The Photo and The Wound | Translation
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Translated by MC Editorial
[Daniel Alarcón]: Warning: this story contains scenes of violence and explicit language. Discretion is advised.
This is Radio Ambulante, from NPR. I’m Daniel Alarcón.
Let’s start here: On April 7, 2015, early in the morning, Salvadoran photojournalist Fred Ramos received a call from a colleague.
[Fred Ramos]: I found out that 5 young people had been murdered at a coffee farm in the department of Santa Ana in El Salvador.
[Daniel]: About 68 kilometers from the capital, San Salvador, where he lived at the time.
[Fred]: The story that the police were giving at that time was that it had been a purge between members of the MS gang.
[Daniel]: MS-13, or Mara Salvatrucha, the largest gang in the country.
His colleague asked him whether he wanted to go with him to photograph the scene. Fred had been working as a photographer for the digital newspaper El Faro for some years, in particular covering gang violence in El Salvador. Fred agreed to go, but with suspicions that the story was a different one.
[Fred]: What really persuaded me to go was that we were already investigating similar cases and we had proof that the police were committing arbitrary executions, you know?
[Daniel]: In other words, extrajudicial executions. The El Faro team had evidence that they were killing people suspected of being gang members.
Here it is important to have some background about the situation in El Salvador in 2015. It was the beginning of what was the most violent year the country has suffered since at least the civil war of the 1980s and early 1990s. There were 6,600 murders. A little over 100 people per 100 thousand inhabitants.
It was the worst point of a violence between the state and the gangs that had been going on for more than two decades. Well, all this context is to say that massacres were becoming increasingly common.
So Fred went and did some routine coverage.
[Fred]: Basically in the scene there were journalists and family members who were giving statements to the journalists.
[Daniel]: And amid the coffee plants, a yellow tape separated the relatives and journalists from the police and the five bodies of young people between the ages of 14 and 22.
As he snapped photos, Fred took time to listen to the statements of the victims’ relatives. That’s when he noticed that some matched his suspicions.
[Fred]: They were denouncing that it had been police officers who had arrived in the middle of the night and pulled them out.
[Daniel]: They had been taken from their homes in El Ranchador, a neighborhood about five kilometers from there. Fred recognized the name immediately. He had visited it only once, but it was a place loaded with meaning for him. Four years earlier, his father had been murdered there. A coincidence, yes, but El Salvador is a small country and for something like that to happen is not uncommon. So Fred didn’t think much of it.
He took photos for about two hours and returned to San Salvador. He didn’t want to be in the area for long—it was dangerous. Back in the office, he reviewed the photos, selected some, downloaded them to his computer, and forgot about the whole matter.
The next day, he received another call, this time from his cousin Manuel.
[Fred]: I greeted him, asked how he was, what was the reason for his call, but his tone was that of someone who wanted to tell me something important, you know? And what he told me then… well, I went blank.
[Daniel]: His cousin told him that he had gone to El Ranchador and had talked to someone. And he gave him some news:
[Fred]: The young man who had murdered my father had been killed in a massacre on a coffee farm the day before.
[Daniel]: Fred didn’t take a second to put it all together: he had photographed the body of his father’s killer. A 17-year-old boy.
[Fred]: I won’t deny it: getting that news generated mixed feelings in me.
[Daniel]: When he would go out to report a story, he would always look for victims…
[Fred]]: And that was something they had taught me at El Faro: telling the story from the victims’ side.
[Daniel]: But to learn that one of those victims is your father’s killer…
[Fred]: That is something that I don’t think any school of journalism prepares you to face… Well, and neither does life.
[Daniel]: Since then, Fred has tried to reconcile his feelings about it. To understand the line that divides the victim from the perpetrator in a country like El Salvador.
The answer would make him rethink his own grief.
We’ll be back after a break.
We’re back with Radio Ambulante. Our editor Luis Fernando Vargas and photojournalist Fred Ramos reported this story. This is Luis Fernando:
[Luis Fernando Vargas]: Fred’s parents divorced when he was just two years old. His father, Domingo Fred Ramos, won custody, and since then, Fred’s relationship with his mother has been virtually non-existent. His father was everything to him:
[Fred]: I would say that more than my father, he was my best friend.
[Luis Fernando]: He remembers him as a protective, affectionate, kind person. From the smallest things…
[Fred]: The first time I went to the movies, we went to see Batman. I was quite young; I couldn’t read, let alone understand English. And my father basically read all the subtitles to me throughout the entire movie and explained the movie to me.
