I am taking advantage of being AP’s featured fellow to repost the english version of the web page my friends at EPAF have created for tomorrow’s mass action in Lima. For those of us that are not in Lima, we can show we care about the plight of the families of the disappeared in Perú (and all over the world for that matter) by sending in a picture holding an umbrella. Here is more information:
In Peru, thousands of families lost their loved ones as a result of forced disappearances during the 20-year internal armed conflict from 1980 to 2000. Today, both the state and society have a moral obligation to help the families search for the disappeared so that they can recover their remains and bury them with dignity.
On August 28th, Peruvians will gather together at 6:30 pm GMT and open umbrellas in the Plaza San Martín in Lima to draw attention to the unresolved issue of the disappeared. We invite you to take part, wherever you might be, by taking a picture of yourself with your umbrella and uploading it to the Open Up Your Umbrella! group on Flickr. (If you don’t have a Flickr account, you can always send your photo to openupyourumbrella@gmail.com, and we’ll upload it for you!)
Better yet, get a group of friends together with umbrellas and take a photo. Make it creative, artistic or just plain fun. The important thing is that you participate and pass the word on to others so that we can raise consciousness about this important issue and make the recovery of the disappeared in Peru a priority once and for all.
There are over 15,000 disappeared persons in Peru, and we hope to have a photo to represent each and everyone of them.
On August 28th at 6:30 pm GMT, open an umbrella, take a picture, and help the cause!
After a day of touring, Renzo and I made a stop at an NGO colloquially referred to as ANFASEP, translated as the National Association of Relatives of the Kidnapped, Arrested, and Disappeared in Peru. ANFASEP houses a memory museum that I had wanted to see for a while now, so I was really thrilled to go there and not only see the museum, but also meet with the President and founder of the organization. ANFASEP was founded in 1983 by a group of mother’s searching for their disappeared children-you may remember a picture of them I posted in the entry where I described my visit to the Yuyanapaq photo exhibit. It is based in Ayacucho, the region most affected by the internal armed conflict in Perú.
Upon arriving at ANFASEP, we were given a tour of the museum, which consisted of both artistic representations of the conflict, as well as photos, and a display of clothing and other personal effects belonging to the victims of violence. We were shown a graphic representation of the way in which suspected terrorists were tortured.
Exhibit in ANFASEP Museum
The next few pieces of art show representations of the war as it occurred both between the terrorists and the military, and the way in which civilians were caught up in the war between the two. Each box represents a different scene from the violence, the bottom level shows a time of peace.
Art in ANFASEP Museum
But the scenes in the upper part of the work show the horrific atrocities committed by Shining Path, including the rape.
Art in ANFASEP Museum
The following piece shows the atrocities committed by military, and seems to specifically reference the oven used to burn bodies of those prisoners detained at Los Cabitos military base.
Art in ANFASEP Museum
After the visit to the museum, we went downstairs to meet with the founding member, Angélica Mendoza (warmly referred to by EPAF staff as “Mama Angélica”) and the current President of the organization. While we waited for them to finish a meeting, I stared at a picture on the wall that was clearly from the earlier days of the group’s fight to find out what happened to their loved ones. I say this because today, their demand “Alive they were taken, Alive we want them back,” is no longer feasible.
An old sign
Senora Mendoza’s son was disappeared at the age of 19 and was taken to Las Cabitos. In our meeting with them, we discovered that the women (and men) of ANFASEP are now hoping to convert a piece of the land where the mass grave is located into a sanctuary, or shrine, to the memory of the disappeared. Although the picture didn’t come out that well, you may be able to get a sense of what they are advocating for.
Memory Sanctuary at Los Cabitos
Memory Sanctuary at Los Cabitos
Be it the Argentine Mother’s and Grandmother’s of the Plaza de Mayo, or the Israeli grandmothers who monitor checkpoints to make sure that Palestinians are not mistreated by Israeli soldiers, I am proud to see women worldwide are empowered and driven to action by their maternal instincts. Yet not only mothers, but parents all over this globe should have a special connection to the cause of the search for the disappeared. Last week, family members from Ayacucho joined EPAF in a special ceremony to receive the remains of their loved ones that had been discovered in the mass grave at Putis last year. Cu4rto Poder, a news program, filmed a special report on the ceremony and also interviewed the director of EPAF, José Pablo Baraybar. I want to quote what he said in his interview (and also post the interview in Spanish) because I think it really sums up the special appeal to parents. He says:
“One question. If someone had a son or daughter who goes out dancing one Friday night and by Sunday morning, has not returned, how would the parents feel at that moment? Now how do the parents of those children who disappeared over 25 years ago, and have still not returned, feel? Or are they different? Or is that we live in a country where the lives of some are worth more than the lives of others?”
