Sunday, March 29th, 2009
I like:
The sound of bare feet on tile floors.
The smell of evaporating water from concrete on hot summer days.
Rocking chairs.
And I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have in the last few days as I have in a long, long time. My cheeks hurt. I like it.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Another New Beginning: Nicaragua.
Saturday, March 28th, 2009.
Nicaragua. Honestly, when I first got here, I was pretty disappointed. I think it was mostly because I wasn’t ready to leave El Salvador. In the first few days of arriving here, we were living in the Center for Globalization house in Managua. It is in the same neighborhood as President Daniel Ortega’s home, which is painted more like a preschool, and I’m not sure what I think about that. I’m not sure what I think about him either, but there will be more to come on that.
In the first few days we did some touring around Managua, which was a bit exciting because I didn’t get to do all the touristy, sight-seeing stuff when I was here the first time. We went to Volcan Masaya which was beautiful. The crater of the volcano was enormous (but I was a little disgusted to find that during the armed struggles in the 70’s, political opponents were thrown into the mouth of the volcano). We also went to the Masaya markert, which I visited last year. It was a little strange to return, but it felt good at the same time. We went to the polluted Lake Managua, and stood by the huge iron statue of Sandino (where he was assassinated), overlooking the stadium, the new part of the city, the old part of the city, and the garbage dump where people live and work.
We saw a movie at the theater in Spanish: Rudo y Cursi. Diego Luna y Gael Garcia Bernal were in it, so I really enjoyed it, even though I didn’t understand every word of it.
And finally, we also went to a potter’s village called San Juan de Oriente. I would love to return there at some point in my life and learn how to make pottery with them. The process in which they do it is beautiful, and they really connect with the earth. For example, to mix the clay that they find from the earth themselves, they dance on it for hours, turning it into a celebration, rather than just a stage in the process of their work. They told us stories of their history as indigenous peoples, whose origins were in Mexico. They ask permission from Mother Nature before planting and before taking anything from the earth. It’s really refreshing to see this kind of respect for something most people take for granted.
“Oh, Mother Nature, allow me your womb to plant this seed and it will germinate.”
We were also able to use their wheels. I haven’t been on a wheel in about four years, and I was so excited to get on one! Except there was one major difference…these wheels were not electronic, and all the spinning was done with your feet. It made it much more difficult, but I was still able to make a small bowl-type thing, and I was pretty proud of it.
Okay. So during all this other fun stuff, we also started our two classes: one political science class focusing on citizen participation and sustainable development, and the other on history with a focus on women. They seem like they’ll be interesting, and the teachers are very passionate about the information they are sharing with us. One of them has lost two husbands in her life: one in a bus accident and another to a strong strain of malaria that he got last year while doing service work in Ghana. Que triste. We have already had two interesting speakers. I enjoyed one in particular, who is the president of a new political party called the Sandinista Renovation Movement. Their idea is that Sandismo is good, but the “Sandinistas” of today aren’t actually Sandinista.
In his own words, he said, “I am a Sandinista. I am not in MRS because I’m not Sandinista, but because I am. Those using the name of Sandinistas are a deformity of Sandinismo. The government of Ortega says they’re Sandinistas, but it’s really just a name.”
I don’t know if it’s me being naïve, but I feel like this man had true potential to make change in this country, which definitely needs change. And he certainly has the determination. I’m thankful to have met him and had the opportunity to hear from him.
Anyway, it is a lot of work though to have two classes and a semester’s worth of work for both, all within a period of six weeks.
It makes it especially difficult when I have my family that I’d rather spend all of my time with.
My family!!! This is what I really wanted to write about. They are more amazing than I ever could have expected. We moved in with them on Thursday afternoon at four. From four until ten at night we were talking, playing cards, eating, and just being together. It was incredible. I have two parents (thirty-two ish years old) and one sister (twelve years old, but so mature that I feel like she is my age). My dad is a very attractive man, and he’s also a well-established painter. He has had paintings at St. Xavier in Cincinnati, and he’s waiting on word of his visa for this summer because he is going to be painting a mural at Bucknell University in Pennsylvania. The whole family is artistic though…my mom sews quilts, etc., and my sister paints, draws, and makes jewelry. PERFECTO!
I just love how welcome I feel here with them. On Friday night we went to a concert with my group, and my family walked us to the bus and waited until it left to make sure we were okay. (The concert was alright. I enjoyed the violin playing a lot, but other than that, eh.) When we got home at about midnight as we told them we would, my dad was waiting outside for our return.
Today, Saturday, was an incredible day. I decided not to go anywhere this weekend because today was my host mom’s birthday! But last night at dinner, my dad said that they had an announcement to make. And said that they were getting married today! I was honestly shocked to hear that, but excited at the same time. So this morning, we went to a lawyers house to have their marriage made legal and official. They introduced Rachel and I as their daughters. We sat through the ceremony, and I took some photos. It was such a unique experience, and I was so proud and excited for them. It just seemed so perfect. It was interesting though because we took the public bus to get there, and after the ceremony, we took the public bus home. After that, my mom cooked lunch for everyone, while my dad ran off to teach his art classes. It was a little different than the way weddings go in the United States…
After I ate a bit and helped my mom, I went to his art class. And that’s when I found out that I never learned how to draw, which was a little devastating considering how many art classes I’ve taken. He showed me all the tricks and all the ways to draw fruit, flowers, and people, and now I can’t stop doodling!
Dinner tonight was fantastic as well. We always eat and then talk for two hours after. Today we were telling jokes and my dad couldn’t get through one of his without laughing after every word, which in turn caused everyone else to laugh as well. It’s weird, but I just felt like we are one happy family,
I think my Spanish is getting better, and I’m much more confident with it now.
I am so thankful that I got the family that I did. I feel like this time is going to go by so quickly, so I’m trying to make the most of it while I can.
I’m going to sleep now though…if I think of more to write, I will.
There are huge ants crawling around my incredibly uncomfortable bed (only downside to this whole experience), and that’s a little disgusting.
Also, my sister made me a bead ring, and I love it.
Also, I miss Abby…I keep thinking I should just suck it up and buy a cell phone so I can talk to him on the weekends and in the evenings but it will probably just distract me from spending time with my family and take precious time away from the time I have to study and read. I just have to keep reminding myself that I’ll see him soon.
Alright.
Con amor,
Me.
Nicaragua. Honestly, when I first got here, I was pretty disappointed. I think it was mostly because I wasn’t ready to leave El Salvador. In the first few days of arriving here, we were living in the Center for Globalization house in Managua. It is in the same neighborhood as President Daniel Ortega’s home, which is painted more like a preschool, and I’m not sure what I think about that. I’m not sure what I think about him either, but there will be more to come on that.
In the first few days we did some touring around Managua, which was a bit exciting because I didn’t get to do all the touristy, sight-seeing stuff when I was here the first time. We went to Volcan Masaya which was beautiful. The crater of the volcano was enormous (but I was a little disgusted to find that during the armed struggles in the 70’s, political opponents were thrown into the mouth of the volcano). We also went to the Masaya markert, which I visited last year. It was a little strange to return, but it felt good at the same time. We went to the polluted Lake Managua, and stood by the huge iron statue of Sandino (where he was assassinated), overlooking the stadium, the new part of the city, the old part of the city, and the garbage dump where people live and work.
