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According to UN figures, some 250,000 people in the provinces of North and South Kivu have been displaced since mid-January following a military operation targeting the FDLR rebel group. This is the equivalent to the numbers displaced last autumn when intense fighting broke out, with the newly displaced hidden in far and remote areas, the international aid agency said.
Marcel Stoessel, Head of Oxfam in the Democratic Republic of Congo said:
"The war is far from over for ordinary Congolese. These terrible human tragedies are happening in remote areas far away from television cameras, but this does not make the suffering less real for those concerned.
"Homes and shops are being looted and ransacked, women and girls are being raped, and civilians are being forced to flee, many for the third or fourth time. We are helping them pick up the pieces by increasing our emergency work. It is tragic to see Congo's civilians caught up in this awful violence yet again."
There also have been reports of armed men committing reprisal killings of civilians, blocking off roadways, in some cases burning down houses and chasing people away. In parts of Lubero, where most people are subsistence farmers, civilians can barely access their fields to harvest due to widespread insecurity and looting.
With the operations against the FDLR set to expand to South Kivu, there are mounting concerns for civilians there, several tens of thousands of whom have already been forced from their homes. Although, according to the UN, some 300,000 other people have returned to their homes in parts of the North Kivu, the calm in some areas, such as Rutshuru, has been accompanied by renewed insecurity in others, such as Lubero and Walikale.
Oxfam is developing a flexible response to the new crisis that can provide water, sanitation and life-saving hygiene promotion to dispersed groups of people on the move, as well as larger groups of people sheltering in specific areas. Fighting and insecurity has hampered humanitarian access this year, and a quicker and lighter response is required to reach people during windows of opportunity. Throughout eastern DRC, Oxfam is already assisting half a million people, and as a result of the scale up the agency will reach 650,000 people, despite ongoing security challenges. Teams have been sent to Lubero in North Kivu and Bukavu in South Kivu to plan the scale-up. In Lubero, Oxfam is already providing clean water and basic sanitation to 40,000 people newly displaced by the fresh fighting, especially to combat epidemics.
Stoessel continued:
"All parties to the conflict—including the government armed forces as well as militia groups—have to live up to their responsibility under international humanitarian law to protect civilians and to provide humanitarian agencies safe access to the civilians in need."
Oxfam said a lack of peacekeeping resources on the ground was also hampering efforts to protect civilians.
The Head of Oxfam International's New York office, Nicole Widdersheim, said, "More than four months after the UN Security Council approved 3,000 additional peacekeepers, not one extra soldier has arrived. Until the reinforcements come, MONUC needs to ensure that the troops on the ground are doing all in their power to protect people. Civilians need more foot patrols in towns and along the main roads in order to be kept as safe as possible."
With the UN Security Council set to discuss the MONUC peacekeeping force on Thursday this week, Oxfam is urging world leaders to mark the occasion by rapidly providing the extra troops needed. It also called on them to ensure that existing resources are deployed to the most insecure locations, so as to more effectively protect civilians.
]]>Oxfam called upon world leaders, meeting in the Netherlands today, to provide more money immediately for humanitarian relief, to radically overhaul the way they give aid to the country, and to prioritize the protection of civilians. The humanitarian emergency appeal launched last year is still less than 50 percent funded.
The health of over a million young children and half a million women is at serious risk due to malnutrition but a humanitarian rescue package is only 42 percent funded, with key sectors such as health and education less than 2 percent funded.
The agency also asked the international community to follow long-term strategies, which put the needs and wellbeing of Afghan civilians first.
Raymond C. Offenheiser, President of Oxfam America, said: "Today ministers will spend hours debating security and counter-terrorism, but the conflict is only part of the problem. The living conditions of many Afghans are deteriorating.
"Stability and prosperity will only occur if there are immediate efforts to improve the lives of ordinary Afghans. So far, the results have been inadequate.
"The response to the ongoing humanitarian situation has been slow, fragmented and insufficient. Aid has been ineffective, with too much money spent on foreign contractors or on projects that don't benefit the most vulnerable Afghans.
"If this international conference is to avert a crisis and create a workable solution, it must start by putting the future of the Afghans at the center of its agenda."
