News- Peru

The Spiritual Dimension of the Hostage Drama

The government's final assault on MRTA guerrillas in Lima was a spectacular military success. But the drama unfolded against a background of fatal miscalculations and failed negotiations.

Peruvian officials involved in the fight against terrorism were feeling so confident--with the bloody Maoist group Shining Path in its death throes, and that the Tupac Amaru guerrilla group also apparently waning--that no one took seriously the warning that were passed on from undercover agents late last year. The agents had said--and their superiors had failed to believe--that the Tupac Amaru group, also known by the acronym MRTA, was planning to stage a major operation by the end of the year.

Given that complacent attitude, it is no wonder that members of the Peruvian supreme court, the director of the National Anti-Terrorism Department (DINCOTE), and even the police colonel directly responsible for the capture of top MRTA leaders in the past were all among the guests at a party held at the Japanese embassy on December 17. Nor is it surprising that a commando squad of 14 armed guerrillas was able to pass unnoticed, inside an ambulance, through a cordon of more than 300 police officers and bodyguards surrounding the residence of the Japanese ambassador. Clearly, these security officials were not on high alert.

The surprise attack was by far the most spectacular effort ever organized by the MRTA in its 15-year history, and it quickly disproved the notion that the group would soon disappear. For the first week after the attack, the people of Peru remained electrified by event. Every news release, every public statement, and every casual gunshot was a major news attraction, which the people followed on the constant radio and television reports.

In time, however, the initial shock gave way to a tense feeling of expectancy. At roughly the same time, as the surprise wore off, the government formed a group called the Guarantors' Commission, to begin negotiations with the MRTA. Soon everyone became keenly aware of the MRTA's key demand: the release of approximately 420 of their comrades, who were imprisoned in different jails around the country.

It was at this time, too, that a new figure unexpectedly leapt onto the historic stage. Archbishop Juan Luis Cipriani became the Vatican's representative on the Guarantors' Commission, and soon the public spokesman for that group as well.

The participation of a Church representative on the Guarantors' Commission was expected; both the government of President Alberto Fujimori and the MRTA leadership wanted a cleric on the panel. The difficulty, however, lay in finding someone acceptable to both sides.

On Christmas Eve, Archbishop Cipriani was allowed into the occupied embassy to celebrate Mass. Once inside, he used the opportunity to speak not only with the hostages, but also with the MRTA rebels, and especially with the guerrilla leader, Nestor Cerpa Cartolini. Witnesses report that Cerpa was struck by the frank, down-to-earth style of the Archbishop of Ayacucho. Although Cipriani was known for his strong opposition to terrorism, still Cerpa decided at that moment that he wanted this man on the negotiating team.

In the view of analysts in Lima, the negotiations that accompanied the hostage crisis, which continued for 126 days, represent a classic example of miscalculation on both sides.

When the talks began, the government believed that Cerpa was motivated by selfish interests--that he was eager to free the top MRTA leaders because they knew the numbers of the international bank accounts in which the guerrilla group had secured its funds. From that perspective, they reasoned to the conclusion that Cerpa could be persuaded to free the hostages and leave the embassy if they offered him a safe trip to Cuba and a tempting financial settlement. It was a month before the government began to take seriously the warning that Cerpa had given: "If I had wanted to leave [the country], I could have found an easier way than taking an embassy!"

But it was Cerpa himself who fell prey to a more dramatic--ultimately fatal--miscalculation. After Peruvian soldiers stormed the embassy on April 22, rescuing the hostages and killing the entire commando squadron, other sources within MRTA revealed that the rebels had become confident and relaxed, fully believing that Fujimori had no choice but to negotiate a solution. As one MRTA source put it: "We were confident that the presence of a Church representative, the European sympathy for our cause, and the reluctance of Japan to allow a military operation on its territory [the grounds of the embassy] would tie Fujimori's arms to prevent any violent initiative."

