Honduran Security Forces Accused of Abuse
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Edgard Garrido/Reuters
Honduras' ousted President Manuel Zelaya received his hat before a news conference inside the Brazilian embassy in Tegucigalpa on Monday.
Arnulfo Franco/Associated Press
In July, a man at a rally in Tegucigalpa in support of Honduras's ousted leader, Manuel Zelaya, was shot in the head. He eventually died from his wounds.
Ms. Valeriano, 39, was sitting in the office of a Tegucigalpa human rights group last week, speaking about the assault, which took place on Aug. 12. As she told her story, mumbling to hide her missing teeth, she pointed to a scar on her scalp and to her still-sore left ribs.
Since Mr. Zelaya was removed in a June 28 coup, security forces have tried to halt opposition with beatings and mass arrests, human rights groups say. Eleven people have been killed since the coup, according to the Committee for Families of the Disappeared and Detainees in Honduras, or Cofadeh.
The number of violations and their intensity has increased since Mr. Zelaya secretly returned to Honduras two weeks ago, taking refuge at the Brazilian Embassy, human rights groups say.
The groups describe an atmosphere of growing impunity, one in which security forces act unhindered by legal constraints. Their free hand had been strengthened by an emergency decree allowing the police to detain anyone suspected of posing a threat.
“In the 1980s, there were political assassinations, torture and disappearances,” said Bertha Oliva, Cofadeh’s general coordinator, in an interview last week, recalling the political repression of the country’s so-called dirty war. “They were selective and hidden. But now there is massive repression and defiance of the whole world. They do it in broad daylight, without any scruples, with nothing to stop them.”
Amid the crackdown, a delegation of foreign ministers from the Organization of American States is scheduled to arrive in the capital, Tegucigalpa, on Wednesday in an attempt to restart negotiations between representatives for Mr. Zelaya and Roberto Micheletti, the de facto president.
In advance of the meeting, Mr. Micheletti lifted the decree Monday.
The abuses could have a chilling effect on presidential elections scheduled for Nov. 29. The de facto government and its supporters argue that the elections will close the chapter on the coup and its aftermath, but the United Nations, the United States and other governments have said that they will not recognize the vote if it is conducted under the current conditions.
“Elections are a risk because people won’t vote,” said Javier Acevedo, a lawyer with the Center for Research and the Promotion of Human Rights in Tegucigalpa. “The soldiers and police at the polls will be the same ones as those who have been carrying out the repression.”
Investigators from the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights visited in August, and found a pattern of disproportionate force, arbitrary detentions and control of information.
The group asked the de facto government to provide protective measures for dozens of politicians, union leaders, teachers, human rights workers and journalists who say they have been followed and threatened.
The de facto government responded that strong measures were needed against Mr. Zelaya’s supporters, whom they described as vandals, a point backed up by government television advertisements showing burning buses and street barricades. Some of the demonstrations have turned violent as some of Mr. Zelaya’s supporters have smashed storefronts and burned tires at street barricades. The government says that three people have been killed since the coup.
Mr. Micheletti has said the investigators from the Inter-American Commission were biased, noting that its president, Luz Patricia Mejía, is Venezuelan. Much of Honduras’s political and economic elite feared that Mr. Zelaya was trying to copy Venezuela’s brand of socialism as he moved toward an alliance with that nation’s president, Hugo Chávez.
The Honduran government’s human rights institutions have failed to respond to the violations with any vigor, advocates say.
The human rights prosecutor, Sandra Ponce, is on vacation, according to news reports. Ramón Custodio, the government human rights commissioner who fought repression in the 1980s, has generally supported the coup, although he has criticized some actions of the de facto government.
Groups that were vulnerable to human rights abuses before the coup face even more risk now. Since the coup, for example, there have been six murders of gay men or transvestites, according to gay rights groups. Until 2008, the average number of such killings each year was three to six.
The day after Mr. Zelaya returned, the police broke up a demonstration by his supporters outside the Brazilian Embassy with tear gas. As people were fleeing, security forces tear-gassed the Cofadeh office, just blocks away. The action, Ms. Oliva believes, was aimed at preventing Cofadeh lawyers from intervening by taking testimony or seeking the release of people who were detained.
Since Mr. Zelaya’s return, security forces also have been rumbling through poor neighborhoods that are the base of his support. “They are going into neighborhoods in a way to intimidate people,” said Mr. Acevedo, the lawyer. In that time, the center has documented an increasing level of violence. Investigators have seen more than two dozen people with bullet wounds in hospitals, and some detainees have had their hands broken and have been burned with cigarettes, he said.
