Democracy Among the Ruins

Citizens struggle with a turbulent campaign

In anticipation of the upcoming elections in El Salvador, TIME asked Mario Vargas Llosa, the distinguished Peruvian novelist and critic, to travel about the country and gather an impression of the candidates and of the atmosphere. His report:

In 1917 an earthquake left the city of San Salvador in ruins. The residential neighborhoods of San Francisco, San Benito and Escalon creep up the sides of a volcano, still challenging risk. The inhabitants--landowners, entrepreneurs, professionals, businessmen--have grown accustomed over the past decade to the hazard of assassination attempts and kidnapings. Their homes have been surrounded by high walls, barbed wire and searchlights, and the richest among them move about town in armored Cherokees, accompanied by bodyguards. These vehicles have come to be a status symbol, and Salvadorans laugh at the many parvenus who buy them not out of fear for the guerrillas but because of a desire to seem important. Most of the residents support the ultraright ARENA party, and the majority campaign actively for the candidacy of Major Roberto d'Aubuisson.

I was received by Major d'Aubuisson one evening after driving through a labyrinth of deserted streets escorted by armed men who announced our arrival by radio. Such precautions are not for nothing: D'Aubuisson got a bullet in the back during the 1982 campaign. Of the six people I found with him, three had been victims of assassination attempts, among them the vice-presidential candidate, Hugo Barrera, who was shot as he left his factory during a strike in October 1977.

Major d'Aubuisson is young, handsome, aggressive, with the aura of a playboy, indefatigable, and his speeches are interspersed with jokes and vulgarities. He does not know uncertainty. His ideas are utterly simplistic: it was President Carter who surrendered Nicaragua to the Sandinistas. Carter also prepared to turn over El Salvador to Communism, but "we stopped the conspiracy in its tracks." At the time, the major was an intelligence officer, and he claims he quit so he could "denounce the Communist plot." According to his adversaries, when he left the army he took with him the intelligence archives. Many people whom he accused of subversive activities, like Archbishop Oscar Arnulfo Romero, were later assassinated by the death squads.

When I remind him of these accusations, he becomes furious: "The death squads are people like you, like [former] U.S. Ambassador Robert White. They are everyone who helps block economic aid that would save the displaced from dying of hunger." According to D'Aubuisson, the death squads do not exist. What about the 1,259 assassinations that, according to the archbishopric, the death squads carried out in 1983? "Those are, perhaps, Salvadoran Communists who died in Nicaragua fighting against Somoza, and whose names are now exploited by disinformation campaigns."

Is it true, then, that no human rights abuses are committed in El Salvador? The major admits that, at times, "the relatives and friends of persons assassinated and tortured by subversives take their revenge. It is, of course, bad that this goes on. But it is understandable." And he counters, "Why did no one abroad protest when the Communists assassinated three ARENA congressmen? Are human rights a Communist monopoly?"

The major flatly rejects any negotiations with the guerrillas "because the Communists will not accept any agreement other than surrender." His idea of Communism is pervasive: it includes the liberals, the Social Democrats and, above all, El Salvador's Christian Democrats and their leader, Jose Napoleon Duarte. "That loco Duarte and his party are the political arm of subversion. Christian Democrats and the guerrillas represent two different tactics of Communism. The first one to get into power will call the other, and together they will give the country to the U.S.S.R." When I tell him that Senor Duarte assured me that "if ARENA wins the elections, they will get rid of us all," D'Aubuisson sneers. "They are scared to death because they know we are going to beat them." The words fear and guts are very important in the major's vocabulary. "The guerrillas' intention is to capture me alive. Two guerrillas who were in charge of kidnaping my mother and who now work with me have told me so. They will never succeed. I have six bullets in my revolver: five for my attackers and the last one for me." When I tell him that if he wins the elections, the U.S. may cut off military aid to El Salvador, he shifts his shoulders. "Then it will take us a little longer to defeat the Communists. But we will do it."

