shore. Down river there were fewer soldiers. As she neared the shore, Vicki became entangled in some fish nets. That evening, a Honduran fisherman rescued her. The little girl she had carried was dead—two bullets had entered her chest. Vicki did not even notice this until the fisherman took her ashore. Six hundred men, women and children were massacred at the Sumpul River. For days, the bodies that littered both shores provided a carrion feast for vultures and dogs. Vicki had no idea how extensive the fighting had been. She did not know if her village had also come under attack or if her mother, sister and brothers were safe. Vicki considered returning home but decided instead to go to a refugee camp in Honduras. Vicki joined a team of catechists in the camp at Mesa Grande. The “Christian base communities” they organized met weekly to reflect on the word of God and to analyze their plight in light of the scriptures. Vicki enjoyed her work but was unhappy at the camp. She felt worse when she attended religious services of any kind. Vicki couldn’t understand this. She had worked with her father as a catechist. She had admired Archbishop Romero and found encouragement in the Church’s preferential option for the poor. Yet the Masses, prayer services and other religious events at Mesa Grande only depressed her. On November 4, 1984, Vicki was asked to lead a discussion around Psalm 137. She read the text: By the streams of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. On the aspens of that land we hung up our harps, Though there our captors asked of us the lyrics of our songs, And our despoilers urged us to be When she finished the text, one of the campesinos exclaimed, “I know what this means. This is how we all feel. How can we sing our Salvadoran songs in this foreign land?” Vicki then understood why religious services at Mesa Grande made her so unhappy. She associated the songs with her own land, but singing them had only aggravated her homesickness and concerns for her family. Two days later, Vicki left the camp in the company of a young guerrilla. Today, she works with the FMLN in Chalatenango as a community organizer. She has no papers. If arrested, she will be killed. Vicki no longer calls herself a catechist. She regards her community organizing in the “liberated territories” as the work of the gospel. “We Salvadorans regard the gospel as incarnated in history,” Vicki says. “But its incarnation is not the gospel. I have chosen to work on El Salvador’s historical project because of my religious convictions.” These women’s lives unveil the reality of El Salvador’s struggle and shed light on why young people, old campesinos, the middle class and the poor continue to support the FMLN. These women were not recruited by shifty- eyed Cubans. Nor were they motivated by Marxist polemics. Each was forced to choose between despair and hope—and they chose hope. joyous: “Sing for us the songs of Zion!” But how could we sing a song of the Lord in a foreign land? If I forget you, Jerusalem, may my right hand be forgotten! May my tongue cleave to my palate If I place not Jerusalem ahead of my joy. Tn he o s t e re w c o ru m ite e d n b w y e re shifty-eyed Cubans. Nor were they motivated by Marxist polemics. Each was forced to choose between despair and hope—and they chose hope. Each of these women is now in hiding, because in E l / ^ ^ i Salvador, hope has / dangerous consequences. Each of these women is now in hiding, because in El Salvador, hope has dangerous consequences. The conditions that led Laura, Carlotta and Vicki to make their decisions have not changed. Indeed, with increased aid from the United States, these conditions have worsened. The irony is that as the American Congress fuels the Salvadoran military, the military has become more outrageous in its violation of the Salvadoran people’s human rights and has sent more men and women into the FMLN. When Laura, Carlotta and Vicki speak about “repression” and El Salvador’s “historical project,” their talk rings faintly of Marxism. This is because Marxist’ categories, like Christian categories, have been helpful in making sense of events in El Salvador. As Vicki says, “Marxist analysis did not kill my father. My family was not as poor as many, but it was always very clear to me that El Salvador was a country of the very rich and the very poor. And whenever people tried to close the gap between these two, they were killed. This is the reality of class struggle, not its ideology.” Daniel Santiago is a U.S. priest with years of experience in El Salvador. He has recently returned there. This is his first article in Clinton St. Terri Potter is an artist living in Portland. She has studied art in Seattle and San Francisco. This is her first work in our pages. The line drawings were created by Salvadoran artists Benjamin Canas, Roberto Huezo,Fernando Llort and Miguel Orellana for a commission by the Oscar Romero Pastoral Center in El Salvador. They are on display in the chapel as “a kind of stations of the cross.” LOOKING GLASS B O O K S T O R E FOOD 2610 N.W. Vaughn 220-0283 Now Serving Cocktails and Great Margaritas Enchilada, Chili Relleno, salad, chips and salsa $4.95 Chosen "one of the best Mexican Restaurants in Portland." — PACIFICNW MAGAZINE 1988 Cafe & Delicatessen 404 S.W. 10th Portland ARTICHOKE MUSICS Musical instruments Bought. Sold, Traded *« m o s t unuaue ! mus ic s to r e ." THE MARTINOTTI FAMILY Weddings, Anniversaries and special occasions. Italian Specialties Wine Bar • Cheeses • Sandwiches Desserts • Salads • Sundries CATERING SPECIALISTS 224*9028 ARMAND-DIXIE FRANK-VINCE CECELIA-DIONE EDDIE •Guitars' hammer dulcimers, mandolins, flutes, banjos, autoharps, dulcimers and kits. • Exotic percussion and hand drums. • instruction books and songbooks Open Mon.-sat. 10:30to6 O O / I E 3522SEHawthorne Z O Z 'O QMO VISA 42 Clinton St.—Spring 1990
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