Latest news with #Stroessner
Yahoo
10-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘Under the Flags, the Sun,' About Paraguay's 35-Year Dictatorship, Acquired by Cinephil Ahead of Berlinale Premiere (EXCLUSIVE)
World sales outfit Cinephil has boarded 'Under the Flags, the Sun' by Paraguayan filmmaker Juanjo Pereira. The film is set to world premiere in Berlinale's Panorama strand as one of the few documentaries in this year's selection. In 1989, the fall of Alfredo Stroessner's 35-year dictatorship in Paraguay marked the end of one of the world's longest authoritarian regimes, but also the abandonment of the audiovisual archives that had cemented its power. This footage, crafted to shape a national identity and celebrate the regime, was left to fade from memory. More from Variety Rima Das' Berlin-Bound Busan Winner 'Village Rockstars 2' Boarded by Diversion for World Sales (EXCLUSIVE) Supernatural Horror 'Bury the Devil,' Shot in One Take, Lands at Blue Finch for Global Sales (EXCLUSIVE) European Film Market Chief on Shielding Sales Agents as They Face Challenges: 'I'm Really Mindful of Their Cost Sensitivity' Decades later, a trove of unseen and long forgotten footage—as newsreels, public television broadcasts, propaganda films, and declassified documents—has been recovered from Paraguay and abroad, revealing the hidden mechanisms of power behind Stroessner's rule. 'The found Paraguayan footage reflects the appropriation of the past to indoctrinate, the construction of a national imaginary, and the cult of Stroessner,' according to a press statement. Pereira comments: 'In primary and secondary school in Paraguay, they don't teach about that period or the many other dictatorships that occurred in the country. I made this documentary to discover how this period affected the formation of a society, my contemporaneity and how it has forged my thoughts and feelings. That is why I chose to investigate the different filmic representations that have taken place in Paraguay throughout the 20th century.' 'Juano Pereira's film is more than just a historical documentary,' Suzanne Nodale and Shoshi Korman, co-managing directors of Cinephil, state. 'It's an urgent examination of how media shapes power and collective memory. Through a creative use of archival material interwoven with a modern perspective, the film exposes mechanisms of control that still resonate today. It's a powerful work.' 'Under the Flags, the Sun' is produced by Ivana Urízar for Cine Mío, Paula Zyngierman and Leandro Listorti for MaravillaCine, Gabriela Sabaté for Sabaté Films, and Juanjo Pereira. It is co-produced by Bird Street Production and Lardux Films. Welt Film is the associate producer. Cinephil secured worldwide sales rights. Best of Variety New Movies Out Now in Theaters: What to See This Week Grammy Predictions, From Beyoncé to Kendrick Lamar: Who Will Win? Who Should Win? What's Coming to Netflix in February 2025
Yahoo
26-01-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Paraguay's disappeared: A dictator's shadow is a roadblock for justice, but a few keep up the fight
ASUNCIÓN, Paraguay (AP) — Despite being ousted in 1989 after a 35-year reign of terror, during which 20,000 people were tortured, executed or disappeared, some Paraguayans feel as if Gen. Alfredo Stroessner never truly left. 'This is probably the only country in which the political party that supported a dictator, once he is gone, remains in power,' said Alfredo Boccia, a researcher of Paraguay's history. 'That's why scrutiny took so long, most disappeared were never found and there were barely trials.' Disappearances are a known phenomena in Latin America. The numbers in Argentina and Chile might have gained the most visibility, but thousands more have vanished elsewhere under dictatorships and armed conflicts. See for yourself — The Yodel is the go-to source for daily news, entertainment and feel-good stories. By signing up, you agree to our Terms and Privacy Policy. Paraguayans with missing loved ones face a unique struggle, though. While Stroessner has been long gone, his legacy remains a roadblock to their searching. Rogelio Goiburu's hair has turned white while looking for his father. His search has spanned 47 years, and he has no intention of giving up, perhaps thanks to his father's teachings. 'Dad trained us on survival,' Goiburu said. 