More money must go to agriculture and rural development to deal with the long-term causes of the current food crisis. For example, in Daikundi province, where half-a-million people are dependent on agriculture, the Afghan Department of Agriculture in 2007 had a budget of only $2,400 to improve farming in the area.
Offenheiser said: "Most Afghans depend on agriculture to feed their families or to make a living, but only a tiny fraction of international aid supports farming. More aid to agriculture will make Afghanistan less vulnerable to future food shortages and provide real alternatives to opium poppy cultivation."
There should also be a national strategy for ground-level peace-building and conflict resolution to make daily life safer for Afghans, Oxfam said. Peace processes must be developed at all levels, from the local and national right through to the regional.
]]>Oxfam America is joining other groups in Peru in calling for a complete investigation of these events, and for the individuals responsible for these crimes to be brought to justice.
"We are requesting that the Public Ministry [public prosecutor] and the police carry out an investigation," said Javier Aroca, coordinator of Oxfam International's extractive industries program. "It is essential that these accusations be investigated and that those responsible are punished to ensure that the laws of our country are enforced and that the fundamental rights of our citizens are protected. In the future, we must be able to attain peaceful solutions to social conflicts."
In January 2009 the National Human Rights Coordinator released a report alleging that 28 community members, who were concerned that mining exploration was being carried out on community farm land without their permission, were kidnapped and detained for three days. They had been marching to the mine site, where the Majaz Mining company (now known as Rio Blanco Copper) was exploring for copper deposits. The community members came from Segunda y Cajas and Yanta in Piura, and Jaén, and San Ignacio in the neighboring department of Cajamarca. According to the report, the march was peaceful—no participants carried any weapons apart from the machetes and whips customarily used when traveling by foot in the rough Huancabamba mountains. According to local leaders, they intended to go and speak with the representatives of the mining company, since other attempts to discuss their concerns had failed.
According to the report published by the National Human Rights Coordinator and FEDAPAZ, the community delegation of approximately 400 people was camped out the night before their planned arrival at the mine site when they were attacked by helicopters shooting tear gas. Soon after, police entered their camp and burned their equipment, food, and medicine. The next day the group was attacked again when it arrived at the Majaz mining camp, one person was killed, 40 were injured, and 28 were kidnapped and detained inside the mining camp. The National Human Rights Coordinator report says the detained individuals were subjected to "diverse forms of physical and psychological torture. As well as being savagely beaten…they were kept hooded, sprayed with tear gas and blindfolded, with no warm clothes in spite of the low temperatures." They were released after three days.
The kidnapped community members made formal legal complaints, but the public prosecutor in the region did not conduct an investigation. Instead, the government accused these individuals of terrorism, and they have been under police investigation. In June of 2008 the Human Rights Coordinator and FEDAPAZ filed a legal case in Piura against the police officers and employees of the security firm Forza who were working for the mine company. The suit also included the public prosecutor and medical examiner, who are alleged to have been aware of the kidnapping and torture, and failed to take proper legal action against the perpetrators.
In January of 2009 the national Human Rights Coordinator received photos taken during the three days in 2005 when the community members were detained at the mine site. The organization says the photographs, submitted anonymously, clearly verify the accounts of the detained individuals and have shocked many in the country.
The Prime Minister and Minister of Justice have issued statements urging a thorough investigation of the incidents in 2005. However the police still have not identified any of the officers involved.
"People living in a democracy should not be kidnapped, tortured, and persecuted just for expressing their opinion and raising their concerns," says Oxfam's Javier Aroca. "We need our institutions to create avenues for dialogue so we can avoid conflict and ensure our laws are respected."
]]>We had five staff there when the fighting broke out at 11:30 AM. They were beginning meetings with community members and were starting the digging of latrines. Then it happened. The shelling.
"It was between the volcano and the hill near the camp," said Herman, an Oxfam public health promoter, "about two kilometers away from the camp."
People were lining up to get their food distributions from the World Food Program and they suddenly scattered.
"They wanted to get to their shelters to grab their belongings," said Herman. "They knew they had to flee again."
The team reported that they saw one man in his forties crying. "I fled Kibumba camp and now they are chasing us again," he said. Another was more resigned, "We are used to this," he lamented. And sadly people are. Many people in the camp have fled for the third, fourth, fifth time.
