They Took Them Alive; We Want Them Back Alive

I hope that new sources in Canada are reporting—and lots—on the killing of six people in the town of Iguala, Guerrero, less than two weeks ago—on September 26—and the disappearance of 43 young men—teenagers, really—who are students at a rural teachers college in the town of Ayotzinapa (located on the highway between the state capital of Chilpancingo and Tlapa).

A poster with photos of some of the 43 missing youth from the teachers college in Ayotzinapa

These 43 students were last seen being loaded into police cars in Iguala on September 26. A few days later a mass grave with 28 dismembered and burnt bodies was found in the hillside outside the city. Are these some of the students? No one is sure yet.

The headline on this poster reads: "Help Us to Find Them"

The government is “suggesting” that the disappearance of the students—and their possible execution—was carried out by members of organized crime. Many people don’t believe it. Yes, organized crime has infiltrated many levels of government and police agencies in Mexico. But there is no doubt that the students were last seen in police cars.

The young woman (in yellow) in this solidarity march with Ayotzinapa is Edith, an indigenous teacher
who at one time received a bursary through Mission Mexico

In a society with so much deception and injustice, it is difficult to know the truth. The parents of the missing youth have requested that the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center of the Mountain (a group supported by Mission Mexico for many years) help to represent them in this painful time. Abel Barrera, the director of Tlachinollan, and his team have earned the trust and respect of the impoverished peoples of the State of Guerrero, and they are doing their best to discover the truth in this case.

Mike MacDonald and Abel Barrera talking outside the entrance to the teachers college

“Truth” is not a strongpoint of Mexican authorities, and more than anything, it has been international pressure that has forced Mexico’s federal government to act in this case. This solidarity offers hope that the truth surrounding the killings and the disappearances will eventually emerge. Such truth, even if painful, will help Mexico advance on the path of democracy and justice.

An altar set up inside the teachers college at Ayotzinapa; parents are waiting here
in the hope of learning news about the whereabouts of their sons

And, of course, the hope of the families and friends of these young men is that they be found alive and well. The slogan most heard in marches and protests here is “Vivos los llevaron; vivos los queremos”: “They took them alive; we want them back alive.”

Grieving family members of two of the disappeared students

The upcoming days and weeks are going to be difficult ones here in the mountain, no matter the results of the investigations. I want to express my gratitude and admiration to the incredible team at the Tlachinollan Human Rights Center for their support for the families of the 43 students. And thanks to the supporters of  Mission Mexico for helping this team in their work over the years; it is that history of commitment and solidarity that has earned them the respect and trust of the people here.

St. Michael the Archangel, Protect Us from the Evil One—Hunger

It was a pleasure and honor to be invited to the village of Tototepec for the feast day of St. Michael the Archangel (September 29). The rainy season will soon end, and harvesting of the corn and bean crops will—hopefully—be able to begin in mid-October.

The statue of St. Michael is taken from the church and processed through the village.
The statue is allowed to "rest" for a short period of time in several homes during the long procession

So the next few weeks are vital to the people of the mountains. And St. Michael the Archangel is seen as the being that can determine whether the poor families will have a decent harvest and be able to eat this year, or if the harvest is less than ideal and the poor families will suffer this year. Here “the Evil One,” “the Devil,” is specifically called “Hunger” in the prayers of the people. And the prayer is that St. Michael assist them in warding off this terrible evil.

One image of the procession with St. Michael in Tototepec

I went to Pascala del Oro with the bishop of Tlapa, Dagoberto Sosa Arriaga. The road was terrible (which is the main reason he asked me to take him), but we were able to get there and back. Other vehicles that tried to make it there for the village festival had to turn back.

One part of the road to Pascala del Oro

Bishop Dagoberto had to "encourage" this burro to get out of the middle of the road

I went to Xochitepec, where two friends—Juan Manuel and Lalo—of the priests who serve in that parish, were visiting from the state of Tabasco. They were helping Fathers Hector and Juan discern ways to carry out their pastoral plans this year in the most effective way possible. Such signs of solidarity are signs of hope in La Montaña.

Juan Manuel, Hector, Juan, and Lalo in the programming meeting

Of course, the sunrise in Xochitepec is always incredible. And the sky becomes an amazing kaleidoscope of colors when the storm clouds begin to move in. 

