THE FORCES ARRAYED AGAINST EACH other in the civil war are sharply defined; the op- posing blocs illustrate clearly that this is a class conflict. On one side, forces that revolve around big private enterprise; they largely control the state apparatus through the political parties that represent their inter- ests. Above all they control the armed forces, by means of corruption. On the other side, the worker and peas- ant-based forces organized in the FMLN. Neither bloc is monolithic; they both depend upon alliances which have shifted with the rhythm of the war. But there is more to Salvadorean society than these two blocs. A fairly broad spectrum declines to declare its loyalties. Though this sector may feel greater sym- pathy for one side or another, neither is the ideal vehicle for its political aspirations. This is not a silent majority, passively "caught in the crossfire," but a silenced majority, as it always has been in El Salvador. Nor is it a potential political center, the standard-bearer of a "third way." The effects of war and repression on this non-combatant population has been more one of breaking apart than of cementing together. These are more or less organized sectors of society, with a wide range of interests and differing political agendas. Moving on the outer fringes of the leftist and rightist blocs, they may drift in or out of alliance with them at different junctures of the war. From the govern- ment's point of view, these are potential voters, or-if discontented-the possible catalysts of an insurrection or general strike. For the FMLN-FDR, they are poten- tial allies in a Government of Broad Participation or candidates to support a mass uprising. We are talking of several sectors: * the Catholic Church, both hierarchy and Chris- tian base communities; * the trade unions, some traditionally associated with the Left and some with the burgeoning "reformist" labor movement organized in the Popular Democratic Union (UPD); * the professional classes who cannot express their interests through the political parties or find a way to make their contribution through the present political system; * small and medium-scale private enterprises, aban- doned by government, hardest hit by the militarization of the economy, but mistrustful of the FMLN-FDR; * some large businessmen with progressive views. While their integrity recoils from the prevailing injustice and barbarity, and admits the need for profound changes, they have not yet heard a proposal from the FMLN-FDR about the role and safeguards they would be granted. It is impossible to understand the Salvadorean con- flict without recognizing the range of actors involved. The non-combatant sectors, though perhaps unable to shape the course of the war on their own, represent a "critical mass" which the main contenders need to win over. The far Right has acknowledged the threat they pose-the labor unions as potential insurrectionary forces, the Church as a facilitator of dialogue-and has persecuted both without mercy. The FMLN too has grasped their importance, reducing its sabotage cam- paign greatly in late 1983 to reduce the economic burden on the middle sectors. Who make up these non-combatant groups? Why have they remained uncommitted to Left or Right? Who wants to enlist them, and why? What is their political future? M E OCTOBER 1979 COUP WAS SUPPORTED y a very broad cross-section of Salvadorean soci- ety. Only the oligarchy showed real hostility to the first junta. But at the same time, the popular organizations reached their zenith: on January 22, 1980, the unity march of the Revolutionary Coordinating Committee of the Masses (CRM) brought 150,000 people on to the streets of San Salvador. They had the support or tacit approval of many professionals, small business people, public sector employees and many Church groups. The CRM's opposition to the coup reflected their fear that the new junta would take advantage of the groundswell of enthusiasm for social change and channel it into tepid reforms under the thumb of the United States. Support for change was quite vague in political terms: more justice, more mass participation, greater respect for human rights. No clear political direction was defined. The platform of the unified popular organizations (CRM), issued in February 1980, though a first step, was poorly thought through. It failed to fill the political vacuum. 