The SHARE Blog

Radical Faith: The Assassination of Sr. Maura

October 26, 2016

We are excited to share with you a new book about the life and assassination of Sr. Maura Clarke, one of the churchwomen killed in El Salvador in 1980. Written by Eileen Markey, a delegate on our 2015 Remembering the Churchwomen delegation, Radical Faith: The Assassination of Sr. Maura explores not her murder, but her life and influences.

radicalfaithAs Eileen describes:

“This book traces not Maura’s murder but her life, asking how a beloved daughter from Queens, NY became a victim of the Cold War in a country far from home. In examining the forces that shaped Maura’s life, I was able to look closely at the inheritance of Irish nationalism, the immigrant experience in New York, the Cold War, the adaptations of the Catholic Church at Vatican II and the social and political movements that convulsed Central America in the 1970s and 1980s. Maura was shaped by each of these and is remembered with pride and affection by those who knew and worked with her–especially in Nicaragua and El Salvador. Her story continues to be relevant as the crimes of the 1980s in Central America begin to be prosecuted, the fall-out of those wars continue to reverberate in current immigration patterns, as Americans continue to grapple with the role of faith in public life and as we all negotiate a world of distraction and fear. Maura paid attention. She sincerely followed the very radical commandment to love your neighbor as yourself. I’ve tried to tell her story fully, with nuance and care so that this icon some of us know from prayer cards becomes a real woman again.”

The book may be ordered on Amazon or Indiebound.

Help spread the word about the book and Maura’s life by posting about the book on social media, asking your local bookstore to host a reading, teaching about it in college courses, or inviting Eileen to speak to your book club, school, parish study group, congregation, or organization. Download the book’s press release for contact information and to learn more.




Update from Some Women Leaders!

August 22, 2016


Last month there was a closing ceremony for a pilot education project aimed at adolescent girls in 9 education centers in the Tecoluca municipality in San Vicente. The project included workshops that taught the adolescent’s about gender equality, self-esteem, self-care, violence prevention, human rights, and sexual and reproductive health with the hopes of preparing girls to value their rights, prevent abuse, and distance themselves from violence.

To achieve these goals, it is important to have the support of local leaders and of the girls’ families. In El Salvador it is crucial for girls to receive an education creates the capacity to guarantee a better future for themselves and their families, and that permits true development in communities with a focus on solidarity and social justice. As they say, “Educating women is educating society.”SDC10053_________________________________________________________________________________

This past June an exchange was held between organized women from CCR and UCRES, with lots of support and participation from the Gender Units of the Las Vueltas and Chalatenango mayoralties and the Association of Vueltences Women. SHARE supports projects and organizations in both of these regions. The objective of the gathering was for the participants to share organizing experiences. The women from CCR talked about their organizing processes, and their work on the topic of food sovereignty and home gardens. They also talked about their experiences with micro loan cooperatives. At the same time, the women from UCRES shared the challenges they’ve had in their community, and the ways that they have solved them. Awards were given out to some of the leaders in both organizations. After, they visited the women’s municipal building in Las Vueltas, where there is a room for things like exercising, yoga, reading, and using the internet. It is an important space for women in the area. After, they visited a home garden where women shared their knowledge of plants that grow well in the area, and that have a high nutritional value. All of the amazing work these women are doing is possible thanks to supporters like you!b19fd380-3a1e-4ebe-a716-e48c81b10a91

International Sistering and Solidarity Delegation

August 18, 2016

Our International Sistering and Solidarity Delegation last month was a huge success. We were happy to see so many supporters, both new and old, attend the delgation and gathering in Arcatao, and share their experiences working with the solidarity movement. It was also an opportunity to celebrate our 30 year partnership with CRIPDES. All of this is possible thanks to supporters like you! We especially want to thank those that attended the delegation, or who donated to make it possible.

Here is the press release from all of the organizations involved, reaffirming our commitment to solidarity.


Screenshot of Arcatao Doc for Blog

The El Mozote Massacre: The Community

June 27, 2016

Guest post by Leigh Binford, author of The El Mozote Massacre: Human Rights and Global Implications

For those who follow events in El Salvador, it’s a given that they will become acquainted at least casually with the El Mozote massacre. Along with the murder of three American nuns and one lay worker, the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Arnulfo Romero, and the killing of six prestigious Jesuit intellectuals, their housekeeper, and her daughter at the Central American University, the El Mozote massacre was one of the government’s most egregious human rights violations. In this post I will describe the massacre itself as well as focus on some common misconceptions about El Mozote and the massacre.

The Massacre

Between December 11 and 13, 1981, the Salvadoran Altlacatl Battalion massacred more than a thousand men, women and children in and around the hamlet of El Mozote, located in the northeastern department of Morazán. The massacre occurred toward the end of the second year of a brutal civil war between the government and the rebel FMLN (Farabundo Martí National Liberation Front) that terminated in 1992. The war resulted in at least 75,000 dead and 7,000 disappeared, 85 percent at the hands of the government military and 10 percent by the paramilitary and death squads linked to them, according to a 1993 United Nations Truth Commission report. Government forces committed dozens of massacres, but the massacre at and around El Mozote is the one that most people recall, in part because several journalists visited the area several weeks after the event and published articles in major U.S. newspapers that forced the newly-installed Reagan administration to undertake a cursory investigation.