While the police and soldiers are looking for the activists who have been organizing resistance, the sweep seems to pick up anyone who gets in their way.
Yulian Lobo said her husband was arrested in the neighborhood of Villa Olímpica and accused of having a grenade. “It came out of nowhere,” she said, adding that her husband, a driver, had not been to pro-Zelaya marches.
Lesbia Marisol Flores, 38, is a resistance activist, but when the police beat her up, she was waiting at a bus stop after attending the wake of a 24-year-old woman who died after she was tear-gassed outside the Brazilian Embassy on Sept. 22.
“There were eight policemen and their faces were all covered,” she said, adding that they had selected her at random from the group at the bus stop. “There was no motive. It is their hobby now.”
Elisabeth Malkin reported from Tegucigalpa last week and added updated information from Mexico City.
Edgard Garrido, 33, has worked for Reuters for 2-1/2 years as a photographer in Chile and Honduras. A Chilean, he is married with an 18-month-old son. In this story, Garrido recounts his experience being trapped inside an embassy for two weeks with ousted President Manuel Zelaya at the center of Honduras' political crisis.
By Edgard Garrido
TEGUCIGALPA (Reuters) - For two weeks, I have slept with my finger on the shutter button, just meters from where Honduras' President Manuel Zelaya, ousted in a coup, waits in refuge and hopes for a return to power.
As a Reuters photographer in Honduras, I was one of the few reporters who managed to slip into Brazil's embassy when Zelaya crept back into the country and sought refuge here, almost three months after troops toppled him and sent him into exile.
Two weeks after his return, Zelaya is still holed up inside the embassy, surrounded by hostile police and troops. And so am I, privileged to bring images to the world but struggling with food shortages, a lack of sleep and rollercoaster emotions.
Scoring an image of Zelaya asleep with his trademark white cowboy hat covering his face was a high point, and the picture has been used widely around the world.
But I'm tired of sleeping on the floor and being short of food, and my nerves have been shot by intimidation from the troops outside and the uncertainty about when this will end.
Honduras' de facto leader Roberto Micheletti and Zelaya are edging toward negotiations to break the deadlock. But the leftist Zelaya insists he must be restored to power while Micheletti says he must face treason charges.
With both sides so far apart, it's not at all clear when there will be an end to the crisis, or my unusual and uncomfortable assignment.
It began with a news flash that Zelaya had returned. I kissed my wife and son goodbye and rushed out so quickly that I forgot to put on my socks.
"Bye, see you soon!" I told them. Little did I know then.
After chasing a false rumor that Zelaya was in a United Nations building, a pack of his followers and reporters rushed to the Brazilian embassy, a modest two-story building. A crush at the door, and I was inside.
I was told Zelaya was in the next room, where he remains to this day. People entering and exiting the room confirmed his presence, but I needed to see him. A door opened and there he was. I snapped two photos and sent my first dispatch.
TENSIONS AT NIGHT
Zelaya decided to camp right where he was. His supporters celebrated and slept outside. With a cement floor as my mattress and a backpack as pillow, I got no sleep amid the screams and chanting.
The government responded quickly, with soldiers and police breaking up the pro-Zelaya demonstrations outside the embassy and turning on a high-frequency acoustic device to harass those inside.
Tensions rose, and we worried about a military operation to seize control of the embassy.
I slept with my finger practically on the shutter ready for what seemed to be an imminent intervention, ready to protect myself, ready to shoot.
After two days inside the embassy, there was no food, no telephone, no rest, no bath and no clean clothes.
At night, soldiers banged on their riot shields. It became a war of nerves. Stones hit the roof as Honduras' national anthem was blasted out on powerful sound equipment nearby.
Then came allegations of a gas attack. Zelaya said he believed mercenaries were trying to force him out using toxic gas. Some in the compound had bleeding noses. Outside, officials said the odors were from a cleaning crew nearby. But it was unclear what was really happening.
Later at least the pressure tactics eased and I began to receive food, fresh clothes and an inflatable mattress from my colleagues on the outside, although part of one package was eaten by the police who had promised to pass it in.
Zelaya found out that my photo of him sleeping was being published around the world, and he called me over. He applauded the picture but we disagreed over how public officials can be photographed and the documentary value of images.
Two weeks into the standoff, we have developed new routines to get access to food, water and even the bathroom.