1980 was a year of growing polarization. The ruling class responded to the peaceful mobilization of the popular organizations with a wave of brutal repression, which worsened after the first junta resigned and con- servatives returned to key positions of influence. The January 22 march was machine-gunned, leaving 30 dead and more than 200 injured. A second massacre came on March 30, at the funeral of Archbishop Romero, when the crowd outside the Metropolitan Cathedral was fired on. In the ensuing panic, at least 35 died. REPORT ON THE AMERICAS 36Mass Tunerals were a ioual polut UIst usciuiterI Ie na [monlns TOllowing ine ucioDer It coup. Between 1977 and October 1979, political repression had caused around 750 deaths in El Salvador, bringing the government universal condemnation as one of the world's worst human rights violators. But in January and February of 1980 alone, the Legal Aid Office of the Archbishopric of San Salvador (Socorro Juridico) reported 504 deaths at the hands of the security forces and paramilitary squads. By the end of June, the figure had soared to 3,111; by the end of the year, to 8,398. In addition, the regime created legal cover for the slaughter. Decree 155 established a nationwide State of Siege; Decrees 264 and 265 made civil disobedience a terrorist act; Decree 296 banned strikes and labor stop- pages; Decree 544 outlawed all labor union activity; Decree 43 militarized major public services; and-by way of a footnote-Decree 507 gave the security forces a free hand in the fight against "subversion." Faced with this systematic repression, the popular organizations had no alternative but to go underground and arm themselves. The abduction and killing of six FDR leaders at the end of November 1980 only served to confirm the logic of that decision. But the militarization of the conflict, accompanied by a hardening of atti- tudes, burned many of the bridges that might have helped to attract more timid, less politicized sectors. The regime's propaganda conjured up the demons of "totalitarianism" and "fanatical extremism"--what Church takeover by a mass organization in 1979. the U.S. Embassy called "the Pol Pot Left"-to scare off potential supporters. The revolutionary movement added its own quota of mistakes, which alienated the middle sectors. In devoting all their energies to military concerns after 1980, the popular organizations deprived them- selves of the means to attract and absorb political sym- pathizers. By the time of the FMLN's general offensive in January 1981--the formal outbreak of the civil war- the consequences were evident. The revolutionary MARCH/APRIL 1984 37EL SALVADOR 1984 forces had no direct or open support from many of their sympathizers among the general population. It has taken them years to recover from those setbacks. ONE GROUP BADLY HIT BY STATE TERROR- ism was the Catholic Church. According to a report from Socorro Juridico, between January 5, 1980 and February 17, 1981, the repression took the lives of an archbishop, four North American churchwomen, three priests, one seminarian, 21 catechists and eight other Church workers. The educational work of the Church, based on the Second Vatican Council and the Latin American Bishops' Conference at Medellin, had certainly led many Christians to find ways of organizing that would protect their basic rights as human beings and children of God. The regime reacted first by insult- Four years after his murder, a woman weeps at Archbishop ing and harassing "Third Worldist priests," and later by persecuting and murdering members of base com- munities which were identified-correctly enough-as seedbeds of rebellion. The polarized and militarized course of the war and the intensity of official terror presented many Chris- tians with a painful dilemma: to join the revolutionary struggle or to opt out of all forms of organization. Some chose the first option, but many others-either judging violence to be un-Christian or simply terrified-chose the second. After the death of Monsignor Romero, a sizeable chunk of the clergy adopted a more conserva- tive line, encouraged by the personal affinity that many priests had to the ruling Christian Democrats. B Y LATE 1981 THE SITUATION OF THE WORK- ing class was desperate. With the peasantry, they were the worst hit by the repression, the economic slump and the state of emergency, the most seriously demobilized by official propaganda. This is not to say that the labor movement was dead, but its impact had been restricted to levels that the regime could handle. The call for elections in early 1982 and the narrow political opening that the regime was obliged to grant in the pre-election period, together with the insistent prop- aganda that the voting was a first step on the road to peace, aroused certain hopes among sectors of the population exhausted by the war and economic col- lapse. Many people saw nothing to lose in voting as a possible say out of the crisis-one reason perhaps for the high turn-out in March 1982. Any hopes raised by the elections were quickly dashed. Peace did not ensue, party infighting in the "National Unity" government worsened, economic decline continued and mass living conditions deteriorated. But the Salvadorean economy has done more than just decline: over the last two years its basic character has changed, in a way that has grave political implica- tions. From being an economy at war-in which economic performance is directly