Remarks on Human Rights in El Salvador 35 Years After the Massacre of the Jesuit Priests

Buenas tardes a todos y todas.

Estoy muy feliz de estar con ustedes hoy.

Y espero que me disculpen por hablar en inglés.

Thank you for your patience.

I want to start by saying thank you to the UCA Human Rights Institute and the Due Process of Law Foundation for hosting this important forum.

I’m humbled to share today’s reflections with Vice Rector Omar Serrano, Leonor Arteaga of the Due Process of Law Foundation, and Geoff Thale of the Washington Office on Latin America.

It’s been 41 years since I first stepped foot on this campus. It was 1983. I was working for a bread-and-butter politician from Massachusetts named Joe Moakley.

I came here because a group of Salvadoran refugees came to his office in Boston to ask for his help.

Some of them were students who had been outspoken against the government.

Some of them were workers who had helped to organize unions.

Some of them were human rights defenders who were outraged that the Salvadoran military was killing civilians.

All of them were afraid that they might be sent back to El Salvador, where they believed — rightfully so — that their lives would be in danger.

Moved by their personal stories, Congressman Moakley asked me to come here to investigate their claims and see what could be done to help.

I was just 23 at the time — and when I got here, I remember being shocked by what I saw.

I had read in the newspapers about the violence, the fear, the uncertainty.

But until you see something like that firsthand, it’s hard to understand.

Death squads and government forces had already killed tens of thousands of innocent civilians, including Archbishop Oscar Romero, Father Rutilio Grande, and four U.S. churchwomen: Sisters Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, Dorothy Kazel, alongside lay missionary Jean Donovan

I was stopped on the road during my travels outside of San Salvador by FMLN combatants. Military officials told me any critic was the enemy. The security was heavy. The country was tense.

Many people that I spoke with told me to come here to the UCA — to meet with the rector and the faculty to discuss what was happening.

So I came to this campus — and not only did I find some of the sharpest and most insightful analysis on El Salvador. I found hope.

My meetings with Father Segundo Montes, Father Ignacio Martín-Baró and Father Ignacio Ellacuría restored my faith.

To be honest with you, back home, I felt that I had been kind of left behind by the church.

That it was only about ritual, dogma, tradition — and nothing more.

Listen to a homily. Take the Eucharist. Kneel, stand, kneel, stand.

It had lost its meaning.

But when I came to the UCA, I discovered a different kind of church.

A church that sided with the poor, walked with the oppressed, and worked for social justice — as Jesus asks each of us to do.

A church that cared not just about ritual, but more importantly, about action.

A church that not only talked the talk, but walked the walk.

There was a purpose and a passion here.

And at a time when a lot of other clergy in El Salvador had been silenced in the wake of Archbishop Romero’s assassination, the Jesuits were speaking out . . .

. . . and they were standing up unapologetically for peace and justice.

I will never forget the time I spent with them during my many visits here.

In Father Segundo Montes, I found a champion for those Salvadorans migrating to the United States.

In large measure, I credit him for the creation of Temporary Protected Status for Salvadorans and other refugee communities in the United States, a bill I helped shepherd into law.

In Father Martín-Baró, I remember a charismatic leader who had a powerful way with words. I remember asking him one time what message he would like me to bring back to Congress. “Remind them that we’re human beings, too,” he said.

In Father Ellacuría, I heard a brilliant man who understood all too well the cold indifference of the United States regarding the arms and military equipment we showered on El Salvador, and the role of the church in working for peace.

He explained to me that turning belief into action required taking into account the gospel’s preference for the poor in our own everyday lives.

In fact, he believed that was the mission of the UCA. He said:

“A Christian university must take into account the gospel preference for the poor. This does not mean that only the poor study at the university; it does not mean that the university should abdicate its mission of academic excellence — excellence needed in order to solve complex social problems.

“It does mean that the university should be present intellectually where it is needed: to provide science for those who have no science; to provide skills for the unskilled; to be a voice for those who have no voice; to give intellectual support for those who do not possess the academic qualifications to promote and legitimate their rights.”

