The territory of gangs in Honduras: "Or they kill us or we kill them"

Three clicks were heard dry, followed quickly by three others. The highway is emptied. Two elderly men squatted behind a fence. A taxi diverted into a side street. A mother pushed her baby barefoot into the house.

The sniper, an MS-13 thug dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a black baseball cap, was standing in the corner unhurried, in broad daylight; He was the only person left in this commercial area. He put his weapon in his trouser belt and watched the neighborhood tremble with terror.

Bryan, Reinaldo and Franklin slipped into the neighboring country, scary chickens. Between whispers of panic, they exchanged opinions on the shot, the third in less than a week. A few days earlier, a child had been hit by a similar attack. Bryan, 19, wondered how the few young men still living in the neighborhood could react to the attacks, if possible.

The Mara Salvatrucha, the band known as the MS-13, came almost daily for him and his friends. They ransacked homes, put spies on them, and followed them at dusk, constantly reminding that the enemy was around the corner, ready to attack them whenever they wanted.

There was no way to escape this threat. The neighborhood, consisting of unpaved streets barely the size of a few football fields, was surrounded on all sides.

In the east, beyond the Chinese restaurant where the three friends feasted on fried rice sometimes, the MS-13 planned to take control of the area. To the south, after a house turned into an evangelical church, the street gang of 18th Street, or Barrio 18, had planned the same thing. In the east and west, the situation was not better. There were gangs there too.

In fact, the neighborhood where Bryan and his friends grew up was not much different from those who were already controlled by the MS-13 and other gangs. They all shared the same characteristics: the old concrete houses, the food carts that offer fried chicken and tortillas, and the workers who, at dawn, rush to work and wait for buses in busy corners. .

But for Franklin, whose family has been living for several generations and waiting for the arrival of their first child, the neighborhood was everyone. Reinaldo and Bryan felt the same way.

They had only bad alternatives: stay and fight, leave their homes and try to go somewhere else, maybe to the United States, or surrender and hope that one of the invading gangs would take pity on them.

The three were members of Calle 18, but they were tired of the frequency of killings, extortion and robbery, especially those committed against their neighbors, people who had known them all their lives. In search of redemption, they finally joined and expelled the neighborhood gang, promising not to let her in anymore.

Now they were not just driven out by their ex-gang mates, but also those of the MS-13, who wanted this territory. This is how young people redoubled their strengths to protect themselves and became again what they hated the most: a gang.

"Borders surround us like a gallows," said Bryan, who was in a yard with other members of his gang, the White House. "We do not want gangs here and that's why we live in constant conflict."

Reinaldo, 22, was watching the street to watch for any movement. "Many people ask me why we are fighting for this little piece of land," Reinaldo said. "I tell them I'm not fighting for this territory, I'm fighting for my life."

From 2018 to early 2019, the New York Times followed the White House youth into this little corner of San Pedro Sula, one of the world's deadliest cities, while trying to keep the gangs in check. distance.

Shooting, members of the military and last-minute calls to stop the bloodshed were part of the storyline. The MS-13 gang wanted the territory to sell drugs. The other gang members wanted him to extort and steal. However, members of the White House had promised never to let their neighborhood be a victim. And they would die for it, if necessary.

Virtually no one has tried to stop the war: neither the police, nor the government, nor the young people themselves. The only one who was in favor of peace was a part-time pastor who preached outdoors because he did not have a church and walked around the neighborhood with a yellow vehicle broken down, risking his life to calm the warring factions.

"I'm not in favor of any gang," said Pastor Daniel Pacheco, rushing to the field where the White House youth were gathered. "I am in favor of life."

The fight to protect this neighborhood – four blocks of concrete houses, vacant lots with undergrowth and some shops selling potato chips and soft drinks – symbolizes the violence that traps and expels millions of people all over the world. Latin America.

Since the beginning of this century, More than 2.5 million people have been killed as part of the homicide crisis that is affecting Latin America and the Caribbean, according to the Igarapé Institute, a research group that badyzes violence in the world .

The region represents only eight percent of the world's population; However, there are 38% homicides in the world. In this region, there are 17 of the 20 countries with the highest death rates on the planet.

