It was his way to empower people, to give them control over their own lives in the most real sense. This was his idea of the revolution. During March, 1987, there were a large number of contra attacks in the El Cuá/Bocay region. Shortly before Ben died he wrote us a letter describing how the war was affecting him, his work, and his closest friends. He began by describing the March 19, 1987, contra raid on El Cedro, an agricultural settlement between El Cuá and Bocay. This was the third attack on El Cedro. The community fled while four men carried out a defensive holding operation. All four were killed. One of them was Don Luis, a friend of Ben's who had built a weir (a device used to measure water flow) with him. The contra were forced to retreat rapidly, but before they did, they burned down the medical clinic (for the third time), the grain and coffee warehouse, and the house of the local community leader. These are not military targets. Ben's next experience with the contras was an attack around midnight, March24, in which 70 to 100 contras tried to destroy the hydroelectric plant in El Cuá. The plant was successfully defended by ten militiamen and Oscar Blandon, the chief plant operator and Ben's closest friend, but Oscar's house was practically destroyed by the contras. Only a short time later thirteen local militiamen from El Cuá were killed while guarding a nearby road construction site. One of them was Miguel Centeno Castro, son of Don Cosme. Don Cosme, a former soldier in Sandino's army, had allowed Ben to live at his home in El Cuá, and treated Ben like a son. In Ben's opinion, the contras were engaging in a planned effort to destroy all that is good, every symbol of progress, in the lives of the people in and around El Cuá. Included among their targets was the electrification program and all the personnel involved. During this time Ben not only worked to build a generator for the nearby settlement of San Jose de Bocay, but also participated in local health campaigns. Three weeks prior to his death he rode his unicycle and clowned to bring children to a local clinic for vaccinations. It was while checking out the water flow in a stream about one mile from San Jose de Bocay that Ben and two Nicaraguan coworkers were killed. In spite of the deaths of those close to him and the aura of danger, he went there because he had to make flow measurements before the rains began. In a narrow ravine they began construction of a weir. Seven workers, including Ben, worked at the site for four days. On the morning of the fifth day, April 28, they were attacked by ten to twenty contras. waiting. According to survivors, the contras were hidden and might imagine. Ben and two coworkers were killed. One was Pablo Rosales, an unarmed civilian who was wounded and then finished off by a deep stab wound to his chest. The other was Sergio Fernandez, about forty, who was killed by a bullet wound through the ear. There is no doubt in my mind about the condition of Ben when he was examined by an experienced physician. Speaking as a pathologist with over 30 years' experience and having read the medical reports and spoken with the surgeon who examined his body, Dr. Francisco Valladares, I am convinced of the following: Ben was killed by a bullet which entered his right temple and exited in the left and posterior aspect of his head. It blew out portions of his brain. The entry site was marginated (surrounded) by gunpowder burn marks. On the back of his legs there were penetrating wounds, all of the same size, from a low velocity projectile. Metallic particles were retrieved from some of the holes. There was a bullet hole through soft tissue of his forearm and there were punctate marks on his forehead (cause unknown). Just what happened can be interpreted in a number of ways. The examining physician and I agree that Benjamin was first immobilized by injury to his legs and arm. He was then killed by a gunshot wound to his head. The powder burns suggest that he was shot at very close range, possibly two feet or less away. What I am telling you is that they blew his brains out at point-blank range as he lay wounded. All the eyewitness testimony that was collected states that the attack took place so quickly that nobody fired back. The killings took place in an isolated ravine one mile from any settlements. There was nothing there to destry other than the lives of Ben and his coworkers. Ben and the others had been there long enough for the contras to know who they were and what they were doing. This was an ambush, not a chance encounter. This is murder. I consider the United States government and its effectors - the contras guilty of this crime. This was not an accidental result of U.S. policy; it is the essence of U.S. policy, as Ben witnessed before he himself was killed. In conclusion, I would like to read from Ben's last letter to us, dated April 10, 1987, just 18 days before he died. He wrote: "This is probably the final offensive of the contra. people of Cuá-Bocay know 1987 will be a very hard year. But they also know they are winning the war. Next week for the first time, high school classes will be taught in El Cuá. As a postscript, I would like to add that Thursday, April 26,30, the day of Ben's funeral, the canal which directs water to the generator in El Cuá, eroded and partially collapsed. On the next day, 500 volunteers from El Cuá, nearly every able-bodied person in a town of 2,000, turned out to repair the damage. They were attacked by contra forces that day. Some were wounded; none were killed. They returned en masse the next day and continued working. By the following Tuesday, the cement was poured and the canal was ready for full operation. Typed copy of Benjamin's