May 23, 2024 • 34 mins
On March 24th, 1980, Archbishop Oscar Romero was presiding over mass when he was shot through the heart. His gruesome and public murder sent a signal to the people of El Salvador: None of you are sacred. None of you are safe. The Archbishops death would spark a war that would change the lives of thousands of people, including our host, Jasmine Romero. While on a quest to understand the Archbishops murder, she finds deaths in her own family that connect back to the slain priest.
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Warning. This episode contains references to extreme violence. Please use
discretion when listening.
Speaker 2 (00:11):
The past is never dead. It isn't even past. William Faulkner.
Speaker 1 (00:26):
Down a winding road on the west side of the
city of San Salvador, there's a peaceful little hideaway. The
grounds are covered with palm trees, snake plants, and flowering
buen villiers. It's a small hospital, the hospice really where
cancer patients go to live out their last days. And
it was here that Oscar Romero, a quiet man with
(00:50):
an easy smile and some seriously enviable eyebrows, made his home.
It's an odd choice. Oscar is not sick, and he's
supposed to be living in the heart of downtown because
Oscar is one of the most important people in El Salvador.
(01:11):
He's the archbishop, the highest ranking priest in a country
that's so Catholic it's named after Jesus. And on a
muggy March afternoon in nineteen eighty, Oscar Romero gathered a
group of worshippers to the hospital's chapel to commemorate the
life of a local grandmother. It's a ceremony he's done
(01:46):
thousands of times He steps up to the pulpit and
performs the rituals of Mass. He blesses the wine, turning
it into the blood of Christ. He prepares the Eucharist,
the gift of the flesh. Side a red Volkswagen has
pulled up to the entrance of the church. There are
two men in the car. There's no way to know
(02:08):
if Oscar saw them, but the street is only about
forty paces away from the pulpit. I think he must
have seen them. Oscar raises a chalice high above his head,
lifting it up to God, and mid sentence, he's shot
(02:40):
with a single bullet through the heart. Oscar Romero died
that day, killed by a twenty two caliber bullet. The
bullet fragmented inside of him, destroying everything it touched. It
sent a message because Oscar's killing wasn't just an act
(03:03):
of murder. It was an act of war, an attack
against the Catholic Church itself and in turn, the people
of al Salvador. Oscar would go on to become one
of the world's most beloved saints. There's even a statue
of him in Westminster Abbey, next to a statue of
Martin Luther King. But to become that Saint Oscar had
(03:27):
to sacrifice his life. His death marked the start of
one of the darkest times in Salvador in history, the
Civil War, a war that would leave more than seventy
five thousand people dead and send a million more across
the globe fleeing the violence. My family includes both those
(03:50):
that fled and those that died. When I started working
on this story, I wanted to find out what really
happened to Oscar Romero, who was responsible for his murder
and all of the violence that followed, And to find
out if the same forces that killed Oscar Romero were
(04:10):
the ones that brought death to my family's doorstep. I'm
Jasmine Romero, and this is Sacred Scandal, Season three, Nation
of Saints. This is episode one. Oscar. Okay, let's get
(04:42):
one thing out of the way. My name is Romero,
but I am not related to Oscar Romero. I think
I'm pretty sure. Well, I asked my parents and they're
pretty sure. But I guess it's possible. Romero is an
extremely common name in Elsalvador. In nineteen eighty one, my
parents fled from El Salvador with my three older sisters
(05:04):
to Los Angeles. Los Angeles has the largest population of
Salvadorans of any place outside of El Salvador. It's also
where I was born. I grew up going to MacArthur
Park on Saturdays to watch my dad plays soccer. The
field would be lined with other immigrant families like mine,
(05:24):
eating elotes and trying to start over. But the ghost
of Oscar Romero was everywhere. There's a statue of him
in that same park, and just up the street is
a clinic named after him. Los Angeles is covered in
murals of his face. But in my family, Oscar Romero
(05:47):
really wasn't a topic of discussion with.
Speaker 3 (05:52):
I.
Speaker 4 (05:53):
Central America has been transformational because of the politics.
