By: Meara Donovan, BTS cooperant (2026)
At 5:30 a.m., students and teachers began to show up at the New Hope Foundation’s (FNE) office in Rabinal. Motorcycle after motorcycle of shockingly un-sleepy teenagers roared up to the huddles of students, teachers, and guests invited to the February 13th ceremony commemorating the Xococ massacre of 1982.
Anticipation was palpable in the air; some students had never left Rabinal, and many had never been to Xococ. In the growing light of dawn, we waited for our caravan of buses and trucks to arrive.
Students and teachers waiting to board the buses to Xococ.
Around 6:30 a.m., students started boarding the vehicles; a big yellow school bus, a red JAC truck, a white pickup, and the green Rutas Maya Achí school bus braving a trip longer than its usual to and from CECBI.
I found myself squished into the foggy-windowed yellow bus with 57 students and a couple of teachers.
As the bus roared down hills, the students whistled at our driver to stop for their friends walking along the side of the road. Many live in communities outside of Rabinal, so we picked them up on the way.
The 12 km journey was an adventure to say the least. About halfway through, the bus came to halt, confronted with a hulking pile of gravel blocking the road. Failing to get through, a few of the sixth years jumped out to see what they could do. The shoulder of the road was a shallow ditch filled with water, and the students began hauling the largest stones they could find to fill it. Unsuccessful, they disappeared and reemerged a few minutes later with a gardening hoe and pick to tackle the gravel, cheered-on by the whistles of their classmates whose heads poked out the windows. At the hands of our very skilled driver, our group made it through.
The bus saga!
The rest of the ride was free of roadblocks, and our bus rumbled into Xococ around 7:30 a.m.
Our group hopped off the bus, and began the trek to the ceremony site. Led by the marimba carried by a group of students, we walked down a winding dirt road which brought us to the banks of a river.
The leaders of our procession, carrying the marimba.
Some carefully removed their shoes and socks, rolled up their jeans, and put on sandals to wade through the shallow water. Others went for it, stomping through and soaking everything below the knees.
Young caballeros (gentlemen) offered piggyback rides.
We convened on the opposite bank, backed by lush green fields of milpa (corn) dotted with towering mango trees. The hike continued through the fields, over streams, and under barbed wire fences, until we arrived at the ceremony site, a small green clearing.
The journey to Chitón.
The abuelo (elder) had already commenced his preparations for the ceremony, and continued as students settled into the grass while teachers busied themselves serving hot coffee. The marimba trio struck up a melody, accompanied by 2 other abuelos, one playing violin and the other an adufe (traditional square tambourine).
Ceremony preparations.
Once everyone was seated, the oldest students gave presentations to their younger peers with posters and ice breaker activities about the history of the day. While some of the students had attended the ceremony the previous year, for many this was a new experience, and they were learning about a piece of their history for the first time.
Older students gave presentations on the history of the day.
A hush fell over our group when Don Jesús, founder of the FNE, stood up to speak. He thanked us all for attending, and began to recount the events of February 13, 1982:
In early February 1982, a group of unknown persons entered Xococ’s Saturday market, where they set fire to the stalls, killing five people. This offence was attributed to the men of Río Negro. The supposed “guerrilleros” (guerrilla fighters) were summoned by the Patrulleros de Autodefensa Civil (civil defense patrols or PAC), backed by the army, on February 7, 1982. They arrived to find the church being used as a makeshift detention centre, where the patrolmen punished and tortured those from other communities.
Their identity cards were confiscated, and the group was told to return one week later. On February 13, 74 men, women, and children left Río Negro in the middle of the night to begin the long trek to Xococ. They arrived around 8 a.m. in front of the church to collect their IDs, and were instead detained at the home of Francisco Paz, where they were submitted to torture.
Many succumbed to wounds inflicted by the torture, and the men who hadn’t were brought to a spot known as Chitón. Here, they were murdered. The bodies were found in a trench, with rope still tied around their necks and their hands bound behind their backs. The women who weren’t brought to Chitón were raped and killed, and their bodies dumped into a river.
The group sat in solemn silence, as the story of what happened in Chitón, where we sat, began to sink in.
Don Jesús continued: “Some say when we’re talking about history, we’re looking for vengeance. But is it vengeance when we’re searching for justice? No. When we talk about what happened, it’s so that humanity never again has to bear witness to such horrors.”