Just another "normal" sunrise in Xochitepec

I wonder how the villagers can "interpret" this sky to suggest that a storm is approaching

I took Doña Julia from Xalpitzahuac to visit her son (Juan) and daughter-in-law (Cecilia) in the hospital in Tlapa. Their first child, a girl they named Jasmín, was born a month ago, but her health is delicate, and the doctors told the parents that it was very unlikely that she would live much longer. I visited the hospital daily all last week.

Doña Julia and Cecilia looking at a cell phone photo of Father Fred Monk,
director of Mission Mexico. They say they remember his visit to their village in 2006.

At the parents’ request, I asked Father Juan (he is called that even though he is still a deacon), from the Cathedral of Tlapa, to come to the hospital to baptise Jasmín. When other families saw him walk into the hospital carrying the red book with the baptismal rite, many asked him to bless or baptise their sick children. Father Juan ended up celebrating five baptisms that evening, as well as many, many blessings. It’s a pity that there is not an organized health ministry for Tlapa’s hospitals

Father Juan and Juan (the father of Jasmín) shortly before the baptism; the baby's father is convinced
that someone is his village put an "evil spell" on his newborn daughter

At the request of some teachers, I visited a junior high school in Tlapa, in the poor neighborhood of Zapata. The small school has 580 students, and most of them are indigenous students who were rejected at junior high schools closer to their home because they don’t speak Spanish well. The dedication of the teachers, students, and parents is noteworthy, but it is challenging to offer a quality education to the students.

These are four "classrooms" used by the junior high students last year

The red roof on the left is that of new classrooms built this past year. But it is still
incredible that 580 junior high students fit in the buildings shown in this photo

And this morning, on my way to pick up a Canadian friend at the airport in Mexico City, I stopped off to visit Fresvinda, a woman who is a sparkplug of organization in the very poor neighborhood of Cuernavaca called La Estación. I know that many people from southern Alberta have visited La Estacion, and surely many have met Fresvinda, who coordinates many programs at the Women’s Center. People have probably read about the violence in Mexico, and sometimes that violence strikes home. Two months ago, Fresvinda’s 22-year-old daughter, Citlalli, was murdered here. “Citlalli” means “star,” and Fresvinda now claims that she has a special star looking over her work. It’s a beautiful image, but tears flowed when Fresvinda referred to it—and what a pity that such imagery has to be made possible by such senseless violence.

Mike MacDonald and Fresvinda talking during a quiet moment at the Women's Center in La Estacion

So life goes on, the struggle goes on, and Mission Mexico tries to assist as best it can. Thank you to all who make possible this sharing. I think that many times it isn’t the financial assistance that makes the big difference; it is the simple fact that people care. That encourages greater faith, hope, and love—and it’s tough to put a price tag on those realities and to measure their exact impact in the lives of the impoverished. But they are definitely important! Have a great week, everyone.

Food and Education—A Marriage Made in Heaven

Above all, the Gospel must be proclaimed by witness.

                                                      – Pope Paul VI, 1975

The Gospel can be preached to empty stomachs, but only

if the stomach of the preacher is as empty as those of his flock.
                    – Archbishop Socrates Villegas, the Philippines, 2012

                         
The poor man is not he who is without a cent,

but he who is without a dream.

                            –  Harry Kemp (1883–1960)

All of the above quotes came to my mind this week as I visited with the Missionaries of the Holy Spirit in the impoverished indigenous parish of Xochitepec. Father Juan, Father Hector, and Brother Gustavo had invited me to accompany them—and to challenge them—as they reflected on their first year of service in the parish and as they reflected on their hopes for their second year there.

The early morning view from the Missionaries' house seems different every single day in Xochitepec

The first year for the three of them (all “city boys”) was especially one of getting to know the people and the me’phaa culture in the twenty-six villages they serve; the latter included learning little by little some of the native me'phaa language—a process that will continue for many years.

Father Juan talking with Claudia and Juan Carlos, his me'phaa teachers every Thursday evening

As Gustavo and Juan and Hector came to know the people better, they were impacted especially by two “themes” that seemed to dominate the thinking of the people in terms of both their needs and their dreams. Those two themes: food and education.

Brother Gustavo with Fabian and Sara, two of his many friends

Food—how do we feed our children? Job opportunities are scarce in the mountains; farming is a precarious exercise; formal schooling is almost non-existent among the adults. All parents want to put something on the table for their children. (That table metaphor is probably not a good one for Xochitepec; very few houses have a table; most people simply hold their food in their hands as they stand or sit on small chairs or sit on the floor.)