Indeed a notebook kept by Cerpa, which was discovered in the embassy after the military raid, showed that he was sure Fujimori would accept his final offer: a scaled-back demand for the release of 20 MRTA leaders, including Cerpa's wife, Nancy Gilvonio, and Lori Berenson, the New York native who had been convicted of involvement in the guerrilla effort. According to Colonel Antonio Miyashiro, a former hostage and an expert in terrorism, "Cerpa and his followers did not take into consideration that the Europeans were not important players in the case, that US support was secured, and that Japan would accept any solution which would guarantee the security of all Japanese hostages."

Prior to the hostage crisis, it is true, Fujimori was facing some public criticism because of economic policies which had failed to raise national income or expand employment. Nevertheless his popularity remained high, and that popular support could be traced almost entirely to a single reason: approval for the strength and conviction Fujimori had shown in a largely successful campaign against terrorism. "Any negotiation with terrorists," pointed out political analyst Patricio Ricketts, "would dramatically erode his credibility." In fact, according to an opinion poll carried out by the Apoyo agency just a few days before the embassy was recovered, 79 percent of Peruvians were opposed to the release of MRTA prisoners--although another a clear majority--68 percent--were also opposed to a violent intervention.

The Catholic Church leadership, always among the most influential players in Peruvian affairs, took the same perspective. Cardinal Augusto Vargas Alzamora of Lima, the president of the Peruvian bishops' conference, repeated insistently that "we pray and we encourage all Peruvians to pray for a fast, fair, and peaceful solution." Nevertheless, after the government offered a safe trip to Cuba, the payment of a ransom, and the possibility of reviewing the harsh conditions in which MRTA prisoners were living, Cardinal Vargas visited the embassy and--first in a private meeting with Cerpa, then again in front of the media outside the embassy--demanded that the guerrillas accept the government offer and free the hostages. "The government can't cede more," the cardinal said; "otherwise it would go against the legal system that sustains our democracy."

On the very first day of the crisis, Fujimori called in the army commander in chief, General Nicolas de Bari Hermosa and his intelligence advisor Vladimiro Montesinos, and asked them to put together a military operation to free the embassy. The fact that the government was considering military alternatives was never a secret. Several journalists were invited by the government to witness the "training exercises" for "Operation Freedom"--a mission supposedly being prepared to free the hostages. Most journalists looked upon these moves as mere saber-rattling, designed to put pressure on Cerpa.

They were partially correct. The "training" was indeed a sham. But it was actually designed to cover the preparation of five tunnels underneath the embassy, which would be the key to the success of the real operation. While "Operation Freedom" was not serious, the military command was quite earnest about "Operation Chavin de Huantar"--a novel plan named after the a pre-Incan civilization in this Andean region, noted for its skill in the construction of tunnels.

The situation at the embassy posed many difficult problems for the military planners. First, the Japanese ambassador's residence--a copy of Tara, Scarlet O'Hara's home in the movie "Gone with the Wind," built by a Peruvian millionaire to humor his whimsical wife--had been converted into a fortress by the Japanese government. It was surrounded by gardens, with a 12-feet wall, grates on all windows, bullet-proof glasses in some areas, and doors built to withstand the impact of a grenade. It was, therefore, an easy site to defend from the inside.

Second, with 14 heavily armed terrorists in the building alongside 72 hostages, any protracted gunfight would leave a high toll of casualties. An airborne operation or a direct assault from the front door would allow enough time for to the MRTA commandos to kill their hostages. as well as set up a sturdy defense.

Three things were, therefore, necessary in order to launch a successful attack. The military team needed somehow to separate and distinguish the hostages from the terrorists, to learn the terrorists' routine intimately in order to attack at the most auspicious moment, and to launch a quick approach that would not allow time for any concerted reaction.

The military answer to the first challenge was entrusted to one of the hostages, Admiral Luis Gianpetri of the Peruvian Navy, who was an expert in intelligence and command operations. Gianpetri was provided with a tiny radio set, and given encrypted instructions ordering him to warn the hostages ten minutes before the military operation began, telling them to stay as far as possible away from the MRTA members. Light-colored clothes were systematically ferried in to the hostages, so that they could be easily distinguished from the dark-clad guerrillas. Cerpa himself unwittingly helped with this part of the project when, hearing sounds that made him suspect that a tunnel was being dug, he ordered the hostages all put on the second floor.