Historical memory is at the core of CECBI’s curriculum, and this message is one that the students have and will continue to hear over and over again. Remembering so that we don’t forget. Remembering so that we don’t repeat.
The abuelo started the ceremony by asking God to forgive those who took the lives of our brothers and sisters. He asked that God might offer peace to the souls of all who lost their lives that day. His words were incredibly moving, and had me reflecting on empathy, respect, and selflessness, values which are so deeply ingrained that a ceremony commemorating victims of a massacre can be inaugurated by asking for forgiveness for the perpetrators.
Starting the commemoration ceremony.
In the company of birds and crickets, students showed up the way that felt right for them; some closed their eyes and listened, some stared, transfixed by the flames, others chatted quietly with friends, letting out the occasional giggle. Many brought candles to offer to the sacred fire, and all of them were munching on chips, candy and other snacks they had brought for the morning. Coffee and tayuyos, hot tortillas stuffed with black beans, were served for breakfast during the ceremony.
The alternating marimba music and violin-adufe duet were interrupted intermittently by a hymn/rosary specific to the Maya Achí culture, known to many as Santo Díos. Many students kneeled to sing or mouth the words, heads bowed. The sadness of the events commemorated was most palpable during the 3 repetitions of this prayer, plunging our group into solemn remembrance, until the marimba group struck up again.
Musical accompaniment.
At the end of the ceremony, Tomasa Osorio Chen, originally from Río Negro, was invited to share her story (translated from Achí by Fredy Tecú Osorio):
My name is Tomasa Osorio Chen, and this is my story.
On February 13, 1982, our grandparents were murdered. They were humble, hardworking people who worked the land, planting corn, beans, tomatoes, squash, and other crops. They had committed no crime. They were summoned to Xococ under the pretext of receiving their identity cards. They thought they could also take advantage of the opportunity to sell their products: they brought mats, fish, honey… They went with hope, believing they would return to Río Negro. But they never came back.
In Xococ, they were tortured. Their hands were tied behind their backs, they were beaten, they were made to suffer. Among them were women, including pregnant women, and families with children. Many begged, asked for forgiveness, and pleaded for their lives before the military patrols, but they showed no mercy. They were unjustly murdered.
Our grandparents were simple people who lived off the honest work of their land. Before, there was ample land to sow and live with dignity; today, that is no longer the case. Families were marked by pain. Everyone suffered: grandparents, children, friends, and the entire community.
One woman managed to escape. She walked for two nights toward Río Negro. She arrived crying, alone, to warn us that our relatives had been killed in Xococ and that the military patrols were approaching. Her warning caused the community to fall into fear and despair; some fled, others stayed, because they were humble people who had done nothing wrong.
The military took not only lives, but also burned houses, clothes, food, and corn. They destroyed everything. On March 13, my grandparents also died. These dates are forever etched in our memory.
Today is not a day of celebration. It is a day to remember our grandparents, relatives, and friends. It is a day of remembrance and respect. Even though many years have passed, 1982 feels like it was yesterday.
I am grateful to the students who have come to visit this place and listen to this story. It is important that those who do not know it share it with their families and friends. We must know where we come from to keep the memory of our ancestors alive.
Those who lived through it know the pain deeply, but new generations can accompany, learn, and help ensure that it never happens again.
Tomasa Osorio Chen shared her story during the ceremony.
Jesús and Tomasa’s stories remind us that we must know where we come from to know where we’re going. History is not just what we read and hear, but what we live. It is something we carry, something we experience, and something we shape. And today, by remembering and reflecting, we stepped into that history, carrying a small piece of it with us, so that remembrance may continue to accompany us, guiding how we live, how we teach, and how we move forward.
Today was about grieving and honouring as much as it was about uniting. Students crossed rivers, shared food, lit candles, listened, and sang. In doing so, they came together as a collective in commemoration.
Convivir is often loosely translated from Spanish as “to live together”. But convivir is more than just sharing space; it is sharing presence. It is to intentionally remember together, learn together, and be in heartfelt coexistence.
Today’s ceremony was not only an act of commemoration, but a lesson in convivir.
Ceremony guests, teachers, and students at Chitón.
Watch the livestream video of the ceremony
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