Embraced by ordinary people with extraordinary generosity - José’s story  

My name is José Cifuentes. I grew up and studied social work in Talca, Chile, during one of the most extraordinary moments in my country’s history. In the early 1970s, Chile became the first country in the world to elect a socialist government through a fully democratic process. The election of President Salvador Allende filled my generation with hope for a fairer and more equal society. It felt as if an entire nation was dreaming together. 

Inspired by that vision, I moved into a shantytown with a French priest and two fellow university students. We wanted to live among the people we hoped to serve. The poverty there was extreme. Homes were built from scrap wood and glass, with no electricity, no running water, and no gas. Yet those two and a half years were the greatest education of my life. They shaped my understanding of justice, dignity, and humanity, and they still guide my values today. 

That peaceful, democratic transformation provoked fear and hostility among those who controlled most of Chile’s wealth, as well as their powerful allies abroad. Even before Allende took office, there were attempts to assassinate him. When those failed, efforts to destabilise his government continued relentlessly until they succeeded. 

The military coup was brutal. Overnight, Chile fell into darkness. Thousands of people were killed. The national stadium was turned into a concentration camp. More than two thousand people disappeared, many thrown into the sea, never to be found. Anyone who showed even minimal concern for social justice was labelled a communist and treated as an enemy of the state. 

I was imprisoned as a political prisoner, stripped of my rights, and expelled from university just as I was finishing my social work degree. Later, my wife Cristina and I were hunted again by the secret police. At that time, our daughter Rocío had just been born. We lived with constant fear that she could be taken from us, as had happened in neighbouring Argentina, where children of murdered political prisoners were given to other families under false identities. 

In the end, we fled for her sake. 

Through the World University Service, a charity supporting people persecuted for political or religious reasons, we were granted scholarships to continue our studies abroad. We never imagined exile would last long. We believed the dictatorship would eventually forget us. Months turned into years, and years into decades. Almost fifty years have now passed. 

When we arrived in Britain, we spent a short time in London before being placed at Swansea University. From the very beginning, Wales welcomed us with a warmth I will never forget. We were among the fortunate refugees. We were treated with dignity, supported financially, and embraced by the community. At the time, a Labour MP, Judith Hart, fought to redirect overseas aid away from Pinochet’s regime and towards Chilean refugees. Her courage and compassion changed our lives. 

In Wales, we never felt like outsiders. The Chile Solidarity Campaign in Swansea was made up of ordinary people with extraordinary generosity. Many offered friendship, solidarity, and love. Several individuals played a crucial role in helping me rebuild my life, including academic mentors and friends who supported my education and professional development when exile had destroyed everything I had worked for. 

With their support, I learned English, completed a degree in psychology, trained as a teacher, and later qualified as an educational psychologist. I practised in Wales for more than thirty years. 

Wales became home. My children, Aldy and Rocío, grew up surrounded not just by support, but by care and belonging. 

What do I miss about Chile? Even after so many years, the ache never disappears. I miss my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, and my brother, all of whom died while I was living here. I never had the chance to hold their hands, say goodbye, or attend their funerals. That absence is a wound many refugees carry. People sometimes imagine refugees are motivated by opportunity or material gain, but they rarely understand the depth of loss that exile brings. 

I have returned to Chile since then. It is not perfect, but it is no longer a dictatorship, and today it is led by a young and principled president. I hope my country continues to choose peace, justice, and humanity. 

Although I do not speak Welsh fluently, Welsh singing touches me deeply. In it, I hear the same longing and resilience that run through Chilean and Latin American history. It reminds me that humanity is shared, and that suffering and love connect us across borders. 

My favourite Welsh word is croeso, meaning welcome. I even used it in the title of my second book, Croeso Compañero. Compañero means more than friend. It means a fellow human being, a companion in the struggle for dignity and justice. Croeso compañero. Welcome, fellow human. 

After almost fifty years in Wales, my dream is simple. I want to continue contributing to this society in whatever way I can, promoting understanding, education, unity, and respect. I want Wales, and Swansea in particular, to remain an example of hospitality and human decency. 

If there is one thing I want younger generations to understand, it is this. Most refugees do not leave their homes by choice. We flee because injustice leaves us no alternative. Seeking safety is not a political act. It is a human one. 

Finally, I want to say this. The Chilean refugees who came to Wales in the 1970s remain profoundly grateful. The kindness shown to us, often quietly and without expectation of reward, is something we carry for the rest of our lives. It is part of what makes Wales a dignified society. 

For that, I say thank you.