On January 10, 1981, the recently united FMLN announced the launch of its “Final Offensive” that lasted over the next three weeks:

More than 2,500 poorly trained guerrillas and a few hundred Cubans initiated scores of attacks against FAES positions. This was roughly the same number of forces that the Sandinistas had when they unleashed their operation to oust Somoza. Swollen with optimism after witnessing their comrade Sandinistas’ dramatic victory in Nicaragua less than two years earlier, the FMLN scheduled the offensive for early January so that they would be able to seize power before the hawkish Reagan administration took office a few weeks later.

Bolstered by several months of receiving clandestine shipments from Nicaragua, the guerrillas were now employing a variety of arms “never before used in El Salvador,” including M-16 rifles and M-79 grenade launchers. According to the dubious State Department, “they were a far cry from handguns, hunting rifles, shotguns, and homemade explosives,” which before had supposedly been the base of the guerrilla arsenal.

Within the first hours of battle on January 10, four San Salvador radio stations had been captured; the guerrillas used them to broadcast a taped message to rally the Salvadoran people behind their revolution, announcing that junta leader José Napoleón Duarte would soon be assassinated. “Hit-and-run street actions” appeared to be “everywhere,” one witness recalled. In the cities, buses were burned; in the countryside, rebels stopped buses and exhorted passengers to join the revolution.

“Joaquín! Joaquín!”

On February 1, 1992, only two weeks after the historic peace accord signings in Mexico City, the government and guerrillas sat down for a ceremony to begin the ceasefire, which 10 months later would mark the formal end of the 12-year civil war. In the next several days, the Salvadoran legislature approved a sweeping and controversial amnesty for “politically motivated crimes” committed during the war. The 81–0 vote was a vital development given that it allowed the 8,000-person rebel army to disarm without fear of prosecution – a point that had been a key stumbling block. The legislation excluded certain special cases, including preventing the release of those convicted of the 1989 Jesuit murders.

Symbolizing this new era in El Salvador's history, the National Commission for the Consolidation of Peace (Comisión de Paz, COPAZ) was inaugurated at the February ceasefire ceremony held in an auditorium in San Salvador and comprised government officials, former guerrillas, and civilian members from each political party. During the ceremony, guerrillas in newly purchased business suits stood next to uniformed military officers; rightist politicians stood beside leftists as the national anthem was sung. Later that same day, President Cristiani led the ceremonial lighting of a peace torch; military and police units attended masses in barracks around the country; and rebel supporters once again organized all-day parties in downtown plazas where vendors sold newly manufactured FMLN T-shirts.

As the ceremony began, Cristiani entered the auditorium surrounded by his bodyguards and ARENA colleagues and received modest applause from the 3,000 people in attendance. Joaquín Villalobos, on the other hand, was greeted with loud applause and cheers of “Joaquín! Joaquín!” Villalobos then sat down at a table directly to the left of Colonel Juan Orlando Zepeda, a senior FAES officer implicated by the Moakley Commission as one of the “intellectual authors” of the Jesuit killings. As one observer wrote, “Even those who hoped for the end of the war probably never thought they would see these two men sitting together.

As President Reagan's first term in office wore on, the United States’ effort to bolster El Salvador's precarious democracy and abusive and inept military did not appear to be succeeding. The bad news out of El Salvador just kept coming. For example, on September 23, 1983, the Salvadoran Air Force indiscriminately bombed the small town of Tenancingo, leaving 50 civilians dead – a grisly episode that deeply frustrated U.S. military trainers. Of critical concern to the robust and still bitter debate in Washington over U.S. policy, El Salvador continued to be a “disaster zone” for human rights, although the numbers of reported disappearances and massacres had ebbed from the height of a few years earlier.

Key Reagan officials’ comments and actions periodically revealed ambivalence if not outright hostility to human rights. This often occurred when Reagan officials claimed that the death squads were shadowy forces and thus very difficult to control. For example, Reagan's top diplomat for human rights, Elliott Abrams, in August 1983 stated, “We don't know who is behind the death squads.”

