of us together or none of us— once again echoes through the streets, El Pueblo Unido has found its way back into my life. This time, it arrives through the lens of Chilean musicologist and director Martín Farías, in his documentary Himno.

Himno focuses not only on the history of this anthem of resistance, but also on the collective memory of people around the world who have sung, transformed, and embraced it.

I spoke with Martín Farías about his documentary and the story behind El Pueblo Unido, a song that has echoed through generations.

You made the film around the 50th anniversary of the Chilean coup — a moment filled with memory, grief, and reflection. Did that shape the way you approached telling the story of El pueblo unido jamás  será vencido?

We wanted the film to be part of the 50th anniversary commemorations of the coup. At the same time, we were asking ourselves: how can we make these commemorations more meaningful? Because in Chile, there has been ongoing debate around the idea of commemorating the coup. As the years go by, people are questioning whether these kinds of commemorations still hold significance. We believe they’re still necessary—but we also think it’s important to say something new, to offer people a different way to connect. That’s why the idea of making a film centred on El Pueblo Unido felt meaningful. Because while we were marking the 50th anniversary of the 1973 coup, we were also celebrating the 50th anniversary of the song itself. That gave us a chance to recall themes like hope, resistance, and freedom—not only in Chile, but across the world.

But we didn’t want to make a documentary where people simply sit in front of a camera and say, “I performed this song on such-and-such date, in such-and-such place.” We wanted to tell the story in a more special, more creative way. Of course, testimonies are important and inspiring, but during the editing process I searched for narrative forms that went beyond testimony alone. That was crucial for me. Because El Pueblo Unido draws its power not only from its lyrics, but also from its form, interpretation, and the music itself. While making the film, I felt the responsibility to convey that power and that layered complexity.

I’d love to hear about your personal connection to El Pueblo Unido. Do you remember when you first heard it, and how your relationship with the song evolved while making the film?

I don’t remember exactly when I first heard it, but I grew up in a leftist household. Musicians like Víctor Jara and Quilapayún were always playing at home. The song must have been part of my life from back then. But my relationship with it took on a different dimension when I went to Scotland to do my PhD.

What I loved about Scotland was the presence of pianos in public spaces—train stations, airports, anywhere. Whenever I saw one, I’d sit and play a few pieces—El Pueblo was one of them. Every time, someone would come up and ask, “Isn’t that El Pueblo?” These encounters—with people from Chile and from other countries—made me feel that the story of this song needed to be told.

The film premiered in December 2023, but friends are still sending me videos from demonstrations around the world; people keep singing this song. That shows just how relevant and powerful it still is.

As you mentioned, the song itself was born just before the coup, in a time of rising fear. And yet, it carries this powerful message of unity and hope. Do you think this tension between fear and hope, or between utopia and trauma, is part of what makes it so powerful even decades later?

Yes, I think this song has a certain solemnity that sets it apart from other songs of that period. There were many songs at the time, but El Pueblo Unido has this solemnity that we don’t often find in the Nueva Canción movement or in Chilean popular music in general.

One example that comes to mind is Cantata Santa María, composed in the 1970s to commemorate the workers killed in northern Chile at the beginning of the 20th century. Of course, that piece has a similar solemnity because it’s a mourning song. But in the case of El Pueblo, for a song to evoke a sense of hope while also conveying the unity of the people in such a serious, almost sacred way—that’s incredibly powerful. I think that’s one of the reasons the song has become so universal and enduring.

You follow the global journey of El Pueblo Unido but also trace its musical roots back to Brahms. It feels like the song brings together Brahms’ emotional resonance with Sergio Ortega’s revolutionary spirit. Do you think that blend — of classical structure and political urgency — is part of what’s kept the song alive all these years?

Yes, absolutely. We already knew that Quilapayún had drawn inspiration from Brahms during improvisation, even before starting the film. But what’s fascinating is how a classically trained composer like Sergio Ortega could bring such structural richness to a piece of popular music. Normally, composers don’t sit at the centre of the popular music scene. Ortega was an exception. To compress so much information, harmony, and historical depth into a four-minute song is an extraordinary achievement. And I think the link to Brahms symbolises that.

Is there any information about the origins of the slogan “El Pueblo Unido”? I’ve seen some sources attribute it to Colombian lawyer and revolutionary Jorge Eliécer Gaitán. Some sources claim that, but a colleague of mine traced the slogan’s origins. The evidence we have suggests that the slogan was first used in the 1970s in Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay.

You’ve collected over 150 versions of El pueblo unido from around the world — including Turkey, where it really found a strong place in leftist movements. As the song travelled across different languages and political contexts, have you noticed any shifts in how it’s perceived or interpreted?

Yes, this is actually very interesting. One of the first things we did when starting the research was to create a database. For each new version, we entered information like the year it was recorded, the country, and the instruments used. This process helped us uncover some significant transformations in the song’s historical journey.

One of the most striking changes was that the early versions produced in the years following the coup closely adhered to the original. In some, only the lyrics were translated, but the musical structure remained nearly identical. But by 1983, we started to see major shifts in interpretation. For example, there’s a version recorded in Japan—which is also featured in the film—that’s quite experimental and tied to Tokyo’s free jazz scene. You wouldn’t find anything like this in the earlier years. But around 1983, musicians began to think: “We can do more with this song.” It became possible to rearrange it in different styles, to engage with it more freely. That’s very exciting because the fact that it can be reimagined in so many ways after 50 years shows just how powerful the song really is.

