La Búsqueda de la Justicia (y su definición, porfa)

La Búsqueda de la Justicia (y su definición, porfa) 

The Search for Justice (and its definition, please) 

Content Warning: Genocide, Violence, Sexual Violence 

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As our microbus turned the corner leaving the office of ADIVIMA (The Association for the Integral Development of the Victims of Violence in las Verapaces, Maya Achí), the ninety-two year old man squeezed beside me removed his large sombrero for several minutes. The movement directed my attention toward the subject of his chosen form of homage: a wall of memory honoring victims of the massacre in Río Negro, Rabinal, located in the department of Baja Verapaz. He said nothing, simply returned his hat to his head after we reached the end of the memorial. All I could think about was how many times he has likely passed the memorial, and that I have no doubt that each time his hat would be lifted. I wondered how many of his family members, friends, and acquaintances he lost in the 36-year internal armed conflict. And as we wound around lush, green mountains toward our destination, I thought about my own family, my grandfather, about loss and grief, and la búsqueda de justicia. 

“Un ciclista pasa frente a un mural con fotografías de víctimas de la masacre de Río Negro a las afueras del panteón de Rabinal, Guatemala. Foto AP” – Source: La Jornada, Baja California 

This brief moment was part of a recent accompaniment trip, or salida, in which I had the opportunity to accompany ADIVIMA and a group of about 25 Maya Achí peoples from Rabinal, Baja Verapaz to Cobán, Alta Verapaz for an annual gathering of more than 250 people involved in what is now recognized as the largest case of forced disappearances in Latin America. Before diving more deeply into this encuentro (conference), I want to take a step back and provide a brief historical context, as massacres and forced disappearances do not arise out of nowhere. 

The Internal Armed Conflict and its Historical Roots 

With the caveat that I am nowhere near an expert on the matter, and with the crucial recognition that a genuine historical perspective would include a multitude of events which transpired centuries before the point in which I begin, I hope that the following overview of events will help provide context to what you will read in my friends and family letters over the next several months. 

The arrival of the Spaniards lead by Pedro de Alvarado in the 1500s was a genocide of its own, killing and plundering the more than 25 distinct Mayan civilizations of current day Guatemala. Much of the truth in this history has been erased throughout processes of colonization, genocide, westernization, etc., but any understanding of more recent Guatemalan history, and especially of the atrocities that transpired during the internal armed conflict, must be viewed through the lens of this history, and not simply as isolated events. After “independence” from Spain (I use quotation marks when referring to independence as it always is a worthwhile question to consider: independence for whom?) in 1821, the country was led by a series of dictators interested in protecting their own interests and, in exchange for support from the United States, the interests of U.S. industry, at this time primarily represented through ties to the United Fruit Company (UFCO). In 1944, university students, teachers, and union leaders took to the streets in protest of then dictator, Jorge Ubico. In what was clearly a more complicated moment in history than I have time to go into at this moment, the first democratically elected president, Juan José Arévalo Bermejo took power and thus began what is now referred to as the “10 years of Spring.” 

Political and social changes implemented by Arévalo and his successor, Jacobo Arbez began to threaten the power of elite land owners in Guatemala and their US corporate and political counterparts. In June of 1954, capitalizing off of existing rhetoric and developing fear of communism, the United States, primarily supported by the CIA and the UFCO, designed and executed a coup d’état to overthrow Jacobo Árbenz. A series of events, including additional coups, increased militarization, propaganda, and the centralization of power in the hands of military dictators lead the way to the development of an armed resistance movement. What transpired in the years between 1960 and 1996 is a complete and utter atrocity: a brutal, 36-year war that left 200,000 people dead, of which more than 85% were indigenous, 45,000 people forcibly disappeared, and still others displaced, sexually abused, and deeply impacted in ways words will never sufficiently describe. (If you’d like a bit more economic-political analysis on the Guatemalan genocide and related events, check out this blog entry written earlier this year by my NISGUA colleague Claire Bransky.) 

