Sebastián Flores Muga is a Chilean journalist and communications professional specializing in digital media and new formats. He began his career at Las Últimas Noticias, Chile’s most widely read newspaper covering popular culture and entertainment, and from there built a career that led him to become digital editor of CNN Chile and communications advisor to Camila Vallejo, the current Minister Secretary-General of Government under Gabriel Boric. Today, he is co-founder of Turno, Chile’s first political-cultural streaming channel, alongside Nicolás Copano.
I met him in Santiago when I visited Juan Elman while he was writing his book Nada será como antes. ¿Hacia dónde va Chile?. We met in Ñuñoa and talked for several hours. Sebastián pointed out things to me that I hadn’t noticed: how the millennial left currently in power mixes the Popular Unity poster with Bad Bunny on the playlist, how Boric and Vallejo are pop stars rather than party cadres, and why the left has been getting its understanding of the media wrong for decades.
He came to Buenos Aires for the Blender Stream Lab, where he exchanged ideas with the Blender team on how to create a media outlet with a progressive spirit that speaks the language of today.
By Lucas Malaspina
The Left and Everyday Consumption
Tell me a little about where you’re from and what brought you here.
I’m here because, in addition to everything I’ve done in my career, I’m currently working on a project called Turno, which is Chile’s first streaming channel, inspired by what you all are doing—by what Blender is doing. I came with my partner Nicolás Copano, who will be speaking about artificial intelligence. We’re on a sort of Chilean mission, trying to understand how this all works so we can create a media outlet with a progressive spirit that also speaks the language of today.
The insight I’ve gained over the years—observing the emergence of new political movements while working in the media—is that for many years, the left completely misunderstood how media outlets are built. It always wanted to talk only about politics, believing that politics is what matters most, what we seek to transform. But ordinary people—as well as those interested in politics as a career, activism, or profession—also have moments when they aren’t thinking about politics, when they want to watch a series, listen to an album, spend time with their partner, watch Friends, or watch The Simpsons.
The left never addressed that; it never addressed everyday life in its content, never really addressed consumption, or a way of understanding entertainment from a perspective other than that of the mass media controlled by big capital. And that reflection is what has driven my career—the possibility of creating a remix. I really like what Rosalía does with Motomami: as an artist trained at a conservatory who understands the codes of highbrow musical culture, she chooses the urban genre. That blend—where you see her complexity and at the same time see her alongside J Balvin and Daddy Yankee—strikes me as more brilliant than any 800-page treatise. Because it allows you to understand how the world intersects and opens up new possibilities.
I agree 100%. I think that if the left seeks, in a broad sense, to permeate society, it must have a clear political project. But in Argentina right now, there’s a lack of clarity: if my algorithm were to say, “Join the Frente de Todos,” and call on my followers to do whatever Unión por la Patria says, I don’t know whether Unión por la Patria knows what it wants to do with the country.
I don’t think so. The right—even if one might disagree with each of its proposals—at least has a clear vision of the kind of society it wants. It has a very well-developed playbook. If you’re an average voter, you listen to the speeches of the radical far right and it’s clear to you what they’re proposing: closing the border, dollarizing the economy. I’m not saying these are good or bad proposals; I’m saying they’re clear.
The left, on the other hand, after the fall of the Berlin Wall—it’s been almost 35 years since then—still doesn’t have a roadmap for what the alternative to capitalism should look like. Because what we currently have in many places is an alternative to neoliberalism, which is the ultimate evolution of capitalism. It’s like a Charizard of capitalism: Charmander, Charmeleon, capitalism.
I wouldn’t say it’s an alternative either; if anything, it’s neoliberalism managed from the left.
Of course. That’s why I say that being anti-neoliberal—which, for example, the Chilean government is—is not the same as being anti-capitalist. It proposes a more humanitarian approach to the management of resources, municipalities, and regions. But that’s not the same as proposing a change to the system as a whole.
