Back in February 1984, a 26-year-old engineering student named Edgar Fernando García was snatched off the streets of Guatemala City by police, never to be seen again. In his absence, his wife, Nineth Montenegro de García, was left to raise the couple’s 18-month-old daughter, who would never grow up to know her father.
In a grainy, black-and-white photo of the young family, García has that unmistakable look of youth, a man determined to face the challenge of parenthood with rigor; a parent who wanted a better, more dignified world for his daughter.
It’s hard to look at that photo, posted on the National Security Archive’s Guatemala Project website, without wondering how such an innocuous-looking young man could pose such a threat that he must be kidnapped and murdered.
There are thousands of stories like García’s buried in Guatemala’s bloody past. The dead cannot be brought back to life and the living victims will never be made entirely whole again. They’ll never forget the crimes committed by representatives of the Guatemalan state.
Thanks to recently declassified documents, discovered military and police archives, and the work of groups like the National Security Archive, Guatemala’s Mutual Support Group and other rights groups, we now know many details about Guatemala’s hidden history. And the Guatemalan justice system, despite its many failures, is gaining ground in prosecuting human rights abuse cases.
In October 2010, two policemen – Héctor Roderico Ramírez and Abraham Lancerio – were brought to trial for García’s disappearance, thanks to evidence discovered in the National Police’s Historical Archive. Two other policemen were charged, but were fugitives during the trial.
As the National Security Archive’s Guatemala Project notes, since 2009, Guatemalan courts have issued precedent-setting rulings in recent years that are laying the foundation for an effective system of prosecuting past rights abuses.
This is not only crucial for victims to find justice, but it is also essential to move the Guatemalan peace process forward nearly 16 years after the signing of the Peace Accords.
Last week’s ruling by Judge Patricia Flores, which will bring retired Gen. Efraín Ríos Montt to trial on charges of genocide and human rights abuses, is the biggest advancement to date in Guatemala’s struggle for justice. For 30 years, Ríos Montt has never had to seriously answer to charges that he ordered the massacre of thousands of mostly indigenous, poor Guatemalans in his “scorched earth” program. Like other military leaders from the time, Ríos Montt’s participation in planning criminal acts has never been explored legally in Guatemalan courts.
After the war, Ríos Montt continued to play an active role in Guatemalan politics as one of the country’s most influential and powerful politicians. His defense against recent accusations is that he had no direct control over military commanders in the field. Unfortunately, the arrogance of a younger military man who appears very much in control of his army could be his ultimate downfall. A video entered as evidence in last week’s hearings shows Ríos Montt 25 years ago, bragging about his command of troops: “If I can’t control the army, then what am I doing here?” a brazen Ríos Montt tells an interviewer.
In addition to anecdotal evidence from massacre survivors and victims’ family members, written evidence exists, including hundreds of pages of original military documents leaked in 2009 to Kate Doyle, director of the National Security Archive’s Guatemala Project (see story on Page 8). Plan Victoria and Operation Sofía leave little room for doubt that there was significant military planning behind scorched-earth policies. They also show that Ríos Montt’s defense of “I didn’t know” likely wouldn’t stand up in a fair and impartial court of law.
So the question that is left is: Is Guatemala capable of providing Gen. Efraín Ríos Montt with a fair trial? Because for too many years, the victims of Guatemalan genocide have been waiting for justice.
