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The 25-year-old American, her newlywed husband, and former Chilean diplomat Orlando Letelier were driving to work at the Institute for Policy Studies in Washington, DC when their car was bombed.
The Institute for Policy Studies on Monday welcomed a judge's homicide convictions and prison sentences for three agents of former US-backed Chilean dictator Gen. Augusto Pinochet who murdered Ronni Karpen Moffitt, one of the progressive think tank's employees, during a 1976 car bombing targeting her colleague, the exiled leftist diplomat Orlando Letelier.
Last Thursday, Chilean Judge Paola Plaza González sentenced three former agents of the Directorate of National Intelligence (DINA)—Pedro Octavio Espinoza Bravo, José Octavio Zara Holger, and Raúl Eduardo Iturriaga Neumann—to 15 years' imprisonment each for the qualified homicide of Moffitt, who was 25 at the time she was killed with her Institute for Policy Studies colleague Letelier.
There is no legal status of murder in Chile, where homicides are divided into two categories, simple and qualified (aggravated).
On the morning of September 21, 1976, Moffit, Letelier, and Michael Moffitt—Ronni's husband of four months, who also worked at IPS—were on their way to work when the Chevy Malibu in which they were traveling was blown up in Sheridan Circle on Washington, DC's Embassy Row.
Michael, who was sitting in the back seat, survived the blast and watched as Ronni staggered from the mangled car, mortally wounded in the neck, drowning in her own blood. Letelier, whose legs were blown off and torso mangled, died before an ambulance arrived.
It was the first and last time a foreign diplomat was assassinated on US soil.

“For a half century, IPS has turned this heinous act of international terrorism into a force for justice and for lifting up new human rights champions in the United States and Latin America,” IPS executive director Tope Folarin said in response to the sentences. “We are thrilled to see this huge step towards accountability for the murder of Ronni Karpen Moffitt, a young American woman whose work to improve lives in her community and her world was cut tragically short.”
Moffitt's niece, Rebecca Karpen, said that "the recent sentencing of three of the men responsible for my aunt’s murder comes 50 years after their crime was committed—17 years after the death of my grandfather, Murray Karpen, who dedicated his life to fighting for justice for his daughter, and four years after the death of her brother, my father Harry, who carried her picture in his wallet for decades after his big sister was murdered."
"It is often said that justice delayed is justice denied," Karpen added. "So many of my family members who loved Ronni never lived to see this measure of justice applied, and that is a tragedy."
"So many of my family members who loved Ronni never lived to see this measure of justice applied, and that is a tragedy."
Plaza noted that the attack was planned under the direction of then-DINA Director Gen. Manuel Contreras Sepulveda and his deputy, Pedro Octavio Espinoza Bravo, as part of "a series of attacks outside the national territory against the lives of Chilean citizens" during Operation Condor.
The secret, US-backed effort, which ran from 1975-83, saw right-wing military dictatorships in Chile, Argentina, Uruguay, Bolivia, Paraguay, Brazil, Peru, and Ecuador collaborate on an international campaign of terror in which an estimated 60,000 leftists were killed, while tens of thousands of others were arrested and tortured.
Letelier was targeted because he was once a Chilean foreign minister under former socialist President Salvador Allende and had become a prominent critic of the Pinochet dictatorship while living in exile after the US-backed 1973 coup that overthrew the democratically elected reformist government and brought Pinochet to power.
Other prominent leftists forced into exile during Pinochet's reign of terror—including former Army commander Gen. Carlos Prats and his wife Sofia Cuthbert—were assassinated during Operation Condor. In fact, Contreras and the three men convicted last week were also found guilty in 2010 of killing the couple in a 1974 car bombing in Buenos Aires.
Officials in the administration of US President Gerald Ford, including Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, knew Pinochet's government and other Condor partners were planning to murder their political opponents abroad. The State Department drafted warnings regarding the impending assassinations but withdrew them shortly before the Letelier-Moffitt killings.
In her sentencing order last week, Plaza affirmed the role of DINA Capt. Armando Fernández Larios in obtaining passports for members of the hit squad, as well as for Michael Townley, a US citizen and DINA operative who built the remote-control bomb and placed it under Letelier's driver's seat.
However, last week's convictions and sentences were solely for Espinoza, Zara, and Iturriaga—and exclusively for Moffitt's murder.
In 1993, Contreras and Espinoza were convicted in Chile for ordering and implementing Letelier's assassination. Contreras was sentenced to seven years in prison, where he died in 2015 while serving hundreds of years of cumulative sentences for Pinochet-era crimes. Espinoza was sentenced to six years behind bars.
Townley, Fernández, and five right-wing Cuban exile militants were separately convicted in the United States in connection with Letelier's assassination. Townley served just over five years before being placed in witness protection due to his cooperation with investigators. Fernández was released after seven months, due to a plea bargain. Two of the Cubans served eight years; the convictions of their three co-defendants were overturned on appeal.