CREOMPAZ, Organized Action, and an Accompaniment 

Ironically, what is now a United Nations Peacekeeper training center known as CREOMPAZ (Regional Training Command for Peacekeeping Operations), was once a military base and covertly operated detention center where people were tortured, executed, and sexually assaulted. In 2012, in statements given by witnesses in the Plan de Sanchez massacre trial, the existence of mass graves within this military base came to light. Since 2012, four mass graves including more than 550 human remains have been discovered through a series of exhumations led by a team of forensic scientists and supporting survivor organizations. These bodies of children, women and men belong to people who were disappeared from several Mayan communities in the departments of Alta and Baja Verapaz. 

Photograph from the Community Museum of Historical Memory, founded by ADIVIMA. Source: Agencia EFE 

These communities, including Plan de Sánchez, Pambach, Río Negro, Caserío Chituj, Barrio San Sebastían, Chisec, Chicoyogüito, and Chiacal, suffered their own unique stories of invasion, cooptation, massacre, forced disappearance, and overall destruction of families, ways of life, land and agricultural resources, culture, and social cohesion during the late 1970s and early 1980s. In January of 2016, 14 former military officials were arrested for their involvement in the forced disappearances related to uncovered evidence found in CREOMPAZ and testimonies given by family members of these disappeared. Later in 2016, 8 of these 14 were indicted and placed in pretrial detention. Since the indictment, however, the case has remained more or less stagnant due to a combination of under resourced state-investigative bodies, convoluted legal mechanisms often used to delay trial proceedings, and questionable rulings by the presiding judge. 

In the gathering we accompanied in November, three of the seven Mayan communities mentioned above (speaking three separate Mayan languages), were represented, along with representatives and lawyers from supporting organizations, and attorneys from the Ministerio Público (akin to what in the United States is the Attorney General’s Office). The incredible commitment to inclusivity and respect was evident as translation was provided three times over. Creative processes were utilized to disseminate information about the current political context and how it is impacting the development of the case, to give updates on legal processes, and to elaborate representative organizations’ strategic plan. 

After a slight delay while everyone signed into the event (some things happen in distinct forms here in Guatemala, others not so much), the three groups separated into circles to do an introductory activity (see what I mean?). Each group had one question to answer while they took time to put large puzzle pieces together that would ultimately, with all the pieces from all the groups combined, create a large, hand-drawn tree. My partner and I sat near one group and while we could not understand the Q’eqchi spoken, we were able to read the question and some individuals’ responses that written in Spanish. The message was clear: their commitment to search for their disappeared loved ones, continue attending meetings, share historical memory with their children – all grounded these individuals in their long search for justice. I felt honored to have the opportunity to listen to the worries, triumphs, and plans of these communities, and to stand in solidarity and witness the power of organizing. 

Annual gathering of survivors in the case of CREOMPAZ, or Military Zone 21. Photo Credit: Sandra Martinez, Fellow ACOGUATE Accompanier 

Justice, a Constant Theme 

In moments of musing during long bus rides, declarations read in crowded court rooms, and in conversations shared with fellow accompaniers, I have faced this repeated of “the pursuit of justice.” Throughout history, justice (in the form of rhetoric, and in action) has been used, misused, applied, contorted, coopted, granted, and abused. I am daily confronted with questions such as: What does it actually look like for justice to be served? Who has the power to define such a term, and who, if anyone, ultimately benefits in this imagined cul-de-sac termination of “justice-served?” “Will we always find ourselves in this pursuit?” 

Conclusion: I have no answers. 

In addition to salidas in different regions of the country, I also spend here in Guatemala city. One significant case that we accompanied in October and November of this year was the trial of Santos Lopez Alonso, who was eventually sentenced to more than 5,000 years in prison for having committed crimes against humanity in the massacre of 171 people in 1982. This massacre of the entire community of Dos Erres, located in the department of Petén, was one of more than 600 massacres of unarmed Indigenous communities that occurred during the internal armed conflict. 