Speaker 1 (05:58):
Yeah, a few years ago, I went to this event
in La There was a salvador and comedian with this
big tattoo on her arm, and the host complimented her
on it.
Speaker 4 (06:08):
Her arm has got the most beautiful tattoo I have
ever seen in my life, and it is of il
Arsobispo Arnulfo Romero on her arm.
Speaker 1 (06:21):
They started talking about the war and the meaning of
Oscar Romero's life, and I remember feeling this embarrassment wash
over me. These two strangers knew more about the history
of my family's homeland than I did. My parents never
really talked much about El Salvador or the reasons why
they left. Growing up, we were so concerned with surviving
(06:46):
the present there wasn't much room to consider the past.
But I also had never really made the effort to
ask what horrors did my family experience that made them
leave a place that they truly love, Who was the
man on those murals? And if I really wanted the answers,
I knew where I needed to go. So it's one
(07:12):
in the morning. I'm at JFK.
Speaker 5 (07:18):
Way did you board my flight?
Speaker 1 (07:20):
My parents are going to pick me up when I
get there, and I'm very sleepy. A few years ago,
my parents shocked the entire family by moving back to
El Salvador to retire. They used their life's savings to
build a little house in their hometown, San Miguel. I've
(07:48):
been to Al Salvador a handful of times, mostly when
I was a kid, but ten years have passed since
my last visit. Looking around the plane, everyone's faces look
like mine, but I still feel like an outsider stepping
into a world that doesn't belong to me. I grabbed
(08:12):
my bags and headed out into the humid air to
look for my parents. They were thrilled I was coming,
even if it was for work. Wonder and yes, my
(08:34):
dad was holding up a handwritten sign that said Jasmine
Roulero in capital letters. It was written inside of a
pizza box, so I'm guessing they got hungry while they
were waiting for me. My mom just hugged me for
a long time. They both looked relaxed, which was nice
(08:54):
and confusing. If you grew up with immigrant parents, you
know what I mean. As we walked to my dad's
old pickup truck, my mom kept pointing out how nice
and new things look. At the last time I landed
(09:27):
in this airport, ten years ago, it had a different name.
It's now called the Oscar International Airport in honor of
the dead archbishop. It feels like everywhere you look there
are signs of change of a new era. The terminal
I flew into is only a year old, and there's
(09:47):
new pavement on the sidewalks everywhere, new tar in the
parking lot. Leaving the airport, we drive past a forest
of palm trees and tall billboards that welcome tourists to
explore the new El Salvador ads for swinkie resorts at
surf city, beach or day camps ziplining in the rainforest.
(10:11):
But just past those billboards there are rows and rows
of little roadside shacks, people selling fresh coconuts, bags of
water for a quarter, and souvenir machites, the tool of
choice for the country's working poor. El Salvador is still
considered a developing nation, which just means that most of
(10:34):
the population is living in poverty. The average Salvadoran makes
four hundred dollars a month, and it's even less in
more remote cities like San Miguel, where my family and
Oscar Romero's family both come from. Poverty is something that
both of our families knew very well. Oscar Romero was
(10:56):
one of eight kids, just like my dad. My mom
is one of nine. Both of my parents were raised
in homes where the floor wasn't made out of wood
or tile, it was dirt. My dad didn't even own
a pair of shoes until he was fifteen. All of
this is on my mind as we make the long
(11:17):
drive back to San Miguel to visit two of my
theas my aunt's there are constant reminders that this level
of poverty is still very much a reality here in
the new El Salvador. My Thea rents a place on
(11:47):
the outskirts of San Miguel with one of my cousins
and her young son, whose name I finally learn is Ken.
The house is made out of cement blocks with a
tin roof, and there are extra pieces of tin leaned
up against the house. She's saving up to install them
over the patio. As we settle into the plastic chairs
(12:07):
that Mithia set out for us, A herd of cows
passes by Ken waves. Mitha also takes care of my
great aunt, my Godmotherasita, who I haven't seen since I
was a little girl. Mathia. Pasita is eighty nine years old,
(12:28):
and she's so thin it feels like she'll snap if
I hug her too hard. She's almost completely blind, and
she's hard of hearing too. It takes a minute for
her to recognize me, but when she does see, she
(12:50):
smiles a big, toothless grin and wraps her frail arms
around me. She can't believe how big I've gotten. I
put her hand on top of my head to show
her how tall I am. We all start talking, catching up,
and it feels cozy and familiar. I snuggle in next
(13:15):
to my pass and we reminisce about the last time
she saw me. I don't have any memory of these events,
but the stories are familiar. The time I broke my wrist,
the time I gave her my mom's purse as a present.