Even more than security force abuses or embarrassments, such as the Tenancingo bombing, the wanton killings by the death squads were a public relations nightmare for the Reagan administration, which had decided to embrace the grin-and-bear it approach and focus on reform and elections to save El Salvador from communism. A difficult question, though, is whether the increased rhetoric on human rights that began in late 1982 and early 1983 was in fact genuine – or just more appetite suppressant for a Congress obsessed with human rights when in fact officials’ key concern was checking the Marxist guerrilla advance.

As we have seen, U.S. involvement in El Salvador created a controversial and polarizing split between those who viewed the commitment as necessary and those who saw it as amoral and ineffectual; this split was further exacerbated with the assumption that a deeper involvement in El Salvador was inevitable. One less studied story of the Salvador Option is the role that “solidarity groups” – most saliently in the United States – played in influencing both the perception of what was occurring in El Salvador and how Washington should respond. Not surprisingly, many of the American activists opposing U.S. policies in El Salvador concluded from the Vietnam experience that those who spoke up, protested, and even engaged in civil disobedience would be vindicated by what could become an illegal and immoral war. So, in effect, the Vietnam solidarity playbook became the Salvador playbook.

Critics, on the other hand, believed that the lesson from Vietnam was how the North Vietnamese had won the propaganda war in American public opinion. They cited a North Vietnamese cadre who reflected on their efforts to influence the debate in America. “There were, as all political cadre learned by heart, three currents of revolution…in every people's war. The first two currents are the ever-growing international socialist camp and the armed liberation movement within the country in question.

“Auxiliary but Not Strategic Factor in Our Struggle”

Both the Salvadoran military and guerrillas believed that they could defeat each other on the battlefield outright without negotiating away core ideals. The FDR's Rubén Zamora told a foreign correspondent in 1984, “In 1981, the word ‘negotiations’ was not in our vocabulary. When you speak of negotiations, you speak of sharing. We thought before that total triumph was possible, but we have come to terms with reality.” Fundamental disagreements about what constituted “negotiations” and “power sharing” hindered any semblance of compromise or progress in these early years of the war. In late 1983, provisional president Álvaro Magaña's government appointed a peace commission that met secretly with the FMLN and FDR, but this did not result in a breakthrough. In the interim, backed by the swelling funds from Washington, the Salvadoran government bet on continued elections and strengthening the once inept fighting Salvadoran military to carry the day – as opposed to concessions at the negotiating table. U.S. officials also routinely cited ostensibly impartial observers to reinforce the fact that the guerrillas did not want peace. For example, in the summer of 1983 top diplomat Thomas Enders quoted Archbishop Arturo Rivera y Damas reflecting on the negotiations in March of that same year: “The population wants there to be peace. I do not see that the guerrillas, who have progressed militarily and in experience, have popular support.…There have been about four or five offensives and who knows how many more to come. But the people want [peace].”

It is not fully apparent what eventually led the guerrillas to the negotiating table – although first in secret – by the end of 1983. One likely factor was a change to a guerrilla leadership more amenable to talks. Under Cayetano Carpio's leadership, the FPL resisted not just negotiations with the government but even greater military and political unification of the FMLN.

Archbishop Óscar Romero's strident message of social justice came as a surprise to many. His appointment as archbishop in 1977, succeeding the progressive Luis Chávez y González, had been generally attributed to his doctrinal conservatism, a view that was reinforced when the military government applauded the appointment while leftists and Marxists expressed deep dissatisfaction. A classified U.S. government communication reported the consensus thinking, which was that Romero would prove docile toward the oligarchy and military. One journalist described the unassuming Romero as “a diminutive, shy-looking man who was 60 when he assumed the archbishop's post, [and] looked and acted like the last person in the world who would be a burr in the blanket of the military or aristocracy.”

Born in a small town in the province of San Miguel in eastern El Salvador in 1917, Romero was the son of a telegraph operator. After attending seminary in San Miguel, Romero became a priest in his local region. “I could have been called a conservative,” he reflected. “But I followed the principles of Vatican II with considerable interest and noted the changes we were being asked to make.” Gaudium et Spes (Joy and Hope in Latin), one of the main texts that came from Vatican II, legitimized the use of the Catholic faith as a base for human rights.

