Under the Heavenly Skies of Jerusalem

I am obliged to begin with the most obvious, in predictable fashion, and say how honoured I am to receive a prize which is not only an award for literature, but also a tribute to intellectuals engaged in the struggle for the freedom of the individual in society. I find it particularly gratifying that this award is called the "Jerusalem Prize," and that it is being bestowed in this city and at this moment.

Though fraught with difficulties, I doubt if there is a more urgent task in the world than the struggle for freedom. A few years back in 1989, when the Berlin Wall came tumbling down with a joyful crash of iron and stone, we were all carried away by an optimistic wind which swept the world. It seemed then as if the battle for freedom had entered its decisive phase, and that very soon a new international order would prevail, one based on just laws, respect of human rights and mutual tolerance of societies and individuals living in peaceful coexistence. There was the hope that at last the dream of a reconciled mankind had come true, living in peace, with a diversity of ideas, beliefs and customs, and amicably striving for progress and prosperity.

After only six years, that hope has given way to a spine-chilling pessimism. Old demons like nationalism, religious fundamentalism, border disputes, ethnic and racial conflicts and increasingly sophisticated and widespread acts of terrorism which we thought had been buried, or at least held in check, are rearing their ugly heads once again. As a result, many regions are now ablaze, nations are disintegrating and the dead bodies of innocent victims lie scattered in the streets and fields. Many people have lost hope and ask if there is any point in continuing the struggle to change a world that is staggering along in a drunken stupor, a world that seems to have been created by a sinister little god - full of sound and fury, signifying nothing - as it is phrased in Shakespeare's verse.

When I see such signs of anthropological masochism or feel tempted myself to succumb to the deleterious pleasures of historical nihilism, I often close my eyes and call to mind the memories of my first trip to Israel, in 1977. It is an act that enlivens my spirit, as does a fervent prayer or a sip of fine whisky for others. I was here for the first time 17 years ago, ostensibly for the purpose of lecturing at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. In actual fact, however, I came to see, to learn, to find out what was the reality and what the myth of this controversial country: to hear, to see, to read and to touch everything. It was an experience that lasted no more than a few weeks, but it taught me many lessons. At the foot of the walls of Old Jerusalem there was a girl, with golden hair and a grey cloak fluttering in the wind, who wanted revolution in all areas and was against any and all laws, starting, like the poet, with the law of gravity. "You have been brought by my fellow countrymen," she said to me, "You have become a Zionist!"

I was then after some years of intellectual and political reconstruction, and had given up the utopia of collectivism and state control, which I had espoused in my early days. I already supported, in opposition to the former, the more real and human alternative, democratic pragmatism, approaching (still with much distrust) liberalism, in the continual polemics to which I am usually carried away by what seems to be my congenital ineptitude for any form of political correctness. But I still lived with the disturbed longing for what in revolution there always seems to be too much of and in democracy too little: the uproar of action, desperation, asceticism, commitment, generosity, risk: in a word, everything that excites young people and bores the old. In the history of the creation of Israel and the everyday reality of its struggle for survival I found all that, in doses more than enough to satisfy the appetites of that romantic political sentimentalism which I brought with me and from which I never succeeded in wholly getting away. For here I was able to confirm that in order to live life like an adventure, to reform society and to change the course of history, you don't need to suppress liberties, to trample laws underfoot, to install an abusive power, to silence critics or to jail or kill opponents. Since then, I have often said that the biggest surprise of that trip to Israel was that it allowed me to discover, contrary to what my adversaries, many of my friends and even I myself thought following my breaking-off with authoritarian messianism, that I had not become this fossilized hominid/creature called "a reactionary." On the contrary, I continued to be deeply identified with the will of rebellion and reform that, generally (and with much injustice) is usually considered the exclusive legacy of the left.

