In the second forum of OSI's "Photography as Advocacy" series, Vera Lentz and Mayu Mohanna discussed “Yuyanapaq”, a visual narrative of the two decades of violence that caused the deaths or forced disappearance of at least 70,000 Peruvians. Yuyanapaq (“To Remember” in the indigenous Quechua language) comprises some 1,700 images selected from an archive, assembled by Peru's Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which contains more than 20,000 photographs taken between 1980 and 2000.
The Yuyanapaq exhibit opened in Lima, Peru's capital, in August 2003; tens of thousands of Peruvians have visited since. The photos on display—many of them brutal and searing images of violence and human rights abuses—have helped build support for the commission's work as it examines atrocities committed by leftist guerrillas (primarily the Shining Path and Tupac Amaru) and their military and paramilitary opponents.
Lentz began photographing the conflict in 1982; more than 200 of her images are included in Yuyanapaq. Mohanna, Yuyanapaq's curator, is also a Lima-based photographer. They were joined on the forum's panel by George Vickers, OSI's regional director for Latin America.
The forum was moderated by Susan Meiselas, a photographer who serves in a similar capacity for other forums in the “Photography as Advocacy” series. The series focuses on photographers who have participated in OSI's Moving Walls exhibit. Panelists analyze the role that photography plays in advocacy, the extent to which it is successful, and how those involved—as subject, photographer, or audience—perceive the work and its effect. Participants also consider how a photographer's agenda influences the finished project.
Photos from Peru's Truth and Reconciliation Commission are included in the Moving Walls 8 exhibit.
Summary
The discussion opened with the showing of excerpts from State of Fear, a film that examines the stories of people involved in Peru's internal conflict over two decades from the early 1980s. The conflict pitted the Maoist Shining Path guerrilla movement, which sought social and economic change through violence, against government forces, which responded aggressively. Both sides were responsible for numerous atrocities and human rights abuses, with the toll falling disproportionately on the indigenous Quechua people of the Andean highlands. The fighting caused 70,000 deaths and 8,500 unsolved disappearances and created millions of orphans; an estimated 70 percent of all victims were Quechua. Attacks and deaths continued through the 1990s, even after the capture in 1992 of Shining Path's founder and leader, Abimael Guzman.
The country's political and economic elite were and continue to be largely white. Concentrated in Lima and other coastal areas, they often "didn't want to know" about violence in the mountains, according to Mayu Mohanna, Yuyanapaq's curator. In a slide show she narrated at the conclusion of the film, Mohanna noted that the situation changed after several terrorist attacks in Lima. Initially, Peruvians supported harsh antiterrorism measures promoted by former President Alberto Fujimori in the 1990s, but the military's perceived excesses attracted increasing criticism. Fujimori, who had assumed near-dictatorial powers in the early 1990s, was forced to flee as allegations of corruption and human rights abuses overwhelmed his administration at the end of the decade.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was created in 2001 to investigate the conflict's atrocities and help provide documentation of abuses on all sides. Its goal was to help promote national healing by giving victims a forum to discuss what happened to them and making recommendations for reparations and other reconciliation-oriented policies. The Yuyanapaq exhibit is a significant part of the TRC's efforts to disclose the truth—no matter how horrible it may be—to all Peruvians, now and in the future. Mohanna said that some 70,000 people have visited the exhibit in Lima since it opened in August 2003, two weeks before the TRC released its final report.
Mohanna said the exhibit has made what happened "undeniable" to all Peruvians. The national press, which previously had been somewhat skeptical of the commission, became eager to report on its findings. She said Yuyanapaq has had the same effect on Peruvian society in general. Going to where the photos are hung is "not a passive act," she said, "but a commitment. This is different than seeing images in the media." The exhibit indicates a "public acknowledgement of [the] atrocities," she added, which is a key "step toward reconciliation."
In her comments, Vera Lentz described how she documented the conflict over two decades. As a non-Indian who grew up in Lima, she said she always felt a "hidden racism" that was rarely discussed. This assumption was verified, she said, when she traveled in the highlands and saw how both the military and guerrillas terrorized Indians, often abducting and killing them solely on thin suspicion of collaboration with the other side. Among the chilling comments she recorded was one by a police officer—part Quechua himself—who said the best thing to do would be to "exterminate" the indigenous people in Ayacucho, a large Andean city, "like the Jews in Germany."
Lentz's job became more difficult, she said, after several journalists were killed in 1983. Also, neither the military nor the Shining Path would grant easy access to the territories they controlled. She said she learned to be persistent in order to take photos at checkpoints, and also began talking to civilians at morgues, hospitals, and on the street to obtain information.
About 200 of Lentz's photos from the conflict are included among the 1,700 Yuyanapaq images. As an exhibit contributor, she hopes her efforts will help people recognize what occurred and provide support for those seeking solace and justice. She noted, however, that many of the most abused Peruvians have different reactions to the photos. In a recent effort to bring the exhibit to the highlands, she visited a town where military forces killed several people during a wedding ceremony 20 years ago. She found that the survivors and other villagers did not want the photos displayed publicly and were largely against a memorial. Some said they still feared the police, while others wanted to safeguard their privacy. This group of people "did not want their story to be remembered this way," she said.
George Vickers called the villagers' reaction a "common dilemma with truth commissions," especially at times of social, political, and economic transition. As evidenced in truth commissions elsewhere around the world in recent decades, there are structural limits based on the fact that "moments of transition" involve those being investigated, he said. Commissions need their cooperation, so it often seems as though the perpetrators are not being punished.
In addition, Vickers said "people remain traumatized" so soon after a conflict ends and have "no confidence that the abuses are over or that the past won't return." This is a main reason many oppose memorials, he added.
Vickers pointed out, however, that there is "growing evidence" that the issues don't go away even after a commission finishes its work or a more stable society has been achieved. He pointed to three countries (Argentina, Chile, and South Korea) where the "initial consequences were slim" at the end of a period of atrocities—yet as people began feeling "safe" years later, the demand for retribution returns. Courts in those countries have "creative ways of dealing with amnesties," he said.
The verdict is still out on Peru's commission, Vickers said, and its recommendations are "not on the political agenda." He added that it remains unclear whether the report itself is "enough;" also, he said, little has been decided on how the Quechua can be more involved in discussing the tragedies and their aftermath.