By Ann M. Augherton
Herald Managing Editor
(From the issue of 12/4/03)

HERALD Managing Editor Ann M. Augherton concludes her series of articles on her travels through Central America as part of a study tour, sponsored by the International Catholic Union of the Press (UCIP). She was selected to join 15 journalists from around the world on a three-week trip through Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador.

Having gone through the hurricane in Mexico and the highway shooting in Guatemala, the group of international journalists hardly knew what to expect for the last leg of the trip in El Salvador, known as the second most dangerous country in Latin America.

The border crossing was made at night and the bus driver could have been a stunt man in the movie "Speed" with the runaway bus. We made good time and arrived in the capital, San Salvador, by 10 p.m., just in time for a welcome dinner. For me the bed was my welcome, and I got eight hours of glorious sleep.

Day 18 began with a short walk to the nearby Jesuit-run José Simeón Cañas University of Central America, where we attended Mass celebrated by Jesuit Father Vincent Espinoza in the chapel. Not far from the campus chapel the Msgr. Romero Center is dedicated to Archbishop Oscar Romero, who was assassinated in 1980. One of the exhibits detailed the killings of the Jesuit priests who lived in the nearby rectory and were said to be critical of the right-wing government.

We walked around the garden and in the rooms where the priests were found. We saw albums with graphic photos of the bloody bodies. Rose bushes and a plaque now mark the spot.

Violence like this was prevalent during El Salvador’s 12-year civil war. Some 75,000 Salvadorans were killed, 1 million fled the country and 1 million more were left homeless. A bit of this history comes to life at the Museo de la Palabra y Imagen (Museum of the Word and the Image) in San Salvador. A rifle hung from the ceiling points toward blood-stained campesino clothing hanging as if they were a group of people, sadly reminiscent of a common scene during the war.

Carlos Henríquez Consalvi, museum director, ran an underground radio station during the war. The museum includes a recreation of one of these stations, which were run by rebels in an area completely controlled by them. The goals of these radio stations were to "inform and agitate" and to denounce the human rights violations of the army, Consalvi said. The first broadcast was on Jan. 10, 1981. The station was constantly being attacked by the army and the government tried to interfere with the frequency. Broadcasts were four times a day, with 90-minute programs that included news, a daily editorial and political soap operas. At Consalvi’s station, 14 people were killed during the 11 years of broadcasts. Some 4,000 hours of tapes are housed in the museum’s archives.

The last transmission was on Jan. 16, 1992, when the radio operators came out of the highlands, placed the antenna on the spire of the cathedral downtown, and told the world that the war was over and a new era was beginning for El Salvador.

Despite the end of the civil war, three types of violence are still prevalent in El Salvador, according to Luis Gonzalez of the Information and Research Support Center. Gangs, or maras, might get the most publicity, but organized crime and community violence "must also be addressed," he said.

New anti-gang laws make it illegal to have tattoos, to wear loose fitting pants and to gather in some public places, Gonzalez said. "Many people are grateful for these laws and long for the military boot," he said. Then "the popularity of the right-wing government increases."

Critics believe the media has over-emphasized the problem of gangs, but Carlos Ayala, director of the University of Central America’s radio station is quick to point out "they don’t disclose the factors causing the phenomenon — social exclusion; the lack of opportunities for young people; the disintegration of the family; and poverty."

Probidad, "Probity" in English, were our hosts for the El Salvador part of the study tour. The non-profit group works to improve civil participation against corruption and to strengthen the investigative role of the media.

Jaime Lopez, director of Probidad, said "things change but things remain the same. We have more political parties, but this is still not really a democracy."

Gonzalez refers to El Salvador as a "fragile democracy. We have gained some steps, but corruption and impunity are still weaknesses of the institutions.

"We have a critical political situation with many things dependent on how people vote," Gonzalez said. He believes it is difficult to stimulate civil participation because people don’t trust politicians or institutions, and there is little respect for the law. "Corruption keeps multiplying. People need to be taken to justice regardless of their economic or political power."

