I. Introduction
The following items on this blog are Larry Rosebaugh´s newsletters from Central America over the years. I know you will find them very interesting and inspiring.
This is a precious gift to us from Larry and also from his and my dear friend, Mary Lou Pedersen, who with great love received and sent out the newsletters. Thank you, Mary Lou!
On May 18, 2009, Larry was driving a vehicle in Guatemala with other Oblates as passengers and was killed in an armed robbery. We celebrate his life of love, service, and prophetic witness.
Larry´s autobiography, TO WISDOM THROUGH FAILURE: A JOURNEY OF COMPASSION, RESISTANCE AND HOPE, was published by Epica.
Peace,
Joe Mulligan, SJ
II. Biography of Larry Rosebaugh by Karl Meyer
(Abbreviated and edited slightly from the version first published in The Catholic Worker, August-September 2009.)
“THIS IS MY BODY GIVEN FOR YOU”
PADRE LORENZO ROSEBAUGH, OMI
May 16, 1935-May 18, 2009
By Karl Meyer
Our friend, our beloved brother in the Catholic Worker movement for over forty years, Lorenzo Rosebaugh was shot and died, May 18, 2009, on a roadway in the Ixcan region of northern Guatemala, in what appeared to be a carjacking robbery by two armed attackers, but could have been an intentional political killing. It is hard to know in Guatemala today, where economic and political conditions are so desperate that both criminal violence and political killings are common.
What more can I say about Lorenzo’s life that I did not say better in a book review about his remarkable life among the poorest of the poor in Latin America, a story told so well in his autobiography, To Wisdom Through Failure [EPICA Books, 1470 Irving St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20010; 202-332-0292; www.epica.org] Reviewed, Catholic Worker, Mar/Apr 2007. Nevertheless, the CW editors have asked me to write this remembrance, I guess, just because the review summarized Larry’s story so well.
At the core of Lorenzo’s journey, long before the reality of death, or the hope of resurrection, was the central idea of incarnation. As T.S. Eliot says, at the end of Four Quartets, ‘The hint half guessed, the gift half understood, is incarnation.” Lorenzo, probably more than anyone else I have known, sought to follow Jesus in the example of incarnation among people who were poor, and who suffered from their poverty.
BEGINNINGS
What a watershed was 1968, the year of the famous “Battle of Chicago”, outside the Democratic Party’s National Convention in August….
That summer Larry went truant from the vocation of high school teacher and plunged into the Catholic Worker movement. He came for the summer to watch over our St. Stephen’s House in Chicago during a period of crisis and transition for my family, after our neighborhood became a war zone for a while following the murder of Martin Luther King in April. In August he got permission from superiors in his order to join the dynamic Casa Maria CW community in Milwaukee, led by Michael and Annette Cullen. Mike drew him into the “Milwaukee 14” action, burning 1-A draft files taken from a Selective Service office there. This led to twenty-two months in jails and prisons, including ten months in the “hole” at Waupun State Prison for resisting the prison labor system there.
LATIN AMERICA
After three years of various travels and adventures around North America, Larry set out on a two-month pilgrimage, hitchhiking and walking south toward Recife, Brazil, where he would begin three decades of incarnation and service among the poorest of the poor in Latin America. I received annual letters from him for many of these years through the efforts of his best friend and supporter, Mary Lou Pedersen, letters full of heart-wrenching stories and experiences.
In Recife, Lorenzo lived on the streets with destitute homeless people, sometimes on the steps of the Cathedral, with the blessings and encouragement of the saintly Archbishop, Dom Helder Camara. Lorenzo scavenged for food with them, prepared soup over open fires, tended to wounds and injuries. Once, he and a Mennonite fellow-worker were arrested and jailed for allegedly stealing the cart they used to collect vegetables. They were brutally beaten by inmate stool pigeons, before being cut loose through the intercession of Dom Helder, after their absence from their usual haunts was discovered.
After six years in Brazil, a deadly bout with hepatitis caused his return to the U.S. for rest and recuperation. Back here he soon got involved in nonviolent action at the Pantex nuclear bomb assembly plant near Amarillo, Texas. This led to a year in federal prisons. While in jail in Amarillo he received a pastoral visit from Bishop Leroy Matthiesen. Shortly afterward, Bishop Matthiesen spoke out to condemn the manufacture of nuclear weapons at Pantex, urging employees to quit, and offering to help them find better employment.
Then, in the summer of 1983, Larry joined Fr. Roy Bourgeois and Linda Ventimiglia in the earliest nonviolent action protests at the School of the Americas at Fort Benning, Georgia, a series of four protest actions inside the base that culminated when they climbed a tall pine tree to broadcast recordings of sermons of the martyred Archbishop Oscar Romero over the barracks housing Salvadoran soldiers in training at the School. This led to another year in federal prisons for the three of them.
Out of jail again in 1984, Lorenzo teamed up with Kathy and Phil Dahl-Bredine to begin a mission of incarnation in Cuauhtemoc, state of Chihuahua, in Mexico. In 1986, he moved on to El Salvador, where he served four years as pastor of a parish in the town of Estanzuelas in southern El Salvador. The country was still in the throes of a savage civil war that made Catholic ministry there a dangerous and challenging vocation. Lorenzo moved on to serve another two years as pastor to a community of refugees returning from camps in Honduras to settle on land near Estanzuelas, that they named Pueblo Nuevo Gualcho. These people were viewed as dangerous guerilla sympathizers by the government and armed forces of El Salvador.
In the spring of 1992, Lorenzo left El Salvador and returned to the U.S. by bicycling through Guatemala and Mexico. In !993 he accepted pastoral assignment to a mission of the Oblates (OMI) in the Ixcan region of northern Guatemala, another area long wracked by savage civil war and government repression. He lived among poor indigenous people of this region and ministered to them for seven years, through many powerful and moving experiences that he wrote about in his annual letters to us. Then he returned to the U.S. to care for his aging mother, and had the time to write his beautiful autobiography, on which this brief summary of his fascinating life is based. I have written this mainly to persuade you to read the whole story in his own words. Near the end he says, “When I reflect on my seven years in Guatemala, I find even now my heart remains in Guatemala…after being back in the United States over two years I feel sort of like a fish out of water. Having been exposed to the poor and their living conditions in these countries, I anxiously await the day I can return to Guatemala.” And soon he did return.
On deep reflection, I feel that Lorenzo would not complain about the manner or the timing of his death. He had lived a full life, rich in loving experiences. Having chosen so generously and intentionally his path of incarnation among the poor of Latin America, for most of the last forty years, he would not refuse this cup of death by violence, that is so endemic to the tragic economic and political condition of Guatemala today. Those among you who knew this man will drain to the dregs the truth of what I say of him. Those of you who did not know him personally can still meet him in the pages of his autobiography.
If you would understand his story even better, you will also read Through a Glass Darkly, by Thomas Melville (www2.xlibris.com), a book that weaves together the history of Guatemala over the last half century, with the moving personal story of Fr. Ron Hennessey, another admirable priest who devoted the greatest part of his adult life to the poor of Central America, and especially those of the Ixcan region of northern Guatemala, where Lorenzo gave his life on May 18.
San Lorenzo Rosebaugh, priest and martyr, Presente!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
News 1 --Brazil, 1977; El Salvador, 1986
The first item you will find here is Larry Rosebaugh´s testimony about his experience in jail in Brazil in 1977.
Then follows Newsletter #1 from El Salvador in 1986 and other newsletters in the following posts.
ARREST IN BRAZIL
[The written testimony of Father Lawrence E. Rosebaugh, O.M.I., concerning his detention in a Recife Brazil Jail from the morning of May 15 through the morning of May 18, 1977.]
On the 15th of May, while we were pushing our cart on Avenida Sul in the direction of the open market in the "barrio" Afogados, we were stopped by two well-dressed men, identifying themselves as police officers. My friend, Tom Capuano, a Mennonite volunteer from the United States and I were on our way to the market to receive from a friend working there any and all vegetables and fruits otherwise discarded because partially gone bad or perhaps somewhat damaged. The hour was approximately 11:30 a.m. when the officers stopped us to demand our documents of identification.
Though our I.D.'s were in perfect order, the two men began promptly to question us: "Whose cart is this? Where is your commercial license? What do you do to earn money with this cart? What are you doing in Recife?" They didn't wait for us to answer their barrage of questioning. When we finally found an open space to speak, we tried to respond adequately.
We explained our professions to them -- I, being a Catholic priest, and Tom, a member of the Mennonite Central Committee, both of us assigned to Recife to work. We described our present work together amongst the poor on the city streets of Recife, that we ourselves had chosen to live and work -- speaking very rapidly, trying to get our whole story across to our unexpected visitors.
Each evening, we went on to say, we prepared before an open fire a large pot of vegetable soup. We extended to those who gathered to watch an invitation to join us. One quality that these people had in common, whether young or old, was that they were poor--and as we were to discover, quite hungry. Our vivid description was interrupted. "You're a priest...you both look like dirty hippies...This cart is stolen most likely and with this string of keys in your pocket and you (pointing to Tom) who are in the country only two years and speaking Portuguese better than us... a pack of lies, this whole story...the long hair, dirty clothes and the story about working with the poor... you must be communists.”
With this said, we were ordered into their car. The handcuff on my wrist was painfully tight. But there was not time to complain, as we continued to hear on our ride to the jail strong indictments against our persons. On arrival at the jail, one of the men who arrested us informed the clerk at the desk the reasons for our arrest. The clerk was surprised and asked if he really thought it so strange that a person in the country two years spoke Portuguese so well. He certainly didn't.
While we were standing and listening to this conversation, a car pulled up outside the front entrance and three or four young police officers jumped out. Pulling their pistols from their holsters and with yelps heard often from kids at play, they fired two or three rounds into the open air. While still not over this startling event, two older men entered the room, one carrying a shotgun, and without giving us any warning bumped Tom with the barrel of the gun on the side of the head and then into the ribs pushing him against the desk. In the same motion, he swung toward me and jabbed his gun into my stomach, sending me against the wall. "You'll be going to the Department of the Political and Social Order (DOPS, the department dealing with political prisoners), when you are released from here."
After registering our names with the clerk, we were ordered into the adjacent room where we were told to strip nude. While doing so, a man came from the area of the jail proper and began going through our clothes in search of items therein. On the day of our release, fifty cruzeiros from my pants and eight or nine from Tom's were missing. The man doing the searching of the clothes, we discovered, was an inmate like ourselves. Promptly we were escorted to a room where fourteen or fifteen men were being detained. The door was shut behind us. A voice spoke up telling us to sit down. We did so within the middle of the room--the only space available in the over-crowded jail cell.
A few of the men, all of whom were also nude, began asking us questions as to why we were arrested, where we lived, and what we did for a living. Within minutes of initiating this conversation, a young man, identifying himself as a spokesman for the group (by his very manner), stood before us ordering that we two stand up. Striding back and forth across the room, extending his chest and flexing his muscles, he began to kick and jab ferociously into space. Without a moment´s warning, a foot came smashing into my shoulder and another with lightning speed into the pit of Tom's stomach. With this spectacle of blows into our bodies by our specialist friend, we were both about driven through the cement floor as we received the final 'chop' to the top of our heads. "Sit down," we were told. "Take a place against the wall." The other prisoners, interestingly enough, had watched on almost as if it wasn't occurring, so bored were their expressions.
A conversation was then started between this apparent cell leader and one of his colleagues. "You like men?" we were asked. "You better, because in here everyone has their 'woman' and you better have a 'woman' by tonight. And you know what, if you don't cooperate you will be eating shit. You got that, Shit!" I was momentarily shook. Not only scared to the core by thoughts so descriptively real, my knees were still trembling from the encounter with the physical thrashing. (I had forgotten to mention that at the end of our beating, Tom and I were both ordered to strike a blow into the face of a youth, which we refused).
While still sitting with our backs against the wall and as if nothing at all had transpired, we were asked to sing an American song for the group. Somehow we pulled ourselves together enough to sing a song in English. This was followed by others (especially friends of the so-called leader) who sang with much gusto songs of their own liking. The Karate expert and illustrious cell chief then arose to initiate dancing among members of the cell. Beats and rhythms sounded from various corners and two by two men rose and so entertained the others with their high stepping--Tom and I were called forth and did not refuse.
The dancing came to a halt. Meal time was approaching. We took our positions in the line, awaiting what we would soon learn was the extent of the morning and noonday eating-- a small handful of mashed corn meal and a piece of small raw meat, the size of one's thumb. Passing down the corridor to obtain our portion of food, we realized the presence of women prisoners within the same confines, but in separate rooms. Nude, they yelled cat calls at us only to provoke the situation. Later in the day, they would shower in the corridor in full view of the male admirers.
But as we returned from the line with the corn mash and observed how the men picked the last crumb from the floor, we also witnessed another excruciating happening. A young man was told to go to his knees, and as a dog, ordered to lick some corn mash from the floor. Tom and I had now witnessed this hierarchical line of authority existing in the prison...the power that lay in the hands of this young man and extended at will to whomever he chose. Outside in the corridor again when lining up for showers, the so-called prison guard, a prisoner himself, our young leader and the deputy ruling it over the men [note: several lines of this text are missing - a blank space on the sheet.]
When in the cell again, I was informed by our "commander" that he had been in this jail well over a year--impossible! Men here twenty and thirty days were showing signs of dehydration and hunger. But as I pondered, it became rather clear that our 'prison guard' and the keepers within the cell were not ordinary prisoners. Getting extra food and water passed into them, perhaps they could survive. And further, it entered my mind, that these special collaborators with the front office, could they by chance be officials in disguise?
The evening of the first day, we were placed in a cell at the end of the corridor. There, 37 men stood while others splashed water on the floor. After this partial cleaning of the cell, we sat down as questions as to who we were and what we had done to deserve jail began once again. Men were dozing off. The heat was stifling. Bodies were literally jammed in like sardines. One person was obliged to curl his body around the hole in the squared off toilet seat, atrocious odors exuding. I found myself standing a good part of the night as the heat close to the floor was more than I could bear.
Fist fights broke out sporadically, as someone's hand landed on another's face, or someone crowded too much space from that of their neighbor. In the morning a man very well built was brought into the cell. His body was covered with what appeared to be wounds inflicted by a coarse rope or bits of metal. His conversation led us to believe that this brutality was received at the hands of the police.
We asked to contact the American Consul on three different occasions while imprisoned -- Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings. All three times we were denied this right.
But on Wednesday, after asking to contact the American Consul, Tom was shouted back to his cell in words equivalent to "you S.O.B." We then figured we might well be stranded in this "inferno" (as one cellmate described the jail) for a long time to come.
However, while sitting staring at the four walls, our names came blurting out from nowhere. We filed out of the cell, but within twenty minutes were back to the same desk where our clothes were issued to us. Not a word indicated what was happening to us. I think that Tom and I were both sent into a state of semi-shock as we approached the area where the clerk was seated. For before our eyes an indescribable scene was taking place. A youth was standing with the palms of his hands extended. A short but very heavy built officer with a thick board, 2 feet long by a foot and a half wide, was coming down with all the force of this plank on the young man's hands. Six, seven, eight or more times. Each time a scream echoed throughout the jail. Another officer standing close by, dark sunglasses and all, moved in and with explosive power bashed a metal waste can to the side of the youth's face. We dressed, signed a book stating our release, and were told to go.
A final word. The brutality most difficult to understand is that practiced by the police -- officers proclaiming themselves defenders of justice. It is just impossible to comprehend how these same persons are able to torture, to wound and to treat their fellow human beings in a manner criminal and not to say, unheard of. Passing these few days in jail, I feel a certain gratitude to be able to share this part of reality existing within our midst. We were obliged to feel in our own skin the violence and humiliation which the poor experience daily.
For all those brothers and sisters suffering in jails and prisons, we shout for conditions more just and worthy of human beings, conditions free of hunger, of torture and all inhumane treatment in jails and prisons. We hope that our cries resound to the ears of those who have the authority and power to change those conditions, to the ears of those who have the duty to promote justice and human rights in the name of the Brazilian people.
*************************************
Newsletter #1
El Salvador
Fall, 1986
“Principally, I came here to learn from the people. It takes time to gain the confidence of the people.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #1
El Salvador
Fall, 1986
Dear Friends:
By necessity, this will be a form letter, with hopes of reaching as many of you as possible on a regular basis.
I arrived here in El Salvador in the middle of July of this year. I had felt an inclination toward Central America for some time, not knowing where it might lead.
A year ago this past June, I accompanied a group of people from the diocese of Las Cruces, New Mexico to Cuauhtemoc, Mexico in the diocese of Chihuahua. It was an attempt on the part of parishioners from Silver City, New Mexico to accompany people in the barrio Emiliano Zapata in their daily life and struggle -- to listen, to learn, to be a presence amongst the people there.
For me it was an opportunity to learn Spanish while at the same time acquainting myself with the life, culture and spirituality of the people in Cuauhtemoc. The church was much alive in this diocese. It presented to me the chance to work along with the people on a day to day basis making adobe bricks and building houses of adobe plus participating in small groups of people applying the gospel to our daily lives.
I include this phase of my life in this letter to you, as I am now seeing for myself the importance this work and life in Mexico is playing in my establishing roots with the people in El Salvador.
CRISPAZ is an ecumenical organization that I heard of through friends from Tabor House in San Antonio. My final decision to come to El Salvador was influenced greatly by my sense of trust and friendship with the people of Tabor and their encouragement in this direction.
They themselves were directly involved in getting CRISPAZ off the ground. CRISPAZ, similar in some ways to Witness For Peace in Nicaragua, offers to volunteers the chance to come to El Salvador on a short term basis or over a period of 6 months or more. Volunteers of CRISPAZ are given the opportunity to work in refugee camps which are set up under the auspices of the Catholic Archdiocese of San Salvador.
Volunteers up to now have been lay people with various skills and backgrounds. I came with the title of priest but as a volunteer of CRISPAZ. When I arrived a priest from Spain took me under his wing, helping to make my getting settled a bit easier and cutting the red-tape surrounding religious from the U.S. -- a little less hassle.