Walking to church together. Finally, I tell her that I'm
here to learn about Oscar Romero.
Speaker 5 (13:56):
Inn through Plat.
Speaker 1 (14:02):
To my surprise, she starts talking about him like he's
an old friend. She tells me that she remembers going
to see him preach, which makes sense. For twenty three years,
Oscar Romero was the local priest in San Miguel, her priest.
San Miguel is where he got his start in the
Catholic Church. But I had no idea that my family
(14:24):
actually knew him. Used the.
Speaker 5 (14:36):
Elt sre.
Speaker 1 (14:51):
She tells me that she remembers him being tall, like
my dad, who's about six two, that he was the
kind of priest that you could talk to about anything,
that she often went to him for advice. I can
hear the affection in her voice. It's a strange feeling
to realize that my family was so close to such
(15:12):
an important historical figure. It's like finding out that your
dad played Little League with JFK. But being a local
priest was the vast majority of Oscar's life. For most
of his career, he just did the normal things that
a parish priest does. Attend funerals, perform baptisms, maybe the
(15:34):
occasional exorcism. Well maybe not that last part. Who knows.
In El Salvador, the local priest is an integral part
of the community. He's who you go to when you're
having a problem, and that's who Oscar Romeril was in
San Miguel. I keep asking my tepassy the questions, but
(15:55):
she starts to get tired. As I'm taking her inside
to rest, she mumbles something that makes my stomach turn.
(16:18):
What a punishment they gave him, she says. Going to
the capital was his ruin. It was in the capital
that he gave his last mesa before being shot down.
(16:43):
We'll be right back after this break. Being in this
cozy house, it's easy to see how San Miguel could
make you forget about the troubles of the world. It
has a small town quality to it, isolated from the
(17:05):
politics of the capital. Maybe that's why some of the
richest Salvadorans have estates out here. I didn't even know
there was such a thing as rich Salvadorans when I
was a kid, and now I'm learning a lot about
this hidden world that my parents never told me about.
(17:29):
On the drive home, I asked my parents about something
that I came across in my research, the fourteen families.
The fourteen families, they say, oh, they're the owners. It's
(17:53):
what Salvadorans call la the oligarchy, the rich land owning
families who have run the country since the late eighteen hundreds.
These families are the terretinents, the landowners that control most
of the country's wealth. These families became fabulously wealthy by
(18:14):
owning plantations that cultivated coffee, cotton, and corn. These families,
they owned the stores and the goods that filled the stores,
and the land that the goods were grown on. Meanwhile,
the compassinos who worked on those plantations lived in abject poverty.
Speaker 6 (18:33):
Lussa ladio, heern dramente in crave lamentin houstos.
Speaker 1 (18:41):
This is Marisa da Martinez. She invited me to her
home in the capitol and we spent an afternoon, sitting
in rocking chairs and talking about her work keeping Oscar
Romero's legacy alive. She's an activist who protested the unfair
treatment of the working class in the seventies, and she's
the co founder of the Oscar Romero Foundation. Because what
(19:04):
happened to Oscar Romero and the history of the working
class in El Salvador, they kind of go hand in hand.
Speaker 6 (19:12):
And daran porlos seeing say colonees the ideas he Yeslasion
Soto Campina kea Pocamari Bivier sultante.
Speaker 1 (19:28):
In the nineteen seventies, when Oscar Romero was serving in
San Miguel, the vast majority of the country lived this
way in an insulting poverty. Competinos made less than a
dollar a day, and most families suffered from malnutrition, including mine.
My great grandmother who helped raise me. She had fourteen kids,
(19:53):
only six of them survived past six months. That's the
kind of malnutrition we're talking about here. And for many families,
the only option to survive was to buy things on credit,
credit that they got from their own bosses, the plantation ownersdotals.