Some children in Xalpitzahuac, where Mission Mexico supports several projects

Juan and Hector and Gustavo are already involved in trying to respond to this very real need. In previous blogs I referred to Mexican organizations such as Cooperación Comunitaria and Cosechando Natural, who have been invited by the Missionaries of the Holy Spirit to assist as the local people try to find ways to improve life in the mountains. These organizations and others operate within a holistic approach that is often called in English “permaculture” or “sustainable development.” In this scenario, the people journey together as they struggle to identify the many areas of life that they can transform in order to maintain a culture that offers not only food in the near future but also hope for the distant future—and as the people work together in that work of transformation.

Driving at night in the misty mountains isn't usually recommended. I wonder why...

Of course, anyone who looks at the list of projects that Mission Mexico has supported and presently supports will realize that Mission Mexico has been—and is—an important partner in such efforts with many people in many places.

Father Hector and Father Juan praying for a woman who hears voices telling her not to eat

Education—how do we change life for our children? The big hope is education. This involves both formal schooling and what is known as “popular education.” Together, this educational journey will hopefully empower people to take charge of their own lives and to work together for social change—and to simply be able to provide life with dignity for future generations. I like the way Hector and Gustavo and Juan talk about this effort: moving from “we need” to “we can” to “we will.” Will life be turned around for everyone? Will the impoverishment be changed to opportunities for all through these efforts? Probably not. But the people have a right, I believe—a God-given right, I daresay—to try to turn their dreams into reality. And some change will occur. And even failure can be a learning experience.

Oops! I forgot to tell Sara that a blue sucker involves a certain side effect

Once again, Mission Mexico is a partner in these efforts of the impoverished to have educational opportunities that are both “high quality” and reflective of the best human and Christian values. Just look at the projects mentioned on the Mission Mexico website. When I look, my first thought, I confess, is usually “Wow!”

Father Juan during his night prayer. As I write this, I think of his birthday tomorrow...
Thanks, Juan, for being such a wonderful person, priest, model, mentor, friend.

So thank you to all who support Mission Mexico. Your support does make a difference. You are helping to bring food, education, and—as Harry Kemp phrases it in the quote at the beginning of this blog—“a dream” to many families in the mountains of Mexico. And thanks to people like Juan and Gustavo and Hector, who prove that Archbishop Villegas of the Philippines knew what he was talking about when he talked about “evangelizers” so inserted into the lives of the poor that their witness and their words speak loudly even to those with empty stomachs—and hopefully they speak loudly to us whose stomachs aren’t quite so empty.

Father Hector with Magdalena and Reina

Just Another Day in the Mountains

It was very dark on the highway at 5:30 AM yesterday.  I almost missed seeing her in her dark clothing. But I’m glad I did. I stopped and offered her a drive to Tlapa. Her first words when she got in the truck was, “How much are you going to charge me? I have only five pesos.” She seemed relieved when I told her that I wasn’t going to charge her anything.

Máxima on her way to sell in Tlapa (she is holding her five pesos in her hand)

She was talkative. Her name was Máxima, she was 76 years old, and she lived alone with her 79-year-old husband. But he was too sick to work, and so Máxima was going to Tlapa to see if she might be able to sell some bundles of cilantro (coriander) while walking up and down the riverbed. She had gone to Tlapa the previous day, but she arrived late and no one wanted to buy her plants. So she was hopeful that the early start today might allow her better luck. She said that she at least hoped to be able to buy a few vegetables to prepare a soup in the evening for her husband; since he had no teeth anymore, his diet was rather limited.

This is the riverbed (of the Jale River) in Tlapa where Máxima hoped to sell

When I offered her a 200-peso bill (about $20 Canadian) to buy some food, she started to cry and said no. I told her that I had good friends in the north who occasionally sent me money to help people like her. She took the bill, raised it to God in gratitude, and asked me to tell my friends that she would be praying for them. Consider yourselves told, friends.

Tlapa is the largest town in the mountains here—population: 90,000.

Then I went to the bus terminal in Tlapa to pick up Fernando and Julio. They had taken a bus in Mexico City the night before, and I was to take them to the village of El Obispo, where they were trying to help the poor farmers there beat a plague that was affecting their corn crop. They had gone a few weeks ago for a first spraying of the plants with an organic insecticide, and this week they would coordinate a second spraying.