To be a nurse, a teacher or one skilled in land techniques is one thing. To be a priest, and gringo at that, working with the displaced in the camps seemed to present other problems and more red tape.
So it was finally decided that I speak with a bishop who has a diocese about 2 1/2 hours from San Salvador and who is considered pretty open to priests from the U.S. The need for clergy and religious is great everywhere in El Salvador
The idea I got from Padre Pedro, my priest friend from Spain, was to accept a parish from the bishop in order to gain his confidence and slowly move in to the area I felt most vital. But first establish a base from which to work.
So that's what happened. I accepted a parish in the diocese of Santiago de Maria, in the department of Usulutan. It is a totally rural setting. The work of the 'Campo' is the life of the people. I'm not the pastor type, but in this setting I've chosen to work in the 'campo' as often as possible and to minister to campesinos living in various 'cantones' or small villages within the boundaries of the parish of San Antonio.
It will take time before I can endure the hot sun and the work in the campo as the people themselves do. But it is truly a blessing and a great privilege to work alongside a people who themselves are truly rooted in a faith and simplicity that has allowed them to sustain themselves over this many war-torn years.
I didn't begin this letter with a tragic story of the war or situation of death and torture, still quite evident and seemingly without an end in sight.
Principally, I came here to learn from the people. It takes time to gain the confidence of the people. Surviving, death, separation, disappearances of family or friends is interwoven into their history and thru their bloodstream. How could such tragedy and deep rooted anguish be shared by one who comes from a land that imposes this grief - with one who to them, life is of material things and comfort.
I feel gifted to learn the life of the campo - even though slowly, to walk the same countryside -- grueling in itself, the unbelievable routes up the hillside, travelled by young girls, their mothers, and grandmothers carrying huge containers of water from the river below, or loads of washed clothing on their heads. The men and boys with loads of corn and kindling wood from the fields. When the sound of artillery fire or the explosion of bombs echo in the distance -- the conversation might unravel a story from my friends, a history of how the war has forced them to come to this part of El Salvador to live.
The government armed forces have taken over the town of Estanzuellos where I live. The church doors open to the plaza where young men in uniform sit armed with rifles in hand. Yes, I have heard some of their story. I consider it a privilege when a neighbor feels free to share some of the reality with me.
For now I must depend on my own incentive. The Jesuits from the university in San Salvador publish excellent material summarizing the weekly occurrences from the conflict area of the country. More analytical and researched articles too are published that help understand why things are the way they are... Why the war continues when those of both sides proclaim an end to the war is their goal.
It seems in fact that a military victory is President Duarte's goal. And it is clear that he moves in accord with the decrees of the Reagan administration which are clearly a military victory for the government forces. To keep the war going keeps the people in the state of misery and the government dependent upon the U.S. And this is what the Reagan party is all about throughout Central America.
Morazan, Chalatenango, Guazapo, San Antonio Abad, a barrio on the outskirts of San Salvador, are areas where the people have known the worst of persecution. Losing their land, their houses and their lives, the people of San Antonio Abad became conscious of the demands of Medellin during the 70's and over 400 people have disappeared or been killed in this barrio. But their spirit lives on and for this reason persons alive with the spirit of the Gospels come forth as catechists to the children, 'animators' among the adults and youth -- and so the 'pueblo de Dios', the living church, continues to grow in love and numbers.
However, as recently as the Spring of this year, a new purge of persecution has hit this community. Many youth have been arrested under the guise of being delinquents -- tortured, incarcerated while sending fear and tension into the lives of all concerned.
There is no way to calculate the level of violence, degradation and fear that penetrates the minds and hearts of those who opt for war -- of those who have been schooled in universities where power and wealth and domination are priorities to be attained with the skills acquired there.
I don't know where things will go for me from here. I sit today in San Salvador writing these last lines to you. In a few hours I will be petitioning immigration to give me the status of 'residency' here. If refused, no telling how much longer my stay in El Salvador will be.
I hope to be able to write a shorter letter each month or so to you depicting the life of one person or one family and what life on a daily basis is for them.
I won't go on any more. For now I can be written to by the address in San Antonio which has forwarded this letter to you. Let's keep each other in prayer as we try to be faithful to our present calling whatever we see that to be.
til later,
Larry Rosebaugh
Then follows Newsletter #1 from El Salvador in 1986 and other newsletters in the following posts.
ARREST IN BRAZIL
[The written testimony of Father Lawrence E. Rosebaugh, O.M.I., concerning his detention in a Recife Brazil Jail from the morning of May 15 through the morning of May 18, 1977.]
On the 15th of May, while we were pushing our cart on Avenida Sul in the direction of the open market in the "barrio" Afogados, we were stopped by two well-dressed men, identifying themselves as police officers. My friend, Tom Capuano, a Mennonite volunteer from the United States and I were on our way to the market to receive from a friend working there any and all vegetables and fruits otherwise discarded because partially gone bad or perhaps somewhat damaged. The hour was approximately 11:30 a.m. when the officers stopped us to demand our documents of identification.
Though our I.D.'s were in perfect order, the two men began promptly to question us: "Whose cart is this? Where is your commercial license? What do you do to earn money with this cart? What are you doing in Recife?" They didn't wait for us to answer their barrage of questioning. When we finally found an open space to speak, we tried to respond adequately.
We explained our professions to them -- I, being a Catholic priest, and Tom, a member of the Mennonite Central Committee, both of us assigned to Recife to work. We described our present work together amongst the poor on the city streets of Recife, that we ourselves had chosen to live and work -- speaking very rapidly, trying to get our whole story across to our unexpected visitors.
Each evening, we went on to say, we prepared before an open fire a large pot of vegetable soup. We extended to those who gathered to watch an invitation to join us. One quality that these people had in common, whether young or old, was that they were poor--and as we were to discover, quite hungry. Our vivid description was interrupted. "You're a priest...you both look like dirty hippies...This cart is stolen most likely and with this string of keys in your pocket and you (pointing to Tom) who are in the country only two years and speaking Portuguese better than us... a pack of lies, this whole story...the long hair, dirty clothes and the story about working with the poor... you must be communists.”
With this said, we were ordered into their car. The handcuff on my wrist was painfully tight. But there was not time to complain, as we continued to hear on our ride to the jail strong indictments against our persons. On arrival at the jail, one of the men who arrested us informed the clerk at the desk the reasons for our arrest. The clerk was surprised and asked if he really thought it so strange that a person in the country two years spoke Portuguese so well. He certainly didn't.
While we were standing and listening to this conversation, a car pulled up outside the front entrance and three or four young police officers jumped out. Pulling their pistols from their holsters and with yelps heard often from kids at play, they fired two or three rounds into the open air. While still not over this startling event, two older men entered the room, one carrying a shotgun, and without giving us any warning bumped Tom with the barrel of the gun on the side of the head and then into the ribs pushing him against the desk. In the same motion, he swung toward me and jabbed his gun into my stomach, sending me against the wall. "You'll be going to the Department of the Political and Social Order (DOPS, the department dealing with political prisoners), when you are released from here."
After registering our names with the clerk, we were ordered into the adjacent room where we were told to strip nude. While doing so, a man came from the area of the jail proper and began going through our clothes in search of items therein. On the day of our release, fifty cruzeiros from my pants and eight or nine from Tom's were missing. The man doing the searching of the clothes, we discovered, was an inmate like ourselves. Promptly we were escorted to a room where fourteen or fifteen men were being detained. The door was shut behind us. A voice spoke up telling us to sit down. We did so within the middle of the room--the only space available in the over-crowded jail cell.
A few of the men, all of whom were also nude, began asking us questions as to why we were arrested, where we lived, and what we did for a living. Within minutes of initiating this conversation, a young man, identifying himself as a spokesman for the group (by his very manner), stood before us ordering that we two stand up. Striding back and forth across the room, extending his chest and flexing his muscles, he began to kick and jab ferociously into space. Without a moment´s warning, a foot came smashing into my shoulder and another with lightning speed into the pit of Tom's stomach. With this spectacle of blows into our bodies by our specialist friend, we were both about driven through the cement floor as we received the final 'chop' to the top of our heads. "Sit down," we were told. "Take a place against the wall." The other prisoners, interestingly enough, had watched on almost as if it wasn't occurring, so bored were their expressions.
A conversation was then started between this apparent cell leader and one of his colleagues. "You like men?" we were asked. "You better, because in here everyone has their 'woman' and you better have a 'woman' by tonight. And you know what, if you don't cooperate you will be eating shit. You got that, Shit!" I was momentarily shook. Not only scared to the core by thoughts so descriptively real, my knees were still trembling from the encounter with the physical thrashing. (I had forgotten to mention that at the end of our beating, Tom and I were both ordered to strike a blow into the face of a youth, which we refused).
While still sitting with our backs against the wall and as if nothing at all had transpired, we were asked to sing an American song for the group. Somehow we pulled ourselves together enough to sing a song in English. This was followed by others (especially friends of the so-called leader) who sang with much gusto songs of their own liking. The Karate expert and illustrious cell chief then arose to initiate dancing among members of the cell. Beats and rhythms sounded from various corners and two by two men rose and so entertained the others with their high stepping--Tom and I were called forth and did not refuse.
The dancing came to a halt. Meal time was approaching. We took our positions in the line, awaiting what we would soon learn was the extent of the morning and noonday eating-- a small handful of mashed corn meal and a piece of small raw meat, the size of one's thumb. Passing down the corridor to obtain our portion of food, we realized the presence of women prisoners within the same confines, but in separate rooms. Nude, they yelled cat calls at us only to provoke the situation. Later in the day, they would shower in the corridor in full view of the male admirers.
But as we returned from the line with the corn mash and observed how the men picked the last crumb from the floor, we also witnessed another excruciating happening. A young man was told to go to his knees, and as a dog, ordered to lick some corn mash from the floor. Tom and I had now witnessed this hierarchical line of authority existing in the prison...the power that lay in the hands of this young man and extended at will to whomever he chose. Outside in the corridor again when lining up for showers, the so-called prison guard, a prisoner himself, our young leader and the deputy ruling it over the men [note: several lines of this text are missing - a blank space on the sheet.]
When in the cell again, I was informed by our "commander" that he had been in this jail well over a year--impossible! Men here twenty and thirty days were showing signs of dehydration and hunger. But as I pondered, it became rather clear that our 'prison guard' and the keepers within the cell were not ordinary prisoners. Getting extra food and water passed into them, perhaps they could survive. And further, it entered my mind, that these special collaborators with the front office, could they by chance be officials in disguise?
The evening of the first day, we were placed in a cell at the end of the corridor. There, 37 men stood while others splashed water on the floor. After this partial cleaning of the cell, we sat down as questions as to who we were and what we had done to deserve jail began once again. Men were dozing off. The heat was stifling. Bodies were literally jammed in like sardines. One person was obliged to curl his body around the hole in the squared off toilet seat, atrocious odors exuding. I found myself standing a good part of the night as the heat close to the floor was more than I could bear.
Fist fights broke out sporadically, as someone's hand landed on another's face, or someone crowded too much space from that of their neighbor. In the morning a man very well built was brought into the cell. His body was covered with what appeared to be wounds inflicted by a coarse rope or bits of metal. His conversation led us to believe that this brutality was received at the hands of the police.
We asked to contact the American Consul on three different occasions while imprisoned -- Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings. All three times we were denied this right.
But on Wednesday, after asking to contact the American Consul, Tom was shouted back to his cell in words equivalent to "you S.O.B." We then figured we might well be stranded in this "inferno" (as one cellmate described the jail) for a long time to come.
However, while sitting staring at the four walls, our names came blurting out from nowhere. We filed out of the cell, but within twenty minutes were back to the same desk where our clothes were issued to us. Not a word indicated what was happening to us. I think that Tom and I were both sent into a state of semi-shock as we approached the area where the clerk was seated. For before our eyes an indescribable scene was taking place. A youth was standing with the palms of his hands extended. A short but very heavy built officer with a thick board, 2 feet long by a foot and a half wide, was coming down with all the force of this plank on the young man's hands. Six, seven, eight or more times. Each time a scream echoed throughout the jail. Another officer standing close by, dark sunglasses and all, moved in and with explosive power bashed a metal waste can to the side of the youth's face. We dressed, signed a book stating our release, and were told to go.
A final word. The brutality most difficult to understand is that practiced by the police -- officers proclaiming themselves defenders of justice. It is just impossible to comprehend how these same persons are able to torture, to wound and to treat their fellow human beings in a manner criminal and not to say, unheard of. Passing these few days in jail, I feel a certain gratitude to be able to share this part of reality existing within our midst. We were obliged to feel in our own skin the violence and humiliation which the poor experience daily.
For all those brothers and sisters suffering in jails and prisons, we shout for conditions more just and worthy of human beings, conditions free of hunger, of torture and all inhumane treatment in jails and prisons. We hope that our cries resound to the ears of those who have the authority and power to change those conditions, to the ears of those who have the duty to promote justice and human rights in the name of the Brazilian people.
*************************************
Newsletter #1
El Salvador
Fall, 1986
“Principally, I came here to learn from the people. It takes time to gain the confidence of the people.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #1
El Salvador
Fall, 1986
Dear Friends:
By necessity, this will be a form letter, with hopes of reaching as many of you as possible on a regular basis.
I arrived here in El Salvador in the middle of July of this year. I had felt an inclination toward Central America for some time, not knowing where it might lead.
A year ago this past June, I accompanied a group of people from the diocese of Las Cruces, New Mexico to Cuauhtemoc, Mexico in the diocese of Chihuahua. It was an attempt on the part of parishioners from Silver City, New Mexico to accompany people in the barrio Emiliano Zapata in their daily life and struggle -- to listen, to learn, to be a presence amongst the people there.
For me it was an opportunity to learn Spanish while at the same time acquainting myself with the life, culture and spirituality of the people in Cuauhtemoc. The church was much alive in this diocese. It presented to me the chance to work along with the people on a day to day basis making adobe bricks and building houses of adobe plus participating in small groups of people applying the gospel to our daily lives.
I include this phase of my life in this letter to you, as I am now seeing for myself the importance this work and life in Mexico is playing in my establishing roots with the people in El Salvador.
CRISPAZ is an ecumenical organization that I heard of through friends from Tabor House in San Antonio. My final decision to come to El Salvador was influenced greatly by my sense of trust and friendship with the people of Tabor and their encouragement in this direction.
They themselves were directly involved in getting CRISPAZ off the ground. CRISPAZ, similar in some ways to Witness For Peace in Nicaragua, offers to volunteers the chance to come to El Salvador on a short term basis or over a period of 6 months or more. Volunteers of CRISPAZ are given the opportunity to work in refugee camps which are set up under the auspices of the Catholic Archdiocese of San Salvador.
Volunteers up to now have been lay people with various skills and backgrounds. I came with the title of priest but as a volunteer of CRISPAZ. When I arrived a priest from Spain took me under his wing, helping to make my getting settled a bit easier and cutting the red-tape surrounding religious from the U.S. -- a little less hassle.
To be a nurse, a teacher or one skilled in land techniques is one thing. To be a priest, and gringo at that, working with the displaced in the camps seemed to present other problems and more red tape.
So it was finally decided that I speak with a bishop who has a diocese about 2 1/2 hours from San Salvador and who is considered pretty open to priests from the U.S. The need for clergy and religious is great everywhere in El Salvador
The idea I got from Padre Pedro, my priest friend from Spain, was to accept a parish from the bishop in order to gain his confidence and slowly move in to the area I felt most vital. But first establish a base from which to work.
So that's what happened. I accepted a parish in the diocese of Santiago de Maria, in the department of Usulutan. It is a totally rural setting. The work of the 'Campo' is the life of the people. I'm not the pastor type, but in this setting I've chosen to work in the 'campo' as often as possible and to minister to campesinos living in various 'cantones' or small villages within the boundaries of the parish of San Antonio.
It will take time before I can endure the hot sun and the work in the campo as the people themselves do. But it is truly a blessing and a great privilege to work alongside a people who themselves are truly rooted in a faith and simplicity that has allowed them to sustain themselves over this many war-torn years.
I didn't begin this letter with a tragic story of the war or situation of death and torture, still quite evident and seemingly without an end in sight.
Principally, I came here to learn from the people. It takes time to gain the confidence of the people. Surviving, death, separation, disappearances of family or friends is interwoven into their history and thru their bloodstream. How could such tragedy and deep rooted anguish be shared by one who comes from a land that imposes this grief - with one who to them, life is of material things and comfort.
I feel gifted to learn the life of the campo - even though slowly, to walk the same countryside -- grueling in itself, the unbelievable routes up the hillside, travelled by young girls, their mothers, and grandmothers carrying huge containers of water from the river below, or loads of washed clothing on their heads. The men and boys with loads of corn and kindling wood from the fields. When the sound of artillery fire or the explosion of bombs echo in the distance -- the conversation might unravel a story from my friends, a history of how the war has forced them to come to this part of El Salvador to live.
The government armed forces have taken over the town of Estanzuellos where I live. The church doors open to the plaza where young men in uniform sit armed with rifles in hand. Yes, I have heard some of their story. I consider it a privilege when a neighbor feels free to share some of the reality with me.
For now I must depend on my own incentive. The Jesuits from the university in San Salvador publish excellent material summarizing the weekly occurrences from the conflict area of the country. More analytical and researched articles too are published that help understand why things are the way they are... Why the war continues when those of both sides proclaim an end to the war is their goal.
It seems in fact that a military victory is President Duarte's goal. And it is clear that he moves in accord with the decrees of the Reagan administration which are clearly a military victory for the government forces. To keep the war going keeps the people in the state of misery and the government dependent upon the U.S. And this is what the Reagan party is all about throughout Central America.
