The attack began at 10:30 in the morning. By 11:00 reports of violence underway in Acteal were reaching government officials. However, no one came to investigate until six and a half hours later, after the massacre was over, despite the fact that people nearby could hear the gunshots and the Security Police themselves were reported to have been within 200 meters of the shooting.

A few of the material actors have been arrested; those responsible at higher levels have not. The mayor of the municipality of Chenalho, in which Acteal is located, and the governor of Chiapas were removed from office as a consequence of the massacre (the governor's replacement was a person of similar views, hostile to the demands for justice of the indigenous people). Eleven Chiapas government officials are being "administratively sanctioned" for not intervening to stop the massacre, meaning that they will not be allowed to hold public office for several years.

However, there has been no serious investigation of the roles of the Security Police, the military, or government officials. The Attorney General's office has issued a report blaming the violence entirely on strife between indigenous communities and dismissing any government responsibility. Nevertheless, it is known that the paramilitaries were trained by the Mexican military, the Public Security police delivered uniforms to them, and the municipal president of Chenalho distributed arms to them. The contractor of a group of six defense lawyers for those accused in the massacre is the government of Chiapas.

On November 2, 1998, the Day of the Dead, the Peace Council traveled to Acteal to express solidarity with the people there, and to pray for peace, justice and healing. There had been torrential rains some weeks before, now exacerbated by new rain from the fringes of Hurricane Mitch, and the mountainous road of switchbacks was washed out in places by mudslides. We passed through two military checkpoints where soldiers in armored vehicles controlled all traffic going in and out of what they call the "conflict zone" and the indigenous people call the area of low-intensity warfare. There was a sizable military presence inside the "conflict zone"; the soldiers wore armbands saying "social work" and, indeed, some of them were working at clearing rubble from the roads.

When we reached Acteal, a third group of soldiers with armored vehicles guarded the entrance to the village. The contrast could not have been more stark between the latent violence of the soldiers, their weapons and armored vehicles, and the fragile sea of mud with buildings made of wood, dirt floors and plastic roofs that constituted the village, barely clinging to existence on the steep slopes of the mountain. At the entrance to the village was a banner that read, "Civil Encampment for Peace: the Sacred Land of Acteal."

At the entrance to Acteal we were met by a great crowd of indigenous people who processed into the village with us. They were waving large, leafy green branches, and there was a band playing loud, festive music. From time to time someone would call out, "Viva el Consejo Mundial de Paz!" (the Peace Council's name in Spanish) and everyone would cry, "Viva!" or "Viva el Obispo Ruiz!" (Bishop Ruiz) "Viva!" or "Viva Acteal!" "Viva!" Members of the Peace Council carried our banner, while villagers carried banners welcoming us and banners of the Virgin Mary and of St. Peter. We processed quite a ways down the road, the crowd interspersed with the Peace Council, barefoot children running in and out, sometimes taking our hands and shyly answering our questions; everyone was talking, smiling, cheering. Never was anyone more warmly welcomed. The importance to these people of support from friendly international groups cannot be overstated.

We went into a space created with a plastic roof held up by many poles. This roof covered the place where the massacre started. The Peace Council was seated up front, and the rest of the shelter and some of the land surrounding the shelter was filled with villagers. There were many hundreds, as people had come from several nearby villages to be present. Barefoot children and babies carried by their mothers in slings were everywhere. Gray haired people were very few; we saw two.

The ceremony was a memorial service on the Day of the Dead for the massacred innocents, now called martyrs for peace. First we were welcomed with a speech by a village leader, then a choir showed us how they could "cantar como los pajaros," sing like the birds. Indeed, their singing was so beautiful in this sea of mud and destitution that it brought tears to many eyes. Then the Peace Councilors and some of the trustees spoke and offered prayers. It boggled the mind to contemplate the implications of a Jewish rabbi chanting prayers in Hebrew, a Muslim scholar chanting prayers in Arabic, a Buddhist monk chanting prayers in Pali in this isolated village where even the Spanish prayers had to be translated into Tzotzil, the Mayan language of the people.

The present author was moved to speak of the commonalities between Friends in the time of our troubles and the people of Acteal today, both suffering persecution from the powerful, both remaining steadfast in principled non-violence. "Despite our persecution," I said, "we have not learned to hate and to kill. We have survived, and live on to this day, still holding to our principle of non-violence." Feeling the ocean of darkness in which these people are immersed and wanting to acknowledge that, while also wanting to offer hope, I quoted a slightly edited version of the last verse of the George Fox song:

There's an ocean of darkness and I drown in the night

'Til I come through the darkness to the ocean of Light.

For the Light is forever and the Light it is free,