In addition, in only seven countries in Latin America – Brazil, Colombia, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, Mexico and Venezuela – violence has claimed more lives than the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and Yemen together.

The violence is all the more surprising as almost all the brutal civil wars and military dictatorships that once dominated Latin America ended (in many cases, decades ago). Much of the region has come a long way, often with great success, on the road to democracy. However, the murders continue to reach a staggering number.

They occur in several ways: death due to excessive force at the hands of state security forces; femicides due to domestic violence, a consequence of gender inequality, and deaths caused by the constant trafficking of drugs and weapons with the United States.

Almost all murders are protected by a climate of impunity that in some countries leaves more than 95% of homicides unresolved. In addition, the state supports the phenomenon because governments penalized by corruption are unable or simply do not have the political will to uphold the rule of law, which allows criminal networks to determine the lives of millions of people.

For the mbades fleeing violence and poverty in Central America, the United States is both a cause and a solution. They see it as a country that generates innumerable ills, but it is also an opportunity to get out of this situation.

Frustrated by the flow of migrants traveling north, President Donald Trump has pledged to cut aid to the most violent countries in Central America, threatening to send hundreds of millions of dollars to tackle the causes. from the exodus.

However, the surviving members of the White House, who were formerly dozens, do not want to flee, unlike tens of thousands of compatriots. They have jobs to keep, children to feed, families, neighbors and loved ones to protect. "There is only one way to end this," Reinaldo said. "Either they kill us or we kill them."

"Next time, they will kill me"

The men entered in silence and raised the thin curtain of the main door of Fanny's house with the barrels of their AK-47s.

She let out a cry of fear as the men inspected her house with badault rifles on the shoulder. After the shooting the day before, MS-13 gunmen found that Bryan, Reinaldo, and Franklin had run into the garden of Fanny's house, one of the few places where they felt safe.

Now it was night and Fanny was alone. The men visited the yard for the last time in search of members of the White House, then left as suddenly as they had arrived. His silence made the message more frightening: the subjects came in and out at their leisure.

Fanny, a single mother of three, was like a surrogate mother to the White House. TheI knew you since childhood, they defended their son against the abusers at school. And when they grew up, their home became a refuge, a place to escape their dysfunctional homes.

Because of her closeness to the young, Fanny became the target of the MS-13. Trembling with fear, he called his cousin, Pastor Pacheco. "Next time, they will kill me, I know," he told the pastor.

Fanny was well respected in the few neighborhoods controlled by Casa Blanca, but she had no influence beyond the neighborhood, the pastor's home region. The man knew the leaders of all the gangs.

He had a little belly and a big face that seemed all the time about to smile. He was an evangelical minister, and on Sundays he delivered open-air sermons in the sweltering heat and worked in construction to make ends meet.

But in 2014, a girl in the 13-year-old neighborhood was kidnapped by gang members. His parents had a small grocery store and they had not paid the bribe, the extortion required by the gang members. In retaliation, they abducted the girl, took her to a house where she was raped and tortured for three days, before killing her and burying her on the ground.

"People saw it coming out of the street shouting for help and nobody was doing anything," recalls Pacheco, better known as Pastor Danny. "Everyone feared for their lives."

Pastor Danny's daughter was the same age as the girl. Overwhelmed, he visited the house after the departure of the police. The shallow pit was still open, it was a small hole in the center of the room that had been dug into the dirt floor. He began to fill it with both hands.

"I made a promise there," he said. "I was going to do something."

It's been four years and he's still keeping the newspaper clippings of the murder so as not to forget his promise.

Most of the time, he came and went in the rustic streets of his yellow car, a vehicle recognized by the gangs. More than once, he had intervened when police beat gang members or interposed between rival gang members who were about to kill each other.

He hated the government, the arbitrary brutality of the police and the endemic corruption that had motivated so many Hondurans to leave the country in caravans bound for the United States. Although he admitted that murders were decreasing in his country, the underlying problems persisted.

Now, with Fanny's life in danger, I've taken it personally. He knew many members of the White House and understood the dilemma they were in. He did not want the gangs to control the neighborhood either.

