Rights are not just given to us. As a young white female living in America, I knew this, but I didn’t really know. Today, directly following a delightful breakfast of rich, tropical fruits, I heard a man by the name of Damian speak. He looked like any other man in El Salvador (albeit dressed a bit better). And he was. He told us his story was all too comman for the people of his country. He detailed to me the story of hi s being a student at a local university, like myself, off studying to be an electrical engeniere, to make something of himself. He then told of walking to school and seeing a demonstration, and of walking home that night seeing policemen wash the blood off the steets, blood that he knew those same men had spilled.
The police murdered people. The police aren’t supposed to do that, the police are supposed to protect.
Damian went on to tell of his decision to join the guerillas, his discuss to fight for equal rights, and to stand up for food and housing and protection for all people: not just the wealthy.
He told of setting up secret radio stations in houses in towns where his actions would result in his death or tourtcer if caught. He once made plans with his cohorts to infiltrate and existing radio station, when they got to the station and announced who they were, all of the employees laid on the ground. He hadn’t even told them to yet. He pulled out a bomb from his bag, and said that they must let the entire message play, or they would detonate the bomb. Damian and his group left, and passed by much later, only to witness the government officials pulling the bomb out carefully, fearful they would accidently detonate it. Damian’s secret? The half-schooled electrical engineer that he was had no clue how to make a bomb. It was a glorified pop can with wires attached.
While that story was a bit comical, other portions of his tail were anything but. While transporting the equipment necessary to launch a radio station to further his cause, Damian and many other cars along the street he was traveling were stopped and searched. Damian was using a car not his own to transport the items. He had not followed protocol. He had not memorized the name and address on the registration. He caught a glimpse of the name, and recited it to the officer, but was not able to read the address. He was arrested, but only as a car thief. While at the prison, before being searched, he was handcuffed and left alone in a room. When the prison guard returned, Damian was vigorously gnawing on something. The prison guard withdrew the item from his mouth, look at him strangely and called him “loco”. He had just thoroughly destroyed a note from a fellow guerilla, with his teeth. The guard thought he was just a strange man who stole cars and enjoyed eating paper. He managed to remove that note from his breast pocket wit only his teeth. He barely escaped alive.
Some of his friends weren’t so lucky. In El Salvador there was a persision meat packing plant that could transform a cow into beautifully cut meat packages quickly. For a time during the civil war, it did not pack meat, but rather, those in opposition to the government.
Those were only a few of the stories of Damian.
Also on my agenda today was the San Salvador Coffee Cooperative. It is organic and fair trade deliciousness. We spent hours learning about growing organic coffee, and packing our own! (And yes, I am bringing some home with me!) I was able to introduce our group in Spanish!
After the Co-op was the crater called Boca Rone (meaning something like big mouth). It was the sight of the 1917 volcanic eruption that devastated the country! I climbed to the top of a volcano today (ok, so I took a bus most of the way, but still). I collected a few pieces of genuine volcanic ash, if ya’ll want to see it when I get home!
A pupusaria (YUMMM) and then back home to the hotel Oasis in San Salvador brought an almost end to my aked day. We finished it off with a movie on Father Oscar Ramerio, a n arch bishop, murdered in the civil war.
I’ll tell you more tomorrow!
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