Mothers Day Salvadoran Style.

The 10th of May marks Mothers Day in Latin America, no matter what day it is. This year, in El Salvador, places were decorated and the florists were filling the street corners waiting for sons and daughters to buy that special combination of colorful flowers for their mother.

Even though I am accustomed to celebrating Mothers Day on a different date, I still did a little bit of reflecting as Salvadorans honored their mothers (and mother figures).

I am finding in my life, that who you call Mom, says a lot about you. Here in El Salvador culture with a mix of poverty really changes the family dynamic. There are many single moms here and many women who have children with multiple men. I won’t explain the how or why of this (this is not the time of discussion), but I will say, that the role this woman plays in the child’s life is even more important. In addition, there are times when one or both parent leave the family to go North to support the family. Sometimes the family still stays in touch with the person who migrated, but that is not always the case.

I read a story recently in which a mom emigrated to the US to make enough money for the family. As a mother, she was the primary breadwinner for her family, but she was not the primary caregiver. Instead, the older sister assumed the role, which leads me to wonder. Who do Salvadorans call Mom? And when exactly does a woman become a mother?

Here, there is a strong presence of influential woman with strong character. I have met women here who are a definite force to be reckoned with and are seen as the matriarch of a whole family or community at times. These are the women who keep careful watch over every child (no matter what age) and keep the men in line and on their toes. In such a machismo culture, I find this reality to be surprising and a bit refreshing.

As a feminist who is blessed with many different individuals who have assumed mothering roles in my life, I often wonder what kind of mother I will become someday. Although I admire these strong Salvadoran women, I am not sure I want that kind of responsibility. It is my hope however, that my future partner and I complement each other in such a way that the typical mothering characteristics are distributed among the two of us. I feel that if life works out that way, then our child (or children) will understand that traditional gender roles do not need to be fulfilled to raise a healthy child, or to have a healthy family.

So in closing, Happy Mothers Day, to all those women and men who care for children and raise them to be happy and healthy adults. My blessings, gratitude and awe go to you…

Typical Sunday!

Every Sunday I have this ritual. It’s a new thing for me. I am trying to work on routine…trying to ground myself…trying to connect my heart to my environment. And so, I roll out of bed and start thinking about church. I think about it and ask myself if I really want to go. There was once a time in my life when it was just a given that I would go, but now, I find myself seeking other options for spirituality. I have been singing a new song.

If I decide to go to church, I do the normal life thing of getting dressed and all that jazz. I also eat something (even though it is against church teaching) and then I begin the journey. I jump on the number 46 bus…it goes from one poor neighborhood to another…I am somewhere in the middle of the line but economically speaking I stand out! I love riding the bus, and somehow that seems a bit strange to me…but never the less, it’s a part of my life. It’s such a real experience, passing through the different neighborhoods, looking at the people getting on and off, wondering where they came from and where they are going. That in itself is a spiritual experience. Its the reality of liberation theology right in front of me without ever stepping into a church. I wonder what the Vatican thinks of such revelations?

I’ve learned about the layout of the city by riding the buses and the images I have gathered run through my head when I think about the things I love about El Salvador. Mostly, its about the people….I have fallen in love as Arrupe would say. As the bus passes the big parks, and the hospital Rosales, I can’t help to feel a tug at my heart. People say that Rosales is the hospital for the poor and that you go there to die. It’s not a pretty sight and the people waking in and out of that place don’t really look alive. I don’t know how you could when dignity is handed over as admission. Someday I will go there to see it for myself…but for now, I just look at the reality from my bus window.

From Rosales, the number 46 goes down the hill to El Centro. And within minutes the streets are full of people and little booths of vendors selling everything from fruits and veggies to bootleg DVDs to clothing and tools. You can find anything at El Centro and for cheap. I love El Centro…I love that it’s dirty and raw…and real. To me, this is San Salvador. And after a while I can see the top the Cathedral which is my stop. My cute to get up is the stop light right before the central park. And when I do, I feel like I am stepping into a new reality. A change from observation to living.

It’s the Cathedral where Romero’s funeral mass was, when over 40 people were killed as the government opened fire. The Cathedral is where I was when I saw my first protest, when some people overtook the tower to protest the conditions in the prisons. The Cathedral is the only sight seeing place I went to when I first came to El Salvador back in 2001 after the earthquakes, and so every time I go to the Cathedral, I remember that experience. For me, the Cathedral is a central point of reference…or reflection and of internal conflict.

There are two religious services at the Cathedral on Sunday. The formal mass is held upstairs in the ornate décor of what you imagine a church to be. The doors are open and its loud and I call it the hierarchy mass, because that is the mass for the people who follow the Catholicism of the Vatican. Downstairs in the cripta is where I go to the Misa de los Pobres (The Mass of the Poor). This is the place where Romero’s body now rests and people come to pray at the monument that memorializes him. The people gathered are normal Salvadorans, many of whom are very poor and travel a bit of distance to celebrate there. This is the people’s mass and the people have to fight to keep it. The funny thing is, there is nothing out of the ordinary at this mass. The readings are the same, the offerings are the same, the priest has the same teaching…but the hearts of the people are different. Every Sunday, the people at this mass convert the readings and Romero’s past reflections into real soul food. They take the message and apply it to their life…the life that struggles to create social change. And I guess the hierarchy is threatened by that…

My Sunday trips to the Cathedral certainly don’t resemble the times I go to church with my family…but then again, my life here doesn’t really resemble the life I have anywhere else.

Rufina Amaya

(El Mozote building destroyed)


Rufina Amaya, the woman who will remain in my heart for the rest of my days. If you know anything about the history of El Salvador, it is possible that you may remember the name of Rufina from reading a book about El Mozote, and the massacre that took place there in December 1981. The tragedy at El Mozote killed more than 1,000 campesinos, and Rufina is the only survivor. Her testimony is simple, it is real and it is full of a certain pain that she has carried with her every since.
Today I met Rufina, and looked into her eyes for the first time, knowing that my own heart will remain connected to hers. I’m not sure I will ever think of the history of El Salvador again, without thinking of her. As I walked through the streets of this small town in northeastern El Salvador, I had to remind myself to take deep breaths, so that I wouldn’t cry, in encountering the reality that Rufina once lived.