Speaker 6 (20:20):
I mean fila de hintel di lacinde la fila the
hint parandoz it is euna.
Speaker 1 (20:40):
It was a never ending cycle. Most Campsinos never learned
to read because there were no schools, and so neither
did their children. They lived at the mercy of the
plantation owners for.
Speaker 6 (20:52):
Generations loke sinica potlaying Houstisia.
Speaker 1 (21:03):
And these rich oligarchic families they didn't just control the
country's wealth. They were also deeply involved in the Catholic Church.
By involved, I mean controlling. Now, the relationship between the
wealthy and the Catholic Church didn't start in El Salvador.
(21:23):
They've been intertwined since the first gold bar was delivered
to Vatican City. But the relationship in El Salvador was
particularly tight. It was a well oiled machine. The country's
rich would provide lavish donations to the Church, and in return,
the Church would turn a blind eye to the systemic injustice.
(21:46):
Priests would tell the poor, your reward is waiting for
you in heaven. But in the seventies some priests dared
to break this protocol. That's after the break is one
(22:17):
of the priests who dared to step out of the
established oligarchy church relationship. I met him on a sweltering
afternoon at his parish in Montserrat, a suburb in the
hills around San Salvador. He's about eighty years old, with
(22:39):
a thin sheet of white hair and a twinkle in
his eye. He invites me, in my fixed Roerto, into
his cramped office in the back of the church. On
his desk is a picture of him as a young man,
smiling next to a somber oscar Romero. If this is safe, Eira,
(23:03):
It's ninety degrees with sixty percent humidity. I've already swept
through two shirts. He seems totally unfazed by the heat.
He offers me and Roerto some ice water. As we
settle in, Roberto asks him, don't you need some water?
Paparretoar just smiles.
Speaker 7 (23:25):
No, tomorrow, keta Coca col.
Speaker 1 (23:32):
Yeah, the old man's got swag anyway. When Barrettoar became
a priest in the early seventies, the church was still
doing what it had been doing since the Spaniards landed
on the shores of a place called Guscatlan and decided
to rename it after Jesus. Keeping their packed with the
rich and the poor in their place.
Speaker 7 (23:52):
O Compecinokala King and Sulugan Ilo Rico Vivienzo Cistoia.
Speaker 1 (23:59):
And this is where Oscar Romero comes back into the picture,
because while my tapas might remember him as a man
who knew the troubles of the poor, he did not
have that reputation among the country's elites.
Speaker 7 (24:14):
Yes, Mother and Plata de San Miguel.
Speaker 1 (24:20):
For the rich families in San Miguel, Oscar was the
ideal priest, quiet shy, happy to baptize their babies and
enjoy a good carna with them afterwards.
Speaker 7 (24:33):
Elista and el sentido solo araci una fees in dimensium
uman as in dimension politic as in dimensium.
Speaker 1 (24:57):
Oscar was regarded as a gentle bookworm, and this unassuming
nature it got him far. He quietly rose through the
ranks from deacon to priest to Bishop of San Miguel,
far from the politics of the capital. If he disagreed
with the elite's business practices, he didn't share it out loud.
(25:20):
Maybe he wrote about it in his journal, maybe he
prayed on it. But Oscar's easy life in San Miguel
would soon get flipped upside down. In nineteen seventy seven,
Oscar's boss, a man who had served as archbishop in
El Salvador for thirty eight years, decided to resign. But
(25:42):
who would be next? The Church and the oligarchy came
together to hand pick the country's next top priest. The
obvious and expected candidate was the auxiliary archbishop who had
been second in command, but to everyone's surprise, the Vatican
announced that Oscar Romero would take the position. The nation
(26:06):
turned their eyes to this quiet priest from the.
Speaker 8 (26:09):
East, Hello the Rio.
Speaker 7 (26:13):
Conveniencias digamos de fe in Lilesia.
Speaker 1 (26:19):
Politic it was a politically convenient move. Oscar was known
as a quiet local priest, the kind who built his
career on staying away from controversy. In February of nineteen
seventy seven, Oscar Romero was named Archbishop of El Salvador
by Pope John Paul.