Political education is very poor, and he said political parties don’t have a strategy to educate the people. "Civil society is reluctant to show any interest in politics and almost 50 percent of the population does not vote," he said, indicating this shows a "lack of willingness and political maturity."

The media in El Salvador struggles with issues of access, government interference and possible corruption. But Gonzalez believes the media plays an important role in the election process.

In order to have economic reform, he believes the workers must participate more equally with companies, workers rights must be respected and salaries must improve. "The agricultural economy has deteriorated, and the worst poverty is among the peasants with 48 percent of the population living in the countryside," he said.

We had a chance to see some of those people on a trip to Panchimalco, a town just nine miles south of the capital. The 600-year-old indigenous village is home to the Pancho Indians, the pure-blooded descendants of the Pipil tribes. The locals wear the traditional garb and are known for the flowers they weave together with palm fronds for Holy Week celebrations.

The old white church of Santa Cruz de Roma, believed to be 200 years old, dominates the little village. We arrived just after dark. The cobblestone streets led right to the front of the church, where a headless statue sat in one of the alcoves on the façade. The worn wooden doors were wide open revealing the grey interior, darkened from years of candle smoke. A few florescent lights shone as bats flew from one side of the church rafters to the other. Old statues, faded paintings and fresh colorful flowers made for a scene of contradictions.

Despite several facelifts, the years of wear couldn’t be hidden. The church not only smelled old, it looked old with weathered pews and spotty paint jobs. But there was an eerie feel to this church, as if something awful had happened there. It was enough to force a few of us outside to get away from this feeling. Despite asking around and later doing some research, I have not found what might have led to the peculiar aura of the church.

The town’s name, Panchimalco, is thought to mean place of shields and flags, or joining of rivers. When the Spaniards arrived, they forced the Indians to replace their idols with images of Catholic saints. Panchimalco has been declared a national historic treasure.

On Day 21, we traveled to Juayua, a quaint little mountaintop town on the way to the Pacific coast of El Salvador. The town’s food festival, with everything from skinned frogs to corn on the cob lining the outdoor grills, was a draw for natives and tourists alike. After lunch we were off to see the ocean, with all eyes on the young journalist from Katmandu, Nepal, who had never seen the sea. The black beach, rich with volcanic ash, was a sight for all the journalists and a good way to end a long day before returning to San Salvador.

So with a little salsa dancing under our belts, the journalists had their last meal together, somehow appropriately, at a Mexican restaurant in San Salvador, complete with mariachis. So what began with frijoles ended with frijoles and a feast of meats and vegetables, music, and shared experiences.

American culture is very strong in El Salvador. Numerous fast food chains and businesses from the United States line many streets in the capital. With the adoption of the U.S. dollar as the official currency, trade was made easier and the black market was curtailed, but critics say it increased prices, putting many goods out of reach of the average Salvadoran. The economy is supported by the $1 million a day that Salvadorans living in the U.S. send home, according to Gonzalez. Interestingly, there are 6.5 million Salvadorans living in El Salvador and 2 million living in the United States, with heavy concentrations in Washington, D.C., and Los Angeles. Of all the Hispanics in the Washington area, the majority are from El Salvador.

Life in these countries is often a struggle against great odds — poverty, racism, corruption, crime, disease and, at times, even nature. It seems things won’t change quickly enough to help many of these people. Their struggles are for things we consider basic, like drinking water, ample food and education. I now understand better how desperation and hope force many to emigrate to an unknown future in the United States.

This part of the world has so much to offer, with its diverse cultural traditions of clothing, music and food, the richness of the indigenous communities and their languages, and the welcoming of the stranger. But these people are also prone to being used.

I left a piece of me with the people of Latin America, somewhere among the cool mountain air of Oaxaca, or the windy shores of Lake Atitlàn, or on the black sand of Playa Dorada on the Pacific Ocean.

I brought back with me five notebooks filled with information, 20 rolls of film, a broken camera, a 10-inch stack of documents, layers of dirty clothes, a bag of souvenirs, a list of names and addresses of new friends, and dozens of stories — some good, some disturbing —all a part of my glimpse at life in Latin America.