Final Thoughts

I have been home for about a month...three weeks actually. Only three weeks. Three incredibly long weeks. The week I got back, the chaos immediately ensued. Internship (aka my other job) began, work resumed, class began, and the catch-up started with my family and friends. I was instantly consumed with my life all over again. And, I was frustrated.

I have had several things that stand out to me since I have been home. The first is the world of excess. When I got home, there was food in my fridge that had spoiled while I was gone. I almost vomited, not because of the mold, but rather because of the waste. It made me so lonesome for a place where things are valued and where each day and each meal is a gift and is celebrated for being such.

The second struggle is with my job. I work with persons experiencing homelessness. The persons that I see each day are living deep in American poverty. I talk with my participants about their natural resources and about what things they bring to the table in order to develop a plan for permanent sustainable housing. Teasing out resources and validating their resources is a big part of my day. It is often, however, that participants will note that they don't have any natural resources that they can contribute. In the past, I have not always agreed, but have understood. After all, the trauma of poverty is pervasive. Now, I look at these same situations in a whole new light-and recognize the amount of resource that is actually present in all of us-simply due to being a US citizen. It has really been difficult for me to be around persons living in poverty (as defined by United States standards) since I have been back. I have rarely struggled with empathy and with engagement, and yet I can now feel myself judging, critiquing, and comparing the two situations...and wanting to scream out..."If you only knew!!!" I have really struggled to maintain my professionalism and to maintain the moment of the participant's story without reflecting back to my own experience in El Salvador. It is really difficult.

Another struggle for me has been my story. So many people have asked me about my trip. I struggle to answer this. What do you say? What is the correct way to sum up the experience in 45 seconds or less-and, of course, making sure to make it meaningful to the audience at hand?? How do you tell the story without destroying it? The last thing I want to do is romanticize the struggle, the oppression, and the impact of restorative justice...yet to be silent is an insult! I have felt really trapped by this. I feel that I don't have the words to accurately sum up the experiences into something that doesn't do a disservice to those with whom I interacted. How does one express the passion and the tension of standing in solidarity? I continue to work through this.

Finally, this trip was not a mission trip and was not tied to a particular faith. However, before I left for the trip I asked my God to open me to the experience, to allow me to see things that have not been seen and to allow my heart to be broken as many times as needed to be able to bear witness to the struggle. I claim this trip as a blessing. I understand now that without entering into the pain and the injustice, I would never be able to appreciate the bittersweet legacy that comes from restorative justice and from peace. So, I celebrate the struggle-knowing that I am a changed person. And, I thank God for the opportunity to be uncomfortable, because now I know what true solidarity is. It was written on the faces, seen in the work of the hands, and left in the footprints of the Salvadoran people.

Earthquakes and Tremors

So, they have earthquakes and tremors here. I have now experienced two of them. Enough said.

University of Central America

This is a poster that hangs in the University that shows the pictures and the names of those murdered on November 16, 1989.

These photographs hang on the wall in the museum honoring those who died in the struggle for justice.

This is the plaque in the rose garden with the names of the 6 Jesuit priests who were murdered.


This is the rose garden that stands to commemorate the loss of life that happened here in this courtyard.

Yesterday we visited the campus of the University of Central America (UCA). This campus is a private college in the city of San Salvador and is the place where the 6 Jesuit priests and 2 women were murdered on November 16, 1989. The Jesuit priests were known for being academics and for holding a strong interest in education and in opportunity. They began to speak of some of the disparity that they were noticing within their country. Further, they began to analyze the politics that were occurring. As a result, they became a threat to the Salvadorian government and the military. Now these were spiritual persons who were working on a college campus who were NOT Communists, were NOT violent, and who were simply pointing out the current phenomenon of injustice in their community.

The military visited the campus and made their presence known to the priests. One of the housekeepers and her daughter were fearful to stay in their own home on the campus and asked the priests if they could stay near to them for protection. The priests agreed and the woman and her 15 year old daughter stayed in the room next door to the priests bunks. That night the military returned and tortured and executed the 6 priests in the courtyard. They also found the woman and her daughter and they killed them as well. There are photographs in one of the rooms on the campus that show that the mother was laying on top of her daughter in an effort to block her from the bullets. All of this blood was spilled for no real reason. Lives were ended well before their time was up. And ALL of this was done to squash any talks that held a different perspective than that of the government.

