Life in San Salvador. La vida de los capitalinos.

The people of the capital city of San Salvador are in a state of depression due to the level of violence.  They are very preoccupied by the increase of crime in their city.  This, according to La Prensa Grafica, a Salvadoran newspaper this Sunday, February 8, 2015.  Citing their own polls, the entire metropolital area is concerned, but six districts were identified, according to 75% of the residents, as being bad or very bad with regard to securidad and public safety.  Most of the concerns come from ongoing gangland style killings of police officers, extending to interfeudal  gang murders, extortion, drug related violence, and petty theft on buses and on the street.  Sooner or later, almost every one seems to become just one more violence related statistic in a sea of crime, most of which goes unresolved.

Yet, life seems to go on for most regular folks.  Maria Antonia is still selling newspapers for "solo una cora", one quarter, on the corner of Bulevar Constitution and Avenida Motocross.  Her daughter is in kinder now.

Private security guards are still on the job, although all the faces seem new to me.  I think their bosses reassign them periodically, moving them to new locations.

I even ran into an old friend, Roxanna.

She looked better than ever.  I think she is a reformed drug addicted prostitute, but I can't say that for sure.  When I first met her a couple of years ago she looked to be in pretty rough shape, living on the street and begging on the street corner.  Now, she tells me she has been staying in a room at the neighborhood church thanks to the pastor.  And she is set to move into a small apartment nearby.  "But, I need thirty dollars for the first month's rent."  I said I can only help you out with part of that.  Then, we went shopping at the Super Selectos grocery store for groceries.  I even met her daughter who is very pregnant.

Roxanna asked if we could meet again the next Tuesday.  I showed up a bit late that day, walking on my way home as I do every day.  Roxanna was not there.  Perhaps, I had arrived too late, or perhaps a thousand other things might have happened.  Our paths may never cross again.

Several weeks later, I stopped to see Carlos and Yolanda, the couple who had housed me two years ago.  They told me that they had run into Roxanna near the church and she told them that I was here again, and how overjoyed she was with my help of food and rent.  Carlos told me that she really has straighted out her life, and is living honorably.

There are some new folks on my walking route each day.   Adonai is a young man who walked along with me for a mile or so uphill on my way home one day, pushing his ice cream cart in the street.  You can't malipulate very easily here on the side walks.  From cars parked on the walkways, to dog excrement, to busted up concrete, to open holes resulting from stolen metal grates, to garbage, you walk with you eyes down so as not to fall, or worse.  Sometimes, you need to move to the street which presents an additional risk of fas moving buses and cars.  There is very little give from drivers to pedestrians here, who routinely jay walk even on the busiest streets.

Adonai explained that he works for his uncle and is on commission.  A cone costs fifty cents.  Adonai works from 9 or 9:30 to almost 6:00pm.  "What's a really great day? I inquired.  Explaining that he get 30 percent of his sales, he said "when I sell $50.00 worth, then I get to keep $15.00."

Insecurity may be the biggest issue for Salvadorans.  But, I would put garbage right up there.  There is no recycling done in the homes.  It's done on the street.  People bag their garbage in plastic bags, then take them to the curb, or the corner, or the entrance to their gated community.  There it may sit for several days until the garbage truck arrives.  In the meantime, the dogs and birds have a field day, picking apart the bags looking for food.  and then there are the recyclers, mostly men, who walk throughout the city carrying large bags filled with the cans and plastic they can scavage from the bags on the streets.  Sometimes they arrive before the dogs, feeling the outside of each bag to detect a recyclable item, then ripping that area open to extract the can or bottle.

This pile lay on the street corner for three straight days before it disappeared.  The garbage men, aided occasionally by a woman, have to scoop up this garbage, bare handed.  They then do some recycling on the back of the truck.

It's all part of daily life in San Salvador.

Life in the outskirts of Quezaltepeque, la familia de mi nieto Dylan

This past weekend I was blessed to spend twenty-four hours with my Salvadoran "daughter" Mirian Alas, her husband Dimas and my "grandson" Dylan. Approximately two years ago the family moved from Mirian's parental home in Comunidad Ellacuria in Chalatenango to a poor neighbood on the outskirts of Quezaltepeque. Living right next door are several aunts, Maria Cristina and Maria Julia, and 80 year old Ovedio, an uncle of Dimas.

And as I was to find out, they now live within walking distance of Dimas's first child, six year old Kevin Josue. Young Kevin lives with his mother down the dirt road a bit, around the bend, but close enough to easily hang out with his dad and half brother.

Those visits, however, seem to be rather infrequent. Indeed, for the past six months Dimas has only been able to come home on weekends. He's been working in new home construction at a site three hours away from home. So, he and a co-worker have been renting a tiny apartment during their work week. Mirian explained that that job is now ending and Dimas will begin working at a site much closer to San Salvador. This means that the family will no longer have the extra expense of renting the apartment. And dad will be home every night even though it will be a late arrival and an early departure in the morning.

