Sun in Lima: Fujimori Sentenced

A short reflection by Alfonso Wieland,  International Director, Paz y Esperanza (Peace and Hope)  PERU

"Sir, I am 68 years old and it is the first time in my life that I feel proud of my     country’s institutions. These members of the tribunal are first class; they are refuting, one by one, all of Fujimori’s lies.”

It is a sunny morning in Lima; it is almost midday and my friend the taxi driver is driving me through the small and chaotic streets in the city center. We are listening, over the radio, to the vibrant and clear reading of the sentence of the Peruvian dictator Alberto Fujimori, who governed from 1990 until his fall from power in November 2000. I picture in my mind the emotion of the families of the murdered citizens in Barrios Altos and La Cantuta in Lima, the places where 29 people were killed under the order of Fujimori’s regime. I imagine the relief of the journalist, Gustavo Gorriti, and of the businessman, Samuel Dyer, who were unjustly kidnapped. Yes indeed, justice and truth do bring relief. They make us feel as if we are alive; that there is something more in this life than lies and the abuse of power. It must be for that reason that the Bible prophet, in his vision of a perfect society, imagined a love scene between justice and truth: both kiss each other, they want each other, they love each other.

This historic trial is a triumph for human rights. It is a triumph of the law over     arbitrariness. But above all it is a triumph of the Christian vision that justice must protect the least protected, the weakest members of society, the poor, and those whose lack of social status makes them the most vulnerable. This 25 year sentence is not for revenge. It is to restore dignity, the memory of those who were murdered. It is even so that a condemned man may change, repent, and return to God.

It is noon and the sun shines brilliantly even though it is autumn. I recall the    beautiful words of Malachi: “The Sun of justice will rise and on its wings he will bring salvation.”

“Have a good day,” I get out of the taxi and say good-bye to my friend the taxi-driver. I respond with a look, “Yes, today is a good day. The face of Hope is the families of those who were murdered. Blessed be the Lord.”

“Have a good day,” I get out of the taxi and say good-bye to my friend the taxi-driver. I respond with a look, without words, “Yes, today is a good day. The face of Hope is the families of those who were murdered. Blessed be the Lord.”