There is now a rose garden that is planted in the courtyard where the priests were murdered. There is a plague that holds their names as a way to honor what happened on these grounds. There is still bullet holes in the concrete and on the steps on the way to the bedrooms of the priests. There is also a museum on campus that holds artifacts of the priests as well as the clothing that they were wearing the night that they were murdered. These items are held not as a way to maintain an anger at the injustice of what happened but as a way to preserve the experiences of these persons to allow future generations to understand the legacy of struggle that the people of El Salvador have endured in order to advance justice and promote peace. There are also pictures of the bodies and of the autopsies. These photographs show the hatred and rage of the military officials. I don't understand how this type of hatred and loathing can be bred into persons and these types of heinous acts can be committed. But, I don't think that is the point. The point is to demonstrate the passion and the sacrifice that people are willing to make on behalf of their community in order to pursue a better and more appropriate way of life. Their struggle has moved me. Since viewing these grounds I have had difficulty sleeping...their sacrifice is so great that it haunts my dreams.

"I think that they believed in a God of life, who favours the poor, a God who gives meaning and salvation to our lives and hence a radical hope."

-Jon Sobrino, S. J.

The View from the Hills

This was me at the top of the mountain-I conquered the upward climb. It was like you were so high that you could reach up and touch the clouds.

The hills in the very back of this picture are actually the mountains of Honduras.

Another distant shot of Honduras. The path that we tread was the same path that the people of Santa Marta and Victoria traveled under cover of night to avoid capture and torture by the military.

In one of my previous posts I talked about the fact that people were forced to flee from their homes in Santa Marta and in other small communities and flee into the mountains towards Honduras. I also mentioned that we had the opportunity to hike these same hills. I was lucky enough to be able to hike to Santa Marta from Victoria and also to make the return hike out of town. I was stilled by the stories that these hold...stories of struggle, of terror, and of perseverance. These hills contain the hopes and dreams of so many...some still living and some who have paid the ultimate price. These are some of my pictures. They don't even do justice to the incredible beauty and the majesty of these hills.

Pictures from Santa Marta

A typical traditional home in Santa Marta.

Everyone works in Santa Marta. These girls were carrying their laundry back home after washing in the river.

These are artifacts collected during and after the war. These were all found in Santa Marta. The people there are hoping to build a museum to help future generations understand what happened. They anticipate the museum will cost $20,000 to build. Currently they have saved $350.

This is a part of one of the bombs that was dropped on Santa Marta. Most of the bombs weighed over 500lbs. The bombs were loaded with pieces of metal shavings that would exploded out upon impact. We met a man who still has pieces of this metal lodged in his brain.

This was the soccer field in town. On Sunday afternoons there is always a game going on.

Another traditional home in Santa Marta.

Another home. Here the wash was done in the river and then carried back home and hung out to dry.

Santa Marta

The past few days we have been staying in the countryside in the town of Santa Marta. Santa Marta has a rich and deep history that contains stories of heroism and of struggle and the pursuit of justice. Santa Marta was a small community that was involved in the civil war. Some of the persons living in Santa Marta were involved in speaking out against the large disparity of wealth and privilege within the country of El Salvador. At that time, only a small portion of the population owned any land or held any control. The rest of the population worked the land but were unable to have title to the property or to have the ability to earn a wage to feed their families. Persons living in Santa Marta joined in the conversation and began to speak out against this injustice. As a result, they were labeled as "communists" and were called the guerilla forces. The military had orders to wipe out theses forces and kill all involved in the effort. Conflict and tension heated in the lands surrounding the village and began also in Santa Marta. We heard testimonies of persons who have now returned to the village to rebuild it of the terror and trauma they experienced. Some of the testimonies talked of being held at gunpoint by soldiers with children present. Others told of the rape and torture and murder of women. Torture so severe that people were gutted, hung up by their testicles, and had their breasts removed. The stories were so gruesome-and all of this done under military order to somehow combat "Communism".

