We woke up at our home in Berlin with the chicken cackles and the rumble of trucks just a few feet from my head. Who knew how restful the sounds could be? Some began their day with goose pimple showers and coffee. Jennifer eventually climbed from her bunk with the story of how the dip in her bed caused her to dream she lay in a boat. Of course, her bunk became “the boat” to her roommates.
Since our driver, Alfredo, stayed the night at La Casa Pastoral, he was ready, before some of the rest of us, to drive us to Perquin bright and early. We all marvel at his driving ability. We reached the massacre site of El Mozote in good time, though we had a traffic jam of sorts. Early in our journey, a semi truck of scrap metal had over turned on one of the curves and dumped the messy load on the two lane highway. Our thoughts all turned to potential victims, as well as those charged with clean up.
El Mozote is a caseria (small rural village) in the canton of Guacamaya with the town of Meanguera. We heard an interpretation of the story related by Rufina Amaya Marquez, the only survivor. She told anyone who would listen of the systematic murders of the entire community, 85% of whom were children. Changes have taken place at the massacre site since some delegates had last been there, and some of us visited for the first time. A silhouette statue of four people stands before a wall listing every family. The guide called this the beginning of the civil war. “Here are the shadows of death,” she said.
A new church is built beside the old church. The old had been burnt down, with the men inside, during the massacre. Part of the floor, bases for two columns, and the baptismal fount still remain. On one side of the church, a mural depicting the story of the community was painted three and a half years ago. On the opposite side, in the place where the children were kept and killed, they maintain a rose garden. The church wall on that side hosts another mural as well as plaques with the names and ages of each child.
Standing at the sobering site, the pastoral team led a memorial service with hymns, the reading of Psalm 10 (so perfect for this time!) and a homily. Balmore said, “We need to keep in our minds the deaths of children, women, and men who died here so the ideals of the impoverished can transform the country.”
From there, we drove to Perquin and the Museo De La Revolution Salvadoreña. This site had been the “Capitol of the Revolutionaries.” Among other things, we learned the importance of the revolutionaries’ radio station to their cause. They showed us some ingenious ways they escaped the army’s attention. We also saw a hole left by a 500 lb. (U.S. supplied) bomb.
A guerilla encampment is maintained for visitors near the museum. Kathy challenged our fears by making us crawl down into a foxhole, and crossing not one, but three suspension bridges. Between the claustrophobics and the acrophobics we had fun laughing at one another.
We ate a late lunch high on a hill in Perquin at a restaurant called Perkin Linca. The staff graciously waited for us to leave before heading home themselves. For supper, we had my favorite, pupusas with bean and cheese filling followed by a trek to the ice cream store in the recently revamped square. A futball game gathered a large crowd around their ground on the basketball court beside the church.
Back to La Casa for reflection time, and a video of Rufina Amaya (El Mozote survivor) telling her own story as she walked around the village where she had returned to finish her life. We had witnessed her grave earlier in the day. Who among us would be strong enough after her awful experiences to speak of it ever again, each time bringing the horrific events to the front of her thoughts?
“[Oh, Lord you will] do justice for the orphan and the oppressed, so that those from earth may strike terror no more.” Psalms 10:18
Posted by Becky McKee
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