I can’t recall why Honduras, in the 80s, seemed like the right place to send George’s father to die in demon-haunted madness. I’m no expert, but the little research I did on the subject—told from the right and from the left—depict Honduran refugee camps during this time that were likely one of those corners of hell, full of murder and acts of atrocity. The New York Times excerpt below sets the stage:
On plateaus amid the jungle-crowned volcanic ridges, the contras have built a series of sprawling camps in which more than 22,000 refugees registered with the Honduran Government now live. The Honduran Government, human rights groups and diplomats in Tegucigalpa estimate that the camps are inhabited by thousands of other refugees who have not registered with the Government and are in the country illegally.
The dead father’s experience in a refugee camp was largely drawn from a Doctors Without Borders website and a doctor’s testimony about working in one (not a Honduran one, however).
