Copapayo Massacre

Last weekend, I went to Copapayo Viejo, a place that was home to a community in Suchitoto’s Municipality until 1983.  We took a forty-five minute boat ride across Lake Suchitlan and cut the engine between two small, corn-covered hills.  Soon after, Rogelio and Mercedes shared their Copapayo Viejo memories.

Mercedes began described life before the power-generating dam.  Rio Lempa was a life-giving source that ran between the two hills.  The river was a clean water source for the people, their crops, and their animals.  The fish nourished the community too. 

Mercedes recounted the moment the water began to rise in 1972.  The community saw the dam’s construction but didn’t understand what would happen to the water until the moment they ran to grab small children and escape to higher ground.  The water rose.  Their homes, crops, and animals were washed away in minutes. She continued to talk about how this pushed the people from Copapayo (Viejo) to organize and to send representatives to San Salvador for negotiations.

Rogelio spoke next, jumping forward to November 3-4, 1983.  He is the only survivor of both Copapayo massacres. 

Most men from Copapayo had left the community to fight with the guerrillas by this time.  The women, children, and elderly were left on the two, corn-covered hills.  On November 3, 1983 helicopters and troops from the US trained Atlacatl Battalion chased civilians down the hills and into the water, where most were shot and killed. 

The survivors of this first massacre were lead on a two-day death march.  They were all killed, except the sole survivor, eleven year-old Rogelio.  One hundred and forty-two civilians were murdered.

The part of Rogelio’s story that I continuously replay is when a soldier, enforcing the death march, snuck Rogelio a bottle of water and a plastic bag and told him he may need it later.  Rogelio did, in fact, use the bag to help a dying boy, to sleep in, to hide under, etc.  Rogelio said he realized that there were “good” and “bad” soldiers on each side of the war.  From that moment forward, I’m sure he has fostered a heightened awareness of humanity’s complications.

I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this story and many others people have shared since I arrived.  The horrific scenes are baffling.  The dreadful, long-lasting effects are devastating.  The deep-rooted faith, determination, and resilience are inspiring.  The community organizing is unmatched.   When I reflect on the situation in El Salvador twenty years ago and now, I’m stunned and in awe.  My mind is constantly racing with questions about psychology and faith.