Yeny and the Children for Peace by Michelle Mulder Page A

had been killed. At the end of the march, we piled the coffins up by the police station, and the next day the only thing the newspaper reported was that a big parade left behind a pile of garbage. Can you believe it? They called our little coffins
garbage!”
    Yeny saw tears in her cousin’s eyes, and anger knotted her stomach. Her anger was getting worse these days. Having to leave her village and María Cristina—missing the Peace Carnival—everything was making her mad. And everything was the fault of the grupos armados. They had even made her parents afraid. At least Aunt Nelly took Juan to protests. She was always saying that at some point you couldn’t worry about the danger anymore. She’d rather die trying to change things than die in fear. But Yeny’s parents didn’t agree. They never let Yeny do anything about the stuff that made her mad.
    â€œOne problem,” Celia said, “is fear. Sometimes the newspaper writers get scared, like everyone else. So they don’t speakout against the violence of the armed groups. Another problem is that some people don’t know how bad the violence has gotten, and others have already given up hope of being able to stop it. Instead of reporting on the violence, many newspapers and television channels focus on movie stars and soap operas. Either way, no one can trust media anymore.”
    â€œWho’s Meedia?” asked the little girl with pigtails.
    â€œThe
media,”
said Celia, “are the newspapers and the radio and television. They’re afraid of making the grupos armados angry. The great thing about our election is that people can still trust kids. No one pays attention to the media anymore because no one believes them. But everyone will believe
us
when we talk about how important our rights are because they’ll know we’re telling the truth.”
    Across the street, the men had sat down again to drink more coffee. The dog lay beside them, head resting on paws. Celia’s adult friends returned to the field. “Everything’s okay,” said the lady in the black skirt and white blouse. “They were only curious.”
    â€œWell, they’ll hear about it soon enough,” Rocio said, rubbing her hands together.
    â€œYeah,” Yeny agreed. “Every kid is going to know about our rights, and every adult is going to hear about them too.”
    â€œWe proved on Saturday how good we are at spreading the word,” said Beto. “Now we have to do it bigger.”

    â€œAnd louder!” shouted David. “So that even the President will hear.
Yoooo hooooo! Mister Prreeeeeeeeesident
!”
    The children giggled, and Celia whipped out her notebook and a pen. “Now, we need to cover every last bit of this neighborhood. Who wants to talk to the kids in the first few blocks on the left side of the field?”
    A few people put up their hands.
    â€œI’ll cover the block after that,” someone else shouted quickly.
    â€œHey, isn’t that where the candy shop is?” asked a boy with a front tooth missing.
    â€œOf course!” the first kid shouted. “We can’t change Colombia on an empty stomach.”

CHAPTER 8
Stand Up for Your Rights
    Yeny, Juan, Elena, Rosa, and Sylvia got home in the nick of time. Aunt Nelly walked through the door just minutes later, and before Yeny could say anything, Juan leapt up from his homework and declared, “There’s going to be a vote. A children’s election. And everyone’s going to win because the grown-ups are going to listen.”
    Yeny didn’t know whether to laugh at his silly explanation, or to kick him for spilling the news. Now, for sure, Aunt Nelly would find out where they’d been that afternoon, and she would tell Yeny’s parents as soon as they got home.
    Aunt Nelly put down the bag of potatoes she’d been carrying and hugged her excited son. “Did you hear this at