'He prepared us to eternally fight Stroessner's regime.' Experts say Stroessner's control was unchallenged by other military strongmen in the region. He served as Paraguay's president, leader of his conservative Colorado Party, commander of the armed forces and chief of police. Stroessner was not overthrown by enemies, but by his in-law, and the military members involved were affiliated with his party, which has ruled practically uninterrupted since. Paraguayans' lack of criticism toward the party for its role in the country's dark past were as palpable as ever in 2018, when Mario Abdo was elected president. The Colorado candidate was son of Stroessner's personal secretary and served as a pallbearer at the dictator's funeral in Brazil, where he died in 2006 without being convicted of any crimes. The Colorado Party's dominance makes accountability elusive. Various streets in Asuncion are named after military leaders. Few of those responsible for crimes have faced trial, and public schools avoid mentioning the dictatorship during history lessons. Santiago Peña, who won the 2023 presidential elections, was aide to cigarette tycoon and former President Horacio Cartes, leader of the party despite being accused of corruption by the United States. The Colorados got Peña more than 40% of the votes, won 15 of the 17 governorships up for election and Congress' majority. 'Paraguayans now vote for the party freely,' Boccia said. 'For those of us who fight for memory, that battle was lost.' EACH MISSING PERSON COUNTS Goiburu was named director of historic memory at the Ministry of Justice, but has no budget at hand. By his own means or raising funds, he has filled in the blanks about the fate of his dad and other disappeared people, earning the trust of retired police officers and military commanders who confessed to him alone how bodies were disposed. Unlike Argentina, where various efforts to find disappeared people are government-funded, Paraguay doesn't have a genetic data bank, so Goiburu relies on Argentinian forensic anthropologists to analyze and safekeep the DNA samples he gathers. And as opposed to Mexico, where mothers searching for their children regularly exhume remains, only one major excavation has been done in Paraguay. It was led by Goiburu, between 2009 and 2013, and out of the 15 bodies found, only four were identified. Paraguayan search efforts have also proved challenging, as some belittle victims' claims for justice. While 30,000 Argentinians disappeared in a less than a decade-long dictatorship, around 500 people vanished in Paraguay amid the 35-year regime. Regardless, relatives argue, does it take more than a missing person to shatter a family? 'Every disappearance attacks the right to mourn,' said Carlos Portillo, who interviewed thousands of victims for the Truth Commission. 'There's no culture which doesn't have a ritual for mourning. A disappearance is the denying of this ritual, and that's why it's impossible to let go.' Before Alzheimer's hit, Goiburu's mother reserved a plate and an empty chair at their Christmas table for her missing husband. And until her death in 2024, she never stopped looking for him. 'Having a disappeared doesn't mean that a loved one simply left,' said Celsa Ramírez, a former militant of the Communist Party who was imprisoned between 1975 and 1978, and searches for her husband, Derlis Villagra. 'It means he was detained, tortured, killed and disappeared. That should weigh heavily on society.' NO COMMUNISTS ALLOWED Goiburu's father, Agustín, was a doctor and leftist political leader. Before he fully engaged in politics, he lived with his wife and children in the countryside, often treating patients for free. 'People paid him with eggs, a banana, a couple of hens,' said Goiburu, who became a doctor like him but gave up on medicine to search for his remains. His dad once was among the Colorado Youth. When Stroessner took power in 1954, dozens had hope, guessing a firm hand would stabilize the country after a war against Bolivia. But a brutal repression emerged. Amid the Cold War, and supported by the U.S., Stroessner made communism into Paraguay's number one enemy. He decreed communist activities as 'punishable' and eventually targeted all opponents as leftists. 'They used to call me 'the bishop of the red cassock,' meaning I was a communist,' said bishop Melanio Medina, who presided over the Truth Commission. 'Only those who didn't speak out were welcomed.' Goiburu's father became a target for refusing to cooperate with the dictatorship. The military often transferred executed or tortured prisoners in hospitals, forcing personnel to issue false death certificates to cover up their crimes. In other cases, doctors oversaw torture sessions at detainment centers and advised torturers on the level of harm they could inflict. Few like Goiburu's father openly challenged military orders, but other subtle endeavors rose. Resembling Chile's Vicariate of Solidarity, a handful of religious leaders created a multi-faith group called the Churches Committee in 1976. 'A lot of people disappeared, but we didn't have any details,' said Spanish Catholic priest José María Blanch, who headed the committee. 'Therefore, religious organizations began visiting prisons.' Aside from food and clothing, the group provided legal advice for prisoners, financial support for those freed and information for families with loved ones detained. Rosa María Ortiz, who joined the committee in 1977, said that she used to visit Asuncion's main detention center and lie to the chief officer, arguing that the bishop sent her to check on prisoners so she could find out what became of them. As the repression worsened, under the pretext of providing vaccines or books for inmates, personnel drew lists of the prisoners and updated those registers as possible. 