Morazan, Chalatenango, Guazapo, San Antonio Abad, a barrio on the outskirts of San Salvador, are areas where the people have known the worst of persecution. Losing their land, their houses and their lives, the people of San Antonio Abad became conscious of the demands of Medellin during the 70's and over 400 people have disappeared or been killed in this barrio. But their spirit lives on and for this reason persons alive with the spirit of the Gospels come forth as catechists to the children, 'animators' among the adults and youth -- and so the 'pueblo de Dios', the living church, continues to grow in love and numbers.
However, as recently as the Spring of this year, a new purge of persecution has hit this community. Many youth have been arrested under the guise of being delinquents -- tortured, incarcerated while sending fear and tension into the lives of all concerned.
There is no way to calculate the level of violence, degradation and fear that penetrates the minds and hearts of those who opt for war -- of those who have been schooled in universities where power and wealth and domination are priorities to be attained with the skills acquired there.
I don't know where things will go for me from here. I sit today in San Salvador writing these last lines to you. In a few hours I will be petitioning immigration to give me the status of 'residency' here. If refused, no telling how much longer my stay in El Salvador will be.
I hope to be able to write a shorter letter each month or so to you depicting the life of one person or one family and what life on a daily basis is for them.
I won't go on any more. For now I can be written to by the address in San Antonio which has forwarded this letter to you. Let's keep each other in prayer as we try to be faithful to our present calling whatever we see that to be.
til later,
Larry Rosebaugh
News 2 -- Advent, 1986
“That the war continues is a fact. That the goal of the Government and Armed Forces is to gain a military victory is bitter news. Bitter even more so when it is known that it is the U.S. that influences and controls all decisions made here in El Salvador.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
NEWSLETTER # 2....FROM LARRY ROSEBAUGH/EL SALVADOR....
FRIENDS:
SHOULD YOU WRITE TO LARRY, PLEASE BE AWARE THAT HIS MAIL IS POSSIBLY MONITORED. DIRECT REFERENCE TO WHAT HE HAS SHARED WITH US COULD PUT HIM AND OTHERS IN JEOPARDY. mlp
Advent, 1986
Dear Friends:
In my first letter to you I took some time explaining how I got to El Salvador and how my past year in Mexico helped prepare the way for the work to be done here.
Many in positions of authority have a way of devaluating the life and person of the poor -- characterizing the oppressed as lazy, criminal, without intellectual capacity or the desire to work.
We who live among the 'marginalized' must be the voice for our friends whose right to express themselves is denied them.
If I can share the portion of the life of friends here, these letters to you will have fulfilled their purpose.
Benjamin is a man - 57 years of age – whose hair is black, without a sign of graying. He has worked in the campo since he was seven. This is more the custom than the exception as the knowledge of the land and how to tend it is one's means of survival.
The campesino family rises at 4 in the morning or earlier; the fire is started and coffee readied. Tortillas are put over the hot coals and tamales containing corn and sugar or a sample of meat are also on hand. And finally, breakfast is served.
While the food is being prepared Benjamin is busy sharpening what to us appears to be a hand sickle. In Spanish they are called 'cumas' and without the cuma and machete, the campesino would be lost.
The land that Benjamin and other campesinos work is on the hillside, very rocky and generally dry. Only one who has been born on this land could till it with any measure of success. It is here that the 'cuma' is used as a spade, a hoe, a sickle, a rake - all in one. Within three weeks after sowing the seeds, the hillside will be green with sturdy small stalks of corn.
As Christmas draws near the majority of campesinos begin to harvest the coffee crop. Early each morning trucks come by to take the people 30 or 40 kilometers to work. Entire families of men, womyn and children often work the harvest together. Though the pay is minimal it provides funds for food, school needs and other necessities.
Benjamin is mature and his faith unfaltering. Years ago he began to offer his assistance to the parish priest. As handyman, his skills and visions reach out in all directions. He was here the morning I arrived, preparing the altar, adjusting the microphone and calling the people far and near to participate in the liturgy.
We see a sort of mutual commitment to each other. In the mornings I try to work in the fields with him and he keeps close by to respond to the needs of the parish, which are many.
Benjamin, as other campesinos, is a person with tremendous energy and physical strength. His disciplined life has hued him into a person of faith and vision accompanied by an endurance to live with a multitude of obstacles and hardships.
So together we work in the fields, visit the villages close by and little by little share ideas with the people.
Our day usually ends with a decade of the rosary together and spontaneous prayers for the community, our families and friends both near and distant.
The news received each day is a burden often harder to swallow than the climb up the hillside or the hot sun of the campo.
That the war continues is a fact. That the goal of the Government and Armed Forces is to gain a military victory is bitter news. Bitter even more so when it is known that it is the U.S. that influences and controls all decisions made here in El Salvador.
To reach this goal of military victory while evading serious efforts to dialogue, the government has backed a new approach by the Armed Forces to win over the people, called: "United To Rebuild.” During the last two months we have watched this program develop among the people of this small city. It is a well planned program with hopes to carry it out extensively across the country.
The Government Armed Forces have had control of our town for over a year. A hundred or so soldiers live here and "guard" the city on all sides.
A few weeks ago a battalion arrived from the conflict area (war zones) of Morazan. About 250 soldiers camped out in the park across from the church, with their heavy artillery and all. Unknown to the people their unpublished goal was to initiate this program of "United To Rebuild.” The Colonel of the battalion called the entire population to an open demonstration. Each family was visited by two soldiers extending a personal invitation to attend this open meeting. Such an invitation necessitates a positive response.
So the park (plaza) was filled with over 400 people attending. Interestingly enough, we at the parish were not invited.
The Colonel opened and closed the meeting - over 2‑1/2 hours in all: "We are here to celebrate the birth of Christ which is a family celebration. We represent the forces that are working for peace and the human rights of all Salvadorans.
"We closed down the house of prostitution last night as it is a scandal and source of defamation in your community.
"For the good of all concerned, we will begin to arrest those here and in the countryside who are subversives and attached to the communist plot to destroy and rule in El Salvador.
"We want to work with the 'padres' and the Church, as I too am a Catholic and devout Christian."
At the very time the Colonel was speaking these eloquent words, arrests were in process. Three men from this town and 12 campesinos from the nearby villages were arrested. Enough arrests to put the people on edge and attain the attention and cooperation desired.
In the last three weeks, programs to repair the roads and pick up the garbage have begun. First the men, then the youth, and most recently the womyn who work in the market. The youth have been organized into their own organization promoting a dance to crown a "queen" on Christmas eve.
The children have been given several parties and the soldiers have handed out candy during the holidays, while the war goes on - while homes are destroyed and lives lost by the bombing of villages in Chalatenango and Morazan. Promoting peace, preaching the Gospel, and seeking a military victory all in the same breath. Quite a Christmas package.
What does this say to us? We are walking a delicate line. What we say and do must take into account the effects it will have on our Salvadoran sisters and brothers. At the same time this public expression of control over mind and body deepens our commitment; though it may mean a toned down outer approach, the intense inner search continues.
It is the 27th of December as I write these words. I write them with joy in my heart. Fifty children and youth received First Communion Christmas day and united with their families drank hot chocolate and ate freshly baked sweet bread.
Where does this find Benjamin, to whom I dedicate this newsletter? His heart and soul are very close to his people and those suffering most. He understands what is happening. He was indirectly asked not to ring the church bells at 5 in the morning as it wakens the troops sleeping in the Plaza. Until the message is delivered in person, I will continue to resume this Christian duty. (HA)
Hopefully, we can get back to the fields on a regular basis. Benjamin's heart is always in the campo, and work there is urgent.
This is enough for now. Again, many thanks for writing. We are for sure close in spirit. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Larry Rosebaugh
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
NEWSLETTER # 2....FROM LARRY ROSEBAUGH/EL SALVADOR....
FRIENDS:
SHOULD YOU WRITE TO LARRY, PLEASE BE AWARE THAT HIS MAIL IS POSSIBLY MONITORED. DIRECT REFERENCE TO WHAT HE HAS SHARED WITH US COULD PUT HIM AND OTHERS IN JEOPARDY. mlp
Advent, 1986
Dear Friends:
In my first letter to you I took some time explaining how I got to El Salvador and how my past year in Mexico helped prepare the way for the work to be done here.
Many in positions of authority have a way of devaluating the life and person of the poor -- characterizing the oppressed as lazy, criminal, without intellectual capacity or the desire to work.
We who live among the 'marginalized' must be the voice for our friends whose right to express themselves is denied them.
If I can share the portion of the life of friends here, these letters to you will have fulfilled their purpose.
Benjamin is a man - 57 years of age – whose hair is black, without a sign of graying. He has worked in the campo since he was seven. This is more the custom than the exception as the knowledge of the land and how to tend it is one's means of survival.
The campesino family rises at 4 in the morning or earlier; the fire is started and coffee readied. Tortillas are put over the hot coals and tamales containing corn and sugar or a sample of meat are also on hand. And finally, breakfast is served.
While the food is being prepared Benjamin is busy sharpening what to us appears to be a hand sickle. In Spanish they are called 'cumas' and without the cuma and machete, the campesino would be lost.
The land that Benjamin and other campesinos work is on the hillside, very rocky and generally dry. Only one who has been born on this land could till it with any measure of success. It is here that the 'cuma' is used as a spade, a hoe, a sickle, a rake - all in one. Within three weeks after sowing the seeds, the hillside will be green with sturdy small stalks of corn.
As Christmas draws near the majority of campesinos begin to harvest the coffee crop. Early each morning trucks come by to take the people 30 or 40 kilometers to work. Entire families of men, womyn and children often work the harvest together. Though the pay is minimal it provides funds for food, school needs and other necessities.
Benjamin is mature and his faith unfaltering. Years ago he began to offer his assistance to the parish priest. As handyman, his skills and visions reach out in all directions. He was here the morning I arrived, preparing the altar, adjusting the microphone and calling the people far and near to participate in the liturgy.
We see a sort of mutual commitment to each other. In the mornings I try to work in the fields with him and he keeps close by to respond to the needs of the parish, which are many.
Benjamin, as other campesinos, is a person with tremendous energy and physical strength. His disciplined life has hued him into a person of faith and vision accompanied by an endurance to live with a multitude of obstacles and hardships.
So together we work in the fields, visit the villages close by and little by little share ideas with the people.
Our day usually ends with a decade of the rosary together and spontaneous prayers for the community, our families and friends both near and distant.
The news received each day is a burden often harder to swallow than the climb up the hillside or the hot sun of the campo.
That the war continues is a fact. That the goal of the Government and Armed Forces is to gain a military victory is bitter news. Bitter even more so when it is known that it is the U.S. that influences and controls all decisions made here in El Salvador.
To reach this goal of military victory while evading serious efforts to dialogue, the government has backed a new approach by the Armed Forces to win over the people, called: "United To Rebuild.” During the last two months we have watched this program develop among the people of this small city. It is a well planned program with hopes to carry it out extensively across the country.
The Government Armed Forces have had control of our town for over a year. A hundred or so soldiers live here and "guard" the city on all sides.
A few weeks ago a battalion arrived from the conflict area (war zones) of Morazan. About 250 soldiers camped out in the park across from the church, with their heavy artillery and all. Unknown to the people their unpublished goal was to initiate this program of "United To Rebuild.” The Colonel of the battalion called the entire population to an open demonstration. Each family was visited by two soldiers extending a personal invitation to attend this open meeting. Such an invitation necessitates a positive response.
So the park (plaza) was filled with over 400 people attending. Interestingly enough, we at the parish were not invited.
The Colonel opened and closed the meeting - over 2‑1/2 hours in all: "We are here to celebrate the birth of Christ which is a family celebration. We represent the forces that are working for peace and the human rights of all Salvadorans.
"We closed down the house of prostitution last night as it is a scandal and source of defamation in your community.
"For the good of all concerned, we will begin to arrest those here and in the countryside who are subversives and attached to the communist plot to destroy and rule in El Salvador.
"We want to work with the 'padres' and the Church, as I too am a Catholic and devout Christian."
At the very time the Colonel was speaking these eloquent words, arrests were in process. Three men from this town and 12 campesinos from the nearby villages were arrested. Enough arrests to put the people on edge and attain the attention and cooperation desired.
In the last three weeks, programs to repair the roads and pick up the garbage have begun. First the men, then the youth, and most recently the womyn who work in the market. The youth have been organized into their own organization promoting a dance to crown a "queen" on Christmas eve.
The children have been given several parties and the soldiers have handed out candy during the holidays, while the war goes on - while homes are destroyed and lives lost by the bombing of villages in Chalatenango and Morazan. Promoting peace, preaching the Gospel, and seeking a military victory all in the same breath. Quite a Christmas package.
What does this say to us? We are walking a delicate line. What we say and do must take into account the effects it will have on our Salvadoran sisters and brothers. At the same time this public expression of control over mind and body deepens our commitment; though it may mean a toned down outer approach, the intense inner search continues.
It is the 27th of December as I write these words. I write them with joy in my heart. Fifty children and youth received First Communion Christmas day and united with their families drank hot chocolate and ate freshly baked sweet bread.
Where does this find Benjamin, to whom I dedicate this newsletter? His heart and soul are very close to his people and those suffering most. He understands what is happening. He was indirectly asked not to ring the church bells at 5 in the morning as it wakens the troops sleeping in the Plaza. Until the message is delivered in person, I will continue to resume this Christian duty. (HA)
Hopefully, we can get back to the fields on a regular basis. Benjamin's heart is always in the campo, and work there is urgent.
This is enough for now. Again, many thanks for writing. We are for sure close in spirit. My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Larry Rosebaugh
News 3 -- Spring, 1987
“In the weeks to follow I came to meet Vicente's wife, Bertha, and their other children. It became apparent too that this family was always together, always hand in hand and smiling.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #3
El Salvador
Spring, 1987
This is our third newsletter from Fr. Larry Rosebaugh in El Salvador. It arrived in Chicago via San Antonio on May 9, 1987. There is no date or "greeting" on the letter. mlp
Around Christmas I wrote to you concerning my friend Benjamin -- his life and work as a campesino and some of the details in the life of the campesino in this part of El Salvador. I tried also to picture for you the military situation, if only a brief and partial glimpse.
In this letter I will reflect about a family who lives within a stone´s throw of the church. Hoping that in this reflection a reality may be seen that speaks for literally thousands of families trying to survive these war-torn years.
I first became aware of Vicente one Sunday morning kneeling with three or four of his small children in a church pew before the 10 A.M. Mass. There wasn't anything special about them that caught my eye... only the fact that they may well be the only children accompanied by their father I have seen in this parish community.
In the weeks to follow I came to meet Vicente's wife, Bertha, and their other children. It became apparent too that this family was always together, always hand in hand and smiling.
Our parish was asked to send as many married couples as possible to a retreat sponsored by the diocese. I asked Vicente and Bertha if they would be interested and, if so, attend a lecture which would give the details of this retreat. They responded yes without hesitation.
The talk took place in our parish church after the Sunday Mass. Following the gathering, Bertha invited me to eat with them in their home.
Less than a block and a half from the church and behind some wooden fencing stood their home. As I went through the tattered gate I saw two shelters both of which were patched together by most anything that had been available at the time -- a piece of tin, a cardboard box, corn stalks and pieces of cloth. Originally the land on which these two houses sat belonged to the church. It was to be used for families fleeing the war zones. But in recent years this land has fallen into the hands of the powers that be, who in turn have ordered these remaining two families to leave.
It's at this point that an adequate description of this family is difficult. Like families the world over, they struggle, possessed by a profound faith that lifts them up and carries them beyond what seems to be possible.
To rise in the morning not knowing whether today there will be food on the table, not knowing if the river will provide a few fish, or the woods enough kindling to fuel the fire... And about sickness which takes one out of every ten babies and about schooling which demands notebooks, pencils and clothing. How do they make it, the family of Bertha and Vicente? They must live in the present ... not look back ... doing the best they can under the circumstances.
It seems they possess that compassionate heart that already has turned itself toward their God... Living in the desert but with their staff which is ready always to strike the rocks and await the spring of water.
It is because they have done things together from the beginning that they make it from day to day. The four boys, ranging in age from six to eleven, work in the campo with their father. Bertha Dolores, nine years old - their only daughter - shares the daily chores with her mother. Up and down the steep hillside three or four times a day leaves little time for mother and daughter to fret and only barely enough time to do the things that must be done.
December through March was hard for the family. Though it's the time of the coffee harvest, Vicente was not able to buy the necessary tools and supplies to work the harvest. It was then that Bertha began thinking that either she or Vicente must go in search of work in San Salvador. It was decided that Bertha would go, leaving Vicente alone with the children. Go in faith and it would all work out.
Shortly before the time of her departure, an elderly couple came in search of a womyn to work in their household as a domestic. Bertha accepted. It meant working from 7:00 A.M. to 7:00 P.M. each day, including Sundays -- cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and running errands.
The first two Sundays she worked Bertha was permitted two hours free to attend the Sunday Mass. But for these seven days a week work she received 100 colones a month. That in dollars is about 20.
The injustices involved are apparent. The womyn is seen as a non-entity. She should be happy she is paid anything.
Valerie, a nurse from the states, works here too in the area of health promotion, from the base up. We talked and decided to ask Bertha and Vicente if they would join us in our work in the community.
They were delighted. Bertha will work during the week while Vicente, continuing his work in the campo, will be available whenever possible.
Our town has about 5000 residents, with another 5000 living in the outlying villages. It's a small rural populace considered to be out of the area of conflict. We are learning, however, that there is little control, if any, of where the war is to be fought. What has been referred to as a "tranquil place to be" in a moment's notice could be in a rage of terror.
Lately, we are hearing more mortar and artillery explosions in the distance. Word gets to us that some youth have been arrested in a village close by. We are warned not to go to a certain village on a pastoral visit. Too dangerous.
By invitation from the people of such a dangerous location, we go. And without incident. Vicente had come saying that as a family they felt that if this was part of their call in living out the Gospel, he would go in faith and without fear. We followed his inspiration.
The entire village came for the Mass. Men arriving on horseback, the womyn carrying small children. A spirit of joy was in the air. The people told us that it was the first time a Mass was celebrated in their community.
