a history lesson

My last week at the home in El Salvador, I was invited to join a group of fellow Americans who were visiting their sponsored children at NPH El Salvador, on an excursion. They had a trip into San Salvador scheduled, and since I’ve been to El Salvador three times now and still hadn’t spent any time in the city, I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity.

**WARNING - there are some details here that might not be appropriate for all readers. Proceed at your own discretion**

The day was pretty much dedicated to visiting important historical sites from times of the war, the war that ended just 16 years ago, that killed 75,000 Salvadorans, a war that was largely funded by the US. Our day revolved mostly around the life and tragic death of Archbishop Oscar Romero. The day started at the home where Romero lived the last couple years of his life fighting for the rights of the poor, followed by visiting the church where he was shot and killed on the altar. The vestments he was killed in have been preserved in his home – a chill came over me when I walked into the room and saw them hanging up, and saw photos of his assassination and funeral. We stood from the very spot Romero was shot from.

We finished the day off visiting the Central American University (UCA), a Jesuit University in San Salvador, where 6 Jesuit priests were killed for their dedication to serving the poor, along with their housekeeper and her 15 year old daughter, in 1989. In the museum, the clothes they were killed in have been preserved. They have on display an album of the photos taken as they were all found that morning. I was a little hesitant to look at the photos - I've never had such a knot in my stomach. Most of them had been shot in the head - most of their faces completely deformed, unrecognizable. Their brains literally "blown out" - a photo of one of the victim's brain laid in the grass several feet away from their body. I've never felt such an intense emotion in my life as I did that day, being present at these sites and seeing the pictures.

(for article see http://www.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/WPnov16.html)

As I walked through the museum at UCA, I read a bit about the Massacre at El Mozote, a largely forgotten about massacre here in the US - but the largest massacre in modern Latin-American history. We unfortunately were pressed for time, so I didn't get the full history. In the display cases were bullet shells, military helmets, bones from various victims, skulls of children. It wasn't until my last evening at the home, as I was chatting it up with one of the older girls, I will call her "Luz". She is 20 years old (22 years old based on her papers, which she said are incorrect since she was born during the war, it was impossible to get legal documentation of births), and since she was one of the girls put in charge of making my stay at the home a pleasant one, I got to know her and her 2 good friends fairly well. That night, I had no idea that I was about to get a history lesson by a young woman...a story of her family's history, her childhood, that would share with me many of the incredibly disturbing details of the Massacre at El Mozote, and the painful history of her life, as recounted to her by her father.

This young woman grew up in a town near El Mozote, right near the Honduran border. She told me about all of the people of her town being killed - all of those that weren't able to flee in time. Apparently one woman her family knew well survived this massacre, said she's never been the same since. The woman hid in the nearby river, as everyone in her town was murdered by the military. She witnessed them burn her husband and children. Their town was left deserted. The only native people there now are those that were lucky enough to have fled to Honduras before the military came in, and have since returned.

Before the raids and massacre, many people buried their valuables, and marked the site somehow, to allow for it to be found later. Upon the return of those who fled, the poor would go to these sites to dig up those valuables that were left behind. However, often times when they would dig out a site, they would find body bags, filled with those who had been killed. These sites had also been marked - the mass burial sites - and often times it was difficult to distinguish between where valuables had been left, and where bodies had been laid to rest.

Luz told me of a time she went with her father to dig up a site. She said all they found were green bags, filled with decaying bodies. She'll never forget the smell.

Luz's family had lost their home to the military three times. Each time as it was destroyed and burned, her family would live in the streets, and her father would rebuild. Finally after the third time, they gave up and building and lived in a field to wait things out.

Her brothers were 11, 12 and 13 years old, and were forced to fight in the war. Her mother was dying of cancer, and her father dedicated himself to taking care of her during this time. Her father would lend their home (when they had one) to both sides - to the military as well as to the guerrillas. He did so to keep from getting killed. Things got ugly when the military discovered he was a traitor - they took him from his home, ripped his shirt off his back, tied it around his head as a blindfold, and led him off to be killed. Several of his campesino friends arrived just in time to save his life, as they killed off the few military men that had captured him. After this his friends took Luz's family and hid them in a cave, knowing the military was still after him to take his life. She has no concept of how long they stayed hidden there, hidden in caves with so many other peasants hiding from the military.

After the war was over, many of the people from those villages had a difficult time moving back home. They had fears of their villages being haunted, after the massacre that had taken place. Her father however did go back to their village to build a home for his family, but everywhere he dug he dug up decaying bodies. All the land in their town had been left as a mass burial ground.

When I return to El Salvador in January, we will hopefully go visit her father in their village. She hasn't been home in 5 years. The last time she was there with her sister, they only spent one night, as it brought back so many horrible memories of their past. However, she expressed desire to go back, and invited me to go along, to show me that piece of her life. Her father had strong feelings about what Romero was trying to defend and protect. He attended his masses, was actually present at the mass he was killed at, and attended his funeral, and witnessed the killing of another 30-50 of the 250,000 there to mourn his death. We hope to find Luz's father when we go in January - I'm sure he has some amazing stories to share.

To read more on Archbishop Romero, see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Romero