Zelaya, his family and closest friends have more comforts but there are just two showers for the other 70 people inside the embassy.
We now get food delivered to the embassy by friends on the outside but it can be chaotic. I have fabricated a spoon out of a plastic cup and I pay a Zelaya supporter to do my washing.
The supporters eat whatever the United Nations sends. Zelaya eats his own food and I eat the Reuters food. We are envied for the air mattresses.
At the end of each day I get another phone call. My wife says, "Our son is fine, we'll see you soon."
(Editing by Patrick Markey and Kieran Murray)http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2009/10/05/news/news-us-honduras-witness.html
WITNESS: Holed Up In Embassy With Ousted Honduran President
By Edgard Garrido
TEGUCIGALPA (Reuters) - For two weeks, I have slept with my finger on the shutter button, just meters from where Honduras' President Manuel Zelaya, ousted in a coup, waits in refuge and hopes for a return to power.
As a Reuters photographer in Honduras, I was one of the few reporters who managed to slip into Brazil's embassy when Zelaya crept back into the country and sought refuge here, almost three months after troops toppled him and sent him into exile.
Two weeks after his return, Zelaya is still holed up inside the embassy, surrounded by hostile police and troops. And so am I, privileged to bring images to the world but struggling with food shortages, a lack of sleep and rollercoaster emotions.
Scoring an image of Zelaya asleep with his trademark white cowboy hat covering his face was a high point, and the picture has been used widely around the world.
But I'm tired of sleeping on the floor and being short of food, and my nerves have been shot by intimidation from the troops outside and the uncertainty about when this will end.
Honduras' de facto leader Roberto Micheletti and Zelaya are edging toward negotiations to break the deadlock. But the leftist Zelaya insists he must be restored to power while Micheletti says he must face treason charges.
With both sides so far apart, it's not at all clear when there will be an end to the crisis, or my unusual and uncomfortable assignment.
It began with a news flash that Zelaya had returned. I kissed my wife and son goodbye and rushed out so quickly that I forgot to put on my socks.
"Bye, see you soon!" I told them. Little did I know then.
After chasing a false rumor that Zelaya was in a United Nations building, a pack of his followers and reporters rushed to the Brazilian embassy, a modest two-story building. A crush at the door, and I was inside.
I was told Zelaya was in the next room, where he remains to this day. People entering and exiting the room confirmed his presence, but I needed to see him. A door opened and there he was. I snapped two photos and sent my first dispatch.
TENSIONS AT NIGHT
Zelaya decided to camp right where he was. His supporters celebrated and slept outside. With a cement floor as my mattress and a backpack as pillow, I got no sleep amid the screams and chanting.
The government responded quickly, with soldiers and police breaking up the pro-Zelaya demonstrations outside the embassy and turning on a high-frequency acoustic device to harass those inside.
Tensions rose, and we worried about a military operation to seize control of the embassy.
I slept with my finger practically on the shutter ready for what seemed to be an imminent intervention, ready to protect myself, ready to shoot.
After two days inside the embassy, there was no food, no telephone, no rest, no bath and no clean clothes.
At night, soldiers banged on their riot shields. It became a war of nerves. Stones hit the roof as Honduras' national anthem was blasted out on powerful sound equipment nearby.
Then came allegations of a gas attack. Zelaya said he believed mercenaries were trying to force him out using toxic gas. Some in the compound had bleeding noses. Outside, officials said the odors were from a cleaning crew nearby. But it was unclear what was really happening.
Later at least the pressure tactics eased and I began to receive food, fresh clothes and an inflatable mattress from my colleagues on the outside, although part of one package was eaten by the police who had promised to pass it in.
Zelaya found out that my photo of him sleeping was being published around the world, and he called me over. He applauded the picture but we disagreed over how public officials can be photographed and the documentary value of images.
Two weeks into the standoff, we have developed new routines to get access to food, water and even the bathroom.
Zelaya, his family and closest friends have more comforts but there are just two showers for the other 70 people inside the embassy.
We now get food delivered to the embassy by friends on the outside but it can be chaotic. I have fabricated a spoon out of a plastic cup and I pay a Zelaya supporter to do my washing.
The supporters eat whatever the United Nations sends. Zelaya eats his own food and I eat the Reuters food. We are envied for the air mattresses.
At the end of each day I get another phone call. My wife says, "Our son is fine, we'll see you soon."
(Editing by Patrick Markey and Kieran Murray)http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2009/10/05/news/news-us-honduras-witness.html
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