On August 8, 2009 Horizons of Friendship’ supporter Helmut Enns, a retired teacher from Brighton, Ontario, traveled to Honduras to show his support for people of that country whose rights have been violated as a result of the June 28th coup d’état that ousted President Manuel Zelaya. Helmut and his wife Janet took part in a Horizons of Friendship exposure tour this past February to Honduras – his first trip to the region. When the coup took place, Helmut felt compelled to return to show his solidarity. “Watching the news on TV”, Helmut told Horizons, “I have felt more and more like I was sitting in a lazy boy chair saying ‘Isn’t that awful! Too bad (or luckily) we can’t do anything about it!’ But I wasn’t left at peace with this attitude.”
Helmut made several inquiries and as a result decided to join an international “accompaniment” team organized by the US-based Quixote Centre. He will be in Honduras for ten days. “I believe I can be useful by being a Canadian presence, making life safer for those opposing the current powers. I believe I can be the eyes and ears, helping inform some small part of the world of the plight of those who, under Zelaya, saw a ray of hope which now is in danger of being extinguished.”
Wednesday, August 12, 2009.
The sun is no longer on the hills across the valley, on the far side of Tegucigalpa. The city looks quiet.
Here, at the gates of the Cobra Special Operations Base we wait. Human rights activists, a congressman, and distraught friends and family of the 26 people taken here from the march. A lady in a black business dress and high heels rushed here straight from work when she got the news that her 65 year old father was being detained. Another man’s 50 year old sister, an engineer, is inside.
One of those rounded up is a 67 year old man.
I have an image in my head of a pack of wolves preying on the old, the weak, the stragglers, whoever is easiest or most convenient to round up, intimidate, beat, confine. I’m told that this round-up is in retaliation for the damages done yesterday. The bus burned, a fast-food restaurant torched, and window broken in chain restaurants like Burger King. Someone, anyone had to be punished.
But how did this all start? This morning, Shawn, Miguel, Pablo and I arrived at the University in time for the march to the Congress. It was an orderly, peaceful, group. The atmosphere seemed positive. We followed young lovers, arms around each other. Grandma chanting with her granddaughter. A father with his little rascal, so proud that his baby was with him to witness this historic event. Music blared from two large speakers, dwarfing the white VW bug carrying them. Garifuna drummers, vendors, flags, banners, and marshals, lots of marshals maintaining order.
When we were a few blocks from the congress, the army appeared. From now where, row upon row of plexi-glass shields, metal batons and guns descended on us. The crowd spread down the side streets, but the army was now behind and beside us. The largest crowd was now in a plaza, in front of a church. The forces stopped about 100 yards from us. Did the rock throwing or the tear gas come first? Volley after volley of tear gas landed in the crowd. But this was nothing new to them. Many bombs were thrown back towards the police. Others were doused with water. Luckily I had an extra bottle of water. Stay upwind. Breathe through a wet bandana, even if it’s not the Che one. Then the army advanced, and the crowd retreated. Rocks started flying back at the crowd, as well as tear gas. Ironically, right behind the army came the vendors, selling Eskimo pies. Shawn got a phone call ordering us back to the COFADEH office, about 10 blocks away. We headed back, taking one detour to get a picture of them back in formation, shields up, expressionless.
At the COFADEH office, reports were flooding in of arrests, beatings, murders. About 6 of our group accompanied the local official human rights workers to the Congress, where we heard about 20 young people had been beaten, and were being held. Military columns blocked all access, but Mary from COFADEH got us past one line, only to find there was another line ahead. There was no getting any further. Occasionally I caught a glimpse of bodies on the tile floor, totally surrounded by police and soldiers. Eventually a line of minimally clad young men were led out an exit far from us.
From there we enquired about wounded at a nearby hospital. We were not given any information, and no one was allowed in. This may have been a good thing. Sometimes the wrong people want access to the wounded, and this is not a good thing.
That almost completes the day, since I started at the end. It’s now 11:00. I started writing in my journal, using the hood a car as my desk, and finished back at the hotel, during the debriefing session, which was mainly in Spanish.
I was there as an observer. I don’t know anyone beaten or imprisoned. My children are safe. Soon I’ll fly back to Canada. Where I fight for democracy with a coffee in my hand, seated in a comfortable chair in front of the computer. Here justice, democracy, and a better life for your children takes on a whole new meaning. Could I pay that price?