'We didn't even though about providing spiritual accompaniment,' Blanch said. 'These were matters of life and death.' MORE THAN A FATHER Federico Tatter is a friend of Goiburu who shares his ails. Their fathers had opposite backgrounds — Tatter's was a member of the military who rebelled against the dictatorship — but shared a common destiny: Both disappeared after being detained in Argentina, where several opponents of Stroessner fled to protect their families and continue their militance. According to the Truth Commission, most cases of Paraguayan disappearances during the 1970s happened in Argentina, presumably amid Operation Condor, a coordinated effort among South American dictators to hunt down and eliminate opponents across borders. In October 1976, Tatter was on his way back home in Buenos Aires when he noticed soldiers raiding his house. He met his father's eyes while soldiers escorted him out. 'I'm the last family member who saw him,' Tatter said. He's uncertain of what happened next. Goiburu learned about his dad's disappearance through a neighbor. He was detained in a street in Parana in February 1977 and transferred to Asuncion. Afterwards, the trail goes cold. 'Most Paraguayans don't realize that many of the things we can do nowadays are thanks of our parents' battles,' said Ricardo Flecha, a singer and human rights activist. 'Those fights are what allow us to have at least a modest space where we can now speak out.' Paraguay's opposition did hold power once — from 2008 to 2012 — but some old fears remain. 'I found two skeletons that are currently at the morgue under judicial protection,' Goiburu said. 'I'm certain about their identities, but relatives won't give me a blood sample to verify because they don't want anyone to know they were communists.' Goiburu himself leads a cautious way of life, scarcely keeping written records of his findings, though there's a writing project he would love to undertake: a book about his dad. 'I dream of him every week,' he said. 'More than my old man, he was my friend. I need him as a friend.' ____ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
The Hill
26-01-2025
- Politics
- The Hill
Paraguay's disappeared: A dictator's shadow is a roadblock for justice, but a few keep up the fight
ASUNCIÓN, Paraguay (AP) — Despite being ousted in 1989 after a 35-year reign of terror, during which 20,000 people were tortured, executed or disappeared, some Paraguayans feel as if Gen. Alfredo Stroessner never truly left. 'This is probably the only country in which the political party that supported a dictator, once he is gone, remains in power,' said Alfredo Boccia, a researcher of Paraguay's history. 'That's why scrutiny took so long, most disappeared were never found and there were barely trials.' Disappearances are a known phenomena in Latin America. The numbers in Argentina and Chile might have gained the most visibility, but thousands more have vanished elsewhere under dictatorships and armed conflicts. Paraguayans with missing loved ones face a unique struggle, though. While Stroessner has been long gone, his legacy remains a roadblock to their searching. Rogelio Goiburu's hair has turned white while looking for his father. His search has spanned 47 years, and he has no intention of giving up, perhaps thanks to his father's teachings. 'Dad trained us on survival,' Goiburu said. 'He prepared us to eternally fight Stroessner's regime.' Experts say Stroessner's control was unchallenged by other military strongmen in the region. He served as Paraguay's president, leader of his conservative Colorado Party, commander of the armed forces and chief of police. Stroessner was not overthrown by enemies, but by his in-law, and the military members involved were affiliated with his party, which has ruled practically uninterrupted since. Paraguayans' lack of criticism toward the party for its role in the country's dark past were as palpable as ever in 2018, when Mario Abdo was elected president. The Colorado candidate was son of Stroessner's personal secretary and served as a pallbearer at the dictator's funeral in Brazil, where he died in 2006 without being convicted of any crimes. The Colorado Party's dominance makes accountability elusive. Various streets in Asuncion are named after military leaders. Few of those responsible for crimes have faced trial, and public schools avoid mentioning the dictatorship during history lessons. Santiago Peña, who won the 2023 presidential elections, was aide to cigarette tycoon and former President Horacio Cartes, leader of the party despite being accused of corruption by the United States. The Colorados got Peña more than 40% of the votes, won 15 of the 17 governorships up for election and Congress' majority. 