and indirectly im- paired by the fighting-it has become an economy of war, in which the regime's economic policies and a size- able proportion of available resources have been dedi- cated to the goal of a military and political victory over the FMLN-FDR. The war itself is still the main factor in the decline of the economy. It affects production and trade, under- mines investor confidence and aggravates the flight of capital. During 1982, the gross domestic product (GDP) fell by almost 6%, and we estimate that it has fallen by a fur- ther 8% in 1983. Agricultural production, especially vital to the Salvadorean economy, declined by 7.4% in 1982 and 8.7% in 1983. The main reasons seem to be the armed forces' loss of control over vast stretches of ter- ritory, a production boycott by landowners and the in- competent administration of the agrarian reform. The reluctance to plant, coupled with poor crop yields, are REPORT ON THE AMERICAS 38Families wait to visit political prisoners in Mariona jail. perhaps the most eloquent testimony to farmers' lack of confidence in the military and economic policies of the government. The contraction of the economy has had a dramatic impact on the living standards of the poor. And since 1982, it has begun to have adverse effects on the middle class as well. Consumption levels fell by 27% between 1979 and 1981, and by a further 20% since then; the overall consumer price index has risen by 97.7% in the last four years, though clothing has risen 153% and foodstuffs 122%. (Sixty-three percent of all Salva- dorean families spend between 62% and 65% of their income on those items.) As a result of Decree 544, outlawing all labor union activity, real minimum wages in both the public and pri- vate sectors declined by 65% between 1979 and early 1983. Official figures show 38% without work in early 1983; unemployment and under-employment together afflict almost 80% of the population. The erosion of living standards reflects more than just the natural economic decline one would expect in wartime. Those affected seem increasingly aware of the link between their predicament and the economic poli- cies of the regime, which has enacted a series of mea- sures to boost its war economy: * new tax laws, including increased stamp duty, a 3% rise in indirect taxes on goods and services and pro- posals for a value added tax; * a stringent credit squeeze; "* a restrictive incomes policy, based on Decree 544; "* reduced private and public investment in all pro- jects not related to the war effort; * direct government controls of commodity dis- tribution such as basic grains, foodstuffs and medi- cines. Artificial shortages of basic grains, cooking oil and other essential staples have also been created; * foreign aid for goods and services that can be re- directed to the war effort, leading to a corresponding rise in the external debt. In 1982-1983 alone, El Salva- dor received 2.3 billion colones ($920 million) in foreign aid. otfE EXPLOSIVE POLITICAL CONSEQUENCES 1 of these policies were held in check for a long time by the lack of organized channels for dissent and the suffocating weight of the repression. But despite the violence that has awaited economic demands and pro- tests, there have been renewed stirrings of discontent since mid-1982, reaching a peak late in 1983. Some unions have tried to revive traditional labor union ac- tivity; others have attempted to evolve strategies inde- pendent of the two main contending parties in the war; none has yet succeeded in making its influence strongly felt. The case of the Popular Democratic Union (UPD) is a good illustration. The UPD is a labor organization formed at the beginning of 1980 by a core of peasant groups (UCS and ACOPAI) and two urban labor feder- MARCH/APRIL 1984 39EL SALVADOR, A1984 EL SALVADOR 1984 ations (CTS and FESINCONSTRANS). Some of its members-notably the Salvadorean Communal Union (UCS)-had been connected to the AFL-CIO and sup- ported by money from AID. The UCS's political pos- ture and its ties to the United States led to its being shun- ned by the more left-wing unions and the popular organizations. When the agrarian reform program was launched in March 1980, UCS members were the principal-almost the sole-beneficiaries, and became the nucleus of peas- ant support for the ruling Christian Democratic Party. Nevertheless, following the March 1982 elections, the UPD understood the imminent threat of the reforms be- ing overturned. Its vigorous mobilization in support of them not only placed the UPD in outright opposition to the bloc of rightist parties headed by ARENA, but brought it momentarily into line with the demands of other, more militant labor unions. Help from the Christian Democrats and the U.S. Embassy is admittedly crucial in allowing the UPD to register protests-even mount street demonstrations-- that no other group could dare attempt under the State of Siege. But