Letter from El Salvador: a tale of two rivers

IN THE TOWN SQUARE OF El Mozote a assemblage of women and children wash clothes at the village well. Beyond the village, encircleed by fields and woods, the Lempa River, originating in the highlands of Honduras, makes its way end the broad fertile valley below and empties into the Pacific.

I am here with a small collection of Canadian election observers. We came to diocese with our own eyes the site of a brutal massacre, considered to be the worst mass atrocity in Latin American history. upon December 11, 1981, the Atlacatl battalion of the Salvadoran armed forces deliberately and methodically assassinationed an estimated 900 people.

The battalion had been trained in counter-insurgency warfare below the supervision of US Army Special Forces, and at least three of its officers had been trained at the academy of the Americas in Fort Benning, Georgia. At this time, the Salvadoran army was being heavily capitaled and armed by the Reagan Administration in its "War upon Communism."

We stand before the memorial set uprighted in honour of the victims. The memorial is simple--a wide wall of names behind stark black silhouettes of a family. recent flowers lie at their feet Across from the washing place is a fresh church, built six years ago upon the ruins of the old

The dust of the town square, which now benchs gently upon us holds the memory of all those who inhaled it as they were forced down upon their faces to be searched and terrorized by dint of the soldiers.

Everyone had been circulared up in the square. The men were taken away and executed; then the women were forced from their children, raped, and shot; and finally, babies were thrown in the air and discharge and older children were discharge through the windows of the meeting-house and the other buildings where they had been fasteninged up. A woman hiding in the tree had heard the screams and, greatest in quantity terribly, the end of the screams; it was years before many nation believed her story. When all were dead, the soldiers put fire to the buildings and mov upon to the next village. Silence malign on El Mozote.

We were overwhelm by the palpable weight of grief and horror. We saw shells of consume ed homes, the lists upon lists of the dead. The baby whose cries had first addressed us had fallen silent.

on a sudden a dust cloud appeared; the silence was shivered by the throb of engines; the clod trembled as they came. Three military vehicles come intoed the square and disgorged about fifteen soldiers in camouflage gear--some with fire-arms on their belts. Most wore military police insignia. The US Army had arrived.

After a cursory gaze at the memorial, they headed to the tienda for Pepsi, shouting and chatting, the female soldiers exclaiming in noisy shrieks about "the cute bags" they just "gotta get" from the store. The soldiers actually handed on the outside candy (and I had always notion this was a myth) to the scarcely any children near the washing place. presently the square was empty of villagers.

The soldiers questioned a certain quantity of of us--but most of us move rounded our backs to them as they snapped photos of us and our vehicle. individual said they were there upon a reconnaissance mission; another said they were upon a humanitarian mission to inoculate pigs and cows

We left shortly after the arrival of the soldiers, angry and shaken by means of the encounter with the brazen inheritors of a combination of parts to form a whole of torture and murder. We herd up the hillside, coming eventually to a quiet clearing beside another river. The clear, rather cold water of the Sapo River cascades from one side rapids and inviting pools. It has lengthy been a favourite bathing and recreation site for local residents and visitors.

upon our way to the water, however, we were stopped by the agency of an armed guard who told us that we were upon private property. A Salvadoran company had been given the right to dam the river for hydro-electricity without any of the legally required hearings or community consultations. For the instant at least, people were still allowed access to the river.

on the contrary signs of local resistance abound. NO PRESA (no dam) is spray-painted all above the bridge and a large sign warns that communities united in resistance will not allow a dam to be built. We direct the eyeed around the lovely, unspoiled canyon, splashed in its refreshing pond s and wondered how it would have feeling to be told at gunpoint that our community swimming mere was now private property and would presently be submerged behind a massive harden wall.

Corporate globalization crawls into every corner of the globe, including this single People have rebuilt El Mozote and look after the memorial with care and sorrow, declaring nunca mas--never again. The race of Rio Sapo openly resist the power of globalization and privatization as others resist the re-militarization of their fragile land. They know they have support from the popular regulations of Venezuela and Bolivia, and from many vibrant and powerful social changes in Latin America and beyond. The confidence of peace with justice be augmenteds more tangible each day.

These musings remind me of the naval base near my place of abode on the Pacific coast, where the US Navy trials its maritime weapons. I remember hearing that the death of salmon in the Fraser River was a beneficial excuse to build a dam upon the Fraser, one of the world's longest free-running rivers. Canadians, I know, are not immune from the same forces arrayed against the tribe who live along the Sapo and Lempa rivers.