The military at one point stormed Santa Marta (a town so small that it doesn't even make it onto the maps) with 7,500 troops. They dropped bombs with explosive materials inside, they set fire to all the homes and to the fields, and they killed any persons who remained in the town. The town had organized against this but they had less than 40 guns...must of which were home-made. There was no chance of survival with these kids of odds. Most of the residents had heard word of this offensive. The families fled at that moment-leaving with nothing but the clothes they were wearing. The families hiked over mountains and headed for the neighboring country of Honduras. I had an opportunity to hike these same mountains. It was one of the most physically exhausting experiences of my life. I was chilled to think that persons from Santa Marta and other communities walked these same hills carrying their children, without food, for days and weeks and months. While they hiked, the military would shoot at them, would continue to drop bombs, and would hide out looking for them. Many who were too weak or sick were left to die in these hills. Children died of starvation. Women gave birth in the grasses. People my age talked about growing up in the refuge camps in Honduras. These are the stories of the people that we stayed with. These are the stories of the persons that we worked with. We had a chance to move with them and to learn and to understand their stories.

Now the focus for this community is on remembrance. By remembering the dead and honoring the struggle, they are able to move towards reconciliation and peace. At my church we talk about joining with the God of the oppressed. My Jesus was moving in and through and around the people of Santa Marta. I could see Him in the face of Abuela Rosa with whom I had the privilege of living with for the past three days. It was in the words of Aida, and in the testimony of Walter. The people's resilience and the strength and the resolve to continue in the work of justice is unparalleled. As I walked the streets and hiked in the mountains I thought about the journey to Jerusalem that Jesus took towards the end of His life. He knew His mission, and He knew His fate. The persons of Santa Marta were walking a similar road. They knew their mission but did not know their fate. Yet they continued down the road because they knew that the end would satisfy the means one way or another. Their love for each other and for their community guided their path.

My heart is overcome with the passion of their struggle.

Suchitoto

While in El Salvador we had the opportunity to visit a town outside of San Salvador called Suchitoto. This village was colonized by the Spanish and the remnants of this are seen everywhere from the cobblestone streets to the architecture of the buildings. This town was involved in several massacres during the time of unrest and civil war. The majority of the persons living in this town were either murdered or fled for their lives. We had the opportunity to meet with a nun who lives in Suchitoto and has been in El Salvador for over 40 years. Her name was Sister Peggy. She allowed us into the church area including the chapel and the area where she and the other nuns reside. This building that they are living in was originally a part of a private hacienda. The landowner had commissioned a private chapel for himself around the year 1880. Eventually, a group of nuns bought the building and were using the chapel for services and outreach into the community. However, the nuns were physically run out of the town of Suchitoto for the work that they were doing during the civil war. Sister Peggy mentioned that the sisters actually had mutilated bodies placed on the doorsteps to the church telling them to leave or they would be next. The sisters abandoned the church within 9 hours and never returned. The grounds fell into disrepair and were eventually then purchased by a different group of nuns. The grounds are now entitled Centero Arte Para la Pas. This is where Sister Peggy lives.

Since the war, Suchitoto has now become somewhat of a tourist area (as much tourism as El Salvador can generate) and is well-known for it's beauty and for the work that is being done with sanitation efforts and community outreach.

Sister Peggy also took time to talk with us about the concept of belonging. She is not your average Catholic nun....let's just be honest. She was interested in each of our stories and asked many questions about our passions and our interest in El Salvador. She told us horrible stories about the war and about what it means to be a nun in contemporary society...and what it is like now-trying to heal after so much oppression and hate. The people of Suchitoto have such stories of struggle, of perseverance, and of grace.

Being with Sister Peggy was a sacred experience. Sitting in her presence reminded me of a passage in the Bible in Exodus. In this passage, God says to Moses..."Do not come any closer. Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground" (NIV). While I was in the town of Suchitoto, I felt like I wanted to remove my shoes...the ground was sacred ground. I was not worthy of being in this presence. Today, in her presence and in the presence of the people of Suchitoto, I saw the face of Jesus. It was a face of struggle, of tension, of grace, and of love.