'Paraguayans now vote for the party freely,' Boccia said. 'For those of us who fight for memory, that battle was lost.' EACH MISSING PERSON COUNTS Goiburu was named director of historic memory at the Ministry of Justice, but has no budget at hand. By his own means or raising funds, he has filled in the blanks about the fate of his dad and other disappeared people, earning the trust of retired police officers and military commanders who confessed to him alone how bodies were disposed. Unlike Argentina, where various efforts to find disappeared people are government-funded, Paraguay doesn't have a genetic data bank, so Goiburu relies on Argentinian forensic anthropologists to analyze and safekeep the DNA samples he gathers. And as opposed to Mexico, where mothers searching for their children regularly exhume remains, only one major excavation has been done in Paraguay. It was led by Goiburu, between 2009 and 2013, and out of the 15 bodies found, only four were identified. Paraguayan search efforts have also proved challenging, as some belittle victims' claims for justice. While 30,000 Argentinians disappeared in a less than a decade-long dictatorship, around 500 people vanished in Paraguay amid the 35-year regime. Regardless, relatives argue, does it take more than a missing person to shatter a family? 'Every disappearance attacks the right to mourn,' said Carlos Portillo, who interviewed thousands of victims for the Truth Commission. 'There's no culture which doesn't have a ritual for mourning. A disappearance is the denying of this ritual, and that's why it's impossible to let go.' Before Alzheimer's hit, Goiburu's mother reserved a plate and an empty chair at their Christmas table for her missing husband. And until her death in 2024, she never stopped looking for him. 'Having a disappeared doesn't mean that a loved one simply left,' said Celsa Ramírez, a former militant of the Communist Party who was imprisoned between 1975 and 1978, and searches for her husband, Derlis Villagra. 'It means he was detained, tortured, killed and disappeared. That should weigh heavily on society.' NO COMMUNISTS ALLOWED Goiburu's father, Agustín, was a doctor and leftist political leader. Before he fully engaged in politics, he lived with his wife and children in the countryside, often treating patients for free. 'People paid him with eggs, a banana, a couple of hens,' said Goiburu, who became a doctor like him but gave up on medicine to search for his remains. His dad once was among the Colorado Youth. When Stroessner took power in 1954, dozens had hope, guessing a firm hand would stabilize the country after a war against Bolivia. But a brutal repression emerged. Amid the Cold War, and supported by the U.S., Stroessner made communism into Paraguay's number one enemy. He decreed communist activities as 'punishable' and eventually targeted all opponents as leftists. 'They used to call me 'the bishop of the red cassock,' meaning I was a communist,' said bishop Melanio Medina, who presided over the Truth Commission. 'Only those who didn't speak out were welcomed.' Goiburu's father became a target for refusing to cooperate with the dictatorship. The military often transferred executed or tortured prisoners in hospitals, forcing personnel to issue false death certificates to cover up their crimes. In other cases, doctors oversaw torture sessions at detainment centers and advised torturers on the level of harm they could inflict. Few like Goiburu's father openly challenged military orders, but other subtle endeavors rose. Resembling Chile's Vicariate of Solidarity, a handful of religious leaders created a multi-faith group called the Churches Committee in 1976. 'A lot of people disappeared, but we didn't have any details,' said Spanish Catholic priest José María Blanch, who headed the committee. 'Therefore, religious organizations began visiting prisons.' Aside from food and clothing, the group provided legal advice for prisoners, financial support for those freed and information for families with loved ones detained. Rosa María Ortiz, who joined the committee in 1977, said that she used to visit Asuncion's main detention center and lie to the chief officer, arguing that the bishop sent her to check on prisoners so she could find out what became of them. As the repression worsened, under the pretext of providing vaccines or books for inmates, personnel drew lists of the prisoners and updated those registers as possible. 'We didn't even though about providing spiritual accompaniment,' Blanch said. 'These were matters of life and death.' MORE THAN A FATHER Federico Tatter is a friend of Goiburu who shares his ails. Their fathers had opposite backgrounds — Tatter's was a member of the military who rebelled against the dictatorship — but shared a common destiny: Both disappeared after being detained in Argentina, where several opponents of Stroessner fled to protect their families and continue their militance. According to the Truth Commission, most cases of Paraguayan disappearances during the 1970s happened in Argentina, presumably amid Operation Condor, a coordinated effort among South American dictators to hunt down and eliminate opponents across borders. In October 1976, Tatter was on his way back home in Buenos Aires when he noticed soldiers raiding his house. He met his father's eyes while soldiers escorted him out. 