We saw a movie at the theater in Spanish: Rudo y Cursi. Diego Luna y Gael Garcia Bernal were in it, so I really enjoyed it, even though I didn’t understand every word of it.
And finally, we also went to a potter’s village called San Juan de Oriente. I would love to return there at some point in my life and learn how to make pottery with them. The process in which they do it is beautiful, and they really connect with the earth. For example, to mix the clay that they find from the earth themselves, they dance on it for hours, turning it into a celebration, rather than just a stage in the process of their work. They told us stories of their history as indigenous peoples, whose origins were in Mexico. They ask permission from Mother Nature before planting and before taking anything from the earth. It’s really refreshing to see this kind of respect for something most people take for granted.
“Oh, Mother Nature, allow me your womb to plant this seed and it will germinate.”
We were also able to use their wheels. I haven’t been on a wheel in about four years, and I was so excited to get on one! Except there was one major difference…these wheels were not electronic, and all the spinning was done with your feet. It made it much more difficult, but I was still able to make a small bowl-type thing, and I was pretty proud of it.
Okay. So during all this other fun stuff, we also started our two classes: one political science class focusing on citizen participation and sustainable development, and the other on history with a focus on women. They seem like they’ll be interesting, and the teachers are very passionate about the information they are sharing with us. One of them has lost two husbands in her life: one in a bus accident and another to a strong strain of malaria that he got last year while doing service work in Ghana. Que triste. We have already had two interesting speakers. I enjoyed one in particular, who is the president of a new political party called the Sandinista Renovation Movement. Their idea is that Sandismo is good, but the “Sandinistas” of today aren’t actually Sandinista.
In his own words, he said, “I am a Sandinista. I am not in MRS because I’m not Sandinista, but because I am. Those using the name of Sandinistas are a deformity of Sandinismo. The government of Ortega says they’re Sandinistas, but it’s really just a name.”
I don’t know if it’s me being naïve, but I feel like this man had true potential to make change in this country, which definitely needs change. And he certainly has the determination. I’m thankful to have met him and had the opportunity to hear from him.
Anyway, it is a lot of work though to have two classes and a semester’s worth of work for both, all within a period of six weeks.
It makes it especially difficult when I have my family that I’d rather spend all of my time with.
My family!!! This is what I really wanted to write about. They are more amazing than I ever could have expected. We moved in with them on Thursday afternoon at four. From four until ten at night we were talking, playing cards, eating, and just being together. It was incredible. I have two parents (thirty-two ish years old) and one sister (twelve years old, but so mature that I feel like she is my age). My dad is a very attractive man, and he’s also a well-established painter. He has had paintings at St. Xavier in Cincinnati, and he’s waiting on word of his visa for this summer because he is going to be painting a mural at Bucknell University in Pennsylvania. The whole family is artistic though…my mom sews quilts, etc., and my sister paints, draws, and makes jewelry. PERFECTO!
I just love how welcome I feel here with them. On Friday night we went to a concert with my group, and my family walked us to the bus and waited until it left to make sure we were okay. (The concert was alright. I enjoyed the violin playing a lot, but other than that, eh.) When we got home at about midnight as we told them we would, my dad was waiting outside for our return.
Today, Saturday, was an incredible day. I decided not to go anywhere this weekend because today was my host mom’s birthday! But last night at dinner, my dad said that they had an announcement to make. And said that they were getting married today! I was honestly shocked to hear that, but excited at the same time. So this morning, we went to a lawyers house to have their marriage made legal and official. They introduced Rachel and I as their daughters. We sat through the ceremony, and I took some photos. It was such a unique experience, and I was so proud and excited for them. It just seemed so perfect. It was interesting though because we took the public bus to get there, and after the ceremony, we took the public bus home. After that, my mom cooked lunch for everyone, while my dad ran off to teach his art classes. It was a little different than the way weddings go in the United States…
After I ate a bit and helped my mom, I went to his art class. And that’s when I found out that I never learned how to draw, which was a little devastating considering how many art classes I’ve taken. He showed me all the tricks and all the ways to draw fruit, flowers, and people, and now I can’t stop doodling!
Dinner tonight was fantastic as well. We always eat and then talk for two hours after. Today we were telling jokes and my dad couldn’t get through one of his without laughing after every word, which in turn caused everyone else to laugh as well. It’s weird, but I just felt like we are one happy family,
I think my Spanish is getting better, and I’m much more confident with it now.
I am so thankful that I got the family that I did. I feel like this time is going to go by so quickly, so I’m trying to make the most of it while I can.
I’m going to sleep now though…if I think of more to write, I will.
There are huge ants crawling around my incredibly uncomfortable bed (only downside to this whole experience), and that’s a little disgusting.
Also, my sister made me a bead ring, and I love it.
Also, I miss Abby…I keep thinking I should just suck it up and buy a cell phone so I can talk to him on the weekends and in the evenings but it will probably just distract me from spending time with my family and take precious time away from the time I have to study and read. I just have to keep reminding myself that I’ll see him soon.
Alright.
Con amor,
Me.
another one.
Saturday, March 28th, 2009
For some reason, when I have thoughts in my head, I feel like I’m screaming them at myself. I picture my thoughts with exclamation points.
For some reason, when I have thoughts in my head, I feel like I’m screaming them at myself. I picture my thoughts with exclamation points.
random tidbit.
Friday, March 27th, 2009
I want to learn to play the electric violin.
I’ll write more about Nicaragua tomorrow.
I want to learn to play the electric violin.
I’ll write more about Nicaragua tomorrow.
EL PUEBLO UNIDO, JAMAS SERA VENCIDO!
Wednesday, March 25th, 2009
I’m very intrigued and amazed as to how much I have come to love El Salvador. Before I left the United States for this journey, I had predicted that El Salvador would be my least favorite country out of the three, but if this is my least favorite, I can’t even imagine my favorite, because this is so incredible.
I’m not sure what to delve into or where to start. During the weeks, we were basically in San Salvador (the part we lived in looked like America: huge malls, fast food restaurants lining the streets, enormous hotels, etc.), going to classes, hearing lectures, and doing reading for the next day of class. It’s interesting reading, and I enjoy classes for the most part (Sister Peggy, our professor is a really interesting and complicated women, and I usually enjoy her insights and thoughts on religion, reality, poverty, and life), but it’s really the weekends, when we go to rural villages and interact with the people, the real people, that have made me fall in love with this country.
Last weekend, we went to Nueva Esperanza (New Hope), which is a community with a very complicated history. The community members were originally from the area of Chalatenango (the region where San Jose Las Flores is located as well), but during the war, they were forced to flee from their homes. Many of them ended up in the capital and lived in the basement of the church for (some of them) up to twelve years. The conditions they were living in were awful, and international organizations and church people helped them negotiate with Nicaragua to help them seek refuge in their country during the rest of the war. Nicaragua welcomed the refugees, who were mostly women and children (because the men stayed to take part in the war), in with open arms. After some time, the women, realizing the war was still continuing in their home country of El Salvador and gathering strength from the stories of the Bible, felt that they had to return to support the revolutionary forces. They fought to return, won the battle, and ended up settling this extremely well organized community that I had the great opportunity to visit.
