Impunity!

This morning stopped at the tire repair shop to pump up my bicycle tires. Central America is chock full of these “Llanterías”, as they’re called here, because the edges of the roads are littered with glass, and most Salvadorans with cars can’t afford new tires and wear their original ones to shreds.

At the second llantería closest to my house, the owner Alex generously agrees to pump up my tires twice a week. These three minutes I spend with him dote me with fascinating social commentaries on El Salvador. The topic today: Impunity.

As Alex reached over to grab the air tube, I asked him where he lived, and he pointed to the office in the back of the tire shop. This is my house. “Here?” I asked. On busy San Antonio Abad Street? “Isn’t it dangerous here? You haven’t been robbed?”

“¡Cómo no!” He said. “Of course I have.”
“Oh no! How many times?”
“Just twice.”
“What did you do? Did you call the police?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Alex smiled, I didn’t want to waste my phone credit.”

I related all too well to what Alex was talking about. Though I haven’t yet been robbed in El Salvador, in 2008, when I lived in Guatemala, I had my phone grabbed from my hand as I was speaking to my parents. I ran to the police station. There, two fat office and a buxom policewomen were loafing on the porch. “Buenas noches.” I panted. “Fíjense that these two guys just came over and grabbed my wrists and stole my phone out from my hands.”

“Ok,” smiled the fattest one. “Let’s go to the supermarket and write up a denouncement. That’s the only way you’ll get your phone back.”

“What? Really?” I asked. “Why? And doesn’t the supermarket close at 8pm?”
“Exactly. He said, that way you’ll have the announcement up by tomorrow morning. Let’s get in the car.”
I didn’t get it, but the policewomen was smiling and nudging me towards the car, and well, I figured women are trustworthy aren’t they? She opened the back door, and told me to wait inside. I sat for 10 eerie minutes before the officer waddled back from the office. He sat in the front seat, put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. 2, 4 ,6 silent minutes passed before he turned back and asked me,

“What’s your name?”
“Jennifer.” I said. He smiled, and swiveled his head like a porcine Don Juan.
“Hello Jennifer,” he swooned, “ my name, is Romeo. “ Double wink. I jumped out of the car, ran back to my dark hotel room and cried.

Impunity, meaning that criminals are never prosecuted for their crimes, is what really frightens me about Central America. Not so much in my own case, since as a foreigner any great crime against me would receive media attention in the States, but rather the fact that if any of my friends or colleagues are robbed, raped, or killed, nothing would be done about it!

In the 12 year Civil War in El Salvador, over 70,000 civilians were massacred by the army. The war ended with a set of peace treaties in 1992. While these treaties did grant land to many ex-guerrilla fighters, they also included a nearly blanket amnesty, meant that nearly all of the military men, and the government officials who ordered them to rape, murder, and torture went free. Three weeks ago I spoke with a woman whose brother was “disappeared” by the army in 1985. No investigation has ever been done to recover his body. Tens of thousands of similar stories exist.

Impunity hasn’t lessened much since the war. Now, the “maras,” (gangs) menace the country. Gang members frequently enter businesses like Alex’s tire shop and ask for “rent”. This means that small business owners like Alex has to pay them 200$, 400$ sometimes up to $1000 a month or else the gangs threaten to rape or kill Alex’s wife or children. Considering that a minimum wage salary is 200$, this is too much for most small business owners to afford, and many have to close up shop. The gangs also knock on the doors of families and demand “rent” from them. The rent is usually more than the family earns each month. People have to take out loans to pay the rent, move to another neighborhood, or else grind their teeth praying for the best. Miguel, one of my coworkers told me that in his community, nobody goes outside past 7pm, not even to walk to the store, because gang members prowl the streets demanding a toll for passing. The police do very little or nothing to help the situation.

I don’t want to hate on all policemen. One of my co-workers’ husband is a very friendly officer, and when I go out to the communities in Morazán, a policeman named Solomon gives me a ride to wherever I need to go.

And there has been some improvement in the gang situation in the past 2 years since the left wing FMLN government came to power. President Mauricio Funes began installing military men to patrol gang-ridden urban communities in 2009. Since this initiative, gang presence has significantly reduced in these communities. Funes has also began apologizing for human rights violations committed by the Salvadoran during the civil war, including the assassination of Monseñor Romero in 1980 and the 6 Jesuit priests in 1989. Though this may not be legal prosecution, denouncing these crimes is a significant improvement from denying they ever happened, as characterized the policies of the right wing ARENA government that ruled from 1992-2008.

Perhaps what amazes me most about the Salvadoran people is their vivacity and the humor with which they survive their difficult reality. “Call the police?” says Alex, “Eh, why waste a quarter? Might as well buy a pupusa.”

El Salvador, 1983

By Gloria Mindock

Somewhere, someone is mourning
for the body of a brilliant one.
Man or woman, it doesn't matter.

The tears in this country, an entrance
to a void . . . shadows touching skin like frost.
A star fell north of this city.

Armies parade aroundin their uniforms bragging about the killings.

Dead bodies thrown into a pit, cry.

Flesh hits wind, wind hits flesh.

How many dead?

Finally, they are covered with dirt at noon.

All eyelids are closed.

No one knows nothing.

No breathing assaults to hold us.

The bitter ash weeps over the world,

and no other country wants to see it,

taste the dead on their tongue

or wipe away all the weeping.