But it was realistic, there was virtually no way to prevent them from entering. The MS-13 had clearly expressed its intentions. He advanced through large sections of San Pedro Sula, using his supremacy over his limbs, his strong organization and his cruelty to subjugate smaller and less sophisticated groups.

In his opinion, the White House had arrived: the invasion was near and imminent.

The members of the White House, who were coming out of their teens and entering their twenties, had fewer than a dozen. Some were dead and others in prison. Those who remained were the least experienced in gang clashes. Some were barely old enough to shave.

Bryan worked 12-hour teams in a factory and started his day at 5:30. m. To avoid ambushes, he went out every morning and only came back until the night. I almost did not sleep. At work, he was awake through a combination of fear and sweets.

It could be said that he had the least to fight, he lived alone in a room apartment and was away from his mother. He only knew her every two weeks when he was paid. "It's not like other mothers," he tried to explain, embarrbaded.

Like Pastor Danny, Franklin, 19, worked in the construction industry when there was an opportunity. He had long the same girlfriend and wanted to escape the violence because she was pregnant. But he had a brother who did not share his dreams. When the time comes, he says, his brother would die fighting.

Reinaldo was the quietest of the group. When others boasted about his exploits, he just laughed and never took part in it. He rarely raised his voice and was sometimes tender, as when he held Fanny's youngest son in his arms to hug him when his mother reprimanded him for taking empty cartridges in bullets from the street. to shake them like dice.

Reinaldo wanted more than anyone out of the violence, but he refused to leave his friends and neighborhood. Like many others, he could not imagine anywhere else. Their expectations, as well as their movements, were confined to this place.

If there remained in the White Houseuh, it was Javi, who was a little over twenty years old and was almost skeletal and the most violent by nature. There was an interlaced scar on her face, from the right cheek to the throat, thanks to a gang that had kidnapped her the previous year. Everyone called him Macheteado.

In November, Javi went to Guatemala to start from scratch. Now he was back. "I can not leave this place," he explained. "It's home, I will not run away."

As legions of young victims of the outbreak of homicides in the region, they all felt trapped in a cycle impossible to break. Although they tried to escape the violence – denouncing the gangs together – they had managed to unleash more violence.

Pastor Danny considered it a good sign that the MS-13 gunmen did not cause any physical damage to Fanny, but the sudden escalation worried him. There would be more bullets and more deaths, I was sure. Bryan, Franklin and the others could not even spend a quiet afternoon in Fanny's garden. Now they have been marked.

However, the pastor was preparing something in secret, something that looked like diplomatic madness. I wanted to serve as an intermediary for a meeting between members of the White House and MS-13, the gang that was threatening to kill them.

Anner stood at the door of his house, shirtless, watching his daughter play with a small dog. "It's going to be difficult," he warned the pastor. "These guys have lost a lot to give up like this."

Anner, 26, was a working man. He stocked food in a shop, proud of the little house and motorcycle that his work allowed him. He had grown up with the White House. He was not a member of the group, but two of his brothers-in-law, including Franklin, were there.

The pastor knew that he needed Anner to help convince the White House that peace was the only way out. The two men took Franklin to the inside of the house, where the air conditioner was operating at maximum power in a lost heat battle. Anner needed the pastor to understand what he was facing, the feudal history of the White House.

In the early 2000s, he told the pastor, they were almost all gang members. The territory belonged to Barrio 18 and the local members were operating from a white house, which is why they had put that name.

However, in 2016, a police operation imprisoned the gang leaders, leaving the neighborhood available to be taken away. A new gang wanted to fill the political void and the locals, who still called the White House, joined him.

But this gang was so brutal and petty. He killed residents for not paying for extortion and stole them even though they were paying. The members of the White House were furious. The people they grew up with were suffering because of him.

Fed up, they rebelled, they asked for help from a faction of Barrio 18. A few months later, they came back victorious and joined Barrio again 18.

However, threats, thefts and violence continued. They had lost limbs, and all that for what, Anner wondered, Just to change the abuse of one gang by the excesses of another?

So they again mutinied and after several months of bloody clashes, they managed to drive Barrio 18 out of their territory.

"They have become an anti-gang group," said Anner. "Life was beautiful, more thefts, no extortion, no more violence against neighborhood residents."