On Monday, March 30th, I went early by bus to San Salvador to renew my visa. Valerie and a friend from the U.S. were alone in the parish and hoped to have some free time to visit. However, at 8:30 A.M. they received word that a thirteen year old boy had been killed by a grenade explosion in front of his house. No details accompanied the story. It was Sunday, March 29th, that we had gone to a small village an hour and a half by foot, to celebrate Mass for two young men (brothers-in-law) who were murdered the week before. They had been eating supper with the family of one of the men, when two men entered the house and demanded that everyone present lie down on the floor. At that point, in front of the family, the two men were shot in the head and died instantly. Again, no details as to who shot the men or why.
With these events of the last two days to deal with, it would be hoped that nothing more would occur. But at 1:30 A.M. on Tuesday, the 31st, Val and Karen were shaken in their beds. It wasn't another earthquake as had occurred October 12th in San Salvador. The town was being awakened by a mortar attack and the sounds of machine-gun fire everywhere. Nothing like this had occurred since 1984, but the people knew the sounds and responded spontaneously, gathering children and the elderly under tables and mattresses hoping to prevent them from being wounded.
The artillery and bombing continued on for 4 hours. When finally it ended, news trickled into the parish compound that at least one civilian was dead, others wounded, and no account was given as to whether military personnel had been wounded or killed.
We are not a town that has known constant bombings on the civilian populace or invasions, captures and people tortured as is the case in other communities throughout El Salvador. But an attack such as this most recent one surfaces clearly and profoundly the reality that exists for all Salvadorans. Must this war go on? And must those who detest and suffer the consequences most - the poor - have little or no voice in the direction and future of their country?
More taxes imposed, more dollars sent by the Reagan administration to continue a war that keeps the poor scattered and divided, preventing the unity needed in order to build a better place for all to live.
As many grow richer through the misuse of U.S. funding, the corpses of the poor cry in union with the spirit of Monsignor Oscar Romero: "Stop the oppression!"
As Americans present in El Salvador, as citizens of the U.S., raised to believe that problems can be solved quickly and permanently if we know the right people and can afford the price, we are slowly coming to see another reality: that the American way is not the way of the poor and oppressed.
The way of the poor, the way of faith knows no timetable, nor weighs facts and figures. The people - el pueblo - who work the campo, fetch the water, and walk the hillsides know that to have a plentiful harvest, a better life for their children, is not something that can be calculated and planned.
It is just as likely that there will be as many seasons without rainfall as with rainfall, children born who will not see their first birthday, as those who will complete a second. There are no computers for the poor, no determined tomorrows. Only today, as the Berthas and Vicentes the world over know so well.
Living in the present, for the present... Trusting in a God that is revealing day to day an image of a people walking together... Suffering, dying, resurrecting over and over again.
On the 24th of March, Monsignor Oscar Romero resurrected in the hearts of Salvadorans everywhere. It is the commitment that Monsignor Romero called for and that continues to grow and express itself in action that wherein lies the future hope of El Salvador.
A long haul, but no longer than the next harvest, rainfall, or climb up the mountainside. It is in sight and that is what's important!
_______________________
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #3
El Salvador
Spring, 1987
This is our third newsletter from Fr. Larry Rosebaugh in El Salvador. It arrived in Chicago via San Antonio on May 9, 1987. There is no date or "greeting" on the letter. mlp
Around Christmas I wrote to you concerning my friend Benjamin -- his life and work as a campesino and some of the details in the life of the campesino in this part of El Salvador. I tried also to picture for you the military situation, if only a brief and partial glimpse.
In this letter I will reflect about a family who lives within a stone´s throw of the church. Hoping that in this reflection a reality may be seen that speaks for literally thousands of families trying to survive these war-torn years.
I first became aware of Vicente one Sunday morning kneeling with three or four of his small children in a church pew before the 10 A.M. Mass. There wasn't anything special about them that caught my eye... only the fact that they may well be the only children accompanied by their father I have seen in this parish community.
In the weeks to follow I came to meet Vicente's wife, Bertha, and their other children. It became apparent too that this family was always together, always hand in hand and smiling.
Our parish was asked to send as many married couples as possible to a retreat sponsored by the diocese. I asked Vicente and Bertha if they would be interested and, if so, attend a lecture which would give the details of this retreat. They responded yes without hesitation.
The talk took place in our parish church after the Sunday Mass. Following the gathering, Bertha invited me to eat with them in their home.
Less than a block and a half from the church and behind some wooden fencing stood their home. As I went through the tattered gate I saw two shelters both of which were patched together by most anything that had been available at the time -- a piece of tin, a cardboard box, corn stalks and pieces of cloth. Originally the land on which these two houses sat belonged to the church. It was to be used for families fleeing the war zones. But in recent years this land has fallen into the hands of the powers that be, who in turn have ordered these remaining two families to leave.
It's at this point that an adequate description of this family is difficult. Like families the world over, they struggle, possessed by a profound faith that lifts them up and carries them beyond what seems to be possible.
To rise in the morning not knowing whether today there will be food on the table, not knowing if the river will provide a few fish, or the woods enough kindling to fuel the fire... And about sickness which takes one out of every ten babies and about schooling which demands notebooks, pencils and clothing. How do they make it, the family of Bertha and Vicente? They must live in the present ... not look back ... doing the best they can under the circumstances.
It seems they possess that compassionate heart that already has turned itself toward their God... Living in the desert but with their staff which is ready always to strike the rocks and await the spring of water.
It is because they have done things together from the beginning that they make it from day to day. The four boys, ranging in age from six to eleven, work in the campo with their father. Bertha Dolores, nine years old - their only daughter - shares the daily chores with her mother. Up and down the steep hillside three or four times a day leaves little time for mother and daughter to fret and only barely enough time to do the things that must be done.
December through March was hard for the family. Though it's the time of the coffee harvest, Vicente was not able to buy the necessary tools and supplies to work the harvest. It was then that Bertha began thinking that either she or Vicente must go in search of work in San Salvador. It was decided that Bertha would go, leaving Vicente alone with the children. Go in faith and it would all work out.
Shortly before the time of her departure, an elderly couple came in search of a womyn to work in their household as a domestic. Bertha accepted. It meant working from 7:00 A.M. to 7:00 P.M. each day, including Sundays -- cooking, cleaning, washing clothes and running errands.
The first two Sundays she worked Bertha was permitted two hours free to attend the Sunday Mass. But for these seven days a week work she received 100 colones a month. That in dollars is about 20.
The injustices involved are apparent. The womyn is seen as a non-entity. She should be happy she is paid anything.
Valerie, a nurse from the states, works here too in the area of health promotion, from the base up. We talked and decided to ask Bertha and Vicente if they would join us in our work in the community.
They were delighted. Bertha will work during the week while Vicente, continuing his work in the campo, will be available whenever possible.
Our town has about 5000 residents, with another 5000 living in the outlying villages. It's a small rural populace considered to be out of the area of conflict. We are learning, however, that there is little control, if any, of where the war is to be fought. What has been referred to as a "tranquil place to be" in a moment's notice could be in a rage of terror.
Lately, we are hearing more mortar and artillery explosions in the distance. Word gets to us that some youth have been arrested in a village close by. We are warned not to go to a certain village on a pastoral visit. Too dangerous.
By invitation from the people of such a dangerous location, we go. And without incident. Vicente had come saying that as a family they felt that if this was part of their call in living out the Gospel, he would go in faith and without fear. We followed his inspiration.
The entire village came for the Mass. Men arriving on horseback, the womyn carrying small children. A spirit of joy was in the air. The people told us that it was the first time a Mass was celebrated in their community.
On Monday, March 30th, I went early by bus to San Salvador to renew my visa. Valerie and a friend from the U.S. were alone in the parish and hoped to have some free time to visit. However, at 8:30 A.M. they received word that a thirteen year old boy had been killed by a grenade explosion in front of his house. No details accompanied the story. It was Sunday, March 29th, that we had gone to a small village an hour and a half by foot, to celebrate Mass for two young men (brothers-in-law) who were murdered the week before. They had been eating supper with the family of one of the men, when two men entered the house and demanded that everyone present lie down on the floor. At that point, in front of the family, the two men were shot in the head and died instantly. Again, no details as to who shot the men or why.
With these events of the last two days to deal with, it would be hoped that nothing more would occur. But at 1:30 A.M. on Tuesday, the 31st, Val and Karen were shaken in their beds. It wasn't another earthquake as had occurred October 12th in San Salvador. The town was being awakened by a mortar attack and the sounds of machine-gun fire everywhere. Nothing like this had occurred since 1984, but the people knew the sounds and responded spontaneously, gathering children and the elderly under tables and mattresses hoping to prevent them from being wounded.
The artillery and bombing continued on for 4 hours. When finally it ended, news trickled into the parish compound that at least one civilian was dead, others wounded, and no account was given as to whether military personnel had been wounded or killed.
We are not a town that has known constant bombings on the civilian populace or invasions, captures and people tortured as is the case in other communities throughout El Salvador. But an attack such as this most recent one surfaces clearly and profoundly the reality that exists for all Salvadorans. Must this war go on? And must those who detest and suffer the consequences most - the poor - have little or no voice in the direction and future of their country?
More taxes imposed, more dollars sent by the Reagan administration to continue a war that keeps the poor scattered and divided, preventing the unity needed in order to build a better place for all to live.
As many grow richer through the misuse of U.S. funding, the corpses of the poor cry in union with the spirit of Monsignor Oscar Romero: "Stop the oppression!"
As Americans present in El Salvador, as citizens of the U.S., raised to believe that problems can be solved quickly and permanently if we know the right people and can afford the price, we are slowly coming to see another reality: that the American way is not the way of the poor and oppressed.
The way of the poor, the way of faith knows no timetable, nor weighs facts and figures. The people - el pueblo - who work the campo, fetch the water, and walk the hillsides know that to have a plentiful harvest, a better life for their children, is not something that can be calculated and planned.
It is just as likely that there will be as many seasons without rainfall as with rainfall, children born who will not see their first birthday, as those who will complete a second. There are no computers for the poor, no determined tomorrows. Only today, as the Berthas and Vicentes the world over know so well.
Living in the present, for the present... Trusting in a God that is revealing day to day an image of a people walking together... Suffering, dying, resurrecting over and over again.
On the 24th of March, Monsignor Oscar Romero resurrected in the hearts of Salvadorans everywhere. It is the commitment that Monsignor Romero called for and that continues to grow and express itself in action that wherein lies the future hope of El Salvador.
A long haul, but no longer than the next harvest, rainfall, or climb up the mountainside. It is in sight and that is what's important!
_______________________
News 4 -- Sept. 1987
“Flora is also one who listens and responds. She draws from her wealth of experience -- from her own work as a youth in the fields, sowing, harvesting and praying the crops to fruition. This year she took on the responsibility of teaching a group of children catechism. She is helped out by Virginia, the mother of 8 children and by two teenage womyn. Their classes have been alive, creative and imbued with the spirit and faith of these four womyn.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
September 1987
El Salvador
(This is our fourth newsletter from Fr. Larry Rosebaugh in El Salvador):
After completing a year in El Salvador, I would like to share with you some of my impressions.
It is a picture of individuals but individuals together working and living out life. It is about people who like other people have faults, misgivings, and are sometimes out of focus. Yet, they are caught up in this mystery of life that has its own history. A history written with much sweat, blood and tears. A people sacrificed by those caring more about today's profit than the future of the country's children tomorrow.
Flora is 62 years old and has borne 11 children. Loving her children greatly, she carries their problems and senses their faults to the quick. Yet she is able to let these things go and remain very active in her community.
Nora, mother of 8, is like a streak of lightning - that hard to keep track of. There is also Susana (62), Marta (56), Carmen (52), Andrea (63), Virginia (43), Maria (49), and Ana (39).
These womyn are members of a group called Guardians Of The Blessed Sacrament. "We pray and sing before the Blessed Sacrament,” they might say, if asked to define themselves. That hardly does the group justice. They have persevered in the parish for more than 38 years.
Go to any wake in this 'pueblo' of 5000 inhabitants and it is generally Flora who is asked to pray on behalf of those present.
She prays from her heart. Her prayers are animated and animate others. Her prayer is about the person who has died -- his or her sufferings, joys and contribution to the community.
Flora is also one who listens and responds. She draws from her wealth of experience -- from her own work as a youth in the fields, sowing, harvesting and praying the crops to fruition. This year she took on the responsibility of teaching a group of children catechism. She is helped out by Virginia, the mother of 8 children and by two teenage womyn. Their classes have been alive, creative and imbued with the spirit and faith of these four womyn.
This brings to mind the recent example from the life of Ana, Vincent and their five children.
It happened early this spring. The corn had been planted, but the earth was becoming painfully dry. One morning the entire family set out early from town, walking up and down the steep hillside, wading across the river at three different locations and finally reached their piece of rented land.
Before beginning to work they prayed together as it is their custom to do and immediately reached this decision: they would begin to carry the water up from the river.
It was a gesture of faith, knowing well that to barely touch the entire field once with water would take 15 days of agonizing labor. However, on the Sunday before, along with the entire community, they had prayed and offered their Mass that St. Isidore, the saint of farmworkers, would intercede in sending the rains they needed.
The people had come to Mass with their 'cumas,' the campesino's indispensable tool in their work in the campo. They placed their cumas, seeds, sombreros and water to be blessed before the altar.
At the Offertory, they collected these possessions, formed two lines in the rear of the church and walked together in procession to present these humble gifts to their brother Jesus.
It was with this sense of belief and unity that they shared with their brothers and sisters of the campo that Ana, Vincent and their five children set out to work that morning.
As the family trekked down the hill to fill their jugs in the river, they heard rumblings in the distance. "More bombs or another mortar attack?" They wondered without speaking. "And yet,” though no rain clouds could be seen, "could those rumblings possibly be thunder?"
It wasn't long before they knew the answer. A cloud or two appeared and soon afterwards the blue of the sky was gone. It began to rain and rain and rain. That evening when the family came by to visit, their faces were radiant with joy as they recounted their story to us.
Nora must weigh all of 100 pounds. White hair and her face lined with crevices that depict a hard but fascinating life.
For over thirty years and as a mother of eight growing children, she made her livelihood from the sale of dairy products in the outlying villages. As a result of walking the hills with large quantities of milk and cheese balanced atop her head, there is no one she doesn't know and knows quite well.
When Nora began to accompany us to these same villages where the people gather now to reflect the Word of God, we didn't realize just how important her presence with us would be. She has the confidence of her people and communicates in their language.
The capacity of Nora, at 68, to walk those same hills at a pace that leaves us way behind says a lot about her energy and spirit. Besides visiting the villages, participating in reflection groups, teaching a catechism class and praying at the many vigils of the dead, her forte simply is : to serve others . "The bishop is coming, what should we do?" "Call Nora, she knows about preparing the wood fire, cooking the chicken, beans and rice." Josefina, at 87, is terribly alone, can't get out of bed without help, prepare meals or attend to the many other necessities. "...who's been at her bedside constantly the last several months?...Nora!" And so it goes.
Carmen is 53 years old. If she appeared on the streets of Chicago, St. Louis or New York City, she would be taken to be a 'bag lady.' That is, a person without a home and few possessions to her name.
Barefooted, teeth missing in front, hair scraggly and clothes sometimes tattered or torn, she can usually be found walking through the streets carrying a huge basket on her head. In the morning she may have fresh fish from the river to sell. At noon, she most likely will be selling vegetables and later on in the day fresh sweet bread.
Interestingly enough, Carmen is always present at the 6 A.M. Mass. Not only physically present, but most attentive and responsive to the scripture readings. The first time I heard her comment on the readings, I was astonished. "Who is this womyn who appears to be barely eeking out an existence speaking so clearly and understandingly about the Word of God?"
After two or three months of her participation in various groups, I have learned that Carmen had been a school teacher most of her life and had come to this small town due to the pressures of the war and all that might imply. I give thanks that she and persons like her are rising up out of our community to be heard.
Until now, our church, even if filled, was generally made up of womyn. Recently however, a number of men have been appearing at the Sunday Mass, sitting towards the rear and in close proximity to each other.
Instead of analyzing this fact, it might be better to make some observations. After the 2nd Vatican Council and even more noticeably after the 2nd highly acclaimed Latin American Bishops Conference in Puebla, Mexico in 1978, an active presence among men in the Latin American Church slowly arose.
This began to occur when the church came to show interest in the life of the campo, for example -- where the voice of the poor and oppressed was encouraged to be heard and the churches slowly became centers where campesinos, factory workers, womyn working as domestics all found a place.
If we do nothing more than to encourage our people to come together, listen to the Word of God and apply it to their daily surroundings, we too may have (as we have had) an increase in participation on the part of men in our Christian Community.
And when the Flora's, Ana's, Vincents', Maria's, Benjamin's, Pedros and others begin to question why one person in their community owns 450 head of cattle and 90 percent of the land, while one cow or one acre of land would be a luxury to the average campesino;
and when they question why it is that their sons (the sons of the poor) are most often recruited to fight in the war and their daughters who work as domestics receive barely enough food to survive the day;
when these questions arise and come to be the basis for the many candles lit, the novenas prayed, the processions participated in, the feet of the saints kissed;
when this happens, there will be hope that despite the war, the injustices, the illiteracy, malnutrition and high infant mortality rate, a light has been born, a spirit enkindled, a hope nurtured and a people will be found in the process of walking and doing it together.
_________________________________
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
September 1987
El Salvador
(This is our fourth newsletter from Fr. Larry Rosebaugh in El Salvador):
After completing a year in El Salvador, I would like to share with you some of my impressions.
It is a picture of individuals but individuals together working and living out life. It is about people who like other people have faults, misgivings, and are sometimes out of focus. Yet, they are caught up in this mystery of life that has its own history. A history written with much sweat, blood and tears. A people sacrificed by those caring more about today's profit than the future of the country's children tomorrow.
Flora is 62 years old and has borne 11 children. Loving her children greatly, she carries their problems and senses their faults to the quick. Yet she is able to let these things go and remain very active in her community.