Speaker 7 (26:40):
Himself stansso Fuelay Garda de Monsignor Romero.
Speaker 1 (26:47):
Oscar moves to the capitol his new parish and starts
leading Sunday Mass in the largest cathedral in the country.
The rich pat themselves on the back for assigning a
priest that they believe will watch over their interests for
decad needs to come. Here's Marissa again.
Speaker 9 (27:03):
La.
Speaker 6 (27:06):
Porqurado alce seesuponi the via asumir elasovial.
Speaker 1 (27:14):
But Oscar was stepping into a hornet's nest. There had
been unrest brewing in the capitol and several protests led
by Campasino groups. People were unionizing demanding better wages. The
military government's response had not been pretty.
Speaker 6 (27:41):
The Graciaca guando marchas solicitando pacificamente dos tortillas lejuadrons de quesouevoitres.
Speaker 1 (28:05):
Marisa says that the compasinos would organize marches in the
capitol asking for better wages, and that those protests regularly
ended with the military shooting directly into the crowd, and
when the protests didn't stop, the military started going after
(28:25):
the leaders of the movements. People started disappearing. Oscar Romero
had a habit of going out into his congregation after
mass on Sundays. He wanted to get to know the
people of his flock the way that he had in
(28:45):
San Miguel. But here in the capital people were coming
to him with names, the names of sons, brothers, mothers
who had disappeared or been taken. Oscar had gone from
baptizing babies to having to face the cries of mourning mothers.
(29:07):
In the span of a few years, Oscar transformed from
a quiet bookworm into a champion for the poor. Three
years after his arrival to the capitol, he stood before
his congregation as a changed man, not a puppet, but
a priest with.
Speaker 9 (29:25):
A message Ermano's song de matan ermanos campesinostar ure lala matar.
Speaker 1 (29:49):
He gave a speech that cemented his legacy. It's a
speech that's the Salvadoran equivalent of Martin Luther King's I
Have a Dream speech.
Speaker 9 (30:01):
Nimundo esto.
Speaker 1 (30:10):
Oscar was issuing a warning, a warning to the rich
that he would not be in their pockets. The speech
would be the landmark of his career, and he tells
the government soldiers to disobey the orders of their commanders,
to stop the repression against their own people and follow
(30:32):
God's most basic command, thou shalt not.
Speaker 9 (30:36):
Kill ignombre de dios, the numbre pueblo, CuO lament maas
tumultuosos lesuplico leego leon.
Speaker 1 (31:00):
It's the last homily he ever gave, the very next day,
before Oscar could give communion, he was shot in the heart,
murdered at his own pulpit. But Oscar was just the
beginning of a domino effect, one that brought us to
(31:20):
the new El Salvador we have today. El Salvador's President, Naibukele,
has won reelection today in a resounding victory that has
essentially wiped out the opposition. Over the next eleven episodes,
we're going to cover one of the bloodiest chapters in history,
one that includes government cover ups.
Speaker 6 (31:43):
So it was just outrageous that the nuns would have
guns and would have exchanged fire.
Speaker 8 (31:48):
A school for dictators every time there was a heinous
killing in Alsawada Hills with somebody that was past grides
of the School of America.
Speaker 1 (32:00):
One of the biggest massacres to ever occur in the Americas.
Speaker 3 (32:04):
The security forces in Al Salvador have been responsible for
the deaths of thousands and thousands of young people. Are
we really going to send military advisors in there to
be part of that type of machinery?
Speaker 1 (32:21):
But I'll also tell you the story of one family mine,
because on this journey I discovered things about my family
that still haunt us today, Mom.
Speaker 5 (32:35):
What happened to your sister Margarita?
Speaker 1 (32:41):
Well, they said that they took her and the next day.
Speaker 2 (32:46):
She was that she was killed.
Speaker 8 (32:50):
She was killed.
Speaker 1 (32:57):
Ye, that's this season on Nation of Saints Sacred Scandal.
