ROBYN MARSHALL was one of a party of five Australian women who acted as observers of the Salvadoran elections in March at the invitation of the FMLN. Here she describes some of their experiences.
We're not quite sure how we ended up in Ruben Zamora's security car that Thursday night, a week before the elections, with the guard riding shotgun on the front seat, ammunition on the dash board and three raw, wide-eyed, open-mouthed Australian women sitting bolt upright in the back row of the blue "pick-up".
Our other two women comrades were behind us in Zamora's car. Zamora was the presidential candidate for the coalition of Democratic Convergence, the FMLN and the MNR.
We were off to a campaign rally in the suburb of Cuscatancingo, but we had no idea where that was, since we had arrived in San Salvador only the day before. It was just becoming dusk, and we'd been told never to go out after 6pm in San Salvador because it was too dangerous; there were supposed to be roving gangs of thieves, carrying knives and stealing even cheap watches from naive gringos.
We spoke in whispers about the gun in the glove box as the car swerved around corners, and we anxiously peered out the windows to see if any army or pro-Arena forces might stop us at the traffic lights and start shooting. We couldn't see much because all the windows were blacked out except for a narrow strip on the windscreen for the driver's sake.
In a narrow street, we hopped out of the car because everyone else had. Zamora arrived at the same time and was slowly surrounded by dozens of well-wishers. Then we noticed the red flags, hundreds of them, red FMLN baseball caps, banners. More and more people met Zamora and his vice presidential candidate, Chico Lima, as they walked up the hill to the makeshift stage, which blocked the street.
Robynne had her video camera out, recording the enthusiastic crowd as they shouted the FMLN slogans, "Ahora s¡, primero la gente", and we all took out our cameras, snapping madly. More and more people came out of their homes and joined the throng.
The rally began after a few beautiful revolutionary songs sung by an accomplished guitarist; we all joined in the chorus, as loud as we could. FMLN comrades were weaving through the crowd, handing out leaflets for the last big rally on Friday night. This made me feel right at home, remembering doing the same thing at many a demo.
The speeches began, first by Chico Lima and then Zamora. I could just make out some of the Spanish, but a lot was said of the Arena presidential candidate, Calderon Sol, who had refused to debate Zamora on television the night before. "Calderon Sol has very little up top and very little down below", was greeted by hoots of laughter from the crowd.
Zamora emphasised that the poverty, homelessness, unemployment, lack of education, the lack of functioning hospitals, of medicines, of clean water would be their first priority, that they would put an end to the outbreak of cholera in the city. The crowd clapped and cheered the two candidates.
It was 9pm, and we were worried how we were going to get back to the car. We stuck like glue to the presidential group as they made their way through the massive crowd. The minders made a passage with the FMLN flag poles on either side. We spotted the cars and made a rush for the back seat. The driver had a surprised look on his face when he saw us already in the car. We weren't going to be left behind.
When we had gone a few miles, Zamora stopped and came to speak to us. He was concerned how we were going to get home; he had another meeting. Although he spoke perfect English, Margaret and Robynne, in a high state of excitement, had been unable to tell him our address. He finally arranged for all of us to be driven home with his chauffeur.
What a night, a great start to our Salvadoran adventure. We remembered that the last time the Labor Party in Australia had a street rally was in 1972 and wouldn't dare do it now for fear of being run out of town.
After that, we were keen to experience our next rally. We got up very early to be at the office of the ERP, one of the five parties of the FMLN, at 8am. It was the last day of the election campaign, and we had been promised we could go with the famous Joaquin Villalobos, one of the former comandantes, on a final trip to the province of Usulatan.
After we had arrived at the office, we were told the cavalcade would not leave until 10am. Later it was put back to 2pm. We weren't sure it was going to happen at all and were mightily disappointed.
We hung around the office, went for lunch on the Boulevard de los Heroes, bought some film at Metro Central, where all the bourgeoisie shop (the service was lousy since Margaret wore her FMLN T-shirt). Finally we wandered back to the ERP office on the Pasaje de Los Angeles and they were ready to go.
We all squashed into a red pick-up with boxes of leaflets, red flags, stickers and a container of water. (All the Frente cars were red, and we all had to carry water. Pollution is now so bad in all of Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador that no-one drinks tap water.) Our companions were Americo, Sylvia, who laughed a lot, Sarah, who sang a lot, and Ernesto, who made sure we got there.
Villalobos was in the front car. It drove very fast through the back streets of the city and onto the Pan-American Highway, with one security car sitting just behind it in the next lane, so no other car could come up behind it. Ernesto threw out leaflets along the way whenever we came across small groups of people walking on the roadside. We cheered every time we saw an FMLN sign painted on the rocks beside the road or along the gutters or on the bridges.
One of the women needed to stop to have a piddle on the side of the road. Then we had to stop at a makeshift single lane bridge over the River Lempa; the bridge had been blown up by the FMLN during the civil war. Women and children took the opportunity of the forced stop to sell us salted loquat fruit, quesodilla and yucca through the car window. Yum. But our two stops meant we totally lost the rest of the cavalcade and Villalobos.
We ended up in a village off the main highway, called California. It was a cooperative. The houses were made of adobe; there were no paved roads, just lots of dust and bullocks wandering in large numbers on the track. It is impossible to describe the poverty and the lack of facilities we take for granted. The old school building looked like a derelict dingy hall. There were. no shops Small children played inside mud homes with one burning light bulb. But there was no sign of Villalobos addressing a crowd.
We arrived at dusk at the next town, Tecupan. We stopped at one of the street stalls, where a woman was burning wood to heat tamales made of maize, absolutely delicious. In the town square, there was a very boring speaker from the PCD who didn't know when to stop. His offsiders let off a few firecrackers every so often to create some excitement.
Then the truckloads of FMLN supporters arrived from the outlying farms with red flags and baseball caps. We climbed onto the back of one of the trucks to talk to some of the young boys, who wanted their photos taken. Marg spotted ex-comandante Luisa, talking to Villalobos and the other candidates. She was tiny, and it was difficult to believe she had led platoons of men and women through the volcanic mountains that surround this area. She gave us a quick interview on the election prospects. We were thrilled.
The speeches began, and this time hundreds of people gathered and began filling the square. This is what they had been waiting for, the Frente candidates. Carlos Francisco Jovel, the FMLN mayoral candidate, gave a run-down of the problems: the coffee plantations (the owners cheated on the weight of coffee harvested), the electricity prices, again on unemployment. Francisco Mena Sandoval, the deputy candidate, also spoke to loud cheers.
Finally Villalobos addressed the crowd. He stressed many times that the war was ended, that there would be no more fighting, that the Frente had entered a new phase. They had fought and won the right to democratic elections. Now the struggle would take on the tasks of administration, of building schools, of finding employment, if they were elected. People listened intently to every word. At the end of his talk, an elderly peasant woman came up and hugged him, many surrounded him, shaking his hand or simply touching his arm.
Next we were back in the pick-up truck, on to the next town, San Francisco Javier. In this small town in the foothills, there was a disco in full swing in the street, with lots of young women and men doing the salsa.
Villalobos made a very different speech, and to the point, sensing the youth didn't want to stop dancing for too long. We all had a bit of a jig and finally fell into the pick-up for the long drive home.
To keep ourselves awake, we began a sing-song of revolutionary songs, but the Salvadoran comrades knew far more songs than our limited Aussie repertoire. We finished the night with "The Internationale" in English and then Spanish, followed by lots of giggling and laughing. We arrived at our accommodation at Los Planes de Reenderos, with, its fantastic view of the city lights at 1.30am. Another night we wouldn't forget for a long time.