All three men convicted and sentenced last week for Moffitt's murder attended the US Army School of the Americas (SOA), then located in Panama. So did Contreras and Fernández.
SOA is sometimes called the School of Assassins and the School of Coups due to its notorious graduates and their crimes, including the drug trafficking Panamanian president Manuel Noriega, Bolivian despot Hugo Banzer, Haitian death squad commander Raoul Cedras, and Argentine “Dirty War” dictator Leopoldo Galtieri
At least hundreds of war criminals from throughout the hemisphere have been trained at the SOA, whose graduates planned, ordered, committed, or covered up some of the most notorious atrocities of the era, including the Guatemalan genocide; El Mozote massacre; assassination of Archbishop Óscar Romero; Jesuit massacre; and kidnapping, rape, and murder of four US churchwomen.
Juan Pablo Letelier, the son of Orlando Letelier and a former Chilean senator, called last week's sentences "an act of justice."
"Truth has prevailed," Letelier asserted. "Many years have gone by in this effort for truth and justice. Yet, with perseverance and with conviction, we’ve reached the point where, in a Chilean court, this act of terrorism in which an American citizen was assassinated by Chile’s secret police in 1976 has finally had a case, an investigation, and a sentencing of the three main people responsible."
"We hope that US government authorities will now consider that what has been done in Chile should also be done in the US regarding the investigation and the sanctioning of those responsible for this terrorist act," he added. "There are persons who are responsible for Ronni Karpen Moffitt’s death 50 years ago who are still in liberty on US soil, and there are pending Chilean requests for their extradition with which the US government has not complied."
Chile is seeking the extradition of Fernández, who was arrested by US Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents in Florida last year but has not been handed over to Chilean authorities to stand trial.
“Justice is slow," Letelier recently wrote. "There are many families in Chile who were victims... and they want justice... Armando Fernández Larios should never have been free in the United States.”
José Antonio Kast has described the dictator who ended democracy for nearly two decades and presided over the persecution of tens of thousands of dissidents as someone who brought "order" to Chile.
José Antonio Kast, a far-right former lawmaker, won over 58% of the vote in Chile's runoff elections on Sunday over Jeannette Jara, the labor minister under outgoing left-wing President Gabriel Boric, to become the nation's next president.
The win came despite Kast's open admiration for General Augusto Pinochet, who ended civilian rule in Chile after taking power through a coup d'etat in 1973, overthrowing its democratically elected socialist leader in a US Central Intelligence Agency-backed plot and implementing a radical program of economic austerity.
Until he was ousted by a democratic referendum in 1990, Pinochet governed Chile as a military dictatorship rife with human rights abuses, resulting in his indictment by a Spanish court in 1996 for crimes against humanity. His regime assassinated or "disappeared" nearly 3,200 people, while tens of thousands were tortured and more forced into exile.
Human rights groups have accused Kast and his family—the patriarch of which was a member of the Nazi Party who fled to Chile in 1950—of collaboration with the Pinochet regime's detention of opponents. The president-elect's brother was a minister for Pinochet during the dictatorship.
Kast will be the first president of Chile since its return to democracy to have campaigned for and voted “Yes” in the 1988 plebiscite for the dictator to stay in power for another eight years despite his reign of terror.
But rather than distance himself from Pinochet's legacy, Kast has described himself as his spiritual successor.
In 2017, during his first of three presidential campaigns, Kast told a local newspaper that “if he were alive,” Pinochet “would vote for me.” Kast later described Pinochet as someone who brought “order” to Chile, comments that the Buenos Aires Times wrote in 2021, “railed many who are still scarred by this dark period in the country’s history.”
But Kast's nostalgia for that period of repression was not enough to hobble him this time around. At a time when the right is making gains across Latin America, Kast's policy agenda sits at the nexus point between the free market fundamentalism of Argentina's Javier Milei and the police state ambitions of El Salvador's Nayib Bukele.
He has pledged an economic program in the same vein as Pinochet's and, later, Milei's "shock therapy," proposing an unprecedented cut of $21 billion in public spending over his term, paired with a reduction in taxes on the wealthy.
Kast has pledged that these cuts would only affect "waste" and "political" spending, but not impact social programs that benefit Chileans. But economic analysts, including Javiera Toro, Chile's social development minister, have argued that a cut of that size would inevitably cut into the social safety net, including its popular state pension program and others related to health, housing, and education.
Kast successfully martialed fear of high crime (even though it actually fell under Boric's tenure) into outrage toward the nation's undocumented migrants—mainly from Venezuela—whom he has pledged to deport en masse. As in the US, where President Donald Trump is also spearheading a mass deportation operation, immigrants in Chile commit crimes at lower rates than those born in the country.