(church where men were killed)

We walked these dirt streets, accompanied by neighborhood kids, and the truth was revealed with the bullet holes in buildings. We walked past the home of Marcos Diaz, the richest man of El Mozote at the time, who convinced the families of the town to remain in the area on one particular day (the day that the Atlacatl battalion arrived), despite other intelligence that said something bad was going to happen.
We took pictures of the center square, where the town was forced to congregate before being divided by gender. I walked into the church, and prayed, the place where the men were brought and killed. We walked the path that the line of women took as they were escorted to a home where they would be raped and killed. It was on this path, that Rufina managed to find refuge and escape. It was on this same path, that soldiers walked day and night, dragging bodies (including Rufina’s husband and children).
I saw the tree that Rufina hid in, and the foundation of the house, where the bodies of women were exhumed. Nearby, was the giant crater from a 500 lb. bomb that was dropped by a US airplane just a few days before, and a perfect view over the trees, of the church in the center of the town.
The reality in this tragedy, is that everything was planned with the purpose of terrorism. The fact is, the soldiers of Atlacatl, were trained at The School of the Americas in Fort Banning, Georgia. They learned the latest technology of terror, fresh from the analysis of the Vietnam War. Basically the idea is, if you take away the towns where the guerrilla forces are strong, the guerrillas will also die of hunger. Thus, in the master minds of the six Americans that accompanied the Atlacatl battalion, killing everyone in El Mozote was a strategic move against the opposition. Never mind, that women were raped, children thrown into the air and shot, and the men decapitated. And never mind, that US tax dollars paid for this important education, as well as the guns and ammunition.
Today when I met Rufina at her home, she spoke to us a bit about her experience (minus the details, because there is no need to repeat it over and over again). We talked about her life now, the poverty of her family and those around here. We talked about the oppression that still goes on today and her hopes for a more liberated future. She explained that even thought the peace accords were signed in 1992, the root causes of the war were never addressed, and today she thinks it is even worse. With CAFTA, privatization, electoral fraud, and the dollarization of El Salvador, some things only got worse. Yet somehow, she still remains hopeful, that someday, the Left will take power and eradicate poverty in her country.
When asked about her faith in God, Rufina responds that her faith has always been strong. Even during the war, and during the massacre, God remained in her heart. She attributes her life, to her faith.
The images at the top, I took while I was in El Mozote. I’m not very fond of guided tours or being a tourist, especially when it involves the lives of real people. However, I felt that for this time, my photos might tell a visual story, of the history of El Mozote, and the memories that fill the heart of Rufina Amaya.

Yo quiero ir...

About a month ago I was in a taxi, and as the usual line of small talk questioning goes, taxi drivers usually ask me what I am doing here in El Salvador. I never lie to avoid conversation, because I learned early on, that every little moment counts in my new line of work. So I tell them, I work with migrants at CARECEN. And then the stories come...

Last month I met a man who wanted to migrate to the US, and so on the way to my home, I told him about his human rights as he is in transit. I wished that I had brought the little pamphlet with me that explains his human rights, but for some reason I didn't have any, so I told him to call our office. I don't know if he ever did.

This morning when I woke up, I was feeling a little hurried, as I had an early meeting to talk about the work I will do for the next six months or so. When I was packing my bag for the day, I noticed the little yellow cartillas (pamphlets) sitting on the floor, and so I grabbed a few and tossed them into my bag, thinking that they might come in handy.

My day continued on, and was a regular manic Monday with just a hint of frustration, because I felt like I wasn't being productive enought with the extra chaos of a new schedule that has come into my life. Nevertheless, not being too hard on myself, I decided to see a film with friends, and catch a cab later on.

This evenings taxi ride was another important one, because I met a man who will be leaving within the week. He explained that it's been really hard for him and that he's decided to go North to meet some family in New York, who can get him a job flipping burgers. He's planning on traveling alone, but will meet a coyote (a paid guide) in Mexico. I asked him how much the coyote costs and he told me $2,000. My taxi driver doesn't know the coyote, and later asks me if learning english is hard. I reach into my bag and pull out a cartilla, which I so carelessly tossed in my bag 14 hours early in the day. I flip throught the pages as he drives, and I chat with him a bit about his human rights and the places where he can find a meal and a place to stay while traveling. I also explain that he can call our office for more information or more cartillas for his friends.

My taxi driver this eveing is leaving a country that he loves, to continue on a trip that will be very dangerous. He will probably hold that cartilla very close to him in the coming weeks, and ask he tells me about Santa Ana (where he is from), I say a little prayer for him, because I know it's not going to be easy.

This man is 27 years old, and he is leaving his family for a job in the states that pays minimum wage. He's risking his life to enter into a country that says he is not welcome, and vigilantes on the border will tell him in many ways. He asks me if New York is beautiful, and I tell him that it is, but it's expensive. And when I leave the car this evening, I extend my hand and tell him to be careful. He says "Rest well Megan." And I wish for him to do the same.

I think that 10 minute conversation was the most important thing I did all day.

Campo vs. Conferencia

So I’ve had a taste of the Salvadoran world for the last four months, and now I have some time to relax and reflect (some of the things that I do best). When I first got here, everything was adjustment. Someone would ask how I was, and I would just say that I was adjusting. Which is quite true, considering all the things that are so very different about El Salvador. I mean, walking out the door every day here, is more than an adventure, it can be downright alarming and exciting all at once. Not to mention that fact that, the simplicity of a single moment can evoke great reflection and questioning. Imagine having lots of these moments in one day!
The first month here was all over the place, and sort of unsettling. I was living in someone else’s home, I didn’t have a routine to begin adjusting to. In some ways, the month of September was all about me metaphorically dipping my toe in the water.

At CARECEN (work) life was intense. By my first week, I was looking at our human rights files, of people who disappeared in transit, or who died. I’m talking pictures of dead bodies, personal letters, pictures...the whole nine yards. Talk about putting a face on migration! That experience alone will stick with me for the rest of my life...you can’t really forget something like that.

At any rate, things have slowed down a bit. I’ve had time to collect myself (daily), I’ve picked up a routine of sorts, although that is sort of relative in this mas o menos land! I’ve become familiar with the city, the busses, what to expect in terms of the weather, and how I can feed myself on a slim budget (I LOVE Pupusas).

I’m figuring, that this next part of time after Christmas is when I really get into it. I’m really looking for something different. Don’t get me wrong, being in the CARECEN office has some advantages, but I need to be with the people more instead of behind a computer. A lot of the work we do in the office is boring really. Phone calls, computer searches, collecting data, writing reports...you name it. Life in the campo is with the people, those who have or will migrate, working with their families and talking to them about their reality. Because the thing is, there really are two realities here...

