It turns out those witnesses are real. In addition to the soldier who testified, journalist Allan Nairn interviewed Pérez Molina—who then went by the nom de guerre Tito Arias—in the early 1980s. He was standing over a pile of corpses of people he had just interrogated. Evidence also links Pérez Molina to the murder of Bishop Juan Gerardi, who was bludgeoned to death in his garage in 1998—two days after announcing that his church had found the army largely responsible for the human rights violations that occurred during the war. Pérez Molina is also credibly linked to the clandestine detention, torture, and execution of Efraín Bámaca Velásquez, an indigenous guerrilla leader disappeared in 1992.

Considered left of center, Torres’ husband’s administration won the support of some of the long-standing campesino and labor groups that had organized during the armed conflict. Sandra Torres herself undertook a number of programs aimed at eliminating poverty and hunger in the countryside.

Although the administration won support in the countryside, Colom’s relationship with CACIF was fraught with tension. Colom sought to raise taxes and CACIF resisted, claiming that the Colom government lacked transparency and complaining that solving the problem of poverty should not fall solely on the rich. When Colom decreed a raise in the minimum wage, the business class’s dissatisfaction reached such a level that a soft coup was attempted.

A wealthy lawyer, Rodrigo Rosenberg, recorded a video saying that if he ended up being murdered, President Colom would be to blame for it. Then he arranged his own murder. Two men on a motorcycle gunned him down as he stood in his driveway. The months of protest that followed his death—and the release of the video—destabilized the government. Crowds filled the streets in a strange mirror image of this summer’s events, demanding the resignation of the president.

CICIG played a key role, too, but this time, in reverse. Investigating the Rosenberg murder, CICIG learned that it was a killing the lawyer had arranged himself. Colom was cleared, and he served out his term.

WHAT COMES NEXT

What the coming months will hold will depend on Guatemalans themselves. But it will also depend on the role the international community plays.

The United Nations System in Guatemala—a coalition including the UN, the International Monetary Fund, and the World Bank—stated in a recent press release that the political crisis in Guatemala “should be seen as an opportunity for serious and profound changes.” The group recommended that the Guatemalan government “advance the political and legislative reform agendas that the citizenry is demanding.”

The US position has been less clear. Samayoa points out that “the U.S. embassy wanted to stop the mobilizations so that the crisis could be contained and no spillovers could happen.… Now the crisis is very deep and the will of the people strong to continue acting to produce change. We believe that U.S. embassy should respect that and allow the movement to continue. It is a nonviolent and reform-oriented movement. We have the right to craft, this time, our democracy. Last time, the democracy was crafted by the military and the United States.”

With verve and courage, the popular uprising continues.

If the United States, whose official interests often align with the interests of Guatemala’s business class, opts for stability over change and authoritarianism over true democratic participation, the movement may face insurmountable challenges.

But perhaps not. One thing the Guatemalan people have taught the world over the past five months is that an impossible feat—say, overthrowing a former general who had ruled with an iron fist; militarized the countryside; created a threatening climate for human rights workers, unionists, and journalists; and sowed fear—is not, after all, impossible.