Romero became secretary to the bishops’ conference in San Salvador and then bishop in the village of Santiago de Maria from 1974 to 1976. He described living a “very private life – anonymous, you might say.” But it was in Santiago de Maria where Romero “became close to the problems of the campesinos and the repression their organizing efforts aroused.” It is important to note that this new Vatican also had the effect of decentralizing the power of the church, which in the case of Latin America gave bishops more responsibility.

In the previous chapter we provided an overview of the numerous challenges both U.S. officials and the FAES faced in the early 1980s in establishing a more formidable force to go against their FMLN adversaries. U.S. aid and equipment, an episodic commitment to decreasing human rights abuses, and a greater focus on counterinsurgency tactics and effective battlefield strategy combined to make the FAES a much more capable force. This chapter provides an overview of this critical turning point in El Salvador, when the FAES's new prowess propelled the FMLN to employ different, more aggressive tactics that in turn diminished the popular support they had counted on in the early 1980s.

“Señorita Casanova”

The Salvadoran government's fledgling effort to promote a more legitimate face, especially to the international community, took a significant turn for the better in 1984 when President Duarte appointed General Vides Casanova to replace José Guillermo García as defense minister. Vides was chosen since he appeared to be suitable to both ARENA's Roberto D'Aubuisson and key senior FAES officers. For frustrated U.S. Embassy officials, Vides's record as commander of the abusive National Guard suggested he would be a reactionary similar to his predecessor. In addition, Vides lacked experience commanding combat troops, which earned him the moniker “Señorita Casanova” among FAES officers.

Vides's exposure to Mao Zedong's military doctrine influenced his belief that the FAES needed to move toward a more concerted counterinsurgency strategy. Even more important, though, and a surprise to U.S. officials, he came to believe that ongoing reform of the military and security forces was crucial if the government was to continue receiving U.S. assistance, which was the only way that it could defeat the guerrillas. Along with new FAES Chief of Staff General Adolfo Blandón, Vides understood that “improving our image is worth millions of dollars of aid for the country.

Examining the evolution of the Cold War is essential in grasping the ideological and geopolitical factors that underlined the sustained American engagement in El Salvador in 1980. El Salvador was an unexpected locale for deep U.S. involvement during the Cold War since, unlike many of its neighbors, it was not seen as especially prone to a victorious Marxist revolution until the late 1970s. By the early 1980s, though, El Salvador had seemingly overnight become the most likely candidate for America's “next Vietnam.” While it never ended up becoming the American tragedy that unfolded in Vietnam, El Salvador nonetheless shared many characteristics with this Southeast Asian country – at least from the standpoint of U.S. involvement.

In both instances, the United States attempted to guard against what it believed was a looming expansion of global communism. What is clear is that America's strategic and political debacle in Vietnam that officially ended in 1975 strongly influenced how the United States engaged El Salvador. America approached the country with a hefty dose of caution, given the palpable fears that El Salvador could be one more “slippery slope” resulting in a militarily maximalist, yet strategically and morally dubious, U.S.-led effort to “hold the line” against communism. But before we can fully appreciate the United States in El Salvador in the 1970s and ’80s we must first turn to two broader historical threads: the emergence of the United States’ “Big Stick” in the first half of the 20th century, when the U.S. reserved the right to intervene in the affairs of a country it deemed in disarray; and successive Cold War presidential administrations, which strove to achieve victory over communism through counterinsurgency and economic and political development.

Rise of the Big Stick

After easily defeating in Cuba what by this time was a sclerotic Spanish empire, in 1898, over the following decades the United States intervened frequently in political and economic affairs, often to combat “chronic instability” as Spanish American war veteran and president Theodore Roosevelt would characterize it while in office.