'I'm the last family member who saw him,' Tatter said. He's uncertain of what happened next. Goiburu learned about his dad's disappearance through a neighbor. He was detained in a street in Parana in February 1977 and transferred to Asuncion. Afterwards, the trail goes cold. 'Most Paraguayans don't realize that many of the things we can do nowadays are thanks of our parents' battles,' said Ricardo Flecha, a singer and human rights activist. 'Those fights are what allow us to have at least a modest space where we can now speak out.' Paraguay's opposition did hold power once — from 2008 to 2012 — but some old fears remain. 'I found two skeletons that are currently at the morgue under judicial protection,' Goiburu said. 'I'm certain about their identities, but relatives won't give me a blood sample to verify because they don't want anyone to know they were communists.' Goiburu himself leads a cautious way of life, scarcely keeping written records of his findings, though there's a writing project he would love to undertake: a book about his dad. 'I dream of him every week,' he said. 'More than my old man, he was my friend. I need him as a friend.' ____
The Independent
26-01-2025
- Politics
- The Independent
Paraguay's disappeared: A dictator's shadow is a roadblock for justice, but a few keep up the fight
Despite being ousted in 1989 after a 35-year reign of terror, during which 20,000 people were tortured, executed or disappeared, some Paraguayans feel as if Gen. Alfredo Stroessner never truly left. 'This is probably the only country in which the political party that supported a dictator, once he is gone, remains in power,' said Alfredo Boccia, a researcher of Paraguay's history. 'That's why scrutiny took so long, most disappeared were never found and there were barely trials.' Disappearances are a known phenomena in Latin America. The numbers in Argentina and Chile might have gained the most visibility, but thousands more have vanished elsewhere under dictatorships and armed conflicts. Paraguayans with missing loved ones face a unique struggle, though. While Stroessner has been long gone, his legacy remains a roadblock to their searching. Rogelio Goiburu's hair has turned white while looking for his father. His search has spanned 47 years, and he has no intention of giving up, perhaps thanks to his father's teachings. 'Dad trained us on survival,' Goiburu said. 'He prepared us to eternally fight Stroessner's regime.' Experts say Stroessner's control was unchallenged by other military strongmen in the region. He served as Paraguay's president, leader of his conservative Colorado Party, commander of the armed forces and chief of police. Stroessner was not overthrown by enemies, but by his in-law, and the military members involved were affiliated with his party, which has ruled practically uninterrupted since. Paraguayans' lack of criticism toward the party for its role in the country's dark past were as palpable as ever in 2018, when Mario Abdo was elected president. The Colorado candidate was son of Stroessner's personal secretary and served as a pallbearer at the dictator's funeral in Brazil, where he died in 2006 without being convicted of any crimes. The Colorado Party's dominance makes accountability elusive. Various streets in Asuncion are named after military leaders. Few of those responsible for crimes have faced trial, and public schools avoid mentioning the dictatorship during history lessons. Santiago Peña, who won the 2023 presidential elections, was aide to cigarette tycoon and former President Horacio Cartes, leader of the party despite being accused of corruption by the United States. The Colorados got Peña more than 40% of the votes, won 15 of the 17 governorships up for election and Congress' majority. 'Paraguayans now vote for the party freely,' Boccia said. 'For those of us who fight for memory, that battle was lost.' EACH MISSING PERSON COUNTS Goiburu was named director of historic memory at the Ministry of Justice, but has no budget at hand. By his own means or raising funds, he has filled in the blanks about the fate of his dad and other disappeared people, earning the trust of retired police officers and military commanders who confessed to him alone how bodies were disposed. Unlike Argentina, where various efforts to find disappeared people are government-funded, Paraguay doesn't have a genetic data bank, so Goiburu relies on Argentinian forensic anthropologists to analyze and safekeep the DNA samples he gathers. And as opposed to Mexico, where mothers searching for their children regularly exhume remains, only one major excavation has been done in Paraguay. It was led by Goiburu, between 2009 and 2013, and out of the 15 bodies found, only four were identified. Paraguayan search efforts have also proved challenging, as some belittle victims' claims for justice. While 30,000 Argentinians disappeared in a less than a decade-long dictatorship, around 500 people vanished in Paraguay amid the 35-year regime. Regardless, relatives argue, does it take more than a missing person to shatter a family? 