For the next step, sophisticated miniature microphones and video cameras were smuggled into the residence, concealed in books, water bottles, and table games. Gianpetri and other military officers among the hostages were given the responsibility for placing these devices in secure locations around the house. Eavesdropping on the MRTA commandos with the help of these high-tech devices, military planners observed that the guerrillas had organized their security carefully, and were particularly alert during the night hours.

There was, however, a weakness. Early every afternoon, eight of the MRTA members--including the top four trained leaders--played a game of indoor soccer for about one hour, while the hostages napped. Sometimes the guerrillas kept their weapons close at hand during these games, but on some other occasions they left them in another room. And sometimes the terrorists who were not involved in the game also took naps. This, without a doubt, was the best time for an attack.

Fujimori woke up one morning with the idea that would prove successful in solving the third problem. He even suggested the name, Operation Chavin de Huantar. And certainly he was acutely aware of the paradox that he would be attacking the MRTA by using the same tactic which that rebel group had used in its previous greatest success, when convicted terrorists escaped by tunnel from Canto Grande prison.

Early in January, thirty expert miners were secretly moved from the Central Andes and charged with the project of building three tunnels in near-silence. The tunnels would approach different parts of the residence, and the main route would be equipped with ventilation, deposits of food and weapons, electric lights, communications lines, and a heavy carpet to absorb noises.

Next, in February the best commandos of the Peruvian armed forces were selected and shipped to the naval base of Callao, the port city near Lima, for training. They carried out repeated drills on a replica of the ambassador's house, testing different combinations of explosives and weapons, trying their approach again and again until they were satisfied that they had found the best possible mix of men, weapons, and tactics. By mid-April, intelligence chief Montesinos was ready to tell Fujimori that Operation Chavin de Huantar would take six minutes to save the hostages and another 20 minutes to secure the entire building. He also provided the guarantee that the president was seeking: that no hostage would be killed in the effort.

On Sunday, April 20, Fujimori gave the order to his 140 commandos to take their places--70 of them inside the tunnels--and wait for the moment. They arrived in small groups, dressed as the policemen who had been guarding the perimeter of the building, so as not to attract attention. On Monday, at nap time, the soccer game began, but the players had kept their weapons at hand and the other terrorists seemed to be alert, so the elite troops continued their wait.

On Tuesday, at 3 pm, the commander of the operation called Fujimori and said that this was the moment they had been waiting for. At 3:13, Gianpetri heard the Music of the Navy Anthem, the signal that in 10 minutes the operation would start. Only one hostage was downstairs near the guerrillas; Gianpetri called him up to the second floor, and told the others to stay down on the floor. At 3:18 the police at the perimeter were cautioned that they should not intervene when they heard shooting within the embassy.

At 3:23 operation Chavin de Huantar began. Almost simultaneously, three charges exploded in three different rooms on the first floor. The first explosion hit in the middle of the room were the soccer game was being held, immediately killing three terrorists--two of the men who had been involved in the game, and one of the girls watching from the sidelines. From the hole created by that blast and the other two explosions, 30 commandos stormed into the building, chasing the surviving MRTA members in order to stop them before they reached the second floor.

Two other moves were made simultaneously with the explosion. In the first, 20 commandos launched a direct assault on the front door in order to join their comrades inside the waiting room, where the main staircase to the second floor was located. On their way in, they found the two other female MRTA guerrillas guarding the front door. The girls dropped their weapons and shouted "we surrender," but it was too late; they were cut down by the rushing commandos. Behind the first wave of troops storming the door, another group of soldiers came carrying ladders, which they placed against the rear walls of the building.

In the final prong of the coordinated attack, another group of commandos emerged from the other two tunnels, which had reached the back yard of the embassy residence. These soldiers quickly scaled the ladders which had been placed for them. Their tasks were to blow out a grenade-proof door on the second floor, through which the hostages would be evacuated, and to make two holes in the roof so that they could kill the MRTA members upstairs before they had time to kill the hostages.