"And then," he said, "the police came."

In the summer of 2017, police arrested half a dozen White House members. Others fled. The ranks were decimated, leaving the members with the lowest profile on the street. "Now the kids have been left alone," said Anner.

Anner reviewed the list of survivors and explained how they would react to the MS-13's attempt to control the area. Franklin's older brother would not like that, he said. He had already shot members of the MS-13 gang and even refused to sit down with the pastor.

Franklin nodded and said: "He says the only truce he needs is the one he wears at the waist" and he made the gesture of having a rifle in his hand. Others may agree to a truce, said Anner, but older members, on leaving prison, could violate any agreement they may have reached.

Pastor Danny began to realize what he was committed to: the White House had no leadership and was unpredictable, he was in charge of young people whose self-preservation was in constant struggle with their bravado.

"If something does not change, there will be a mbadacre by the end of the year," the pastor concluded impatiently. Anner took over: "End of the year, rather for the end of the week."

At that moment, a loud roar was heard, the sound of a stone that had struck Anner's roof. The group left the house in a hurry. Franklin motioned them not to speak

"The MS-13 is in the block," he murmured pointing to the street.

The street was long and narrow, more than 30 meters long, like a shooting range. The pastor, fearing that MS-13 gunmen would start firing, called the police.

The street drained, with the exception of a middle-aged woman who walked slowly down the street, alone. After this happened, Anner reported a relief. She was the sister of one of the MS-13's leaders, most likely a watchman, Anner explained after the woman left.

"Is she on the lookout?" Promptly asked Pastor Danny pointing to the street. "This woman was a watchman?" He was furious at having missed the opportunity. If he had known, he told Anner, he would have come forward to relieve the tension. As a religious leader, he would not be perceived as a threat, he explained.

The men waited on Anner's porch, praying that the gangsters would not open. After half an hour, the pastor rushed to his car, hitting the accelerator as he left.

When he left the neighborhood, the police arrived. The pastor lowered the window of the car to inform them of what had happened, surprised that they even appeared.

But before he could say anything, the police ordered him to get off the vehicle. The pastor thought it was a joke, until the policeman adopted a more authoritarian tone.

"But it's me who called you," protested Pastor Danny.

The police made a few calls before letting the pastor go, clutching the wheel while whispering an insult. "And then they wonder why you have to solve your problems alone," he said.

& # 39; The last letter I can play & # 39;

The pastor slowed down as he entered the intersection of unpaved streets that separated MS-13 gang members from White House gang members. He turned on the flashing lights of the vehicle, lowered the windows and stopped after a desolate concrete block structure, where the young people's silhouettes were distinguished by the glow of burning cigars.

A man with tattoos on his arms and neck appeared at the window of the pastor's car. "What do you want?" He asked, throwing a long look from one side to the other side of the street. "I want to see Samuel," said the pastor. "We know each other".

A few hours after leaving Anner's house, the pastor had received an alarming call. Armed motorists were driving families out of their homes in the Casa Blanca area, taking the neighborhood by force. I could not wait anymore.

Pastor Danny was carried away by his usual behavior – improvised improvisation – and hastened to go directly to the territory of the MS-13, hoping to put himself at the mercy of Samuel, the neighborhood chief, before anyone dies.

"This is the last card I can play," he said. The pastor examined vacant lots and desolate buildings for signs of life, breathing deeply to calm down. He had a habit of taking risks, but it was different, Samuel was an important character, not just a soldier with an unstable temperament. The pastor knew that just asking for news of him could arouse suspicion and fear, and that scared offenders were dangerous.

The tattooed man stepped back and looked again on both sides of the street. Satisfied, he pointed to a peach-colored house. "Check," he said.

The pastor pbaded near a well-lit corner where two women were smoking with a skinny man dressed in a shirt and jeans. That was Samuel. The pastor pressed the brakes and jumped out of the car, leaving him in the middle of the street with the door open.

Samuel apologized for the conversation with the women and blew his half-smoked cigar. He looked like he was in his thirties, he had short hair and the quiet demeanor of someone who was used to being in control.

