El Salvador, and a full 4 weeks of learning!!
Thank you Julie Benedettofor sharing this blog with us!!!

“You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love.” Galatians 5:13

                As I sit in our house in San Salvador, I am truly struck by this verse. There is so much about this that I like, and so much about this that is contradictory to what we have been learning.  El Salvador has a history rich in culture.  But this culture is soaked in tragedy, and the blood of many.  However, this culture is beginning to gain the materials to build a better future.  El Salvador, as a country, seems like a heart that is waiting for the proper transplant recipient.  But the most important part of that, is that it is a heart.

                Sometimes, I mix my metaphors, so I’m not sure if El Salvador being a heart makes sense.  I’m not even sure how to share what I’ve been learning and coming to in knowledge as my experience continues in Central America.  This time here in El Salvador has really been different.  We spend a lot of our time together with the 16 of us from the program loaded in vans to go and listen to different people speak to us, or working on homework assignments, or really just being together.  It is beautiful in a very different way than Guatemala was  because we are learning so much from each other.  But at the same time, it is different because the stories here are different.  The people here are different.  There can be no quality comparison made because comparing does no one in either country justice.

                One of the most different parts of our experience here is that we are taking a liberation theology course.  We spend our free time reading articles about the theology of liberation: understanding God as a liberator, someone who suffered for the people, on behalf of them, and alongside of them.  The idea of Jesus as human and not above; the idea of Jesus as a new hope and martyred reminder of why these people continued forward through their literal survival of the war and loss of many that they love.  This Bible verse that I included at the beginning of this entry is so intriguing to me because in this verse of Galatians, God is calling every single person in this world to be free.  And with this freedom, we are to serve one another in love.  This amazes me because if the Bible can tell people that they are called to be free, why were so many people here in El Salvador persecuted?  Why were so many people tortured?  Why were so many people hunted? Why was the government oppressing its people, forcing its indigenous people off of their land, and creating systems that  only continue repression into the future? Where was God in all of this?  Last weekend, I got to hear from people who experienced the war in very real and tangible ways tell me where they found God in all of these questions, in theirsurvival.

                I had the honor of going to a community called Santa Maria La Esperanza and staying with a beautiful family that has helped me to soften my heart and want to share my story.  They opened their home to me, but more importantly, they opened their hearts to me, and I will never be the same.  I will not soon forget them.  The purpose of our stay with this family was to do a “church accompaniment.”  We were supposed to interview the people there about what church means to them, why they believe in the ideas of liberation theology, and why their faith is important to them.  I thought to myself, “Asking these questions is going to be extremely out of place and uncomfortable. Especially in Spanish.”  Little did I know that these conversations would flow naturally and these people would open up so readily.  Between all the members of the family that I stayed with, they painted a picture for me of what their lives had been like during the war here in El Salvador, the effects that this really had on them, and the image of God that they now have based upon all of these experiences and the faith that they built because of them. I could share so many quotes of the things that they told me, of the picture of God that they painted for me, but really, I cannot do it justice.  The things that struck me most were a few quotes and a few moments.  The host mother we stayed with, when we asked her how she could possibly move on from the tragedies that happened in her life, her response was “Es la fe, nunca ha terminado.”  Which roughly translates, “It’s the faith. It has never ended.” Not the answer I expected, but better than any I would have imagined her to give.

Another moment was when my host mom was talking about how she had escaped very nearly getting caught by the soldiers who were hunting her and her family during the war.  She stopped, and tears welled in her eyes. Another member of our group who was also staying with me asked her why she was crying and she looked at both of us and she said, “Truly, sometimes I still wonder why it is that I survived.  There were so many people that did not survive. And it is hard to remember that.  Remembering them and knowing that I have the privilege of remembering.”

The last thing that I was most struck by was how welcome I was in their house.  Our host mother took care of us, and our host brother practiced his English with us and played the guitar for us and taught us about his life.  But after all of this feeling of welcome, the host mother said something so beautiful.  After we thanked her for sharing of her life and her story with us, she said, “By sharing with you, having you in our house, you are not strangers, but you are my sisters.  And even though you might not know Spanish as well as you’d like, the language of the heart is universal.”

So after all of these quotes, all of these moments, all of these speakers who have been telling us about liberation theology and poverty and tragedy, I find myself here. I find myself sitting at my computer, trying to put into words a story that is not mine, a reflection of events and emotions that I will never be able to fully understand.  I feel frustrated with what I have learned of the contradiction between traditional Catholicism and popular Catholicism when what the popular church is looking at and helping with are issues that everyone in the  church should care about.  I feel overwhelmed by the beautifully tragic stories that the family in Santa Maria La Esperanza shared with me.  I feel reminded daily of the fact that I have so much to learn and so much to strive towards. And most importantly, I am realizing that my life is something beautiful.  Being alive is something beautiful.  La habilidad para sobrevivir en un mundo corrupto es no cosa pequeña.  Es una experiencia para apreciar y vivir auténticamente. I want to live in a way that is more appreciative, I want to live in a way that embraces the freedom that God—as liberator—has given to me.  I want to humbly love as many people as I can.  I want to speak that universal language of the heart and I want to find a faith that never ends, que nunca hará terminado.