Campo vs. Conferencia

There is the life that is lived by the people...those that struggle everyday and are forced to reckon with the pressures of a global economy and the abuse of US consumerism everyday. A lot of these people don’t have options. They don’t have a job, their family struggles, and their only idea is go north and find something else...anything else.

Then there is the world of people who do a lot of talking about "issues". These individuals may have been part of the campo reality at some point, or they work with those in the campo now, but are now working within the realm of "professionalism". They talk about the reality at conferences, at fancy hotels, where the level of water in your glass never goes past a half full before a waiter comes by and fills it. In the reality of Conferencia, you try to get really important people to come so that they hear the message...and maybe even give your organization some extra credit. You spend a lot of money to make some people comfortable while they learn and explore the facts. You pack them with information, bring in the press, have your break time for side chatter and future planning, and you have yourself a successful movement underway.
So what the heck does this mean for me?

Well, I’ve experienced a lot of the Conferencia reality since I’ve been here. I’ve been to all the major hotels, I can spot the human rights Lady a mile away. I’m beginning to recognize who is important and who is REALLY important. And most importantly, I know what bus to get on to get to each hotel, because really, it’s all about being there (and for me, experiencing the other half).

But where I really want to be is in some canton that I can’t even pronounce the name. I think that public education work is really important, but I want to be the one experiencing things and then writing it all down. When an important UNDP document says that nearly 600,000 people have left the country from Jan. To May, I want to be able to know that I had contact with at least some of them on a personal level. I want to know that they had a cartilla in their hand, that I shook their hand and wished them a safe trip (instead of learning about them on a general basis at a conference).

As the year 2006 approaches, I am thinking that there are a lot of things left to know and experience. I want to take the year and make it a challenging one, so that by the time I leave in February 2007, I can say that I know what Salvadoran migration looks like from both sides of the coin. It’s all about having a well rounded experience...and that’s what I am aiming for.

Entre Amigos

A few years back in college, I decided I was going to do a paper on the history of homosexuality in Latin America (it was for a Latin American History class). Well besides the fact that I was a little bit ambitious, I did learn a great deal about the culture of homophobia in Latin America in general (and I learned even more about Cuba, after a narrowed my topic down). Who knew that paper would end up manifesting itself into further exploration and discovery later in my life?
At any rate, I remembered that I had read some articles on an organization in El Salvador called ENTRE AMIGOS, an organization devoted to the GLBT population of El Salvador. In my reading, I discovered that the founder was one of the few openly (and public) gay figures in El Salvador at the time. I also remembered that he had received death threats and such for his work with the GLBT community.

After my personal research, I found nothing else to note about the group and figured that it had fizzled out, thinking that maybe it was suppressed by the government, or maybe the founder just decided to go back underground. How very wrong I was...

About a week ago I was having lunch with a coworker and she was sharing some pictures that she brought from home. Pictures of when CARECEN first started (the organization I work with), pictures of her family and some of her friends. Then she showed me this one picture taken a few years ago. The photo captured her with about five other men, including an drag queen (depending on the culture, you might also refer to her as transgendered). My coworker continues to explain that these are her friends from "AMIGOS" and that they are all gay. She specifically points out the other woman in the picture (besides her) and says, "that’s a man!"
I smiled and told her that I knew...

We continued on with our conversation about her friends, about the GLBT population here, gay culture, and the misc. people who come into our office that are gay. Apparently there are a lot, and she knows them all! In addition, she has a lot of friends who are in the sex industry here, both men and women. He tells me about so and so who sells things at the market by day as a woman, and at night she is a cross dressing prostitute....or some of the men she knows that don’t even hide their identity and dress in women’s clothing, sell things at the market and also provide sexual favors. She knew a lot more about gay culture here than I had ever expected I would learn as a "Catholic" volunteer.

In my curiosity, I asked her how she knew all these gay people. She proceeded to tell me that she only hangs around gay people...she doesn’t really like straight people (even thought she identifies as straight). This I found interesting. But basically, her extensive knowledge comes from the fact that she has been involved with ENTRE AMIGOS for a long time, the same group I had thought fell off the face of the earth.

Much to my surprise, ENTRE AMIGOS is flourishing here in San Salvador, and by the next day, I was on an official tour! As it turns out, EA is so close, that I pass the office everyday on my way to and from work!!!

What I learned...
At EA, we had a long conversation with one of the directors, Joaquin. He talked about the history of the group and what they do now, which includes advocacy work and a lot of community education in relation to homosexuality in general, and also a safe sex campaign. EA is the only group in El Salvador that works directly with the GLBT population and does HIV / AIDS education. Basically, the conservative administration here won’t even touch the population, and EA is forced to tackle the reality alone. While other AIDS organizations get a ton of money to do education work, EA has to rely on private international donations. If you want to talk about human rights, look at the inequality of funding here...it will make your head turn!
Joaquin told us about their creative campaigns and the extent of their work. As it turns out, even our organization has worked with EA in the past, helping HIV + migrants, travel in a safer way. I also learned about their charlas they do (little chats) in the parks and areas where there are a high concentration of gay people (who probably aren’t being educated correctly).

At any rate, I gave Joaquin my name and number and told him that I would be interested in helping the organization. I explained with a smile, that although I am a Catholic volunteer, I still have a life and free time to work with other people..and have diverse experiences. The way I see it, the GLBT community is one of the most oppressed and marginalized populations here, and so I think it’s my job to learn more about them, and be a witness to their struggles.
So when I actually start doing something with ENTRE AMIGOS, I will let you know.
On another note...and related to the topic at hand.

I went to a mass on World AIDS Day at the Cathedral here. I noticed that there was a person on the opposite end of pews who would be identified as trans. I couldn’t help but think to myself, "Man, she has a lot of courage to step into this church, with the culture of homophobia surrounding her!" She was surrounded by people when the mass started, but as the mass went on, people gradually got up and left their seat for another location, so that by the end, she was all by herself.

My heart was very affected by this observation, and it has sat with me ever since. I think it’s kind of funny that a week later I was introduced to ENTRE AMIGOS!

Everyday, I learn more and more about the culture here...including the things that people don’t normally talk about. Even though I am Catholic, I am glad and grateful that people have been comfortable enough to share such personal, and sometimes controversial things about their lives. I am a better person for it all.