Figure 2 El Mozote shortly after the massacre

El Mozote shortly after the massacre

When the U.S.-trained Atlacatl Battalion entered El Mozote on December 10, the resident population had been swollen by an influx of people from surrounding rural areas, apparently heeding a suggestion passed along by a respected local merchant that those concentrating there would be spared by the soldiers during its planned scorched earth operation, aimed at an FMLN encampment several miles to the west. The Atlacatl troops assembled the population, forced people to lie face down (boca abajo) and roughly interrogated them. It then separated men and boys from women and children for the night. The killing began the morning of December 11 when soldiers marched most of the men from the church in small groups into the fields and wooded areas, where they forced them to lie on the ground and dispatched them with shots to their heads. Late in the afternoon, groups of women were led from the houses in which they had been interned and forced into another house where they were apparently machine gunned en mass. Rufina Amaya, believed by many to be the lone survivor of the massacre, was in one of the last of these groups. During the chaotic scene in which a few soldiers attempted to control more than a dozen desperate, begging, pleading, praying and crying women aware of the death that awaited them, Amaya dropped down behind a tree and was not seen by the distracted guards. Later, she crawled into an adjacent cactus field and eventually abandoned the area, though not before she heard the agonized cries as the soldiers killed dozens of children, hers included. Amaya was certainly the principal and most important witness, but dozens of people avoided detection.

Over the course of the next two days Atlacatl companies rampaged across the landscape, murdering all those they encountered, dispatching farm animals and burning homes. At least six hamlets were affected and the dead totaled a minimum of 1061 as of April 2012, according to a careful, genealogically-based study carried out among surviving family members in Morazán, San Miguel, San Francisco Gotera, and other destinations of people displaced by the war.

Forensic work conducted by the Argentine Anthropology Forensic Team (Equipo Argentino de Antropología Forense, EAAF) in 1992-1993 and later during the first decade of the new millennium added more detail to our knowledge of the massacre and provided clear evidence that disputed the Salvadoran government’s repeated claims that FMLN guerrillas in El Mozote used civilians as human shields. Responsibility for the atrocity was put to rest in 2012 when President Mauricio Funes (2009-2014) visited El Mozote on the twentieth anniversary of the peace accords that terminated the armed conflict and asked forgiveness from the residents for the government’s wartime actions. In April of that same year, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights heard the El Mozote case in Guayaquil, Ecuador and in a ruling made public on December 10, 2012—the significance of the choice of that date was clear—found uniformly for the plaintiffs in the case and ordered the government to make monetary and nonmonetary reparations.

The El Mozote massacre seemed to have come full circle, from atrocity and denial to admission and (hopefully) reparations. While reparations cannot undue the wrong committed, they might, according to psychologist María Sol Yáñez, make it possible for the survivors to “confide in life again and develop a life project.”

But missing from this story is any sense of or apparent interest in the social and economic relationships and beliefs that predominated in El Mozote and its environs before the civil war. Who died at El Mozote? How did they live? Few people ask these questions, and when they are asked, most of the answers provided are downright wrong. I want to share briefly my understanding of the pre-war community in the hope that doing so will cast new light on this atrocity and further dignify the lives that were snuffed out in it.

El Mozote Before the Massacre

I carried out ten fieldtrips to northern Morazán between 1991 and 2012, conducting interviews in municipalities through the region and participating in dozens of cooperative meetings, NGO orientations, local government functions, church services, fiestas and so on. While I was particularly interested in the civil war and reconstruction and reconciliation, I knew that I needed baseline knowledge of the pre-war period in order to be in a position to grasp local and sub-regional differences in degrees of adherence to the government, the actions of security and paramilitary forces, and incorporation into the FMLN. El Mozote, which means “The Thistle,” turned out to be unique and one-of-a-kind, the most unlikely site imaginable for the recruitment of people to an organization dedicated to overthrowing the government. No single factor explained the resistance that FMLN recruiters encountered in El Mozote. But the fact that most people residing in and around the hamlet had achieved substantial benefits from working within the system goes a long way to explain why they had little interest in seeing it replaced or opposing it.

A small group of local merchants and landowners spearheaded a series of impressive social and economic achievements. In the late 1950s the inhabitants spent several years raising money and donating labor in order to build the church in which the Atlacatl interned the men and boys before killing them. A decade earlier residents of El Mozote had formed a ten-person directorate, acquired a plot of land, constructed a rudimentary edifice and solicited a schoolteacher from a representative of the government Ministry of Education. A census enumerated 75 eligible schoolchildren, and in 1946 the ministry provided a teacher for the school, which locals named “El Jícaro” (The Calabash Tree). El Jícaro remained the area’s sole educational institution until a brick school building, constructed with government assistance, opened near the center of the hamlet in the 1970s.