 I arrived at their home a couple of hours before Dimas. When Dimas arrived he was driving a company truck with a co-worker. When Mirian announced his arrival I went outside to greet him. His reaction seemed a bit cold, not to me, but to his family. We hugged, but I don't recall him extending much a greeting at all to his wife or son. This after being away for a week. I think the resulting activity gave me an insight in the male perspective in Salvadoran society. Dimas immediately grabbed three chairs, setting them up in front of his house. Then, going to the truck he pulled out three Miller beers. As we drank a couple of the beers I explained that they came from my home town of Milwaukee. After some time another truck pulled up to take the co-worker home. Then, after parking the company truck along side of his house, Dimas starting working on his own car.

 Sometime later we all sat down for the dinner that Mirian had prepared. We all sat on just two sides of the small table that was up against the wall, an arrangement that seems common in El Salvador, one that provided an intimancy which enhanced our sharing. Their house consists of just two rooms. Mirian insisted that I sleep in their bed. When you are in these circumstances you cannot refuse, and arguing does no good. They pulled a foam pad out of the bedroom, and there in the kitchen-dining space the three slept on the floor. Dimas fell asleep in the hammock even before we all went to bed. A week of hard work, four beers, and a wonderful Salvadoran dinner all contributed to his need for rest. And to mine. Sometime during the night Mirian moved Dylan into his bed. In the morning, shortly after 6:00am Dylan awoke, and in the dark, semi awake, Dylan came over to my bed and climbed in. Quickly realizing that I was not who he was expecting to be there, Dylan jumped out and went out looking for mom and dad. Shortly after we all woke up and began moving about outside Dimas starting working on his car again, eventually getting it running, and thus, charging up the battery. Later he worked on the rear brakes and then struggled to change a tire. We shared a good breakfast of beans, rice, tortillas and coffee. Dimas asked me if I wanted a beer. Not sure if he was kidding or not, I politely declined indicating it was a bit early to start drinking. Mirian's total responsibility was anything and everything that had to do with activites within the house. Cooking, cleaning, laundry and raising their son. Dimas benefitted immensely from this arrangement as it freed him to tend to his work and relationships outside of the house. I could see that he is happy with his family, especially with the son that he shares with Mirian. Yet, Mirian carries an additional burden. She works long hours, almost every day, in a nearby taller where a small group of women sew uniforms for students in three nearby schools. She even has a sewing machine in her home where she works at night, sometimes til 10:00pm. The women have a contract with the Federal government to provide over 1,000 uniforms. Grade schoolers get two uniforms and high schools receive one. The school principals are responsible for providing the bulk materials. The women have to go to the schools to take measurments of each student. Then, they have sixty days to produce the uniforms. On school day mornings, they awake around 5:00am. Mirian makes breakfast, then packs a mid morning meal for Dylan. On nonschool days Dylan is able to enjoy a coffee with sweetbread. But, to get to school Mirian and Dylan walk four blocks to catch a microbus into the town center where Dylan boards the bus that takes him to school. Mirian then returns home and after a bit of cleaning, goes three houses down to begin her sewing work. By 11:30 Mirian must be back in town to greet Dylan as he gets off the school bus. Back at home Mirian prepares lunch. Then, Mirian spends the afternoon in the sewing taller. She leaves only to get into town to greet Dylan at the bus stop, then arriving back at home around 6:00pm. Dylan is going to a private, Catholic school. Mirian and Dimas believe he will get a better education. I inquired of Mirian about her expenses for Dylan to go to level 5 Kindergarten. There is an annual registration fee of $5.00. Then a monthly fee of $11.50 for the eleven months from January to November. The bus from the central city to the school costs $10.00 monthly. Mirian's four bus rides a day cost another $10.00 a month. School books run around $33.00 a year. Then, there are shoes, and the special uniforms for sporting and cultural activities, that all need to be purchased. So, their annual expenses to send Dylan run well over $700.00. When I mentioned that to Mirian she said that she really didn't want to know because the total would frighten her. "I don't have rest the entire day," responded Mirian. "This is my life, Carlitos." On Saturday morning I chatted briefly with Ovedio. Then, I asked if he would mind if I took his picture. He responded in the traditional Salvadoran manner. Putting his machete aside he stood erect, hands at his side, and looked down. I have learned that this posture reflects a sense of low self worth, of humility. When I showed him the picture he was surprised and commented, "so quickly you can see it". I don't know if he had ever seen a picture of himself before. A spry old guy, at age 80, missing most of his teeth, yet alert, tending to his goats, with a big smile. He could be any kid's grandpa and a wonderful one at that. You can't help falling in love, in a bond of sisterhood and brotherhood with these people when you meet them. I'll see Mirian and family in a couple of months when we come to take the family with us to our vacation weekend in Chalate for Easter. Looking forward to it! From Quezatepeque, El Salvador Carlito

Memoria de los Izalcos. Those Who Remember Speak.

La Memoria Toma La Palabra...Memoria de los Izalcos
Izalco, El Salvador, 25 enero 2015

In January of 1932 one of the biggest rebellions in 20th century Latin American history was initiated by the indigenous in El Salvador.  Thousands of poor campesinos attacked military cuartels and took control of several towns in western El Salvador.  The government of General Hernandez Martinez responded by slaughtering thousands of indigenous, in a country that only had one and one-half million people.

