The fascinating and tragic story of the fratricidal war that plunged the Canton of Poás into years of violence, fear, exile, and misfortune — a dark chapter that a veil of legend has never fully lifted.
There was a convergence of many factors that might explain what happened: political and religious differences, hunger for power, caudillism, failed business dealings, intrigue, insults and slander, defense of honor, crimes and killings, ignorance, and recklessness.
What follows is an account based on the testimonies of don Eliécer Murillo Esquivel — who was very guarded and tends to attribute events to alcoholism and rage — complemented by the interpretation of historian Percy Rodríguez Argüello and some additional details. The true reasons remain far from clear, and a veil of legend still shrouds this era.
At the start of the 1920s, Alberto "Chele" Murillo owned the canton's hydroelectric plant and lived in "El Bajo." His estate was a genuine feudal domain, and his workers were completely loyal to him. But political clashes with the Spanish priest Venancio Oña — who used his pulpit to attack political adversaries — drove a wedge between Alberto "Chele" and the residents of "El Alto."
On one occasion, Father Oña slaughtered his beloved goat to host a feast for Alberto Echandi — a presidential candidate in 1923 — and the episode was mocked in newspaper caricatures of the time. Father Oña was no friend of Alberto "Chele" or his circle, which included the municipal attorney for Poás.
"While said attorney was visiting Poás, someone stole his horse and locked it inside Father Oña's property. The next morning, an animal was found sheared — but not the attorney's horse. It was Father Oña's."— Account of don Eliécer Murillo Esquivel
The priest cursed: "The guilty hand behind this outrage shall fall." In the days that followed, a man named Chepe Chaves — a former laborer of Alberto "Chele" — had his hand crushed in a sugar mill accident. This incident fed the imagination and gossip of the townspeople.
On election day in 1923, amid liquor and excitement, Ricardo Conejo — nephew of Alberto "Chele" — fired shots at the parish house from horseback. Father Oña immediately and permanently abandoned Poás, after cursing the town.
From broken promises to the final shot — six years that split the canton's history in two.
Poás was engulfed in a dark era of terror, chaos, and ill repute, particularly for San Pedro. The split of the community into two factions — "El Bajo" and "El Alto" — was not merely a family feud: it was a clash of political, economic, and personal agendas that drew in nearly the entire community.
Tensions ran so high that the Alajuela command had to reinforce the Poás police force. Bar brawls ending in gunfire over the slightest provocation became everyday occurrences. The curfew was a daily reality that terrified the population.
Decades later, witnesses such as don Eliécer Murillo Esquivel — very guarded in his accounts — and historian Percy Rodríguez attempted to reconstruct the events. But memory is selective, and what remains of this story is a blend of verifiable facts, partial testimonies, and legends that time has intertwined.
What is clear is that Poás, like so many Costa Rican towns of that era, was not immune to humanity's most intense passions: honor, vengeance, power, and death. And from that darkness emerged, over the years, the prosperous, welcoming, and naturally beautiful canton we know today.
This article was compiled from the oral accounts of don Eliécer Murillo Esquivel, a direct witness of the era, and complemented with the historical research of chronicler Percy Rodríguez Argüello.
Source document: «Guerra civil poaseña: 1925–1931» · Municipal Study of the Canton of Poás.
Web transcription and adaptation: Poás Water & Fire · 2026
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