'Every disappearance attacks the right to mourn,' said Carlos Portillo, who interviewed thousands of victims for the Truth Commission. 'There's no culture which doesn't have a ritual for mourning. A disappearance is the denying of this ritual, and that's why it's impossible to let go.' Before Alzheimer's hit, Goiburu's mother reserved a plate and an empty chair at their Christmas table for her missing husband. And until her death in 2024, she never stopped looking for him. 'Having a disappeared doesn't mean that a loved one simply left,' said Celsa Ramírez, a former militant of the Communist Party who was imprisoned between 1975 and 1978, and searches for her husband, Derlis Villagra. 'It means he was detained, tortured, killed and disappeared. That should weigh heavily on society.' NO COMMUNISTS ALLOWED Goiburu's father, Agustín, was a doctor and leftist political leader. Before he fully engaged in politics, he lived with his wife and children in the countryside, often treating patients for free. 'People paid him with eggs, a banana, a couple of hens,' said Goiburu, who became a doctor like him but gave up on medicine to search for his remains. His dad once was among the Colorado Youth. When Stroessner took power in 1954, dozens had hope, guessing a firm hand would stabilize the country after a war against Bolivia. But a brutal repression emerged. Amid the Cold War, and supported by the U.S., Stroessner made communism into Paraguay's number one enemy. He decreed communist activities as 'punishable' and eventually targeted all opponents as leftists. 'They used to call me 'the bishop of the red cassock,' meaning I was a communist,' said bishop Melanio Medina, who presided over the Truth Commission. 'Only those who didn't speak out were welcomed.' Goiburu's father became a target for refusing to cooperate with the dictatorship. The military often transferred executed or tortured prisoners in hospitals, forcing personnel to issue false death certificates to cover up their crimes. In other cases, doctors oversaw torture sessions at detainment centers and advised torturers on the level of harm they could inflict. Few like Goiburu's father openly challenged military orders, but other subtle endeavors rose. Resembling Chile's Vicariate of Solidarity, a handful of religious leaders created a multi-faith group called the Churches Committee in 1976. 'A lot of people disappeared, but we didn't have any details,' said Spanish Catholic priest José María Blanch, who headed the committee. 'Therefore, religious organizations began visiting prisons.' Aside from food and clothing, the group provided legal advice for prisoners, financial support for those freed and information for families with loved ones detained. Rosa María Ortiz, who joined the committee in 1977, said that she used to visit Asuncion's main detention center and lie to the chief officer, arguing that the bishop sent her to check on prisoners so she could find out what became of them. As the repression worsened, under the pretext of providing vaccines or books for inmates, personnel drew lists of the prisoners and updated those registers as possible. 'We didn't even though about providing spiritual accompaniment,' Blanch said. 'These were matters of life and death.' MORE THAN A FATHER Federico Tatter is a friend of Goiburu who shares his ails. Their fathers had opposite backgrounds — Tatter's was a member of the military who rebelled against the dictatorship — but shared a common destiny: Both disappeared after being detained in Argentina, where several opponents of Stroessner fled to protect their families and continue their militance. According to the Truth Commission, most cases of Paraguayan disappearances during the 1970s happened in Argentina, presumably amid Operation Condor, a coordinated effort among South American dictators to hunt down and eliminate opponents across borders. In October 1976, Tatter was on his way back home in Buenos Aires when he noticed soldiers raiding his house. He met his father's eyes while soldiers escorted him out. 'I'm the last family member who saw him,' Tatter said. He's uncertain of what happened next. Goiburu learned about his dad's disappearance through a neighbor. He was detained in a street in Parana in February 1977 and transferred to Asuncion. Afterwards, the trail goes cold. 'Most Paraguayans don't realize that many of the things we can do nowadays are thanks of our parents' battles,' said Ricardo Flecha, a singer and human rights activist. 