The collective trama lasted for decades.  It took many years before the survivors began to speak about these massacres, and then only in the privacy of their own homes amongst their most trusted family and friends.

Recently, the elderly who survived have begun to give testimony, breaking with the culture of terror that had silenced them.

An American military advisor, in El Salvador one month before the insurrection, described the conditions in El Salvador at the time.

"One of the first things one observes upon arriving in San Salvador is the abundance of luxury cars...Packards and Pierce Arrows...and the contrast with the taxi carts being pulled by shoeless men.

There is no middle class...nothing between the immensly rich and the poor.

Ninety percent of the wealth of the nation is held by one-half of one percent of the population.  Between 30 and 40 families own and control almost the entire country.  They live like kings, surrounded by slaves.  They send their children to be educated in Europe and the United States.  They flaunt their money.  And the rest of the population has practically nothing...

I imagine the situation in El Salvador is similar to that of France, Russia and Mexico before their revolutions." A.R. Harris

What were the circumstances and world conditions that motivated the people to revolt?
-- the precarious socio economic conditions of the campesino workers.
-- the loss of campesino held land that had been passed down from generation to generation, as a result of the privatization that began in 1880 with the increasing number and size of the coffee plantations.
--the crash of 1929 that led to lower coffee prices worldwide, provoking a dramatic loss of wages and jobs.
--ethnic conflicts between indigineous and Ladino populations in western El Salvador in Izalco and Nahuizalco.
--the election of President Aranjo who raised expectations among the people of a possible agrarian reform.  The failure of any reform led to much discontent, facilitating efforts by the Communist Party and others to organize and demand better conditions.

Estimates of the number of those killed during the first few months of 1932 range from 10,000 to 30,000.  Farabundo Marti was one of several leaders captured and killed four days before the insurrection.  His memory and name would live on, first among the five guerilla bands who joined forces in 1980 to become the FMLN, and then after the Peace Accords in the form of the FMLN political party.

The murdered indigenous were Nahuatl Pipil.  The town of Izalco experienced the greatest loss of life.  Next to the church, across from the city square, is the site where the indigenous were forced to dig their own mass grave before they were killed.

Today, this place is maintained as the sacred ground that it is.  Upon entering, visitors are asked to maintain silence.  On Sunday, January 25, 2015, a sacred ceremony was held to commorate, to celebrate, and to remember the fallen.  I was privileged to be able to attend.

A Day of Remembrance

Friday 23-enero 2015

Representatives from close to 20 communities came to the CIS today for their 1st gathering in 2015.  They come together to share, to learn, to plan and to celebrate.  They meet every other month.  Some left their homes at 4:00am to take several buses, arriving at CIS around 9:00am.

I participated in order to learn what was going on throughout El Salvador, but, more importantly, to meet with old friends and compadres whom I have come to know and love over these years: Myra from Comasagua; Delmi, the CIS promotora from San Luis and the anil taller; Adrian, the leader of La Loma; Evelyn from Distrito Italia who makes the Jaragua jewelry; and of course, my brother Raul from Comunidad Romero.

This weekend is the anniversary of masacres that took place in 1932 when the government tried  to eliminate the indiginous Mayan population.  The most horrific masacre took place in Izalco, then the killings moved throughout the country.

To commerate this event the group participated in an exercise of remembrance.  We were asked to remember an individual of our community, to write that person's name on a piece of paper, and to then make a personal commitment of action that we would take moving forward.

When it came time for me to share what was on my paper, I rose and said that rather than remember one person I had chosen to remember one community.

"I suppose that many of you know about Mesa Grande, and how on October 10, 1987, some 4,000 Salvadorans left Mesa Grande to repopulate their land.  A small group of these people came to a beautiful little corner known today as Guarjila.

Several years later this communitiy, and other repopulated communities, began to send invitations to church communities in the United States, including to my parish of Santa Teresa in Milwaukee.  After some discussion discernment and prayer, we accepted the invitation to enter into a sistering relationship.

In November 1991 I was a member of a delegation that came to El Salvador.  After participating in the commerative mass at the University, the second anniversary of the masacre of the Jesuits, we got into a microbus late at night and headed north.

I remember stopping around 2:00am, and our driver announcing, 'welcome to Guarjila'.  From that moment Guarjila became my first home in El Salvador.  The welcoming love of the entire community changed my live forever.  Thus, began my life of solidarity with el pueblo Salvadoreno.

The commitment that I make today, is to continue that solidarity."

With that I folded my paper, placed it in a small pan, spead some seeds and flowers on the floor, and returned to my seat.

After everyone had their turn, the papers were lit on fire, not to destroy those memories, but to bring them to the light, comsumed with the flame of our love and dedication.

Iris, our group leader invited all of us to go back to our communities and perform similar acts of memory and honor and commitment.  Myra said, "que bueno que hacemos."   "How good that we do so."