Do not think that I have come to sprinkle incense on Israel in an act of reciprocity and thanksgiving for the Jerusalem Prize. Nothing of the sort. Before and after the 1977 trip I had occasion to disagree with the policies of Israeli governments. I have criticized, for instance, the stubborn refusal to recognize the Palestinian people's right to independence or human rights violations in the occupied territories perpetrated in attempts to suppress terrorism. But something essential must be pointed out: the same criticisms have also been expressed here, by many Israeli citizens, sometimes with resplendent virulence, and within a context of unconditional freedom.

This trait of Israel's history, to remain a society always open to discussion and criticism, to the electoral renovation of its rulers, even in the most critical moments, even in the cataclysm of wars, when its existence is hanging by a thread, is the most everlasting lesson given by Israel to the other peoples of the world. This is particularly true for those in the so-called Third World, where frequently, internal or external problems are used as a pretext for infringing upon human liberties and justifying the tyranny that still holds many of these countries in a state of barbarism and backwardness. Which country has faced more difficulties and problems than the tiny country of Israel? Having always held high the flame of liberty, it did not become necessarily weaker or poorer, but instead, more dignified, presenting its cause to a wider audience among the nations of the world. This was one of the lessons of that memorable trip of mine. It was a lesson that helped me clarify many ideas and lead me constantly to mention this living proof, that the best guarantee for a nation's progress and survival, whatever its circumstances or level of development, is to claim as its own the culture of freedom.

Another lesson, in which I rejoiced since I am a novelist and I devote my days and nights to the very pleasant task of concocting lies that seem to be true, was to verify that fiction and history are not mutually allergic, but in some cases, can be joined together in reality as a couple of lovers in bed. Because, we must not forget: before it was history, Israel was a fantasy that like the creature of Borges' tale, "The Circular Ruins," was shifted to a concrete world from within the impalpable mist of the human imagination. Of course, literature is inhabited by all these magic things, but, as far as I know, in world history, Israel is the only country which can boast of having, like a character out of Edgar Allan Poe, Stevenson or the "Thousand and One Nights," such an explicitly ghostly lineage. Its story was first longed for, invented, constructed from the subtle subjective matter from which literary and artistic mirages are shaped, and then afterwards, by dint of courage and will, smuggled into real life.

That this has been possible is, of course, very encouraging for a novelist and in general, for all those who have made fantasizing the core of their lives: a proof that their vocation is not as unfounded as it is believed, but something of a public need, a vaccine against social drowsiness and rheumatism. But, besides raising the morale of the Nepholobats - citizens of the clouds - some conclusions derive from this fact, beneficial to those peoples who aspire to change their condition and emerge from their misery, ignorance or exploitation, and who are still, unfortunately, most peoples of the world. This is possible to achieve. Desires and dreams could come true. It is, of course, not easy. A will of iron is needed, as well as the capacity of sacrifice and idealism of those outcasts which, in this hostile land, made water and cultivated lands spring up where only stones were, and built huts in the desert that became villages and later, sovereign cities. History is not written, and there are no hidden laws which govern it, dictated by a relentless divinity or a despotic nature. History is written and rewritten by women and men in this world according to their dreams, efforts and will. Of course, this certainty places a huge responsibility on our shoulders, and does not allow us to make excuses for our failures. But at the same time, it is also the greatest incentive for peoples that feel wounded or deprived. This shows that nothing necessarily has to be as it is, that history can be as it would be, as we would have wanted it to be, and that it being so depends only on us.

For this priceless realization, which has helped me in my life as a writer, and has so far been the best guarantee of my political convictions, I owe a great debt of gratitude to Israel. And so, on second thoughts, there was some truth in the statement of my Jerusalemite friend, the one who was at odds with the law of gravity, and if my memory serves me well, also defied daylight with seven-coloured stockings which gleamed brighter than the last rays of the Jerusalem sun, fading in the twilight: I had indeed developed an incurable weakness for Zionism, or at least, for what is in it, in its adventure of feasible utopia, of fiction which has been made incarnate in history and changed the lives of millions of people for the better.