Padre Jon Cortina

(Google Images)

A good man died today and now a country mourns his presence. Padre Jon Cortina has never left the Salvadoran people. Even with death threats and the assassination of his fellow Jesuits in 1989, Cortina continued living the Gospel of Jesus by accompanying the people of El Salvador through a war, disasters and picking up the pieces to begin a new life. Romero was killed along with the Maryknoll church women, and still he picked up his cross. Jon was a champion of human rights, when the US government broke every rule in the book. He accepted his calling with dignity and a kind heart, while impacting the souls of those he spent his full life with.
Even after the war, Cortina continued the investigation of human rights for the people of El Salvador. He formed an organization called Pro-Búsqueda, which helps families locate children who were disappeared or kidnaped during the war. It was one of the many ways Jon helped the Salvadoran society grieve and pick up the pieces.

Padre Cortina spent a great deal of his time in northern El Salvador, an area greatly affected by the war. There, communities are still isolated from US materialism, as they struggle to put food on their table in the mists of a condition of poverty that the government still neglects in some ways. His love for the people can be seen in their faces, as they talk about the amazing relationship he had with them.

A few days ago, I attended a mass at the local Jesuit university where Cortina taught. The mass was to celebrate his birthday and pray for his health. And the pews were packed...people flowing out of the chapel. Just the presence of so many people was a testament to his great love. But there was much more than that. The emotion in that room spoke volumes; as I looked around, I could see people taking deep breaths as they tried to emotionally grasp the reality that they would soon face. I sat next to one woman who cried through the whole mass, start to finish, and her body shook as I hugged her for the sign of peace. There were students, professors, community members, families helped by Pro-Búsqueda, and volunteers just like me, sharing at a table of a collective memory.

The Salvadoran people have faced death head on with the destruction of their past. A vivid memory paints a picture of a culture formed in the image of suffering, and as one of the spiritual healers has died, one must ask "how much sadness has to exist?"

Many will say that Padre Cortina is a prophet, others will declare him a saint...but such labels are not important in retrospect. The important this is, we was there through it all...it was his presence...and something tells me, he will never leave.

For more info on Padre Jon check out this blog from a friend.

A Connection

Do you ever have these moments, when you meet someone, and you are forced to think just a little bit more about everything in your life? It’s because of who they are, the conversation you have with them, the way you are attentive to their words and the way your heart peacefully reflects on their presence. There is something intrinsically perfect about their personality and how your soul craves a certain magnetism of spirits. It’s not about who you are, but who you might become. It is about the moment you meet and every second after. It’s a connection worth having, worth remembering (even if it was just that moment).

I met such a person...I had this experience.

Vatican Document

Some of you might have been checking the blog periodically for my upcoming thoughts on the Vatican´s document about gay seminarians. There is a long story about all of this, that is better left to fireside chats by the beach with a cup of coffee. However, I will say a few short things and then leave you to think for yourself.

In my humble opinion, the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, does not know their community very well. In addition, it is my belief that they forgot about what Jesus taught in regards to judgment and love. Furthermore, this new document is not only sad, but is also a powerful display of the institutionalize homophobia of Catholicism, and most of Christianity for that matter.

As a Catholic who believes in the unity of humanity and the true vision of the Universal Church, I am not prepared to give up when the going gets tough…and believe me, there is a tough road ahead of us. Instead, I urge you to speak to your priests, bishops, and laypeople of your communities. Let them know what you really think, and let them see the vision that you have of one unified body. In addition, pray for our priests…especially those who are being forced back into the closet…that their hearts may stay close to those that love them well.

My heart is sad but my spirit is strong…

Building Strong Relationships

You know, Thanksgiving is a really great idea in concept. To give thanks for the blessings in your life is a practice that should be practiced in your daily life. The whole history around the day is crap (see this article I just read), but the idea of giving thanks really resonates with me, and has caused me to reflect a bit more deeply.

My mental inventory of blessings, leaves a lot for me to be thankful for, but by far, the people in my life, make my days truly complete. And I can say with an honest heart, that being far from home certainly makes the situation difficult. It is hard to be away from those who give you life. It is hard to conduct life without their presence, and in turn, also miss parts of their life.

Nevertheless, they are always with me, even in the most random moments of my day. And even more importantly, there are those who may not be from my "home", but they certainly have significant roles in my life.

But here’s the thing...here’s the more personal side of my thought. I build relationships everywhere I go. I engage my heart in conversations, I invest my emotions in people and I very truly fall in love with those I come into contact with. I can’t really help myself...it’s the very fabric of who I am. The kicker is, I fall in love with these people...they fall in love with me...and then I leave!

I can’t even explain how hard it is to leave someone...leave many someones, over and over again. To say goodbye, see ya later, and start all over again. It really is hard stuff, and if you think about it for a long time, you could get stuck in a holding pattern.

You see, the temptation here is to say, "Well, I am going to be here for only _____ time, and so I will find some friends to hang out with while I am here, but really I’m not going to invest very much so no one gets hurt."

I know that people live their life like this. I know that people let this certain fear of intimacy and loss, dictate their life, but in reality, the unhealthiness of this attitude, maintaining this level of superficiality, is what I most afraid of.

Besides being afraid of fire and heights, I am afraid of people not knowing me, and in turn, that I might not be able to connect with people. Now for the record, this fear is not really active in my life. At my current state in living, I don’t have a hard time building relationships (even if I am a little socially awkward at times...ie the phone) , but I think if I actually allowed myself to be tempted to hold back on the building process, my actual fear might become more of a reality.
Building strong relationships, as difficult and challenging as it is, is what I believe to be the core of the human experience. To honestly open your heart to another person (even in time of pain), can be one of the most fulfilling and REAL experiences of your life. And even though I have failed miserably at some points within this process, I never stopped valuing the people or the relationship itself.

With that said, I have also come to realize, that not all relationships are meant to last forever. There are some connections that are meant for a perfect time and a specific place, and the duplication or revisitation of the moment is impossible to rekindle. But that doesn’t mean that the relationship was any less meaningful or important in the journey of life. It doesn’t mean that love was not shared, or a true connection was never made. There is no fault of one person or another for not keeping in contact...it’s just the way things happen sometimes. And yes, this too is painful. But if you think about the people in your life that you might have only known for a short period of time, chances are, some of those people made a significant impact in your life. The professor, the mentor, the high school best friend, the coworker you had at your first real job...the list goes on. Those are the people who left a mark on your heart, who helped shape a bit of who you are, and in some ways, simply acknowledging their role in your life, helps when building other new relationships that may or may not last very log.