Then in the mid-1970s El Mozote was chosen to be the site of an agricultural school that would train peasants in agriculture, bricklaying, carpentry and other practical skills. The school was to be a gift of the Venezuelan government. The government made location of the project in El Mozote contingent on the community’s acquisition of 5 manzanas (roughly 8.5 acres) of land. A portion of the land was donated, and the remainder was purchased with community funds obtained from the sale of the abandoned El Jícaro site. An engineer measured the site in 1978, and representatives from the Venezuelan embassy arrived to approve the project. But construction was suspended because of the deteriorating political situation in northern Morazán.

Figure 3

One of El Mozote’s main streets shortly after the massacre

Finally, it is important to mention the Cooperative Association of Agricultural Production “23 May,” established in 1975. Most of the half-dozen pre-war cooperatives that I have documented in northern Morazán began as “revolving credit” associations; their members bought raw materials and sold agricultural products but never accumulated sufficient capital or developed the organizational and accounting skills necessary to move into production. Members of the El Mozote cooperative were required to make small, monthly donations that were deposited in a bank account in San Francisco Gotera, the departmental capital. They used this money as collateral with which to contract bank loans for the purchase of fertilizer and cattle. During the cooperative’s last years, the membership bought a motorized machine to extract henequen fiber, used to make rope and other products, from the cactus plants that most of them cultivated. The machine cheapened the cost of production, although it also reduced the need for human labor power.

The accomplishments that I have discussed—and there were others—were initiated and moved forward by a core group of highly motivated peasants and petty merchants, but they improved the quality of life in El Mozote for everyone. Without leaving the area, people in and around El Mozote and nearby hamlets could purchase many key consumer items, send their children to school, attend church, and bury their dead. (Unlike other hamlets in northern Morazán, El Mozote also had its own cemetery.) These services saved time and resources for everyone who lived within walking distance of the hamlet center. Those who resided farther away had to expend more time to shop, worship, and attend school. With its “main street” and cluster of cement-block and tile-roofed buildings around the little plaza, El Mozote even looked like an embryonic municipal center, a far cry from most northern Morazanian hamlets. Some people in El Mozote even had aspirations of achieving municipal status; had they been able to do so, the educational, transportation and economic infrastructure would have improved even more.

There were, without a doubt, serious limits to the developments that I have documented here. The population grew rapidly in the decades before the civil war, leaving a growing number of people without land or without enough of it on which to sustain a household, for which reason many males migrated seasonally to coffee and other agro-export areas in the west and northwest. Some people even abandoned Morazán altogether. But compared with the vast majority of those residing outside municipal centers, people in and around El Mozote were in a privileged situation. In effect El Mozote was a relatively successful example of liberal rural development theory put into practice, the kind of community about which USAID bureaucrats rhapsodize. Its success goes a considerable way to explain why few people were attracted by the FMLN call to arms, and why fewer still heeded that call, as rebel spokespersons admitted. Many people in El Mozote had little to gain and much to lose by opposing the system. That makes it all the more ironic that their community was eradicated by government forces.

Correcting the Misconceptions

In addition to adding to our knowledge about the El Mozote before the massacre, I want to speak to three common misconceptions about the massacre. The three common misrepresentations are the following: first, that all or almost all the inhabitants died in the massacre; second, that El Mozote had escaped political violence until the Atlacatl battalion conducted its scorched earth operation in December of 1981; and third, that most residents in the hamlet were evangelical Protestants. These three misrepresentations have been produced and reproduced in books, articles, blog posts and elsewhere for over two decades.

Multiple Survivors

The first of those misrepresentations is that all or almost all the population was wiped out in the massacre. It is a fact that Rufina Amaya, a humble peasant woman, married to Domingo Claros and mother of six children, who is believed by many to have been the only survivor, was the only person who was rounded up by the Atlacatl, marked for imminent death and then escaped, though José Guevara (later known as “Chepe Mozote”), ten-years old at the time of the massacre, ran from soldiers when he observed them hanging children from a tree near the school. However, dozens of people left their homes shortly ahead of Atlacatl soldiers and hid nearby; they heard or observed as people were lined up and shot and their homes torched. Most of these survivors found their way to the United Nations refugee camp in Colomoncagua, Honduras, where they remained until camp residents returned to northern Morazán in late 1989 and early 1990 to form Community Segundo Montes. Numerous survivors of the massacre, including Rufina Amaya, resided in Segundo Montes and I had no difficulty locating and speaking to them during the summer of 1993. Indeed, Rufina Amaya was only one among a number of people who went to the departmental capital of San Francisco Gotera in 1990 to file a formal complaint about the massacre. Over the course of the next fifteen years, former residents of El Mozote and other hamlets wiped out in the Atlacatl operation pursued justice (to no avail) with the assistance of Tutela Legal of the San Salvador archdiocese.

