How do you answer when someone says, ‘We really think you could directly save the lives of 77 people?'” Reeve said in an interview in his big, airy triplex opposite the Museum of Natural History here. “Do you say, ‘But I have to go to the bank?’ But I’ve got some letters to write?'”
Reeve assented instantly. “It didn’t require much soul-searching,” he said. “I couldn’t think of anything coming up for me more important than that.”
As it turned out, Reeve’s action not only proved successful for the Chilean actors, but for Reeve it was an enlightening experience as well. He returned with a new consciousness about the relationship between art and politics, and about the artistic luxuries of a democracy. It was not that Reeve had distinguished himself as a defender of human rights in Chile, or indeed anywhere else in the Third World. His knowledge of political events in Chile, he admits, was limited to “the general awareness you get through the weekly news magazines.” He knew, for example, “like most Americans, that Allende had been killed,” and he knew “that there was an election coming up in ’89 in Chile and it was rigged.”