Greetings from El Salvador!

Greetings everyone!

We have arrived safely in San Salvador and are enjoying being back in Jorge´s home turf, and I am enjoying getting to know my new mother in law. The weather here is between 80 ad 90 degrees during the day, but it cools to 70 at night. We are staying at the Lutheran mission worker´s house and traveling around to other friends and family during the days. Tomorrow we will go to the Jesuit University where Jorge studied and look up some friends there, then hope to get into the Romero memorial later on.

Things are relatively calm ahead of this weekend´s presidential elections. We will be volunteering at the agency coordinating elections observers that day on a variety of tasks. Looking forward to a positive outcome then. Next week after all the excitement here, we´ll head back towards Guatemala and visit Jorge´s friends from the Dominicans.

One difficulty we are having is that the airline has cancelled half its flight schedule, so we will be mildly stranded until the weekend a few days after we planned to return. It´s lovely here, so we certainly don´t feel ´´stuck´´ here, but I have been taking classes in history and polity of the United Church of Christ for our upcoming work at St. John´s, and we will miss one of the weekend intensives.

There´s not a lot of internet access here, but we´ll write again if we get the chance. Peace to you, and see you when we return!

Le Anne y Jorge

On Entering Jail

Thurs-Fri [4/3, 4/4]

The send-off at Foster Ave. Beach was wonderful. A sunny morning at the lake, many friends from Voices, 8th Day Center, SOA Watch, the Catholic Worker and Global Serve, & (Erin) my sister-in-law, and DePaul students, & Don Coleman. Prayers & songs& laying on of hands then into the car for the big trip, & me finishing applications to peacemaker conferences that had arrived in the nick of time. Erin bought me lunch, then we arrived at the courthouse/jail. It's a massive, modern building, curiously close to schools and senior housing. Another good crowd greeted us in the parking lot, the McHenry County peace community as well as our caravan from Chicago. Again prayers & hands; a fortunate meeting with a woman whose husband was exonerated from death row & spent much time inside. She was my best preparation, in just a few moments. Then a march to the doors, some last photos, and we went inside.

Gus and I were separated for the search, and they brought a bag out - off come shoes and jewelry, then with apologies the female guard asked for my clergy collar. I handed it over. My money the peace groups had given went into my commissary account. Then a clothes-on frisking, including under the tongue and between the toes. Then to the showers. The guard gave me a medicine cup. "It's [Ed. note: I believe she meant to say Lindane], don't drink it. It's so you don't get lice in here." So I showered with it and dressed in the scrubs - Guantanamo orange, including the socks and prison-issue underwear: "If it's clean and fits, it's yours." Orange slippers also with thin soles.

Inside looks a little like the customs area of the airport: questions about health, then mug shots and fingerprints. I was fine about all this, and curious. In my mug shots the officer said, "You look a little too happy to be here." "Sorry," I said. "You don't have to be sorry," he said. He wondered if my sentence would put a big dent in school. I replied the professors seemed to be okay with it. Then back to the holding cell until after supper. Green mats on concrete slabs and Sunday School-like yellow painted concrete block. Windows like a fishbowl all around. I later learned that this also served as detox.

It's pretty heavily air-conditioned here and I was glad for the wool blanket they gave me. I learned in a few hours how to fold it into a cocoon that was 2 - 3 layers, but I could still hop out of it when the doors opened. Then supper at 4pm. This was the first really brusque guard I met, since I didn't know the routine, he stood outside the doors and said, "Ya wanna eat or not?" I did, got my tray, a clunky orange spoon, and a cup with koolaid powder in a packet. The water wasn't working in the cell, so I skipped that. Otherwise, I think it was chicken ala king. The lettuce and vinegar salad reminded me of public school lunch: no, really, all of it did. But I was still happy to see it, and it wasn't bad with salt and pepper. Then back to sleep, since I've pulled too many all nighters lately and the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

Then finally upstairs to the cell. I walked with an officer, a Filipina and a Guatemalan woman. We couldn't talk much, but they were deportees. They went to another "pod," then I met mine. Each "pod" is a triangle about 60' on each side, with a common room in the middle and two floors of cells along one side. Common showers and a toilet/sink are on another, and the TV is on a third. There are also board games and paperbacks under the TV. In the center are seven stainless steel picnic tables w/four little round seats each. They get quite painful to sit on after a while. We're out there most hours of the day; otherwise we're on lockdown in our cells. Inside my cell I'm by myself with a little desk and the same stool. There's a thin mat on a steel bunk, and the window is about six inches tall and five feet wide. A little light gets in, and I see we've had two sunny days now. The other benefit of the cell is that I can use a blanket as a shawl, it gets pretty cold. I am looking forward to coming out in May, when it will be warmer and sunnier outside. We also see a patch of sky inside the gym which has a large window, even if it is barred. The gym is an open floor without equipment & we got to go twice yesterday to walk laps. It was a nice change of pace.

I also meant to write that there's a stainless steel toilet/sink/water fountain in each cell, which took some getting used to. Fortunately, guards and fellow prisoners are discreet about when you're using yours, since there's always an audience or at least a large window.

Iran/Iraq: A War Remembered

This morning I was thinking about the Tehran Peace Museum and remembering the words of a few former soldiers in the Iran-Iraq war. They had been wounded and disabled in the fighting. They were angry that Saddam had been executed before he could be tried for his use of chemical weapons against Iran in the war. For these soldiers, and for many other people we met, that war was still quite fresh in their minds. They weren't looking forward to more horror, not from any quarter.

Previously, I'd heard about the war from former Iraqi soldiers. They talked of being sent to the front, when they knew it was more likely they'd return home dead than alive. I remember one of our translators in Iraq recalling graffiti in a trench on the front lines: "Children kill frogs for fun, but the frogs die seriously."

Perhaps there is some hope for healing: in Iraq, I never heard people talk about that war as something to be proud of, either for starting it or for how it ended. To the people I heard from, it was only a tragedy.

Much like now, I imagine--there is no other word besides 'tragedy' to describe it.

I hope for no more war for Iran. I hope for no more war for Iraq, or Afghanistan, or anyone. I hope.