UVDg# ^NEW^ °^C1VO s the plane to San Salvador banks over the lush volcano- Z A pocked landscape, the first-time visitor apprehensively imagines the world he is about to step into. Pictures of buzzards picking their way through human body dumps, death squads brandishing machine guns and speeding through sleepy towns in jeeps, jostle the mind with the other images that have become our stereotype of the tragedy in Central America. Yet on the taxi drive from the airport over the mountains to the capital things appear quiet. The excruciating poverty is still visible but the revolution and civil war that had pushed El Salvador to the brink only a few years ago seem remote. story and ph°l °s S Matt Worker San Salvador is a city of extremes—tin and cardboard shanties line the steep slopes of the barranca (ravine) that skirts the “Metro Center,” a sprawling air-conditioned mall complete with supermarkets and a McDonalds. Across town the public market offers a sharp contrast—a labyrinth of plastic covered stalls where queso fresco (soft country cheese) is stacked up next to baskets of live iguanas, freshly butchered pigs and turtle eggs. The flies, smells and crush of people in the intense wet heat are almost overwhelming. Wandering through both markets it is easy to forget this is a country at war with itself. The constant drone of helicopters and truckloads of troops are everywhere. Periodically, the bombing of the countryside can be heard in the city, but it easily passes for thunder. But the war is distant. The brutally chaotic days of death squads and massacres by uniformed troops have given way to something new. After six years in the spotlight of North American media and nearly $2 billion in U.S. aid and advice, the Salvadoran military has learned how to conduct a war without getting on the wrong side of world opinion. At the same time, the military’s control of El Salvador’s “democratic" government and of the civilian population seems more far-reaching than ever. The war is clearly not over; both sides admit it is stalemated. But its character has changed dramatically. It is no longer solely a military conflict. k Inside l \ / l ariona, the national men’s prison, J .V J L offers insights into the shifting sands of the civil war. On the road out of town to the Guazapa Volcano, its cement walls and military guards make it look not unlike a factory in this armed nation. On visiting days its tall metal gates are jammed with relatives pf the inmates lining up with baskets of food, live chickens and pupusas —the omnipresent Salvadoran staple somewhere between a ravioli and a tamale. Despite a spectacular attack/breakout by the guerrillas last spring, security at Mariona seems lax. Gatekeepers confiscate cameras and tape-recorders, but let the families’ food baskets and care packages inside basically intact. Inside, the prison feels more like a Kasbah than a penal institution. Prisoners sell everything from handmade toys and baskets to cigarettes and pupusas. This swirling free market is operated from little Inside, the prison feels more like a Kasbah than a penal institution. Prisoners sell everythingfrom handmade toys and baskets to cigarettes and pupusas. stalls, from blankets stretched out on the ground, or just out of grimy pockets. This doesn't prepare the visitor for the political prisoners’ cell block, which stands apart from the common prisoners’ free trade zone. A banner proclaims the committee of political prisoners —COPPES —which runs the cell block. Surprisingly formal inmates usher guests into the committee’s offices. COPPES was formed several years ago and through a bitter series of hunger strikes won administrative control, which is now so complete that prison guards are no longer allowed inside. These political prisoners operate their own medical clinic and kitchen. They teach classes ranging from basic literacy through Marxist political theory. They maintain their own code of discipline and field a soccer team, Equipo Faribundo Marti, currently tops in the prison league. The prison director appreciates the orderly side of COPPES’ organizing efforts. He hopes to encourage the common prisoners to organize themselves along the same lines, though he admits he’s not sure, how to ins till the “ social consciousness" that seems to be the essential ingredient; Mariona is a microcosm —in the same way COPPES has struggled to carve out a liberated zone against the wishes of the prison authorities, much of the civilian population of El Salvador has organized to create a small opening for change in a system dominated by a small oligarchy for 200 years. This domination has taken on a democratic face in the last two years, and even assuming the best of President Jose Napoleon Duarte’s intentions, the country is still controlled by the oligarchy's long-term partner, the military. Mariona figures prominently as a link in the chain that imprisons the rest of Salvadoran society. Today, in the strange arithmetically cold logic of body counts, things do appear to be improving. Instead of the monthly tabulations of literally hundreds of corpses that would turn up in the streets or in body dumps like El Playon during the early eighties, deliberate killClinton St. Quarterly 25
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