A truth commission recommended creating a monument to help Salvadoran society heal, but the idea went nowhere until a coalition of human rights groups took up the project.
It won the support of the municipal government of San Salvador, by then governed by the FMLN. The 10-foot-high monument was unveiled in December 2003, with nearly 26,000 names of men, women and children. Panels with 3,169 more names were added in March.
"It's a place where the pains of the past can be freed," said Carlos Henriquez Consalvi, who played a leading role in establishing the monument. "It is also a place where new generations can learn the contemporary history of El Salvador and build a culture of peace."
But the past here is inevitably political, and many rightists would probably find the monument a biased record. All deaths, for example, are classified as "homicides." The monument describes rights abuses and massacres against civilians, but does not mention excesses committed by rebels.
Its biggest pull appears to be personal. The monument is a favored spot during the annual Day of the Dead celebration, when scores of Salvadoran families commemorate their deceased loved ones by placing flowers and candles at the foot of the smooth stone wall.
Most other days, the visitors come in twos and threes, squinting at the tidy rows of names and running fingers over the creases. On this morning, Rivera arrived with her 30-year-old grandson, who said his father died in an army ambush in 1985.
The young man, Tomas Arevalo, was 7 at the time. He said he has three photographs of his late father, but the name engraved here -- Tomas Francisco Arevalo -- provides an equally tangible link.
Rivera would have to be satisfied with seeing the name of her son-in-law. Her husband does not appear on the list, yet.
The monument has space for more.
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ken.ellingwood@latimes.com
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Special correspondent Alex Renderos contributed to this report.