I sat and observed several trials in a room that held survivors, witnesses, lawyers, the man accused of the crimes, family members of the accused, three judges, members of the press, and other human rights observers. While there was celebration in the sentencing decision, the next day, in which decisions on reparations were to be made, was less than promising. For reasons of bureaucracy, lack of willpower, a pinched budget, true reparations will likely not be seen by a majority of the aging survivors of the massacre. As a staff member of FAMDEGUA (Families of the Detained- Disappeared in Guatemala) mentioned in a recent meeting, the process of reconciliation and the necessary social responsibility is a question of justice that lies outside of the realm of penal sentencing. 

All of my other court-room experiences have been entirely different for two major reasons: one, they have all transpired in the United States, and two, I have always been observing in support of, for lack of better terms, the defendant. In the United States, I associate these experiences primarily with a “justice system” that disproportionately polices, criminalizes, incarcerates communities of color, women, LGBTQI individuals, immigrants, and those with disabilities. In Tucson, Arizona I observed “operation streamline” hearings in which 70-80 recently-arrived people, mostly from Latin America, are sentenced in a matter of minutes, group by group, mostly all to be deported. In Chicago, I have spent several years volunteering with the Chicago Community Bond Fund, which seeks to end the unjust system of cash bond and pretrial detention that directly impacts people of color and poor communities in Chicago. Thus, in this arena, “defendants” with whom the organization works, are not viewed as criminals, but as individuals impacted by systematic oppression who deserve support, not incarceration. 

It has been difficult for the logic-driven part of my brain to reconcile the reality that the sentencing or release of a person is not the means to determine whether or not justice has been served. I know that I must sit with these seemingly contradictory definitions of justice that exist, because while we box people’s stories into legal codes, and forget the complicated layers of gray that deeply embedded systems of oppression, international and domestic policies, and histories of violence create. the heart of this search for justice gets lost. With the crucial recognition that there are individual perpetrators and entire institutions that must be held accountable for the realization of genocidal policies, survivors and organizers here in Guatemala also have acknowledged that a sentencing is only part of a complicated process. Reconciliation and reparations are another story, and often the phase that most often gets ignored. This, I find to be a universal issue in the implementation of our varied perceptions of justice. 

Another important caveat is that in cases we accompany related to defense of life and territory, justice is denied in different ways than in cases of transitional justice, on which I have been focusing upon these first few months. In cases of defense of life and territory, communities and individuals fighting against environmental destruction, displacement, and cultural erasure with increased development of mining projects, dams, and other extractive industries, are denied access to justice. Injustice is expressed in a context of criminalization, surveillance, and militarization. More to come on these matters in future letters. 

While I have come to no conclusions, and perhaps never will, I am thankful for moments in which our Guatemalan partners remind me that while the search for justice may be long, and the notion of such a search may be complicated and unrefined, vale la pena la lucha (it’s worth the struggle). Over the next several months, as I dive more deeply into life as an accompanier, peel back what layers I can of the Guatemalan socio-political context, and lean a bit more into the uncomfortable gray areas of the human experience, my hope is that through reading these letters 

you too will have questions arise and that together we take a step forward toward this complicated notion we call justice. 

I hope this update finds you all in good health and grounded spirits. May you each find moments of rest, laughter, and community in the coming weeks. Know that by reading these posts you share a part of this journey of deeply feeling, learning, questioning, and molding a world we all deserve. 

- Meredith 

Some relevant actions and updates: 

- Watch a new video put out by CCBF that was released on December 18. the short documentary film "Reclaiming the Crown: The Footwork King's Battle with Money Bail,” captures the story of Devoureaux Wolf’s battle with money bail and pretrial incarceration. 

- Check out NISGUA’s Year-End Report to learn more about the many things NISGUA has been up to in 2018. 

- Sign onto our action to express solidarity with Indigenous self-determination and to demand state respect for community consultations.