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