This commitment to the poor and marginalized…

This university’s commitment to the poor and marginalized…

It was like a breath of fresh air. It strengthened my faith, and restored my hope in the power of people to make a difference in the world.

I will never forget them, nor the last time I saw Father Ellacuría, just a few weeks before he was killed.

I, along with WOLA, had invited him to speak in Washington. And the last thing he told me was to keep the faith, because he still believed peace was possible.

It was early in the morning on November 17, 1989, when my phone rang and woke me up. On the other line was Sylvia Rosales, who some of you may know, from CARECEN. Her words came one at a time, through tears.

“They killed them all. The priests. They killed them all.”

And she listed them off, one by one: Ignacio Ellacuría. Ignacio Martín-Baró. Segundo Montes. Juan Ramón Moreno. Amando López. Joaquín López y López. And Elba Ramos and Celina Ramos, their housekeeper and her daughter.

They were our friends. Our mentors. Our brothers and sisters.

All, we now know, murdered by the Salvadoran army — by an elite battalion created and trained by the United States.

And they were murdered not in spite of who they were . . .

. . . but because of it.

I’m proud of my role — alongside Congressman Joe Moakley — in helping to uncover the horrific truth of their murders.

And to be honest, I’m still angry.

Angry that there has been no true justice for the Jesuit martyrs.

Angry that the intellectual authors of these crimes have evaded accountability. Many of them still live in this country.

Angry that my own government has not told the truth about what it knew, or when, because it refuses to declassify documents that could help clarify the details of the murders.

And yet what I have learned in the decades since is to turn my anger into action.

And so I am here in El Salvador this weekend to remember the lives of the martyrs.

But if that’s all we do — I’ll be honest with you, it’s not enough.

They would want us to do more than just remember.

They would remind us, as the Apostle James reminds us, that “faith without works is dead.”

They would want us to take action.

Not just in El Salvador…

…not just in the United States…

but around the world.

The martyrs walked the path of service and solidarity. We must follow in their footsteps.

They saw that injustice and indifference are political problems. And so we must demand political solutions

They knew that harsh realities cannot be ignored. And it is on each of us to bring like-minded people together to work for change.

They called on us to respect the dignity and rights of all people.

And in honoring their legacy, we must commit ourselves to respecting all rights — civil, political, economic, social, and cultural.

Jesus says to us in the beatitudes: “blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”

Yet too many people in both our countries suffer not only from the violence of bullets and guns, but from the violence of poverty and hunger — the violence of not having a place to live, or a job to support themselves or their families.

Like the martyrs, we must stand with the poor and demand better from our governments.

Pope Francis has warned, “happiness cannot be acquired by trampling on the rights and dignity of others.”

But as we look at the world today, we see the rights of too many people under attack.

The current Salvadoran government has helped people here feel safe again. Children can go to school and people can walk through their neighborhoods with less fear. That’s a good thing.

But as an old adage says, “those who would give up essential freedom in exchange for temporary security deserve neither — and will lose both.”

Look at what has been exchanged for temporary security in El Salvador.

Over 80,000 people have been imprisoned. It is very difficult to know what has happened to them.

Most have not been charged individually and are denied access to counsel.

Families cannot visit them and do not know their status. According to Human Rights Watch, at least 261 have died while imprisoned.

To the extent that it has been possible to obtain information on individual cases, hundreds of wrongful detentions have been documented, including children as young as twelve years old.

We must demand better. In honor of the martyrs we must speak truth to power, even when it is hard.

So I say here, just as I say in my own country, that the rule of law is not just a political right, it is a moral imperative.

Jesus tells us in the Gospel of John that “the truth shall set us free.”

Yet President-elect Trump has labeled journalists as ‘the enemy of the people.’

His rhetoric is wrong. In a healthy society, public debate is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of strength.

Silencing those who challenge us does not lead to peace; it leads to tyranny.

As I call it out in my own country, I’m compelled to do so here as well — the martyrs would demand no less.

Because freedom of the press is not a gift to be bestowed or withheld; it is a basic human right that must not be taken away.

So I say respectfully, but with urgency: Let journalists do their job.

Anyone brave enough to speak truth to power ought to be celebrated — not attacked.

