ASB El Salvador, 2011: A Life Transformed

     Last spring, I traveled with the other students to learn about the events of the civil war that tore apart the country of El Salvador from 1980-1992. I came in expecting a rote lesson in the history of the war and the role of the church during this time. What I unexpectedly departed with was a memory of a tragedy that changed the direction of my life.

     It occurred in the shell of a bombed-out church. Our guide took us into the sacred space and told us about the last moments of the building before it was destroyed by government forces. The people of the city outside the church walls were supporters of the opposition, and the armies wanted to break the resolve of those people. In towns in El Salvador, churches were not just holy spaces, but also community gathering halls, where the life-blood of the community flowed. One of the most effective ways to destroy a community was to destroy the church.

     On the fateful day, the government troops surrounded the church and took the priests and acolytes inside. Rather than simply taking the building down, on government orders, they priests were left - still alive - inside as the building was burned down, with anyone trying to escape gunned down as they exited the doors.

     We sat there in the shell with the walls still partially standing, listening to yet another story of horrors and atrocities like the other ones we heard earlier in the trip. But this one moved me more than the others. There was something personal to me.

     Before I entered grad school, I had worked as an engineer at a government contractor. This kind of work relies on supporting the efforts of our government’s policies around the world. I, of course, was not around during those days of the war, but such work supports similar efforts of leaders supported by our government. I suddenly saw the parallels between the past involvement in El Salvador and today’s involvement in the far off countries we only see in the news. I could imagine such work causing the same kind of horrors to people today. It is also the kind of work where it is very easy to dissociate one’s personal involvement from the end result of that involvement.

     I broke down. Between sobs, I told my story through my tears to my fellow students. I was overwhelmed by the thought that another person in another religious building halfway across the world would be experiencing what these priests did, and there was a personal role I might’ve played. Even if I had not done it there in El Salvador, and even though I was not directly doing the harm, I felt the guilt. It was a powerful feeling that had larger repercussions in my life.

     Before the trip, I had seriously considered returning to my previous career. It’s a secure career that tempts many a Stanford student today. However, after the trip I completely wrote off that option. I realized that there were decisions that I could no longer make today. This story in this place in El Salvador had transformed me.

     In 2 weeks, another group of students from our community will be traveling to El Salvador. They will be moved in their own ways by what they see, and by the lives of those they interact with. I hope you will all join me in praying for the opening of the minds and hearts of those students on their journey.  If you have any questions about this year’s team, or how you can support them--spiritually and financially--please contact Fr. Isaiah.  God Bless you.

Michael Barrientos, MS ‘11