Nora, mother of 8, is like a streak of lightning - that hard to keep track of. There is also Susana (62), Marta (56), Carmen (52), Andrea (63), Virginia (43), Maria (49), and Ana (39).
These womyn are members of a group called Guardians Of The Blessed Sacrament. "We pray and sing before the Blessed Sacrament,” they might say, if asked to define themselves. That hardly does the group justice. They have persevered in the parish for more than 38 years.
Go to any wake in this 'pueblo' of 5000 inhabitants and it is generally Flora who is asked to pray on behalf of those present.
She prays from her heart. Her prayers are animated and animate others. Her prayer is about the person who has died -- his or her sufferings, joys and contribution to the community.
Flora is also one who listens and responds. She draws from her wealth of experience -- from her own work as a youth in the fields, sowing, harvesting and praying the crops to fruition. This year she took on the responsibility of teaching a group of children catechism. She is helped out by Virginia, the mother of 8 children and by two teenage womyn. Their classes have been alive, creative and imbued with the spirit and faith of these four womyn.
This brings to mind the recent example from the life of Ana, Vincent and their five children.
It happened early this spring. The corn had been planted, but the earth was becoming painfully dry. One morning the entire family set out early from town, walking up and down the steep hillside, wading across the river at three different locations and finally reached their piece of rented land.
Before beginning to work they prayed together as it is their custom to do and immediately reached this decision: they would begin to carry the water up from the river.
It was a gesture of faith, knowing well that to barely touch the entire field once with water would take 15 days of agonizing labor. However, on the Sunday before, along with the entire community, they had prayed and offered their Mass that St. Isidore, the saint of farmworkers, would intercede in sending the rains they needed.
The people had come to Mass with their 'cumas,' the campesino's indispensable tool in their work in the campo. They placed their cumas, seeds, sombreros and water to be blessed before the altar.
At the Offertory, they collected these possessions, formed two lines in the rear of the church and walked together in procession to present these humble gifts to their brother Jesus.
It was with this sense of belief and unity that they shared with their brothers and sisters of the campo that Ana, Vincent and their five children set out to work that morning.
As the family trekked down the hill to fill their jugs in the river, they heard rumblings in the distance. "More bombs or another mortar attack?" They wondered without speaking. "And yet,” though no rain clouds could be seen, "could those rumblings possibly be thunder?"
It wasn't long before they knew the answer. A cloud or two appeared and soon afterwards the blue of the sky was gone. It began to rain and rain and rain. That evening when the family came by to visit, their faces were radiant with joy as they recounted their story to us.
Nora must weigh all of 100 pounds. White hair and her face lined with crevices that depict a hard but fascinating life.
For over thirty years and as a mother of eight growing children, she made her livelihood from the sale of dairy products in the outlying villages. As a result of walking the hills with large quantities of milk and cheese balanced atop her head, there is no one she doesn't know and knows quite well.
When Nora began to accompany us to these same villages where the people gather now to reflect the Word of God, we didn't realize just how important her presence with us would be. She has the confidence of her people and communicates in their language.
The capacity of Nora, at 68, to walk those same hills at a pace that leaves us way behind says a lot about her energy and spirit. Besides visiting the villages, participating in reflection groups, teaching a catechism class and praying at the many vigils of the dead, her forte simply is : to serve others . "The bishop is coming, what should we do?" "Call Nora, she knows about preparing the wood fire, cooking the chicken, beans and rice." Josefina, at 87, is terribly alone, can't get out of bed without help, prepare meals or attend to the many other necessities. "...who's been at her bedside constantly the last several months?...Nora!" And so it goes.
Carmen is 53 years old. If she appeared on the streets of Chicago, St. Louis or New York City, she would be taken to be a 'bag lady.' That is, a person without a home and few possessions to her name.
Barefooted, teeth missing in front, hair scraggly and clothes sometimes tattered or torn, she can usually be found walking through the streets carrying a huge basket on her head. In the morning she may have fresh fish from the river to sell. At noon, she most likely will be selling vegetables and later on in the day fresh sweet bread.
Interestingly enough, Carmen is always present at the 6 A.M. Mass. Not only physically present, but most attentive and responsive to the scripture readings. The first time I heard her comment on the readings, I was astonished. "Who is this womyn who appears to be barely eeking out an existence speaking so clearly and understandingly about the Word of God?"
After two or three months of her participation in various groups, I have learned that Carmen had been a school teacher most of her life and had come to this small town due to the pressures of the war and all that might imply. I give thanks that she and persons like her are rising up out of our community to be heard.
Until now, our church, even if filled, was generally made up of womyn. Recently however, a number of men have been appearing at the Sunday Mass, sitting towards the rear and in close proximity to each other.
Instead of analyzing this fact, it might be better to make some observations. After the 2nd Vatican Council and even more noticeably after the 2nd highly acclaimed Latin American Bishops Conference in Puebla, Mexico in 1978, an active presence among men in the Latin American Church slowly arose.
This began to occur when the church came to show interest in the life of the campo, for example -- where the voice of the poor and oppressed was encouraged to be heard and the churches slowly became centers where campesinos, factory workers, womyn working as domestics all found a place.
If we do nothing more than to encourage our people to come together, listen to the Word of God and apply it to their daily surroundings, we too may have (as we have had) an increase in participation on the part of men in our Christian Community.
And when the Flora's, Ana's, Vincents', Maria's, Benjamin's, Pedros and others begin to question why one person in their community owns 450 head of cattle and 90 percent of the land, while one cow or one acre of land would be a luxury to the average campesino;
and when they question why it is that their sons (the sons of the poor) are most often recruited to fight in the war and their daughters who work as domestics receive barely enough food to survive the day;
when these questions arise and come to be the basis for the many candles lit, the novenas prayed, the processions participated in, the feet of the saints kissed;
when this happens, there will be hope that despite the war, the injustices, the illiteracy, malnutrition and high infant mortality rate, a light has been born, a spirit enkindled, a hope nurtured and a people will be found in the process of walking and doing it together.
_________________________________
News 5 -- March 14, 1988
“It is not hard to see the suffering of our people. Open sewers everywhere, the numerous deaths of children dying of malnutrition, the lack of land to plant enough corn for one's family…while one family has as many as 900 head of cattle on a piece of land that is larger than that on which the entire population of our town is situated.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #5
El Salvador
March 14, 1988
Dear Brother Oblates:
In a recent letter from Jim Deegan, I was encouraged to write a letter to the Province telling of my life and work here in El Salvador.
A quarterly newsletter may have reached a limited number of you, but let me try to be faithful to Jim's request by writing an open letter to the entire Province.
I came to El Salvador a year and a half ago. I came as part of a group of volunteers from the U.S. to serve in refugee camps that are under the auspices of the archdiocese of San Salvador.
Since I was the first priest to join this group, the question had not arisen as to the legitimacy of having clergy accompany the people in the camps. But it was decided best not to live and work there as my presence could possibly draw unnecessary attention and cause further problems.
When the opportunity presented itself I accepted a parish outside the capital where 95 per cent of the population are campesinos, barely making it from day to day.
My experience in Recife and the year in Mexico before coming to El Salvador have helped me to persevere until now.
The war goes on into its 8th year. Seventy thousand lives have been claimed, the majority being the elderly, the women and the children. Yet the spirit and the truth of Monsignor Oscar Romero lives on in the people of this country. What he preached and what he lived cannot be buried or covered over with pious platitudes.
As I write these words, I am aware that the impression can be given that the majority of the poor are well organized, work out of Christian Based Communities, and an end to the oppression is in sight. This is far from the way it is.
Here in this parish, 2 1/2 hours by bus outside the Capital of San Salvador, we have been up to four volunteers -- three North Americans and a religious sister from Canada.
We have truly been gifted by what we have seen and heard and by what the people have given to us. Sometimes working in the fields with the campesinos, taking our clothes to the river to wash, walking up and down the steep hillsides to visit the small villages touching our parish boundaries has been an important part of our few short months in El Salvador.
It is not hard to see the suffering of our people. Open sewers everywhere, the numerous deaths of children dying of malnutrition, the lack of land to plant enough corn for one's family…while one family has as many as 900 head of cattle on a piece of land that is larger than that on which the entire population of our town is situated.
Eighty per cent of the population in the countryside do not read or write. Most children do not complete four years of schooling, while many never have the opportunity of any formal schooling.
Our town was mortared a year ago this month. In the early 80's bodies were frequently found on the road leading to the city. There is no one I know that has not lost a member of their family, or relative, to the war.
Contrary to what we read and hear, the war continues to be the number one priority of the military and government.
Among Salvadorans who have suffered most, many have formed small faith communities. They were drawn together to listen to the Word of God when the bombings and the cost in human lives were most extensive. The truth they speak and the human rights they continue to struggle for are a powerful testimony throughout El Salvador and the entire world.
We have been attempting to listen to the Word of God with our people and make sense of God's Word within the context of our daily lives. This has brought some to address the question of illiteracy, malnutrition, and the need for grass-root cooperatives.
As volunteers from outside the country, we walk a very delicate path. To know when to speak and to share and when to listen is crucial. To learn to enter into the traditional feast days with joy and enthusiasm is important. But taking the clue from Dom Helder and to use these occasions to show their relevance and importance within the context of our lives today is an absolute.
To enter another's culture and tradition demands much openness -- a willingness to change, though mistakes are inevitable.
Most of all, a faith is needed that, despite ourselves, we trust in the Spirit to lead us through the good times and the bad.
It will never be a matter of the people not having the patience to accept us, but that we have the patience to accept ourselves for better or for worse and then moving on.
I was going to end here, but will write the following as one would add a P.S.
Since the first of the year things have grown increasingly tense. Death squad activity such as occurred in the 80's is showing up throughout the country. As the people demonstrate more courage to organize effective unions and to make public their demands, more persons are being arrested, tortured, and killed.
Our town, generally considered outside the war zone, but headquartering 150 soldiers to be on constant guard night and day, is sensing the closeness of the war. Electrical plants have been sabotaged cutting off access to light and water. The day before yesterday, a plane circled the city two or three times and then dropped a bomb that could be heard exploding in the distance.
Elections are scheduled for next Sunday, the 20th of March. Many are terrified with the possible violence that may erupt. Here in El Salvador, the Arias Peace Plan has been violated on nearly every count. (We) I urge you to speak out against any financial aid to El Salvador. It is the U.S. tax dollar and propaganda such as “Human Rights under President Duarte have improved considerably” that allows this war to continue.
My prayers and thoughts and support are very much with all of you.
Larry Rosebaugh
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #5
El Salvador
March 14, 1988
Dear Brother Oblates:
In a recent letter from Jim Deegan, I was encouraged to write a letter to the Province telling of my life and work here in El Salvador.
A quarterly newsletter may have reached a limited number of you, but let me try to be faithful to Jim's request by writing an open letter to the entire Province.
I came to El Salvador a year and a half ago. I came as part of a group of volunteers from the U.S. to serve in refugee camps that are under the auspices of the archdiocese of San Salvador.
Since I was the first priest to join this group, the question had not arisen as to the legitimacy of having clergy accompany the people in the camps. But it was decided best not to live and work there as my presence could possibly draw unnecessary attention and cause further problems.
When the opportunity presented itself I accepted a parish outside the capital where 95 per cent of the population are campesinos, barely making it from day to day.
My experience in Recife and the year in Mexico before coming to El Salvador have helped me to persevere until now.
The war goes on into its 8th year. Seventy thousand lives have been claimed, the majority being the elderly, the women and the children. Yet the spirit and the truth of Monsignor Oscar Romero lives on in the people of this country. What he preached and what he lived cannot be buried or covered over with pious platitudes.
As I write these words, I am aware that the impression can be given that the majority of the poor are well organized, work out of Christian Based Communities, and an end to the oppression is in sight. This is far from the way it is.
Here in this parish, 2 1/2 hours by bus outside the Capital of San Salvador, we have been up to four volunteers -- three North Americans and a religious sister from Canada.
We have truly been gifted by what we have seen and heard and by what the people have given to us. Sometimes working in the fields with the campesinos, taking our clothes to the river to wash, walking up and down the steep hillsides to visit the small villages touching our parish boundaries has been an important part of our few short months in El Salvador.
It is not hard to see the suffering of our people. Open sewers everywhere, the numerous deaths of children dying of malnutrition, the lack of land to plant enough corn for one's family…while one family has as many as 900 head of cattle on a piece of land that is larger than that on which the entire population of our town is situated.
Eighty per cent of the population in the countryside do not read or write. Most children do not complete four years of schooling, while many never have the opportunity of any formal schooling.
Our town was mortared a year ago this month. In the early 80's bodies were frequently found on the road leading to the city. There is no one I know that has not lost a member of their family, or relative, to the war.
Contrary to what we read and hear, the war continues to be the number one priority of the military and government.
Among Salvadorans who have suffered most, many have formed small faith communities. They were drawn together to listen to the Word of God when the bombings and the cost in human lives were most extensive. The truth they speak and the human rights they continue to struggle for are a powerful testimony throughout El Salvador and the entire world.
We have been attempting to listen to the Word of God with our people and make sense of God's Word within the context of our daily lives. This has brought some to address the question of illiteracy, malnutrition, and the need for grass-root cooperatives.
As volunteers from outside the country, we walk a very delicate path. To know when to speak and to share and when to listen is crucial. To learn to enter into the traditional feast days with joy and enthusiasm is important. But taking the clue from Dom Helder and to use these occasions to show their relevance and importance within the context of our lives today is an absolute.
To enter another's culture and tradition demands much openness -- a willingness to change, though mistakes are inevitable.
Most of all, a faith is needed that, despite ourselves, we trust in the Spirit to lead us through the good times and the bad.
It will never be a matter of the people not having the patience to accept us, but that we have the patience to accept ourselves for better or for worse and then moving on.
I was going to end here, but will write the following as one would add a P.S.
Since the first of the year things have grown increasingly tense. Death squad activity such as occurred in the 80's is showing up throughout the country. As the people demonstrate more courage to organize effective unions and to make public their demands, more persons are being arrested, tortured, and killed.
Our town, generally considered outside the war zone, but headquartering 150 soldiers to be on constant guard night and day, is sensing the closeness of the war. Electrical plants have been sabotaged cutting off access to light and water. The day before yesterday, a plane circled the city two or three times and then dropped a bomb that could be heard exploding in the distance.
Elections are scheduled for next Sunday, the 20th of March. Many are terrified with the possible violence that may erupt. Here in El Salvador, the Arias Peace Plan has been violated on nearly every count. (We) I urge you to speak out against any financial aid to El Salvador. It is the U.S. tax dollar and propaganda such as “Human Rights under President Duarte have improved considerably” that allows this war to continue.
My prayers and thoughts and support are very much with all of you.
Larry Rosebaugh
News 6 -- August 5, 1988
“For many years in the oppressed countries of the world, the Church has aligned itself to the powers that be. It has depended on the wealthy to build its churches, feed and clothe and house its clergy. It has done all this at the expense of the poor.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #6
August 5, 1988
USA
Dear Friends:
I returned from El Salvador a month ago and am spending time with my mom and also visiting as many friends as time allows. I apologize to many of you whom it was impossible to see within the few weeks I was back.
Well, El Salvador is in a mess. It is questionable whether things will go better in the near future. On the day I was boarding the bus in downtown San Salvador to return to the U.S., the headlines read: SECRETARY [GEORGE P.] SHULTZ SAYS: "THE MILITARY MUST BRING THE WAR TO AN END NOW -This is the only way peace can be had in El Salvador" (...Words of Secretary Shultz to the military Chiefs of Staff of El Salvador).
At the same time Secretary Shultz was speaking to the military, Archbishop Rivera y Damas was calling for dialogue among all sectors of the Salvadoran society. In hopes, that is, of resolving by peaceful means the eight-year-old civil war.
Need I say more about these two contradictory statements? They merely emphasize the present dilemma existing today in El Salvador.
José, his wife Maria, along with Marta, Juan, and their five children (of whom I've spoken in previous newsletters) are, along with the entire campesino population, caught up in the intensity of the sowing season.
In August of last year, the second planting of the year was completed. However, as quickly as the rains had come to initiate the season, they abruptly ended. There was to be no more rain for the next nine months. The entire crops of corn, rice, beans and soy were lost.
This year, the first of May appeared and the drought continued. It is considered normal and good when the Spring rains arrive in mid-April or by the end of April. When the first of May passed as well as the second and third weeks without rain, the air grew tense.
A Sunday Mass for rain was scheduled. Sombreros, machetes, cumas (the campesino's principal tool of the Campo), small sacks of seed and jars of water are placed before the altar to be blessed. The water would later be taken to the field and sprinkled over the small section of land the campesino family had leased for the season.
It is difficult to feel in my gut the anxiety of anticipation as the rains are awaited. In our area, recently, two families went at it one night, leaving two family members dead and four others hospitalized. Yet, it is not the nature of the campesino to settle their problems by means of violence.
But when the lives of one's children are at stake and there is nothing to be done but wait patiently for the rains to come, it is rather fortunate if an explosion of some kind does not erupt.
The Mass for rain was offered. The sacks of grain were carried great distances on the heads of women or on the shoulders of the man.
A procession of men, women, and children began the celebration. The music was alive and hope-filled. The petitions were spontaneous and drawn from their own reality. On this day, it was as if all prayed in unison as each petition was proclaimed.
The gifts were brought forward by young and old alike and by children accompanied by the family dog. Then, each person took their place around the altar. The words, "take this bread and eat, for this is my body...take and drink, this is my blood,” stirred in our hearts.
When the time arrived to sing the Our Father, all in the church joined hands. At this moment, those present knew that the rains were in the making...that our prayers had been heard.
It is said that rains need vegetation and are attracted to areas well populated with trees. Where we are located, there are very few trees left. They are cut daily for fire wood and new seedlings are not planted to replace the fallen trees.
Because the campesino does not own the land, the incentive to replace the trees has not been there. So without forests, the chance of rain in our area is slim. Yet the people's faith defies this natural phenomenon as they vigorously prepare the land for the rains they sense are near.