He walked and hugged the old man. "Pastor Danny, how are you?" Asked he. "Not very well, brother," the pastor said hesitantly. He took his time when he went to see someone to ask for help, letting him know little by little what he wanted. Deep down, he was more of an actor.

But now, nervous and somewhat surprised at his chance to find Samuel, Pastor Danny went straight to the point. "I have to ask you a personal favor," he said. Samuel raised his eyebrows and answered like a politician: "If I can do it, I will do it," he said.

"I know you want to enter the White House," said Pastor Danny. "But I'm coming to ask you, please do not do it with violence, please do not kill anyone."

Samuel listened impbadively, without saying anything.

"I'm not in favor of any gang," the pastor continued, filling the silence with his usual song. "I just want to protect life and I have a cousin who lives there and I fear that she and others will be hurt."

At this moment Samuel interrupted him. "This territory is already ours, "he said. He is already ours. "

The pastor did not know whether he was speaking literally or figuratively. MS-13, although fast, had not yet taken control of the territory. That's what the pastor knew.

"But at this moment, there are people who throw a family from home," insisted the pastor. "I have people in the community who witness this."

Samuel leaned against the pastor's car, but when he saw that he was covered in dust, he got up. "We can not be us, we have no one there for the moment," he replied. "You said?". The pastor called Anner in search of additional information.

"Exactly, what's going on right now," the pastor asked. Anner told the pastor that motorcyclists arrived with masks, entered a house and took the family who lived half a block away from Fanny's home.

"We do not have bikes in this area," said Samuel shaking his head. Then Anner changed version. The men had arrived by bicycle, he said now, but he was convinced that they were driving people out of their homes.

The exchange continued: Samuel asked the pastor and he consulted Anner to clarify the information. Anner began to have suspicions and talk vaguely. The pastor did his best to explain the scene of the events to Samuel, based on the vague answers that Anner had given him.

"No, it can not be," said Samuel to the pastor. "Where you say is where the old woman sells firewood."

Immediately, Samuel made a map of the White House territory in the dust that covered the back window of the pastor's car. They took turns drawing streets and monuments.

"It seems to me that the place they are talking about is here," Samuel said, touching the glbad with his finger. "And it's not on the territory of the White House."

The pastor was ashamed. Samuel was right. No matter what happened, it was not on the territory of the White House.

In any case, it did not matter, says Samuel. Everyone knew that the White House was weak. And he told the pastor that he had already ordered his lieutenant – a man they called Monster – to take over the neighborhood.

His men do not force families to leave their homes that night, he said, but they will be here soon.

Then Samuel asked the pastor to draw the exact location of Fanny's house. "Do not worry about your loved ones, we will not hurt them," Samuel promised.

The pastor asked about the members of the White House. Would they also be spared from their lives?

"As I said, the territory already belongs to us," replied Samuel. "If we can avoid violence, we will do it, but it depends on them."

Samuel lit his cigar again and went down the street to an abandoned building.

"We sell drugs"

The Monster – Lieutenant MS-13 in charge of capturing the territory of the White House – led the pastor into the backyard where more than a dozen of his members were standing in a circle, covered with A cloud of marijuana smoke. A boy under ten was with them, the ribbed cap, smoking a cigar.

The pastor is introduced. Two days had pbaded since his meeting with Samuel. Now he had returned to MS-13 and was face to face with White House enemies.

The black baseball cap shooter, who had shot a few days earlier on the street, was present. The men who had entered Fanny's house were also there, standing near a gigantic mound of earth. The pastor kept his gaze fixed on Monster.

When he spoke in front of groups, the pastor had an indirect way of getting his message across. He flattered them, shared spiritual stories, or used parables from the Bible, depending on the crowd and what he thought would be suitable for them.

"I know you are a structured, disciplined group with organization and resources," he told them, which made some of them smile. "The White House members are struggling to fight you and they know it."

At 26, the monster had become one of Samuel's main lieutenants. After having trouble living from his construction work, he says the gang has offered him a job and a community.

Il lui a également enseigné la discipline, ce qui était primordial: ne mentez pas au gang, ne consommez pas de drogue (sauf de la marijuana) et les meurtres devaient être approuvés par les dirigeants, à moins qu'ils ne soient en état de légitime défense.