And it is hard to say, but I think it is time for the left to accept that communism is over: it did not work; it lost; it ended in defeat. That does not mean we have to accept capitalism’s victory. What has to happen—and I say it is hard because that headline ranges from controversial to disheartening, if you were someone who dedicated your life to a cause—is to go through that painful process.
In Chile there is an artist named Manuel García, who has a song called El Viejo Comunista, and it tells the story of many communists. Then came Pinochet’s coup d’état, in which the leadership of the parties that formed part of the Allende government was exterminated: the MIR, Partido Comunista, Partido Socialista, and MAPU. Those who were neither murdered nor brutally tortured had to go into exile. And that trauma, whether overcome or not, leaves you emotionally committed to this idea of an alternative world. But we must accept that that dream, those ideas put forward by Carlos Marx in the 19th century and implemented along Leninist lines in October 1917, were a phase that existed, was attempted, and did not succeed. And there is still a hangover from that time, from a world that no longer exists.
This is a world of artificial intelligence. Today’s working-class person doesn’t have a hammer and sickle; they probably have a laptop and work in the service sector, not in the extraction of raw materials. And they have access to credit; they may live in a house with a leaky roof, but they still have an LED TV. These contradictions, which used to be very clear—“this is imperialist music, this is the true revolutionary spirit”—today, if one continues to understand them that way, prevent the left not only from advancing its agenda but also from connecting with people.
Swifties, K-pop, and Politics
You were telling me that Swifties and K-pop fans are arenas for political action—spaces where political action takes place—and that we can’t expect politics to be purely a matter of activism. We have to engage with and have conversations in all areas of everyday life. The right understands this well, and the left doesn’t quite get it. You were telling me, for example, about contesting the narratives of Dragon Ball and Stranger Things. What else could you add about what we were discussing yesterday in that regard?
First, I want to say that Goku is an icon for an entire generation. I have friends who owe all their childhood memories to this Saiyan who came to Earth, was raised by his grandfather, and was a defender with his iconic hairstyle. And I wonder: how is it possible that there aren’t people in the Chilean media who speak in “Dragon Ball” code? Who know who Bulma is, who Vegeta is, who Trunks is, who are familiar with the Buu saga and the Frieza saga. That’s telling.
In Chile, all the news anchors are from Generation X—over 48 or 50 years old. There still aren’t any anchors who know who Goku is. And Goku isn’t the equivalent of what Taylor Swift would be today—a phenomenon of the 2010s. Goku belongs to the ’90s, to the children of the ’90s—the adults we are today. People don’t talk about Dragon Ball as a cultural reference point the way they might, for example, talk about ’80s rock.
The thing is, there’s no connection between knowing what Dragon Ball is and living it—knowing what Pokémon was, knowing what Captain Tsubasa was (Supercampeones, as it is known in Latin America)—and talking about pension reform or understanding the political processes in Argentina, Venezuela, or Chile. When I saw here that on March 8 they did a special episode of Dragon Ball on Blender with Tomás Rebord—very controversial, as we discussed yesterday—it was a revelation to me.
I thought it was fine. Whether it’s a communication strategy or a political-communication strategy—and the political element in Rebord’s work is clear—understanding it the way you frame it, it was fine. I’ve discussed this with feminist friends who have reservations about Rebord, but we have to recognize that we’re speaking to different audiences. There’s an idea—which I don’t share—that we shouldn’t invite libertarians to participate in discussions because “we’re giving them exposure.” What exposure? Are they running the country?
That his idea resonated with many people. And it didn’t necessarily resonate because they have a perfect list of ten commandments, but because several of those commandments made sense to people. They see that the different countries in Latin America are full of immigrants; in Chile’s case, transnational drug trafficking groups like the Tren de Aragua have arrived and invaded the neighborhoods and downtown Santiago. There are types of crimes that weren’t seen before: kidnappings, things you’d only imagine in Netflix narco-series. Along those lines, the far right’s message is very clear: expel all migrants; send the military into the streets. And people say: yes, that’s what’s needed.