The entire operation, calculated to be over in just six minutes, actually took sixteen, because the last two surviving terrorists barricaded themselves in the second-floor room that had served as MRTA's arsenal, from which they started lobbed grenades at the government soldiers. A last, unplanned hole in the roof was made in order to kill them. By 4:30 the residence was completely in control, the elite troops had begun to relax, and the flag of the MRTA had been taken down the pole.

One government commando was shoot dead after blowing the upstairs door. Another was killed while he covered the escape of a hostage, Francisco Tudela, thus saving the life of the latter. One hostage, Judge Carlos Giusti, suffered an injury to his femoral artery; he died later in the hospital, not from that injury itself, but from a subsequent heart attack.

In a recent interview with a Peruvian journalist, President Fujimori revealed that if the MRTA guerrillas had limited their demands to the payment of ransom and safe passage to Cuba, he would have agreed to a peaceful settlement. Nevertheless, from the outset he wanted to have the military option as a possibility. Archbishop Cipriani--who was probably better informed about the negotiations than anyone else, since he spoke to both Fujimori and Cerpa more frequently than anyone else--confirms the president's story.

Catholic Church leaders, especially Archbishop Cipriani, were generally viewed as the parties most concerned about avoiding a military showdown. In his quest for a peaceful solution, the archbishop relied not only on his own strong convictions, but also on a direct, personal involvement in the daily lives of both the hostages and their captors. To a man, the hostages praised Cipriani for the intense concern he had shown, and the strong relationships he had developed, in his care for their health--physical, psychological, and spiritual. Even Cerpa, in a letter to his son which was made public several days after his death, described the Archbishop of Ayacucho as "a good, decent man" who was trying "more than anybody to find a peaceful solution."

The degree of Archbishop Cipriani's personal involvement could not have been more evident during a final press conference held by the Commission of Guarantors on the day after the military operation. After saying that "during all these months, the hostages became like a family to me," the archbishop--who had been fighting exhaustion and a gastrointestinal ailment even as he devoted extra hours to negotiations and the pastoral care of his new "family"--broke down in tears. His sobs brought a hush to the press room, which was crowded with dozens of seasoned reporters from all around the world.

Archbishop Cipriani had done his utmost to make Cerpa understand that he was not bluffing--nor was Fujimori--when he said that the president would not allow the release of a single MRTA prisoner. Cerpa, who came from a professional background as a trade-union negotiator, believed that these statements were nothing more than a sophisticated extension of the bluff.

At the same time, Cipriani tried to convince Fujimori to offer some face-saving alternative to the MRTA. He suggested a scheme in which no MRTA terrorist would be directly released from prison, so that the government could truthfully insist that it had not succumbed to pressure, but the cases of some MRTA members would be reviewed, to see if their heavy prison sentences--which could easily have been deemed excessive, in comparison with those of other convicts--could be commuted or replaced by periods of parole. At the same time the archbishop volunteered to act as broker in a deal that would have the country's top MRTA leader, Victor Polay Campos, send an open letter to Cerpa asking him to release the hostages and leave the country. In exchange, Polay would have been granted a reduction of his life prison sentence.

Unfortunately, the archbishop's suggestions were leaked to the media, and some influential journalists began pressing for a hard-line approach. The cries for "no concessions" and even "not even hints of concessions" were raised, probably scuttling the last possibilities of a peaceful solution. Archbishop Cipriani expressed his anger and frustration by saying that "some of the media do not understand the difference between concessions and mercy." He reminded journalists that "there is a heavy responsibility on those who can influence the destiny of human lives."

The neatly choreographed commando assault of April 22, killing all of the MRTA terrorists and releasing 71 of the 72 hostages alive, ended the crisis in Lima and brought Fujimori's popularity rating to a new high. While Fujimori's stock soared, Archbishop Cipriania disappeared from the public scene. But a few days later, in an article published by the daily El Comercio, he told his story.

The archbishop explained that "the first objective of all my work was to preserve the lives of all the people in that residence." He added that the "mission of the Church--which I represented--was the light that guided all my work."