"Tuer quelqu'un n'est pas ce qui aide à monter", a expliqué le monstre. "Ce qui compte, c'est comment vous pensez, votre intelligence", ajouta-t-il en tapotant son index sur la tempe.

Étrangement, le monstre ressemblait à un petit officier, qui livre des clichés et des promesses avec une aisance naturelle. La sécurité d'abord. Respect pour les résidents. Pas de recrutement forcé. Pas d'extorsion. En bref, un discours surprenant pour un gang terrorisant des personnes d'Amérique centrale aux États-Unis.

"Nous gagnons de l'argent avec la vente de drogue", a expliqué le monstre, "nous ne volons donc pas les gens qui vivent dans nos régions".

"Nous avons besoin d'eux", a-t-il ajouté.

Tout cela semblait optimiste aux oreilles du pasteur, peut-être trop. Il n'y avait aucun moyen de savoir si le monstre disait la vérité. Après tout, c'étaient des meurtriers, peu importe ce qu'ils disaient de la paix.

Dans l'ensemble, le pasteur voulait aller avec quelque chose de concret. La conversation dura un peu plus d'une heure avant qu'il ne définisse enfin son plan.

"Vous savez, peut-être que ça peut aider de rencontrer l'un d'entre eux", dit soudain le pasteur, comme si l'idée venait de lui venir à l'esprit. "Je dis, s'ils veulent et tu veux."

'Paralysé par la peur'

Dans la voiture, Fanny a demandé à moitié en plaisantant, à moitié au sérieux, si le pasteur la menaçait d'être tuée. Il s'était fixé pour l'occasion, ses lèvres étaient d'un rouge cramoisi.

"Ne sois pas stupide, Fanny," dit-il. "J'essaye de te sauver la vie."

Ils se rendaient chez leur frère, en dehors du territoire de la Maison Blanche. Le pasteur voulait faire sortir Fanny du quartier afin de pouvoir lui raconter ses rencontres avec MS-13. "Fanny n'écoute pas quand elle est à la maison", a-t-elle expliqué. "Elle est paralysée par la peur."

El pastor Danny llevaba tres días con la misma ropa. Le habían salido ojeras. Entre fungir como intermediario de las reuniones con MS-13, evitar que Casa Blanca se viniera abajo y aconsejar a Fanny, había tenido poco tiempo para lo demás, incluso para su propia familia.

Su hija estaba hospitalizada por una enfermedad en los pulmones. Cuando no estaba en el barrio, iba al hospital para acompañar a su esposa y ver cómo estaba la niña.

Las facturas se acumulaban, y nunca había sido bueno para cobrar. Prefería estar en las calles, su ministerio era de acción. Las finanzas no eran lo suyo.

Pero en este momento, su preocupación era, antes que nada, la seguridad de su prima. "Fanny, necesitas pensar en ti y tu familia", dijo el pastor, percibiendo sus dudas. "Me dijeron que no te iban a tocar", agregó.

Fanny comenzó a llorar. Después de todo lo que había ocurrido en los últimos días –el tiroteo, la invasión de su hogar– el pastor pensaba que ella se alegraría con la noticia. Pero la promesa del pastor sobre su seguridad solo le recordaba que todos los demás no lo estarían.

"¿Cómo te sentirías si te dijera que puedo salvarte la vida, pero los niños que has conocido y amado desde pequeños podrían morir?", dijo entre sollozos. "¿Cómo te sentirías si te dijera que solo te puedo salvar a ti?".

El pastor estaba confundido, incluso herido, después de todos los sacrificios que había hecho y los riesgos que corría. A menudo bromeaba diciendo que nadie agradecía el trabajo que hacía, y en gran medida, no esperaba mucho. Aun así, no quería que lo reprendieran por ello.

Le dio a Fanny un poco de papel para que se limpiara el rímel que ahora le escurría por el rostro.

"Si los demás en el barrio quieren pelear y morir, supongo que es su elección", dijo el pastor Danny, encogiéndose de hombros. "Yo estoy tratando de salvarles la vida a los que quieran salvarse".