I really think this weekend will be one of the highlights of my entire trip. I adored my family, and really wish I could have done a longer stay with them. My mom and dad were older, and they had four sons, a daughter, and several grandchildren. I just felt so welcomed by them. My dad was so warm and easy to talk with. I will never forget eating mangos on their front patio, with chicks running around squawking, cows mooing in the back yard, and their grandchildren running around pulling toy trucks, full of energy, and then seeing the huge smile on my dad’s face. It seemed as if he were truly happy, yet so much was not right in his life. I could tell he worked so hard for his family and was proud of what he’d accomplished. He told me of times during the war, and obstacles he had faced and overcome. And he loved mangos as much as I do.
My brother in my family, Daniel, was deaf. It was really interesting to meet someone in this society with a disability such as that. He has been unable to learn because school systems don’t work with deaf children, and he could only talk with a select few in his family that had taken the time to learn sign language with him. I tried my best to communicate with him, and really enjoyed the time I spent with him. He makes bracelets to sell. I bought one, and showed my group, who, in turn, wanted to buy some as well. I brought him to class the next day and helped him sell them. I think it will be one of my favorite souvenirs from my trip: an orange and cream bracelet, made with care by Daniel.
I also watched a speech by Mauricio Funes, candidate for the FMLN, with my family. I was impressed by their spirit, their excitement, and their hope for change.
The community was very well established. They had different agriculture cooperatives, such as sugar cane, cashew, and coconut plantations. They also raised cattle. There were many youth groups, for things such as dance, music, and sports. Overall, it just really gave me hope for once (ironic since their name is New Hope). Just seeing this community start literally from scratch, asking for help from outside organizations when they needed to, fighting to stand up to the government for their rights even today (due to deliberate flooding of their land because it is the most fertile in the region, and the government wants their hands on it), and succeeding to the extent that it has is really an inspiration. The people in the community continue to plan new programs and organizations to improve their living situations. It gives me hope not only for these people to continue to push for greater change in their country, but also for the entire world, in the midst of all its wars and oppression. Maybe out of all the destruction, something can be created after all. And that creation can grow into something beautiful, something which only continues to create more.
After returning to San Salvador, I went with a small group of students to climb Volcano Izalco. It was an intense hike, but one I’m definitely glad I did. It was a five hour hike in which we hiked down a mountain, up the volcano, slid down the volcano (coolest part by far), and then climbed up 1,300 stairs up the side of the mountain again. Intense and exhausting, but beautiful and well worth the time. I would definitely do it again, if not just for the sliding part. Also, since it was on Purim, I felt like being in nature and connecting with G-d in that way was a good way to celebrate so far from home or any familiar Jewish community.
Although! I did track down a Jewish community in San Salvador and attend shul the evening before to hear the reading of the megillah and celebrate among fellow Jews. It was a very interesting experience. The service was done very liberally, with stops to chat and celebrate throughout the entirety of it. The rabbi was very friendly, and I felt very welcome by the entire congregation. This was also a much more wealthy crowd than I had been introduced to by this program, and I’m pretty sure they were all firm supporters of ARENA, whereas everyone else I have come into contact with here has supported the FMLN. At the end of the service, Alfonso, a young man from the congregation, drove me home and stopped so we could buy some Manishewitz to celebrate back at the house. All in all, the service and the volcano climbing made my celebration of Purim meaningful and a success.
The weekend after, my group headed to Suchitoto, the city where Sister Peggy lives and has worked among the people. It was a pretty relaxing (and exciting!) weekend. On Saturday, we went to the community called El Citio. This is another reestablished community. Their original community was called Copapayo, and it sits in what is now the middle of a lake, but what was once part of the Rio Lempa. This community, during the armed struggle, was completely massacred. We went to the site of the first stage of the massacre, and heard a testimony from a man, who, at the time of the massacre, was nine years old. He told of the grenades that tore boats that carried people, trying to flee the scene, into pieces, of people being shot, of himself hiding behind a tree until a soldier told him and the rest of the survivors to march with them. He told us how they said they’d be kept alive and planes would come to pick them up. How then the young women were taken from the line, raped, tortured, and murdered. How the group was divided into three, so that it would be easier to slaughter them. How he was in a group with his aunt and his sister, and how he snuck to the back line. How, when the shooting started, he ran and hid among tall grass. And how afterward, he was alone.
When I hear testimonies like these, it tortures my mind. Not only because I can’t believe that humans can do these to other humans. Not only because I can’t believe stories and accounts like these happened time and time again in areas of conflict. But also because I know that they are still happening today. And they are happening today not only by people “foreign” to me, but also by people from my own country, my own home. And I am at a loss as to how I can stand up and stop it. As to how I can make a difference. And how I can fix the world.
Sunday, March 15th, 2009. Turned out to be a historic day in El Salvador’s history, and I’m so glad that I had the opportunity to witness it, to experience it, and to just be. The climax of all the street politics I’ve been seeing in my time here (one day the FMLN paints the streets, the next day ARENA comes and paints over, the next day FMLN, etc. and the skirmishes near the mall between the two parties, etc.): the FMLN and Mauricio Funes won the national elections for presidency! ARENA, after a two decade hold of power, was defeated. I guess I can’t claim to know enough to say I support the FMLN, although that’s my instinct, I can say that I do know that this country was in need of a desperate change. Is the FMLN the change the country needs? I’m not sure, but hopefully Mauricio will live up to some of his promises, and deal with issues of poverty, infrastructure, development, corruption, equality, and security in ways beneficial to all sectors of this society.
Just being with the people during the announcement of election results was incredible. The tensions were immense as we waited, but the energy was high, with screams, chants, and fireworks. So high in fact, that it gave me chills, and I really felt a presence…a presence of the people, maybe those who had been murdered, those who lost their lives for the purpose of bringing on change, maybe just the presence of the people that were right in front of me. Or maybe it was knowing that throughout the country, in hundreds of small communities, people, just like the ones I was with, but yet so different in many ways, with their own stories and own experiences of this country’s history, were huddled in front of televisions and radios to find out the news. To see if it had all been worth it. What has the cost been anyway? And have they finally gotten something in return?
Or maybe it was the presence of something higher. Something spiritual. Something I could only see through the lens and perspective of these people.
Whatever the feeling, whatever the presence, I’m certainly thankful for it.
EL PUEBLO UNIDO, JAMAS SERA VENCIDO!
(The People United, Can Never Be Defeated!)
Oh, and seeing Sister Peggy actually interacting with the people of Suchitoto (that she knew all their names, and they all knew hers) was something really special to see. That they all respected her. That she truly did make a difference in their community and in their lives, really made me respect her much more than I imagined possible. She told us stories of how during the war, she was the one who buried many people, because since she was part of the church, she technically couldn’t be harmed. She had to retrieve severed heads from the local park, and let families know of deaths. It’s hard to imagine. She is a good woman, and her heart is in the right place, despite her quirkiness and strange ideas. I think the world needs more people like her.
After the elections, was the last week in El Salvador. It basically consisted of wrapping up the class, doing our interview projects and personal final projects. My interview group went to an organization on gangs, on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, & Transgender communities (Entre Amigos), on HIV/AIDS (Contra SIDA), and immigration (Catholic Relief Services). I’m really glad I had the chance to talk directly with these organizations on current issues that I am really interested in. It was interesting to see how all of these issues were so strongly interconnected, and made me see why to fix one of them, all of them need to be fixed, which makes it all the more difficult.
