"Trauma becomes transmittable, understandable through performance," said founding director of the Hemispheric Institute of Performance and Politics Diana Taylor before the Grupo Cultural Yuyachkani's production of Adios Ayacucho last Sunday. The play is a commentary on the mass bloodshed of Peruvian citizens by their own government during the 1980s and 1990s. The message is wittily yet darkly conveyed through the tale of a decapitated man's journey to recover his lost bones that were torn apart by the grenades of Peruvian armed forces in the highly persecuted town of Ayacucho. The ghost of this man, Alfonso Cánepa, recounts his story through the body of a wandering peasant who stumbles upon Cánepa's burial site, which contains only the clothes of the decapitated Peruvian. Upon trying on Cánepa's shoes, the peasant becomes possessed by his spirit and must listen to Cánepa's sorrowful tale of his expedition to Lima from Ayacucho to recover his lost body parts.

The foolish Cánepa first gets himself into trouble by going to the local police station and inquiring as to why he is being persecuted. The police deal with him viciously, torture him and cut off his fingertips. Then they throw him into a ditch with two grenades. Cánepa is foolish only because he still believes that he can trust his government. He, like most people subjected to persecution, entreats his government's protection. However, the terrible truth is that it's his government that is responsible for the bloodshed. Adios Ayacucho's ultimate message is that a man's worst fear is realized when he is forced to live in fear of his government.



This simple plot is used to represent the more profound struggles of lower class Peruvian citizens who were being falsely characterized as terrorists in areas assumed to harbor terrorist activity. The Peruvian government launched a ruthless campaign beginning in the early '80s to exterminate the serendistas, communists who wished to overthrow the regime. Adios Ayacucho illustrates the disproportionate amount of authority the Peruvian armed forces held during this time. They were given free reign to destroy whatever and whomever they deemed "dangerous."



The production had a hauntingly eerie vibe, as any play involving spirits rising from the dead might. However, there were two distinct aspects of this performance that allowed it to transcend the average theatergoing experience. For one, the story was almost entirely accompanied by live instrumentation provided by Ana Correa who played four or five different South American and European instruments. The frantic striking of charango chords mirrored the violent dips and bends of Cánepa's tale, while the ghostly breaths of her various flute instruments conveyed sentiments of longing.



The costume design was another point of intrigue in the production. Augusto Casafranca, who played Cánepa, donned an interesting array of accoutrements, including a leather belt from which various animal skins dangled, a white skier's mask with a black mustache and an ornate, square, wooden fixture decorated with bells and multicolored feathers. By the end of the play, all of these pieces were discarded and the owner of the spirit's voice, Alfonso Cánepa, was revealed in his human flesh.



After viewing Adios Ayacucho, Diana Taylor's statement rings true. Performance is a retainer of memory, and it is therefore useful in recalling past traumatic events. It's also a reminder that the violence of the past has not necessarily disappeared. After the play, actors Carrea and Casafranca discussed the story's universal relevance, in that government-sanctioned violence runs rampant today all over the world. Although Adios Ayacucho is a Peruvian play, its message can easily hit close to home wherever it is performed.