And the left stumbles, because it has always opposed the idea of closing the borders; it has always held the view that migration is a right, that we are all free people regardless of our nationalities, that nation-states are artificial constructs, and that the brotherhood among human beings transcends the land where you happened to be born. But if you look at realpolitik, all that rhetoric amounts to: “Dude, they’re kidnapping people on the corner near my house—your poetry doesn’t do me any good. The other guy says he’s going to deport these foreigners, so I’m going with him.”
And that brings me back to the idea that there’s still nothing that surpasses the alternative proposed by Marx and Engels. That was a defeat. Capitalism advanced to the next round; communism lost. It scored a goal, maybe two—one in Latin America, one somewhere in Asia—but in the second leg, Capitalism Football Club won.
Ecology, migration, and the ideological reconfiguration of the right
There was a book I wanted to recommend to you along those lines: Los ingenieros del caos, by Giuliano da Empoli, the same author of El mago del Kremlin. He is an author who is very much in vogue in Argentina right now because Santiago Caputo, Javier Milei’s chief advisor, is apparently inspired by a character from that novel. And the book argues, on the subject of migrants, that whether positions are left-wing or right-wing, everyone in Europe rejects migrants. There is a matter of fear within one’s square meter: foreigners inspire fear in you and become trapped under a label that is very difficult to challenge, even if your ideological outlook is left-wing.
Environmentalist ideas also enter into this reconfiguration. Pablo Stefanoni’s book, ¿La rebeldía se volvió de derecha? —published by Siglo XXI Editores—has a chapter called “El discreto encanto del homo-nacionalismo” and another called “Heil Pachamama.” The point is that, in Europe today, far-right parties have made both the LGBT movement and environmental struggles part of their cause.
Environmentalism, at its origins, contains a rather racist idea: I protect my land, my territory, in the same way that I protect my blood. Those who destroy territories, those who pollute them, are the people who migrate from one place to another, because they have no reason to care for what they will later abandon. Under that logic, environmentalist ideas were born from premises closer to what later evolved into Nazism. Later, with anti-capitalist currents, as capitalism began to devour ecosystems, the argument became: “No, I’m an environmentalist because I’m anti-capitalist.” But if you go back to the root, these ideas come from the far right.
I don’t want to get too philosophical, but anti-capitalism has a romantic or reactionary strand: the idea that opposing capitalism means turning back the wheel of history and halting the advance of the productive forces. That dovetails with what you’re saying: in the view of this romantic, right-wing anti-capitalism, excessive development of the productive forces breeds disregard for the environment.
Right. And so the right says: I don’t want Greta Thunberg to carry the banner of environmentalism. There are many people who dislike her because she’s someone who’s making a fuss, and they say that if you go back to the roots of environmentalism, you can be very patriotic, very nationalistic, defend your homeland, and therefore want it to be clean and green. So there’s no contradiction between being an environmentalist and being on the radical right. Nor is there one between being anti-immigrant and an environmentalist, because you don’t want foreigners coming in to damage your ecosystems.
Ideas that one used to associate with the left are being reconfigured—with a lot of remixing. And I think that’s where the left is making a big mistake. Progressivism is a form of being on the left that’s adapted to capitalism: the struggles are mainly cultural, and the idea of economic struggle has been somewhat abandoned. When I started college, if someone called you a “progressive,” it was an insult from the left—not from the right, as it is now. People would say, “I’m not a progressive; I’m on the left.” Today, being on the left means being a progressive. Because—and I’m coming back to my point—the key has been lost. Capitalism FC has advanced to the next round.
Boric and Vallejo: Pop Stars of Politics
Three things I’d like you to give us as clip-worthy moments. The first: in terms of political communication, what do Camila Vallejo and Gabriel Boric represent?
Camila Vallejo and Gabriel Boric—if you look at them without knowing who they are—could easily be an indie duo headlining the first day of Lollapalooza, based on their aesthetic and how they look.
Gabriel Boric is 38 years old—a millennial. He and Bukele are two faces of our generation.
The crypto-bro and the ally.