In between a trip to the Yuyanapaq exhibit at the Museo de La Nacion and a viewing of the documentary Lucanamarca, this past week was marked by the arrival of three American filmmakers from D.C. They are here to begin the process of what will eventually become the making of a documentary film on EPAF’s work (you can check out their production company here). The most fascinating part of their visit so far for me is that it has really illuminated the challenges that EPAF is facing working in Peru at the moment. Why? Well, the filmmakers had planned their visit with the hope of filming an exhumation being carried out by the EPAF team. However, the day before they arrived, something came up and the public prosecutor decided to cancel the exhumation. Thus, the filmmakers were left without an exhumation to film and so quickly had to come up with an alternative plan.
This setback is illustrative of a greater trend of obstacles that EPAF has faced over the last year, and something I’ve become more and more aware of during my time here. Exhumations, and the complex and extensive process of interviewing family members, examining the remains, and holding clothing exhibitions are highly dependent on the Peru’s judicial system. Now, I know that last week I wrote about the importance of the victim’s achieving retributive justice and I still believe that this is of the utmost importance for true reconciliation to occur in the country. However, through my experience at EPAF, I’ve come to determine that transitional justice in Peru, when it comes to recovery of the disappeared, is much too grounded in retributive processes. This does not mean that restorative justice has been completely ignored. Indeed, the Peruvian Truth and Reconciliation Commission was lauded for their comprehensive report (which will celebrate its six-year anniversary in August) and some of their recommendations have been acted upon by the state.
Nor does it mean that cases of forced disappearances are being prosecuted in the courts here. What it does mean is that almost every detail of the exhumation process is dependent on the legal apparatus. In order to even reach the exhumation stage, a case must be filed with the public prosecutor in the appropriate region (usually where the family of the disappeared are living, or where they suspect the body to be buried). From this point on, the prosecutor must be involved at every step of the process-which includes being present at the exhumation itself. This requires a substantial amount of time on the part of the prosecutor. In addition, cases of forced disappearance frequently don’t have a clear defendant. Many of the forced disappearances were likely carried out by the military and today, the state claims that all records of who was stationed at what based during the time of the violence have been burned. In the end, these two factors often result in these types of cases not being treated as a priority by the judicial system, and there is no real alternative for but to go through that system.
This dynamic poses an obstacle to EPAF, as they are constantly forced to cancel, reschedule, and often only participate peripherally in exhumations. It inconvenienced the filmmakers who had arrived hoping to see EPAF in action. But the people it hurts the most are those whose voices tend not to be heard: the families of the missing. When the cases they file are not prioritized, it means an even longer wait for the recovery of their missing loved ones. Often, family members know exactly where the grave is located, yet cannot access the remains without the oversight of the judiciary. Part of my work this summer is trying to examine how this process could be reformed so as to work principally in favor of restorative justice for the victims, without precluding retributive justice in the future.
But getting back to the filmmakers. They ended up taking a trip to Ayacucho this weekend that I think will prove to be just as interesting as an exhumation. Zack went with them, so I’ll let you read more about it in his blog. In the meantime, below are some stunning photos from the Yuyanapaq exhibit I mentioned earlier.
My workspace at EPAF is situated directly underneath a wide set of cabinets holding hundreds of fichas, or records. Every morning when I arrive, I look up at them and read the names of the towns written on the folders. I frequently find myself gazing up at them during the day as well, contemplating their contents. The records form part of an important EPAF initiative called the “Memory Project,” and in the simplest of terms, that is what they are. Memories. Memories gathered by members of the EPAF team when dispatched to various locations to collect “anti-mortem data” from the loved ones of the disappeared. There, they interview relatives of the disappeared to try and answer the question “What were they like when they were alive?” This is not solely meant to be a symbolic act of recognition. Indeed, it serves an extremely practical purpose. If EPAF can discern what clothes the disappeared person was wearing, whether or not they had any dental work, or any broken bones in their lifetime, there is a much better chance that they will be able to make a positive match after the remains of the body have been analyzed.
