Of all the rural communities that I have visited so far with EPAF, Huamanquiquia has left one the deepest imprints in my memory, due to the warmth with which we were welcomed. No doubt this was in large part because of Renzo’s (a historian with EPAF’s memory area) presence among our group. He lived in Huamanquiquia for three months while doing fieldwork for his thesis a few years back, and he is treated like family any time he returns.

Huamanquiquia lies in the province of Víctor Fajardo, in Ayacucho. This area was immensely affected by the internal armed conflict, as it is where the Shining Path first began its activities. The community is surrounded by towering mountains; added to the seemingly never-ending hours of travelling on treacherous roads needed to reach it, I could not help but be overpowered by a sense of isolation upon our arrival. Isolation may be quaint and awe-inspiring when you are on a brief visit, but when your community is caught in a dirty war between insurgent groups and the armed forces, neither of whom are afraid to use cruelty and kill to defeat the other, I imagine that isolation can only amplify the distress felt.

Unsurprisingly, the recent history of Huamanquiquia has been marked by the political violence, and its sequels are omnipresent, as any community member will tell you. Two horrific events are seared into the local memory: the detention and murder of more than 25 campesinos by the military in 1984, otherwise known as the Huamanquiquia case, and the massacre of 18 campesinos by members of the Shining Path in 1992.

A few weeks ago, Huamanquiquia made the local news because new exhumations were about to take place, meaning that 27 years after the 1984 executions, the families of some of the victims would finally able to bury the remains of their loved ones. From what I understand, these new exhumations are the result of the recent extradition of Telmo Hurtado from the United States. Hurtado is currently on trial for his direct responsibility in the death of 69 individuals from the Ayacuchan community of Accomarca in August of 1985. He is also the presumed author of the 1984 massacre in Huamanquiquia.

While this is undeniably good news, it got me thinking about all the widows and orphans we met in Huamanquiquia, and the conditions they live in. I wondered if recuperating the remains would ever be enough to close the circle of suffering they find themselves in. This inspired to re-visit the material I filmed in Huamanquiquia back in June to make a short video. It is an attempt to portray the current situation in Huamanquiquia, and by extension the situation of countless post-communities in Peru, through the testimony of a local victim’s representative.

Huamanquiquia, Sacsamarca and Hualla. These are the names of the three communities of the Pampas-Qaracha region of Ayacucho that I visited that week, along with EPAF staff and a delegation of Canadian professors from the University of Northern British Columbia. In prevision of a future collaboration between UNBC and EPAF, the professors were there to learn about the history of the armed conflict in the region, as well as obtain a better understanding of the current post-conflict situation in the different communities.

Musical performers in Huamanquiquia

Despite the long hours of driving separating them, and their distinctive clothing and musical styles, Huamanquiquia, Sacsamarca and Hualla have a lot in common. In fact, like the majority of conflict-affected communities in Peru—many of which are to be found in this region as it was the main location of the confrontation between the Shining Path, the Peruvian Armed Forces, and self-defence groups—they share similarities that far outweigh their differences.

Huamanquiquia locals

The three communities are part of an on-going  EPAF project to empower the relatives of the disappeared to become the main promoters of the search for their loved ones, through the recuperation of memory, psychosocial counselling, and support and juridical assistance in the organization of associations of victims’ relatives. One of the main reasons for our visit was to sign agreements with local authorities to formalize the collaboration between EPAF each of the communities.

Sunset in Sacsamarca

As I am becoming more immersed in this work and the more of these communities I visit, certain patterns are becoming hard to miss. This time around, I was particularly struck by two elements that came up again and again, whether in official speeches and discussions or in conversations with local people. First was how much people were moved by the interest showed by outsiders—whether they EPAF staff or visiting Canadian professors—in learning about their stories.

Sacsamarca locals

These are remote, extremely isolated communities that were deeply wounded by the internal conflict, and they have had to live with the weight of their memories ever since. The overwhelming impression I got was that communities feeling abandoned—abandoned by the State, and abandoned by a Peruvian society that cares little about the horrors that took place in this part of the country during the 1980s and 1990s. But also of people feeling trapped with their memories, their suffering and their wounds—and being thankful for any kind of outlet. Memory can be a burden as much as a liberation, and I have a feeling that some level of external recognition is crucial in the transition from one to the other.

Huamanquiquia locals and EPAF

The second thread that seemed to crop up again and again was that of the various linkages between the history of violence and the present difficulties in the communities. Local people clearly understand their present as the logical continuation of the past, and many associate their current state of poverty as the consequence of the violence suffered in the 1980s and 1990s. For instance, people in Hualla repeatedly emphasized the progress achieved by the community before the conflict.  When violence came, it was reduced to a fraction of its population when the majority had to flee to cities—Huamanga, Ica, Lima—to preserve their lives.

Woman watching EPAF staff at work

The fact that people themselves associate what I would broadly call “development” issues with their memories and lived experiences of the violence has many possible implications, which I will be sure to take up in future posts. For now, I will focus on one:  the limits of memory and the true meaning of justice. What does justice mean for the relatives of victims of enforced disappearance? Surely, establishing the truth over what happened and recuperating the remains of their deceased loved ones is a step in the right direction.

Members of AFAVIPOSS

But what happens after the truth has been established, after the dead have been returned and properly buried? The collective memory of what happened may live on, but the people directly affected by the violence still remain as poor and marginalized from society, preventing any real possibility of a full reconciliation. This directly feeds into questions over reparations for the violence and losses suffered. What sort of reparation is appropriate in such cases? What is the responsibility of the government in this matter? I will address this issue in my next post, as I believe it is quite fitting with what I have witnessed on this recent trip, but also with recent events in Peru.

Welcome to Sacsamarca

Before ending this post, I need to mention the incredible way we were welcomed in Huamanquiquia, Sacsamarca and Hualla. EPAF has managed to build a relationship of trust and respect with these communities, and this was evidenced by the extremely warm welcome we received. It is difficult to express the emotion felt after hours spent travelling on hair-raising roads to find an entire community waiting in the middle of the road to welcome your group with banners, music, and flowers. The hospitality of the people was truly humbling, and left many of us without the words to express our gratitude.

Post-ceremony group shot in Huamanquiquia

There would be much more for me to say about this trip to Ayacucho, but in the interest of keeping this post short I will simply say: “Tupananchikkama, Ayacucho!” (Quechua for see you soon, Ayacucho!)

Group pose at the highest pass of the trip

The rest of my photos of Ayacucho are available on my Flickr set.