Monday, January 11, 2010
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Introduction; Biography of Larry Rosebaugh by Karl Meyer
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!
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!
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
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