De Polvo Eres

A couple of days ago Mireille and I accompanied the community as they exhumed bodies from the cemetery in the casco urbano of San José (where they were displaced from in April of 2005). We woke up early to go down, being passed or joined by many from La Unión on the way down. Upon arriving in San José we headed straight to the cemetery by walking up a steep hill that leads up to the police post. The police post, installed in April of 2005 in response to the Feb 2005 massacre, is the reason the community displaced to San Josesito. The hill then heads down a bit and the cemetery is hidden from the town center but in plain view of the police post, a point amplified by the guns that were constantly trained on the community as the exhumation commenced.

This is the start of a very long process. The community has suffered over 150 deaths since its’ founding in 1997, there are many remains to locate and move. They plan to move them to the memorial that is being constructed in San Josesito. A large and grim task as people have been laid to rest all over the veredas. (If you need extra clarification for any unfamiliar words please refer to the “Allow myself to introduce myself…er my surroundings” post). It is made more complicated by the lack of headstones for many of the deceased. This leads to family members trying to remember which tree or bush was near the grave. And always-changing vegetation further complicates the task.

As the first coffin was located and the remains were pulled out, adults and children crowded around to see who had been found. They had been hoping to unearth Fernando Aguirre, a community leader and the former partner of one of the women from La Unión, she stood over the plastic bag as her son, too young to remember his assassinated father, stood nearby watching. The Priest who has been with the community since its’ founding and who now works out of Bogotá was present to preside over the remains. He began to separate bones from clothes and other material. It was decided that this was not the body of Fernando Aguirre, but Elkin David Tuberquia. His mother stood to the side, clearly affected by the surprise of being confronted with her son’s remains

Nearby another body was located, this time the person with the shovel was the 15 year old son of the assassinated man. He was another community leader named Anibal Jimenez, killed by the Paramilitaries in 1999. Again, the priest sorted through the remains and Anibal was identified by his clothing. Community leaders also unearthed the remains of a third man, Fernando Espinoza, a leader assassinated by the Guerilla in 1997. Towards the end of this process a police commander came into the cemetery to ask what was going on and who had authorized it. Mireille and I and two accompaniers from Peace Brigades International (they accompany San Josesito 2-3 nights a week) collapsed on the police, priest and community present. The priest and one of the leaders answered questions and reminded the police that this cemetery was private property of the Peace Community. The police, machine guns hanging at their side, wrote down names, radioed something in and finally left.

Already past noon, the community gathered the remains and headed down the road to San Josesito. Folks cleaned up and gathered in the main kiosk in the late afternoon. The priest then presided over a ceremony, which included a re-consecration of the remains, the baptism of 2 children and the first communion rite of 10 young girls and one young boy. In his short homily he focused on the juxtaposition of life and death within the peace community. In front of him were four wooden boxes with the remains of assassinated community members, the families of the baptized children and 11 youth, dressed up in white with looks of excitement on their faces. Never has juxtaposition needed less articulation.

After the youth received their first communion, we processed out to the field where the monument will be built and the remains were buried once again, this time in the heart of San Josesito. The painted rocks that bear the names of all those martyred from the community lay nearby, a colorful testimonial to remembrance and a grim display of the many sacrifices suffered.

The next day I was chatting with one of the women who I spend time with each day. Two of her brothers were killed in the La Unión massacre in 2000. She said she couldn’t help but think of how strange it is that people are reduced in death to bones that fit into a small plastic bag, a small wooden box. The bible rings true, she said, we do indeed return to dust…