Minister of the Interior María Paula Romo said in a televised interview that “what happened is unacceptable, there is no possibility of justifying a lynching that ended with the murder of three people. That case will not remain in impunity and in this regard, there are eight people detained.”
Romo went on to caution that citizens should avoid spreading false information. “We are concerned about the situation of our children, their safety, but we must act responsibly.”
The local police defended their actions, or lack thereof, during the riot. “We had no riot gear and not nearly enough officers to stand up against two thousand angry citizens,” said one officer. “We were completely overwhelmed. I feared for my life, and for the lives of my fellow officers.” The families of the victims were not satisfied with the police department’s words, or their actions.
“The cops had enough time to ask for reinforcements, and they didn’t,” a relative of one of the deceased claimed. “There is a video where they are heard saying, ‘They’re going to burn them.’ So why didn’t they call for reinforcements earlier?”
Relatives of Jackeline Figueroa, the murdered woman who left behind five children, said that the three had been arrested at noon, but the families had not been notified and only found out what had happened on social media.
Regardless of where one stands on the issue of vigilante justice, it is readily evident that what happened in Posorja on that warm, cloudy afternoon in October 2018 was a tragedy. So, how did it go so horribly wrong?
The story begins exactly two months before. On August 16, thirteen-year-old Kerly Loor disappeared. According to the newsmagazine Vistazo, the girl’s mother, Gloria Bones, went to the local police station. An officer posted a picture of the girl on the department’s Facebook page, asking for information. In a matter of a few hours, the picture had been shared thousands of times. As a result of the publicity, a woman reported having seen the child in the company of a young man in the Barrio Cristo Vive. The woman stated that the young man was new to the neighborhood and was considered by the locals to be a suspicious character. Señora Bones took the name of the young man to the local UPC, where she was told that he had a record for the rape of a minor. The police promised to “look into it,” and the distraught mother went home to wait.
Around two in the morning, she received a phone call from her daughter. “Mama,” the girl said. “I’m lost. I don’t know where I am.” The connection was broken, and the frantic mother again went to the police, but was told that they didn’t have the proper equipment to trace the call. She was then told that she would have to go to Guayaquil to the office of the Attorney General.
Having already made the all-day round-trip journey twice without success, Señora Bones was devastated at the thought of doing it once more. She wept so uncontrollably that one of the officers took it upon himself to phone a colleague in Guayaquil. The colleague was able to trace the call to the bus station in the town of Chone, 330 kilometers (two hundred miles) north, in the province of Manabí. The girl was found in the bus station, disoriented and apparently drugged. Miraculously, she had been able to escape from her captor and make the phone call. Her abductor, however, was nowhere to be found.
A few weeks later, as Kerly still struggled to overcome the effects of her ordeal, the young man was again seen in Posorja, in the same barrio. The girl’s mother went immediately to the police but was told that if the girl was no longer in the custody of the young man, they could do nothing.
Kerly suffered a nervous breakdown and was sent to live with relatives in another town, while her mother wept in frustration and despair. The young man in question began to receive death threats and soon after, he left town.
A short time later, a ten-year-old girl from another local barrio was drugged and abducted. She was found in the bus station in Loja, five hundred kilometers (three hundred miles) to the southeast. It is not clear if the perpetrator was the same man who kidnapped Kerly, because the police made no formal investigation. Their reasoning? They did not catch the perpetrator “in the act.”
“There is no court, no office of the Attorney General in Posorja,” says a member of the local governing board. “A citizen has to lose an entire day in order to make the trip to Guayaquil. Here, the only way to publicize a child abduction or other serious crime is through social media, Facebook for example. Don’t demonize it by saying that it spreads fake news.”
Unfortunately, that is exactly what happened. For the intervening two months, social media was abuzz with false sightings of the suspect in the Kerly Loor case, and every child, it seems, that was a few minutes late returning home from school was liable to find their picture circulating through town.
On that fateful morning in October, an already hyperalert citizenry reacted swiftly to the news of the drugging and robbery. It is impossible to know how the rumor started that a child was involved—perhaps because the incident began in front of a school, perhaps because it was known that the two women regularly dropped their children off at school around that time—but once started, it took on a life of its own.
The rumor tore through the local markets, tiendas, and cafés like a fast-moving virus, infecting everyone. People abruptly stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk as they studied their phones, absorbing the latest information.
The news that three suspects had been detained was met with relief, followed quickly by a sense of despair. The events, not only of those last two months, but of their entire lifetimes, had convinced the citizenry that the police and the judicial system could not be trusted. They would have to take matters into their own hands.
There is no happy ending to this story. How could there be? On October 14, 2019, just a few days shy of one year after the incident took place, Judge Odalis Ledesma pronounced sentence upon eleven people who were involved. Seven of them received thirty-four years for murder, while the other four were sentenced to seventeen years as accomplices. No one, it seems, feels that justice has truly been served.
María (not her real name), the mother of Ronald Bravo, has custody of the four daughters, ages fifteen, eleven, five, and two, that her son had with Jackeline Figueroa. María, who lives in Guayaquil, chose to allow the children to remain in their own home in Posorja, hoping that the familiar surroundings would help lessen their trauma. María’s aunt moved in with them, and María visits them on the weekend. Of course, the children have not escaped unscathed.
“When their parents were lynched, they watched the videos on social media,” María says. “They know how they died.”
The state has assigned a social worker, who makes frequent visits to the girls’ home to monitor their progress.
María does her best to move forward for the sake of her grandchildren, but it is difficult at times. She misses the frequent conversations that she had with her son. She has kept his last voicemails on her phone. “I try not to listen to them, but on his birthday, I couldn’t help it,” she says, breaking down in tears.
The stiff penalties handed down by the judge provide no comfort to María. She claims that Ronald’s killer is still free. “In the video you can clearly see the face of the man who gave him the final blow,” she says. “I will never forget his face.”
A framed photograph of her son and daughter-in-law hangs in the living room of her home. The caption reads: “We will love them and carry them in our hearts.”
Mauricio Pareja left behind an eighteen-year-old son, Israel (name changed for his protection). Israel, who suffers from cerebral palsy and is confined to a wheelchair, remains in the care of his mother, Mauricio’s ex-wife.
It appears that whatever problems he may have had with the law, Mauricio was a good father.
“He provided all of his medications,” says Mayra (not her real name). “He visited every day and took him for walks. They loved soccer and watched the games together. Israel rooted for the yellow and his father the blue.” Barcelona (the yellow team) and Emelec (the blue) are local Guayaquil teams and longtime rivals.
Mayra, who has a ten-year-old