Children of one of the victims looking into what is now their father’s coffin. They are accompanied by widows from the area. CrackGuaTemalan anti-guerrilla troops in formation. Additional Photos by and implemented for external consumption. A civilian president, Vinicio Cerezo, began a five-year term in early 1986. Two- and-a-half years later, Cerezo’s plans are clear: to model his Christian Democrat party after Mexico’s ruling PRI, ignoring the hopes and needs of the majority that elected him. He has no plans to enact land reform nor to restore confiscated Indian lands, to enforce the minimum wage, to dismantle model villages and civilian patrols, nor to mount effective campaigns against illiteracy, hunger and disease. Each time an important foreign guest has visited Guatemala, Cerezo has promised, seven times in writing, to form a commission to investigate the 40,000 cases of disappeared persons; he continues to sidestep the issue and there is still no investigation. Nor did Cerezo use the electoral mandate he received to begin reining in the power of the military, the real rulers of Guatemala. Disappearances continue, as do political assassinations—at levels, say human rights observers, comparable to those during the military dictatorships that Villagers look on while the widow who insisted on the exhumations puts the lid on the simple pine box holding her husband’s remains. have traditionally governed this agriculturally rich land of eight million people. The army’s counterinsurgency war has waged two recent offensives against guerrilla fighters that were the most intensive of the last 28 years, leaving primarily civilian victims and making more women, like Juana Calachij, widows. The trek up the mountains was tiring. We played ruse after ruse on the doctor, who frequently said she would go no further. The site was “just past the crest” of the hill. There would always be another hill beyond. Once at the cornfield where the bodies were buried, the women watched in pain while the holes were opened. Large stones had been thrown on top of the five victims’ bodies because village dogs had been scavaging the remains. The women’s grief and our anguish increased as we were able to identify skeletal remains. The widows remembered the clothes their spouses wore on the night four years ago when they were kidnapped from their homes. Despite the passage of time, some of their clothes were still distinguishable, as were their sandals and belts. We found masses of hair and the rope with which many had been “ handcuffed” behind their backs. As pieces of bodies were collected and placed in a simple wooden box and in gunny sacks, which were all the poorest could afford, to carry the remains away, the manner of death could also be veri-» tied: some had been decapitated with machetes and some had been shot in the head. Lifting what remained of the pants, waist, legs and feet of one of the victims to place them in a gunny sack, I had to move gently and gingerly because the pants material was so rotted. My slow motions also reflected the respect I felt for what was left of a man who had walked on those legs; who had worked the land, played, made love, hiked to get firewood and was forced to take his final steps to that ditch which he most likely was obliged to dig. As soon as the doctor finished her work and the judge signed the papers, they left the area. The campesinos remained behind for a short meeting. Before beginning, they had to ask one of the witnesses to leave: he was the son of one of Statue near Quetzaltenango of Tecun Uman, a Maya-Quiche hero. the assassins and the rest were afraid to speak in his presence. The meeting proved to be the most important part of the day, as the people reminded each other of why they had gone to such lengths and run great risks to insist on the exhumation. They want the guilty to be brought to justice. They want the remains buried in the town cemetery so that their loved ones can have a decent burial and so that all the townsfolk will know what things can be accomplished when someone takes the initiative and others support her. People coming together is always a political act, especially so in this country where the repression against the poor is most intense for doing precisely that. Postscript: At the time of this writing, U.S. Secretary of State George Shultz is being wined and dined in Guatemala because he brought $75 million in economic support funds to prop up the latest version of the system that caused the women I met to be widows. On August 29, 1988, Juana Calachij was the victim of a kidnapping attempt by the man she accuses of having killed her husband. Fortunately, people coming along the same mountain path prevented further tragedy. However, the accused is free. He has friends in the military because of his position as head of the local civil patrol. As pieces of bodies were collected and placed in a simple wooden box and in gunny sacks to carry away the remains, the manner of death could also be verified: some had been decapitated with machetes and some had been shot in the head. Maria Chinchilla, a teacher, was killed in a demonstration against Guatemala's 1930s-‘40s Ubico dictatatorship, which set the pattern for the many military governments to follow. Her name symbolizes the Guatemalan people’s desire for true democracy. For obvious reasons, the true author of this article has used a pseudonym. President Cerezo has promised seven times in writing to form a commission to investigate the 40,000 cases of disappeared persons; he continues to sidestep the issue and there is still no investigation. Larry Boyd is a photographer from Portland who has lived for several years in Central America. Clinton St. Quarterly—Fall/Winter 1988 17
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