There is another tenet of Zionist utopia, with which, it must be said, I cannot reconcile. It is that which legitimizes nationalism and frontiers, the cataclysmic outdated conception of the nation-state which caused as much bloodshed in the world as did religious wars. Even if I dearly love Peru, the land that saw me born and which filled my life with memories and nostalgia of which to write, not less the land of Spain, which by awarding me a second nationality, enriched that which I already had, I will say quickly, stealing a title from an essay of Fernando Savater, that I am "against fatherlands" and that my ideas on this matter were formulated well enough by Pablo Neruda, in that youthful verse: "Fatherland,/ a sad word,/ like thermometer or elevator." My own political dream is that of a world in which passports will be eaten by moths, and customs officers will accompany pharaohs and alchemists among the relics which keep archaeologists and historians busy. I know that such an ideal seems somewhat remote in this time of unmitigated proliferation of new anthems and flags and of nationalistic aggression. But, when I see my wish - a world unified under the sign of liberty, being discredited as the senseless fantasy of a novelist, I always have an apt reply at hand: "And what about the delirium of a Viennese journalist, Theodor Herzl? What about the Zionist fantasy?"

Moreover, it seems that human history at the close of the millenium, envious of the variety and magic realism of the Latin American novel, has itself suddenly begun to produce such wonders that even novelists with the most fertile imagination are stunned by the competition. Those borders which seemed most unyielding, those of fiction and reality, have been eradicated by such unforeseen events as the disintegration of the Soviet Empire, the reunification of Germany, the disappearance of almost every dictatorship in Latin America, the peaceful transition in South Africa from an oppressive racist regime to a pluralist democracy, and other events that lately stun us each morning. Why then should we not allow for the possibility that the gradual integration of the planet, already achieved in good part thanks to the internationalization of markets and communications, and the globalization of enterprises, might also extend to administrative and political spheres? Then the only remaining barriers between men, those which are naturally born and spread freely, would be the fertile and versatile boundaries of language and culture. Striving for this is certainly a difficult challenge, but not an impossible one; a laborious but fruitful undertaking, and the only way to bring an end to the habitual slaughter which has accompanied human events like an ominous cloud, since the days of the loincloth and the club, up to the present age of space travel and the computer revolution.

The recent peace agreement between Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization is one of the extraordinary events that has astonished and touched us, an event that even a short time ago belonged to the realm of fantasy and fiction. In the face of so much hostility and bloodshed, with such accumulated hatred, such an accord seemed unimaginable. But nonetheless, the agreement was signed, and is surviving the attempts of demented fanatics to destroy it. We must acclaim the audacity and courage of those who dared to pursue the path of negotiation and peace, who have opened the gates for future collaboration between two peoples immersed in a conflict which has already caused so much misery. And we must all, from our own particular context, do our utmost to help bolster this effort in such a way that the civilizing gear set in motion by the agreement can overpower the suspicions of the distrustful, win the support of the pessimists, and fill the reluctant with enthusiasm, making the agreement indestructible. In this way, the attempts of those who have become enamoured of the Apocalypse - to transform history into hell - will be shattered to pieces against the force of understanding and harmony.

Then, the second part of the illusion could come true, that which brought the Zionist pioneers from the four corners of the earth to a sterile land, then a forgotten province of the Ottoman Empire. Those pioneers, we should recall, not only sought to build a country, to create a safe and free society for a persecuted people. They also dreamed of working shoulder to shoulder with their Arab neighbours to defeat poverty and to embark together in friendship with the peoples of this region - the richest in gods, religions and spiritual life that human civilization has ever known - in the struggle for justice and morality.

In the tortured arena in which Israel has lived since its independence, this aspect of the Zionist dream dissolved among the storm clouds of confrontation and violence. But now, in the dawn of peace, that noble ambition shows itself again. It is behind the Edom mountains, in that limpid sky that disconcerts the visitor who comes to Jerusalem for the first time and in the luminosity that welcomes him; in the translucent delicacy which comes down from above like the rubbing of invisible wings, that we experience that strange feeling as when confronted with great poetry. Perhaps the mention of that promising aura sparkling in the Jerusalem sky would be an appropriate way to conclude these digressions of a novelist, who again wishes to express his joy and gratitude.