And the rains did come - just two days after our Mass for rain on Sunday. It poured for two days. Seeds were sown and a short time later the first green shoots of corn manifested themselves across the vast countryside.
When the campesino is in the field, it is as if the hillside radiates with music. The atmosphere changes when the fingernails are crusted with the soil and sweat fills the brow.
Yet, not all was good. No sooner had the first tips of green corn appeared than the greedy, fearless creature of the campo made its appearance. The Guzano. This small earth worm (that has lain in wait to devour the fresh, sweet stems of new corn) struck its deadly curse. It is one thing to hear of this tragedy from friends - that the "Guzano" is destroying everything in sight - but another thing altogether when I went myself to work in the campo, only to see the devastating work these creatures had done.
I thought to myself, “Maybe guerrilla warfare is as effective as it is because like the Guzano, it defies all the hi-tech devices of our modern age. The person who takes to the mountains to defend him or herself knows the hillside like the Guzano knows the earth...and when one's people is at stake, one is 'indestructible'.
At the time I left El Salvador, the problem of the Guzano was under control. All were praying that the rains would continue to fall and produce an abundant harvest.
For many years in the oppressed countries of the world, the Church has aligned itself to the powers that be. It has depended on the wealthy to build its churches, feed and clothe and house its clergy. It has done all this at the expense of the poor.
We see glimpses of this in El Salvador. When feast days are celebrated it is usually the wealthier families who step forth to put new clothing on the statues of the saints. Everyone comes out to celebrate the feast of the patron saint and the crucifixion and burial of Jesus on Good Friday.
The churches are full on these occasions. Processions are animated and no one absents themselves from these celebrations. In our diocese today, a new cathedral is under construction as well as an elegant chapel on the grounds of the bishop's residence. Monsignor Oscar Romero, as you may recall, discontinued all work on the construction of the new Cathedral while the war was in process.
The celebration of the patron saint and Good Friday are in themselves most important, but until we take the 'Franciscan Robe' off Maximilian Kolbe and robe him in the prison rags that he starved to death in, the world will never know or remember him as the man he was. As the man who saved his small smitherings of food for those in worse shape than himself; the man who offered secret Eucharists with his fellow prisoners and finally volunteered himself in the place of a fellow prisoner and father of nine to be confined in a cell with those considered 'dead' - where food was withheld altogether.
And Mary - who is she if presented to Latin Americans with blond hair, white skin and painted lips? What a difference it would make if Mary were reflected for who she was: A refugee, a peasant, an advocate for the oppressed, the mother of a condemned prisoner, a third world woman, a liberator.
Dom Helder Camara always saw feast days and processions as grand opportunities to help raise the consciousness of his people. Not to omit these days of celebration from the calendar, but to restore them to new life and meaning.
And then , we as volunteers from the first world need to be educated by our Salvadoran sisters and brothers. Efficient programs in alfabetization do exist that conscienticize while at the same time capacitate people to read and write. Base Communities exist that have not lost their direction as being the voice for the voiceless. We must allow ourselves to be taught by those who have suffered torture, disappearances and even death to themselves and loved ones.
As the state of affairs grows worse in El Salvador (and Nicaragua) we do what we can to keep in touch with grass- root organizations outside the country and share with our people the news and events and processes toward liberation that do not appear in the daily news media of El Salvador.
Thanks for listening. Let's keep close. My thanks to the many of you who shared so much with me during these few short weeks I was here in the States. Until later.
Adios, Amigos and Amigas
Lorenzo
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter #6
August 5, 1988
USA
Dear Friends:
I returned from El Salvador a month ago and am spending time with my mom and also visiting as many friends as time allows. I apologize to many of you whom it was impossible to see within the few weeks I was back.
Well, El Salvador is in a mess. It is questionable whether things will go better in the near future. On the day I was boarding the bus in downtown San Salvador to return to the U.S., the headlines read: SECRETARY [GEORGE P.] SHULTZ SAYS: "THE MILITARY MUST BRING THE WAR TO AN END NOW -This is the only way peace can be had in El Salvador" (...Words of Secretary Shultz to the military Chiefs of Staff of El Salvador).
At the same time Secretary Shultz was speaking to the military, Archbishop Rivera y Damas was calling for dialogue among all sectors of the Salvadoran society. In hopes, that is, of resolving by peaceful means the eight-year-old civil war.
Need I say more about these two contradictory statements? They merely emphasize the present dilemma existing today in El Salvador.
José, his wife Maria, along with Marta, Juan, and their five children (of whom I've spoken in previous newsletters) are, along with the entire campesino population, caught up in the intensity of the sowing season.
In August of last year, the second planting of the year was completed. However, as quickly as the rains had come to initiate the season, they abruptly ended. There was to be no more rain for the next nine months. The entire crops of corn, rice, beans and soy were lost.
This year, the first of May appeared and the drought continued. It is considered normal and good when the Spring rains arrive in mid-April or by the end of April. When the first of May passed as well as the second and third weeks without rain, the air grew tense.
A Sunday Mass for rain was scheduled. Sombreros, machetes, cumas (the campesino's principal tool of the Campo), small sacks of seed and jars of water are placed before the altar to be blessed. The water would later be taken to the field and sprinkled over the small section of land the campesino family had leased for the season.
It is difficult to feel in my gut the anxiety of anticipation as the rains are awaited. In our area, recently, two families went at it one night, leaving two family members dead and four others hospitalized. Yet, it is not the nature of the campesino to settle their problems by means of violence.
But when the lives of one's children are at stake and there is nothing to be done but wait patiently for the rains to come, it is rather fortunate if an explosion of some kind does not erupt.
The Mass for rain was offered. The sacks of grain were carried great distances on the heads of women or on the shoulders of the man.
A procession of men, women, and children began the celebration. The music was alive and hope-filled. The petitions were spontaneous and drawn from their own reality. On this day, it was as if all prayed in unison as each petition was proclaimed.
The gifts were brought forward by young and old alike and by children accompanied by the family dog. Then, each person took their place around the altar. The words, "take this bread and eat, for this is my body...take and drink, this is my blood,” stirred in our hearts.
When the time arrived to sing the Our Father, all in the church joined hands. At this moment, those present knew that the rains were in the making...that our prayers had been heard.
It is said that rains need vegetation and are attracted to areas well populated with trees. Where we are located, there are very few trees left. They are cut daily for fire wood and new seedlings are not planted to replace the fallen trees.
Because the campesino does not own the land, the incentive to replace the trees has not been there. So without forests, the chance of rain in our area is slim. Yet the people's faith defies this natural phenomenon as they vigorously prepare the land for the rains they sense are near.
And the rains did come - just two days after our Mass for rain on Sunday. It poured for two days. Seeds were sown and a short time later the first green shoots of corn manifested themselves across the vast countryside.
When the campesino is in the field, it is as if the hillside radiates with music. The atmosphere changes when the fingernails are crusted with the soil and sweat fills the brow.
Yet, not all was good. No sooner had the first tips of green corn appeared than the greedy, fearless creature of the campo made its appearance. The Guzano. This small earth worm (that has lain in wait to devour the fresh, sweet stems of new corn) struck its deadly curse. It is one thing to hear of this tragedy from friends - that the "Guzano" is destroying everything in sight - but another thing altogether when I went myself to work in the campo, only to see the devastating work these creatures had done.
I thought to myself, “Maybe guerrilla warfare is as effective as it is because like the Guzano, it defies all the hi-tech devices of our modern age. The person who takes to the mountains to defend him or herself knows the hillside like the Guzano knows the earth...and when one's people is at stake, one is 'indestructible'.
At the time I left El Salvador, the problem of the Guzano was under control. All were praying that the rains would continue to fall and produce an abundant harvest.
For many years in the oppressed countries of the world, the Church has aligned itself to the powers that be. It has depended on the wealthy to build its churches, feed and clothe and house its clergy. It has done all this at the expense of the poor.
We see glimpses of this in El Salvador. When feast days are celebrated it is usually the wealthier families who step forth to put new clothing on the statues of the saints. Everyone comes out to celebrate the feast of the patron saint and the crucifixion and burial of Jesus on Good Friday.
The churches are full on these occasions. Processions are animated and no one absents themselves from these celebrations. In our diocese today, a new cathedral is under construction as well as an elegant chapel on the grounds of the bishop's residence. Monsignor Oscar Romero, as you may recall, discontinued all work on the construction of the new Cathedral while the war was in process.
The celebration of the patron saint and Good Friday are in themselves most important, but until we take the 'Franciscan Robe' off Maximilian Kolbe and robe him in the prison rags that he starved to death in, the world will never know or remember him as the man he was. As the man who saved his small smitherings of food for those in worse shape than himself; the man who offered secret Eucharists with his fellow prisoners and finally volunteered himself in the place of a fellow prisoner and father of nine to be confined in a cell with those considered 'dead' - where food was withheld altogether.
And Mary - who is she if presented to Latin Americans with blond hair, white skin and painted lips? What a difference it would make if Mary were reflected for who she was: A refugee, a peasant, an advocate for the oppressed, the mother of a condemned prisoner, a third world woman, a liberator.
Dom Helder Camara always saw feast days and processions as grand opportunities to help raise the consciousness of his people. Not to omit these days of celebration from the calendar, but to restore them to new life and meaning.
And then , we as volunteers from the first world need to be educated by our Salvadoran sisters and brothers. Efficient programs in alfabetization do exist that conscienticize while at the same time capacitate people to read and write. Base Communities exist that have not lost their direction as being the voice for the voiceless. We must allow ourselves to be taught by those who have suffered torture, disappearances and even death to themselves and loved ones.
As the state of affairs grows worse in El Salvador (and Nicaragua) we do what we can to keep in touch with grass- root organizations outside the country and share with our people the news and events and processes toward liberation that do not appear in the daily news media of El Salvador.
Thanks for listening. Let's keep close. My thanks to the many of you who shared so much with me during these few short weeks I was here in the States. Until later.
Adios, Amigos and Amigas
Lorenzo
News 7 -- Oct. 24, 1988
“In the sudden flight of the ascending butterflies, she was uplifted in heart and soul, as she described, by their presence of beauty, unison and freedom to move about as they wished -- and this sight before her eyes in a country torn by war, violence and a lack of freedom to live out life, free as the butterfly.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
[This is our 7th Newsletter from Fr. Larry Rosebaugh in El Salvador. This writing began on October 24, 1988 and spans from then until now: April 15, 1989.]
Newsletter #7
October 24, 1988
El Salvador
I think we are in the right place at the right time. This thought springs from me as I sit on my bed, the sweat still discoloring my shirt and a short rest, stretched out on the concrete floor, has restored some life to my bones.
Juan, Ana and I set out at 8 O'clock this morning accompanied by a middle- aged man and his twelve- year- old nephew. They had come by horseback from the village where we were scheduled to celebrate the liturgy today. It is about two and a half hours by foot. The people generally send a person or two on horseback as a gesture of concern and to give each of us the chance to go by horseback if we care to do so.
During the rainy season, as is presently the case, the roads are hard to travel. Even the oxen pulling their carts are often unable to reach their destination.
However, today wasn't bad. Though the rains have come down hard in the last 3 days, the two weeks of sunshine prior to now made the ground hard and we were able to pass without difficulty. Our campesino sisters and brothers, with their patient trust in their God for all seasons, were awaiting this downpour to give life to their second crop of corn sown early in September.
For me, it is too easy to take for granted what we are privileged to encounter as we make our way through the countryside. That there still are winding, dirt roads that run up and down and around the hillsides now covered in a beautiful variety of greens, is a grace.
Children on their way to school make their way up the last steep hill before reaching our town. Womyn carrying small babies now arrive after a 3-hour journey, on their way to the clinic.
The oxen are moving easily enough today. It is good to see the ox carts filled with corn and freshly picked squash. A certain pride is sensed in this on-going movement of people today.
The mothers on their way to the clinic do not seem strained by the possibility that their young child may be gravely ill. The chill of the air has been gone for some time. The good corn crop has provided an abundance of tortillas and a nutritional drink called 'atol.'
This is vaccination time for the children at the clinic as well as the time basic food supplies are distributed to those mothers with children under five.
After greeting the mothers on their way to the clinic, and children with their satchels on their way to school, we came upon a scene I was not familiar with. In the front yard of one of the roadside houses were gathered 25 - 30 head of cattle. As we drew near, we heard what has become familiar to our ears; the shouts and almost chorus-like calls to bring a cow, a horse, a pig or an ox back into the herd.
Today a lassoed cow was running in circles, while 3 or 4 men were tugging with all their might to bring her to a halt. It was vaccination day also for the cattle.
Sweat pours from us as the first hour of the journey passes. But the diversity of colors, sounds and activity have absorbed our minds so that we hardly are aware of the hour or the heat of the day.
Ana described to us later what for her, had been a marvelous experience. It was the encounter she had with the butterflies. Although there was an instant when she had been startled by what seemed to be several hundred butterflies take to flight in front of her, the total impression made on her was magnificent. It would become a grace-filled event that spoke to her uniquely.
She noted that it could have been soldiers stepping suddenly out before her that caused the same shock to her system. The difference, she explained, was what the butterflies represented to her in contrast to the meaning of soldiers appearing armed and ready for confrontation.
In the sudden flight of the ascending butterflies, she was uplifted in heart and soul, as she described, by their presence of beauty, unison and freedom to move about as they wished -- and this sight before her eyes in a country torn by war, violence and a lack of freedom to live out life, free as the butterfly.
We finally reached the village and were greeted by the family in the house where the Mass was to be celebrated. The setting was perfect. In the backyard under shade trees where an ox cart was used for one of the benches and the mountains of Honduras showed in the distance. As the people gathered, we practiced a few songs with them. Work as seen through the eyes of Salvadorans was the theme chosen today for our celebration. Pictures depicting campesinos working in the fields and another showing a young womyn learning to use a sewing machine helped us begin the discussion.
We talked about the work in the fields: that the entire world population is dependent on the labor of the campesino for their daily bread, yet there is no other group of such number and of such importance that is so exploited. Despite their labor, they are forced to live in conditions of extreme poverty.
Six colones, or the equivalent of $1.20, for a day´s work in the fields. A pound of beans, the campesinos daily sustenance, has been recently priced at 4 colones. The average campesino family cannot afford to buy beans at this price and suffers terribly until prices are lowered.
The conversations centered too on the fact that the womyn of the campo rises at 4 a.m. to begin preparing the fire for the tortillas and café. Her work does not stop until 7 in the evening. She walks to the river to wash huge bundles of clothing and often returns again into the countryside to cut and carry back on her head incredible loads of kindling wood.
This total commitment to life and to family however has no financial reward. We discuss the role and the importance of the womyn campesina -- of her suffering , of her exploitation. If she takes work as a domestic, for example, she will work from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. and be paid 4 colones.
We suggest we finish this part of the celebration with a drama. A man and womyn are chosen to play the part of the owners of the plantation. Several other men, womyn and children take the part of campesinos working the land of this plantation.
The workers have reached their limit. They have not received pay for over 2 weeks. They have, out of desperation, decided to confront the landowner, knowing it could mean endangering the lives of their entire family.
The role playing comes naturally. It allows them to feel profoundly the conditions under which they are living. It allows too the opportunity to question the possibility of beginning to work toward change.
But we are in El Salvador where any type of organizing, conscience-raising are seen as subversive activity and have been met with arrest, torture and death - the tactics used to keep the poor 'in their place.'
Our work is slow, but motivated by the Salvadorans themselves who continue to give their lives to bring about a time when violence will no longer dominate.
Petitions follow the drama and express well the sufferings, the hopes and the joy of those present.
The journeys to the villages are an important part of our work here. They allow us the chance to get to know our people better and will hopefully be the means of building a lasting trust between us.
It is hard to see much hope for this small country of less than 5 million inhabitants. In the last 9 years over a million Salvadorans have fled their homeland. Why do those in power allow the war to go on, and the hunger, malnutrition, illiteracy and injustices - always against the poor?
It's an answer most of us are aware of, but a situation hard to do much about. The military, government and political parties of El Salvador, in order to remain powerful and in control must remain submissive to the superpowers, in this case, the United States....An almost inescapable slavery of a whole people. Every attempt to organize for one's basic human rights is seen as a direct attack against the powers that be and is thus met with force and violence.
But here, the message of Advent and Christmas break through. The message of hope in the midst of darkness, of light and birth and new life. It is the hope, the enduring struggle of the poor that cannot be extinguished.
The scriptures around these mysteries of John's making straight the way and of the birth of Jesus are directly related to the people of El Salvador today -- a people who are discovering Jesus, Mary, and Joseph one with them as refugees sought after, tortured, imprisoned, and put to death. But most important, identified as a resurrected people continuing on to the promised land.
We, too, as volunteers find ourselves baptized into this present reality often feeling exhausted, done-in and asking, "how did I ever get into this?" But last week, while in San Salvador, the capital, a little light was shed on this question. We at the volunteer's house were awakened at 2:45 a.m. by the sound of an explosion. It was loud and we thought, relatively nearby. We drifted back to sleep and later talked about it over morning coffee.
It wasn't until I bought a newspaper at 3 p.m. that I discovered that the explosion was that which had destroyed the office attached to Resurrection Lutheran Church.
Bishop Medardo Gomez is the pastor there. His name has been ingrained into the hearts of the poor in El Salvador after the fashion of Msgr. Oscar Romero.
Over the past 15 years of ministering he has faithfully responded to the situations that demand a response - Saying no to death and injustices, yes to life and liberation.
Medardo's life has been threatened numerous times, the most recently being just a week before the bombing of the church's office. Ten years ago, he had been the victim of arrest, torture, and imprisonment.
Members of Catholic and Protestant churches had responded to Medardo's most recent threats by inviting the public to an ecumenical prayer service of support. The service had been scheduled for the same day the bomb had exploded.
The celebration went on as scheduled. People arrived and saw with their own eyes the results of the morning explosion.
Three hundred persons jammed into the small church. The presence of Medardo's wife and 6 children needed no formal introduction.
