“Anyway, for all these reasons, it was deemed necessary to establish a more rigorous scientific protocol and to utilize experts not subject to the influence of suspected perpetrators.”
“That’s where Clyde Snow came in.”
“Yes. In eighty-four, the American Association for the Advancement of Science, AAAS, sent a delegation, which included Clyde Snow, to Argentina. The Argentine Forensic Anthropology Team, EAAF, was founded that year, and has been active ever since.”
“Not just in Argentina.”
“Hardly. The EAAF has worked with human rights organizations in Bosnia, East Timor, El Salvador, Guatemala, Paraguay, South Africa, Zimbabw—”
“Who picks up the tab?”
“Team members are paid from the EAAF’s general budget. In most of these countries human rights institutions have very limited resources.”
Knowing Mateo’s goal, I pursued the topic.
“Money is a chronic problem in human rights work. In addition to worker salaries, there are expenses for travel and local arrangements. Funding for a mission may come entirely from the EAAF, or in Guatemala, the FAFG, or from a local or international organization.”
“Let’s talk Guatemala.”
So much for the funding pitch.
“During the civil war here—which lasted from 1962 until 1996— one to two hundred thousand people were killed or ‘disappeared.’ It’s estimated that another million were displaced.”
“Most being civilians.”
“Yes. The UN Guatemalan Commission for Historical Clarification concluded that ninety percent of all human rights violations were committed by the Guatemalan army and its allied paramilitary organizations.”
“The Mayans really took it in the pants.”
The man was revolting.
“Most victims were Mayan peasants, many with no involvement in the conflict. The military swept through the countryside killing anyone they even suspected of being a guerrilla supporter. The highland provinces of El Quiche and Huehuetenango contain hundreds of unmarked graves.”
“Strictly scorched earth.”
“Yes.”
“And then they played innocent.”
“For years successive Guatemalan governments denied that these massacres ever occurred. The current government has abandoned that charade, but it’s unlikely anyone will go to jail. In 1996, a peace accord was signed between the Guatemalan government and a coalition of the main guerrilla groups, formally ending the conflict. That same year immunity was granted to persons accused of committing human rights violations during the war.”
“So why this?” Nordstern waved a hand around the office.
“Survivors and relatives began to speak out, demanding an investigation. Even if they couldn’t expect prosecution, they wanted to cast light on what had taken place.”
I thought of the little girl at Chupan Ya. I felt like an apologist for the offenders to speak of their crimes in such a sterile and detached way. The victims deserved a more impassioned recitation.
“But even before that, in the early nineties, Guatemalan groups representing families of the victims began inviting foreign organizations, including the Argentines, to carry out exhumations. The Argentines, along with scientists from the U.S., trained local Guatemalans. That led to the operation you see here. Over the past decade Mateo and his team have conducted scores of forensic investigations and have established a degree of independence from the organs of government.”
“Like Chupan Ya.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about Chupan Ya.”
“In August 1982, soldiers and civil patrollers entered the village—”
“Under the command of Alejandro Bastos,” Nordstern cut in.
“I don’t know that.”
“Go on.”
“You seem to know more about this than I do.”
Again the shrug.
What the hell. I’d had enough of this man. The massacres were just a story to him. To me they were more. So much more.
I stood.
“It’s getting late, Mr. Nordstern. I have work to do.”
“Chupan Ya or the septic tank?”