When I say that, in my opinion, Duarte is not a leftist but rather a centrist, he pounds the table: "The political center is like an anus: it is round and it stinks." His scatological images delight his audiences. He turns to me with a challenge: "I'll publicly bet you that I'll win the elections. If I become President, the penalty is you have to write a novel about El Salvador. If I lose, I'll give you one colon." The clear implication is that a novel of mine is worth 40 U.S. cents.

In contrast to ARENA, the Christian Democrats will get few votes from the urban bourgeoisie: the party lost support there with its reforms. The name Duarte moves Salvadorans to passion. Everyone speaks of him with hatred or devotion, never with indifference. And In general, the split in opinion coincides with the division of social classes. The upper classes attack him, while the lower classes defend him. His power is concentrated in the lower middle class and among the poor, especially peasants who benefited from the establishment of cooperatives and land distribution, measures that he promises to "consolidate" if elected.

Duarte, a founder in 1961 of the Christian Democratic Party and ex-mayor of San Salvador, has been in prison and in exile. He was tortured by the military. Unlike D'Aubuisson, he does not tell jokes or use dirty words. In a country where everyone preserves a sense of humor even when beset by the worst adversities, Duarte is always serious. He suffers from a chronic sadness, deepened these days by the recent death of his mother.

In his party headquarters, where he received me, it is also necessary to navigate past a barrier of armed bodyguards. "D'Aubuisson sees Communists under the bed, on the table, when he's awake and in his dreams," Duarte says. "His theory that the tragedy of El Salvador will be resolved by total war is pure demagoguery." Duarte does not enter into dialogue. He carries on a monologue. He represents, in Latin America, the most progressive trend of the Christian Democratic line. "An exclusively military solution to the war does not exist. It will have to be negotiated. But first we must fortify democracy, which is still in diapers, and accelerate the reforms that will deprive the guerrillas of popular support. When the people see that inequalities are in decline, that there is a President who demands respect for the laws, when the death squads have disappeared, then they will defend the system. Only then can there be negotiations and elections in which those who took up arms can participate. That is the only way to end the culture of terror." He raises his hands and says, "The people will vote for us because we have kept our promises about turning over the land to them and nationalizing the banks. These will be the cleanest elections ever. I am confident that I will be the first civilian President freely chosen in El Salvador."

In order to feel this "culture of terror," one must leave the capital and travel around the country, where the war dominates everything. The war is sometimes visible in the capital. (On the day of my arrival a guerrilla unit set fire to three gas stations; the night I left there were explosions in the streets.) But that pales in comparison with the countryside. "The subversives are in a position to strike any part of the country," says the Minister of Defense, General Carlos Eugenio Vides Casanova.

From the highway, the people point to the hills where the guerrillas have their hiding places. At dawn one day earlier this month, some 200 guerrillas occupied the village of San Esteban Catarina, in San Vicente, about 25 miles from the capital. When I arrived there, prayers were being offered in the church for the return of 70 youths--between 13 and 21 years of age--who were carried off by the guerrillas. The local priest, Father Rene Valle, and several mothers tried to stop the guerrillas from taking the boys. "Before, they had many supporters here, and they didn't need to recruit people by force. Things have changed," says a villager. "I was one of those who opposed installation here of a barracks, to avoid abuses by the soldiers. The previous priest was assassinated right in the church. But now we are exposed to abuses by the guerrillas," adds Father Valle.

The fact that 200 guerrillas occupied San Esteban Catarina for four hours without encountering any trouble gives an idea of the insurgents' operational power. Barely five minutes away, in San Lorenzo, there is a military barracks where they were not aware or did not choose to be aware of what was happening. When I arrived in San Lorenzo, I was impressed by the youth of the soldiers. Some, really just children, were playing beneath the luxuriant ceiba tree that shades the main square. "In theory the recruits are not younger than 16," says General Vides Casanova. "But in practice there are many 15-year-olds."