Yet maybe, the most important thing that I am learning here is that we don’t have to have all of the answers.  I don’t have to know exactly what it is that I am learning, and I don’t have to process everything that we do and everything that we hear immediately as it is happening. Really, we SHOULDN’T. We should give it the honor of time and process and love these stories as if they were our own.  Mostly, I am learning that El Salvador has “be where your feet are” written all over it, and I am trying so hard to do just that. No matter what religion or belief you come from, it is important to remember that you, too, are called to be free.

Central America is helping to liberate me."

As we left Guatemala, one of our students reflection... GRACIAS LILY!!

 As humans, we stereotype. Placing people, cultures, traditions, and even whole countries, into these tiny little boxes. Once we've done that we simply file them away in our mind, marking the box with a green check as if to say "done", "complete". This subconscious stereotyping and labeling is not wrong, because this is a function of humanity, our own internal organizer. However, the problem with this inevitable system is locking the box, prohibiting future experiences to change our analysis and broaden our understanding. When entering Guatemala I thought, "I know nothing about this country, and I have no expectations." But actually, I did. I expected to be the minority for one of the first times in my life. Knowing that being a white american woman, I would probably feel uncomfortable walking down a street where no one else looks like me, therefore getting a lot of unwanted attention. It took time for me to recognize that I came with this expectation, because I had previously locked away the idea that it was impossible to think that be being the majority made me feel more comfortable. Because that thought would be wrong, right? To say that I am more comfortable to walk down a street where I see other white american women? Because if I said that, then I'd have to recognize that women who lived in the minority would feel uncomfortable, and the US is perfect and we not longer have racism... Another box I had was of Guatemala itself. I was so eager to understand everything about the country, that starting from day 1 I began to fill the box. We traveled from the capital, to the tourist city, to another city, to the indigenous community, and then back to the tourist city and capital. When we arrived back at the tourist city, Antigua, I had a realization. You see, I was trying to figure out this complex country that I accidentally put them all in different boxes, all labeled Guatemala, but all separated. Until it hit me, my wonderful family in Xela is Guatemala, my beautiful family in Cantel is Guatemala, the street vendors, the bread shops, the markets, the expensive tourist restaurant, and every personal story I heard -- is Guatemala. It's easier to separate them, because they can all seem so different, which...they are, but that's the point. Therefore, it is not only important to be open-minded, as the phrase goes, but to re-open our minds -- our understands that we filed away prematurely. By doing this we can re-think society, societal structures, and begin to change societal mentality. Because whether we recognize it or not, we do come with expectations and previously conceived ideas that we almost forget about because they have been so ingrained in us, but they are not apart of us. We are able to change, wether that be structures of social dominance or the simple label we give to entire beautifully complex countries. Jillian Riley

Poem of reflection

Our student Drew reflects on our visit to the Jesuit University, site of the 1989 killing of six Jesuit Priests and two lay women.

The Roses Smell of Revolution.

On November 17^th, 1989, my brother was born.

A vigorous new being in this world.

On November 16^th, 1989,

700 soldiers surrounded a college campus in San Salvador.

6 priests

stirred from their sleep

At the snarling barrels of an elite force

forced onto the patio

For their radical sermons

to the people,

In answer

to the rising reflections of revolution

Of the repressed.

A people raped and murdered

Systematically

For control and cash

Visions of justice through broken glass

And economics that curl up at the corners,

Like the burnt scripture

And the fists of the fallen.

6 priests were murdered

Stripped from their beds like

Lice infested linen.

They were shot in the head.

I saw the faded photographs.

Burnt into my memory

Like they tried to do

With the evidence of their butchery.

But I saw the photographs,

Involuntarily embracing their holy earth.

Hands pressed into fists

Another deceptive ruse

to confuse the public

And manipulate them against the guerilla troops

For whom the fist is a mantra.

But it was not the guerrilla forces.

It was the government.

They were shot in the head

for this is what happens to those who think.

In a photo album,

Its cover worn from the fingertips of witnesses

A cerebellum strays from its proprietor

Grey matter splattering red

on the green courtyard.

The gardener of the college

Had asked the generous priests

To let his wife and daughter

Stay in the sanctity of the college,

For even the reaches of a civil war

Would hesitate to knock

At the doors of God.

But on Novermber 16^th,

The gardener’s loved ones were slaughtered

in cold blood.

For what they could attest to.

I saw the photograph.

The mother protecting her child in her last breath,

Covering her in a mantle of unbounded love

As the orders of greed

Mandated from men in mahogany armchairs

Rained down through the bullets of ruthless puppets

Engulfing the life of innocents

In their torrential floodwaters.

I am in the patio now,

Where the gardener dedicated a rose garden

To the memories of the priests

And his family.

The roses are red and yellow.

They take root in the blood of injustice.

These roses blossom with the hope of the Salvadoran population,

Even after over 70,000 of them

were lost in the conflict.

These roses smell of revolution,

The stinging sweetness of

Spilled blood.