You see, I’m not really very judgmental when it comes to the people I surround myself with. Yes, there are certain traits and characteristics that I am fascinated and attracted to in a person, but really, I build relationships with a lot of different people. Because the way I think is this, "What if, this person, is the one who will completely turn my world upside down...what if this person is the one to make me think of something in a new way...what if this person is the one to introduce me to the love of my life...what if this person IS the love of my life...what if this person was put in my life so that I might help them...what if, what if, what if?"

Man oh man, these are the questions the rest in our hearts every day, and sometimes we really don’t even know it. And sometimes, we are so very afraid to know it. For all the struggles, the joys, the sorrow, the uneasiness, the awkwardness, the loneliness, the incompleteness and the completeness, I am a better person for sticking with the process of building strong relationships, and really, it has all been very worth it.

On this day of giving thanks...please know that I am thankful for YOU!
(PS...I know this is a little cliche, but if you know me, you know it is from my heart...and you know that I am saying it with that certain smile...and that there is always a warm hug, and tender eyes of compassion looking right back at you to know that I really do mean it!)

The Simple Little Moments

It’s the simple little things in life that make me really happy. And I try to fill my day with simple moments. Sure, there is a lot of depth and beauty in the complicated intermingling of relationships, but I value the small moments...the good conversations...the hugs...the passing glance and smile...a really good laugh.

I love the moments in a day when everything seems to add up. When you wake up with a smile on your face, share a good lunch with a friend, encounter a random stranger on the street who engages your heart, and finish off the day with a good book.

And then there are the little gifts that a day brings. Like when it’s Monday and you have an unexpected visitor or a really good email from a friend.

Today, was one of those good simple days, full of simple moments that made me smile.

1. I was given a book by a friend so that I can understand the reality here a little more. We talked about the book and how it makes him feel. Sure, it’s going to take me forever to read it (it’s in Spanish) but I feel that this simple little gesture is like a glance into his world. And there is something really profound in that simple exchange...

2. I had lunch today with a coworker that I see once a week. We talked about simple things...family, food, clothing. But we make each other smile, and that’s a good thing!

3. Today I passed my a man on the street. He usually just sits there, and I think he sort of waits for me to walk by everyday because he says "Hello" with such exuberance. I look forward to my passing moments with him.

4. And then this afternoon when I bought a papaya and brought it home to cut up. Sure, I almost cut my fingers off (I’m not too skilled with knives...see blog about my hobbies). But, I love papayas because they remind me of my childhood and some really good moments drinking papaya juice. The simplicity of eating a bowl of papaya, brought a little feeling to my heart that made me be really grateful for that moment.

5. And then there’s the really swell music I’ve been listening to while I do work. I great little mix of great musicians that I can sing along to, and not really care who is listening. Songs with meaning and emotion really make me smile.

So in all, today has been a great day because of all those little moments that make the day complete! I may be a simple girl, but I find a lot of meeting in all those little moments that go unacknowledged.

My New Hobby

(My new baby made especially for me!)

I’ve found a new hobby! Go figure that it would take me this long, but there’s no time like the present, right? I know that I should have picked up the guitar way back with I was a kid. After all, having a mother who is a musical genius, might actually mean that I have music in my genes too. But apparently, it’s just taken me a while to get on the bandwagon.

Anyway, I have a new friend here, Vince. He happens to be a really talented musician, and he is teaching people guitar here. So far, I’ve been taking lessons at the Episcopal church in the evening with these young kids. And during the day I paint their church. Thursdays end up being fun days! (And No, I am not going to become an Episcopal...at least not now.)

So Vince asked me why I want to learn guitar. And I said that I want to serenade women! But in all seriousness, I figure if I can sing, I might as well start playing the music as well. So my goal is to be able to sing and play my new favorite songs like Casas de Carton and Todo Cambia. But I’ve also had a recent discussion about great songs to know how to play, and after giving it some thought, maybe learning American Pie won’t be so bad after all!

In other news, I have picked up a new art project as well. Wood carving....go figure! Ya, that new hobby isn’t going as well as the guitar lessons. I cut open my left thumb on the first day. Which made my guitar lessons, the next day, a little challenging! What can I say, it sounded good at the time!

Small Christian Community

This Sunday, I took a walk in reality. A breath of fresh air mixed with the truth of non pretentious faith within a community. And in some ways, the experience was like coming home...

With some friends, I went to a Small Christian Community in the Mejicanos area of the city; an area that I once didn’t live too far from. Mejicanos is an area that is marked with violence, but many of the people have a deep faith that transcends their surroundings, a characteristic that is indicative of El Salvador.

This same faith is what made this group of believers, Pueblo de Dios y Camino, rise up and form a community. This community meets in a home and shares the word like the first Christians did. They don’t follow Rome really, and in some respects, the hierarchy here still seems to have a watchful eye on them. I think that this community still might consider themselves Catholic, but they probably aren’t recognized as such. But does it really matter?

The great thing is, there is a certain feeling of equity. Today a woman presided over the service, beginning the prayers and initiating parts of the liturgy. When I think of the liberation of the women in the Church, this is what my vision is like. And I can’t help but smile.

And it’s not like she had a sermon prepared. Instead, it was the community that interpreted the readings with real life examples from their lives. Examples from the journey...from the streets of El Salvador to the political oppression that they face every day.

Communion was simply sharing bread. There was no formal blessing or hierarchical presentation, it was simply the humble faith of the community that transformed the moment...that changed the bread into something that one needed to receive.

You know, as a good Catholic girl, there is no judgement in my heart about this experience. It was so very obvious that God was there, and that she was blessing them with such a rich and real experience. I’m sure that Rome is pissed and doesn’t really understand the reality of the church today, but my faith, I hope, will never be complicated with such a critical view.

I truly do respect the individual hearts of others, even when they think differently than I do. But I most certainly envy those who are searching...searching for God, or meaning or a new way to believe. Those are the people that I crave to experience life with...as I too have been in that place, and will continue to be.

This community that I visited today, was like that, and I couldn’t help imagine myself coming back and engage my heart in the pursuit of true community...a community of faith.

I'm doing just fine...

I've found my happy place!

I get plenty of rest!

Sometimes I work!

I've managed to make friends!

I make sure that I have plenty of time to reflect.

