In October 1996, after spending two-and-a-half years in prison on charges of terrorism, Emeteria Quispe Chillce was freed from the Chorrillos women’s prison. She, along with 30 other men and women, were the first group of “inocentes”—individuals who were wrongly accused and convicted of terrorism or treason under Peru’s harsh antiterrorism laws—to be granted a presidential pardon and set free.
When she was arrested on March 31, 1994, Quispe was a street vendor who lived with her three children in San Cosme, a poor neighborhood on the eastern periphery of Lima.[1] Police arrested her on the basis of the testimony of a member of the Shining Path who implicated her during interrogation as a collaborator of the Maoist guerrilla movement. Quispe’s accuser, it turned out, was the young student to whom she had rented a room in her house as a way to earn extra money. Though she was unaware of the woman’s involvement in Shining Path, and despite the fact that there was no other evidence of her involvement in the group, Quispe was convicted of terrorism and sentenced to 15 years in prison.
Emeteria Quispe, like hundreds of other Peruvian citizens, was a victim of the draconian antiterrorist laws put in place after the April 1992 autogolpe, when President Alberto Fujimori, with the backing of the armed forces, shut down Congress, suspended the Constitution and announced the reorganization of the Judiciary with the purported intention of combating armed groups. These laws sharply curtailed the right to defense and undermined legal guarantees for a fair trial—in effect permitting summary trials in which defendants were presumed guilty and had to prove their innocence. In cases of treason, civilians were judged by “faceless” military tribunals. The government justified such harsh measures as necessary to combat Shining Path and its support networks. But the result was a dramatic increase in the number of people who were unjustly accused and convicted of terrorism and treason—and sentenced to anywhere from 15 years to life imprisonment.
Quispe’s release was the result of a campaign launched in 1995 by the National Human Rights Coordinating Committee (Coordinadora), a network encompassing all of the country’s leading human rights organizations, to free those arrested on false terrorism charges. The campaign, “In the Name of the Innocent,” led to the creation of a special government commission to review cases of individuals believed to be unjustly detained. Nearly 500 people have been freed through this mechanism, and hundreds more through regular legal channels.
The Coordinadora has its roots in the struggle of several small organizations that began denouncing the atrocities taking place in remote regions of the country in the early 1980s in the context of the counterinsurgency war against the Shining Path and the Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Movement (MRTA). In 1987 several of these groups established a coordinating office to undertake joint campaigns to seek truth and justice in the face of human rights atrocities. Early on, the nature of the conflict and the unparalleled brutality of Shining Path led Peruvian human rights groups to take a strong stand on documenting and denouncing guerrilla and state abuses equally.
This contributed to an unusual degree of unity, a trait the Coordinadora built on over time. Unlike groups elsewhere in the region, the Coordinadora’s member groups learned early on that they could be most effective by working together, developing consensus on key issues, and devising common strategies. With an original 30 or so groups, and today with 61 member organizations, this has not been an easy task, but it has been one all members have proven committed to. The result has been a level of credibility that has been internationally recognized, even if it has been won at the expense of a certain narrowing of the social base of the Coordinadora, resulting more in a broad network of human rights NGOs than a socially based human rights movement.
The Coordinadora has labored in an extremely difficult context. Under attack by both government forces and guerrilla groups, it faces a very limited ability to shape national debates and policies, but has been able to effectively aid victims of human rights abuses. Particularly after the 1992 coup, the growing authoritarianism of the Fujimori government continued to make its work difficult.
But, building on years of concerted action, the Coordinadora effectively worked in the small openings that did exist in the opposition media, in the state—through the Human Rights Ombudsman’s office, the only government institution considered independent—and in Congress to lobby for certain legislative changes, and for specific campaigns such as the inocentes. It also successfully worked with other civic organizations, including church groups, student associations and trade unions, and built on its long-standing work in international forums to mobilize international support for the inocentes.
The campaign for the inocentes is one example of how the Coordinadora has learned to use its “moral authority” to impact national debates and place human rights concerns on the political agenda. And while it has used this authority to work on issues linked to the legacies of Peru’s internal war, it has also begun to look beyond issues of human rights abuses narrowly conceived as arbitrary arrests, extrajudicial executions, torture, and so on, to the crisis of democracy that plagues Peru today. The Coordinadora is now one of the main groups involved in documenting and denouncing electoral fraud and manipulation in Peru’s recent presidential elections, and, in broader terms, criticizing the authoritarian practices of the Fujimori government. In effect, the Coordinadora was able to build on its success in the inocentes campaign to become a key actor in a new campaign on behalf of Peru’s beleaguered democratic institutions. The organization thus provides an ideal case study of how to carry out effective human rights advocacy in difficult and hostile circumstances.