I water these roses

With tears for the fallen,

for the oppressed,

And for the ignorance of the “informed”

in my own country

Who have no idea

That this couldn’t have transpired

Without their tax dollars.

On November 16^th, 1989

6 priests and 2 innocent women were assassinated.

They were shot in the head

For control and cash.

On November 17^th, 1989,

My brother was born.

The roses have thorns,

And smell of revolution.

Dustin reflects on a weekend away in El Salvador

IN ACTION

2 October 2012 · by dstiffler · Bookmark the permalink. ·

We’ve been hanging out since we got here.  We sat in on a reading session with Claudia and the young children, and have begun to battle the heat.  Sweat is soaking us.  César and Joe had told us just before we left the house that it would be hot, and they were not kidding.  Sitting together on a ledge, Charlotte, Kendahl, and I are met by the outstretched hand of Sister Elena.  We introduce ourselves, and Charlotte and I immediately notice that she did not have a bit of trouble saying my name, which has been a common challenge for many of the people I have met here in Central America.

Sunrise.

Before we know it, we are in the back seat of a truck with 76 year-old Sister Elena at the wheel, and Claudia tagging along with us in the passenger seat.  She can surely drive a stick-shift better than I will ever be able to.  We are headed out to an agricultural cooperative just one town over from Tierra Blanca, in San Marcos.  This agricultural cooperative was started by the farmers as part of the Agricultural Reform that was initiated just prior to the signing of the Peace Accords in 1992.  There are now close to 200 members, with many of them being women.  Once we meet up with the woman who is one of the administrators for the cooperative, we find ourselves walking to an abandon plantation home that served as the place of residence for the owners of the land that we are standing on when the land was organized as a hacienda.  One owner.  Much land.  Disrespected workers.  That was the life leading up to the armed conflict.  The nation was run by about 14 families at one point in time.  The economic and social inequalities were immense.  We entered the house to find it filled with bats.  A large open home that was probably very lavish in the past.  Sister Elena is enthusiastic and curious.  We soon find ourselves lead by her throughout the building; she even took it upon herself to pull back some barbed wire that would have prevented us from reaching the upstairs level.

The next day, after a relaxed morning, we headed to Puerto Triunfo with Sister Elena to see a bay where there was once thirty boats that the government had simply let sit until they sunk.  The sun is shining, there is a relatively strong breeze coming off the water, and we are seeing various peoples come and go via boat and bike.  On one side of this road to the bay, there is a pile of coconuts.  Along the ledges, there are families spending time with one another.  At the end, we find a older structure suspended above the water, and men laying in hammocks on its porch.  We also see a tanker tractor-trailer, and a small barge that has pulled up to this road.  Out of curiosity, Sister Elena approaches the older gentleman to inquire what is happening.  He tells us that he is coconut oil producer, and he is offloading oil from his barge to the tanker for it to be brought into San Salvador and used in various products.  I can see the struggle and prosperity in the lines on his face and the dirt on his hands.  He is an average Salvadoreño working to just get by.  He is proud of his job, and appreciative of our inquiry.

Sunday morning, our last morning in Tierra Blanca with Sister Elena began at 5 AM.  We walk down the dirt road from the cultural center to the home of Chambita, and the pig cooperative that he and his friends are a part of.  They are butchering a pig.  They received enough orders for pork to be able to do so.  Aside from this grusome sight, we are shown the pigs’ pens.  Some mothers are by themselves.  Others are with their piglets.  Furthermore, there are other piglets, older than one month, in their own pen since they have reached the age of being able to be away from the mother.  Charlotte, Kendhal, and I are given the opportunity to get into one of the pens and hold some of the piglets.  Which isn’t like holding a kitten or a puppy.  They like to kick and squeel if they aren’t held close to your body and cuddled.  Later, Kendahl and I are given the opportunity to help remove a strip of skin from the pig.  This is something I don’t think I’d ever have the opportunity to do in the United States.  Now, I’m guessing some of you who are reading this and know me personally, are wondering why I would participate in the butchering of a pig when I’m usually a vegetarian (more of a flexatarian) back home in the States.  Well, I support sustainable procurement of foods.  At home, I eat meat if it has been sustainably sourced and produced.  That doesn’t mean Tyson meat from the grocery store.  It’s usually a local farm that has produced the meat and has treated the animal in a humane manner, from birth to death.  This is the same way that the people of this pig cooperative handle their swine.  Each day the pigs and pens are cleaned.  The pigs are killed in a humane manner, and processed in a responsible manner, with every part of the animal being used.

Our weekend in Tierra Blanca at the Centro Cultural de Monseñor Romero was enlightening.  I felt as if I witnessed Liberation Theology in action.  From the agricultural and pig cooperative, to the manner in which Sister Elena treated those she interacted with.  Central Americans don’t use the term Liberation Theology because they don’t have to study it.  They live it.  It is their struggle to become economically indpendent and sustainable.  It is in their struggle against the government to retain their land.  It is in their faces, smiles, and conversation.  It is their fight for justice, peace, and solidarity.

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