In a nutshell I am doing just fine. So don't worry!

ps...more pretty photos to come

The Christmas Season!

So today I walked into the office and found that I had entered a winter wonderland! Strange, considering that I am in El Salvador. Apparently the Christmas season is in full swing here. I didn’t get the memo! Stores pretty much have been getting seasonal supplies for the last few weeks, and I guess my office jumped on the bandwagon and now we are ready to show off! We have lights all over the place, little Christmas trees and tinsel! Simply Amazing!

I will admit that this is a little odd, considering that I am use to the fan fair after Thanksgiving, but since they don’t celebrate the oppression of the pilgrims here, they can begin Christmas any time they please!

All I have to say is, if this is anything like Christmas in Belize, then I am in!

A Typical Day

(Google Images)

So today was my first border visit to Hachadura (the western border to Guatemala). Basically, our objective was to put up posters, leave some cartillas about human rights and figure out if this new project will work. The new project is for people that are being deported back to El Salvador. The get back to the border, with no money and they have to find their way home. So the idea is that we would have a fund for them to have bus fair back home, some food, and a shelter to stay in overnight. Otherwise, people end up doing desperate things and there also isn’t a whole lot of dignity in being forced to sleep in the street. So Luis asked some people around the are about the feasability of the idea and how we could work out logistics. Easy enough.

The real interesting part about our trip today was the drive, and our encounters with the law. That’s right, we had several encounters!!!

OK...number one...early morning on the Pan American Highway. Luis is driving along, pointed out all the mudslides, sighting statistics....the usual. All of a sudden, we are going down this hill and there are like five military men with big guns on the side of the road, and they end up flagging us down. Great! So we pull over. The guy leans in and holds his gun just so...asks where we are going. We say, Hachadura. Then Luis asks, "why?" You know, I would have let it go, but whatever....the guy explains they are just doing random questions. Ok...blood pressure back to normal....

Later in the day, killing time at the border, sipping a coke...a border patrol truck pulls up in front of us. All these guys get out....with their big guns. This one guy stays behind as he looks for something in his pocket...meanwhile, he’s literally dangling his semi-automatic weapon as he looks for spare change. My God, what if he gets spooked....

Then we go to the beach...no guns there. Just pretty olas (waves) and some shells. The sand is wicked hot (notice the Rhode Island slang...I still have the touch)...and I also find a dead blowfish (a first for me).

Back in the car we get. On the Pan American Highway again. We are almost into the city, not too far from where we were first stopped, and we see the cop and then military guys running the opposite way on the highway with their weapons drawn. The police officer had a shinny silver gun and the military guys had big automatic weapons. Let me also mention that their uniforms are all wrong...a really bad fashion nightmare (with pants that taper to the calf...who wants that?) But besides that, these guys are really scary! Anyway, a little way up the road is another police officer standing next to an abandoned bus, talking to another guy...must have been a robbery or something.

Number four...you heard it correctly! We get back into the Antiguo Cuzcatlan area...where my home is and there is a big accident. Then just down the road we get chosen "randomly" for another vehicle check. It’s like we are wearing a big target. By this time, I already have my memorized statement in Spanish ready just in case (I work with CRS and I need to call this number). You know, your mind wonders to the most random things when in the company of law enforcement. Plus, its hard to get out of my head that these guys have big guns AND might have been in the war at some point...killing people. (Mind you, this is all a little drastic, but is just the beauty of the mind).

Anyway, so we get through the gauntlet and are in the Santa Elena area. I notice that it’s an area for rich people and it seems that we passed places like UNICEF. "Interesting!" I think to myself. Continuing down the street we come across the fortress like place, covering the space of a full block. Plus, this place is really rich looking and has lots of police and military guarding it. We get half way down the block and I ask Luis, "what is this place?"

He says in plain English, "It’s your home!" (My home, meaning the US Embassy). Ya, I saw the huge sign as soon as I finished my question!

So I let out a good laugh, and say to myself, "Of course it is!"

Luis says, "You don’t know your embassy?"

And I say, "No, and I don’t particularly want to either!"

He laughs and pats me on the head (a quirky little child thing that he does to me...which is case and point for this interesting cultural conversation on age that I will talk about at a later date).
We continue down the road and I think to myself, "If that is what my embassy looks like, I don’t want to be anywhere need that place!"

(Now I know that I might be singing a different tune if I have a bullet in my body or I am at serious risk of having a bullet in my body, but for the time being, I think will stay way from at least one of the sources of oppression around here!)

So this is basically just a typical random day in my world!

Spanish & Meg

Everyday I murder the Spanish language a little less and I feel better about this illusion that I have, that some day I might actually become fluent or bilingual (although I am finding that the definitions of such words are in the midst of debate). Either way, I just want to be able to express feelings, complete and correct thoughts, as well as some common jokes. Then I might be happy.

And today I got a little closer to that goal.

I had a conversation with a coworker today about Mercedes Sosa, a brilliant vocalist who has this song called Todo Cambia, and it simply makes me melt.

The fact that I can talk about such beautiful music at least a little bit, and have the person across from me understand what I am saying, and also understand how much I truly enjoy the song, makes me wonder, and actually believe that I am progressing just fine.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...when someone calls, I still can’t understand what the Hell they are saying to me on the other end of the line, and so our conversation goes a little bit like this...

Them: "Blah, blah blah (a word I understand) blah, blah"
Meg: "Oh si?"
Them: "Blah, blah (oh, another good word), blah"
Meg: "Oh, gracias...adios"

Please note: In real life, things aren’t that bad. I get along just fine, but just imagine speaking a foreign language over the phone. A lot more depends on expressions than you think. I’ve learned that the hard way from language assessments over the phone. Some really smart people in some really important offices call me, blab about stuff in Spanish...I attempt to answer them...the interview is over...I feel like crap. Trust me, it’s a dumb idea and experience you don’t really want in life.

So to sum up, my progress with the Spanish language is getting better and I’m just glad I’m not trying to learn Swahili, because that seems more difficult. But somewhere in my head I’ve decided I want to learn Portuguese and French too (languages of the developing world), but I really have to slow down on these thoughts because I still have to master Spanish.

Romero and the Jesuit Martyrs

(complemts of Google Images)

Every time I walk past the UCA (the Jesuit University here) I can’t help but think that people were murdered there. I came to El Salvador knowing a bit of history and a very specific history of the Jesuits here, and yet it was my own apprehensive heart that prevented me from really knowing the place that the six Jesuits and two women were killed in 1989. I didn’t want to visit until I was ready.

