Drawing Truth from Trauma: Pablo Leon Maps Guatemala's Unspoken Legacy

Pablo Leon's Silenced Voices: Reclaiming Memories from the Guatemalan Genocide

"Sometimes the efforts of a younger generation, unaware of the pain their parents faced, stirs up dolorous memories, guilt, and resentments."

In his author's note for Silenced Voices: Reclaiming Memories from the Guatemalan Genocide, Pablo Leon dedicates his latest graphic novel to those who died in Guatemala's decades-long civil war, those who survived, those displaced, and—most tellingly—"the first- and second-generation kids dealing with their parent's trauma and left with more questions than answers." This dedication illuminates the book's core purpose: bridging the silence between generations haunted by history.

The story opens in contemporary Maryland, where brothers José and Charlie have grown up largely disconnected from their mother Clara's Guatemalan past. When José's teacher mentions the ongoing genocide trials in Guatemala, specifically the prosecution of Efraín Ríos Montt, it sparks something in the young man. He shows his mother a news segment about the trials, hoping these glimpses of her homeland might finally unlock the stories she's kept buried.

"Knowing the truth is painful, but liberating. Without it the scars will never heal." - Archbishop Juan José Gerardi"

Clara and Elena watch in horror and silence as their village burns

Clara's initial resistance gives way to revelation. For the first time, she tells her sons about their aunt Elena—a sister they never knew existed. What unfolds is Clara's harrowing account of growing up in Petén, Guatemala, in a rural Q'eqchi' Maya village that government soldiers would ultimately destroy. Through Clara's memories, we witness the implementation of the scorched-earth policy that defined the civil war's brutality: the killings, the narrow escapes, and the devastating separation of two sisters who each assumed the other had perished.

While the characters are fictional, Leon's work rests on a foundation of meticulous journalism and historical research. He conducted extensive interviews with civil war survivors both in Guatemala and throughout the diaspora. This approach mirrors his earlier animated short, Remember Us, which brought to life stories from El Salvador's civil war. In both works, Leon employs fictional characters as vessels for real experiences, making incomprehensible trauma accessible to new audiences.

"This book is evidence that there is value in learning about the past, searching for answers, and confronting the darkness as a way to look forward."

The narrative becomes increasingly urgent as José discovers the work of Archbishop Juan José Gerardi, murdered for his role in REHMI (The Recovery of Historical Memory) and its damning report Nunca Más, which documented military atrocities. This historical thread weaves through the family's personal story, connecting individual trauma to systematic violence.

Horror and Hope

Pablo's structural choices prove masterful. By alternating between two timelines—the brothers in 2013 Maryland and the sisters in 1982 Petén—he creates a dialogue between past and present. Each chapter shifts perspective, gradually revealing how wartime separations continue to reverberate through generations.

Though aimed at young adult readers, the book doesn't sanitize history. Pablo handles the war's horrors—rape, murder, mass burnings—with careful consideration. Most atrocities occur off-panel, described through text rather than depicted graphically. One exception stands out: a haunting image of Clara's village in flames, accompanied by her memory: "When I woke up, my sister was holding me tightly while everything I knew was on fire. I can still hear faint screaming over the crackling of the fire."

"The journey forward won't get better until we confront the failures of the past."

This restraint makes the violence's psychological aftermath all the more powerful. Early in the book, Clara reacts viscerally to a sizzling steak at the restaurant where she works—a seemingly innocuous trigger that gains devastating context once we understand her history.

Pablo refuses easy villains or heroes. While unambiguous about atrocities committed by Guatemala's Kaibiles (elite counter-insurgency forces) and the Civil Defense Patrols (conscripted militias), the book acknowledges that guerrilla forces also brought suffering to civilians caught between opposing sides. Those forced to choose allegiances made decisions that haunted them long after the conflict ended.

Breaking Cycles

Crucially, Pablo connects historical dots to contemporary crises. The book explicitly links today's Central American migration patterns to decades of U.S. intervention—CIA-backed coups, manipulated elections, and corporate interests like the United Fruit Company that prioritized profit over people.

"One natural reaction is to bury the past and avoid confronting it. The result is itself a cause for intergenerational trauma."

Silenced Voices arrives at a critical moment. As Central America continues grappling with cycles of corruption, violence, and injustice rooted in historical trauma, Pablo's work opens essential conversations. The epilogue offers a glimpse of José's journey to Guatemala—a young man searching for roots while planting seeds for the future.

For the children of survivors—those second-generation kids dealing with inherited trauma and unanswered questions—this book serves as both mirror and map. It validates the confusion of growing up with parents whose silence speaks volumes, while demonstrating that confronting painful history can be an act of liberation.

Archbishop Gerardi in Silenced Voices

Archbishop Gerardi's words echo throughout: knowing the truth may be painful, but without it, the scars never heal. In giving voice to the silenced, Pablo has created more than a graphic novel—he's built a bridge between generations, between countries, and between the weight of history and the possibility of healing.

See also Aldama's Latinx Pop Mag interview with Pablo Leon here!