While he was ready and willing to assist the Duarte government and denounce the leftist guerrillas who sought to overthrow it, President Reagan downplayed the significance of the American commitment to El Salvador. In an interview with the Washington Post on March 27, 1981, he called the Salvadoran rebels “terrorists” who were part of a “revolution being exported to the Americas, to Central America and further south,” and in response to this threat the United States would “be of help to this [Salvadoran] government.” Yet Reagan added that the trainers were “in garrison, simply training recruits.” Once again this balance between hardline ideology and practice implementation entailed both a promise of U.S. commitment and restricted troop engagement. A few weeks earlier he had responded at length to explain why this troop deployment was so limited:

Not Anything More Than Carter Plus

As the situation in El Salvador continued to take shape under Reagan's administration, the growing chorus of skeptics remained focused on the hardline public rhetoric suggesting that the United States would stop communism at any cost, even if it violated democracy or human rights. Marked increases in military and development aid and strident rhetoric during Reagan's initial year in office in 1981 were just the first steps on a slippery slope of what would be a massive U.S. military involvement in El Salvador. Beneath the surface though, and certainly from what the U.S. Embassy was recommending, the Reagan Doctrine in El Salvador remained Carter plus. Even Reagan himself argued that his approach was a continuation of what his predecessor had started. “They [the Carter administration] were doing what we're doing [in El Salvador]: sending aid…of the same kind we're sending.” In a separate speech to the Organization of American States (OAS), Reagan forcefully defended America's right to stop the communist threat in El Salvador, but added, “We will not walk away from human rights problems.”

At the same time, a mounting chorus of critics interpreted Reagan's initial responses to El Salvador, and more broadly Central America, as inherently radical. One critic wrote in 1981:

“A Victim of Dangerous Delusions”

One especially significant element of the 1992 peace agreement was how quickly it appeared that the battle-scarred Salvadoran guerrillas had taken an “enormous step” in jettisoning their revolutionary ideology that kept them fighting in the hills for a decade. Part of their “new thinking” was driven by the rapid developments in the once formidable communist world. Shocked by the implosion of communist regimes in Europe and the Sandinistas’ failure in Nicaragua, the FMLN faced a “long military stalemate” at the very time when their “ideology and allies” were in crisis. As one rebel leader conceded, “There are people in the FMLN who would never have signed this accord if it had not been for the collapse of the socialist camp.” After having pledged in 1985 that the guerrillas would “never” give up their guns, right before the January 1992 peace ceremony in Mexico City rebel chief Joaquín Villalobos admitted to “errors” in tactics and “spoke with apparent conviction of the need for a democracy based on fair laws, elections and social welfare.” He described the rebels’ conversion from revolution to democracy: “Revolutionary movements were deformed by the struggle between the superpowers in the cold war. If I had it to do over, I would say that if you are going to take up arms, do it in the name of the Constitution and Christian principles.” There were more than a few FAES officers and government officials convinced that the rebels had simply switched from military fatigues to civilian dress in their quest to seize power. And not surprisingly, some guerrillas held similar sentiments about their former foes.

In yet another irony of peace, in February 1992, New York Times correspondent James LeMoyne described the continued “striking changes” in the guerrilla thinking.

On November 11, 1989, the first day of their offensive in San Salvador, FMLN commandos destroyed one of the main gates of the leafy Jesuit-run “José Simeón Cañas” Central American University (Universidad Centroamericana “José Simeón Cañas,” UCA) and sought refuge in the academic compound. Days later an FAES force searched the campus grounds and buildings looking for enemy fighters who might still be hiding out. After the search, a military detachment was assigned to record who entered and exited the UCA gates. The FAES also started prohibiting any individuals or vehicles onto the campus without authorization. A few days later, FAES troops conducted another search to pursue what it believed were more than 200 guerrillas who were using the campus as a base from which to fire on the nearby military academy.

While a private institution, the UCA had long been accused by many on the right or in the FAES of being a bastion of pro-guerrilla subversion or serving as “advisors to the FMLN.” The UCA's highly vocal rector, Father Ignacio Ellacuría, had been called by the right “the most dangerous enemy that we have here against our people and the armed forces.” Another rightist smear was that Ellacuría was “the maximum representative of Marxism in the country.” What almost no one disputed was that the university had long been a stronghold for vocal Jesuit priests and their unyielding gospel of radical social change.