It was also interesting to see that liberation theology was not grasped by any of the organizations in their ideologies. This makes me wonder if liberation theology has exhausted itself…can it be used any longer? Or has its time of creating social change and hope for repressed groups reached its end?
I guess that pretty much concludes my time in El Salvador. I really came to love their traditional dish, the Papusa, and I wish I could have one right now as I type this. I’m sure there are other small, random details I’ll think of in the upcoming days, and maybe I’ll add them then. Or maybe I won’t.
It’s funny. I really felt like I was beginning to grasp who I was and who I wanted to be before my time in El Salvador, but now I feel a little uprooted, and I’m not sure where I’m going anymore.
I guess that’s what happens when you start asking questions.
Anyway, we then took a twelve-hour bus ride to Nicaragua, driving through Honduras along the way. It was exciting to see sights here I’ve seen before, although what I’m looking forward to seeing the most are old friends, whom I haven’t been able to get into contact with quite yet. We have begun class: History and Political Science. It’s a much more standard class schedule, and the workload is going to be rough. I hope I have time to explore everything that I want to explore, and see everything that I want to see.
It’s weird though because I feel a lot less excited to be here than I did in Guatemala and El Salvador, and this is the reason I wanted to come on this trip. I’m sure it will turn out to be incredible, like the other two countries, but we shall see.
I’m looking forward to moving in with my host family tomorrow. I’m living with Rachel, and our dad is a painter. I am looking forward to spring break. Today is my fourteen month anniversary. Such a long time, but yet no time at all. I went to the doctor today. And I’m really tired.
So I’m going to bed. Goodnight.
I’m very intrigued and amazed as to how much I have come to love El Salvador. Before I left the United States for this journey, I had predicted that El Salvador would be my least favorite country out of the three, but if this is my least favorite, I can’t even imagine my favorite, because this is so incredible.
I’m not sure what to delve into or where to start. During the weeks, we were basically in San Salvador (the part we lived in looked like America: huge malls, fast food restaurants lining the streets, enormous hotels, etc.), going to classes, hearing lectures, and doing reading for the next day of class. It’s interesting reading, and I enjoy classes for the most part (Sister Peggy, our professor is a really interesting and complicated women, and I usually enjoy her insights and thoughts on religion, reality, poverty, and life), but it’s really the weekends, when we go to rural villages and interact with the people, the real people, that have made me fall in love with this country.
Last weekend, we went to Nueva Esperanza (New Hope), which is a community with a very complicated history. The community members were originally from the area of Chalatenango (the region where San Jose Las Flores is located as well), but during the war, they were forced to flee from their homes. Many of them ended up in the capital and lived in the basement of the church for (some of them) up to twelve years. The conditions they were living in were awful, and international organizations and church people helped them negotiate with Nicaragua to help them seek refuge in their country during the rest of the war. Nicaragua welcomed the refugees, who were mostly women and children (because the men stayed to take part in the war), in with open arms. After some time, the women, realizing the war was still continuing in their home country of El Salvador and gathering strength from the stories of the Bible, felt that they had to return to support the revolutionary forces. They fought to return, won the battle, and ended up settling this extremely well organized community that I had the great opportunity to visit.
I really think this weekend will be one of the highlights of my entire trip. I adored my family, and really wish I could have done a longer stay with them. My mom and dad were older, and they had four sons, a daughter, and several grandchildren. I just felt so welcomed by them. My dad was so warm and easy to talk with. I will never forget eating mangos on their front patio, with chicks running around squawking, cows mooing in the back yard, and their grandchildren running around pulling toy trucks, full of energy, and then seeing the huge smile on my dad’s face. It seemed as if he were truly happy, yet so much was not right in his life. I could tell he worked so hard for his family and was proud of what he’d accomplished. He told me of times during the war, and obstacles he had faced and overcome. And he loved mangos as much as I do.
My brother in my family, Daniel, was deaf. It was really interesting to meet someone in this society with a disability such as that. He has been unable to learn because school systems don’t work with deaf children, and he could only talk with a select few in his family that had taken the time to learn sign language with him. I tried my best to communicate with him, and really enjoyed the time I spent with him. He makes bracelets to sell. I bought one, and showed my group, who, in turn, wanted to buy some as well. I brought him to class the next day and helped him sell them. I think it will be one of my favorite souvenirs from my trip: an orange and cream bracelet, made with care by Daniel.
I also watched a speech by Mauricio Funes, candidate for the FMLN, with my family. I was impressed by their spirit, their excitement, and their hope for change.
The community was very well established. They had different agriculture cooperatives, such as sugar cane, cashew, and coconut plantations. They also raised cattle. There were many youth groups, for things such as dance, music, and sports. Overall, it just really gave me hope for once (ironic since their name is New Hope). Just seeing this community start literally from scratch, asking for help from outside organizations when they needed to, fighting to stand up to the government for their rights even today (due to deliberate flooding of their land because it is the most fertile in the region, and the government wants their hands on it), and succeeding to the extent that it has is really an inspiration. The people in the community continue to plan new programs and organizations to improve their living situations. It gives me hope not only for these people to continue to push for greater change in their country, but also for the entire world, in the midst of all its wars and oppression. Maybe out of all the destruction, something can be created after all. And that creation can grow into something beautiful, something which only continues to create more.
After returning to San Salvador, I went with a small group of students to climb Volcano Izalco. It was an intense hike, but one I’m definitely glad I did. It was a five hour hike in which we hiked down a mountain, up the volcano, slid down the volcano (coolest part by far), and then climbed up 1,300 stairs up the side of the mountain again. Intense and exhausting, but beautiful and well worth the time. I would definitely do it again, if not just for the sliding part. Also, since it was on Purim, I felt like being in nature and connecting with G-d in that way was a good way to celebrate so far from home or any familiar Jewish community.
Although! I did track down a Jewish community in San Salvador and attend shul the evening before to hear the reading of the megillah and celebrate among fellow Jews. It was a very interesting experience. The service was done very liberally, with stops to chat and celebrate throughout the entirety of it. The rabbi was very friendly, and I felt very welcome by the entire congregation. This was also a much more wealthy crowd than I had been introduced to by this program, and I’m pretty sure they were all firm supporters of ARENA, whereas everyone else I have come into contact with here has supported the FMLN. At the end of the service, Alfonso, a young man from the congregation, drove me home and stopped so we could buy some Manishewitz to celebrate back at the house. All in all, the service and the volcano climbing made my celebration of Purim meaningful and a success.
The weekend after, my group headed to Suchitoto, the city where Sister Peggy lives and has worked among the people. It was a pretty relaxing (and exciting!) weekend. On Saturday, we went to the community called El Citio. This is another reestablished community. Their original community was called Copapayo, and it sits in what is now the middle of a lake, but what was once part of the Rio Lempa. This community, during the armed struggle, was completely massacred. We went to the site of the first stage of the massacre, and heard a testimony from a man, who, at the time of the massacre, was nine years old. He told of the grenades that tore boats that carried people, trying to flee the scene, into pieces, of people being shot, of himself hiding behind a tree until a soldier told him and the rest of the survivors to march with them. He told us how they said they’d be kept alive and planes would come to pick them up. How then the young women were taken from the line, raped, tortured, and murdered. How the group was divided into three, so that it would be easier to slaughter them. How he was in a group with his aunt and his sister, and how he snuck to the back line. How, when the shooting started, he ran and hid among tall grass. And how afterward, he was alone.
