THE NEW CHILE - The Right after Pinochet.

The prediction was obvious. Augusto Pinochet's London arrest would benefit the Chilean human-rights movement while dealing a serious blow to the general's political power base. Obvious, but only half right. After being declared physically unfit to stand trial on charges of human-rights abuses, Pinochet's return to Chile last month made clear the once unthinkable: he is now a hunted man at home. In his absence the courts were emboldened, ordering the arrest of more than a dozen top military officials. Pinochet himself is named in sixty-one lawsuits for human-rights abuses during his rule.

But few would have guessed the other great beneficiary of Pinochet's arrest: the Chilean Right. While Pinochet was away, Joaquin Lavin of the far Right ran for president and nearly took the country by storm. Though he lost to Socialist Ricardo Lagos in a tight January run-off, not since 1970 have conservatives come so close to gaining power through the ballot box. Lavin-freed by the absence of Pinochet-re- invented the Right and may have changed the course of Chilean politics.

Lavin, a "Chicago Boy" economist who once worked in Pinochet's government, took advantage of the former general's detention to do what no conservative has done since the country's return to democracy in 1990: he declared that Pinochet could be tried for human-rights violations if he returned to Chile. Lavin went so far as to meet with relatives of some of the three thousand people killed or disappeared under Pinochet's sixteen-year dictatorship, in what many saw as a disingenuous ploy to get votes. Sincere or not, Lavin told me on the campaign trail that he wanted "to hear the problems of all Chileans," not just those problems deemed politically correct by a traditionally intolerant Right. Lavin's sudden interest in human rights would have been unthinkable with Pinochet in Chile. But under house arrest in England, the general remained powerless and mute. By election time, he had faded from the headlines. In poll after poll, Chileans placed Pinochet low on their list of concerns, and seemed not to care that Lavin, who rose steadily in popularity, had links to the general.

Lagos, who was jailed under Pinochet and rose to political prominence by opposing him in the late 1980s, was stumped. When he aired a television commercial with footage of Lavin speaking at a Pinochet rally, instead of reacting with horror, Chileans reacted with indifference. The far-Right candidate capitalized on this indifference by describing Lagos as stuck in the divisions of the past. "Vote for me," he said again and again, "and you'll have a president of the future, not the past."

The man had a point. On the surface, Lagos, sixty-one, was unquestionably the person to bring Chile into the twenty-first century. He is politically astute, has a doctorate in economics from Duke University, played a key role in the country's transition back to democracy, and twice served as a minister in the four-party, center- left Coalition that has ruled Chile since Pinochet stepped down. Though Lagos belongs to the Socialist party of Salvador Allende, whom Pinochet overthrew in 1973, his politics are vastly different. He often said he would be not "Chile's second Socialist president, but its third Coalition president." But the Coalition seems to have lost touch with today's Chile, which is marked by a fast-emerging middle class with strong entrepreneurial values and fading memories of the past.

Lavin, forty-six, appealed to this Chile. A former business journalist, whose only elected office was as mayor of the wealthy Santiago township of Las Condes, Lavin had fewer credentials than Lagos but a much better ear. He captured Chile's attention by distancing himself from Pinochet, and he held it with an American-style campaign-heavily financed by business-never before seen in Chile. He dressed in T-shirts and khakis, drove a Jeep from town to town (taking cues, he said, from former Florida governor "Walkin' Lawton" Chiles) and snapped Polaroids of himself with supporters, which he then handed out. He spoke to people casually, never from behind a podium.

The conservative candidate's proposed policies matched his American campaign style. Borrowing from Newt Gingrich's "Contract with America," Lavin signed a contract with each of Chile's thirteen regions. He promised harsh crime-fighting measures similar to those of New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani. And with the economy in the middle of a recession, he offered a Clintonesque vow to create jobs. In sharp contrast to previous conservative presidential hopefuls who advocated budget-cutting, Lavin proposed more than a dozen new spending programs.

Meanwhile, Lagos campaigned with the message: "Growth with Equality." Aside from being hopelessly abstract, it seemed out of step with the spirit of the times. As pundits pointed out, Chileans don't want to be equal; they want to get ahead. Following Lavin's lead, Lagos quickly revamped his campaign and changed his slogan to "A Much Better Chile." His conservative opponent had made it sound as if Chile were falling apart when in fact the country had had the best decade of peace and prosperity in its history. Lagos took pains to show this prosperity-the Santiago skyline dotted with gleaming new buildings-while hanging on to the message of social equality.

While Lagos's tactics finally worked, he must take some significant lessons with him to his presidency. Lavin almost succeeded because he spoke plainly, and took the pomp out of Chilean politics. Lagos, who was often called the "royal candidate" for his abstract and formal speeches, will have to get off the podium and roll up his sleeves. He should continue to champion human rights, but may also shift the Left's focus to other issues of political freedom such as police harassment and censorship. And he must remember the other great lesson from the elections: after a decade of secure democracy, Chileans are ready for change and unafraid to vote for it. The Right, with Lavin, showed it can look democratic, young, and promising.

The stakes are high. The Right owns most of Chile's universities, media, and businesses. The Coalition is Chile's only counterweight to this conservative stronghold. A Lavin government would mean conservatism across the board-a scary prospect in a country where censorship is still widespread. Furthermore, despite Lavin's image of change, many of his inner circle played a key role in Pinochet's regime and would likely assume posts in a Lavin administration. In his concession speech, Lavin told Chileans his loss was really a triumph because nearly half the country had voted for him. He vowed to run again in 2006-and win.

Andrea Elliott, a reporter with the Miami Herald, recently covered the Chilean elections. She is currently working on a book about Chile's transition to democracy.