July 30, 2007

Projecting La Memoria in Southwest Colombia

by Peter Bearder

It is Friday in Trujillo, Valle de Cauca and a collection of youths are finishing a week’s work of repairs to the sculptures of their Memorial Garden. More than 350 residents of this small town have been assassinated or forcefully disappeared in a plague of paramilitary and State violence. Two more disappeared the night before I arrived in Trujillo. There are believed to be many more victims that have not been reported due to fear of reprisals. One relative described it as the “law of silence.” But the victims of Trujillo refuse to let the memory die. Their hillside memorial shouts loudly across the town below. The psychology behind it is as audacious as it is ambitious.

Trujillo lies in a mountainous drug trafficking corridor linking the east of the country to the Pacific port of Buenaventura. According to those I spoke to, there exist a powerful local “mafia” of paramilitaries, narco-traffickers, landowners, and local political and armed functionaries. It is common knowledge that the State is working hand in glove with more illicit actors and there are many accounts of the army brigade, based in neighboring Buga, entering the town by jeep at night and rounding up victims.

Following the massacre carried out by the Colombian Army in 1990, Trujillo became the first Colombian case to be brought before the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. It is becoming increasingly necessary to seek transnational paths to justice while the State maintains a de facto policy of impunity. The much-hated Justice and Peace Law offers knock down sentences, releases and special prisons for paramilitary leaders in exchange for the appearance of “demobilization.” Countless national and international bodies, including Amnesty International, have condemned the process for not meeting international standards on truth, justice, and reparation.

In Trujillo’s Memorial Garden, concrete sculptures depict the lives and work of the town’s victims below a plaque containing their names. Most of the artists are children or relatives of the dead. Many of the tombs are empty—except for personal artifacts and gifts—as the victims have either been “disappeared” or mutilated beyond recognition. Ágata visits the memorial with her granddaughter to honor her 18-year-old son who disappeared one evening in 1989 and his body has never been found. Every night she wonders where he is. Ágata is by no means alone in Colombia, a country that has seen 40,000 political assassinations and over 7,000 forced disappearances since 1980.

The late parish priest, Father Tiberio Fernández Mafla, is a heroic and well-remembered figure in Trujillo. In his final Sunday service he declared, “If my blood helps Trujillo to dawn and flower in peace, I will gladly spill it.” Two days later he was found dead, beheaded and chopped into pieces. Chainsaws are a favorite weapon of the “paras.” Another family member told how one victim was made to drink bleach. Methods of torture are brutal and designed to act as social deterrents.

Towards the back of the garden stands the Seven Countries Wall, which is part of a circle and links up with six other walls worldwide to complete the circle. Inside this monument are seven boxes that once contained artifacts from the respective countries. Paramilitaries have shot out the glass windows and stolen the items. The mourners see this as evidence that the Memorial Garden represents a threat to their reign of terror.

Memorial coordinator Sister Maritze possesses an inspiring energy and warmth. “We are fighting to keep the memory alive and fighting against the impunity,” she states. In Colombia, this constitutes a political act. Perhaps this explains why this short, gray haired nun’s email communications have been repeatedly intercepted and blocked, forcing her to change accounts on numerous occasions.

Frederico coordinates youth arts projects in Trujillo. I met him at the opening of La Galería de Memoria Padre Tiberio Fernández Mafla (The Gallery of Memory—named after the martyred priest of Trujillo). Frederico was one of two survivors of a group of 11 who were kidnapped and tortured. His hands bear the scars of being fed into a coffee-processing machine. “But I go on living, and with greater purpose and inspiration,” he says with a smile.

The Gallery is a space for the historical memory of crimes against humanity in southwest Colombia and is sustained by victims and human rights groups. Using artistic expression, testimonies and photos it aims to fight against impunity and for social justice. The psychological and emotional benefit of this is obvious. During the opening ceremony one of the victims, while standing next to a photo of her murdered father, gave a tearful thank you: “Spaces like this are incredibly important for us so that the memory lives on. We simply cannot carry on in the absence of justice without your solidarity.”

Trujillo’s Memorial Garden and Gallery of Memory reflect the type of work being carried out by many Colombian human rights NGOs. These organizations are not only recording such crimes for posterity, but also in the hope of eventually achieving justice and ensuring that they will not be repeated. This is the thinking behind the ambitious multi-volume project Colombia Nunca Mas (Colombia Never Again). The books chart the atrocities of the State and paramilitaries between 1965 and 2000 and frame them in their historical and social context. Each 500 plus page volume covers a region that corresponds to a brigade of the Colombian Army. The crimes of the insurgency are not included because those compiling the data believe it is the job of the State to investigate those, whereas the State isn’t always the most effective institution for investigating State terror.

The aspirations of these brave individuals do not stop with la memoria or even la justicia. They are also demanding integral reparation: psychosocial, political, organizational, economic, environmental and cultural. The National Movement of Victims of State Crimes believes that reparation should reflect the completeness of the harm suffered by the victim. One the one hand, it should understand the need of individuals for indemnification and re-adaptation. And on the other, it should assure more general measures of reparation such as satisfactory guarantees that the atrocities will not be repeated.

Symbolic and artistic edifications of memory like Trujillo’s Memorial Garden and the Gallery of Memory amount to a potent dynamic of resistance. Far from being negative and backward looking they are essentially positive and based on concepts of solidarity and hope. By refusing to forget, the victims of southwest Colombia are bravely projecting their right to truth, justice and reparation, not just for themselves, but for all those who have died and those who have still to live.

Peter Bearder is an independent journalist currently based in Bogotá.

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