And of course, the soundscape changes depending on geography. For example, the interpretations from Iran sound very different in terms of the instruments used. Versions like the experimental one from Japan show just how much variation is possible within the same framework.

I guess in most cases, even if the lyrics are translated, the chorus—“El pueblo unido”—is usually kept in its original form.

Yes, that’s a lovely detail. Even if the rest of the lyrics are translated, the slogan is usually kept in Spanish—it’s a way of showing solidarity with the Chilean people.

Can we talk about the Turkish versions?

There are probably more, but I’ve found four different versions from Turkey. I have a record from 1977 sung by the choir of the Workers’ Party of Turkey. Then there’s a version by Mehmet Celal. I also found a 2004 rendition by a metal band called Eudaimonia—which is quite interesting because they adapted the song into an epic metal style, with plenty of electric guitar. And there’s another version performed by the choir of the Communist Party of Turkey.

The saddest part is that when I find several versions from a country, I can’t explore that country in depth because there are at least three or four examples from every place. They’re all rich and unique, but it’s impossible to include them all in the film. That was one of the hardest decisions we had to make—so many stories were left untold.

In the film you say, “protest songs aren’t just soundtracks to movements— they’re active tools and catalysts.” How do you see music’s role in activism today? And do you think a song like El pueblo unido still has the power to unite people across movements? 

That’s one of the most common questions we get during post-screening Q&A sessions in Chile. After the uprisings in 2019, a strong sense of defeat set in. People were left with the feeling that “we failed to change history, we failed to build a society that defends its rights.”

I think that feeling is also connected to the perception that today’s social movements lack a protest music tradition. Compared to the 1970s, the scene looks very different. If you search for contemporary resistance music using old formulas, you probably won’t find it. But if you broaden your perspective, you’ll see that there are still important and meaningful examples out there. For instance, Chile has a very active hip-hop scene today. Or think about the music played during protests—like the marching bands at demonstrations in France or Japan. These may differ from the past, but protest music hasn’t disappeared.

So yes, there is still music that carries the voices of people who want to change the world—even if it’s not in the same form. But some people may not recognise it because of these differences.

In connection with that, we see younger generations engaging with it in new ways. What does it mean to you when a protest song is reclaimed and reinterpreted by people who didn’t live through the moment it was born from?

For many years, it was rare to hear El Pueblo in the streets. It was some kind of old-fashioned leftist song that not many people wanted to listen to again. Of course, leftist circles still listened to it, but more broadly, people associated it with the conflicts of the 1970s. So during the student movements of 2006 and 2011, completely different music was played—ambient, brass band music, and so on. The 1970s repertoire was absent.

That began to change in 2019. Songs by Víctor Jara, El Pueblo, and others were heard again. The younger generations began to reclaim the songs of the older ones. When we started making the film, the protests hadn’t yet happened. So when we began filming and heard those songs in the streets, we were surprised—because back in the 1970s, the song was only played at concerts or special events. It had never really been heard in the streets. The change in 2019 was striking because it reconnected people to the past, to the 1970s.

Speaking of Víctor Jara—although he was a central figure in Chilean resistance, he appears only briefly in the film. Was that a conscious decision, or more due to practical issues like archival access or copyright?

The main reason is that Víctor Jara wasn’t directly involved in the history of this particular song. Of course, there are some connections—for instance, in the 1960s he was friends with members of Quilapayún, and they played together—but they went their separate ways a few years later. By 1973, Jara had moved toward a different musical style, and there were some minor disagreements among artists within the Nueva Canción movement. So I think that’s the main reason he’s not more prominently featured in the film.

That said, from an international perspective, Víctor Jara is such a significant figure that many people naturally expect to see more of him in the film. I’m aware of that. But I also feel that Jara is present in the film—even if I didn’t explicitly highlight him. His songs are being sung at demonstrations in Chile and Japan. He’s so deeply woven into the history of this music that, in a way, he’s there no matter what.

In Turkey, El Pueblo Unido is often associated with Víctor Jara—even to the point that some people believe it’s his song.

I’ve come across that too. I can’t recall exactly whether it was in Norway or Denmark but I’ve seen records pressed in the 1970s that list Víctor Jara as the composer of El Pueblo. This kind of confusion isn’t that surprising. When musicians went into exile in countries where people spoke different languages, it wasn’t easy to clearly explain who had composed what.

So, it’s understandable that people get confused, or just assume, “This is Víctor Jara’s song.” Especially since Jara’s life and his murder hold such a powerful and central place in Chilean history—it’s hard for people to imagine that someone so important wasn’t directly connected to a song like this.

If you could imagine El Pueblo Unido being sung somewhere today with new meaning and new hope, where would it be?

That’s a beautiful question. Honestly, I’m a little sad that I haven’t come across a version of El Pueblo being sung in Palestine. I’m sure they have their own resistance songs and may not need this one. But still, I would love to see El Pueblo being sung for a free Palestine. That would be my greatest wish—not just for the song, but for the history of the world itself.