Thousands ran toward Goma town. After a night of hiding with host families and in schools and churches, most have returned to the camp but remain scared and vulnerable. Even before this latest incident, the people in the camp were nervous. I can't even imagine the fear they feel now. The rebels have been pushed back northward, but there are just 700 meters between the positions of the rebels and the Congolese government forces. Oxfam is back there with teams today. These people need our help, but it is far from easy in the current insecure environment.
Last weekend, the UK Foreign Minister David Miliband and his French counterpart Bernard Kouchner visited Goma. They came with much diplomatic fanfare and media attention, and they said good things. They called for urgent reinforcement of the UN peacekeeping troops, but they have failed to follow through and effectively protect civilians. Today, the European Union will meet to talk about the situation in the eastern Congo.
The people of Congo are still living on the edge with little protection. They urgently need the European Union to take action. Even before the fighting around Kibati, people were telling us about being attacked by armed groups when collecting firewood or food from the nearby fields.
While European Ministers are closeted in debating chambers today, hundreds of thousands of eastern Congolese will be eking out an existence in the region's squalid camps. They need real action, not another mountain of words. The EU must agree to send additional troops to support the UN in eastern Congo and must push for a ceasefire, so we can get aid to the people that desperately need it.
]]>Thousands more abandoned their villages and the temporary camps in which some were sheltering when fighting intensified in late October around Goma, the capital city of North Kivu Province directly across the border from Rwanda. The violence culminated in an armed stand-off outside the city on Oct. 29, and CNDP's call for a ceasefire. By November 7, that ceasefire was no longer holding.
The crisis has left the longer-term peace process—and a January ceasefire between the government and 22 armed groups—in shambles. The CNDP has claimed that the January peace agreement, which had been violated numerous times, favored the Congolese government and its forces.
The latest fighting follows more than a decade of conflict in the eastern provinces and stems back to the 1994 Rwandan genocide. But many other factors contribute to the ongoing violence as well: weak state authority, the illegal exploitation of Congo's vast natural resources, and the free flow of arms across porous borders.
The result is disaster for the Congolese caught in the crossfire and suffering from the deprivation constant conflict brings. Humanitarian needs are escalating: The fighting forced some aid groups to suspend their operations, preventing life-saving help from reaching those who needed it. Since 1998, an estimated 5.4 million people have lost their lives to the conflict and the hunger and disease it unleashes.
In early November, Oxfam was already helping about 85,000 people, including 65,000 camped in four temporary settlements around Goma. The organization planned to help an additional 100,000 people in areas to the north and west of the city. Assistance has included the provision of clean water and sanitation services—essential in preventing the spread of waterborne diseases-- to those in the four camps. Oxfam has also been trucking water to 20,000 people in Kanyabayonga north of Goma.
Oxfam is calling for:
My neighborhood was one of the worst affected by the fighting, which went on all last night. About two kilometers from my house, the gunmen went into a compound and killed seven innocent civilians. Our neighbors were attacked by gunmen who came into their compound and robbed them, taking mobile phones and money. We were okay, but I found some bullets in my compound.
I was in the Oxfam office when the panic started yesterday. People saw the national army troops leaving Goma with their tanks and vehicles, and at the same time they saw the UN troops shifting civilians to a safer compound. No one informed the population about what was happening, and they thought the rebels were going to take control of Goma. People panicked.
Many people took advantage of the panic yesterday to make trouble. They looted shops and robbed families. It was a mixture of people fighting, criminals, and undisciplined soldiers, using small arms like AK-47s. But in other areas there was a deployment of national army units who were disciplined and protected the people. I haven't seen UN soldiers anywhere myself.
Today, it's calm and very quiet. Usually the traffic here starts at six in the morning, but I looked out at 10AM and all I saw was one motorbike. The shops are all shut. Life hasn't started up yet.
A lot of people are displaced and are living in the suburbs of Goma in very harsh conditions, and the fighting is making those conditions even worse because there's no access for humanitarian workers.
In particular, one group of displaced people has now been forced to move for the third time in a couple of months. They are living in schools and hospitals, or with host families in and around Goma. They desperately need water, food, and shelter. There's no health care or medicines. People are living in the open air, and if they do get a little food it's not enough to feed the whole family.