When I hear testimonies like these, it tortures my mind. Not only because I can’t believe that humans can do these to other humans. Not only because I can’t believe stories and accounts like these happened time and time again in areas of conflict. But also because I know that they are still happening today. And they are happening today not only by people “foreign” to me, but also by people from my own country, my own home. And I am at a loss as to how I can stand up and stop it. As to how I can make a difference. And how I can fix the world.
Sunday, March 15th, 2009. Turned out to be a historic day in El Salvador’s history, and I’m so glad that I had the opportunity to witness it, to experience it, and to just be. The climax of all the street politics I’ve been seeing in my time here (one day the FMLN paints the streets, the next day ARENA comes and paints over, the next day FMLN, etc. and the skirmishes near the mall between the two parties, etc.): the FMLN and Mauricio Funes won the national elections for presidency! ARENA, after a two decade hold of power, was defeated. I guess I can’t claim to know enough to say I support the FMLN, although that’s my instinct, I can say that I do know that this country was in need of a desperate change. Is the FMLN the change the country needs? I’m not sure, but hopefully Mauricio will live up to some of his promises, and deal with issues of poverty, infrastructure, development, corruption, equality, and security in ways beneficial to all sectors of this society.
Just being with the people during the announcement of election results was incredible. The tensions were immense as we waited, but the energy was high, with screams, chants, and fireworks. So high in fact, that it gave me chills, and I really felt a presence…a presence of the people, maybe those who had been murdered, those who lost their lives for the purpose of bringing on change, maybe just the presence of the people that were right in front of me. Or maybe it was knowing that throughout the country, in hundreds of small communities, people, just like the ones I was with, but yet so different in many ways, with their own stories and own experiences of this country’s history, were huddled in front of televisions and radios to find out the news. To see if it had all been worth it. What has the cost been anyway? And have they finally gotten something in return?
Or maybe it was the presence of something higher. Something spiritual. Something I could only see through the lens and perspective of these people.
Whatever the feeling, whatever the presence, I’m certainly thankful for it.
EL PUEBLO UNIDO, JAMAS SERA VENCIDO!
(The People United, Can Never Be Defeated!)
Oh, and seeing Sister Peggy actually interacting with the people of Suchitoto (that she knew all their names, and they all knew hers) was something really special to see. That they all respected her. That she truly did make a difference in their community and in their lives, really made me respect her much more than I imagined possible. She told us stories of how during the war, she was the one who buried many people, because since she was part of the church, she technically couldn’t be harmed. She had to retrieve severed heads from the local park, and let families know of deaths. It’s hard to imagine. She is a good woman, and her heart is in the right place, despite her quirkiness and strange ideas. I think the world needs more people like her.
After the elections, was the last week in El Salvador. It basically consisted of wrapping up the class, doing our interview projects and personal final projects. My interview group went to an organization on gangs, on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, & Transgender communities (Entre Amigos), on HIV/AIDS (Contra SIDA), and immigration (Catholic Relief Services). I’m really glad I had the chance to talk directly with these organizations on current issues that I am really interested in. It was interesting to see how all of these issues were so strongly interconnected, and made me see why to fix one of them, all of them need to be fixed, which makes it all the more difficult.
It was also interesting to see that liberation theology was not grasped by any of the organizations in their ideologies. This makes me wonder if liberation theology has exhausted itself…can it be used any longer? Or has its time of creating social change and hope for repressed groups reached its end?
I guess that pretty much concludes my time in El Salvador. I really came to love their traditional dish, the Papusa, and I wish I could have one right now as I type this. I’m sure there are other small, random details I’ll think of in the upcoming days, and maybe I’ll add them then. Or maybe I won’t.
It’s funny. I really felt like I was beginning to grasp who I was and who I wanted to be before my time in El Salvador, but now I feel a little uprooted, and I’m not sure where I’m going anymore.
I guess that’s what happens when you start asking questions.
Anyway, we then took a twelve-hour bus ride to Nicaragua, driving through Honduras along the way. It was exciting to see sights here I’ve seen before, although what I’m looking forward to seeing the most are old friends, whom I haven’t been able to get into contact with quite yet. We have begun class: History and Political Science. It’s a much more standard class schedule, and the workload is going to be rough. I hope I have time to explore everything that I want to explore, and see everything that I want to see.
It’s weird though because I feel a lot less excited to be here than I did in Guatemala and El Salvador, and this is the reason I wanted to come on this trip. I’m sure it will turn out to be incredible, like the other two countries, but we shall see.
I’m looking forward to moving in with my host family tomorrow. I’m living with Rachel, and our dad is a painter. I am looking forward to spring break. Today is my fourteen month anniversary. Such a long time, but yet no time at all. I went to the doctor today. And I’m really tired.
So I’m going to bed. Goodnight.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Verdad, Justicia, y Libertad.
So. San Salvador. I’ve been here for about a week now, and I have to admit, adjusting to this new environment has taken me a lot longer than I had expected it would. I have really started to miss a lot of things: Israel, my life there, Abby, family, and the newest addition to my list…everything in Guatemala! On top of missing things, I also really dislike the environment in which I am living in this city. My group is in a pretty nice house in a nicer area of the city. It is near a mall and every single fast food chain that one could ever dream off. After living in Xela and Cantel, this environment is kind of a shocker, but I also completely understand the reasoning for the program putting us where we are. El Salvador is a very insecure country, and a very dangerous one as well. On average there are 10 murders every day. It’s a scary thing.
It has also been hard adjusting to having academic classes like the one I am taking on Liberation Theology. To me, learning a language is one thing, but learning heavy information such as this is a completely different ballgame. It’s one that I enjoy very much, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also a hard one to get accustomed to. The class meets three times a week for three hours at a time. We have at least 60 pages of reading a night, and every day we have an activity/meeting/lecture that is also part of the class. Our weekends consist of trips to rural parts of the country (this past one being amazing/one of the reasons I am feeling better about being here), which means that basically 24/7 I am in class/in something to do with class. It’s very tiring.
My sleep schedule is also very interesting. Because it’s not the safest area, we don’t really go out at night. This means I’m ready to go to bed by ten or 10:30 every night. And that also means that I’m waking up by 5:30 on my own accord. I kind of like it, but I don’t like being so exhausted by nine at night.
Right now is also an exciting time to be here though. The presidential elections are coming up on March 15th. There are two candidates running: one from FMLN (left) and one from ARENA (right). It is a very intense election because the ARENA party has been in power for more than twenty years/since the war, and no change has occurred/clearly the country is not successful as it is. The founder of the party, Rios Montt, was one of the generals of the army (you’ll see why this is a negative thing if you continue reading). There are extreme levels of corruption by the ARENA party when it comes to elections and money. In past elections, dead people have “voted” and people from Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua are shipped in, paid, given identity cards, and told to vote. The candidate for ARENA also owns a security agency and profits from sales of security systems, etc. This leads me to believe that if he were to win, he would have no incentive to create an environment that promotes safety and better living conditions. The FMLN is the party that the ex-guerillas united to form. Their platform is for change. I really don’t understand why they shouldn’t win (other than because of the corruption). I don’t understand why someone would vote for them after all this time with no positive changes. I guess what it comes down to is that the people on top are living well, and the people on the bottom are hardly able to live. The gap between the rich and the poor is tremendous, and the greed of the rich makes it hard for change to occur.