[Luis Fernando]: To the largest things:
[Fred]: He even protected me from himself, I think, when he had a drug addiction problem, when I was around 14 years old. I really didn’t notice the seriousness of the problem until he was in his rehabilitation process.
[Luis Fernando]: He was the youngest of 8 children. Lover of rock music, rebellious, and at the same time a family man, a hard worker…
[Fred]: He had a saying: “Every day is Sunday,” and I think that for him this somehow meant living well, living in peace, living happily.
[Luis Fernando]: There were no barriers between Fred and his father, no silence:
[Fred]: We talked almost daily, we basically told each other everything that happened to us. There were no secrets between us.
[Luis Fernando]: Domingo was born in 1958, in a country, El Salvador, that had not had a fair and competitive democratic election, free of coups and electoral fraud, for almost 30 years. It was a land of military dictatorships controlled by the oligarchy. The elites, owners of the coffee plantations and the financial systems, took it upon themselves to install and remove governments at their convenience.
By the early 1970s, when Domingo was a teenager, left-wing groups were forming in El Salvador believing that armed struggle was the only way to end the dictatorship.
[Fred]: Back then, most of the group members were young; and they were young people who were enraged, with a rage against the system; and they felt that that was the way they could fight against that system.
[Luis Fernando]: And of course, repression by the military was tough.
Meanwhile, in Domingo’s household little was said about politics, but there was criticism of the situation in the country. This is Germán Ramos, one of Domingo’s older brothers:
[Germán Ramos]: We saw the corruption that existed throughout the political system, and how that permeated the entire society.
[Luis Fernando]: Things like the situation of small farmers. It was one of extreme poverty.
[Luis Fernando]: The discussions were always led by Domingo’s father, Manuel.
[Germán]: On the one hand, he criticized the military dictatorship, but he also made it clear that the Communist Party, which was the leftist force that had existed for decades, was not an option, either.
[Luis Fernando]: He felt that it was a dogmatic and bureaucratic party. And he did not agree with armed struggle, which increasingly attracted Domingo and Germán.
[Germán]: Overpopulation, hunger, economic pressure, lack of education make violence explode because there is anger, there is rage that is locked inside you, you know? And there comes a time when it explodes. Especially if they are treating you with violence, you see? What do you expect me to do, turn the other cheek? No, you see?
[Luis Fernando]: And there was an event that convinced both of them that that was the only way. Something that affected them personally. The death of his father.
On March 28, 1974, Fred’s grandfather, Manuel, was at work in a stationery store in downtown San Salvador. He was the manager. The school season had ended and business was slow, so only two of his children were with him, Selva and Ovidio, who also worked there.
In the afternoon, a man entered the premises. Selva was up front, taking care of the customers. This is Selva:
[Selva]: “May I help you?” “This is a robbery,” he told me. And I didn’t understand because they were people I knew. I didn’t believe it… a robbery? It just can’t be.
[Luis Fernando]: Manuel was on the second floor, in his office, and Ovidio was in the back. Then another man came in. They cornered Selva.
[Selva]: “Give me the keys to the safe,” he said. “I don’t have them.” “Give me the other keys.” “I don’t have them. I don’t have keys.” I had nothing. “And in the safe?” “There is nothing there,” I told him. “No one has come.”
[Luis Fernando]: Then other men entered; they totaled 6. They cut the phone line and started whacking the safe with a metal rod.
Selva screamed and her father came down with a gun that he kept in a drawer.
[Selva]: My father was coming down the stairs and stood still. “What’s going on?” he asked me, then he took out his gun and shot him.
[Luis Fernando]: The man shot Manuel in the head.
[Selva]: When father fell, “This can’t be! This is horrible!” When I saw that, I felt so angry I wanted to kick him. I cursed him and said things to him.
[Luis Fernando]: Ovidio was in the back of the store, and when he heard the shots, he went to the front to see what was happening. They tied him up. After beating Selva, the men took the money and a car that was used to make deliveries.
After much effort, Selva managed to release Ovidio, who ran into the street with his father in his arms, looking for someone to take him to a hospital. He was operated on, but he died a few hours later.