This current crisis has made it harder for Oxfam to respond. We are watching the situation and I'm going out this afternoon to check out our work in the camps.
]]>In the DRC, increasing violence has forced people to flee from their homes, and led to the deaths of almost 1,500 people a day. Though no other conflict causes that kind of death rate, Oxfam's workers hear similar stories of murder, rape, and displacement from men and women from Colombia to Sudan every day. Sixty years after the main Geneva Conventions enshrined civilians' rights to protection, they are violated in every current conflict.
Some states and non-state actors choose to kill civilians, or pursue strategies in which civilians are too likely to die. Some governments choose to protect their citizens: to keep them safe. Some do not protect all of them, or not well enough. There are, however, successful examples of protecting civilians that show what governments and others can do when they choose to.
They have an interest in protecting civilians, because mass atrocities fuel the conflicts that, in an interdependent world, create security threats that cannot be contained. And an increasing number of governments have a "moral interest" too, because their electorates expect them to help prevent, not just condemn, the atrocities they see beamed around the world through modern information technology.
To do so, they need to make four key changes.
"I'm not famous," said the slogan on his T-shirt.
And that's probably why you haven't heard very much about Milongo's problem'or the problem of countless Congolese women caught in a war that has used their bodies as a battlefield. Rape has ruined their lives. And now, it's creeping into their villages, too, corroding what's left of community life after so many years of conflict.
But since it's happening in a place that's far away, in villages whose names we can hardly pronounce, we don't pay attention. We should—because it's a horror that stalks us, too. About 132,000 women a year in the United States report they are victims of rape, or attempted rape, says the National Organization for Women. That's one of the reasons Congress passed the Violence Against Women Act in 1994—to combat sexual assault.
Now, there's a new protection bill set for debate in Washington. This one would take the first steps toward guarding the safety of women everywhere—even in countries where governments are not up to the task. Proposed by US Senators Joseph R. Biden and Richard Lugar, the International Violence Against Women Act would require the development of a five-year strategy—supported by a $175 million annual investment—to support programs targeting violence against women. Among them would be public awareness campaigns and a strengthening of criminal and civil justice systems.
Additionally, through increased training for aid workers and expanded reporting requirements, the bill would tackle the violence women and girls suffer during humanitarian crises and conflict—times when women are particularly vulnerable. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Democratic Republic of Congo. John Holmes, the United Nations under secretary for humanitarian affairs, told a reporter last October that the sexual violence in Congo is the worst in the world.
But what makes these attacks even more insidious is the consequence of speaking out about them: There is danger in challenging Congo's culture of impunity. Justine Masika lives with it daily—behind the barbed wire wall erected around her house to keep her safe. She is the head of a Goma-based group that has helped more than 7,000 women who have suffered from sexual violence. Last year, soldiers punished her for her truth-telling and advocacy. They invaded her house and attacked her daughters.
But Masika is not alone. Others, like Lamia Milongo, are fighting back, too. When the soldier abducted his 12-year-old daughter to claim her as his "wife," Milongo put his own safety aside and went in pursuit. He rescued her and returned her home unharmed. But the daughter of his neighbor was not so lucky. Her rescue came too late. Now, at 15, she is pregnant, shamed, and facing a life of hardship and poverty since in Congolese culture women who have been raped are often cast off by their communities.
Sexual violence is a plague the world should be rid of. Mothers like Masika need our help. So do fathers like Milongo. We took an important step here in the US in 1994. Now it's time to take the next one—into our global community—with passage of the International Violence Against Women Act.
]]>But it wasn't until an 80-year-old woman from Walikale in North Kivu was brought to Masika that the full weight of what was happening became clear, galvanizing her resolve. In the war that was sweeping the region, rape was being used as a weapon not only to degrade women, but to humiliate their husbands and whole communities, too. Masika realized the women and girls of eastern Congo needed organized, pro-active help—and Synergie des femmes pour les Victimes de Violences Sexuelles was born.
Its mission, says Masika, its director, is threefold: to raise awareness about sexual violence toward women, to take care of those who have been sexually abused, and to push for the perpetrators to be brought to justice. Since 2003, the organization, an Oxfam partner, has worked with 7,018 women—women like the one from Walikale, who so desperately needed help and for whom there was none available. Raped and left dumped in a field, she was rescued by a hunter and eventually brought to Goma, the capital of North Kivu. But she was penniless, and despite her serious injuries, the hospital would not treat her. And there she died.