Dos días después, cuando el pastor decidió decirle a los miembros de Casa Blanca sobre su plan de una tregua, Fanny se negó a acompañarlo. Reunió a todos en casa de Anner, incluidos algunos padres, con la esperanza de que pudieran obligar a los jóvenes a aceptar su propuesta.

Era tarde en las noche. Bryan entró corriendo después del trabajo, con el pelo todavía húmedo porque se había duchado. Franklin se sentó en el sofá, con las piernas extendidas.

"Dijeron que los perdonarán a todos siempre y cuando puedan entrar pacíficamente", dijo el pastor, explicando los términos de la MS-13.

El pastor presentó su plan de la manera más positiva posible. La MS-13 había dicho que no quería matar, pero nunca prometió que los perdonaría a todos, no lo había dicho de manera explícita.

Bryan lo interrumpió para contar su más reciente encuentro con unos miembros de la MS-13. "No silbaron ni me miraron de manera agresiva", se asombró, atribuyendo el comportamiento atípico a los esfuerzos del pastor.

Sin importar si el cambio estaba relacionado, la reunión parecía ir bien. Y al final, el verdadero evangelio del pastor era la esperanza. Si podía hacer creer a los miembros de Casa Blanca que la paz era posible, tal vez podría ser así.

Al final de la conversación, Anner aceptó reunirse con el Monstruo.

"Esto es inevitable", dijo Anner. "Quiero decir, miren las posibilidades: son como 50.000 de ellos contra ocho de nosotros".

'No queremos ningún problema'

Anner llevaba su uniforme de trabajo, una camisa tipo polo con la insignia de la tienda de abarrotes cosida sobre el bolsillo izquierdo. Su jefe le había dado unas horas libres del turno de la tarde y Anner estaba ansioso por irse.

En el asiento trasero del auto del pastor Danny, el joven hablaba sin cesar, una actitud probablemente causada por los nervios. El pastor esperaba que pudiera calmarse para cuando se encontrara con el Monstruo.

Y luego, de repente, Anner se quedó callado. Recargó el rostro sobre el vidrio polarizado y miró fijamente el paisaje.

"No había estado en esta calle en siete años", dijo, mientras entraban en el territorio de la MS-13, maravillado ante cómo barrios tan pequeños podían estar tan claramente divididos, y lo aislado que eso lo hacía sentir.

El pastor llegó a un edificio con un pórtico de hojalata. El Monstruo estaba sentado detrás de él, en una silla baja en la sombra, fumando marihuana. Sonrió ligeramente cuando los visitantes buscaron un lugar para sentarse. Anner encontró una caja astillada, el pastor una cubeta volteada boca abajo.

Tras una breve presentación, Anner comenzó a hablar, de manera nerviosa, durante casi toda la reunión: sobre los niños, su trabajo, su vida en el barrio. Incluso mencionó a unos cuantos miembros de la MS-13 a los que conocía en persona. "No estoy involucrado en nada de esto, pero conozco a todos estos pandilleros", explicó.

El Monstruo continuó fumando. En el interior del edificio, una máquina de pinball hacía su característico ruido metálico y reproducía Limbo Rock mientras los miembros de la pandilla jugaban por turnos.

"Estoy aquí para decirte que no queremos ningún problema con la MS", dijo Anner, arrastrando su caja un poco más cerca del Monstruo. "No quiero ver violencia", dijo. "Trabajo y tengo familia y no quiero perder mi casa".

El Monstruo, ahora muy alto, negó con la cabeza y pronunció un suave: "No".

"¿Qué me dices de los demás?" Anner preguntó. "¿Qué va a ser de ellos? Algunos de ellos le han disparado a la MS antes", explicó. "A veces por miedo".

El Monstruo comenzó a hablar, pero Anner lo interrumpió. "Solo quiero pedirte como un favor que, si no se resisten, si no pelean, les otorgues el perdón por lo que hicieron en el pasado", dijo.

El Monstruo miró al pastor y luego a Anner. "Nuestra meta no es matar gente", afirmó. "Si no pelean, si hacen las cosas como está planeado, no habrá necesidad".

Anner se relajó ligeramente, su tensión disminuyó. "Gracias hermano, esto es un gran alivio para mí. Todos hemos estado tan preocupados por lo que fuera a pasar todos los días. Es como vivir en una zona de guerra".