Manuel’s children reported the case but, according to Delmon, another of Fred’s uncles, as soon as the prosecutor’s office took it up, they began to receive threats. This is Delmon:
[Delmon]: They would call me on the phone, saying that if we went ahead with that, they would kill us all. And that didn’t happen just once; it was several times.
[Luis Fernando]: When they reported the threats to the prosecutor, he told them that it was dangerous, but if they wanted, he would continue the investigation.
[Delmon]: So I discussed it with my mom and said, “Look, what are we going to achieve, what are we going to get? We are going to get Selva or Ovidio killed, or they’ll come here and plant a bomb.” Because it was a common thing for them to plant bombs and everything. So what my mom said was, “Better not do it. Let’s drop it.”
[Luis Fernando]: The murderers were never caught, and although the media and justice system always treated it like a robbery, there are doubts. Here is Fred again:
[Fred]: I think that, to this day, my family is still not really convinced.
[Luis Fernando]: Some of Fred’s uncles talk about the possibility that it may have been related to left-wing militants printing propaganda in the stationery store, which may have caused the military to have him killed, something that was not unthinkable in the political environment at the time, when guerrillas were just being born.
Others say it was something related to the stationery business. There is no proof of anything, but there is something that raises doubts in them:
[Fred]: There was too much insistence from outsiders—we don’t know who they are— to stop seeking justice and stop reporting what had happened.
[Luis Fernando]: 50 years without an answer, only with hypotheses…
[Fred]: I think that because of this, they have not found closure or had a mourning process like what they should have had, you know?
[Luis Fernando]: Four years later, Domingo and Germán joined the guerrilla movement. This is Germán again:
[Germán]: It wasn’t fair that people were murdered like in my father’s case, and that it all ended up as “No new incident to report.” Well, we had been hit directly, so we had the right to respond.
[Luis Fernando]: Germán and Domingo were part of the urban militia of the Resistencia Nacional group, which was preparing for insurrection. They had to organize demonstrations, rallies, barricades.
They were militants for a few years, until 1980, when Germán got a bullet shot in the abdomen. The family managed to convince them that it was too risky to continue, and they left after a short time.
The war lasted until 1992. While all that was happening, with Domingo out of the militant movement, Fred was born. Since then, Domingo has been working as a truck driverand salesman, recovering from a years-long addiction to drugs and alcohol, and enjoying barbecues and Sunday get-togethers with the family.
This went on for more than 20 years.
Until November 19, 2011. Fred was 25 years old and his life was very different from what it is now. He was a graphic designer for a large advertising agency. That day, around 3:30 in the afternoon, he received a message in the mail. It was from his cousin Inti.
[Fred]: And it was really straightforward. In other words, it was not… it had no greeting at all; it was just very direct: “Contact someone from the family over there,” and in capital letters he had written urgent.
[Luis Fernando]: Fred realized that he had forgotten his cell phone, so he picked up the office phone and called the house where part of his family lived. His uncle Delmon answered. He told him:
[Fred]: “You have to come home as soon as possible.” The urgency with which they were making me get home was unusual. And I think that was when I really felt that something had happened to my father. And well, I think it took me longer to hang up the phone than to get home.
[Luis Fernando]: All his family was there.
[Fred]: And when I got to the front house they gave me the news that my father had died.
[Luis Fernando]: Fred remembers only that he screamed and went to cry in the room where he slept with his father when he visited San Salvador.
When he calmed down, the family told Fred what had happened to his father.
A few hours earlier, Mayo, one of Fred’s uncles, had received a call from Domingo’s work place. This is Mayo:
[Mayo]: And I say to the manager, “Good afternoon, I’m Mayo Ramos, Domingo Fred’s brother.” “Oh, yes,” he said, “he had an accident at El Ranchador.” “An accident?” I ask him, “a car accident?”
The manager did not hesitate long.
[Mayo]: “No,” he said. “He died.” “How?” “He was killed,” he said.
[Luis Fernando]: Mayo did not understand who could have killed him. He paid the extortion money required by gang members so that companies could enter certain neighborhoods and sell things—this was normal at that time in El Salvador. He would never look for trouble. Mayo went to El Ranchador immediately.
When he got to the neighborhood, Mayo met an acquaintance.
[Mayo]: He said, “Hey, Mayo,” he said, “there’s your brother lying there.”
[Luis Fernando]: He went to the place where it had all happened. It was in front of a small store. Everything was cordoned off by the police. Domingo was there.
[Mayo]: Lying there, lifeless and with all his work things. It is impossible to forget.
