Hello,
I realize it’s been a long, long time since I’ve written. Somehow I get so wrapped up in life here and in working 7 days a week that I don’t take the time I need to write, reflect, and share my experiences here. Given the lapse between my last entry, there is obviously much, much more to say than can fit in a single blog entry, so I want to focus on the story of my Easter here, in order to share with you the life and death of a martyr, one who now inspires me and hopefully will do the same for you.
I’m often amazed here, by the way that life/God/the birds of fortuity work in such a way that I am frequently invited difficult crevices of this world, yet in these places I often find the most overwhelming grace and faith. Holy Saturday was one such day, as I made my way back from Guarjila, a small rural mountain town, to San Salvador in order to go to the Easter vigil with the youth group I work with here. Since buses do not run in small towns here on Holy Saturday, a friend of mine offered to take me on his motorcycle. No sooner were we 15 minutes out of the town, however, that we got stuck in a muddy mess along with many other travellers, because the road is a wreck given that it is under construction to become a highway for business and mining activity at the expense of those who will suffer the landslides, poisoned water, and displacement that this will inevitably bring.
Several trucks passed and refused to give me a ride before my friend Santos drove up in his pick up truck headed to the city. I jumped in his truck along side Hermana Mila, a Sister of the Sacred Heart who lives and works in Guarjila. On our journey to the city she shared with me that she was going to San Salvador to attend the wake of her 18-year old nephew who had been assassinated on Good Friday. I asked her where the way was being held and she said, “In Lourdes, we can go, if you want.” I told her that I had a commitment with the youth group and couldn’t attend, but the rest of the ride I had this nagging feeling that this was one of the times when I had to say yes to life’s invitations, because our lives are a series of possible images/potential presents and every image could be drastically different, depending on the choices we constantly make.
As we were soon to arrive, I told Mila that I could accompany her. As we waited for numerous buses in the rain, on our way to Lourdes, the story of her nephew unfolded. Oscar was 18 years old, the 2nd of three boys in an extremely Catholic family. His family lives in a historically violent neighborhood that is currently not controlled by either gang, although surrounding territories are controlled by one of the gangs. Oscar was the leader of the youth group at his Church, and played guitar at Thursday and Sunday mass every week with his brothers and father. His dream was to start a music school for children from his neighborhood. He had recently begun working at a construction company, with the dream of adding on a room to his house to call his own. His job required him to drop off deliveries of materials in neighboring districts, which is inherently dangerous given that he is a young male entering gang territories, coming from a community that is yet to be controlled. Life here works on an invisible grid system, where youth know which territories they can enter and which are strictly out of bounds, strictly based on their home communities, regardless of whether or not the youth have anything to do with the gangs.
Oscar woke up on Good Friday and began to make the “Alfombra” (salt relief type of carpet that communities make on streets here to celebrate holy days) in front of the church.
He and other youth finished the first Alfombra and were invited to make another a ways up the road. On the way, the police stopped all of the youth, searched them, and threw Oscar to the ground to pick up the money they’d thrown from his pocket. Just another example of the way youth are criminalized here, regardless of who they are or the fact that they’d obviously come from making an alfombra of the crucified Christ on Good Friday.
Further up the road, Oscar worked on the 2nd alfombra together with adults, children, and youth from the community. He erased Christ’s face twice, because he wanted to make sure it was perfect, and at 2:50pm just as he was finishing the image the third time two 14-year olds drove by on bicycles and shot him twice in the back of the head. He died instantly, at the side of his brothers, children, and many community members and his blood poured over the alfombra, over the face of Christ. His parents were alerted and his mother ran to him and fainted on the way. His dad, Hugo, reached him, held his head in his arms and said later that his fingers touched his son’s brains, since the bullets had gone through the back of his head and come out just above his eyes, leaving a gaping hole. Neighbors later told me, I saw the crucifixion this Friday in person, not of Oscar, but of Hugo, he died with Oscar that day.
Community members and police proceeded to catch the 14 year olds and beat them nearly to death. One ended up in critical condition in the hospital, and I do not know if he survived or not.