'Those fights are what allow us to have at least a modest space where we can now speak out.' Paraguay's opposition did hold power once — from 2008 to 2012 — but some old fears remain. 'I found two skeletons that are currently at the morgue under judicial protection,' Goiburu said. 'I'm certain about their identities, but relatives won't give me a blood sample to verify because they don't want anyone to know they were communists.' Goiburu himself leads a cautious way of life, scarcely keeping written records of his findings, though there's a writing project he would love to undertake: a book about his dad. 'I dream of him every week,' he said. 'More than my old man, he was my friend. I need him as a friend.' ____ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
Associated Press
26-01-2025
- Politics
- Associated Press
Paraguay's disappeared: A dictator's shadow is a roadblock for justice, but a few keep up the fight
ASUNCIÓN, Paraguay (AP) — Despite being ousted in 1989 after a 35-year reign of terror, during which 20,000 people were tortured, executed or disappeared, some Paraguayans feel as if Gen. Alfredo Stroessner never truly left. 'This is probably the only country in which the political party that supported a dictator, once he is gone, remains in power,' said Alfredo Boccia, a researcher of Paraguay's history. 'That's why scrutiny took so long, most disappeared were never found and there were barely trials.' Disappearances are a known phenomena in Latin America. The numbers in Argentina and Chile might have gained the most visibility, but thousands more have vanished elsewhere under dictatorships and armed conflicts. Paraguayans with missing loved ones face a unique struggle, though. While Stroessner has been long gone, his legacy remains a roadblock to their searching. Rogelio Goiburu's hair has turned white while looking for his father. His search has spanned 47 years, and he has no intention of giving up, perhaps thanks to his father's teachings. 'Dad trained us on survival,' Goiburu said. 'He prepared us to eternally fight Stroessner's regime.' Experts say Stroessner's control was unchallenged by other military strongmen in the region. He served as Paraguay's president, leader of his conservative Colorado Party, commander of the armed forces and chief of police. Stroessner was not overthrown by enemies, but by his in-law, and the military members involved were affiliated with his party, which has ruled practically uninterrupted since. Paraguayans' lack of criticism toward the party for its role in the country's dark past were as palpable as ever in 2018, when Mario Abdo was elected president. The Colorado candidate was son of Stroessner's personal secretary and served as a pallbearer at the dictator's funeral in Brazil, where he died in 2006 without being convicted of any crimes. The Colorado Party's dominance makes accountability elusive. Various streets in Asuncion are named after military leaders. Few of those responsible for crimes have faced trial, and public schools avoid mentioning the dictatorship during history lessons. Santiago Peña, who won the 2023 presidential elections, was aide to cigarette tycoon and former President Horacio Cartes, leader of the party despite being accused of corruption by the United States. The Colorados got Peña more than 40% of the votes, won 15 of the 17 governorships up for election and Congress' majority. 'Paraguayans now vote for the party freely,' Boccia said. 'For those of us who fight for memory, that battle was lost.' EACH MISSING PERSON COUNTS Goiburu was named director of historic memory at the Ministry of Justice, but has no budget at hand. By his own means or raising funds, he has filled in the blanks about the fate of his dad and other disappeared people, earning the trust of retired police officers and military commanders who confessed to him alone how bodies were disposed. Unlike Argentina, where various efforts to find disappeared people are government-funded, Paraguay doesn't have a genetic data bank, so Goiburu relies on Argentinian forensic anthropologists to analyze and safekeep the DNA samples he gathers. And as opposed to Mexico, where mothers searching for their children regularly exhume remains, only one major excavation has been done in Paraguay. It was led by Goiburu, between 2009 and 2013, and out of the 15 bodies found, only four were identified. Paraguayan search efforts have also proved challenging, as some belittle victims' claims for justice. While 30,000 Argentinians disappeared in a less than a decade-long dictatorship, around 500 people vanished in Paraguay amid the 35-year regime. Regardless, relatives argue, does it take more than a missing person to shatter a family? 'Every disappearance attacks the right to mourn,' said Carlos Portillo, who interviewed thousands of victims for the Truth Commission. 