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| FMLN combatants HISTORICAL |
By: Alirio Montoya
E ra an early March 1983. We had just returned from voluntary exile in the sister Republic of Honduras. The roar of a bomb in the morning woke up to all the people of Santa Rosa de Lima. The bomb was planted and detonated in front of Bank of Commerce, I think it was the only town in those years. I was under the age of 7 years. When he heard the blast of the explosion followed a string of blasts AK47, M16 and G3, among others. Hugged the tremendous shock to one of my brothers, because we slept three in the same bed, I do not know if it was my sister or my brother.
"What's that," I asked very excitedly. "They got the kids," said my sister. Indeed, the FMLN guerrillas took the village that morning of March 83. I do not understand anything of those things, either my age or lack of information. When I mention I say "I'm a dick" but those words have several meanings maybe. Maybe I want to say that I know nothing, who did not participate in war and I have no right to talk about it. Some people were humpback charge throughout the war a radio transmitter and now write books about the war, others escaped accidentally shot across the holy war and write books about civil war. The book titles vary by the ingenuity of each reporter. Some titles and cover laugh. Like a "radio operator" that comes in front of a laptop, anyone has to believe that it is a book about business management, but no talks about the war in El Salvador.
But it appears or does appear to be strung proprietary right, do not know where, in write about the war because they fought each other, implying that we do not, however, that we occupy a place in that war, either as spectators or as civilians who did not have "balls" to go to war. At the age of 7 years at best and could have been useful for something on the battlefield, perhaps having more "balls" of those who left. But we were not on the front lines also have the unwavering right to write what little was recorded in our memory. Some are children of war, and we do we will, at best and subject to change after the war for having lived through the war but not fought.
As at 9 am that day, 5 guerrillas knocked on the door of my house, which was practically an inn, in the third door was a bar. The 5 guerrillas wanted to celebrate with booze "Doll" or "Gulf" that apparent victory over the enemy, even though the enemy was celebrating with whiskey in the capital, San Salvador. I looked out a window facing the front door. There were 5 fighters, three of them bearded, that caught my attention because I was told that God was bearded. But eventually they told me that God had a beard, it was like the air that could not be seen, only feel, therefore I chose to no longer believe in God at such a disappointment that gave me life or reality.
I felt closer to the guerrillas, a closer look, talk to them and most likely go with them. But this illusion of going with "the boys" became another disappointment as suddenly at about 10:45 am when the skies began to fly an A-37 roaming the town and toward Cerro Vetarrón. Each decrease of A-37 dropped on that hill and its environs, three pumps do not know how many pounds. The ground was shaking and I was crying under the bed, thinking not firmly in God, but, naively, that the bed that would protect me from intermittent explosive bombing on "the boys." My grandmother was combing her long hair, my parents prayed that we not fall any bombs. Maybe God heard laughter and gave him the patience and serenity of my grandmother Mama Lina. She did not pray, even though Mary was Catholic. You might not believe in those things.
The thunderous sound of the bombing made me reflect on who were really bad, if the guerrillas or the aircraft of the armed forces bombarded villages, hamlets, entire towns and cities. Thus I argue that citizenship también formó parte y ocupó un lugar en la guerra. Los que no nos marchamos a la montaña, fuimos víctimas del ejército; a mí me reclutaron dos veces a la edad de 14 y 15 años; pero un tío era Comandante Local del pueblo, por eso únicamente me obligaron a hacer unas cien flexiones de pierna y de regreso a casa. Otros fueron “cachimbeados”, torturados, masacrados y desaparecidos por las fuerzas represivas de la oligarquía y el imperialismo yanqui. Decir imperialismo yanqui en estos días es “obsoleto”, porque “los tiempos van cambiando y hay que adaptarnos a las nuevas realidades”; eso dijo recientemente un ex-comandante que tuvo más “guevos” que nosotros go to the mountain.
At about 3:00 pm, sorry, at 15 hours, heard a loud explosion heard that a guy who was deaf and asked what happened to the many hours of starting that battle it is true, I swear, as Nietzsche would say, "for God and all things that I do not think," my uncle was deaf. That explosion was the result of the bombing of the town bridge. That kind of "sabotage" had a detailed explanation below me, which I thought was very wise. Past 17 hours came the reinforcement of the army, so "the boys" decided to withdraw to prevent the population of Lima suffered an urban combat. El Comandante "Wil Cuche Hair" came in charge of that mission, we are told, but did not meet certain orders that were given and therefore was punished as in any military discipline.
The guerrillas of my people were many: Wilson Sosa, Wil Hair Cuche, Ricardo Cruz known as the "American Chele" (Emilio), Armando "Cotorro", whom I've missed some "talpujasos" of liquor male, Amilcar Benitez, Commander Darius Gavidia (Orestes Ortez) and, of course, my idol Saulito Mejía (Buruca) escape me some, I want to forgive me. Saulito's mother, Mrs. Virginia, asked for his remains, nobody knows. She further encouraged me to sympathize with the FMLN History. As the FMLN supporter, has disappointed many in recent days, some of them who fought and are not government offices, like all bureaucrats about, you should save a tribute to those colleagues who gave their lives for the happiness of others. This bureaucracy was one of the many causes of the implosion of the former Soviet Union. Sometimes the man does not understand the lessons it gives us the only woman who never sleeps: The History.
But in the end, the attack on March 83 opened my brain and I began to speculate and inquire about many things not understood. I understood that the oligarchy and imperialism not ask for anything, you have to take it away, they do not give up. Us is that sometimes we agree to their taunts.
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