I arrived in Lourdes to an indescribable scene of grief, fear, and disbelief. Oscar’s body lay amidst hundreds of flowers, propped up in empty coca-cola bottles in the community center. His brothers, cousins, neighbors, and parents cried uncontrollably and told stories of their dear loved one. We accompanied his body all night, as is the custom here, with the songs of those whose tears ceased for long enough to stutter out worship songs and strum Oscar’s guitar. I froze when I saw him in his coffin, looking so handsome, with his hair gelled up, just beginning to live his life. All night I sat in the frenzy of fear of gang retaliation at the wake (for what the community had done to the youth responsible), desperation, and indescribable faith. Women told me stories about how in their neighborhood, their children live as if they were in jail, because they can never safely leave the house. One woman told me that gang members arrived to take photos of her restaurant, and that she was filled with fear but repeated, Lord, you know this is your store, please do with it what you please. She wants to leave the neighborhood with her two adolescent boys but has nowhere to go.
Oscar’s aunts, uncles, and family brought him back to life as they talked about his shy, kind disposition and the way he’d wondered just days before his death “do you think I’ll ever get married?” Hearing about his dreams cut short made me wonder when this will end…. this cycle of endless violence.
One of the most difficult parts for me to swallow of the whole weekend was the way in which everybody spoke about the 14-year olds responsible for the murder. I realize that pain and grief can blind people at times, but nonetheless it broke my heart to hear Oscar’s uncle say he had run to get his machete to stab the boys in the heart but hadn’t gotten back in time…. To hear the Catholic sister say that the problem with boys like those is that they have no heart nor soul…. That they should all be locked up for life because youth in this country have been poisoned.
I kept quiet, knowing that it was not the time to argue but inside I was torn apart, knowing that it’s not so simple. I spend most days with those 14-year old killers, with different faces, different victims, and different crimes but with them nonetheless. I listen to the lives of 12 to 22 year olds every week who are trapped in jail for up to 15 years and have no hope for their own futures. These youth open up their lives to in ways that never cease to amaze me, and invite me into the tragedies that have formed their paths to prison. The solution will never lie in killing or shutting away these 14-year old offenders who are recruited by the gang to murder, knowing that they will serve shorter sentences than adults who commit the same crimes. I don’t know what the solution is, but I’m working towards discovering it between glimpses of restorative justice, tomato plants planted side by side by 60-year old women and veteran gang members, and growing capacity to listen deeply without judging.
On Easter Sunday morning we walked towards the church through the dirt roads of Lourdes behind Oscar’s body singing “Lord, with your eyes set upon me, gently smiling, you have spoken my name, all I longed for, I have found by the water, at your side, I will seek other shores.” We reached the packed outdoor church and people flooded to the casket to spend a few last moments with Oscar. His father, Hugo, opened the mass, kneeling in front of the alter with his head down, speaking chillingly into the microphone. Tears streamed down all of our faces in the packed church as he spoke in a steady voice that filled the space, “Lord, on this day of your resurrection I hand my son over to you. You gave me such little time to be with him, and his only crime was singing to you, worshiping you with all of his days. I hand him over to you with the hope that those who killed him will have a change of heart and search for you.”
In El Salvador, I am usually less than impressed with the Catholic church, its mission, message, and hierarchy, but on this Easter Sunday, Father Luis’s message shook me and inspired me. As I sat in this church filled with crying Christians on Easter Sunday, the one day when we are supposed to be filled with hope in the resurrection, not only after death but here on this earth, of course, I thought, in El Salvador this day would be accompanied by the casket of an 18 year-old martyr. Of course this crucified people wouldn’t even get one day of joy…. rather, more killings, more fear….
Father Luis talked about the way in which Oscar is indeed, another martyr, whose innocent blood poured out over the face of Christ at the hour of Christ’s death. His is the innocent blood spilled today, begging us to work for peace. He begged the congregation to not allow there to be any space in our hearts for vengeance or rage, rather only for prayers that those who perpetrate such violent acts will be changed. He spoke about Oscar’s example of devotion to youth, the Church, to his family, and about the way in which his life and death must serve for us as motivation to plant seeds of peace wherever it is that we are, if we are to work for a world in which 18-year olds will not die with their barely breathed dreams still on their tongues.
I cried through the entire mass and thought about how at the very least, I wanted to share Oscar’s life and martyrdom with you. So that you, too, may feel the urge wherever you are to work for peace in his name. I returned to my community Sunday night feeling exhausted, but grateful to the workings of this life for allowing me to have known Oscar’s story and to have shared in the celebration of his life and mourning of his death. He and his family’s example of unfaltering faith and commitment to each other and to their community inspire me in my work here and ignite me with courage I did not know I had before.
I hope that wherever this finds you, you can pick up where Oscar left off to work for peace, music, youth, and love in this world that so desperately needs it.