Hers is just one of too many stories of sexual abuse and abandonment—of violence that is still rippling through the remote hills of the eastern provinces, that continues to torture its victims with shame, and that now, in a newer twist, has begun to corrode the core of traditional communities, too.
In a small mudbrick building propped on the edge of a dirt road in Kilungutwe, a crowd of villagers has gathered. It's dark and sweltering inside, but every inch of every bench is taken, and more people crowd at the door and window. They have come to discuss the troubles in their village—the extortion they face at the hands of soldiers, the difficulty they have in getting enough to eat—and now the talk has turned to sexual violence.
With anger still in his voice, Elisha Ezigobe, one of the local chiefs, describes the abduction of his 12-year-old daughter. A soldier took her for his wife—without Ezigobe's consent. As soon as he learned what had happened, he headed for the soldier's camp, dismissing any concern about the repercussions he might face in confronting armed men. He was determined to rescue his daughter.
"I took my girl and left," Ezigobe said through an interpreter. "I had my machete. I was going to fight back." His outrage scared the soldier off, and Ezigobe returned his daughter—unharmed—to their home.
But the man sitting next to Ezigobe was not so lucky. His daughter, too, was taken by a soldier. A night passed before he was able to find her and bring her home. Now, at 15, she is pregnant.
There are many stories like this, says Ezigobe, and some fathers are afraid to stand up to the soldiers.
But it's not just military men who are the perpetrators, say others in the roadside hut. Community members have turned into culprits, too—with few serious consequences for their crimes. If the abused girl is 17 or 18, the solution is often to have her marry the rapist. If she's younger, the local chief could order the man to make some kind of reparation—such as a goat—to the girl and her family.
Why is all of this happening now?
"They're asking themselves that question," says Jacqueline Tshilemba, a community educator for APIDE, one of Oxfam's local partners that is working with the people of Kilungutwe. "What they can see is this culture has happened since the war. It happens all over the place and no one gets punished."
At the root of the problem, says Josee Lotsove, is a society that views women as inferior. Lotsove is the coordinator for a local women-based organization called Association des Mamans Anti-Bwaki, or AMAB, an Oxfam partner headquartered in Bunia. Along with those traditional attitudes about women, she says, is the Congo's weak judicial system, which often fails to hold offenders accountable.
When perpetrators are arrested, adds Marie Kanyobayo, it's possible for them to pay a little money to the authorities and buy their freedom. Kanyobayo is the head of another women-based organization called Union des Femmes pour le Developpement, also an Oxfam partner.
It's at this foundation of impunity that Masika, the head of Synergie, is chipping away. Part of Synergie's work involves educating village chiefs and other local opinion leaders—teachers, pastors—about the nature of what has been happening to women, about the catastrophe that it has become, and about the importance of villagers accepting survivors back into the community fold.
But the work comes with great risk.
For speaking out about a problem that has devastated the lives of so many women, Masika and her family have themselves become targets. Last September, six military men came to her house in the early evening and tortured her two daughters, 22 and 20. Masika has since sent them to live in Nairobi, and an aid organization has paid to surround her house with barbed wire to protect her.
Masika admits that sometimes the challenges are so daunting that she's not sure she can continue with her advocacy. But she knows that her voice—and the voices of all the volunteers who work for Synergie—are essential in helping to protect the rights of women who cannot, or dare not, speak out for themselves.
In the Congo, the consequences of rape are far-reaching and affect whole families. Rape heaps shame upon its victims. Women often find themselves cast off by their husbands, and forced into complete self-dependence. Young girls who have been raped lose their chance for marriage and for having a family of their own—and the position of honor that being a mother brings.
At a medical center in Goma where Synergie carries out some of its work, women who are recovering from sexual abuse confront its ugly legacy: possible HIV infection and lives of hardship, including the need to find ways to support themselves. Here, they are learning to weave baskets from long strips of plastic, a skill that will help them earn a living when they are well enough to return to their villages.
