50 JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2026 | THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL the Shining Path had started to protect traffickers and coca farmers against the government. Terrorism, including attacks against U.S. facilities, put a brake on foreign investments and fueled worries about Peru’s democracy. I traveled in the Shining Path heartland, solo and without appointments, in and out. Some contacts shared not only their experiences, but also clandestine documents and captured guerrilla notebooks. A bullet hole had perforated one of these notebooks. I never learned the backstory, but it symbolized the stakes of political violence. What drove people to join it? With more initiative than caution, I went to a recruitment event to find out. e I entered the rundown building in downtown Lima, only a mile from the U.S. embassy, and walked down a dark and narrow corridor. The occasion was the Shining Path’s recruitment and propaganda event for International Workers’ Day on May 1, 1988, and more than 200 people had already arrived. I wore gray jeans and a weathered windbreaker that did not scream “foreigner.” The Shining Path considered the United States an enemy, so I tried not to look suspicious, no easy feat as one of the whiter and taller persons in the crowd. I spoke native Spanish, and I carried only a regular passport; if challenged, I was a tourist. Nobody stared at me. The only exit was where I had entered, and I kept an eye on it for three hours. As the May Day event kicked off, red flags bearing the yellow hammer and sickle papered the wall, marking this as the Shining Path’s turf. The people around me were mostly men, but about a quarter of the crowd were women. They ranged from teenagers to people in their 40s, with most in their 20s and 30s. Most were mestizo—i.e., they had a mixture of Indigenous and white ancestors—but about a third appeared more Indigenous. How could a radical and cruel Maoist insurgency inspire such interest despite a counterinsurgency campaign marked by executions, disappearances, and torture? Something didn’t add up. The Shining Path had organized the international workers’ day event through its Popular Artists’ Movement and advertised it through its still-legal newspaper. Both front groups provided political and information support and reportedly supported attacks. The organizers’ hook for the audience was a simple, impassioned explanation why Peruvians outside the elite had no hope of improvement. In the face of Peru’s unforgiving hyperinflation and its political system’s indifference, the Shining Path told people their lives could have meaning by fighting for a higher cause and standing on the winning side of history, even at the risk of capture, torture, and death. They read poems, performed dramatic skits about revolutionary violence, and praised party leader Guzmán, referred to as “President Gonzalo.” A puppet show portrayed a Shining Path cell’s execution of a mayor—including a depiction of the authorities’ subsequent Path’s Recruitment event on International Workers’ Day, May 1, 1988, in Lima. COURTESY OF STEPHEN MCFARLAND The author, in 1988, speaking at a meeting hosted by a local foundation with Quechua-speaking farmers outside the town of Quinua in Ayacucho department. Quinua experienced considerable violence during the conflict, and the farmers opposed Shining Path. COURTESY OF STEPHEN MCFARLAND
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