The number of witnesses willing to come forward and give testimony multiplied after 2006, when a human rights organization formed in the now repopulated El Mozote. Dozens of people contributed written and videotaped testimony in a 2010 complaint delivered to the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights and later to judges of the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, which heard the case in April 2012 in Guayaquil, Ecuador. Three women born in northern Morazán made the trip to Ecuador in order to give verbal testimony before the court: Dorila Márquez de Márquez of El Mozote, María del Rosario López Sánchez of La Joya, and María Margarita Chicas Márquez of Arambala. These women survived because they lived on the edges of the operation where the killing was selective and not within the operation zone where it was complete (María Margarita), or because Atlacatl soldiers “missed” the house, perhaps thinking that it had been abandoned (Dorila), or because they did not trust the army and left just before it arrived (María del Rosario).

It seems certain that many people from outlying areas concentrated in the hamlet center, probably because they were told by Marcos Díaz that they would be spared. However, many others either ignored Díaz’s warning or did not learn of it and remained in their homes. Most of the survivors—Rufina Amaya and José Guevara excepted—lived outside the hamlet center or in rural settlements scattered over the extensive countryside. This was a chaotic time and people made all manner of decisions based on incomplete and uncertain information as well as their own beliefs concerning the army’s intentions.

Given what I have said, one might wonder about the proportion of the population, and not just the number, killed in the massacre. It was, I think, much smaller than is generally believed. During the summer of 1993, I collected 14 genealogies from people originating from El Mozote and the surrounding area who had either begun to repopulate the community or were living in Segundo Montes. These 14 extended family units included 586 persons alive in December 1981 on the eve of the arrival of the Atlacatl to El Mozote. According to interviewees, 168 persons (28.6 percent) died in the massacre. What of the remaining 71.4 percent? The vast majority had already left El Mozote in the months, weeks, days or just minutes before the massacre occurred. Several large groups of civilians were led to safety by FMLN guides, well informed about the coming operation and aware of the potential for a massive human rights violation. Readers will be surprised to learn that one of the guides was Joe David Sanderson, an American adventurer who joined the FMLN in January of 1981. (Sanderson himself died in combat on April 27, 1982 near the Torola River and his remains lie somewhere beneath the ground in northern Morazán.) In short, most area inhabitants were driven by the spread of political violence in northern Morazán to seek safety outside the area, while many that remained were guided out by the FMLN. Otherwise the loss of life would have been several times greater.

Political Violence

This brings me to the second misconception about El Mozote, which projects the absence of political violence during the late 1970s and beginning of the 1980s. The Atlacatl assault seemed to come out of nowhere and targeted a population that trusted in the government and its military forces. El Mozote was certainly less conflictive than many other communities in northern Morazán, but it was far from the placid island in a sea of armed confrontation some maintain. Based on fieldwork over two decades and an exhaustive study of the available documentation, I conclude that there occurred a minimum of twenty politically-motivated murders and assassinations in and around El Mozote between January 1980 and early December 1981. The majority took place not in El Mozote proper but in nearby hamlets and rural areas. The violence was dispersed over a wide area and was intermittent rather than continuous, which made it extremely difficult for people to get a firm handle on the reasons for it or the causal agents who enacted it. In northern Morazán as in San Salvador (or Guatemala or Argentina), people learning of an assassination tended to presume guilt rather than innocence. “Por algo murió” (S/he must have died for a reason) was a common response. Of course speakers taking this tact usually knew that they were innocent of political wrongdoing, knowledge that might have made many feel less vulnerable than they in fact were. Even so, the rise in politically-motivated violence in the area, and the more acute violence elsewhere in northern Morazán—where death squads regularly executed or disappeared people and the FMLN battled the army and National Guard—convinced growing numbers of people to leave the zone.

Political Conservatism

The third misconception concerns the argument that the population’s political passivity could be explained by its embrace of evangelical Protestantism associated with pro-government sentiments. However, the residents of the hamlet were overwhelmingly Catholic, albeit traditionalist or conservative in their orientation as opposed to the more radical Liberation Theology current.

José Carmen Romero, the local catechist or lay preacher, had indeed studied Liberation Theology at El Castaño in the department of San Miguel, but he failed to implement the teachings when he returned to Morazán and remained faithful to Fr. Andrés Argueta, for many years the region’s sole priest. Argueta urged the poor to accept their fate, promising that suffering on earth would receive its reward in the afterlife. Ironically, Argueta’s nephew, Miguel Ventura, was appointed curate of the newly-created Torola parish in 1972. Ventura was trained in Liberation Theology in a San Salvador seminary; when he attempted to organize poor workers and peasants to improve their lives, he clashed with his uncle. Ventura cultivated a coterie of progressive catechists who developed a network of Christian Base Communities (CEBs) in which poor people analyzed their lives through the insights gained from Bible discussion and worked together to resolve some of their most pressing problems. When the CEBs in Torola and elsewhere were harassed by the National Guard, and as threats against the peasants multiplied and people began to disappear, Ventura even put catechists in contact with Rafael Arce Zablah, an early leader of one of the factions that eventually formed the FMLN. But Ventura never visited El Mozote, which was located in the midst of the Jocoaitique parish controlled by Argueta, his uncle.

