Peace in Huarapite, but no Justice 27 years later

By April of 1984, the insurgent, Shining Path (Sendero Luminoso) was working heavily in the rural country side of Ayacucho to win converts by talk or physicality to support their Maoist-Socialist revolution. They sought to unite the poor farmers of the Andes Mountains by giving them someone to blame for their plight in life; the culpability they said lay with the government, so the Shining Path initiated a campaign that would become an illustration of three fold violence. The Path began by getting rid of local elected officials, not by voting them out of office, but by killing them. It really became a “You are either with us or against us sort of mentality.” Anyone thought to be siding with the government or military, or to be counter revolutionary was killed. This was usually done publically to instill fear.

On April 5, 1984 a military vehicle was attacked by a group of the Shining Path rebels in the District of Chiara. As a result two of the soldiers died. My host family also told me about this incident. My host mom remembers the day this happened. She is from a nearby pueblo. She said the Shining Path was occupying houses that had been abandoned near the main road. The original occupants had fled the violence of Ayacucho for Lima, the capital. She and her brother were tending the cattle and sheep in a field and heard a lot of what went down. It is rumored that the Shining Path had booby trapped the road with dynamite, and lie in wait. One of the survivors of the attack made it to a local military base, and then finally to Ayacucho proper to report the attack and death of his companeros. Ayacucho immediately sent detachments of soldiers to chase the rebels. When the soldiers arrived at the site of the attack, and followed the traces of the fleeing rebels they encountered a local youth along the way who directs them toward the route the fleeing rebels took. Instead of pursuing them via this youth’s advice, the soldiers headed toward a small pueblo in the district of Chiara, Niño Jesùs, Huarapite. This is located about 15 minutes from my host mothers pueblo of Remiapata. Upon arriving in Huarapite the soldiers began to kill anything that stood in their way. They killed parents in front of their minor children and raped teenagers. The military had no justification for killing any of these people. As a result of this massacre, 26 people were killed, two wounded by gunfire and many children were orphaned who were under the age of 10. Some of whom died from starvation days later. After wiping out the population the military went to the community of Añaycancha, near Huarapite, where they apparently were going to commit the same acts, but thanks to the timely intervention of a police contingent, the population was saved.

In April of 2010, with the testimony of witnesses, a team of Peruvian forensic experts, accompanied by lawyers and mental health experts from Paz y Esperanza were able to uncover 19 bodies buried in mass graves in 3 different sites in Huarapite.

So why do I write about this tragic and diabolical event that took place in a rural mountain community 27 years ago? I am writing about it because I am now a part of the story of Huarapite. I am a part of this story because of a thing called accompaniment. The family and friends of Huarapite waited 27 years for peace, and on April 5, 2011, fifteen of the twenty-six families got it. They were able to claim the “restos” or remains of their loved ones from the State of Peru, and lay them to rest in the Niño Jesùs, Huarapite cemetery. The local cemetery was actually the site of one of the mass graves. Three more families, continue to wait for the results of DNA testing, as the final three “restos” had to be sent to Lima for a more significant identification process. One thing that these families still wait for, even after the peace of laying their loved ones to rest in a dignified manner is JUSTICE. They wait for the news that the soldiers responsible for the deaths of their loved ones have been identified and captured.

Accompaniment is why I write this story. In the Old Testament, Ruth (vs 16-17) captures the ideology of accompaniament in a way that I still cannot. ¨Ruth replied to Naomi, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. 17 Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.¨ Walking alongside of friends and neighbors, sometimes strangers in acts of solidarity. I sat with these men and women as they stood in the hallway of the Fiscalia de la Nacion (the forensics lab) of Ayacucho and witnessed the scientists gently and respectfully transfer their loved ones remains (bones, but also some personal artifacts like remnants of clothing, sandals, a water bottle) from brown paper sacks and bread boxes that had been carefully labeled to small, white, undersized coffins. Each coffin was labeled with the name of the deceased.