'There's no culture which doesn't have a ritual for mourning. A disappearance is the denying of this ritual, and that's why it's impossible to let go.' Before Alzheimer's hit, Goiburu's mother reserved a plate and an empty chair at their Christmas table for her missing husband. And until her death in 2024, she never stopped looking for him. 'Having a disappeared doesn't mean that a loved one simply left,' said Celsa Ramírez, a former militant of the Communist Party who was imprisoned between 1975 and 1978, and searches for her husband, Derlis Villagra. 'It means he was detained, tortured, killed and disappeared. That should weigh heavily on society.' NO COMMUNISTS ALLOWED Goiburu's father, Agustín, was a doctor and leftist political leader. Before he fully engaged in politics, he lived with his wife and children in the countryside, often treating patients for free. 'People paid him with eggs, a banana, a couple of hens,' said Goiburu, who became a doctor like him but gave up on medicine to search for his remains. His dad once was among the Colorado Youth. When Stroessner took power in 1954, dozens had hope, guessing a firm hand would stabilize the country after a war against Bolivia. But a brutal repression emerged. Amid the Cold War, and supported by the U.S., Stroessner made communism into Paraguay's number one enemy. He decreed communist activities as 'punishable' and eventually targeted all opponents as leftists. 'They used to call me 'the bishop of the red cassock,' meaning I was a communist,' said bishop Melanio Medina, who presided over the Truth Commission. 'Only those who didn't speak out were welcomed.' Goiburu's father became a target for refusing to cooperate with the dictatorship. The military often transferred executed or tortured prisoners in hospitals, forcing personnel to issue false death certificates to cover up their crimes. In other cases, doctors oversaw torture sessions at detainment centers and advised torturers on the level of harm they could inflict. Few like Goiburu's father openly challenged military orders, but other subtle endeavors rose. Resembling Chile's Vicariate of Solidarity, a handful of religious leaders created a multi-faith group called the Churches Committee in 1976. 'A lot of people disappeared, but we didn't have any details,' said Spanish Catholic priest José María Blanch, who headed the committee. 'Therefore, religious organizations began visiting prisons.' Aside from food and clothing, the group provided legal advice for prisoners, financial support for those freed and information for families with loved ones detained. Rosa María Ortiz, who joined the committee in 1977, said that she used to visit Asuncion's main detention center and lie to the chief officer, arguing that the bishop sent her to check on prisoners so she could find out what became of them. As the repression worsened, under the pretext of providing vaccines or books for inmates, personnel drew lists of the prisoners and updated those registers as possible. 'We didn't even though about providing spiritual accompaniment,' Blanch said. 'These were matters of life and death.' MORE THAN A FATHER Federico Tatter is a friend of Goiburu who shares his ails. Their fathers had opposite backgrounds — Tatter's was a member of the military who rebelled against the dictatorship — but shared a common destiny: Both disappeared after being detained in Argentina, where several opponents of Stroessner fled to protect their families and continue their militance. According to the Truth Commission, most cases of Paraguayan disappearances during the 1970s happened in Argentina, presumably amid Operation Condor, a coordinated effort among South American dictators to hunt down and eliminate opponents across borders. In October 1976, Tatter was on his way back home in Buenos Aires when he noticed soldiers raiding his house. He met his father's eyes while soldiers escorted him out. 'I'm the last family member who saw him,' Tatter said. He's uncertain of what happened next. Goiburu learned about his dad's disappearance through a neighbor. He was detained in a street in Parana in February 1977 and transferred to Asuncion. Afterwards, the trail goes cold. 'Most Paraguayans don't realize that many of the things we can do nowadays are thanks of our parents' battles,' said Ricardo Flecha, a singer and human rights activist. 'Those fights are what allow us to have at least a modest space where we can now speak out.' Paraguay's opposition did hold power once — from 2008 to 2012 — but some old fears remain. 'I found two skeletons that are currently at the morgue under judicial protection,' Goiburu said. 'I'm certain about their identities, but relatives won't give me a blood sample to verify because they don't want anyone to know they were communists.' Goiburu himself leads a cautious way of life, scarcely keeping written records of his findings, though there's a writing project he would love to undertake: a book about his dad. 'I dream of him every week,' he said. 'More than my old man, he was my friend. I need him as a friend.'