"In the second place," the archbishop continued, "I tried to find a peaceful way out to the crisis." And he disclosed that he also saw his involvement as having a "pastoral and spiritual mission" insofar as he sought to convert the members of the MRTA guerrilla team. "Unfortunately this was not achieved," he said--adding, "or at least I could not be sure of it."

The archbishop's ultimate frustration, he explained, was due to the fact that the MRTA guerrillas "could not understand sufficiently the spiritual reality, which, with the help of God's grace, could have helped them to be reasonable and to accept the alternatives that would have ended the crisis."

As for his emotional outburst at the press conference which had been the final scene of the long crisis, Archbishop Cipriani explained:

Alejandro Bermudez heads the ACI-Prensa news agency, with headquarters in Lima.

As early as the beginning of this century, Peruvian Catholic thinkers warned about the explosive social situation generated by the liberal model which had developed after the installation of the republic in 1821, which favored the concentration of wealth in urban minorities, while the large majority of rural population--mostly native Indians--remained in grinding poverty. That pattern of injustice, only aggravated by the growth of an impoverished working class during the 1940s, created a fertile environment in which social unrest could flourish. But the guerrilla violence and terrorism which has afflicted Peru in recent years is much more closely related to the penetration of Marxist ideology than to the Catholic demand for social justice.

The first guerrilla movement in Peru, the Revolutionary Left Movement (MIR) appeared in the early 1960s, during the first administration of President Fernando Belaunde, a populist who had embarked on a program of social changes such as land reform. At that time a militant member of the tiny Peruvian Communist Party, Luis de la Puente Uceda, together with a group of young intellectuals that included the poet Javier Heraud, traveled to Cuba to undertake a training course which was aimed to help them organize and develop a new national guerrilla movement. For three years thereafter, this small band of idealistic revolutionaries worked its way through the small towns in the central and southern Andes, as well as in the upper Amazon basin, trying to create the climate of social support for a revolutionary movement. They found that Peru, unlike Cuba had a complex social fabric which most Peruvians--even those living in poverty--wanted to improve rather than to destroy. And Belaunde, unlike Cuba's Batista, was a democratically elected president who promised real social changes. De la Puente and Heraud were eventually killed, and the rest of the small guerrilla cadre was disbanded or imprisoned.

In 1969 General Juan Velasco Alvarado introduced a populist government which freed the jailed guerrillas and proposed a new series of sweeping social reforms. Initially inspired by Catholic social teachings, Velasco began to lean more and more toward Marxism, and eventually Peru became the South American country with the closest ties to Cuba and the Soviet Union. Soviet military technology came to Peru, together with a strong tendency toward statist policies and the development of Cuban-style trade unions. Marxism gained favor among university students, while the labor movement became more and more radical.

In 1979, four years after Velasco was ousted by another General, Francisco Morales Bermudez, Nestor Cerpa--then a union leader at the textile company Cromotex, organized a wage protest which involved the taking of hostages. "Cromotex" became the symbol social upheaval when the police recovered the corporate complex by force, killing 8 workers and putting the rest of the leaders, including Cerpa, in jail. From that moment forward, Cerpa decided that his fight against the system should take another course.

Meanwhile, silently, a university teacher named Abimael Guzman Reynoso, taking advantage of the politically radical environment of the University of Huamanga, was training the leadership of what would become the bloodiest terrorist group ever in the region. Sendero Luminoso--Shining Path--made its presence known in 1980, when its members burned the ballots at an election center in the Andean town of Chuschi. From that point forward, Shining Path (SL) guerrillas blazed a path of violence and destruction that cost the country 25,000 dead and $30 billion dollars in lost property.

In 1984, when SL was rising toward its zenith, the "Revolutionary Movement Tupac Amaru" (MRTA) announced its existence by taking over a small town at the Upper Huallaga Valley and by holding a "press conference" in which the movement's leadership announced a "revolutionary program" that was a mixture of abstract romanticism and old-fashioned Marxism with a touch of Castro. During its early years the MRTA won some popularity in the Amazon area of San Martin, were it appeared as a counterbalance to SL's violence as well as an alternative to the utter absence of effective lawful authority in that region. MRTA leaders, especially Victor Polay and Nestor Cerpa, showed an instinct for spectacular actions and media coverage. Nevertheless, their naïveté and lack of clear political objectives exacted its price: by 1988, most of the group's leaders----Cerpa was the most notable exception-- had been captured by the police.