Leonarda was her name. She was one of the family members bearing witness to the transferral of the remains. She is 45 now. She was 18 when her mother Mercedes was killed. As the oldest she was left to care for her brothers and sisters. One of her sisters was standing in front of me as they placed Mercedes remains in the small, white, undersized casket. Leonarda’s sister was 1 year old when her mother died. The young woman, now 26, crumbled at my feet as they placed the remains in the coffin, Leonarda burst into tears. My mental health teammates Jyudy and Milagros attended to Leonarda’s sister, and I sat in a chair next to Leonarda, holding her hand while she cried on my shoulder, and tried to catch her breath. “I feel so mixed up. I am so glad this day is finally here, but yet there is still no justice for my mother or the others” she said. There wasn't really anything to DO, it was more about BEING there, a presence. It was alot like my nights as a chaplain in the emergency rooms and trauma centers of Louisville, KY and Winston-Salem, NC. I couldn´t take away Leonarda´s pain, but i made space that she had waited 27years for. The space to begin greiving, in whole new ways over her mother´s unjustifiable death. The air was so thick with anticipation and sadness that it could have been cut with a knife. This sadness, anger, and grief had been suppressed for 27years.

Other parts of the two day Sepillo Digno included a mass lead by a Catholic Priest at the main Cathedral in Ayacucho. The priest was the grandson of Seminario Vasquez Cisneros, one of the 15 victims laid to rest that day. There was also a public velario or wake outside of the main cathedral. On the 5th of April, the anniversary of the massacre, the small, white, undersized coffins were loaded into 3 Toyota pick- up trucks, and joined by five mini vans full of family, friends, and supporters from Paz y Esperanza, Apoyo por la Paz, Cruz Roja Peru, and other organizations. This began the caravan that made the 3 ½ hour trek to Huarapite. Each vehicle was adorned with a white flag of peace. We stopped along the way for bathroom breaks aue natural and to snack on corn, potatoes, and cheese that the women had packed. The 15 men and women of Huarapite were on their way home. “This time with dignity, not like animals,” one family member said.

Halfway up the caravan stopped in Condorcoccha, along the way, to reroute a part of the caravan. One of the mini vans or combis was loaded with the family members of 2 of the fifteen victims and their small, white. undersized caskets. It was directed to Cangallo, which is where they are from. 27 years ago these two people had come to Huarapite to make business deals and to trade. They came to buy and sell. They never left Huarapite alive. April 5, 2011 they returned to Cangallo with the respect and prayers of friends and family, and accompanied by the ones that they left behind 27 yrs ago.

When the caravan arrived in Huarapite it was greeted by a throng of the citizenry who were unable to travel. In many ways it was like a mixed emotion homecoming. People held pictures of the deceased. There were mourners of all ages. They had gathered in front of the rural cathedral, made of adobe brick. The 13 small, white, undersized coffins were laid in front of the cathedral on the lean to, previously lined with tables. Another mass was held, again led by the grandson of Seminaro Vasquez Cisneros. This time he was more direct and to the point in his sermon, delivered as rain began to fall from the heavens, and intermingled amongst the Catholic rituals. He gave thanks for the peace of burial, but demanded justice for the deaths of the 26 victims of Huarapite. He spoke of the forgotten nature of Andean pueblos like Huarapite, and how they were only remembered during election campaigns when candidates tried to buy their votes with gifts. The priest demanded that the people begin to, if they hadn’t already, to recognize their humanity and worth, and how the death of these 13 people spit in the face of it all.

A short time later, friends and families of each fallen member of Huarapite, hoisted the small, white, undersized coffins on their shoulders, and took turns carrying their family, friends, and neighbors to their final resting place on the half mile procession to the cemetery, where in the rain, the caskets were interred in the new high-rise graves constructed in the cemetery.

Huarapite, from its beginnings to the present has had no basic services such as electricity, potable water, and sewage. These shortcomings are recurrent factors in many of the Andean pueblos. In many ways this small, rural, Andean community still lives the lifestyle of 27 years earlier relying on animal husbandry, agriculture (corn and potatoes), as well as the camaraderie and community that they have built to survive.

**I found out that Seminario Vasquez Cisneros, one of the fifteen victims of the Huarapite Massacre, was the uncle of my host grandmother, making her his neice.**