Last year, Kast visited the sprawling prison complex where Bukele has used emergency powers to detain tens of thousands of people as part of his sweeping war on gangs, often in punishing conditions where they've faced torture. Amnesty International described it as a "state policy of massive and arbitrary deprivation of liberty." Kast said he'd like to implement a similar policy in Chile.
Kast immediately raised fears for the future of Chile's democracy in his victory speech, vowing to form an "emergency government" when he takes power in 2026. However, he will not command a majority in Chile's legislature, which may make the delivery of his agenda more challenging.
Jenny Pribble, professor of political science and global studies at the University of Richmond, told Al Jazeera: “It remains to be seen if Kast could or would pursue such an approach, but if Chile follows the Salvadoran model, it would constitute significant democratic backsliding.”
Someday Israeli leaders will stand in The Hague for what they have done in Gaza, and they will deserve to. But if we are honest, we know US leaders belong there too.
I have met people who gave me grace in Iran, in Mexico, in Haiti, in Gaza, in Cambodia, in Vietnam. People who understood the difference between ordinary citizens and the governments that rule them. People who offered me kindness when they had every reason not to. That grace stays with me.
As a US citizen and physician, I have lived my life trying to hold onto a sense of responsibility. But what I see now, in Gaza, in Haiti, in the wake of Iraq and Afghanistan, is the full weight of what psychologists call diffusion of responsibility. It is the shrug that says: Someone else will answer for this, someone else will carry the shame.
The United States cannot keep living in that shrug. We armed, funded, and protected Israel as it has carried out the genocide of the Palestinian people. We have supplied not only weapons but coordination, intelligence, and political cover. We let the American Israel Public Affairs Committee function as the arm of a foreign government, not as a lobbying group. We looked away from the checkpoints, the administrative cruelty, the killing of children. This is our legacy.
But Gaza is not an aberration. It is a mirror held up to the long history of our interventions. We overthrew Mohammad Mossadegh, the democratically elected prime minister of Iran, in 1953, not because he was a tyrant but because he dared to nationalize oil. We turned that nation toward dictatorship and decades of repression, then had the arrogance to call it democracy. In Central America, we toppled leaders and propped up death squads. In Chile, we helped usher in the bloody reign of Augusto Pinochet, betraying yet another democratic choice in favor of authoritarian brutality.
We speak of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s murderous ways as if they are foreign to us. They are not. We have assassinated leaders. We have sanctioned extrajudicial killings, calling them “targeted strikes.” We have funded militias and trained torturers. We still carry Guantánamo on our conscience. We are not better than Putin. We are his rival and his mirror.
We should be an anti-interventionist nation, one that stops imagining itself as the builder of nations and instead takes responsibility for its own failures, its own violence, and its own complicity.
In Vietnam, we unleashed hell. Entire villages were burned to the ground. At My Lai, US soldiers slaughtered more than 500 unarmed civilians, women, children, elders. It was not an accident, not a one-off. It was part of a culture of violence we exported and excused.
And then there is the School of the Americas, now rebranded as Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation, a US military institution in Panama where we trained some of the worst dictators and death squad leaders in Latin America. The manuals we gave them were explicit: torture, execution, terror as tools of governance. We sowed horror and called it security.
Someday Israeli leaders will stand in The Hague for what they have done in Gaza, and they will deserve to. But if we are honest, we know we belong there too. For Mossadegh, for Pinochet, for Central America, for My Lai, for every extrajudicial killing and every sanctioned massacre, and most immediately for Gaza, we should be in the dock as well. We should stand in handcuffs, our heads lowered in shame, finally facing the truth of what we have unleashed in the world.
The truth is that our foreign policy has been one long history of intervention, violence, and betrayal of human dignity. We were in Haiti. We were in Iraq. We were in Afghanistan. We have left the Middle East, Latin America, and Africa littered with the bones of our experiments. Always we tell ourselves it was complicated. Always we tell ourselves we meant well. But what we meant was power, and what we left was ruin.
What reparation looks like now is not cash or aid dropped into a void. It is restoring justice. It is ending our culture of nation building and intervention, and replacing it with support for people, families, language, culture, dignity, and jurisprudence. It is standing against genocide, no matter who commits it. It is admitting that our strength lies not in military power but in whether we can build schools instead of prisons, communities instead of empires.
This is not just a populist opinion. It is a moral imperative. We should be an anti-interventionist nation, one that stops imagining itself as the builder of nations and instead takes responsibility for its own failures, its own violence, and its own complicity.
I am a doctor. My oath is to heal, to do no harm. But as a citizen, I see harm everywhere our government touches. We cannot keep pretending that this is someone else’s crime, someone else’s burden. This is ours.
The reckoning will not wait forever. The question is whether we face it with honesty now, or whether we let it destroy us later.