In 1989, Victor Polay and 48 other MRTA members escaped from the maximum-security prison at Canto Grande after their followers outside the jail dug a 200-yard tunnel to reach them. Until the seizure of the Japanese embassy last December, that exploit remained the MRTA's most spectacular achievement.

Afterward, however, the tactics of the MRTA became more similar to those of the Sendero Luminoso. Never achieving any widespread popular support, always appearing to be "poor cousins" of the SL, MRTA terrorists began threatening, kidnapping, and killing businessmen and political leaders in the cities of Peru, while in the jungle the group became embroiled in a war with SL for control of the coca trade--a war in which the rural population was the principal victim.

In 1992, after the capture of SL's top leadership, Polay and other MRTA key leaders were also captured. In 1995, the capture of Miguel Rincon and Nancy Gilvonio--Cerpa's wife--thwarted a plan to seize the National Congress and take hostages there. By that time, the MRTA could hardly gather more than 60 trained men for an operation, and Cerpa had to recruit teenagers for his commando group. After the Congress plan was aborted, the Institute of Legal Defense, a left wing human-rights organization, concluded that "the collapse of the MRTA seems definitive. Orphan of the popular support it had at the beginning, and with a crumbling structure, the MRTA project seems to have reached its end." Cerpa, of course, thought differently.

On the morning after the Japanese embassy was seized, Peruvian government desperately wanted to know who was in command of the group which had seized the hostages. "This is Commander Hermiginio Huertas, leader of the commando unit Juan Santos Atahualpa," responded the aggressive voice at the other end of telephone line. Terrorist archives did not register any "Hermiginio Huertas," although that name belonged to the star of one popular soccer team.

After learning that the commando unit was in fact lead by Nelson Cerpa, the government gradually, painstakingly--with the help of cameras and microphones that were smuggled into the embassy--learned more about the MRTA team, including both the trained terrorists who were its leaders and the inexperienced teenagers who had been recruited for the effort. "Tito" and "Salvador," while previously unknown, were the hotheads of the group, frequently suggesting to Cerpa more radical actions such as killing one of the hostages.

Most of the teenagers were natives of San Martin, a warm and calm Amazon region. Cerpa promised them that they would not stay longer than 15 days. Three girls were members of the commando. One of them, Giovana Vila, was known for the resentment she held against the army. Her family reports that Giovana's sister was raped by a soldier in San Martin, and the criminal was not punished because he bribed local judges. MRTA offered her a chance for revenge.

After a month in the embassy Maria Hoyos, one of the youngest members of the MRTA team, began telling some of the hostages that she hated the food, and missed her favorite television program, a Brazilian soap opera. Luz Dina Villoslada, known as "La Gringa," was a silent, inflexible woman. Her parents, whom she had said disappeared four years earlier, recognized her when she appeared unmasked at one of the embassy windows.

Jaime Castro, "Cayer," and "Joel" were other young members who complained about the food and their long stay at the Japanese embassy. "Joel" told one of the hostages that he did not want to go to Cuba; he only wanted to go back to San Martin, as Cerpa promised the recruits.

But probably the oddest participant was Artemio Shirugari, who, almost all of the hostages agreed, was mentally retarded. One of Cerpa's ways of intimidating the hostages was by sending them to their room with Artemio, who carried two grenades around his neck. Artemio was ordered to describe in detail how he had killed and decapitated policemen in San Martin--an order he seemed pleased to fulfill.

At times the rebels appeared as ordinary young people. Some of them asked Archbishop Cipriani for holy cards; one even approached Father Juan Wicht, requesting help in preparing for his first communion. At other times the youngsters showed a cruel side, pointing their guns menacingly and threatening their hostages.

At the moment of the military operation, some of the youngest members--including Maria Hoyos and Giovana Vila-,-tried to surrender, while others fought until the bitter end. But in the midst of an operation predicated on swift and forceful action, most soldiers found it impossible to make distinctions.