On some random notes though:
I had a really interesting dream. It made me think a lot about things I believe, etc. I’ve really started to question what I value and what my opinions are on the things around me/the things I’m learning. I love to challenge myself and my own thoughts and create real reasons for why I hold dear the thoughts that I do. Real truths. Anyway, the dream: Simple enough. I was on a carriage with some friends. I got off, and assumed they would do the same, but when I turned around, they weren’t with me. I decided it was alright and walked the way the where we were staying…I’m not sure where it was located/where this whole thing took place. As I approached my destination, a woman sitting on the street asked for money. I told her sorry I didn’t have any to offer her, but we chatted for a few minutes. Thinking nothing of it, I said that I had to go, and I turned around to walk. As I began to walk, I heard her make a noise, so I turned around, and she was walking toward me with her arms outstretched. She hugged me, and I don’t even know how to describe it, except it was the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever received in my life. And it lasted a long time. After the hug, I walked the rest of the way home. But I woke up still feeling those arms around me, still feeling so warm from that hug. And the homeless woman in my dream affected me more than I would ever had expected.
It made me think a lot about being afraid of people. A lot of people won’t make eye contact with homeless people when they see them on the streets. I always like to. I like to smile at them, and say hello. I think it was Shlomo Carlebach that said that he wasn’t afraid of people, he was only afraid of G-d. I always think that makes so much sense, because what happens is going to happen, and if you are afraid of people, you might miss out on a relationship that could be life-changing and inspiring. I think all people have something to share, something good about them. But then again, there are people like Archbishop Oscar Romero, who was Archbishop in El Salvador from 1977-80 when he was assassinated. It was pretty clear that his life would be in danger because he was going to be preaching at a church and the army knew that he would be there. Romero was a man of the poor, giving a voice to them and giving them hope and passion to create change. Romero was warned not to go to the church that day, but he responded that he would go, because only G-d knows what will happen. Then he was shot through the heart, and killed. So maybe he should have been afraid of people? I don’t know.
We went to the church where Romero was assassinated. It’s such a strange feeling to be in the place where you know someone was killed. I guess it’s also weird to not know that you’re in a place where someone (or lots of people were killed). I guess I wonder a lot when I’m in places like El Salvador and Guatemala if I’m standing in a place where someone was killed and forgotten. Anonymous to the world. We went into Romero’s house. It’s now a museum, and they have his bathroom and bedroom set up the same way it was when he was killed. He used Johnson & Johnson floss. It just makes him so much more real when I see that. That had his clothing that he was wearing when he was shot hanging up. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.
The saddest (if it can get more sad) part of the entire thing is his funeral. People loved Romero and came from all over the country to be at his funeral, which was to be held in the National Cathedral here in the city. In front of the cathedral is a plaza, and the entire plaza was filled with people. Before the procession into the church was completed, the army, who had been stationed on roofs of the buildings around the plaza, began to attack the people who had gathered. The were shot and bombs were thrown. People were trampled to death. And the funeral never happened.
This is not the only massacre that occurred in these plazas around the city throughout the war.
Another place we visited in the past week was the Jesuit’s home on the University of Central America’s Campus. This home has a sad history as well. In 1989, toward the end of the war, the army was getting scared and felt the need to assassinate more leaders of social movements/advocates of change. They planned to kill a priest named Ignacio Ellacuria, but were also instructed to leave no witnesses. This led to a bloody massacre of 6 priests, the priest’s cook, and her daughter. We stood in the rose garden that the husband/father of the two women that were murdered planted. He was the one that found the bodies. How horrific…I can't imagine at all. We walked through the museum that now exists beside the home in the Romero Center. It had the same humanizing effect as Romero’s home had for me. They had a pipe collection, guitar tabs, and candid photos of the men doing simple, everyday things. It makes it so much more real for me when I see these things. They also had the clothing that they were wearing that night hanging up, which showed that it wasn’t just a murder, but a killing with torture, a massacre. After the museum, I proceeded to look at an album which had photos of the aftermath of the massacre. I think those pictures might be the most appalling ones I have seen in my entire life. There were brains, intestines, and blood on the ground, the floor, and the grass. The men were dragged around, and one was left in the room of Jon Sobrino, another priest who the army wished to execute, but who wasn’t present on that night. One of the massacred men was wearing a bathrobe. This really spoke to me, because it showed me that he really was just living his life. Living one minute, and massacred the next. It’s so mind-boggling, so horrendous.
And again. The saddest part (if this can get more sad) is that the woman and her daughter (Elba and Selina) were only staying in that house for that one night. They came there because the were looking for safety. They were afraid of the army invading their neighborhood, so they ran for life, and ended up finding death. It frustrates and angers me so much that I just have no words to describe it. Elba and Selina were staying in a different part of the house, and the army didn’t know they were there. The women heard and saw the killings, and hid in their room crying. As the army was leaving through a white gate on the side of the property, they heard the crying. Because they weren’t supposed to leave any witnesses they killed them as well. Massacred them. Selina was as beautiful in death as I’m sure she was in life. The one photo that had the biggest effect on me was one of her. A close-up of her face, which was the only face that was left in-touch. And next to her eye was a drop of blood, which looked exactly like a tear drop, rolling down her cheek.
Okay. So this past weekend we split up into small groups and went to different areas of the country. I was with three other people and we were sent up north, near the border of Honduras. This was our weekend for our church accompaniment, and we were to discover if liberation theology was present in the communities in which we were assigned. I really loved my time there, and it was inspiring to see a community so organized around social change. They are currently working hard to promote and support the FMLN and are also fighting a Canadian mining company who wants to mine in the area. We spoke with a school, different women’s cooperatives, and attended a church service. It was neat to see that what we are learning in class really does apply to the real world. And I enjoyed seeing a living and breathing liberation theology, rather than just reading it in articles and books. I might write more about this experience later (pertaining to liberation theology), but I just finished a reflection paper on the topic, so I’m really not in the mood to continue to discuss it.
I will say though, my favorite parts of the weekend were as follows: We threw rocks at a huge mango tree to try to knock the ripe ones at the top off. Mangos aren’t actually ready until mid-March, so it was a bit early, but we ended up getting one REALLY good one down. The skin peeled perfectly to reveal the most luscious, orange fruit. It was the most satisfying mango I have ever eaten in my life.
The community held a community-wide dance on Saturday night to raise money for the church. It was just really interesting to see a dance in another country, and note how similar the dance was to any and all junior high/high school dances I have seen in my life. A song comes on, everyone screams with excitement, and dances in a mob in the center. Kao Fela Rea Tsoana: We (Really) Are All The Same.
