Caught in the Crossfire

Attacked by left and right, the moderates keep campaigning

El Salvador received most of the attention in Central America last week, but this Sunday the citizens of Guatemala (pop. 7.5 million) will vote in another violence-torn presidential election. Since 1977, an estimated 13,000 people have died in the chaotic and brutal confrontation of the government, Marxist-led guerrillas and right-wing paramilitary forces. The favorite to win the election is the Popular Democratic Front's General Anibal Guevara Rodriguez, the latest officer to represent the mainstream of the conservatives who have controlled the country for 27 years. Two other conservative groups are contesting the election, as is a coalition formed by the Christian Democrats, the nation's major moderate party, whose candidate is Attorney Alejandro Maldonado. More than 200 Christian Democratic Party members have been murdered since 1980, mostly by right-wing death squads. The leftists have no candidate. TIME Caribbean Bureau Chief William McWhirter accompanied the moderates for a day on their unusual--and frightening--campaign trail. His report:

They may no longer be relevant--according to the other factions in Guatemalan politics they are not--but they are apparently considered a risk to someone: last week passing cars fired a rocket and tossed grenades into the home of the Christian Democrats' secretary-general, Vinicio Cerezo Arevalo. The attack was the third or fourth attempt on his life, he isn't exactly sure about the total. "I don't know why I'm alive at this moment," he says, smiling. "It is a little fluke."

So far, the Maldonado campaigners have traveled 8,000 miles and reached more than 200 of Guatemala's 326 villages in a dusty parade of vehicles crawling over the jagged rock and dirt trails that pass for roads in the remote areas. On one occasion, they even foiled an ambush apparently intended for them: after being followed too long by the same cars, they set up a roadblock and surprised their pursuers, discovering an arsenal of weapons and explosives. The men were carrying police identity cards. Such dangers have hardened the Christian Democrats into political missionaries.

It is still dark when the retinue sets off for a day's campaigning. The heat, brilliant and soaking, comes soon after first light. On the edge of a town, the caravan shudders to a stop. The candidates pile onto the flatbed back of a pickup truck, smear on dabs of melting suntan cream and flip the switch of a cassette player. To the scratchy strains of martial music, they start downhill, making a short tour and ending up under the spreading roots of the giant ceiba trees, planted to provide a parasol of shade over the baking town square. The little parade passes by rusting cars, yelping dogs, gawkers peering out of their doorways while washing their hair or looking on while drying off with a towel.

The political life of the small villages, like the living conditions, is almost feudal. Most of the communities live under the rule of a political warlord who demands that they pay tribute by giving him votes and taxes. The guerrillas often come from the same towns. Some 200 teachers, frequent objects of suspicion because of their close contact with the peasantry, have been assassinated from these and other seemingly placid villages.

"Our governments abandoned the population," says Presidential Candidate Maldonado, "and this formed the base for revolutionary action. Any other people would have had a popular uprising by now. The only reason why not is that the people are afraid of the Communists who are leading the insurrection. We must show the people that moderation must not be confused with weakness and that moderates are not cowards."

Maldonado does this simply by campaigning openly and by indicting government corruption and repression. He speaks with the slow patience of a parish priest, seldom raising his voice. "To do so only frightens people," he says. "We are the only group who can bring peace to Guatemala, because we have no hate for anyone. We feel we are in good hands when we are with the people."

The crowd remains silent and expressionless. "The people we see are often too afraid to speak up," says Roberto Carpio, a Christian Democrat lawyer and journalist who is the vice-presidential candidate. "So they use their faces, their eyes and their hands. It's the language of the hands that's very important. It's a campaign of silence."

But now, as Maldonado talks on quietly, a few in the crowd firmly nod their heads in agreement. Maldonado mentions another, even more direct threat. "These are the cars without license plates that go into towns at night and kidnap people," he says. This time, a few people even applaud.

In late afternoon, straggling into a place called Sansare, the tired, dust-covered troupe, its ribbons drooping, passes by a local official's house where armed police keep watch. The guards begin to jeer and shout at the passersby: "Why don't you go back into the mountains with the Communists, you traitors?"

As Maldonado speaks to a small band of listeners gathered at a corner park, men on motorcycles begin to ride up and down the street with their guns drawn. A policeman on a corner carefully writes down the license-plate numbers of each of the cars used by the visitors.

When the speech is over and the caravan heads out of town, Maldonado and Carpio are moved into the two bulletproof vans, and the volunteers who ride shotgun unsheath their weapons. For the next hour, the campaigners drive watchfully through the narrow roads and mountain passes at twilight until, it seems, the danger is gone. On the way back to the capital, Maldonado and his men are exhausted, caked with the day's dirt. "We go with our language of moderation, peace, everything, trusting justice rather than strength," says the candidate. "I know it's difficult. But I believe the people will be angry enough to use their vote as long as they are allowed to use it. I am like a salmon fighting against the currents, even if that is not a good example." He laughs gently. "The salmon always dies when he gets to his destination." Tomorrow begins at 4 a.m., when the caravan will drive toward another department, where Guatemala's forgotten men hope against hope to turn back what seems impossible to turn back. sb

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.