[Luis Fernando]: Mayo stood silent, staring at his brother.
[Mayo]: Your mind gets cloudy; all you are left with is a certain resentment, a certain helplessness, of not being able to do anything.
[Luis Fernando]: He had been shot five times.
The funeral was held at his family’s house.
[Fred]: That was the house where we had Sunday barbecues, the house where we celebrated birthdays. In fact, ten days earlier we had been celebrating my father’s 53rd birthday. I think it was a way to counteract the sadness he had.
[Luis Fernando]: The most difficult thing has been to process the senselessness of the deaths of Manuel and Domingo. This is Delmon:
[Delmon]: During the war it was normal for a couple of bullets to get to you because it was happening nearby. Because there were clashes here in the city and everything. Or in the places where you walked, on the roads. That was… well, bad luck. But it was believable.
[Luis Fernando]: It was a war, after all. But two deaths, both so arbitrary, so sudden, almost 40 years apart. You try to make sense of it, and it doesn’t make sense beyond the fact that you live in a place where violence prevails. You start to wonder whether it’s a matter of luck, statistics, or something else…
For months, Fred felt powerless. He was full of anger. Until his uncle Mayo called him to say that a gang member from the area told him who had killed his father.
[Fred]: He was a 12- or 13-year-old boy, and the reason he did it was simply that it was the test he had been assigned so that he could join the MS gang.
[Luis Fernando]: Finding out about this made him question everything he had felt up to that point.
[Fred]: I mean, I think that for a long time I felt annoyed at myself. Because I really didn’t know how… how to feel angry at whoever had killed my father.
He was a child… Just a child…
[Fred]: And I think that generated a lot of frustration and a lot of resentment against myself because—like the fact of not being able to feel anger, not being able to feel the desire to avenge his death; it made me feel that I was really failing him.
[Luis Fernando]: A kind of betrayal of his father, of his legacy. Of his best friend. He felt that he should want revenge… but what Fred wanted was to understand: What needs to happen for a child to commit such an act?
After months of dealing with grief, guilt, and resentment against himself, and while the court case involving his father’s death settled on the perpetrator being a gang member and nothing more, Fred decided something had to change. He promised himself—and he promised his father—that he would try to understand what was happening in his country.
He quit his job at the advertising agency and found refuge in photography, which had always been there thanks to his father. It was he who taught him to take his first photo as a child, to frame it, to hold his breath while shooting… It was he who saved up for months to give him a camera when he finished college.
Fred realized that the tool he had at hand to understand the world was photography. He joined El Faro shortly afterwards and began taking pictures of victims of violence in El Salvador. People like him.
[Fred]: Photojournalism for me has definitely been a therapy for me. Not so much the act of taking pictures; but rather, what photojournalism has given me has been the chance to meet people who have gone through similar or even worse situations.
[Luis Fernando]: Being able to understand that you are not alone in your pain.
[Fred]: So it is a grief that more people than you can imagine go through.
[Luis Fernando]: What Fred didn’t expect was that he would find in a gang member a way to deal with that grief. And a new way of seeing justice.
We’ll be back in a moment.
[Daniel]: We’re back with Radio Ambulante. I’m Daniel Alarcón. Before the break, we heard the story of the family of photojournalist Fred Ramos. A family like thousands in El Salvador, whose life has been marked by the violence that has been experienced in the country’s history.
Ever since his father’s murder, Fred has tried to understand the way violence operates in El Salvador. And few cases have marked him as much as that of a gang member named Rudi.
Our editor, Luis Fernando Vargas, tells us more.
[Luis Fernando]: In 2016, a year after Fred photographed the massacre that opened this story, he received an email from an international media outlet, for which he worked independently. They wanted him to do a photo report on the violence in El Salvador. He immediately thought of recent news: in February, in the department of La Paz, the bodies of three gang members had been found inside a church.
[Fred]: The police narrative there was that the police had been doing a routine patrol when the gang members suddenly started shooting at them.
[Luis Fernando]: Strangely, no police officer was injured. Besides, the fact that it had happened in a church seemed strange to him. He suspected that it was more extrajudicial killings by the police, which were continuing to happen.
[Fred]: And when we were in the process of reporting in the area, we realized that there were a couple of survivors of the massacre, and among them was a kid named Rudi.
