Silencing Memories: The Workers' Movement for Democracy in El Salvador, 1932-1963

Let them be heard!

Let them be heard!
This project seeks to build on the recovery of historical memory during El Salvador’s devastating anticommunist campaigns of the 1930s. With El Salvador’s long history of repression against social movements, fear and even shame have silenced stories about the movement and its participants. In line with the current projects dedicated to oral history, the story of Felíx Panameño, a local shoemaker and member of the Communist Party in the 1930s, has been re-constructed with the help of his family’s memories. Shoemakers were key to the growing political consciousness of the time, which has been documented by Roque Dalton through his oral history project with shoemaker and survivor of the 1932 revolts, Miguel Mármol.

For me, it’s never been enough to accept that we, as immigrants, come to the U.S. for a better life. From an early age, this popular phrase sparked my curiosity about my family history and the country that was left behind. Much too often, “we are here for a better life” is the response used by immigrants fleeing a struggle of one kind or another in their home countries. A struggle they are looking to put behind them in order to start a new life. However, the statement not only dismisses the complexities of the power relations between the host country and the country of origin, but it also suggests one country is “better” than the other, and subsequently implying that your country of origin, your heritage and your roots are “less than”. A sentiment that never felt right to me because it dismissed learning about my family history.

So if we did leave “less than” desirable conditions in our home countries, what created these conditions? Who made it this way? And, did anyone try to make it a better place before having to leave it? This last question intrigued me the most because I had heard the controversial story about my maternal great-grandfather, Felix Panameño. According to my grandmother (Abuelita Letty), her father tried to improve the lives of Salvadorans through his work with unions, and eventually as a member of the Communist Party in the 1930s. Her brother (Tio Chus) remembers the price he paid for his vision of a better life. Tio Chus recalls the welts on their father’s back from the electric cord lashings he took at the local police station for his political activism. While the story was not a secret in the family, it was hardly ever brought up. You can say it was dismissed. And yet, it’s Felix Panameño’s story that connects our family to El Salvador’s historical struggles and the history of what generated the beginnings of the diaspora. My interest then lies in the memory recuperation of family members and archival documents linked to Felix Panameño, in order to reflect on the political and social repercussions of silencing memories.


 

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