The crypto-bro and the ally—exactly. Gabriel Boric declared himself a Swiftie during the campaign. I want to announce here that President Gabriel Boric is not a Swiftie: I challenge him to name three songs from Taylor Swift’s album Folklore (which he says is his favorite), and to tell me if he’s familiar with 1989, where “Shake It Off” appears. But in the end, that doesn’t matter, because you see a Swiftie saying: a president who says he likes Taylor Swift and who’s also young, friendly, and cool—I’m going to support him. That understanding Gabriel Boric showed, I think, is a step forward. Without talking so much about these issues the way we’re talking about them, he puts them into practice. Show don’t tell.
And Vallejo is a pioneer in this area.
Camila Vallejo is a pop star. When she emerged in 2011 as president of the University of Chile Student Federation, she found herself at the helm of the largest university movement since Chile’s return to democracy, which challenged the public education system. In Chile, going to college is like taking out a mortgage: you go into debt for 10, 15, or 20 years. The year 2011 was the second season of what began in 2006 with the “penguin movement” of high school students. Sebastián Piñera, the first right-wing president since the return to democracy in 1990, had taken office after 20 years of the Concertación. And amid this crisis, Camila Vallejo emerged.
Why did she quickly attract attention? Because she did not have the typical image one imagines for a communist: a certain aesthetic of ponchos, seventies-era revolutionaries, Silvio Rodríguez, Quilapayún, and Mercedes Sosa. No, she was a cool 23-year-old woman. She was very compelling—I am not referring to her physical beauty, but to her presence. She appeared on the covers of teen magazines and many other media outlets.
I had the chance to work with her in communications, and handling her press requests was like being Dua Lipa’s manager. She had requests from the Washington Post, Bloomberg, the New York Times, and TN—25 press requests a day. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing. She’d appear on a TV show, and the ratings would automatically go up. The networks would clear their schedules and swap out guests who’d been booked long ago just to have her on, because people wanted to see her.
If you look up her first television interview, you’ll see a woman quite different from the one we know today: very shy, a little nervous. She honed her skills as a great communicator through experience. She is currently the Minister Secretary-General of Government, the spokesperson, and the face of what the Boric government is doing.
Sometime in 2011, the lead singer of Arctic Monkeys tweeted: “I had a crush on Camila Vallejo.” And then Camila Vallejo ran for reelection as president of the Federation and lost. Do you know who beat her? Gabriel Boric, who was on a different ticket. She is from Partido Comunista; he came from an autonomous left that later evolved into Frente Amplio, much more Gramscian and with a clearer idea of waging the cultural battle.
The far right, the alt-right, was the first to say: we have to wage the culture war. But Gabriel Boric also understood that clearly and put it into action. When he was a deputy, he wore grunge shirts, had a somewhat punk haircut, wore a tulle cap, sported a Deftones T-shirt, and quoted Jorge González of Los Prisioneros. He made lots of pop culture references, and people who weren’t that into politics but did like Deftones would say, “Look, he likes this, just like me.” That, I think, is the impact of the Chilean path that this generation of politicians is demonstrating.
But it also shows that even that is not enough. Culture is not enough without a political program, an ideological line that goes hand in hand with the realpolitik of how to put it into practice. That’s why I’m telling you, going back to the idea: it doesn’t exist yet, but it could. When I say that communism is a thing of the past, I’m saying that there has to be another alternative. Because capitalism, with its exploitation of fauna and flora, will lead us to a point where we can no longer sustain ourselves. The fact that communism was defeated doesn’t mean we’re going to allow capitalism to continue existing. It just means we have to invent a new way to propose a more just and dignified existence for all of us.
What do you recommend for learning more about all this?
Pablo Stefanoni’s book, ¿La rebeldía se volvió de derecha? —published by Siglo XXI Editores—I highly recommend it if you want to understand this process. It is very good. And if you want to see what we are doing, look for us on Turno, the streaming channel. Generate engagement, and please voice any views opposing the ideas I have put forward: I look forward to them.