It is time to stop the attacks and reprisals against journalists.

Jesus taught us to love our neighbors.

Yet President-elect Donald Trump promises mass deportations. He seems to think all immigrants are illegal, especially asylum seekers, including those who reside in the United States with legal status.

That’s not what America is about. We should demonstrate compassion, not hostility, to refugees.

We don’t have to give up our values for our safety. We can and must create better laws for people who follow the rules and want to rejoin their families, seek temporary protection, ask for asylum, or search for a better life. We are capable of doing that.

But the next President of the United States will likely order our government to round up migrants with deportation orders filed against them, regardless of whether those orders are under appeal, and summarily deport them.

He will give the Border Patrol free rein to turn back and deport migrants crossing the border, even if they appear lawfully and appeal for asylum.

He will try to shut down organizations that provide support and legal counsel to migrants and shut down most, if not all, legal pathways to enter the U.S.

He threatens to send hundreds of thousands of migrants who have been in the U.S. legally for decades on temporary protected status back to their countries of origin.

And let us not forget the first time he was president, when he cut all economic and development aid to Central America, including El Salvador — eliminating investments in youth violence programs, job training, high tech training, community development, education, health, and agriculture.

This is not what I believe America should stand for. I think immigration makes the United States more American, not less. And I know that immigrants are an engine of innovation and progress.

President Bukele and President-Elect Trump are supposed to have a good relationship.

For the sake of both our countries, I pray that President Bukele will intervene.

I hope he will recognize that many of the religious and civil society organizations that provide Salvadorans with support are the same groups that President-elect Trump is eager to stigmatize and dismantle.

I raise these concerns not out of judgment, but out of a deep respect and love for the Salvadoran people, built over decades of friendship.

Through the years, I have stood with you — in times of darkness and in moments of hope.

I feel a responsibility to speak out, especially given my own country’s role in El Salvador’s past.

​We are all concerned about what is happening around the world. I know a lot of you are concerned about the direction your country is going in. I’m concerned about the direction that my country is going in.

But the truth of the matter is that being popular doesn’t always make you right. Even winning an election doesn’t always make you right. The state of exception here in El Salvador, I’m told —

according to polls — is popular. That doesn’t mean it is right. And I think it is time to end that state of exception.

Our job is to keep the faith and fight for what we know is right and just.

​

And so, as we reflect on the lives of the martyrs, let us remember that they were committed not only to peace, but to change.

To them, human rights, justice, the rule of law…

. . . these were not just words on paper, they were sacred values — rooted deeply in the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth, and woven into the fabric of their Jesuit values.

They recognized that democracy is more than just politics — it is a reflection of the divine spark within each and every one of us.

And an acknowledgment that we are all God’s children, born free and equal in his image and deserving of a seat at the table.

Today, authoritarians in every corner of the globe seek to undermine these principals — to demonize vulnerable groups, journalists, and civil society.

They seek to pit us against one another in order to dismantle the institutions that protect our rights and provide for the common good.

They do not provide for the basic needs of the people — letting hunger, poverty, and hopelessness fester so we do not notice the slow erosion of our freedoms.

We must not only do better — we must demand better.

We must rededicate ourselves to lifting up the poor and suffering, feeding the hungry, and fighting alongside of those who thirst for justice.

We must recommit to building campuses and communities not just inspired by the mission of the Jesuits, but ignited by the call to action that each of them sounded before their lives were cut short.

And we must remember that our work is not the cause of one day, or one month, or one year — it is the work of a lifetime.

Decades ago, the Jesuits here at the UCA taught me that change is possible and that faith, when it stands with the poor and oppressed, can move mountains.

They envisioned a world where love conquers hate and righteousness washes away injustice.

They imagined a society where the strong are just…

…and the weak are protected.

They dreamed of a future where kindness and compassion would unite us to break down even the strongest barriers to progress…

…and fulfill the ancient call of scripture: To do unto others…

… as we would have them do unto us.

The legacy of the martyrs still calls us to act.

Let us pray for their wisdom and their strength — knowing that here on Earth, God’s work is in our hands.

Thank you for having me today.