When I think of the records above me, I can’t help but be overwhelmed by what they mean. In 2006-07, EPAF, along with other human rights organizations in Peru, calculated that there are close to 15, 000 disappeared persons in Peru. Yet, it is not until one has the opportunity to meet the families of disappeared in person that one really understand what that number looks like from the other side--the side of the victims. I recently had the chance to meet and listen to a few of the relatives speak at a ceremony commemorating the 17 years of fighting against impunity in the case of La Cantuta. For those that don’t know, the Cantuta case refers to a massacre carried out by a Peruvian special intelligence unit (known as Grupo Colina) under the orders of former President Fujimori. Seventeen years ago this Saturday, members of the Colina group kidnapped and assassinated a group of nine innocent students and one professor, all from the La Cantuta University on the outskirts of Lima. Last year, the remains of the disappeared were exhumed, examined by EPAF, and properly reburied with the presence of the relatives.
Unlike many relatives of the disappeared in Peru, the relatives of the La Cantuta victims have achieved a great sense of justice. This year, Fujimori was tried for the massacre, was found guilty, and was sentenced to 25 years in jail (the maximum sentence allotted within the Peruvian penal system). Other members of the Colina group have also been brought to justice. Yet this has not made the victims any less vocal about their experiences, nor have they backed away from the call for justice. I was particularly struck listening to one man, representing the families of victims from another case, as he pointed to the family members of La Cantuta as a great hope for relatives of the missing all over the country. I immediately thought of those whose records and memories continue to habit the shelves above my desk.
The general mood of the commemoration was a positive one, and for this reason, I am going to post a fun video from one of the musical acts that performed. Listen closely, even non-Spanish speakers might catch some of the broader social injustices that these guys are referring to.
As any frequent traveler knows, taking a taxi to reach your desired destination can be simultaneously terrifying and rewarding. Terrifying because of the danger one faces when getting into a vehicle with a stranger in a city with little to non-existent traffic laws, and rewarding because it is often a way to learn about what the average person is thinking about in a place where most of your interactions are generally not with the average citizen.
I’ve been fairly lucky so far with my taxis here in Lima. There was one gentleman-a large, mustachioed man hunched over the steering wheel-who proceeded to tell Zack and I of his days in the national police, before he became a taxi driver. This was all well and good until he began to explain the exact torture methods he used to use to get purchasers of black-market objects to tell him where they bought them. Needless to say, I left the car quite disturbed and stunned.
But last Friday night I had an unexpectedly fascinating taxi ride home. After dropping off my friends, the driver and I began to talk-mostly about women’s volleyball in Perú. I asked him where he was from, to which he replied “Amazonas.” “Where in Amazonas?” He answered, “Bagua.” As many of you know from my other blogs, Bagua is the site of a recent violent confrontation between residents from the Amazon region (mainly indigenous) and the national security forces. The government, after suspending the laws that were being contested, has now sent its prime minister to negotiate with the representatives of the protest groups and of the indigenous groups. So of course, my first question was in reference to whether he thought they might reach and agreement. My driver responded, “Maybe, its possible. But it doesn’t matter because things will never change.” We then proceeded to talk about the situation and I told him a bit about EPAF and how they had at one point considered going to Bagua to analyze and investigate the remains of the dead.
An underlying sense of despondency permeated his statements, including those about the events in Bagua. “We may never know how many protestors were killed.” However, the one glimmer of hope, in his perspective, is the same phenomenon that is causing huge inconveniences for the rest of the country. “Everyone has to rise up at the same time, it’s the only way they will listen.”
This past weekend, the Office of the Ombudsmen released a report that disputed the notion that there are still missing persons in Bagua. While there are still reasons to doubt the veracity of numbers-some do not match up with the testimonies given by bystanders or other protestors-it seems unlikely that a government-appointed investigatory commission will discover anything new in the region. Yet, I think that when living in the bubble that is Lima, it is important to be aware of the aforementioned sense of despondency that permeates a number of marginalized regions, groups, and mentalities around the country. This is particularly key for understanding the origin of the national strikes that are taking place in Peru at this very moment.
A lot has happened here in Peru since my last blog entry, and I unfortunately had to give up on trying to post up-to-the minute news analysis. What follows are a few thoughts about the last week or so here in Peru.
When I posted my first blog entry, I thought to myself “maybe this is too basic, everyone knows about memory and why it’s important.” But I decided to post it anyways just to set the stage for the work I would be doing here in Peru. And now, in the aftermath of a violent confrontation between indigenous groups in Bagua and police officers, I am again reminded of the importance of memory. Indeed, some aspects of history appear to be repeating themselves in Peru these days. News from Bagua, located in the northeast of Peru, had been grim since June 4th when violent clashes between the police and civilians erupted. A bit of background: over the last two months, protestors from the Bagua province have been blockading roads and demonstrating against the Peruvian government’s plans to open up Amazonian land for private energy projects. The confrontation turned violent when both Peruvian police officers and civilians perished in the battle that ensued between the police and protestors.