Evangelical groups did recruit and function in rural areas outside of El Mozote, but in northern Morazán evangelicals exercised limited influence until the civil war concluded. The political conservatism of many people in El Mozote is probably best explained by the combination of material progress (compared to other rural hamlets)—which I discussed above—and the traditionalist religious message imparted by Fr. Argueta and his local surrogate, José Carmen Romero. Even so, I’ve also suggested that responses to the growth in political violence in northern Morazán and rumors of an army invasion were understood in a wide variety of ways, and those understandings informed different courses of action: some people left early, some left just ahead of the Atlacatl’s arrival. About 30 percent of the pre-war population remained, and was murdered.

A historical and ethnographic understanding of El Mozote and the surrounding area teaches us that while the lives of people living in northern Morazán might seem simple, they were really quite complex. Moreover, people living in and around El Mozote were, no less than ourselves, products of history. Their understandings were historically and culturally shaped. They reasoned from and not outside those understandings, and it is clear that however much some people had benefited from the system, there existed a great deal of distrust in the government and its army. Had that distrust not existed, many more people likely would have died.


Leigh Binford is a Professor of Anthropology in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at the College of Staten Island of the City University of New York. He began working on human rights and development in northern Morazán in 1991 and has made ten field trips to the region. He is the author of The El Mozote Massacre: Human Rights and Global Implications.


Delegate Spotlight: Mary Louise

April 1, 2016

Our blog series, Delegate Spotlight, feature past participants from SHARE’s major delegations. A delegate is someone who travels with a group (delegation) to El Salvador to learn about the history, politics, and people to better accompany the Salvadoran people. Interested in becoming a SHARE delegate? Check out our major delegation page for information on the upcoming International Solidarity Delegation in July!

Mary Louise Chesley-Cora

Spotlight On: Mary Louise Chesley-Cora, Hockessin, DE

SHARE Delegation Experience: 2015 Churchwomen Commemoration Delegation

Why did I decide to participate? There was a strong spiritual “pull” to look at this possibility and then to take steps needed to participate. Initially, I knew no one in the delegation and went by myself.

What did I gain? I gained a much greater understanding of what happened in El Salvador in the past 50 years and the unfortunate role the US government played in the civil war there causing the deaths of thousands of the people as well as a greater appreciation of what is presently happening to build up hope and justice for the people, especially those who continue to suffer injustice and threats of terror from gangs and organized crime (mostly women and children).  I was inspired by the strength of the women who seem fearless and determined to make their country a beautiful and safe place to live.

What was most memorable? The most memorable day was being with the people at the Mass on December 2 to celebrate the lives of these courageous and faith-filled women who were martyred at that spot 35 years before. It was also the exact day a year ago that I was celebrating the life of my dear husband, George, (12/2/14) at our parish of the Resurrection in Delaware. I envisioned them all “in glory”…rejoicing with us!

What was my favorite part? I was very touched by the great hospitality shown to our delegation as well as the gratitude of the people toward us to have come to “walk with,  pray with and celebrate with” on their journey for greater justice and peace. Despite the tremendous losses and hardships, they showed great resilience, compassion and hope for their lives and those of their children. I also valued meeting all the delegates and sharing with them. I found “connections” I couldn’t believe with various ones. It was a wonderful group of “new friends” journeying together.  Our team was also “outstanding”!!!

How was I challenged? I was challenged to be open to all kinds of new experiences, people, travel, language. I welcomed this opportunity to grow in faith, to support those who continue to work for justice and peace and to join them in prayer for a  more hope-filled future.

For those thinking of joining a SHARE delegation: The SHARE opportunity was so well planned and organized. It included important meetings with representatives of the government, media and local people, meaningful prayer experiences, enjoyable times for meals and conversation as a group and with the local people. It was a wonderful, worthwhile experience and it made such a difference for the people there and for each of us in the delegation.

How does it continue to inspire?: It is only 2 months since the trip and I am still “unpacking” the experience and discerning how this can inspire and inform others to reach out in  mercy, justice and reconciliation to these sisters and brothers in El Salvador. I would like to continue to be involved in some way but it is not yet clear what that will mean. I am filled with GRATITUDE for this experience and all the people I met during those days.

Delegate Spotlight: Maryanne

March 18, 2016

Our blog series, Delegate Spotlight, feature past participants from SHARE’s major delegations. A delegate is someone who travels with a group (delegation) to El Salvador to learn about the history, politics, and people to better accompany the Salvadoran people. Interested in becoming a SHARE delegate? Check out our major delegation page for information on the upcoming International Solidarity Delegation in July!  


