The Huamán Berrocal siblings, Paulino, Lucho, Alejandra, and María, carry the coffins of their parents, Ambrosio and Isabel, and, accompanied by family members and close friends, head to the mausoleum built in their home, where the military murdered their parents in 1983.
Along with the Huamán Berrocal brothers, other families whose loved ones were victims of the Cabitos case, in which soldiers from the military base of the same name kidnapped, executed, incinerated, and disappeared thousands of people, are also receiving the remains of their loved ones. In Ayacucho alone, more than 10,000 people were disappeared between 1980 and 2000. Nationwide, 22,000 people were disappeared during that period. More than 3,000 have been returned to their families. Before the remains are assembled, the spokesperson for the specialized forensic team responsible for assembling the bodies speaks with all of them in a Catholic chapel, where they are given words of encouragement before seeing and touching the remains of their relatives who disappeared during the internal armed conflict.
Lucho Huamán Berrocal cries as he touches the remains of his parents, Ambrosio and Isabel, during the assembly of bodies, accompanied by an official from the Ministry of Justice’s Missing Persons Search Department. With a few words of farewell, Lucho seeks to console himself for the loss of his parents.
The Attorney General, Delia Espinoza, embraces one of the relatives of the disappeared persons in the Cabitos case during the period of violence (1980-2000) at the ceremony where the remains are returned to their families. This institutional gesture stands out for its simplicity because the authorities of the other branches of government, the executive and the legislature, are responsible for the massacres during the protests of 2022-2023 and for shielding the constitutional complaints filed by the Attorney General’s Office against those politically responsible before Congress. In August 2025, the government enacted an amnesty law for those responsible for and prosecuted for crimes against humanity during the internal armed conflict, which goes against the Inter-American Human Rights System.
“Oh, fair heaven, blessed heaven, for what crime do I suffer so much?” In the general cemetery of Huamanga, a traditional musician sings and plays “Coca Quintucha” (Pretty Coca), a song about absence, during the funeral of Hugo Máximo Vallejos, who disappeared in 1983 at the hands of the military in Ayacucho.
Dionisio Huaraca and Dolores Vílchez hold a frame containing photographs of themselves alongside that of their youngest son, Denilson Huaraca Vílchez (22), who was killed by police repression in February 2023 in Aymaraes, Apurímac, during anti-government protests. To date, no one responsible, whether politician or uniformed officer, has been convicted for the deaths during the protests, despite the overwhelming evidence.
Citizens of the José María Arguedas district of Andahuaylas, Apurímac, bid farewell to the remains of Denilson Huaraca Vílchez, who was killed by a police gunshot. On top of his coffin, they place the bass guitar that Denilson played, who had dreams of becoming a musician.
In Lima, the police have become the instrument used by the government to protect its impunity. During demonstrations, thousands of police not only go out to repress the protest, but are also used as a symbol of the new regime that with a large number of troops, chants and parades, seek to give and image of intimidation to dissident citizens.
During the 2022-2023 protests, 50 people were killed by military and police gunfire, hundreds more were seriously and lightly injured. As of August 2025, no one responsible has been sentenced, despite the fact that the Special Prosecutorial Team is investigating hundreds of cases of abuses. Meanwhile, investigations of political leaders are being shelved in Congress, It will be up to the next government to allow real punishment of those responsible or to seal impunity once again.
On July 28, 2025, Peru’s Independence Day, relatives of those killed in massacres during the 2022-2023 protests, throw a symbolic coffin, with the face of Miguel Arcona, executed by police officers in Arequipa, over the police barrier that prevents the group from approaching.
In Peru, crimes committed by the state go unpunished. Families seek justice and, in many cases, the remains of a body that will allow them to find closure. This happened during the internal armed conflict and continues to happen today. The names of those responsible change, but the positions remain the same: president, minister, congressman, military officer, police officer.
In a church, in front of the altar, there are dozens of white ossuaries containing the remains of people who disappeared during the internal armed conflict and were found in mass graves. These are handed over to their families in an official ceremony. Elsewhere, other families look at the coffins of their loved ones, killed by the military or police. The procedure is the same: handover, identification, burial.
The mothers of yesterday and today cross paths in the corridors of prosecutors’ offices, at marches, at hearings. They share the silence, the wait for a forensic report, the habit of holding a photograph as proof of existence.
Each restitution is a reminder and a warning. A reminder that the state has not settled the debts of the past. A warning that the violence continues.
While remains from four decades ago are returned, the bodies of young people killed in recent protests are buried. Investigations pile up and files are archived.
In the demonstrations for justice, the names of yesterday are spoken alongside those of today. The echo they leave behind knows no calendar. Memory resounds, loss resounds, and in that sound we discover that democracy coexists with crimes that never ended.