Nation of Saints is a production of AJA Podcasts in
partnership with Iheart's Mike Wultura podcast Network, and is hosted
and written by me Jasmine Romero, produced by Jazmine Romero
(33:21):
with help from Jorge Just, Renald Gutierres, and Aloesbres. Research
and reporting by Jasmine Romero, Edited by Cyda Kevelo, Porge
Just and Rose Red. Nation of Saints was recorded in
New York City at the Relic Room with engineering by
Sam Bear, Mixing and sound designed by Paciquinones. Original music
by Golden Mines, Darko and Dieme based on Patrick Hart's
(33:45):
original composition. Fact checking by Erendidra Aquino Ayala. Executive producers
are Carman geraterol Isaac Lee, rose Red, and Nando Villa.
Our executive producers at iHeart are Giselle Mansis and Arlene Santana.
Sacred Scandal was created by Melanie Bartley and Paula Vadros.
Special thanks to Roerto Valencia, Matt Eisenbrandt, sayid Tjan Thomas,
(34:08):
Alice Wilder, Sofia Palita Carr, Eric Mennel, Peter Bresnan, and Riemachres.
The recording at the top of the episode is from
Latino USA and provided courtesy of Futuro Studios. This episode
is dedicated to Mythia Pacita, who passed in twenty twenty four.
For more podcasts, go to the iHeartRadio app or wherever
(34:30):
you listen to your favorite podcasts.
Warning. This episode contains references to extreme violence. Please use
discretion when listening.
Speaker 2 (00:11):
The past is never dead. It isn't even past. William Faulkner.
Speaker 1 (00:26):
Down a winding road on the west side of the
city of San Salvador, there's a peaceful little hideaway. The
grounds are covered with palm trees, snake plants, and flowering
buen villiers. It's a small hospital, the hospice really where
cancer patients go to live out their last days. And
it was here that Oscar Romero, a quiet man with
(00:50):
an easy smile and some seriously enviable eyebrows, made his home.
It's an odd choice. Oscar is not sick, and he's
supposed to be living in the heart of downtown because
Oscar is one of the most important people in El Salvador.
(01:11):
He's the archbishop, the highest ranking priest in a country
that's so Catholic it's named after Jesus. And on a
muggy March afternoon in nineteen eighty, Oscar Romero gathered a
group of worshippers to the hospital's chapel to commemorate the
life of a local grandmother. It's a ceremony he's done
(01:46):
thousands of times He steps up to the pulpit and
performs the rituals of Mass. He blesses the wine, turning
it into the blood of Christ. He prepares the Eucharist,
the gift of the flesh. Side a red Volkswagen has
pulled up to the entrance of the church. There are
two men in the car. There's no way to know
(02:08):
if Oscar saw them, but the street is only about
forty paces away from the pulpit. I think he must
have seen them. Oscar raises a chalice high above his head,
lifting it up to God, and mid sentence, he's shot
(02:40):
with a single bullet through the heart. Oscar Romero died
that day, killed by a twenty two caliber bullet. The
bullet fragmented inside of him, destroying everything it touched. It
sent a message because Oscar's killing wasn't just an act
(03:03):
of murder. It was an act of war, an attack
against the Catholic Church itself and in turn, the people
of al Salvador. Oscar would go on to become one
of the world's most beloved saints. There's even a statue
of him in Westminster Abbey, next to a statue of
Martin Luther King. But to become that Saint Oscar had
(03:27):
to sacrifice his life. His death marked the start of
one of the darkest times in Salvador in history, the
Civil War, a war that would leave more than seventy
five thousand people dead and send a million more across
the globe fleeing the violence. My family includes both those
(03:50):
that fled and those that died. When I started working
on this story, I wanted to find out what really
happened to Oscar Romero, who was responsible for his murder
and all of the violence that followed, And to find
out if the same forces that killed Oscar Romero were
(04:10):
the ones that brought death to my family's doorstep. I'm
Jasmine Romero, and this is Sacred Scandal, Season three, Nation
of Saints. This is episode one. Oscar. Okay, let's get
(04:42):
one thing out of the way. My name is Romero,
but I am not related to Oscar Romero. I think
I'm pretty sure. Well, I asked my parents and they're
pretty sure. But I guess it's possible. Romero is an
extremely common name in Elsalvador. In nineteen eighty one, my
parents fled from El Salvador with my three older sisters
(05:04):
to Los Angeles. Los Angeles has the largest population of
Salvadorans of any place outside of El Salvador. It's also
where I was born. I grew up going to MacArthur
Park on Saturdays to watch my dad plays soccer. The
field would be lined with other immigrant families like mine,
(05:24):
eating elotes and trying to start over. But the ghost
of Oscar Romero was everywhere. There's a statue of him
in that same park, and just up the street is
a clinic named after him. Los Angeles is covered in
murals of his face. But in my family, Oscar Romero
(05:47):
really wasn't a topic of discussion with.
