Everyone Who Is Gone Is Here: The United States, Central America, and the Making of a Crisis

by Jonathan Blitzer

Twenty minutes before noon, a Mexican cardinal was eulogizing Romero when a sudden explosion rocked the far edge of the plaza. Gunfire followed, then another series of explosions. The panicked crowds stampeded for safety. Hundreds rushed the front steps of the cathedral, while the priest and bishops pushed the altar away from the door and dragged Romero’s casket inside. Juan darted among the bodies outside in the square. He reached an elderly woman who’d been trampled and led her to a taxi, which sped off toward the university clinic. The sidewalks were littered with shoes, articles of clothing, and large palm fronds that mourners had brought with them for the occasion and then discarded in their shock. He came upon others who were wounded, with blood spattered on their clothes and around the pavement while they sat, doubled over, in a daze. When there were no more taxis left to carry away the casualties, the students brought them into the cathedral through a side door. There were now so many people inside that Juan couldn’t fit through the main entrance. Someone had to pull, then lift him across the threshold to get him inside. For two hours, dead bodies were carried in and out. When the terror subsided, by the middle of the afternoon, the death toll was at least forty, with hundreds more injured.