The armed forces are hoping for a lot from the election: that, among other things, it will clear the way for U.S. military and economic aid. The same optimism is not to be found within the Catholic Church. Maria Julia Hernandez, director of the human rights office of the archbishopric, doubts the election will bring a decrease in the crimes, tortures and disappearances reported to her office. She says that the majority of these atrocities are perpetrated by the security forces and the army, and only a minority can be attributed to the guerrillas. In 1983, she claims, there were 5,142 civilian victims of acts blamed on the security forces and 67 blamed on the guerrillas, a ratio of 76 to 1. In January and February, there was a decrease. But is not that just a tactic to create an illusion of authentic elections to please the U.S. and meet American demands? After showing me some gruesome photos of decapitated bodies, people missing limbs, others disfigured by acid--all the work of the death squads--the director says she is afraid that after March 25, when the outside world's attention will no longer be turned on El Salvador, horror will again prevail.

Archbishop Arturo Rivera y Damas is less pessimistic. "The fact that the crimes have decreased over the past few months is positive," he says quietly. He confirms that the armed forces have asked the church to send priests to visit military command posts and give talks on human rights to soldiers and officers. "The origin of the revolution has its roots in tremendous social injustice. The violence will not disappear until that injustice is reduced." Monsignor Rivera y Damas does not possess the charisma of Monsignor Romero, but beneath his affable air and sleepy eyes, he is extremely shrewd. Many say that he has managed to unite progressives and conservatives in the Salvadoran church with his moderate position. His theory that only reforms will neutralize insurrection is quite similar to Duarte's. When I ask him if the elections will contribute to progress in El Salvador, he crosses himself: "Let's hope so."

What is the opinion about the elections among those who will not be taking part, the members of the Frente Farabundo Marti para la Liberacion National (F.M.L.N.)and the Frente Democratico Revolucionario--or, more simply, the guerrillas and their political allies? F.D.R. President Guillermo Ungo, whom I encountered on a flight from Amsterdam to Central America, told me the elections will be meaningless even in the event of a massive turnout. "Voting is obligatory, and the people know that if they don't have a stamp on their identification papers showing they voted, they will be considered subversive and therefore a target for repression. We don't say don't vote. We are limiting ourselves to explaining to the people that the elections are of no importance whatsoever."

Is it true that they have no importance? My impression is that the campaign is being carried out spiritedly in cities and towns--at times within sight of the guerrillas and under fire--in the newspapers, on television, on walls and roadside trees, painted with party messages. The campaign is more stirring for the upper and middle classes, but the poor are also involved, and everyone participating is doing so with total freedom of speech, lashing out at one another without mercy and at times ferociously, pushing opposing programs from the center left to the extreme right. The fact that the extreme left does not take part will limit but not invalidate the process. This represents progress. It is not fair to compare what is happening in El Salvador with political processes in Sweden or in Costa Rica, countries with solid democratic traditions. It must be compared with what occurred in El Salvador ten, 15 or 20 years ago. Now, for the first time, the country's right wing does not trust the army to defend its interests, but rather it is trying to win votes and take the first steps. Falling down is inevitable when one is learning to walk along the path to democracy.

Two leaders of the conservative National Conciliation Party (P.C.N.), Hugo Carrillo and Luis Lagos, recalled a conversation they had with West German parliament members visiting El Salvador. They told the West Germans: "Yes, it is true that our election is imperfect compared with the ones in your country. When you go to campaign in the small towns and isolated hamlets, you don't have to leave behind your last will and testament because that trip may be your last. Isn't the risk we run in this campaign proof of our democratic calling?" It is true. Asking for the vote, giving the vote, believing in the vote--all imply a serious risk. And hundreds of thousands of Salvadorans are ready to face it. A well-known Salvadoran intellectual, the poet David Escobar Galindo, said something that echoes in my mind: "It is great progress that for the first time in the history of our country, we do not know beforehand who will win the elections."