Spotlight On: Sister Maryanne Ruzzo, SC

SHARE Delegation Experience: 2015 Churchwomen Commemoration Delegation

Wanting to go to El Salvador started with a movie long before I entered the Sisters of Charity. When the American missionaries were killed in 1980 I was just out of college and really didn’t know much about what was happening in El Salvador nor did I remember much, if anything about their story.  About 5 years later I attended a retreat and a movie about Maura, Ita, Dorothy and Jean was shown.  I remember being emotionally drained and challenged by that movie and realized then that God might really be calling me to religious life. Their courage, their passion, their strength, their faithfulness inspired me to take steps toward entering the Sisters of Charity  where I have met many other women who have inspired and influenced my life and taught me how to live the Gospel call of making the love of God visible in our world. So when the opportunity came for me to represent LCWR Region 1 on a co-sponsored trip between LCWR and SHARE to EL Salvador for the commemoration of the 35th Anniversary of the martyrdom of these women, I was excited and extremely grateful. These women were not dead but were very alive everywhere we went!

And we went everywhere! To the Cathedral where Romero celebrated many liturgies, to the Crypt downstairs where he was buried,  to the wall called the Monument of Truth and Memory which names over 30,000 who were either murdered or disappeared, to the University of Central America and to the rose garden memorial where the 6 Jesuits and the housekeeper and her daughter were killed, to the Chapel where Romero was killed and to his home, to 3 base communities with connections to the missionaries and SHARE, to the site where the Missionaries were killed, and to the cemetery where the Maryknoll sisters were buried. We met with grassroots movement leaders, human rights defenders, mothers of the disappeared, government leaders and with farmers from an organic co-op who are planning now for the challenges from climate change. We heard stories of those who survived the war and of the root causes of migration.

What stayed with me the most? I’ll try to share a few of these experiences with you. The first was when we drove to the site where the women’s bodies were found. When the bus turned off the highway we were told that that was when the missionaries suspected that something horrible was going to happen. We rode in silence imagining what that had to have been like for them. The silence was piercing, and so were the bangs we heard that sounded like gunshots but later we found out were fireworks. We met up with a procession, had mass in a chapel at the site and then heard testimonies of how the missionaries had saved so many people’s lives at the risk of their own. We heard from a woman who had been 10 when Maura and Ita had saved her life by stashing her in the car trunk as they drove to safety through check points with the military.  Later we met her at one of the base communities and this was the second experience that has stayed with me.

This young woman, Monte, along with many other women her age shared with us all the organizing and advocating they are doing for human rights and for their children and for their land and for each other. These women would have all been children of the women who were leaders with the Missionaries during the war.  These women have kept the gangs out of their area (gangs have taken over almost ¾ of the country). They have kept 4 mining companies out of their area. They have organized youth groups and farms and co-ops. I found myself challenged by what they have been able to accomplish considering all they have been through. It was evident that the church women were as alive in them today as they were 35 years ago.

Another experience was when we went to the last of the base communities. It was night. As we got off the busses to process up the hill we were met by children singing and others holding candle lanterns that were given to us to light our way toward the plaza where fireworks were displayed. Together we walked forth in solidarity to remember and continue to celebrate the God who is alive in all of us through the memory of these women. There wasn’t a dry eye in the procession. After speeches and music and poetry and a meal all 117 of us were sent off with different families to spend the night in their homes. That would be another story!

Probably the event that haunts me the most was a skit done by a youth group. They acted out a letter that they wrote to Maura, Ita, Jean and Dorothy.  Five of them wore names of countries or cities that are presently experiencing or causing violence. They held a deep red cloth and bounced the globe back and forth toward each of these places. They spoke of how they know that they have experienced the ravages of violence and war in their own country but were also concerned about what to do because “Our whole world is bleeding because of war and hunger”.  These young people who have very little are so aware of the need for God in our world and desire to make things better.

This image of the globe being tossed in the bleeding red cloth challenges me as the whole trip has challenged me to look at my own call once again. Over 25 years ago the witness of the lives of Maura, Ita, Dorothy and Jean opened a door for me to say yes to Jesus and become a Sister of Charity. I find myself asking what is the yes that God is inviting me to today through the hopeful, passionate, faithful, resurrection people of El Salvador? And how will I live Charity today in this place we call home where God desires to be birthed over and over again? And I ask you, what is the yes that God is inviting you to today?

Delegate Spotlight: Margie

March 11, 2016

Our blog series, Delegate Spotlight, feature past participants from SHARE’s major delegations. A delegate is someone who travels with a group (delegation) to El Salvador to learn about the history, politics, and people to better accompany the Salvadoran people. Interested in becoming a SHARE delegate? Check out our major delegation page for information on the upcoming International Solidarity Delegation in July!  

MargieSpotlight On: Margie Carroll

SHARE Delegation Experience: 2015 Churchwomen Commemoration Delegation

Why did you decide to participate in SHARE’s major delegation?
Knowing that it was the 35th anniversary of the four Churchwomen’s martyrdom, I searched the web and gratefully discovered that a delegation was being sponsored by SHARE/LCWR. Immediately I knew that my heart was leading me to be a sojourner! I was so excited that I invited my daughter, Megan, to accompany me.  She was born on December 4, 1979,and was about to celebrate her 1st birthday when the women were killed on December 2, 1980.  I promised myself then that some day I would visit the community where Dorothy, Ita, Maura, and Maureen served. To my surprise and delight, Megan decided to join me at the last minute.  I treasure the experience we shared.