Another favorite moment was our relaxing afternoon in the Sumpul River. Aside from relaxing, it was also a slightly awkward and uncomfortable experience. During the war, which lasted here for 12 years, from 1980 to 1992, there was a massacre at this river (in 1980). 600 people were slaughtered. The Salvadoran army was on one side of the river, and the Honduran army was on the other, barricading and slaughtering because they didn’t want the refugees entering their country. The mass media didn’t report on the massacre at all. And here we are, a little less than thirty years later, frolicking and playing in the same waters. It was eerie. But I guess here too, they celebrate life more than they mourn death. Their attitude is, if you have the ability to splash and play and live, you better do it, because there are many people who can’t. There are many people who had that ability stolen from them.
I have learned a lot about the war, the tragedies, the massacres. One of the most astounding things I have learned is about the United States involvement. During the war, the U.S. supported the government and army of El Salvador, because, to them, the guerillas were communists. But, little do most people know…the United States, over the course of twelve years (TWELVE YEARS) was giving 1.5 million dollars A DAY to the Salvadoran army/government. Who paid for this? Who helped fund the army that carried out these massacres? That’s right. The fine tax-paying citizens of the United States of America. Do we have any idea? No, none at all.
Oh. While I was in San Jose Las Flores (the community I went to over the weekend) there were signs up that said, “Repopulating the Area for 21 Years.” It just shows how much the army really did wipe out utterly and completely.
Pertaining to the upcoming elections, there were also fake hanging men from telephone wires. They had stuffed clothing to make it look like a person. It was dressed in an ARENA shirt, and said “Assassins” on the back with a swastika underneath it. The head was wrapped in an American flag bandana, and there were devil horns and a tail. It was kind of scary to see that kind of threatening image hanging around the outside of the town, but when you see signs nearby about repopulation, you understand where the people are coming from, and why they would be angry enough to do something such as that.
Before I conclude this little entry, I want to make a small disclaimer about the U.S. of A. It may seem like I’m bashing the poor country, but I’m not meaning to at all. I am simply trying to state facts, to let these unknown things become common knowledge. I am a supporter of America. I am proud of America. And I am thankful for the freedoms and opportunities I have had in America. However, I do think that if the American population is more educated and more aware of the events and policies that their government is participating in, we can work together to solve much of the problems in this world. If we could stop being ignorant, relying on our American privilege, and blaming all of our downfalls on Bush, we might be able to pull together and become a country whose money is where its mouth is: with democracy, freedom, and justice. NOT with exploitation of both the peoples and the environment of the world whom we have decided is a “third world”…even though it makes up approximately 2/3 of the world in which we live.
I heard an interesting thing at one of our lectures last week about NAFTA. NAFTA is like a cow. It’s head is in Canada, grazing in the pastures. It’s udders are in the United States, and they are being over-milked and exploited, and the rear is in Mexico, disposing of all its waste. I think it’s fitting. Sad, but fitting.
“It’s better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.”
And to conclude, for real:
“While fear silences tongues and paralyzes hands, faith and hope, cultivated with courage, loosens tongues to protest the outrages of history and animates hands to reshape that history.”
-Gustavo Gutierrez
It has also been hard adjusting to having academic classes like the one I am taking on Liberation Theology. To me, learning a language is one thing, but learning heavy information such as this is a completely different ballgame. It’s one that I enjoy very much, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also a hard one to get accustomed to. The class meets three times a week for three hours at a time. We have at least 60 pages of reading a night, and every day we have an activity/meeting/lecture that is also part of the class. Our weekends consist of trips to rural parts of the country (this past one being amazing/one of the reasons I am feeling better about being here), which means that basically 24/7 I am in class/in something to do with class. It’s very tiring.
My sleep schedule is also very interesting. Because it’s not the safest area, we don’t really go out at night. This means I’m ready to go to bed by ten or 10:30 every night. And that also means that I’m waking up by 5:30 on my own accord. I kind of like it, but I don’t like being so exhausted by nine at night.
Right now is also an exciting time to be here though. The presidential elections are coming up on March 15th. There are two candidates running: one from FMLN (left) and one from ARENA (right). It is a very intense election because the ARENA party has been in power for more than twenty years/since the war, and no change has occurred/clearly the country is not successful as it is. The founder of the party, Rios Montt, was one of the generals of the army (you’ll see why this is a negative thing if you continue reading). There are extreme levels of corruption by the ARENA party when it comes to elections and money. In past elections, dead people have “voted” and people from Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua are shipped in, paid, given identity cards, and told to vote. The candidate for ARENA also owns a security agency and profits from sales of security systems, etc. This leads me to believe that if he were to win, he would have no incentive to create an environment that promotes safety and better living conditions. The FMLN is the party that the ex-guerillas united to form. Their platform is for change. I really don’t understand why they shouldn’t win (other than because of the corruption). I don’t understand why someone would vote for them after all this time with no positive changes. I guess what it comes down to is that the people on top are living well, and the people on the bottom are hardly able to live. The gap between the rich and the poor is tremendous, and the greed of the rich makes it hard for change to occur.
On some random notes though:
I had a really interesting dream. It made me think a lot about things I believe, etc. I’ve really started to question what I value and what my opinions are on the things around me/the things I’m learning. I love to challenge myself and my own thoughts and create real reasons for why I hold dear the thoughts that I do. Real truths. Anyway, the dream: Simple enough. I was on a carriage with some friends. I got off, and assumed they would do the same, but when I turned around, they weren’t with me. I decided it was alright and walked the way the where we were staying…I’m not sure where it was located/where this whole thing took place. As I approached my destination, a woman sitting on the street asked for money. I told her sorry I didn’t have any to offer her, but we chatted for a few minutes. Thinking nothing of it, I said that I had to go, and I turned around to walk. As I began to walk, I heard her make a noise, so I turned around, and she was walking toward me with her arms outstretched. She hugged me, and I don’t even know how to describe it, except it was the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever received in my life. And it lasted a long time. After the hug, I walked the rest of the way home. But I woke up still feeling those arms around me, still feeling so warm from that hug. And the homeless woman in my dream affected me more than I would ever had expected.
It made me think a lot about being afraid of people. A lot of people won’t make eye contact with homeless people when they see them on the streets. I always like to. I like to smile at them, and say hello. I think it was Shlomo Carlebach that said that he wasn’t afraid of people, he was only afraid of G-d. I always think that makes so much sense, because what happens is going to happen, and if you are afraid of people, you might miss out on a relationship that could be life-changing and inspiring. I think all people have something to share, something good about them. But then again, there are people like Archbishop Oscar Romero, who was Archbishop in El Salvador from 1977-80 when he was assassinated. It was pretty clear that his life would be in danger because he was going to be preaching at a church and the army knew that he would be there. Romero was a man of the poor, giving a voice to them and giving them hope and passion to create change. Romero was warned not to go to the church that day, but he responded that he would go, because only G-d knows what will happen. Then he was shot through the heart, and killed. So maybe he should have been afraid of people? I don’t know.
We went to the church where Romero was assassinated. It’s such a strange feeling to be in the place where you know someone was killed. I guess it’s also weird to not know that you’re in a place where someone (or lots of people were killed). I guess I wonder a lot when I’m in places like El Salvador and Guatemala if I’m standing in a place where someone was killed and forgotten. Anonymous to the world. We went into Romero’s house. It’s now a museum, and they have his bathroom and bedroom set up the same way it was when he was killed. He used Johnson & Johnson floss. It just makes him so much more real when I see that. That had his clothing that he was wearing when he was shot hanging up. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.