Julio and Fernando outside their temporary residence in El Obispo

Before leaving Tlapa for the mountains, we went by the town square to buy an atole (cornflour drink). Another pleasant surprise awaited me there. Sitting in the town square was Pablo, a friend whom I hadn’t seen for about eight years. Pablo spends his days wandering around Tlapa on his crutches, hoping that someone will offer him a coin or something to eat. He is proud of that fact that he is not a “beggar,” like others who sit on the sidewalks of Tlapa with their hands held out. Pablo tends to start a conversation with people (“Hi. My name is Pablo. What’s your name? Do you live here in Tlapa? Do you like it?”). Pablo appreciated sharing an atole with Fernando, Julio, and me.

Early-morning photo of Pablo in the main square of Tlapa

Then we left for El Obispo. It has rained pretty steadily in the mountains since last Saturday. On that day I had gone with Father Cesar to the village of Tlaxcalixtlahuaca. It rained hard on the way back, and there were several mudslides on the highway; we were lucky to get home. In one place we waited while a Volkswagen freed itself from the mud. It was a little scary because more stones and mud were coming down the mountainside. After that car was able to move on, we drove through the slide too. Then a huge slice of the mountainside came down. Four seminarians in a truck behind us were stuck on the other side of the slide; that was on Saturday; they weren’t able to return to the seminary until Tuesday.

This Volkswagen got through just before the big mudslide

The road to El Obispo wasn’t a whole lot better, but we were able to get through. I am certainly grateful for the four-wheel-drive truck. I left Fernando and Julio there; they will stay until Sunday.

The road in and out of El Obispo on Wednesday afternoon

Have a great week, everyone. Thanks for your support of Mission Mexico. You are helping to make a difference here.

One more photo of the road to El Obispo; you can see, I think, how loose
the gravel/sand/mud is on the mountainside.

Seventy-plus Years of Carrying the Cross

Then Jesus said to his disciples:

“If any want to become my followers,

let them deny themselves

and take up their cross and follow me.”

                                                       Matthew 16:24 (NRSV)

These lines from next Sunday’s gospel (August 31) came to me yesterday morning as I left Don Hipólito’s house and accompanied him in the early morning as he walked—if one could call his slow, painful gait “walking”—to the same small church that he has walked to almost every morning for the past seventy years.

Hipólito walking to the church in San Marcos yesterday morning

Why was he going there? Because in 1944, when he was twenty-two years old, he was chosen to be the village “cantor” in San Marcos. Literally, “cantor” means “singer,” but Hipólito’s responsibilities involve a lot more than singing. In an isolated village where the parish priest might show up three or four times a year, he is the community’s religious representative before God.

Early-morning view from the doorway to the one-room house of Hipólito and Simona

What does that mean? Hipólito prays for the sick; he intercedes for a good rainy season; he looks after the saints in the parish church; he officiates as people are married or buried (these marriages may not be “sacramental” in the eyes of the Catholic Church, but they are definitely considered binding and are certainly “sacred” in the eyes of the villagers).

 

Some of the saints in the church of San Marcos

And why the painful gait yesterday morning? Because ninety-two-year-old Hipólito had been walking home—barefoot—in the dark the week before, and he had stepped on a piece of broken glass. He had made his own poultice of plants and was hopeful that this remedy would soon work, but so far, it didn’t seem to be having much effect.

Hipólito's foot yesterday morning. Ouch!

It was an honour to accompany Hipólito as he greeted (in Latin and in his native na savi language) each of the saints in the church. The “greeting” lasted over an hour and involved candles, flowers, incense, prayers, and song. Hipólito apologized for singing out of tune, but he said that he just hasn’t been able to recover the good voice that he had before he lost two of his front teeth.

Hipólito (accompanied by his future replacement?) greeting the saints

Staying overnight at Hipólito’s house was also a great experience. He and his wife, Simona, used to live high on the hill overlooking the village, but since their house was severely damaged last year, they now live at the lower end of the village. They have a dirt floor, no running water, no bathroom (not even outside), no table, no bed. But they do have hearts that surely reflect Jesus’ own, and they share the best of what they have and who they are. It was easy to think that they truly live Jesus’ invitation to “deny themselves and to take up their crosses and follow me.”

Hipólito and Simona enjoying breakfast

Their reality has touched other lives too. I had gone to San Marcos on Wednesday with Edith and Oscar, for a meeting of the twenty families or so whose houses had been destroyed or badly damaged during heavy rains, landslides, and earthquakes in September of last year. Edith is Hipólito’s granddaughter, and she has been spearheading an effort to raise funds in Mexico City to assist these families in rebuilding their homes and their lives. Oscar is a young man from Switzerland who is working among the poor in Guatemala, and he visits Edith several times a year. Is it love? Of course it is!