[Luis Fernando]: He looked for the contact, it was found, and he made his report. A few months later, Fred contacted him again, this time by text message. And from the answer Fred received, he began to understand Rudi’s reality. This was one of the audios that he received:
[Rudi]: Send me audios, dude, with everything you have sent me in those messages. Send me an audio, dude. That’s what I do because I can’t read, I can’t read, dude. Send me audios instead. Do you get me, dude? Audios.
[Luis Fernando]: They arranged an appointment by voice message, and Fred and Salvadoran journalist Óscar Marínez met the kid at his mother’s house to interview him.
There they found out that Rudi could not read or write. At that time, he told them that he was around 16 years old. Or at least he thought he was. He wasn’t sure. He has no birth certificate or ID. Rudi was one of the youngest of 14 children born of different men. Several of his siblings were in jail. His mother owned a store, but she ended up in jail, too. His stepfather, same thing. And two years ago, Rudi had joined the gang called Barrio 18 Revolucionarios. Stealing, extorting, torturing, and even murdering… The gang was his job, his social life, his school… Everything.
[Fred]: When we asked Rudi why he had joined the gang, he told us he had joined because someone had persuaded him.
[Rudi]: Well, they got into my mind, dude. It’s not like I wanted to. And just like a first love eats up your mind and someone older than you. Yeah, bitch, and like an asshole, I listened to everything he said.
[Fred]: I saw Rudi as being innocent. I mean, I really saw him like a child.
[Luis Fernando]: They asked him what it was like to join the gang, about the beating he received as a rite of passage—18 seconds of brutal beating. The person you will hear speaking first is journalist Óscar Martínez:
[Óscar Martínez]: And you, when the beating was over, what did you think? What was the first thing that came into your mind?
[Rudi]: In that moment I thought I was going to do like they did.
[Fred]: In other words, his answer was like, “Now I am finally going to belong to something.”
[Luis Fernando]: They began interviewing him from time to time. It became a routine. Sometimes Fred made the appointments. But it was complicated; Rudi was always hiding.
[Rudi]: Nothing, buddy, I’m going to let you know because right now it’s looking bad with the cops, dude. Right now there’s a large squad of SOBs out there by my house and after me. You get me, do you? Right now, right now things are looking kinda bad, but it depends on how I feel these days. We’ll see, you get me?
[Fred]: For him, the only option at that moment was to escape, because he knew that if the police detained him, it wasn’t to take him to jail or anything like that; it was to… to kill him.
[Luis Fernando]: Rudi was a person totally excluded from the system, from society. Someone who was simply looking for something—anything—that would make him feel like a person.
[Fred]: Something I learned in the process of interviewing Rudi and speaking with Rudi is, I think, that it was like understanding the serious consequences that society in general suffers when a 13, 14, 15 or 16-year-old does not have access to a truly dignified life. Every child deserves respect and no need to have a weapon, so that they can be heard.
[Luis Fernando]: When Fred first met Rudi, he was one of the last two gang members left in his area. They had all been killed or thrown in jail. There came a time when Rudi was the only one. And that’s when he saw an opportunity to leave the gang.
[Fred]: And when we went to interview Rudi once he was alone, what surprised me the most was how he’d changed the way he spoke. I mean, he really had changed. His posture had also changed.
[Luis Fernando]: As you have heard, it was very difficult to understand Rudi, but on September 20, 2016, he spoke clearly. And sitting upright, paying attention. As if he was someone else.
[Rudi]: For me the gang no longer exists, not anymore. What I think is that I have to move forward with my life, because the gang is behind me. That was just a little beating, and I’ve forgotten about it now.
[Fred]: Besides, he seemed… He seemed really happy that day; he was thinking about the future and what he wanted to do and what changes were going to come in his life.
[Rudi]: Instead of this tattoo, that is, I’ll put another one on top, like a rose, like this, with names like this on top, I’m going to start working, working to get ahead with my life. Well, in a month, if God keeps me alive, well, that’s what I’m going to do, work and keep saving money and see how I get ahead with my life. That is my thinking.
[Luis Fernando]: And he remained like that for several months, swearing he was already out. Fred also thought that he really had been saved. In the following months, Rudi was injured by the police, he went in and out of a prison. He found God, he was attending a church. He worked on a sugar cane plantation. But his new life lasted until December 13, 2017.
[Fred]: From what Rudi’s sister says, between 10 and 15 police officers went to the house where they were living. Basically the whole family, right? There were ten, ten siblings that Rudi lived with there.