But for some, the psychological wounds are so deep they don't want to leave the security and support in which Synergie has wrapped them. For others, the road home is crowded with obstacles that may prove insurmountable. One 36-year-old woman tells of in-laws who are trying to turn her children against her, accusing her of being promiscuous after she was abducted and held as a sex slave and later, in a second round of horror, raped and left pregnant by a government soldier.
For Amina, a volunteer who has been working with Synergie since its founding, the stories she hears from women and girls who have been abused weigh heavily on her. Many of them have become her friends, and she knows that Congolese culture will dictate the future they face—likely one of great difficulty.
Given how sweeping the problem of rape and sexual violence now is, might that culture become more understanding, and even forgiving?
Amina sits quietly for a moment before she replies. A weariness seems to frame her answer. Women are speaking out more, she says. In the past, they kept silent. But as for real change, she can't say when that will come.
]]>But not so long ago, he was a boy fighting a war in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
It's dark inside his shop: He works only with hand tools, as there is no electricity. But it's darker where he came from, and through memories spun from a tangle of languages—Swahili, French, English—the boyhood of Egiba Sango emerges. His real name is being withheld to protect his safety.
Sango's case is one of about 3,000 that the Concert d'Actions pour Jeunes et Enfants Défavorisés, or CAJED, has worked on since 1997. CAJED is based in Goma and is funded by Oxfam and UNICEF. Its mission is to help child soldiers recover from the trauma of their combat experiences and return to normal lives—a challenge in a place where years of conflict have left an estimated 5.4 million people dead since 1998. Between that year and 2003, about 33,000 children were among the ranks of various armed groups.
Successfully reintegrating them into community life will be essential to ensuring the lasting peace villagers in the eastern provinces long for.
And that's where Sango is now—joined again with everyday people doing everyday things—in a wooden shed perched on a heap of volcanic rock. A new bedstead and table stand in the dirt outside, announcing his wares and skills.
With a tool kit provided by CAJED—planes, saws, a drill, a vice, a square—Sango is making his living and paying $15 a month rent for this shed that he shares with a partner. A piece of cardboard, printed in a careful hand with project dimensions, is tacked to the wall, a counterpoint to the chaos in the shop—tools scattered on the ground, the blade of a giant knife glinting through the wood chips, a pile of chairs heaped along the back wall.
He speaks softly, his face nearly blank, as he tells a small crowd of visitors from Oxfam about the years he spent with the military—a choice he made as a very young boy to escape a life of misery.
The oldest of five children, he was 8 when his parents died—poisoned, he says, by neighbors who were jealous of his parents' efforts to improve themselves. Sango was sent to live with an uncle whose wife decided she didn't like him and treated him badly. Determined to find a better alternative, he joined a military group—and that's when his real trouble started.
Sango was just 10 at the time, and life among the soldiers was brutal. He told about how he was made to walk day and night, sometimes without food. He was forced to carry heavy loads and bore frequent beatings. One time, the soldiers punished him by cutting his leg. Pulling up his pant leg, Sango reveals an ugly scar on his right shin.
Five times he tried to run away—once getting as far as 80 kilometers from his unit before stumbling into soldiers who recognized him and forced him to return. Finally, on his sixth attempt, he escaped for good. That was in 2005.
For two years, Sango was on his own, surviving by his wits around Goma with two other boys who had also fled their military units. They would beg for food from house to house and when one received a handout, he shared it with the others. Occasionally, they would steal to stay alive.
Eventually, one of the outreach workers from CAJED found Sango on the streets and convinced him to come to the center. Sango said he knew he needed a way to become self-sufficient. The first stop was a three-month stay at a transit center in Goma, the capital of North Kivu, where staff members work with youngsters on psychosocial issues and help prepare them to return to their families. They also track down those families and work with them to be ready to welcome their children back.
But Sango had no parents—and no place to go. Instead, he enrolled in CAJED's training program and after six months had gained enough skill to launch his own small furniture-making business.
He finishes his story, and for the first time in nearly an hour of talk, life seems to return to his face when one of the visitors asks if Sango could make him a table.
Sango flashes a smile. He's back—in his shop, in control of his life, his boyhood behind him for now.
On the hilltop behind Sango's shop, how many other stories like his can be found among the children and teenagers learning to be carpenters or bakers or any of several other skills CAJED is imparting through its training programs there?