As early as 1993, there was growing evidence of a systematic pattern of arbitrary arrest, fabricated evidence and insufficient due process linked to the application of Fujimori’s antiterrorism laws. Coordinadora member groups were working independently to defend individuals caught in the web of these laws, but the sheer volume of cases led to discussions about how to devise new strategies. Meanwhile, the government was routinely accusing rights groups of being fronts for terrorism. Fear and mistrust permeated social relations, and anyone arrested and convicted was automatically assumed to be involved with Shining Path or MRTA.
In 1995, Congress passed a sweeping amnesty law granting complete impunity to all members of security forces implicated in human rights crimes since 1980. The law was widely unpopular—80% of Peruvians disapproved of it—but the government was willing to weather the upset in order to quell unrest within the armed forces. Paradoxically, the unpopularity of the amnesty law may have played a role in the Fujimori government’s willingness to cede on the inocentes. Political violence had also begun to decline by the mid-1990s, and human rights groups had more success in getting the word out about the inocentes. As the Coordinadora’s media campaign was gathering steam, the government began to hint that it would consider reviewing some cases. The Coordinadora noted that the Supreme Court was the proper legal channel of appeal. The government counter-offered with a proposal of amnesty, which rights groups rejected, since accepting it would be tantamount to falsely admitting that the inocentes were guilty. They also feared that such a policy would help legitimize the 1995 amnesty law for human rights abusers.
Finally, the government proposed an Ad Hoc Commission, comprised of three members, including the Minister of Justice, the Ombudsman, and a personal delegate of the President. They would review cases on an individual basis and recommend to the President that a pardon or commuted sentence be granted if all three members agreed that a conviction was based on insufficient, coerced or fabricated evidence. Ultimately, President Fujimori would decide when to grant a pardon.
This was not the solution the Coordinadora had hoped for. For one, by bypassing proper legal channels, it undermined the rule of law and further bolstered Fujimori’s caudillo-style of rule. It also inverted the very principle of due process: rather than presuming innocence until proven guilty, here one had to prove one’s innocence. Further, those who were pardoned would still have a criminal record, and there was no plan for reparations. But a pragmatic view prevailed in discussions among the groups in the Coordinadora: Given the authoritarian tendencies of the Fujimori government, pardons were seen as the best they could hope for.[2]
Yet the end result was positive in many respects. The Commission, which was given a six-month mandate, actually operated for three years, and freed some 460 people. During that time, public opinion became increasingly sensitized to the issue of the inocentes. By highlighting individual cases in the media—particularly those released early on—the Coordinadora’s campaign put a human face on the problem of the hundreds of unjustly detained. And after several years, rights groups successfully lobbied Congress to pass a law deleting the criminal records of those released from prison. For the first time, a systemic human rights problem linked to Peru’s internal war was the focus of public debate. Though Fujimori ultimately controlled the process, and the granting of pardons ebbed and flowed according to the political expediencies of the moment, this was a significant victory for the cause of human rights in Peru.
Yet the sobering fact remains that the trauma faced by the individuals who suffered years of unjust imprisonment was not so easily remedied. “There is no program of reparations, no recognition that the state had erred by sentencing innocent people to decades in prison,” says Susana Villarán, one of the former heads of the Coordinadora.[3] Many of the accused were brutalized while in police custody—one study found that 77% of unjustly convicted prisoners had been tortured—yet the state provides no medical or psychological services for them once they are freed.[4] Many face ostracism from friends and family because of the stigma of being associated with terrorism.[5]
In addition, hundreds more presumed inocentes remain locked up in Peru’s medieval prisons. With the final expiration of the Ad Hoc Commission’s mandate at the end of 1999, its tasks were passed on to a commission in the Ministry of Justice that has taken no further action. And other issues linked to Peru’s internal war remain unresolved. Entire communities are under threat of arrest because of alleged collaboration with Shining Path. Some of the most draconian aspects of the antiterrorist legislation remain on the books. Other issues remained effectively off limits, such as the fate of approximately 5,000 Peruvians, mostly poor campe-sinos, disappeared by security forces.
Meanwhile, as Peru’s democratic crisis has deepened, political rights have moved to the top of the Coordinadora’s agenda. In the group’s 1997 National Assembly, member organizations adopted a position of tackling the issues of democracy and the steady dismantling of the institutions that are the underpinning of any democracy. Increasingly, key human rights activists argued, defending human rights became almost impossible because of issues such as the lack of accountability of the executive branch, the imbalance of powers and the Executive’s control of the Judiciary.[6] The decision to challenge the dismantling of democracy “fundamentally shifted the central focus of our work,” says Coordinadora Director, Sofia Macher, “from individual cases to the political system of the country and how it affects human rights.”[7]
As a result of this shift, the Coordinadora moved into the eye of the storm around the 2000 presidential and congressional elections, in which President Fujimori ran for an unprecedented—and unconstitutional—third term. From the beginning the electoral process was tipped steeply in the incumbent’s favor. Opposition candidates were harassed and there were widespread allegations of fraud. By the second round of voting on May 28, both the political opposition and international monitors withdrew from the elections due to the lack of free and fair conditions. The Coordinadora helped document and denounce the lack of democracy and, most importantly, was key in galvanizing opposition in civil society.