Un par de automóviles pasaron por la calle y los conductores tocaron las bocinas para saludar a los miembros de la MS-13 reunidos ahí. Unos cuantos niños jugaban cerca de ahí, pateando un pequeño balón de un lado a otro de la calle.

"Mira a tu alrededor", dijo El Monstruo. "La gente vive con más libertad aquí que en ninguna otra parte".

"Así podría ser en Casa Blanca", concluyó.

Los cuerpos aparecieron una mañana de enero, mutilados, envueltos en bolsas negras de basura y depositados en los márgenes del territorio de Casa Blanca con la pandilla de Barrio 18.

La advertencia hablaba por sí misma: Barrio 18 se había enterado de la tregua en ciernes con la MS-13, y no tenía intenciones de aceptarla.

Unas semanas después, Reinaldo desapareció. Había estado caminando por el barrio, dentro de los confines del territorio de Casa Blanca, cuando alguien se lo llevó de la calle.

Bryan, Franklin y los demás comenzaron a circular su fotografía, para ver si alguien lo había visto. Tras unos cuantos días, el pastor se enteró de que los de Barrio 18 se lo habían llevado. Nunca devolvieron el cuerpo. La frágil paz conseguida por el pastor comenzó a resquebrajarse.

La MS-13 nunca entró al barrio, como Samuel y el Monstruo dijeron. Aunque dejaron de atacar a Casa Blanca, como prometieron, los de Barrio 18 retomaron los enfrentamientos justo donde sus rivales se habían quedado.

El pastor trató de calmar a los miembros de Casa Blanca, pero no tenía nada nuevo que ofrecerles. A pesar de todos sus esfuerzos –las reuniones clandestinas, la creación de una coalición– solo había logrado cambiar a un enemigo por otro.

Y ni eso duró. A principios de este año, Samuel y el Monstruo fueron ascendidos. Dado que ya no estaban, no había ninguna garantía de paz. El sustituto del Monstruo, Puyudo, retomó los ataques a Casa Blanca y el pastor desconocía los motivos.

El barrio de Casa Blanca seguía menos armado, con menos miembros y atrapado. En marzo, un joven en su territorio fue lesionado en un tiroteo. Unos cuantos días después, un matón de la MS-13 le disparó a Anner mientras regresaba a casa del trabajo.

Una semana después, alguien le disparó a Fanny mientras caminaba con su hijo a casa después de ir a la escuela.

Repentinamente, la misión del pastor Danny se había vuelto mucho más abrumadora. Comenzó a decir que ya no sentía que debía hacerlo. Tratar de cambiar al barrio y mucho menos a todo San Pedro Sula o al resto de Honduras, le parecía inútil.

En su mente, el hecho de que todo dependiera de él –una misión de paz de un solo hombre, sin ayuda del gobierno– era un reflejo de lo nefasta que era la situación.

"Todas las cosas que terminan en las calles, comienzan con la corrupción del gobierno", il a affirmé. "Ni siquiera hay un deseo de tratar de hacer algo. No puedo seguir luchando contra este monstruo: el gobierno, el país. No les importa. Nada les importa".

Dijo que esta sería su última intervención. Sin importar cómo terminara lo de Casa Blanca —de forma pacífica o no— prometió encontrar una vida en la que no tuviera que luchar contra el monstruo, como llamaba al Estado, y podría adoptar una causa menos desmoralizante. Tal vez incluso podría irse de Honduras.

Pero tampoco eso duró. Su escepticismo fue cediendo paso a la esperanza, como siempre sucedía. Unas cuantas semanas después de que la MS-13 le disparó a Fanny, el pastor logró encontrarse con Puyudo, el nuevo líder del área. La desilusión del pastor Danny desapareció.

Ante Puyudo, pronunció una versión resumida del discurso que, para entonces, había practicado media docena de veces. Regresó de inmediato al modo diplomático.

"Me parece que puedo convencerlo de detener los tiroteos", dijo el pastor, refiriéndose a la reunión más reciente. "Se supone que nos volveremos a encontrar pronto".

Copyright: 2019 New York Times News Service