Well, Friday began with a bang! I accompanied a coworker and a friend to the Hospital of Divine Providence, the place where Oscar Romero lived and was murdered. Another place I was avoiding out of fear....

So as the story goes, Romero was made the Archbishop of El Salvador in the mid 1970's. He was appointed as a person who would not make a lot of changes and maintain the status quo. In the beginning, Romero was a friend of the rich, and they thought they were supporting someone "safe". But as history took its course, Romero also evolved. Through his relationship with Rutillo Grande (now a Jesuit Martyr), Romero learned about the reality of the poor of his country, and he was forced to live life with his eyes wide open. In time, Romero became the true man of God that he is known for today. He became a man of the poor and began speaking out against the oppression of the rich and the government. His sermons were prolific and prophetic, and like Dr. King, he knew his words had consequences.

While saying mass at the hospital chapel (a hospital for those with terminal cancer), Romero was assassinated by a man who was later linked to the School of the Americas. A week later, Romero’s funeral was packed with Salvadorans flowing out into the park. The government used the opportunity to open fire on the crowd, killing the defenseless mourners.

Today, Romero is the Salvadoran Saint. Although Rome will probably never canonize him for political reasons, Salvadorans have already given him sainthood status. He is there national hero and a beacon of light. And in some ways, because he is a martyr, his message has been heard by even more people. On behalf of the government, killing Romero was probably one of the worse moves they ever made!

I visited his humble home on Friday as well as the very spot his body fell when the bullets hit him. I saw the bloodstained clothing he was wearing and his limited personal possessions that proved his commitment to live in solidarity with the poor.

It was an intense experience to say the least, and in a way, I felt closer to the Salvadoran people by getting a closer glimpse of a person they admire so greatly.

By Saturday, I woke up and decided to take the morning off, knowing the evening was going to be filled with more intensity. By three in the afternoon, I waltzed down to the UCA so join the festivities of the 16th Anniversary of the Jesuit Martyrs.

The first thing I saw on the campus were the unusual amount of gringos. They come here in delegations for the event...to learn more about liberation theology...and experience the certain mysticism that martyrs bring. But besides the gringos, I saw beautiful alfombras (rugs made of sand). Groups of students at the UCA get together and interpret the reality of El Salvador through artistic expression. They spend tedious hours on this one large rectangular space that will later be photographed and destroyed. Simply amazing pieces of artwork, and onetime occurrence.

By the time we had seen the alfombras, it was time to finally go to The Romero Center and see the Rose Garden, the place were the Jesuits were found. They have a little museum off to the side with personal effects from the Jesuits as well as the other Latin American Martyrs including the Maryknoll church women, James Carney and Rutillo Grande, to name a few. One of my favorite memories about that experience was walking next to a campasino man as we went through the museum and when we got to the El Mozote display, he tapped me on my arm to show me all the bullets they found in the mass graves. I looked into his eyes at that moment, and I could see a certain sadness of collective pain he has faced throughout his long life in El Salvador. And the thought did cross my mind, "was he from the area of El Mozote?"

After the museum, I went to the Rose Garden and just stood there for a few minutes. I couldn’t help but visualize the last moments of the Jesuits and two women. The horror of finding soldiers in your yard...hearing gunshots in close proximity and knowing they are coming to you next...wondering if there is a way to escape...saying a last minute prayer before death. Today there are rose plants in the space where some of the Jesuits were found. Besides contemplating the cycle of life to death and the symbolism of death, the site itself has a certain calm intensity....
After that experience we decided to get some good fresh juice and take it easy before the vigil. We saw some friends, went to the chapel to see the stations of the cross art by Roberto Huezo (a really talented Salvadoran artist).

By 6pm the vigil started and also welcomed thousands of people. The was an interpretive dance that kicked off the vigil and I couldn’t help but cry (I’m one of those closet emotional folks...connected to everything and everyone but you can never really tell). They danced to this song that I hear often here, and that I like a lot, but this time I really listened to the lyrics and reflected.

Translation of the refrain: "Changes...there are many Changes..."
I couldn’t help but think of the cycle of changes here in El Salvador. A brutal history of murder and corruption marked with committed, loving people who don’t give up. The poor who fight every damn day for ever ounce of dignity. The United States who parades their wealth here and flaunts their level of power by influencing government policies like its their job. The Salvadorans that I know, who have such a deep and sad history of love and loss, of assassinations and struggles. And I think "cambios, muchos cambios..."

I wonder if anything really does change here...the acuerdos de paz that are for shit...the US presence that make me want to denounce where I am from...the Salvadorans who always talk about the past for fear it will happen again, so that we may never forget. How could you not get caught up in that experience.....

So after my little moment, I joined some friends, including my house mother when I first came to Salvador (she took such good care of me). It was really a special experience walking through the vigil with her because it is her history that she shared with me that I think of every day now.

I think of her three daughters who are my age and now live in San Francisco. I think of how her brother was a member of the guerrillas, trained in Cuba and killed here in El Salvador (17 years old). I think of the 1986 earthquake that took her house as she had to care for her three girls alone, without a husband. The trauma of dealing with the aftermath of the disaster and the war with her children. Her connection to the people of her country and her commitment to her faith. I remember her story of how she was there in the park at Romero’s funeral when they opened fire. It’s all these stories and more that I remember every time I hear a song...or hug her...and so walking next to her in this vigil was really important (and unplanned).

But let me tell you, this vigil was huge...thousands of people with individual histories and a real feeling of understanding and solidarity. It wasn’t particularly somber, but I think it is part of the historical mourning that is taking place here.

After the vigil, was the mass. And all I really want to say about that was that the sermon was really rockin. Whoever the guy was, he was really right on. He really got to the core of the reality here. From the long standing poverty, to the government corruption, the unequal distribution of wealth, the collective sins brought on by violence and the ever present "natural disasters" that he also believes aren’t quite so NATURAL. I really found myself hanging onto his every word, really glad I believed in the same God he did...really glad he was representing Catholicism...the Catholicism that I know and Love.

At any rate, after mass, was an interval documentary and a solidarity concert. There is really something awesome in this world when you can sing some really great music that has such a powerful message that people connect with. Music can move mountains man, and when you think of the power of music and media here, your thoughts can really go somewhere.
So that’s how I ended my night. I sang Casas de Carton as I lulled myself to sleep, and found myself thanking God for another really great Salvadoran day. And these are the moments that remind me that this could be the rest of my life....