How were you challenged?
I did not feel particularly challenged until a crown, which had been on an upper back tooth for 32 years, decided to fall off just before leaving on an overnight visit with the welcoming community of Chalatenango. How like the “God of Surprises” to zap me with ongoing pain from a jagged exposed tooth for the next five days until I could get back to my dentist in San Diego! The experience was a good lesson of being in solidarity with the poor who cannot always seek medical assistance.
How does your experience continue to inspire you in your work/life/passions today?
The delegation experience reinforced my commitment to be a voice for those who may not have the freedom to speak out. I serve on the board of Casa Cornelia Law Center in San Diego whose mission is to provide quality pro bono legal services to victims of human and civil rights violations, particularly for asylum seekers, unaccompanied children coming over the border, domestic violence, and human trafficking.  We use every opportunity to interact with the public to clarify media misconceptions about immigration and why people are fleeing Central America. The delegation experience also provided me with much to share with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps NW National Alumni Council and the new JustFaith program on immigration that we are starting in our parish.


Fasting to Lift Oppression

February 25, 2016

Today we share reflections by Sister Janet Marie Peterworth, OSU, President of the Ursuline Sisters of Louisville, about her participation in our December 2015 Remembering the Churchwomen Delegation.


Sr. Carol Reamer and Sr. Janet Marie Peterworth at a memorial to the four churchwomen.

My reflections today come from the last part of this day’s reading from Isaiah (58: 1-9a) on the kind of fast that our God wants. I was reflecting about this in the context of my recent trip to El Salvador. The background of that trip started many years ago. A brutal civil war was raging in that country. The military was propping up the government and the two together were truly oppressing the indigenous people and the poor by confiscating their land for big multinational corporations—land that had been theirs for many years. The government was using the scorched earth policy. That meant the military went from village to village burning everything so that the people would have nothing to come back to. And with monetary help and training from our United States government, they murdered over 72,000 people in that civil war. Read More »

Monseñor Urioste: Champion of the Poor & Oscar Romero Sainthood Dies in El Salvador

February 3, 2016

By Eileen Purcell
January 17, 2016

Salvadoran Monsignor Ricardo Urioste died in the early morning of January 15th, 2016, having suffered a fall in San Salvador. He was ninety years old. Thousands gathered to celebrate his life at a Mass at the National Cathedral in San Salvador.


Ricardo Urioste was a beloved Catholic priest and pastor. Born on September 18, 1925 in San Salvador, he was the youngest of three.

Ordained in 1948, he became a pillar of the Salvadoran Church of the Poor. He served as the Vicar General of the Archdiocese of San Salvador for four decades, founded the Romero Foundation and led the global movement advocating for sainthood for Salvadoran Archbishop Oscar Romero. He was a firm supporter of the human rights organizations calling for “truth, justice, and reparations” as pre-requisites for authentic reconciliation in El Salvador in the aftermath of the Civil War.

Read More »

Revisiting El Salvador 35 years after the churchwomen´s deaths

December 18, 2015

Today we share a reflection by Judy Ress, a participant on our Remembering the Churchwomen Delegation.


She told me her story in bits and pieces as we bounced along in our rickety yellow school bus into the lowland hills of Chalatenango en route to her village.

Mercedes Montes was only 15 when Sisters Carla, Ita and Maura came to San Antonio de Los Ranchos in early 1980. A dangerous time. The Montes family was known to be consecuente. They´d produced catechists, youth leaders and comandantes—and had paid dearly for it. Twenty-eight of the Montes clan perished as a result of the “scorched earth” policy implemented by the Reagan administration to help the Salvadoran Armed Forces to rid the country of “communist subversion.”

Mercedes’ father, Angel Montes, had been the village’s revered catechist, but because he was illiterate, he had his nine-year old daughter read the Biblical texts to him. By the time Mercedes was 15, she too was a catechist and a dynamic youth leader.

Now an old man, Don Angel had spoken the day before at the anniversary Mass held on the site where the bodies of the four churchwomen were found. There stands a simple white monument in the shape of a cross. The inscription reads:

Misioneros Catolicos

Dorothy Kazel,

Maura Clarke,

Jean Donovan,

Ita Ford.

Entregaron sus vidas el 2 de diciembre de 1980.

Recíbenlas Señor en tu Reino.

An enormous pine tree shelters the monument, now declared a historical site by El Salvador`s Ministry of Culture. A chapel stands on the site as well. That day it was filled to the brim with folks like myself—old-time or one-time missioners—and lots of Salvadorans of a new generation. I was part of a 100 plus delegation that had traveled to El Salvador to commemorate the 35th anniversary of the churchwomen´s assassinations. Our delegation was sponsored by the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR) and the SHARE Foundation. Most were religious Sisters who were or had been in positions of leadership. Our age range: 65-75, an aging but highly committed troop. I was welcomed as part of the delegation because I had been a member of the Cleveland Mission Team to El Salvador (1970-72), like Dorothy and Jean. I had been invited to launch my historical novel dedicated to these nuns. Blood Flowers had just been translated into Spanish.