Speaker 3 (05:52):
I.
Speaker 4 (05:53):
Central America has been transformational because of the politics.
Speaker 1 (05:58):
Yeah, a few years ago, I went to this event
in La There was a salvador and comedian with this
big tattoo on her arm, and the host complimented her
on it.
Speaker 4 (06:08):
Her arm has got the most beautiful tattoo I have
ever seen in my life, and it is of il
Arsobispo Arnulfo Romero on her arm.
Speaker 1 (06:21):
They started talking about the war and the meaning of
Oscar Romero's life, and I remember feeling this embarrassment wash
over me. These two strangers knew more about the history
of my family's homeland than I did. My parents never
really talked much about El Salvador or the reasons why
they left. Growing up, we were so concerned with surviving
(06:46):
the present there wasn't much room to consider the past.
But I also had never really made the effort to
ask what horrors did my family experience that made them
leave a place that they truly love, Who was the
man on those murals? And if I really wanted the answers,
I knew where I needed to go. So it's one
(07:12):
in the morning. I'm at JFK.
Speaker 5 (07:18):
Way did you board my flight?
Speaker 1 (07:20):
My parents are going to pick me up when I
get there, and I'm very sleepy. A few years ago,
my parents shocked the entire family by moving back to
El Salvador to retire. They used their life's savings to
build a little house in their hometown, San Miguel. I've
(07:48):
been to Al Salvador a handful of times, mostly when
I was a kid, but ten years have passed since
my last visit. Looking around the plane, everyone's faces look
like mine, but I still feel like an outsider stepping
into a world that doesn't belong to me. I grabbed
(08:12):
my bags and headed out into the humid air to
look for my parents. They were thrilled I was coming,
even if it was for work. Wonder and yes, my
(08:34):
dad was holding up a handwritten sign that said Jasmine
Roulero in capital letters. It was written inside of a
pizza box, so I'm guessing they got hungry while they
were waiting for me. My mom just hugged me for
a long time. They both looked relaxed, which was nice
(08:54):
and confusing. If you grew up with immigrant parents, you
know what I mean. As we walked to my dad's
old pickup truck, my mom kept pointing out how nice
and new things look. At the last time I landed
(09:27):
in this airport, ten years ago, it had a different name.
It's now called the Oscar International Airport in honor of
the dead archbishop. It feels like everywhere you look there
are signs of change of a new era. The terminal
I flew into is only a year old, and there's
(09:47):
new pavement on the sidewalks everywhere, new tar in the
parking lot. Leaving the airport, we drive past a forest
of palm trees and tall billboards that welcome tourists to
explore the new El Salvador ads for swinkie resorts at
surf city, beach or day camps ziplining in the rainforest.
(10:11):
But just past those billboards there are rows and rows
of little roadside shacks, people selling fresh coconuts, bags of
water for a quarter, and souvenir machites, the tool of
choice for the country's working poor. El Salvador is still
considered a developing nation, which just means that most of
(10:34):
the population is living in poverty. The average Salvadoran makes
four hundred dollars a month, and it's even less in
more remote cities like San Miguel, where my family and
Oscar Romero's family both come from. Poverty is something that
both of our families knew very well. Oscar Romero was
(10:56):
one of eight kids, just like my dad. My mom
is one of nine. Both of my parents were raised
in homes where the floor wasn't made out of wood
or tile, it was dirt. My dad didn't even own
a pair of shoes until he was fifteen. All of
this is on my mind as we make the long
(11:17):
drive back to San Miguel to visit two of my
theas my aunt's there are constant reminders that this level
of poverty is still very much a reality here in
the new El Salvador. My Thea rents a place on
(11:47):
the outskirts of San Miguel with one of my cousins
and her young son, whose name I finally learn is Ken.