Rain pelts the metal roofs of the workshops as Gilbert Munda, CAJED's coordinator, leads a tour from the wood-fired brick oven to the electronics-repair room and into the room where girls are learning to sew on big black sewing machines.
The reality of many of the trainees' lives becomes clear in a visit to CAJED's infirmary housed in a small wooden shack with a concrete floor. There Dorotheé Mushesha, one of two nurses in a dark room with plywood walls, is pounding a root into powder. She says when the center runs out of modern medicines, she treats her patients with traditional ones from plants, and she keeps a small garden right behind the infirmary for that purpose. The root she is pounding helps the kidneys, she says.
About 20 children a day come for care. Malaria, typhoid, worms, respiratory illnesses, skin issues—Mushesha sees the gamut among the young patients.
In his office, Munda talks about the pressures that have pushed kids into the arms of military men willing to exploit their loyalty for murderous ends of their own.
Many children don't have the opportunity to go to school, he says. Poverty has a stranglehold on their families, and often the kids are unable to find work.
Human rights advocates says the recruitment of child soldiers stems from a host of deeply ingrained attitudes that hold little respect for the lives of individuals, including those of children. And compounding that is a widespread lack of basic services and social support networks.
But Munda is optimistic that with the kind of help programs like CAJED offer, children swept up in the horrors of war can recover their old lives and become productive community members.
The rain has stopped by the time the Oxfam visitors take their leave of Munda. On their way home, they again pass Sango's shop. The table and bedstead are still there. But now they are beaded with rain. No one thought to bring them in, or cover them with plastic. Maybe there was none to spare.
]]>"He insulted us and beat me up," she says, tears welling up with the memory. Ortiz recounts the ordeal in her dirt-floor house in the department of Ahuachapan, sitting on a simple wood chair, holding her four-year-old daughter Melissa—her youngest. "One of my children said to me, 'Mama, let's get out of here,' so we went outside."
That spring night, outside their blue concrete house, the threats continued. "He insulted me so much... saying I was worthless, I had no future, and that it was better for him to kill me and the children."
Ortiz had to take action because her husband was a police officer and had a firearm. The family took shelter at a neighbor's house, and Ortiz called the police. Her husband was arrested the next morning. She and her children were safe for the moment, but in his drunken rage he had burned all their clothes.
The hills in Ahuachapan are bright green after a rainy summer. Blue and yellow butterflies fly lazily among the coffee trees along the dirt roads, and the sun is warm and comforting. It looks peaceful, making the violent confrontation Ortiz describes seem out of place. But in this small country of six million, widespread violence tends to be particularly deadly for women.
El Salvador is still recovering from a 13-year civil war that saw 75,000 people killed and nearly 8,000 "disappeared." It is a politically polarized society, torn between a small business elite, which dominates commerce and the government, and the majority struggling in poverty. Socially, men are dominant: It is a machista culture that holds many women in submissive roles in the family, raising children and doing other work in the home. Roughly half of Salvadorans live in poverty, and women head about 25 percent of households, so the abuse of and discrimination against women contributes directly to keeping them poor and in their subservient role in society.
There is a paucity of data on violence against women in El Salvador, but what few details are available tell a brutal story: In a country about the geographic size of Massachusetts, the rate of "femicide" in El Salvador was 11.15 per 100,000 women in 2005, far exceeding Guatemala's rate (population nearly 13 million) of 7.96 for that same year, according to a 2006 report by the Inter-American Institute of Human Rights. The same report shows the numbers of women murdered in El Salvador inching up slowly from 2001, when there were 211 women killed, to 260 in 2004, before jumping to 390 in 2005. The 2006 total was 437, according to Yanira Argueta, director of the Association of Salvadoran Women. "The situation is critical," she says at a meeting in her office in San Salvador. "Public officials are not sensitive to the problem, and there is no good application of the laws."
Part of the problem is public perception. A 2006 poll by CS Sondeo found that only about 83 percent of people in El Salvador believe that rape is a crime—which means that more than 15 percent don't consider it a criminal act.
Whether rape, murder, assault, or even psychological abuse, violence against women is more than an injustice or a human rights violation: it is an investment in the social status quo that keeps men on top and women below them. And it prevents women from fully contributing to the two changes El Salvador desperately needs: an end to poverty and the building of democracy.
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