letter dated April 10, 1987 Dear Family, March 14, 1987 Greetings from Bocay. I've been here for the last three days. I'm at from the midday sun in a little pool formed at the base of a two-meter fall. But now it is time to start to put my ideas into action. I started to But April 10 It's now a month later. I'm in Managua. It has been a hard, varied month. The dominating (overwhelmingly so) parts have been Don's leaving and the war. To write about the war in a way that can be used in some form means a bit of a change in how I write. It is all me but it comes out a little different. Not so much less personal from my point of view, but less personal as I imagine who will read it. To make it easier I'll switch pieces of paper. When I first started working in Cuá-Bocay I really didn't have a feel for the community. In some ways this isolated me from the war. I'd come into town for a week, then leave for a month as I was shifted from project to project. But only partially isolated. I remember "bad times" of 1984 and 1985, times when several people I sort of knew died. Coming into town, I heard of Mary Lou Reyes' death, a nurse killed in the contra attack of El Cedro, (The Cedars), a cooperative between El Cua and San Jose de Bocay 1984. Two teachers returning to El Cuá after Christmas break, killed in an ambush - Jan. 3, 1985. Scattered incidents of terrorism. In 1986 the contra changed tactics. With the increasing numbers of desertions from the contra forces they could no longer maintain battalions in the field. They switched to land mines, both pressure, to kill whatever goes over them, and wire remote controlled only to kill what they considered targets. This included a public transportation truck with 34 people all killed on July 3, 1986, the day before millions of Americans celebrated the Fourth of July. "Bombs bursting in air" seems much less glamorous when it is your friends being killed. That was 1986. The coffee harvest, Oct. 1986 Feb. 1987, was relatively peaceful, only because of a well-executed campaign by the Nicaraguan people. I do say people and not army or the EPS - Ejército Popular Sandinista (Sandinista Popular Army). This is because of the very nature of the fight against the contra. Wilfredo Monte has a small store in town, two nights a week he goes out to a hill on the outskirts of town, really just behind my house, with his rifle and uniform. He is still Wilfredo Monte father, husband, store-owner, and friend. He guards his community along with many other women and men from town. On March 19, 1987, the cooperative El Cedro was once more attacked, the fourth attack since it was founded. Several weeks earlier another cooperative Francisco Estrada was attacked. (When) I was talking with a friend afterwards about the Estrada cooperative attack he said, "You know, Benjamin, we're winning this war." I was a bit confused, after waking up that morning to mortars going off and the exchange of machine-gun fire. The end of the war seemed very far away. He told me that one-half of the cooperative used to be with the contra. The farmer that led the defense of the cooperative used to be a contra military leader. They had all one by one turned themselves in to the government. They are now organized into the cooperative. NOW they fought to defend their land and they won. But the war is much deeper and the victory much more than jsut the end of the gunfire. The attack was on the first day of classes in the zone. The day before I was struck by the farmers coming into town and to the schools in the cooperatives for the school books and pencils for their children. Wrapped in a plastic bag they carried them carefully away, some walking, others on horse or the kids with them just thrown into a bag running down the dusty street of El Cuá. That is the war that is also being won. A war against poverty, illiteracy and disease. The (March) attack on El Cedro hit me particularly hard. In April last year, I spent several weeks working with several members of the cooperative putting in a weir to measure water flow in a nearby stream. At night I sat around just talking with people getting to know them, becoming friends. When I heard about the attack those moments flashed through my mind. Who? Which of those people died? It was a victory. We only lost four "and the contra between 25 and 40." Who? Luis had been killed. A farmer defended his land. They had been outnumbered at least eight to one. The cooperative had to be abandoned. Four men gave their lives to cover the retreat. Luis was one of them. The contra came in and sacked the houses but selected several buildings to destroy. Not all, just several the health center, the president of the cooperative's house, the store which sells the basic goods at fair prices and the coffee-buying center. Certainly not military targets. On March 24, I drove back to Managua to see one of my co-workers, Donald, Oscar and Hilda (Oscar's wife) are the two plant operators. They live in a little house 100 yards from the plant with their two little kids. Last month another woman moved in, Goya, to become the third operator. My heart leaped with the news of the attack. I didn't want to ask, but I had to know. "Oscar, the family?" They were all right. At 12:30 p.m. when the contra started to shell the plant with mortars and machine guns, Goya, Hilda, and the kids were able to take cover in a nearby coffee field. Oscar ran to the plant and turned it off. For 45 minutes, Oscar and five soldiers were able to keep the contra from destroying the plant. Not so with Oscar's house. A rocket-propelled grenade went through the front wall and blew up in one of the bedrooms. The contra went into the house thinking it was where the power plant was. |