That day, as we gathered around the memorial and heard the testimonies, I caught a glimpse of who these women might have been. Don Angel described how Carla would stop the jeep rather than drive into a passy of butterflies in flight. Mercedes told of how Maura made her a skirt out of a burlap bag because she didn´t have any clothes. “I was hiding out in the woods behind my house when the Sisters found me,” she whispers. The National Guard was hunting for her.

It became clear why the Sisters were considered an obstacle to the “scorched earth” assault. They were protecting the villagers by scurrying them away to safer areas; they were bringing in food, medicine and clothing; and they were systematically tracking the abductions and disappearances for the Catholic Church´s Legal Defense Office.

As we coasted along the now paved curved road leading deeper into Chalatenango, Mercedes showed me the book she was reading—the translated version of Vessels of Clay, a biography of Sister Carla Piette by her good friend and classmate Jacqueline Hansen Maggiore. “My dad was in love with Carla,” she said. “They had these long conversations together.”

Carla arrived in San Antonio in March, on the day of Archbishop Romero´s funeral. She died in a jeep accident on August 23. She and Ita were coming back to San Antonio after having taken a seminarian to his home. It was dark and raining. Carla must have miscalculated the river´s strength as she nosed the jeep into the river crossing. The current caught the jeep. Carla pushed Ita out the window. The villagers found Ita the next morning clinging to a branch alongside the river. She was dehydrated and covered with mosquito bites—but alive. They found Carla´s naked body 18 kilometers down river. “We couldn´t find them in the night,” Mercedes wailed. “My father couldn´t look at Carla´s body. He just wept and wept.”

When our caravan of three buses finally arrived at San Antonio, we were invited to form a procession into the village. It gets dark early in El Salvador, so people met us with colored lanterns, fireworks and drum rolls. We were astounded—the whole village had turned out to welcome us. As we approached the outskirts, we crossed the river. Now there is a bridge. Carla, presente!

As we processed into the main plaza, Beethoven’s Song of Joy filled the air. The local authorities and a children´s choir greeted us. Each child was wearing a t-shirt with a photo of one of the four churchwomen. They sang the sophisticated Cambia Todo Cambia. Mercedes was by my side the whole way. “Here`s where my house was.” “Back there is where Maura and Ita found me.” “Here is the embankment where we searched for Carla.”

We stayed the night in San Antonio, grateful for the simple hospitality. I got to sleep in a hammock again—and grudgingly had to admit to being out of practice. The next morning we were treated to breakfast in the town’s Memorial Park, where a bust of Carla honors her as one of the village`s three outstanding heroes.

San Antonio, which borders Honduras, boasts of being a “new town”. Its inhabitants were forced to flee to refugee camps in Honduras to escape the ¨scorched earth” campaign. There—for nine years—they learned to live together as a community. When they returned home, after the 1992 Peace Accords, they had to start all over. Mercedes says that they learned to work together when they were refugees in Honduras. Now, each family has been granted a piece of land and the government supplies seed and fertilizers. In this corner of El Salvador, the smell of hope filters through the dusty streets.

During the week-long trip, we visited other villages and co-ops and heard testimonies of how the seeds of the churchwomen ´s sacrifice—along with so many others (75,000 dead or disappeared, 134 massive massacres)—are bearing fruit.

El Salvador is described by some as a “failed state”. The country is listed as one of the most violent in the Americas. Yes, there are gangs of disaffected youth who roam the streets. They are learning fast from Mexico´s narco-mafias. They are feared. Many Salvadorans are trying to flee—and are willing to pay a high price for a “good coyote” who will deliver them safely to the United States.

But against this El Salvador is another version found in the newly organized efforts to become food independent, to re-forest the land, to recover the indigenous way of nurturing one´s own milpa. As one expert told us: “With the influx of the maquiladoras (sweatshops), El Salvador switched from being an agricultural country to an industrial one. But the maquilas only helped about 250,000 families. Our people need the land. We must return to the land.”

El Salvador is the only country in the Americas to reject imports in the name of food security. Food security versus food sovereignty.

Thirty-five years is a long time. Mercedes is now 50, has grown kids and coordinates 14 different women’s groups, each engaged in producing—either food or crafts. The four churchwomen have long been dead. But as we drove in silence along the road where their van had been hijacked and they had been abducted, raped and shot once in the head in a “potters’ field,” I sensed the terror they must have felt,.

What actually happened? Did they scream for help? Did they plead for their lives? Or did they just give up and went to their graves in silence? Did Dorothy, the elder, try to calm Jean, the youngest, who planned to marry her sweetheart the next season? Did Maura sing one of her Irish love ballads as they shot her in the head?
Did Ita feel relief that she´d be joining Carla there in the San Antonio cemetery?

If I fast-forward my own journey by eight years, I could have been driving that van out to the airport to pick up Ita and Maura.

There but for you, go I.

I walk in these women´s shadows.

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