Testimony followed testimony for over an hour and a half, interspersed by song, prayer, and heartfelt sentiments. ...Then the blessing all had waited for. Candles held in hand and everyone in the church standing, the bishop rose to speak:
"Sometimes I feel like quitting,” he began. "At other times, as when I viewed the remains of the church office early this morning, I feel scared and want to hide. But then, when I return amidst you, my people, in prayer and song, I am reborn, animated and ready to continue on."
February 14. For the past two weeks we were busily preparing to celebrate the feast of the matron saint of our parish, Our Lady of Fatima. We reflected with our people on Mary's message to the three peasant children of Fatima. Mary's message being: prayer and sacrifice alone will bring the war to an end and peace to the world.
If we translate this message today to apply to ourselves and to our people, what might we conclude?
Sacrifice is at the very heart of daily existence in El Salvador. We need only to listen to the petitions expressed in our 6 a.m. Mass each day to detect this: "For my son who stepped on a mine and lost his left leg..." "...For my daughter who set out two weeks ago for the U.S. and I have had no word from her since." And last week from a grandmother who prayed, "...for my two grandsons of 11 months and 2 years who died of the measles just three days apart from one another." The root cause of these two deaths being malnutrition. O, all merciful God, hear the cry of your people.
This letter is written in the midst of unanswered questions and serious doubts about the future welfare of this country.
Today and tomorrow, February 19th and 20th, (1989) the major political parties of El Salvador are meeting in Mexico to discuss whether to postpone the presidential elections, scheduled for the 19th of March, to September 15th.
There have been threats of an increase in the bloodshed, if the elections are postponed and an all out state of siege if they are not.
The poor of the country have as their only option to dig in once again for the long haul -- united and even more convinced during this season of Lent, that Jesus, Oscar Romero and the thousands of Salvadoran martyrs are alive and resurrected among them.
Saturday April 15th. I have spent the last week in the U.S.. It was a gathering of 135 priests and brothers of my Congregation (Oblates Of Mary Immaculate). It was a week of reflecting together on our past and trying to shed some light on our future.
I will return to El Salvador tomorrow, hopefully renewed in Spirit. If things go well, I'll see you sometime during the Summer months.
Adios,
Lorenzo
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
[This is our 7th Newsletter from Fr. Larry Rosebaugh in El Salvador. This writing began on October 24, 1988 and spans from then until now: April 15, 1989.]
Newsletter #7
October 24, 1988
El Salvador
I think we are in the right place at the right time. This thought springs from me as I sit on my bed, the sweat still discoloring my shirt and a short rest, stretched out on the concrete floor, has restored some life to my bones.
Juan, Ana and I set out at 8 O'clock this morning accompanied by a middle- aged man and his twelve- year- old nephew. They had come by horseback from the village where we were scheduled to celebrate the liturgy today. It is about two and a half hours by foot. The people generally send a person or two on horseback as a gesture of concern and to give each of us the chance to go by horseback if we care to do so.
During the rainy season, as is presently the case, the roads are hard to travel. Even the oxen pulling their carts are often unable to reach their destination.
However, today wasn't bad. Though the rains have come down hard in the last 3 days, the two weeks of sunshine prior to now made the ground hard and we were able to pass without difficulty. Our campesino sisters and brothers, with their patient trust in their God for all seasons, were awaiting this downpour to give life to their second crop of corn sown early in September.
For me, it is too easy to take for granted what we are privileged to encounter as we make our way through the countryside. That there still are winding, dirt roads that run up and down and around the hillsides now covered in a beautiful variety of greens, is a grace.
Children on their way to school make their way up the last steep hill before reaching our town. Womyn carrying small babies now arrive after a 3-hour journey, on their way to the clinic.
The oxen are moving easily enough today. It is good to see the ox carts filled with corn and freshly picked squash. A certain pride is sensed in this on-going movement of people today.
The mothers on their way to the clinic do not seem strained by the possibility that their young child may be gravely ill. The chill of the air has been gone for some time. The good corn crop has provided an abundance of tortillas and a nutritional drink called 'atol.'
This is vaccination time for the children at the clinic as well as the time basic food supplies are distributed to those mothers with children under five.
After greeting the mothers on their way to the clinic, and children with their satchels on their way to school, we came upon a scene I was not familiar with. In the front yard of one of the roadside houses were gathered 25 - 30 head of cattle. As we drew near, we heard what has become familiar to our ears; the shouts and almost chorus-like calls to bring a cow, a horse, a pig or an ox back into the herd.
Today a lassoed cow was running in circles, while 3 or 4 men were tugging with all their might to bring her to a halt. It was vaccination day also for the cattle.
Sweat pours from us as the first hour of the journey passes. But the diversity of colors, sounds and activity have absorbed our minds so that we hardly are aware of the hour or the heat of the day.
Ana described to us later what for her, had been a marvelous experience. It was the encounter she had with the butterflies. Although there was an instant when she had been startled by what seemed to be several hundred butterflies take to flight in front of her, the total impression made on her was magnificent. It would become a grace-filled event that spoke to her uniquely.
She noted that it could have been soldiers stepping suddenly out before her that caused the same shock to her system. The difference, she explained, was what the butterflies represented to her in contrast to the meaning of soldiers appearing armed and ready for confrontation.
In the sudden flight of the ascending butterflies, she was uplifted in heart and soul, as she described, by their presence of beauty, unison and freedom to move about as they wished -- and this sight before her eyes in a country torn by war, violence and a lack of freedom to live out life, free as the butterfly.
We finally reached the village and were greeted by the family in the house where the Mass was to be celebrated. The setting was perfect. In the backyard under shade trees where an ox cart was used for one of the benches and the mountains of Honduras showed in the distance. As the people gathered, we practiced a few songs with them. Work as seen through the eyes of Salvadorans was the theme chosen today for our celebration. Pictures depicting campesinos working in the fields and another showing a young womyn learning to use a sewing machine helped us begin the discussion.
We talked about the work in the fields: that the entire world population is dependent on the labor of the campesino for their daily bread, yet there is no other group of such number and of such importance that is so exploited. Despite their labor, they are forced to live in conditions of extreme poverty.
Six colones, or the equivalent of $1.20, for a day´s work in the fields. A pound of beans, the campesinos daily sustenance, has been recently priced at 4 colones. The average campesino family cannot afford to buy beans at this price and suffers terribly until prices are lowered.
The conversations centered too on the fact that the womyn of the campo rises at 4 a.m. to begin preparing the fire for the tortillas and café. Her work does not stop until 7 in the evening. She walks to the river to wash huge bundles of clothing and often returns again into the countryside to cut and carry back on her head incredible loads of kindling wood.
This total commitment to life and to family however has no financial reward. We discuss the role and the importance of the womyn campesina -- of her suffering , of her exploitation. If she takes work as a domestic, for example, she will work from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. and be paid 4 colones.
We suggest we finish this part of the celebration with a drama. A man and womyn are chosen to play the part of the owners of the plantation. Several other men, womyn and children take the part of campesinos working the land of this plantation.
The workers have reached their limit. They have not received pay for over 2 weeks. They have, out of desperation, decided to confront the landowner, knowing it could mean endangering the lives of their entire family.
The role playing comes naturally. It allows them to feel profoundly the conditions under which they are living. It allows too the opportunity to question the possibility of beginning to work toward change.
But we are in El Salvador where any type of organizing, conscience-raising are seen as subversive activity and have been met with arrest, torture and death - the tactics used to keep the poor 'in their place.'
Our work is slow, but motivated by the Salvadorans themselves who continue to give their lives to bring about a time when violence will no longer dominate.
Petitions follow the drama and express well the sufferings, the hopes and the joy of those present.
The journeys to the villages are an important part of our work here. They allow us the chance to get to know our people better and will hopefully be the means of building a lasting trust between us.
It is hard to see much hope for this small country of less than 5 million inhabitants. In the last 9 years over a million Salvadorans have fled their homeland. Why do those in power allow the war to go on, and the hunger, malnutrition, illiteracy and injustices - always against the poor?
It's an answer most of us are aware of, but a situation hard to do much about. The military, government and political parties of El Salvador, in order to remain powerful and in control must remain submissive to the superpowers, in this case, the United States....An almost inescapable slavery of a whole people. Every attempt to organize for one's basic human rights is seen as a direct attack against the powers that be and is thus met with force and violence.
But here, the message of Advent and Christmas break through. The message of hope in the midst of darkness, of light and birth and new life. It is the hope, the enduring struggle of the poor that cannot be extinguished.
The scriptures around these mysteries of John's making straight the way and of the birth of Jesus are directly related to the people of El Salvador today -- a people who are discovering Jesus, Mary, and Joseph one with them as refugees sought after, tortured, imprisoned, and put to death. But most important, identified as a resurrected people continuing on to the promised land.
We, too, as volunteers find ourselves baptized into this present reality often feeling exhausted, done-in and asking, "how did I ever get into this?" But last week, while in San Salvador, the capital, a little light was shed on this question. We at the volunteer's house were awakened at 2:45 a.m. by the sound of an explosion. It was loud and we thought, relatively nearby. We drifted back to sleep and later talked about it over morning coffee.
It wasn't until I bought a newspaper at 3 p.m. that I discovered that the explosion was that which had destroyed the office attached to Resurrection Lutheran Church.
Bishop Medardo Gomez is the pastor there. His name has been ingrained into the hearts of the poor in El Salvador after the fashion of Msgr. Oscar Romero.
Over the past 15 years of ministering he has faithfully responded to the situations that demand a response - Saying no to death and injustices, yes to life and liberation.
Medardo's life has been threatened numerous times, the most recently being just a week before the bombing of the church's office. Ten years ago, he had been the victim of arrest, torture, and imprisonment.
Members of Catholic and Protestant churches had responded to Medardo's most recent threats by inviting the public to an ecumenical prayer service of support. The service had been scheduled for the same day the bomb had exploded.
The celebration went on as scheduled. People arrived and saw with their own eyes the results of the morning explosion.
Three hundred persons jammed into the small church. The presence of Medardo's wife and 6 children needed no formal introduction.
Testimony followed testimony for over an hour and a half, interspersed by song, prayer, and heartfelt sentiments. ...Then the blessing all had waited for. Candles held in hand and everyone in the church standing, the bishop rose to speak:
"Sometimes I feel like quitting,” he began. "At other times, as when I viewed the remains of the church office early this morning, I feel scared and want to hide. But then, when I return amidst you, my people, in prayer and song, I am reborn, animated and ready to continue on."
February 14. For the past two weeks we were busily preparing to celebrate the feast of the matron saint of our parish, Our Lady of Fatima. We reflected with our people on Mary's message to the three peasant children of Fatima. Mary's message being: prayer and sacrifice alone will bring the war to an end and peace to the world.
If we translate this message today to apply to ourselves and to our people, what might we conclude?
Sacrifice is at the very heart of daily existence in El Salvador. We need only to listen to the petitions expressed in our 6 a.m. Mass each day to detect this: "For my son who stepped on a mine and lost his left leg..." "...For my daughter who set out two weeks ago for the U.S. and I have had no word from her since." And last week from a grandmother who prayed, "...for my two grandsons of 11 months and 2 years who died of the measles just three days apart from one another." The root cause of these two deaths being malnutrition. O, all merciful God, hear the cry of your people.
This letter is written in the midst of unanswered questions and serious doubts about the future welfare of this country.
Today and tomorrow, February 19th and 20th, (1989) the major political parties of El Salvador are meeting in Mexico to discuss whether to postpone the presidential elections, scheduled for the 19th of March, to September 15th.
There have been threats of an increase in the bloodshed, if the elections are postponed and an all out state of siege if they are not.
The poor of the country have as their only option to dig in once again for the long haul -- united and even more convinced during this season of Lent, that Jesus, Oscar Romero and the thousands of Salvadoran martyrs are alive and resurrected among them.
Saturday April 15th. I have spent the last week in the U.S.. It was a gathering of 135 priests and brothers of my Congregation (Oblates Of Mary Immaculate). It was a week of reflecting together on our past and trying to shed some light on our future.
I will return to El Salvador tomorrow, hopefully renewed in Spirit. If things go well, I'll see you sometime during the Summer months.
Adios,
Lorenzo
News 8 -- Jan. 13, 1990
“North Americans, for example, who go to El Salvador for a relatively short period of time in no way go to save, to change, to bring hope, etc. We go to be changed and to discover what survival and faith and hope and resurrection are really about from those living it out day after day.”
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter # 8.
January 13, 1990
El Salvador
Dear Friends:
On Thursday July 12th I boarded a bus in San Salvador for Talisman, Guatemala, a border city of Guatemala and Mexico. On Saturday July 14, 2 days later, I arrived at noon in San Antonio, Texas.
The trip was without serious problems, even though a few memorable incidents generally occur. On Thursday evening I was told by the man selling bus tickets at the Guatemalan Mexican border that I would have to wait until Monday before a bus seat would be available. A few minutes later and I was in the state of despair, a religious sister from Mexico who knew the ropes well said, "he wants you to offer him a bribe of $10 and you will get your ticket. I did and I was on the bus for Mexico City the same evening.
I give thanks that these trips back to the States have gone well. The 2 1/2 days of travel up and down the beautiful mountainsides and through the valleys have served as a time to unwind and recall the many happenings of the past year; A sort of retreat before reaching home and meeting family and friends again.
When I arrived in San Antonio I was told of an old friend who had recently been in a serious auto accident and after 9 days was still in a coma.
Pio Celestino is a Peruvian who had come to the U.S, to pursue his career as a diplomat. During those initial years he began to meet other Peruvians and people from most every Latin American country. These people had to flee their countries because of war, poverty, and a general state of grave oppression.
Pio's natural instinct was to invite these families or individuals in need to pay him a visit at his home. Soon afterwards, he found himself dedicating his life to the service of these newly acquired friends.
In the last few years Pio has lived in the Rio Grande valley of Texas. There he and a lawyer friend established a community made up mostly of Salvadorans who on crossing the border find themselves without documents, food, housing or work. Pio and Lisa, along with friends, acquired a piece of tillable land - little by little - which has served to build a community. Working together on the land gives the former campesino a sense of family and security.
In early July, Pio had decided to go to Nicaragua on a peace march in commemoration of the 10th anniversary of the Sandinista government. He and others participating in the march had taken a day off after 3 days of walking and had decided to go by truck into the capital --Managua.
En route, their pick-up struck a horse, sending the vehicle rolling down an embankment. All were thrown free except Pio who was left crushed from head to foot.
It appeared at first he wouldn't survive. However, those at the hospital in Managua worked diligently to save his life. They mended his broken ankles and ribs, doing a remarkable job with the little resources available. Then they decided to send Pio to the States where he could receive better medical treatment.
Pio and I coincidentally arrived in San Antonio on the same day. It was on his hospital bed and in a state of coma that I discovered my friend.
Why do I include this account of Pio in a reflection of my past years in El Salvador? A few more thoughts about Pio might help this to become clear.
It's been over fifteen years since I first met Pio. What stands out most to me about him is his great zest for life. Whenever I have met him, he has been bubbling over with enthusiasm. People seemed to turn him on as did the possibility of a better future for the oppressed of the world.
I first met Pio in Dayton, Ohio where he had a house for refugees and other homeless people. He would put the responsibility of this house into the hands of the people themselves. If it were to function it would be because they would share the work and the needs of the house.
I remember walking through the streets of Dayton at night with Pio listening to his story. He had an uncanny sense of how to get rich and poor alike to solve their mutual problems. I faintly recall a womyn's clothing co-op he had helped to get off the ground. I also met a lawyer friend of Pio's working on behalf of the poor in this house of hospitality.
As I looked down at Pio on the hospital bed in San Antonio, I recalled the Spirit that seemed to drive this person. I was strongly inclined to believe that Pio would recover.
It is at moments like this in Pio's life as well as in the lives of thousands of Salvadorans whose hope for a tomorrow seems bleak, that a ray of hope flashes forth.
In the last few hours before I left San Antonio, Pio had begun to squeeze his visitor's hands in recognition of their presence. No words, no eye contact, but yes, a squeeze of the hand. At this point, his doctor told friends that Pio had a chance of making it.
This to me is the key to survival anywhere among a people. When word gets out - travels forth - or is whispered behind closed doors, "We are going to make it, have you heard?"
In Nicaragua, El Salvador, Guatemala... the people are making it. That's what counts.
North Americans, for example, who go to El Salvador for a relatively short period of time in no way go to save, to change, to bring hope, etc. We go to be changed and to discover what survival and faith and hope and resurrection are really about from those living it out day after day.
Unfortunately, I wasn't able to see Pio before returning to El Salvador. I was told, however, that he had regained full consciousness, had begun to walk and was once again with his Salvadoran friends in the Valley.
Maria and Dora arrived at our front door about 9 months ago. They were preceded by a government worker on the president's commission for returning refugees. She told us that a bus load of 25 refugees had just come into town. They needed a place to spend the night before setting out for the place where they would resettle - could we help them out?
This is how we made our acquaintance with Maria and Dora and the 20 children they claimed as their own.
What happens to people whose families have been torn apart by the war; disappearances, death of a father or mother, or 2 to 3 children of the same family? What happens to people like Maria and Dora who flee the country to spend 6 or 7 years in a camp for refugees?
Maria and Dora were in a refugee camp with 2000 other people, the greater percentage being womyn with young children. Elderly persons too, made up a good portion of this community.
An important factor within these refugee camps was the presence of international volunteers who in turn informed their respective countries when abuses against the human rights of the refugees were committed. The volunteers were persons who generally possessed important skills conducive to the needs of those in the camps. Skills and competency in medicine, agriculture, carpentry and other areas. But more important and essential than all else was the deep desire of the Salvadoran people to take advantage of every opportunity offered to them. And this they did with an indescribable intensity.
These years proved to be a time of growth, of learning and community all in one. The children and adults who never had a chance to learn to read and write would now have the opportunity. Campesino families would learn to work the fields collectively and to share the fruit of their labor according to each family's needs. The kitchen was run communally and with patience acquired so as to solve the problems that arose.