it is also true that in a critical period like the present, the UPD's voice has become a major new element in the situation, a moderate demand for the most positive aspects of the reformist plan begun in 1980, and an expression of mass discontent at plummet- ing living standards and repression. Indeed, the UPD has incurred the wrath of the death squads: a number of UPD affiliates, mainly members of peasant cooper- atives, have been kidnapped and murdered. And yet, each time the "National Unity" govern- ment declares that the agrarian reform will continue-- even in a truncated form-the UPD reaffirms its condi- tional support for the government. This "controlled rebellion" could be seen repeatedly in 1983, every time that a key component of the agrarian reform was chal- lenged. In practice, then, the UPD's attempt to create a new channel for mass activism has been coopted by the Christian Democrats and the United States as a weapon in their fight against ARENA. If the UPD forms a potential alternative with pro- government leanings, then MUSYGES-the Unitarian Movement of Labor and Trade Unions-is its counter- part in the pro-insurgent sphere. MUSYGES arose toward the end of 1982 as a voice of growing popular discontent, which by now on occasion has proven stronger than the fear of terrorist reprisals. MUSYGES brought together the remnants of El Salvador's most important trade union federations, previously affiliated to the FDR but decimated by repression-FSR, FEN- ASTRAS, FESTIAVTSCES, CGS, FUSS, FUSEPM, FESTRAS and others. It is critical of the government, its violations of human rights and its increasing de- pendence on Washington, but backs an expanded ver- sion of the current reforms; it also supports uncondi- tional dialogue with the guerrillas and demands a government with full working-class participation. Its proposals, then, are very close to those of the FMLN- FDR. Even so, MUSYGES shows signs of failing to keep pace with the FDR, especially when it comes to the unity of reformist and revolutionary sectors. Although both the UPD and MUSYGES claim more than 30,000 members on paper, their power to mobilize people seems limited for the moment. True, UPD demonstrations outside the Constituent Assembly building in favor of the land reform rallied more than 3,000 people; on September 27, 1983, they assembled almost 20,000 sympathizers. But those events were more noteworthy for their context than for their con- tent. The backing they received from both the Christian Democratic Party and the U.S. Embassy can scarcely be overlooked. As for MUSYGES, its membership is more nominal than real, and its scope of action remains severely limited. Nonetheless, it will represent one of the most potentially influential organized sectors in the coming period. A third sector which began to revive in 1982 and 1983 was the network of Christian base communities. New groups have arisen from the ashes of persecution, with a clear sense of the need for autonomy and independence from the revolutionary movement, but with sympathy for the Left's policies and ideals. These communities are especially active in working-class districts of the capital, San Salvador, and some peasant areas. The Church hierarchy too-above all Archbishop Rivera y Damas- has again become more outspoken in its criticism of the government, particularly since the fall of the Christian Democrats from power. Both the U.S. Embassy and some of the more mod- erate currents in parties such as the Christian Democrats, the Party of National Conciliation and Democratic Action have tried over the course of 1983 to build a would-be "democratic center" capable of win- ning the backing of the middle sectors alienated by the polarized military drift of the war, capable of embracing groups like the UPD and able to project a more palat- able international image. But these parties' stubborn refusal to contemplate negotiations and their tolerance of military corruption have blocked the effort. It is hard to predict how these non-combatant sec- tors of the population will develop in the period ahead. Though most of them have put some distance between themselves and the insurgents, their outlook has more in common with the FMLN-FDR than with the govern- ment. For now, their revival is stifled by permanent repression and the lack of breathing-space for any political opposition. But the longer U.S. policies fail, and the more the FMLN moderates its stance and spells out its precise goals, the more likely it is that these groups will end up throwing their weight behind a pro- gram that addresses the needs of the mass of the popu- lation. The insurgents' proposal for a "Government of Broad Participation," though it still has many rough edges, seems better suited to embrace a future "demo- cratic center" than any government likely to emerge from the elections of March 25, 1984. From them, we can expect little but continuing war.