On my walk to work on Monday, a few days after the violence, I passed at least four newsstands where people from the neighborhood gather every morning to read the headlines. I had followed the news from Bagua all weekend, paying special attention to the reports coming for the Human Rights Coordinator’s Office, and so was surprised to see that almost all of the headlines focused solely on the dead police officers. Those that did mention civilians at all either showed pictures of angry “nativos” holding spears or screamed “Bestias!” They were clearly referring to the protesters. The government rhetoric they echoed was harsh and drew direct comparisons between the protesters and the Shining Path. Human rights workers were skeptical that the number of civilian deaths reported by the government was accurate. Reports began to surface from activists working in Bagua that the police were attempting to dispose of the bodies of dead civilians by either burning them or throwing them in the river. It was then that I was reminded of the importance of memory. If these reports turn out to be true, then history will indeed be repeating itself.
And then, in the midst of all of the news Zack and I, as well seven other members of the EPAF, team left for Abancay, Apurímac. We were invited to accompany EPAF in Abancay while they carried out a workshop to instruct various elements of the judicial apparatus in Apurímac in how to carry out comprehensive forensic investigations, particularly in cases of forced disappearances or mass graves. We flew into Cusco and then drove about three hours to Abancay. The drive was spectacular-a winding road led us up and down mountain after mountain in zig-zags, all the while with colossal snow-capped summits hovering in the distance. When we arrived, we were confronted with a very different reality than that which we experienced in Lima. The town, although located in a completely different part of the country, exuded much more solidarity with the Amazonian protesters then one might have expected from a city in the highlands. This phenomenon played out on our third day when the city, in solidarity with the rest of the country, went on strike for the majority of the day. Instead of opening their shops or going to the office, people took to the streets in peaceful marches demanding rights for those fighting against government decrees to exploit the Amazon.
We decided to cancel the public forum that was supposed to be held that night out of fear that after a long day of protests, not many people would be interested in attending. However, we did still hold the three-day training and this ended up being a fascinating experience. Not only did I have a chance to learn more about EPAF’s work in the field of forensics, but I also was able to participate in some of the interactive portions of the workshop geared at giving the public prosecutors and judges an experience in the field. We joked that our job-entering a crime scene, examining evidence, and discovering bodies-was much like the U.S. television show CSI. Indeed, when exhuming a mock mass grave containing the fake bodies of a family, supposedly tortured, killed and buried by military officials in 1994, joking is really all you can do to keep it together.
Public prosecutors examine a mock mass grave at EPAF training workshop in Abancay
Public prosecutors examine a mock mass grave at EPAF training workshop in Abancay
Although each subject probably deserves its own blog entry, the juxtaposition of the events in Bagua and EPAF’s training in Abancay was a poignant reminder of the responsibility we have to remember the events of the past, particularly on a national level. Unfortunately, symbolic manifestations that recognize the past cannot address the severe economic imbalance and social contusions that some regions of the country continue to experience. This is where EPAF can play a role. Not only are they training officials for the tactical end of improving criminal investigations, and thus strengthening the judicial system, but also helping them to recognize the human rights violations that occurred in a population that has had very little access to the legal system. EPAF also provides a way to support the families of those that were disappeared during the conflict. They do this by, as my colleague Carmen Rosa explained, finding hidden graves, exhuming them, identifying the victims with a number of comprehensive tools, and finally, transferring them from the status of a “disappeared person” to a real person. A person with an identity, a story, and a family that has been wondering what happened for the last twenty years.
Here is a short clip of the protests in Abancay, for Bagua:
Jessica is currently a graduate student at the Fletcher School with a focus on Conflict Resolution and International Negotiation. She is specifically interested in issues of peace-building, conflict transformation, and processes of reconciliation. Prior to coming to Fletcher, she worked at the Latin America Program of the Woodrow Wilson Center in Washington D.C. While at the Wilson Center, she helped to cultivate programming on the politics of Bolivia with a specific interest the areas of indigenous politics and political inclusion. During her time at the Center, she traveled to both Peru and Bolivia, and completed a semester-long introductory Quechua class. She also coordinated projects on citizen security and the geopolitics of energy. Read more...