[Luis Fernando]: They wore uniforms, but they had removed the number that identifies them…
[Fred]: And they said they were coming to arrest Rudi, but, in addition, they took his other two brothers, Edwin and Herber. They were older than Rudi. And just like that, that is, what they said they were going to do, they did it. They took them away and they never came back. A month later, the remains of Edwin and Herber were found, but to date Rudi’s remains have not been found.
[Luis Fernando]: For Fred, Rudi became a way to understand his father’s killer. They were both of a similar age; they probably grew up in similar environments and they died in a similar way.
[Fred]: It is through this that I have… understood why a 13-year-old boy, who did not know my father, who had no relationship with him, decides that… that he wants to kill him, right?
[Luis Fernando]: Fred doesn’t feel he can forgive his father’s killer. Nor does he excuse it:
[Fred]: What I understand is that really, in El Salvador, one of the problems is that everyone uses force and… and does justice in the way they believe or consider that they have to do it.
[Luis Fernando]: Police, gangs, politicians, society…
[Fred]: There is a kind of distortion of justice itself.
[Luis Fernando]: For example, Rudi’s case.
[Fred]: His interest in having good clothes, in having good shoes, in… in being part of a society that respects him—maybe his way of getting justice was by being part of a gang, you know?
[Luis Fernando]: This whole process made Fred understand that reality in El Salvador is much more complex than it appears on the surface. It is more than good and bad, than victims and perpetrators.
It is now 2023, and the situation in El Salvador is very different from what we show in this episode.
[Fred]: Gangs, basically, aren’t operating in El Salvador. Since March of last year they have been crushed, if I can say it that way. This is something that had already been felt in some ways this last year.
[Luis Fernando]: In March 2022, at the request of President Nayib Bukele, the Legislative Assembly of El Salvador approved a state of emergency that eliminates certain constitutional rights, such as freedom of association and assembly and privacy of communications, as well as several guarantees of due process of law. In the last year alone, the police have arrested more than 65,000 people and there are hundreds of complaints from innocent citizens who have been arrested just for living in stigmatized neighborhoods. In addition, it is estimated that around 90 people have died in prison from alleged torture, due to lack of medicine and medical attention.
In February of this year, Nayib Bukele inaugurated the largest prison in the Americas, called the Center for the Confinement of Terrorism, which can house 40,000 people. Meanwhile, journalists and international organizations denounce a serious weakening of democracy in El Salvador.
Fred continues to work, but now he sees something different in the pictures he takes.
[Fred]: I feel that I am photographing another type of violence, which is state violence, and I believe this is a violence much more similar to what we had when my grandfather was murdered.
[Luis Fernando]: The violence of dictatorships repressing people. It’s as if El Salvador can’t get out of a cycle: from state violence to guerrilla violence, to gang violence, and back to the state… That’s what Fred thinks about, what will happen when the state of emergency is over.
[Fred]: Right now we are talking about dismantling gangs through a policy where a lot of rights of a lot of people have been violated, right? So we’re basically talking about a peace that’s built on other people’s suffering, and that’s going to turn into something else at any moment.
[Luis Fernando]: The question is… into what, exactly?
[Daniel]: Fred Ramos is a freelance journalist. Luis Fernando Vargas is an editor at Radio Ambulante and lives in San José, Costa Rica.
If you want to read more about Rudi’s story and about covering violence in El Salvador, we recommend Los Muertos y el Periodista, by Óscar Martínez, published by Anagrama.
This story was edited by Camila Segura. Bruno Scelza did the fact-checking. The sound design is by Andrés Azpiri with music by Ana Tuirán.
The rest of the Radio Ambulante team includes Paola Alean, Lisette Arévalo, Pablo Argüelles, Aneris Casassus, Diego Corzo, Emilia Erbetta, Camilo Jiménez Santofimio, Rémy Lozano, Selene Mazón, Juan David Naranjo, Ana Pais, Melisa Rabanales, Natalia Ramírez, Laura Rojas Aponte, Natalia Sánchez Loayza, Barbara Sawhill, David Trujillo and Elsa Liliana Ulloa.
Carolina Guerrero is the CEO.
Radio Ambulante is a podcast by Radio Ambulante Estudios, produced and mixed on the Hindenburg PRO program.
Radio Ambulante tells the stories of Latin America. I’m Daniel Alarcón. Thanks for listening.