The Law of Silence
Welcome to the place where millions are living in fear.
The stories below are based on real people’s experiences in Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras. The text, photos and illustrations have been partly fictionalised for storytelling and protection purposes.
Here the nightmares are real, and fear is a companion you cannot escape.
Here you must be invisible, or you will vanish for real.
I
You’re standing outside your apartment building, talking to your uncle.
Suddenly, a boy runs past.
How old could he be? 15? 17, maybe?
His legs nearly tangle as he flies by.
He turns. Looks at you. Desperate.
Your gazes lock on each other. The hair on your neck stands up.
The sudden lump in your stomach makes it hard to breathe.
You stare into each other’s eyes.
You have just had your first encounter with the fear of death.
Suddenly, you hear the shouts of a gang coming after him. The boy hears them, too.
He runs faster.
The gang, too.
A shot rings out.
The boy falls. Gasping for air.
The gang catches up to him.
A baseball bat.
A machete.
More shots.
Silence.
“Look down. Keep going.”
In 2022, over one million people had been displaced in El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala, Mexico and Colombia.
Criminal gangs exercise great territorial control. Extortion, threats, kidnapping, sexual violence and murder are common, and massacres occur regularly. The homicide rates, especially in Honduras, are among the highest in the world, and the humanitarian consequences of this violence are no different from those of a conflict.
For the second year in a row, the number of people in need of emergency assistance has increased to a staggering 9.3 million in 2022. Almost five million people are in need of protection from the widespread violence.
II
You’re on your way home from school. Around the corner, then down the street, and you’re home.
“Hey! Come here!”
The voice comes from somewhere behind you.
You don’t want to turn around. You already know who it is.
But you dare not have it confirmed.
You walk faster, wanting to get away.
You know that others have been killed for refusing to join the gang.
Many of your friends did. Now they’re gone.
The gang has been trying to recruit you since you were little. They know you don’t have a mother or father.
“Stop! We want to talk to you!”
You try to walk slowly as fast as you can.
“You think you can get away, or what?”
You hear them muttering behind you. There’s obviously a lot of them.
“Do you know what we do to kids like you who think they’re better than us, huh?”
It’s just empty threats. They’re not going to hurt you.
Mocking laughter.
“With their families?”
You freeze.
Your sister. She’s home alone.
Have they been there?
“Look down. Keep going.”
III
You venture outside. You haven’t been out for days. Maybe a week?
The cupboards are empty.
You creep down the stairs. Look both ways. No one there.
You start jogging down the street towards the store. Listening intently to anything that could be different. Some children there. A cat there. A car there. A car?
You turn around.
The neighbour. That’s okay.
Above you, hanging on the power lines, shoes.
A pair of trainers.
Nike Cortez.
The gang leaders have marked their territory.
The shoes are sun-bleached.
They’ve been there for a while.
You walk faster now.
Don’t want to be outside any longer than you have to.
You round the corner. See it.
The house. THE HOUSE. The empty house.
You know what usually goes on there. You stop. Hesitate.
But you have to walk past it.
Your gaze wanders towards the broken window. You don’t want to. It just happens.
A man is sitting in there. His hands taped behind his back.
You know what’s going to happen.
You keep walking. Almost there.
“Look down. Keep going.”
IV
They’ve been at it for ages.
Coming to the door. Demanding money.
A little more every time.
“We’re in charge around here,” they say. “You do as we say.”
“Mummy, why do the men talk so mean to you and Daddy?”
A few days ago, they stopped by again. They haven’t been paid in a while.
They left behind a mobile phone.
Told you to answer it when the boss called.
You didn’t dare. You knew what they wanted.
You threw it in the bin.
Today, you saw the bullet holes.
In the door. In the walls.
You’re still shaking.
Don’t know what to do.
They know everything about you! About the children. Their names. Where you live. Family members.
You know they’ll come looking for you.
There’s nowhere for you to hide.
The gang members never leave empty-handed. You pay with money, or with your life.
You know that.
There’s no other way out. You have to leave.
You take your two children by the hand. Trying to smile at them, as if to say everything will be okay.
You jog towards a taxi.
“Look down. Keep going.”
V
You’re doing a puzzle with your daughter.
You’ve been inside all day. As usual.
You really want her to see the sun, and trees. Breathe fresh air.
But you’re too scared.
Her father had to leave. It became too dangerous.
You haven’t been able to get away.
But no one knows you’re here. Not even your grandmother.
Or so you think.
So you hope.
A sound.
The neighbour’s dog?
No, footsteps.
Oh God, footsteps!
They walk faster.
Getting closer.
Before they stop. Outside?
Did they stop here? Are they here?
Everything stops for a moment. You dare not blink.
Your daughter makes a sound.
Hush! You pick her up. Press her face against your body.
Be quiet!
Did they hear that?
Oh God, did they hear that?
Do they know you’re here? Are they coming to get you now?
Where can you hide?
Your daughter whimpers. You press her harder into your chest. Hush! For God’s sake!
You listen intensely.
The footsteps have stopped.
Are they outside the door?
Are they about to burst in? Is this the end?
Time stands still.
You dare not even close your eyes.
Then the footsteps move away.
Further and further away.
No one is banging on the door.
You take a deep breath. Suddenly realise you had forgotten to breathe.
Still holding your daughter tightly.
But not quite so tight as before.
You meet her gaze.
Her frightened eyes bore deep into you.
You stroke her hair.
Pick up a piece of the puzzle.
“Look here. Keep going.”
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