Edith helping Oscar to get ready for the day

One of the main fundraisers in Mexico City is the purchase of post cards depicting the lives of the people in San Marcos. When disaster struck the area last September, a number of journalists and photographers went to San Marcos to document the lives of the people. Many couldn’t believe their eyes; these Mexico City Mexicans had no idea that so many of their own people lived in such marginalization in the twenty-first century. 

My supper on Wednesday night (Simona stirred the chile sauce into the atole with her fingers)

Edith helped to coordinate a solidarity effort by many of these photographers: they donated their best photographs; postcards were made; these were (and are) offered for sale to the public. Besides the financial assistance for the people of San Marcos, the photographers want to raise awareness that there is still a lot of work to be done to create a Mexico for all Mexicans.

Hipólito and Simona's new (wooden) house; the one on the right belongs to a neighbour

PS: Hipólito reminded me of the words from Sunday’s gospel. His wife, Simona, reminded me of the cover of the tabernacle in the chapel of the Tonantzin Guadalupe Diocesan Seminary where I live here in Tlapa. Am I the only one who sees a similarity in the following two photos (and is tempted to draw a halo around Simona’s head)?

 Have a great weekend, all. God bless. Thanks for supporting Mission Mexico.

Some Great Memories

The memory of the righteous is a blessing…

Proverbs 10:7

It’s amazing how one day could become, for me, a day full of memories. I didn’t plan it that way; it just happened.

The Champagnat High School is the complex beside the soccer field in the lower part of the photo

 It began on Sunday morning, when I went at 6:30 to the village of Potoichan to attend a memorial Mass for the first anniversary of the death of Brother Manuel, who died while he was the director of the Champagnat High School of La Montaña. Mission Mexico has supported this school since its construction began nine years ago. Manuel was a much beloved teacher, mentor, and friend, and his sudden death (while watching the movie Rambo, believe it or not) was a heavy blow to the staff and students at the school. Many students who have graduated from the school returned, with flowers and with tears, to the anniversary Mass.

Remembering Brother Manuel on the first anniversary of his death

Then I went to Xalpatlahuac to drop off a couple of young people who had showed up to sing at the Mass in their native language of nahuatl. As I was driving along the riverbed leading into the village, I heard my name being shouted. I looked over, and there was Santiago, a friend from ten years ago. I hadn’t been expecting to run into him (I assumed he had died), and I didn’t expect him to recognize me and remember my name ten years later. It was sad to hear how he has been struggling since his wife died a slow death a few years ago, but it was a joy just to be with him again.

Don Santiago, a great friend from years past

Later I went to the village of Alcozauca, because I had heard that Sandra, a girl for whom I was the sponsor at her confirmation twenty-nine years ago, was visiting (from California) her mother, Josefina; they hadn’t seen each other in sixteen years. It was wonderful to see Sandra reunited with her mother and siblings.

Elisa, Josefina (the mom), Sandra, and Elisa's son, Denzel

One of those siblings is her younger sister, Elisa. I mention Elisa because Josefina told me that she had chosen the name “Elisa” for her daughter because sometime in the mid-1980s, two twin girls from Calgary called Elisa and Melissa had visited Alcozauca in the summer, and Josefina (the sister of the parish priest at the time, Father José Guadalupe) really liked their names. Wow! Do any readers of this blog know an Elisa or a Melissa from Calgary that would have taken part in a summer experience with Father Lawrence Moran in Mexico in the mid-80s? And Sandra remembered Jessica from Calgary (originally from Chile) and sends her a greeting.

Father Lawrence Moran in Alcozauca in the 1980s

 Another memory was Father Moran, who was the parish priest in Alcozauca from 1982 to 1985. Everyone in Alcozauca who knew him back then asked me about him. The people may not have seen him for thirty years, and he died in 2007, but his generosity, his total self-giving, and his commitment to the people of the parish left an indelible mark in all those who knew him. Many told anecdotes about ways that he had helped their families back in those days.

Father Moran in Calgary, shortly before his death

It was a good day. It was also fun just driving the roads—roads that back in the ‘80s were just footpaths that I had walked along while Father Moran rode his horse, Negro. Everyone encouraged me to visit more often. I am grateful to Mission Mexico for the incredible blessing of being allowed to live among these beautiful people and of being able to recall these wonderful memories of great people. Adapting slightly what Sirach (39:9) says in the Bible: Their memory will not disappear, and their names will live through all generations.

Driving into the valley to Alcozauca