The campaign for free and fair elections adopted many of the same strategies used in the “In the Name of the Innocent” campaign. First, there was a strong focus on the media and on mobilizing public opinion. Regular press releases documenting and denouncing electoral fraud were published in the Lima daily papers, which prompted other civil society organizations to act. But by now the major national television stations were controlled by the government, so the Coordinadora’s most effective press work was in the provinces, where radio and local papers proved to be important alternative media outlets. Of particular importance, the Institute for Legal Defense has developed a network of over 80 radio stations across the country that air its programs twice a week. The stations became key for reporting on the Fujimori government’s fraudulent electoral practices.
The Coordinadora was, of course, not the only civil society organization involved in the electoral process, nor even the most important. Transparencia, an independent electoral watch-dog group, was the primary organization reporting on the electoral process and observing the vote count, with thousands of citizens monitoring the elections in the first round. The Human Rights Ombudsman’s office and the Council for Peace were also central to this effort. But the Coordinadora made it possible to convene other civil society organizations to support the independent monitoring process. Coordinadora member organizations were key in mobilizing volunteer election monitors, especially in the provinces. The Coordinadora was seen as honest and non-partisan, lending credibility to what others were observing and reporting. This credibility impacted international actors, including the OAS Observer Mission and representatives of the U.S. government. For some key policy makers, including Eduardo Stein, the head of the OAS Mission in Peru, the Coordinadora became a sounding-board for gauging reality on the ground and the appropriate response.
The critical position adopted by Transparencia and the Coordinadora largely shaped international opinion toward the electoral process. The monitoring mission sent by the Carter Center and National Democratic Institute ultimately concluded that the electoral process “did not meet minimum international standards for a credible, democratic election.”[8] This forced the U.S. State Department to move from lukewarm support for Fujimori to outspoken criticism of the electoral process. By the time the OAS Mission arrived on the scene, it was quite clear that the legitimacy of the process for most Peruvians could not be restored without serious reform.
Obviously, the immediate battle was lost. Fujimori ran uncontested amid widespread popular protest, and is now embarking upon an unconstitutional third term. However, two fundamental shifts have occurred. First, Fujimori has lost significant international credibility. While the response of the international community has been relatively weak, the extent of the electoral manipulations and their widespread coverage in the press ensure that Peru cannot return to business as usual. Other governments are wary, international financial institutions are nervous about growing instability, and private investors are scared. Under the best of circumstances, the Fujimori government faces an increasingly difficult international scenario.
Second, a political space for opposition and protest has opened in Peru—a space that had been closed for over a decade. The string of electoral scandals and the government’s desperate bid to hold onto power has finally overcome the fear and apathy that had permeated Peruvian society. Massive protests on the nights of both the first and second rounds of voting sent a clear message that the government will find it increasingly difficult to keep a lid on popular discontent. Protests have since continued daily.
Despite local and international protest, Fujimori and his cronies seem willing to wage a drawn-out war of attrition to keep their hold on power. The Coordinadora is sure to be a leading player in shaping the response of civil society in the uncertain times ahead.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Coletta Youngers is Senior Associate at the Washington Office on Latin America (WOLA) in Washington, D.C. Jo-Marie Burt is Editor of NACLA Report on the Americas.
NOTES
1. This case, along with dozens of others, is presented in Instituto de Defensa Legal (IDL), Los Inocentes Indultados (Lima: IDL, 1996).
2. Ernesto de la Jara, “Administración de justicia y terrorismo. ‘En nombre de los inocentes’: Una experiencia exitosa de derechos humanos,” Paper presented at the International Symposium “En camino al sigo XXI: Desafíos y estrategias de la comunidad latinoamericana de derechos humanos,” Lima, Peru, July 23-24, 1999.
3. Author’s interview, Susana Villarán, Lima, June 23, 1998.
4. Instituto de Defensa Legal, ¿Quiénes son los inocentes? (Lima: IDL, 1997), p. 26. Torture occurs most frequently while detainees are in police custody; during interrogation many people who were innocent of any crime incriminated themselves after being tortured.
5. Author’s interview, the Rev. Hubert Lanssiers of the Ad-hoc Commission, June 29, 1998.
6. See the Coordinadora’s annual report, Informe Annual 1998 (Lima: Coordinadora Nacional de Derechos Humanos, March 1999).
7. Author’s interview, Sofía Macher, Lima, April 5, 2000.
8. Joint statement by the National Democratic Institute and the Carter Center, May 25, 2000.
