Several years later, there was an uproar when the Scottish national soccer team violated the unofficial international boycott of the Pinochet regime to play an exhibition match in the very stadium where so many of the executions were carried out. In protest, Adam McNaughtan wrote the following poem, later set to music by Ed Miller. As a soccer fan myself, this song never fails to bring me to tears.
Blood Upon The Grass
On September the Eleventh
In Nineteen Seventy-Three,
Scores of people perished
In a vile machine-gun spree.
And Santiago Stadium
Became a ground to kill,
But now a Scottish football team
Has graced it with their skill.
But now there's blood upon the grass,
Now there's blood upon the grass.
And did you go there, Alan Rough?
Did you play there, Tom Forsyth?
Where so many folk met early
The Grim Reaper with his scythe?
These people weren't terrorists,
Not even Party hacks,
But some were maybe goalkeepers,
And some were centre backs,
But now their blood's upon the grass,
Aye, their blood's upon the grass.
And Victor Jara played guitar
When they led him to that ground,
So they broke all of his fingers
So his strings no more could sound.
But still he kept on singing
Songs of freedom, songs of peace,
And even though they gunned him down,
His message didn't cease
But now his blood's upon the grass,
Aye, his blood's upon the grass.
And you go there, Archie Gemmill?
Did you play there, Andy Gray?
Did it trouble you to hear the voice
Of Victor Jara say
Somos cinquo mille -
We are five thousand in this place?
Now Scottish football helps to hide
The Junta's dark disgrace.
And there's blood upon the grass,
Aye, there's blood upon the grass.
And do you stand upon the terraces
At Ibrox or Parkhead,
Do you cheer the Hibs in green and white,
The Dons in flaming red?
Those Santiago victims
Were just people of your kind.
Too bad the football bosses
Couldn't change their narrow minds.
For now there's blood upon their hands,
Aye, there's blood upon their hands.