During a meeting on the night of November 15, 1989, then head of the army's joint chiefs of staff Colonel René Emilio Ponce, in the presence of generals and colonels, ordered the head of the army's military academy, Colonel Guillermo Alfredo Benavides, to kill the despised Ellacuría and leave no witnesses alive.

“Unimaginable Sight of a Sea of Black-and-Red Guerrilla Flags”

The civil war between El Salvador's government and Marxist guerrillas began in 1980 and endured for 12 cruel years. Even for Central America's violent ways during the Cold War, the Salvadoran conflict was exceptionally bloody; it took roughly 75,000 lives and displaced more than a million people in this tiny, impoverished Central American nation of 5 million. Unwilling to tolerate an advance of apparent Soviet and Cuban-backed communism in its geopolitical backyard in what turned out to be the last phase of the Cold War, three successive U.S. presidential administrations (Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, and George H. W. Bush) provided more than $6 billion in military and economic aid to the Salvadoran government. The goal was to check the most formidable guerrilla insurgency – collectively known as the Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front (El Frente Farabundo Martí para la Liberación Nacional, FMLN) – in Latin America's modern history. This effort was America's largest counterinsurgency and nation-building campaign after Vietnam and before Iraq and Afghanistan.

At a 19th-century castle in Mexico City on January 16, 1992, after a couple years of exhausting and sporadic UN-led negotiations, the Salvadoran government signed a peace deal with the Marxist rebels. To the surprise of many observers, the 1992 peace pact led to a complete ceasefire and demobilization over the next year that formally ended the civil war. Equally striking, the agreement reduced the Salvadoran military's size and budget and authorized the guerrillas’ transformation from a Marxist insurgency into a democratic political party. Because many of the key measures of the peace agreement involved drastic reforms to the Armed Forces of El Salvador (Fuerzas Armadas de El Salvador, FAES) and state intelligence services as well as the guerrillas’ acceptance of the democratic system they had fought against, the Salvadoran peace agreement was dubbed a “negotiated revolution.” This propitious outcome was even more dramatic in the aftermath of a ferocious guerrilla offensive in late 1989 that led many observers to conclude that the brutal war had no end in sight.

A “Disorderly Mix of Policies”

The last time we touched on Nicaragua, we left off with a Carter administration whose attempts at influencing the new Sandinista government entailed direct U.S. development assistance amounting to $118 million by January 1981. In spite of these attempts, it became clear via intelligence reports that Nicaragua's goals for a “revolution without frontiers” had not abated. Now it was Ronald Reagan's turn to check perceived communist expansion in the hemisphere. Reagan's administration watched as Managua began courting the global left. After signing a “party-to-party” deal with the Soviet Union, Nicaragua began accepting shiploads of weaponry from Cuba, North Korea, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union. But for the Reagan administration and even some Democratic members of Congress, the Sandinistas’ continued arms shipments to the FMLN in El Salvador would become the major sore point.

In the summer of 1981, Assistant Secretary of State for Latin America Thomas Enders met with Sandinista leader Daniel Ortega in an attempt to reach a deal that would end Nicaragua's military assistance to El Salvador. Ortega became defensive against Enders's seemingly imperialist tone, adding that the Sandinistas had no intention of ceasing arms shipments to El Salvador. Ortega continued to his U.S. counterpart that Managua had “decided to defend our revolution by force of arms…and to take the war to the whole of Central America if that is the consequence.”

Later that year, Reagan approved National Security Decision Directive 17 (NSDD 17), signaling a robust new attentiveness to the region, including an intent “to assist in defeating the insurgency in El Salvador, and to oppose actions by Cuba, Nicaragua, or others to introduce…supplies for insurgents.” The plan continued the Carter-era support of “democratic forces” in Nicaragua, but it also provided for the military training of indigenous units and leaders both in and out of the country who opposed the Sandinista government. Under NSDD 17, Enders embraced the ongoing covert preparations to arm and train anti-Sandinista fighters, presenting them as “a lowball option, a small operation not intended to overthrow.