On a side note: Bought some swell music and a T-shirt with Romero, Che and Marti on it. The shirt is so intriguing that I couldn’t help but buy it in the hopes that it would create future conversation. I’m not so convinced that these three men had the same ideals, but I do see some of the similarities and their differences are what makes the shirt interesting!

A Letter from Dad

I recently received a letter from my father after a rather heated discussion about faith and religion over the phone. My father and I are both very passionate people, committed to the ideals that we believe in, and matters of such great depth evoke a certain emotional response.
My father is a compassionate and humble man, and this is what he wrote to me.

Dear Meg-
The church is certainly in turmoil, but no more so than many hundreds of times throughout history. In the fourteenth century there were actually two popes and people were forced to choose or be persecuted or killed. People of wisdom and courage did not choose but rather set their sights on the true leader of the church, our Lord and Savior.

Any Catholic with a brain struggles with his or her faith. All good people struggle with their faith. It is part of being alive. It matters not that we fall but rather that we once again stand, take a step and continue to struggle forward.

People in the church that persecute the faithful for their sexual orientation believe that they are in power. But rather, we are the church and our Lord is in power.

Do not allow people to have power over you. We people of faith will stand up against this injustice. It will not last, our Lord will have His way.

I Love you Megan and I have faith that you will continue to struggle as long as you live. I have Faith in you and I believe in you. And I pray for you.

Enjoy each day
Cherish each day
and I miss you
With My Love,
Dad

PS. I heard about Sister Jennine Grammick. Her ministry to Gay and Lesbian Catholics, helping to bring them back to the church. I saw her show on PBS but I do not have info on her. It was a beautiful piece on Sister Grammick "In Good Conscience" a documentary. I did not see the documentary but rather a small piece on her work on the PBS show "In The Life".


You know, my Dad is a very good man, and reading his letter reminded me how important the struggle is...and so, I am still here!

A Sticky Situation

In El Salvador, having a plan is really not the best way to conduct life, at least not in my opinion. It has been my experience that in this "mas o menos" culture, a lot changes in a short period of time. And with that, even time is sort of relative anyway. Plus, there are just those days when you have to change everything you wanted to do, abandon ship and get the heck out!

Case and Point:
Yesterday, was a Monday, one of those Manic Mondays they call it. I decided to sleep in (until 7:15am) and got up to do some work on the website I was putting together. Usually I read the news in the morning, but I was pretty consumed with what I wanted to do, so I skipped the news and said I would read it later (mistake numero 1).

I did my thing on the website and then went to meet my friend so that we could have some lunch and then go to a museum about the history of the war here.

So I met my friend around 12:15pm and we went to get lunch. The comedor was packed and so we had to get food to go, and we at it in the park (which is sketchy at night). Then we board a bus and go to the museum that she says is open ALL day (at least that’s what they say). Well, as it turns out, the museum is closed until 2pm. Operation: Change Plans!

We decided to go to the Cathedral in the center of the city. This is where Romero’s body is and there’s a lot of life downtown too. Plus, I have to meet another friend there later in the day, so it sort of worked out perfectly for me.

We hop a bus and off we go to El Centro (a sketchy area, but part of the Salvadoran experience). When we get to the Cathedral, we hop out and there is a whole mess of people in the park (more than usual). Across the street, at the Cathedral, the doors are closed (they are open during the day for free flowing traffic) and the gates are plastered with "Anti-Articulo 103" posters.

I say to myself, "this looks like a protest!" Then I survey the scene a little more.
Most of the people in the park are men, and some groups of them are starting to get energized, and there are men in the bell tower with masks. I think again, "this is probably not the best situation to be in."

So I get out my little book that has phone numbers to call my other friend to tell her to meet at another place. While I thumb through the book, a police officer comes up to us (not my favorite group of people) and he asks in plain English what we are doing there.

I respond in Spanish that we were going to see Romero but the Cathedral is closed and so I was going to call a friend and we were going to hop on a bus again. He continues to speak in English and says that we need to leave now, that the situation is very dangerous. According to him, gang members took over the church because they want "their rights, or something like that." He also includes that they are not suppose to be protesting.

I thank him for the heads up and that we are leaving as soon as I alert my friend. He says that’s a good idea!

Well the phone card doesn’t work, and right about that time there was a loud noise and people started to flock to the other side of the park....our cue to leave. We hop a bus back to where we came from.

I get back to work and try to call my friend, but have to wait for my coworker to call a bunch of people first. Life is all about patience here. I try and try to get through, but I can’t
Plan B: I talk to Luis and ask him what to do about my meeting with my other friends back in the hot zone. He says, "I have experience with these sorts of things. "By the time you get back, the people will have left."

It doesn’t seem to me that Salvadorans are the type to give up so quickly, but I took his word for it because he IS a Salvadoran and he "has experience".

So I hop back on the same bus and head to the Cathedral. When I got there, the mob was also still there, and my friends, gringos like sitting ducks on the side of the street.
I said, "Dude, we’ve got to get the hell out of here!"

Five minutes later, we start walking. Process is always slow with a group of people (especially people caught in the moment). We walk a bunch of blocks away from all the action to the place where I later bought my new guitar (I am starting lessons).
We made it in once piece!

The Reality:
There is a maximum security prison in Zacateculuca that is affectionately known as "Zalcatraz". This prison houses criminals from the gang Mara Salvatrucha (many of the members once lived in the US and have been deported back due to crimes committed).

The people in the park protesting were members of a group called COFAPES (family members of the incarcerated) as well as other gang members. They were protesting Article 103 which was bringing about reforms at the prison around visitation rights.

The protesters were denouncing the really horrible conditions of the prison as human rights violations (the facilities really stink and people are really packed in there ie overcrowding.) and they wanted some changes.

Now human rights groups are trying to work with them and settle this matter in a peaceful way. The president of El Salvador said "they do not have any justification." So there you go! I haven’t heard anymore lately, except that the Cathedral is still being occupied. But that’s the story in a nutshell.

My opinion:
I really have no opinion on the situation, except that I can see where the people are coming from. I am a bit disturbed that the media is portraying the protesters as a bunch of gang members (as if gang members shouldn’t have rights...plus, there was a lot of family there too).
At any rate, I had a different experience I guess you would say and I am alive! What are ya gonna do?

For further reading about the prison situation, check out these links
CRISPAZ

LA Times