In effect, the years of collective living and sharing developed whole and integral persons, persons who would return to El Salvador determined and prepared to make the future a better place to live for themselves and their children.
Central and basic to all this was the building of Christian base communities. The forming into small groups to listen to the Word of God within the context of reality in which the people found themselves. Usually native Salvadoran sisters or priests lived within the camps and taught the elements of forming Christian community. The people came to experience that the Word of God like a two-edged sword penetrates every aspect of life, giving it the breadth and width and depth necessary to meet life with all of its demands.
From out of such a profound experience - such as this - Maria and Dora came to us. On this first night, we did what we could to provide space to sleep, food to eat and listened without intruding. We accepted what they offered to say, marvelled at their genuine goodness, love and the exceptionally good behavior of their children.
The following morning they set out by foot with everything they owned balanced on the top of their heads.
On the day Maria and Dora and their children arrived at our door, it seemed that the whole town had gathered in the plaza across the street from our house. Who were these newly arrived sisters and brothers? Where have they come from and where do they intend to settle? And all those children ranging from 19 down to 4 years of age... Who and where are their parents? Questions they hoped would soon be answered.
The National Guard of the town also came demanding information and documents from Maria and Dora. The soldiers took their personal belongings from the many cardboard boxes and spread them on the ground. A humiliating process, not new to them and other Salvadorans during these 10 years of unending war.
Salvadorans who fled into Honduras, Guatemala or to countries North or South of them fled because of the heavy aerial bombings and ground war carried out in the areas where they lived.
There is not a family amongst the refugee population who has not lost 2, 3, or more family members to the war.
Maria and Dora and their children have resettled in a small village two and a half hours by foot from our town. It is evident to the people of their community the gifts these 2 families have shared in the short time they have been there.
They share the Word of God with conviction and a vast amount of past experience. They have spoken within their community too, of the value and dignity and role of the womyn. Dora has become a leader of the local farming cooperative and responsible for calling the workers together to learn the value of working collectively.
Wednesday January 3, 1990.
My first New Year's resolution is to finish this newsletter to you (which I started writing in July while I was in the States).
The most recent outburst of the war here in El Salvador began on November 11th and continued until a truce was called for on the day before Christmas and terminated on the day after New Years.
When the two sides at war talk on and on about ending the war and it proves to be only a prolongation of empty promises and fruitless accusations, something has to give. And it did. Weeks of fighting in the streets, bombings in poor residential areas - killing an untold number of innocent people - leaving more than 70,000 homeless.
Living two and a half hours by bus from the Capital, with no means of travelling due to an ordinance by the guerrilla forces prohibiting all motor vehicles to operate until further notice; having all public radio stations taken over by the government, transmitting only what it wished the people to hear; telephone lines and the electrical plants dynamited and put out of use throughout the country for over a month, made life a nightmare for all.
Families from the countryside almost without exception had sons and daughters, parents or relatives in the capital or in one of the other larger cities under attack. They were frantic.
Daily Mass during this time brought more and more folks to church. The sharing of the Word was powerful, profound and deeply personal. At times like these, quarrels, and divisions among neighbors are often forgotten and the concern for family, friends and relatives becomes a common bond.
The guerrilla forces, by the way, operate their own radio station, moving its basic equipment for operating from place to place in the mountainside. This station remained functional too during this period of fighting, the result being that we the listeners had two sources of information or propaganda as one cares to interpret it to decipher from.
The government reported from the first day of the guerrilla attack that its troops had everything under control. This was quickly disproved as the war continued day after day, breaking out anew in most every major city of El Salvador.
On November 16, in the early morning hours, thirty to forty uniformed soldiers, as one reliable source has it, climbed the walls and entered a Jesuit residence. This community is responsible for running the Jesuit University in the capital. Six Jesuit priests, a womyn who cooked and cleaned house for this community and her 15 year old daughter were shot and killed point-blank.
Though shocking to all, many saw it coming for a long time. The Jesuit University with a presence of 25 years in El Salvador was renowned for its efforts to bring peace and justice to his land. Father Ignacio Ellacuria was second only to Monsignor Oscar Romero for his ability to confront the powers of injustice existing in El Salvador. He brought together a Jesuit Community and lay faculty dedicated to the liberation from oppression of the Salvadoran people through the means of educating the community and leading it frequently toward non-violent direct actions.
Immediately after the attack of November 11th began, the government encouraged people to call the radio station and express their heartfelt feelings. Hundreds of these calls were directed against the Jesuit University and specifically their director, Fr. Ellacuria. Accusations described the university as the center of guerrilla training and activity. What followed on November 16 in the Jesuit residence, after these public slanders were made, could have, again, almost been predicted.
President Cristiani has recently denied charges that the church in El Salvador is being persecuted. The facts show that since he took office in June, 53 church facilities have been entered into. Medicines, dental equipment, church documents, computers and other office material have been stolen or destroyed. The new printing press at the Jesuit University and the Church office of Bishop Medardo Gomez, recently destroyed by bombings, are cases in point.
Seventy eight church workers including religious sisters, priests and lay volunteers have been recently arrested, interrogated and expelled or pressured into leaving the country.
But even more devastating than this are the attacks leveled against the Salvadorans themselves who are involved in justice issues. Leaders of grass-root unions and cooperatives have been arrested, tortured and killed. An all out attempt to destroy what are referred to here as the popular organizations has since June been in the making.
The Lutheran bishop Medardo Gomez left the country recently under threats to his life. If violence occurs to Archbishop Rivera y Damas of San Salvador, it will come as no surprise. With the arrival of the Arena party, Archbishop Rivera y Damas has been referred to as an arch enemy of the government and supporter of the FMLN.
This isn't exactly a cheery note on which to begin the New Year. But beneath the suffering is an amazing spirit of unity and hope within the Salvadoran people. Our Christmas and New Year celebrations in our rural community were joy-filled and hopeful.
As volunteers from the U.S., we feel the same way. Our people share and partake of this gift of hope and joy with us. And as Monsignor Oscar Romero said - Con este pueblo no cuesta ser Buen Pastor. [With a people like these, it costs nothing to be a good pastor.]
A Blessed and Joy-filled New Year,
Lorenzo
[In some of his letters Larry used the word womyn as his way of expressing the equality of women and men.
campo = farm field or farm region. Campesino(a) = peasant farmer]
Newsletter # 8.
January 13, 1990
El Salvador
Dear Friends:
On Thursday July 12th I boarded a bus in San Salvador for Talisman, Guatemala, a border city of Guatemala and Mexico. On Saturday July 14, 2 days later, I arrived at noon in San Antonio, Texas.
The trip was without serious problems, even though a few memorable incidents generally occur. On Thursday evening I was told by the man selling bus tickets at the Guatemalan Mexican border that I would have to wait until Monday before a bus seat would be available. A few minutes later and I was in the state of despair, a religious sister from Mexico who knew the ropes well said, "he wants you to offer him a bribe of $10 and you will get your ticket. I did and I was on the bus for Mexico City the same evening.
I give thanks that these trips back to the States have gone well. The 2 1/2 days of travel up and down the beautiful mountainsides and through the valleys have served as a time to unwind and recall the many happenings of the past year; A sort of retreat before reaching home and meeting family and friends again.
When I arrived in San Antonio I was told of an old friend who had recently been in a serious auto accident and after 9 days was still in a coma.
Pio Celestino is a Peruvian who had come to the U.S, to pursue his career as a diplomat. During those initial years he began to meet other Peruvians and people from most every Latin American country. These people had to flee their countries because of war, poverty, and a general state of grave oppression.
Pio's natural instinct was to invite these families or individuals in need to pay him a visit at his home. Soon afterwards, he found himself dedicating his life to the service of these newly acquired friends.
In the last few years Pio has lived in the Rio Grande valley of Texas. There he and a lawyer friend established a community made up mostly of Salvadorans who on crossing the border find themselves without documents, food, housing or work. Pio and Lisa, along with friends, acquired a piece of tillable land - little by little - which has served to build a community. Working together on the land gives the former campesino a sense of family and security.
In early July, Pio had decided to go to Nicaragua on a peace march in commemoration of the 10th anniversary of the Sandinista government. He and others participating in the march had taken a day off after 3 days of walking and had decided to go by truck into the capital --Managua.
En route, their pick-up struck a horse, sending the vehicle rolling down an embankment. All were thrown free except Pio who was left crushed from head to foot.
It appeared at first he wouldn't survive. However, those at the hospital in Managua worked diligently to save his life. They mended his broken ankles and ribs, doing a remarkable job with the little resources available. Then they decided to send Pio to the States where he could receive better medical treatment.
Pio and I coincidentally arrived in San Antonio on the same day. It was on his hospital bed and in a state of coma that I discovered my friend.
Why do I include this account of Pio in a reflection of my past years in El Salvador? A few more thoughts about Pio might help this to become clear.
It's been over fifteen years since I first met Pio. What stands out most to me about him is his great zest for life. Whenever I have met him, he has been bubbling over with enthusiasm. People seemed to turn him on as did the possibility of a better future for the oppressed of the world.
I first met Pio in Dayton, Ohio where he had a house for refugees and other homeless people. He would put the responsibility of this house into the hands of the people themselves. If it were to function it would be because they would share the work and the needs of the house.
I remember walking through the streets of Dayton at night with Pio listening to his story. He had an uncanny sense of how to get rich and poor alike to solve their mutual problems. I faintly recall a womyn's clothing co-op he had helped to get off the ground. I also met a lawyer friend of Pio's working on behalf of the poor in this house of hospitality.
As I looked down at Pio on the hospital bed in San Antonio, I recalled the Spirit that seemed to drive this person. I was strongly inclined to believe that Pio would recover.
It is at moments like this in Pio's life as well as in the lives of thousands of Salvadorans whose hope for a tomorrow seems bleak, that a ray of hope flashes forth.
In the last few hours before I left San Antonio, Pio had begun to squeeze his visitor's hands in recognition of their presence. No words, no eye contact, but yes, a squeeze of the hand. At this point, his doctor told friends that Pio had a chance of making it.
This to me is the key to survival anywhere among a people. When word gets out - travels forth - or is whispered behind closed doors, "We are going to make it, have you heard?"
In Nicaragua, El Salvador, Guatemala... the people are making it. That's what counts.
North Americans, for example, who go to El Salvador for a relatively short period of time in no way go to save, to change, to bring hope, etc. We go to be changed and to discover what survival and faith and hope and resurrection are really about from those living it out day after day.
Unfortunately, I wasn't able to see Pio before returning to El Salvador. I was told, however, that he had regained full consciousness, had begun to walk and was once again with his Salvadoran friends in the Valley.
Maria and Dora arrived at our front door about 9 months ago. They were preceded by a government worker on the president's commission for returning refugees. She told us that a bus load of 25 refugees had just come into town. They needed a place to spend the night before setting out for the place where they would resettle - could we help them out?
This is how we made our acquaintance with Maria and Dora and the 20 children they claimed as their own.
What happens to people whose families have been torn apart by the war; disappearances, death of a father or mother, or 2 to 3 children of the same family? What happens to people like Maria and Dora who flee the country to spend 6 or 7 years in a camp for refugees?
Maria and Dora were in a refugee camp with 2000 other people, the greater percentage being womyn with young children. Elderly persons too, made up a good portion of this community.
An important factor within these refugee camps was the presence of international volunteers who in turn informed their respective countries when abuses against the human rights of the refugees were committed. The volunteers were persons who generally possessed important skills conducive to the needs of those in the camps. Skills and competency in medicine, agriculture, carpentry and other areas. But more important and essential than all else was the deep desire of the Salvadoran people to take advantage of every opportunity offered to them. And this they did with an indescribable intensity.
These years proved to be a time of growth, of learning and community all in one. The children and adults who never had a chance to learn to read and write would now have the opportunity. Campesino families would learn to work the fields collectively and to share the fruit of their labor according to each family's needs. The kitchen was run communally and with patience acquired so as to solve the problems that arose.
In effect, the years of collective living and sharing developed whole and integral persons, persons who would return to El Salvador determined and prepared to make the future a better place to live for themselves and their children.
Central and basic to all this was the building of Christian base communities. The forming into small groups to listen to the Word of God within the context of reality in which the people found themselves. Usually native Salvadoran sisters or priests lived within the camps and taught the elements of forming Christian community. The people came to experience that the Word of God like a two-edged sword penetrates every aspect of life, giving it the breadth and width and depth necessary to meet life with all of its demands.
From out of such a profound experience - such as this - Maria and Dora came to us. On this first night, we did what we could to provide space to sleep, food to eat and listened without intruding. We accepted what they offered to say, marvelled at their genuine goodness, love and the exceptionally good behavior of their children.
The following morning they set out by foot with everything they owned balanced on the top of their heads.
On the day Maria and Dora and their children arrived at our door, it seemed that the whole town had gathered in the plaza across the street from our house. Who were these newly arrived sisters and brothers? Where have they come from and where do they intend to settle? And all those children ranging from 19 down to 4 years of age... Who and where are their parents? Questions they hoped would soon be answered.
The National Guard of the town also came demanding information and documents from Maria and Dora. The soldiers took their personal belongings from the many cardboard boxes and spread them on the ground. A humiliating process, not new to them and other Salvadorans during these 10 years of unending war.
Salvadorans who fled into Honduras, Guatemala or to countries North or South of them fled because of the heavy aerial bombings and ground war carried out in the areas where they lived.
There is not a family amongst the refugee population who has not lost 2, 3, or more family members to the war.
Maria and Dora and their children have resettled in a small village two and a half hours by foot from our town. It is evident to the people of their community the gifts these 2 families have shared in the short time they have been there.
They share the Word of God with conviction and a vast amount of past experience. They have spoken within their community too, of the value and dignity and role of the womyn. Dora has become a leader of the local farming cooperative and responsible for calling the workers together to learn the value of working collectively.
Wednesday January 3, 1990.
My first New Year's resolution is to finish this newsletter to you (which I started writing in July while I was in the States).
The most recent outburst of the war here in El Salvador began on November 11th and continued until a truce was called for on the day before Christmas and terminated on the day after New Years.
When the two sides at war talk on and on about ending the war and it proves to be only a prolongation of empty promises and fruitless accusations, something has to give. And it did. Weeks of fighting in the streets, bombings in poor residential areas - killing an untold number of innocent people - leaving more than 70,000 homeless.
Living two and a half hours by bus from the Capital, with no means of travelling due to an ordinance by the guerrilla forces prohibiting all motor vehicles to operate until further notice; having all public radio stations taken over by the government, transmitting only what it wished the people to hear; telephone lines and the electrical plants dynamited and put out of use throughout the country for over a month, made life a nightmare for all.
Families from the countryside almost without exception had sons and daughters, parents or relatives in the capital or in one of the other larger cities under attack. They were frantic.
Daily Mass during this time brought more and more folks to church. The sharing of the Word was powerful, profound and deeply personal. At times like these, quarrels, and divisions among neighbors are often forgotten and the concern for family, friends and relatives becomes a common bond.
The guerrilla forces, by the way, operate their own radio station, moving its basic equipment for operating from place to place in the mountainside. This station remained functional too during this period of fighting, the result being that we the listeners had two sources of information or propaganda as one cares to interpret it to decipher from.
The government reported from the first day of the guerrilla attack that its troops had everything under control. This was quickly disproved as the war continued day after day, breaking out anew in most every major city of El Salvador.
On November 16, in the early morning hours, thirty to forty uniformed soldiers, as one reliable source has it, climbed the walls and entered a Jesuit residence. This community is responsible for running the Jesuit University in the capital. Six Jesuit priests, a womyn who cooked and cleaned house for this community and her 15 year old daughter were shot and killed point-blank.
Though shocking to all, many saw it coming for a long time. The Jesuit University with a presence of 25 years in El Salvador was renowned for its efforts to bring peace and justice to his land. Father Ignacio Ellacuria was second only to Monsignor Oscar Romero for his ability to confront the powers of injustice existing in El Salvador. He brought together a Jesuit Community and lay faculty dedicated to the liberation from oppression of the Salvadoran people through the means of educating the community and leading it frequently toward non-violent direct actions.
Immediately after the attack of November 11th began, the government encouraged people to call the radio station and express their heartfelt feelings. Hundreds of these calls were directed against the Jesuit University and specifically their director, Fr. Ellacuria. Accusations described the university as the center of guerrilla training and activity. What followed on November 16 in the Jesuit residence, after these public slanders were made, could have, again, almost been predicted.
President Cristiani has recently denied charges that the church in El Salvador is being persecuted. The facts show that since he took office in June, 53 church facilities have been entered into. Medicines, dental equipment, church documents, computers and other office material have been stolen or destroyed. The new printing press at the Jesuit University and the Church office of Bishop Medardo Gomez, recently destroyed by bombings, are cases in point.
Seventy eight church workers including religious sisters, priests and lay volunteers have been recently arrested, interrogated and expelled or pressured into leaving the country.
But even more devastating than this are the attacks leveled against the Salvadorans themselves who are involved in justice issues. Leaders of grass-root unions and cooperatives have been arrested, tortured and killed. An all out attempt to destroy what are referred to here as the popular organizations has since June been in the making.
The Lutheran bishop Medardo Gomez left the country recently under threats to his life. If violence occurs to Archbishop Rivera y Damas of San Salvador, it will come as no surprise. With the arrival of the Arena party, Archbishop Rivera y Damas has been referred to as an arch enemy of the government and supporter of the FMLN.
This isn't exactly a cheery note on which to begin the New Year. But beneath the suffering is an amazing spirit of unity and hope within the Salvadoran people. Our Christmas and New Year celebrations in our rural community were joy-filled and hopeful.
As volunteers from the U.S., we feel the same way. Our people share and partake of this gift of hope and joy with us. And as Monsignor Oscar Romero said - Con este pueblo no cuesta ser Buen Pastor. [With a people like these, it costs nothing to be a good pastor.]
A Blessed and Joy-filled New Year,
Lorenzo
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