The saddest (if it can get more sad) part of the entire thing is his funeral. People loved Romero and came from all over the country to be at his funeral, which was to be held in the National Cathedral here in the city. In front of the cathedral is a plaza, and the entire plaza was filled with people. Before the procession into the church was completed, the army, who had been stationed on roofs of the buildings around the plaza, began to attack the people who had gathered. The were shot and bombs were thrown. People were trampled to death. And the funeral never happened.
This is not the only massacre that occurred in these plazas around the city throughout the war.
Another place we visited in the past week was the Jesuit’s home on the University of Central America’s Campus. This home has a sad history as well. In 1989, toward the end of the war, the army was getting scared and felt the need to assassinate more leaders of social movements/advocates of change. They planned to kill a priest named Ignacio Ellacuria, but were also instructed to leave no witnesses. This led to a bloody massacre of 6 priests, the priest’s cook, and her daughter. We stood in the rose garden that the husband/father of the two women that were murdered planted. He was the one that found the bodies. How horrific…I can't imagine at all. We walked through the museum that now exists beside the home in the Romero Center. It had the same humanizing effect as Romero’s home had for me. They had a pipe collection, guitar tabs, and candid photos of the men doing simple, everyday things. It makes it so much more real for me when I see these things. They also had the clothing that they were wearing that night hanging up, which showed that it wasn’t just a murder, but a killing with torture, a massacre. After the museum, I proceeded to look at an album which had photos of the aftermath of the massacre. I think those pictures might be the most appalling ones I have seen in my entire life. There were brains, intestines, and blood on the ground, the floor, and the grass. The men were dragged around, and one was left in the room of Jon Sobrino, another priest who the army wished to execute, but who wasn’t present on that night. One of the massacred men was wearing a bathrobe. This really spoke to me, because it showed me that he really was just living his life. Living one minute, and massacred the next. It’s so mind-boggling, so horrendous.
And again. The saddest part (if this can get more sad) is that the woman and her daughter (Elba and Selina) were only staying in that house for that one night. They came there because the were looking for safety. They were afraid of the army invading their neighborhood, so they ran for life, and ended up finding death. It frustrates and angers me so much that I just have no words to describe it. Elba and Selina were staying in a different part of the house, and the army didn’t know they were there. The women heard and saw the killings, and hid in their room crying. As the army was leaving through a white gate on the side of the property, they heard the crying. Because they weren’t supposed to leave any witnesses they killed them as well. Massacred them. Selina was as beautiful in death as I’m sure she was in life. The one photo that had the biggest effect on me was one of her. A close-up of her face, which was the only face that was left in-touch. And next to her eye was a drop of blood, which looked exactly like a tear drop, rolling down her cheek.
Okay. So this past weekend we split up into small groups and went to different areas of the country. I was with three other people and we were sent up north, near the border of Honduras. This was our weekend for our church accompaniment, and we were to discover if liberation theology was present in the communities in which we were assigned. I really loved my time there, and it was inspiring to see a community so organized around social change. They are currently working hard to promote and support the FMLN and are also fighting a Canadian mining company who wants to mine in the area. We spoke with a school, different women’s cooperatives, and attended a church service. It was neat to see that what we are learning in class really does apply to the real world. And I enjoyed seeing a living and breathing liberation theology, rather than just reading it in articles and books. I might write more about this experience later (pertaining to liberation theology), but I just finished a reflection paper on the topic, so I’m really not in the mood to continue to discuss it.
I will say though, my favorite parts of the weekend were as follows: We threw rocks at a huge mango tree to try to knock the ripe ones at the top off. Mangos aren’t actually ready until mid-March, so it was a bit early, but we ended up getting one REALLY good one down. The skin peeled perfectly to reveal the most luscious, orange fruit. It was the most satisfying mango I have ever eaten in my life.
The community held a community-wide dance on Saturday night to raise money for the church. It was just really interesting to see a dance in another country, and note how similar the dance was to any and all junior high/high school dances I have seen in my life. A song comes on, everyone screams with excitement, and dances in a mob in the center. Kao Fela Rea Tsoana: We (Really) Are All The Same.
Another favorite moment was our relaxing afternoon in the Sumpul River. Aside from relaxing, it was also a slightly awkward and uncomfortable experience. During the war, which lasted here for 12 years, from 1980 to 1992, there was a massacre at this river (in 1980). 600 people were slaughtered. The Salvadoran army was on one side of the river, and the Honduran army was on the other, barricading and slaughtering because they didn’t want the refugees entering their country. The mass media didn’t report on the massacre at all. And here we are, a little less than thirty years later, frolicking and playing in the same waters. It was eerie. But I guess here too, they celebrate life more than they mourn death. Their attitude is, if you have the ability to splash and play and live, you better do it, because there are many people who can’t. There are many people who had that ability stolen from them.
I have learned a lot about the war, the tragedies, the massacres. One of the most astounding things I have learned is about the United States involvement. During the war, the U.S. supported the government and army of El Salvador, because, to them, the guerillas were communists. But, little do most people know…the United States, over the course of twelve years (TWELVE YEARS) was giving 1.5 million dollars A DAY to the Salvadoran army/government. Who paid for this? Who helped fund the army that carried out these massacres? That’s right. The fine tax-paying citizens of the United States of America. Do we have any idea? No, none at all.
Oh. While I was in San Jose Las Flores (the community I went to over the weekend) there were signs up that said, “Repopulating the Area for 21 Years.” It just shows how much the army really did wipe out utterly and completely.
Pertaining to the upcoming elections, there were also fake hanging men from telephone wires. They had stuffed clothing to make it look like a person. It was dressed in an ARENA shirt, and said “Assassins” on the back with a swastika underneath it. The head was wrapped in an American flag bandana, and there were devil horns and a tail. It was kind of scary to see that kind of threatening image hanging around the outside of the town, but when you see signs nearby about repopulation, you understand where the people are coming from, and why they would be angry enough to do something such as that.
Before I conclude this little entry, I want to make a small disclaimer about the U.S. of A. It may seem like I’m bashing the poor country, but I’m not meaning to at all. I am simply trying to state facts, to let these unknown things become common knowledge. I am a supporter of America. I am proud of America. And I am thankful for the freedoms and opportunities I have had in America. However, I do think that if the American population is more educated and more aware of the events and policies that their government is participating in, we can work together to solve much of the problems in this world. If we could stop being ignorant, relying on our American privilege, and blaming all of our downfalls on Bush, we might be able to pull together and become a country whose money is where its mouth is: with democracy, freedom, and justice. NOT with exploitation of both the peoples and the environment of the world whom we have decided is a “third world”…even though it makes up approximately 2/3 of the world in which we live.
I heard an interesting thing at one of our lectures last week about NAFTA. NAFTA is like a cow. It’s head is in Canada, grazing in the pastures. It’s udders are in the United States, and they are being over-milked and exploited, and the rear is in Mexico, disposing of all its waste. I think it’s fitting. Sad, but fitting.
“It’s better to die on your feet than to live on your knees.”
And to conclude, for real:
“While fear silences tongues and paralyzes hands, faith and hope, cultivated with courage, loosens tongues to protest the outrages of history and animates hands to reshape that history.”
-Gustavo Gutierrez
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