The house is made out of cement blocks with a
tin roof, and there are extra pieces of tin leaned
up against the house. She's saving up to install them
over the patio. As we settle into the plastic chairs
(12:07):
that Mithia set out for us, A herd of cows
passes by Ken waves. Mitha also takes care of my
great aunt, my Godmotherasita, who I haven't seen since I
was a little girl. Mathia. Pasita is eighty nine years old,
(12:28):
and she's so thin it feels like she'll snap if
I hug her too hard. She's almost completely blind, and
she's hard of hearing too. It takes a minute for
her to recognize me, but when she does see, she
(12:50):
smiles a big, toothless grin and wraps her frail arms
around me. She can't believe how big I've gotten. I
put her hand on top of my head to show
her how tall I am. We all start talking, catching up,
and it feels cozy and familiar. I snuggle in next
(13:15):
to my pass and we reminisce about the last time
she saw me. I don't have any memory of these events,
but the stories are familiar. The time I broke my wrist,
the time I gave her my mom's purse as a present.
Walking to church together. Finally, I tell her that I'm
here to learn about Oscar Romero.
Speaker 5 (13:56):
Inn through Plat.
Speaker 1 (14:02):
To my surprise, she starts talking about him like he's
an old friend. She tells me that she remembers going
to see him preach, which makes sense. For twenty three years,
Oscar Romero was the local priest in San Miguel, her priest.
San Miguel is where he got his start in the
Catholic Church. But I had no idea that my family
(14:24):
actually knew him. Used the.
Speaker 5 (14:36):
Elt sre.
Speaker 1 (14:51):
She tells me that she remembers him being tall, like
my dad, who's about six two, that he was the
kind of priest that you could talk to about anything,
that she often went to him for advice. I can
hear the affection in her voice. It's a strange feeling
to realize that my family was so close to such
(15:12):
an important historical figure. It's like finding out that your
dad played Little League with JFK. But being a local
priest was the vast majority of Oscar's life. For most
of his career, he just did the normal things that
a parish priest does. Attend funerals, perform baptisms, maybe the
(15:34):
occasional exorcism. Well maybe not that last part. Who knows.
In El Salvador, the local priest is an integral part
of the community. He's who you go to when you're
having a problem, and that's who Oscar Romeril was in
San Miguel. I keep asking my tepassy the questions, but
(15:55):
she starts to get tired. As I'm taking her inside
to rest, she mumbles something that makes my stomach turn.
(16:18):
What a punishment they gave him, she says. Going to
the capital was his ruin. It was in the capital
that he gave his last mesa before being shot down.
(16:43):
We'll be right back after this break. Being in this
cozy house, it's easy to see how San Miguel could
make you forget about the troubles of the world. It
has a small town quality to it, isolated from the
(17:05):
politics of the capital. Maybe that's why some of the
richest Salvadorans have estates out here. I didn't even know
there was such a thing as rich Salvadorans when I
was a kid, and now I'm learning a lot about
this hidden world that my parents never told me about.
(17:29):
On the drive home, I asked my parents about something
that I came across in my research, the fourteen families.
The fourteen families, they say, oh, they're the owners. It's
(17:53):
what Salvadorans call la the oligarchy, the rich land owning
families who have run the country since the late eighteen hundreds.
These families are the terretinents, the landowners that control most
of the country's wealth. These families became fabulously wealthy by
(18:14):
owning plantations that cultivated coffee, cotton, and corn. These families,
they owned the stores and the goods that filled the stores,
and the land that the goods were grown on. Meanwhile,
the compassinos who worked on those plantations lived in abject poverty.
Speaker 6 (18:33):
Lussa ladio, heern dramente in crave lamentin houstos.
Speaker 1 (18:41):
This is Marisa da Martinez. She invited me to her
home in the capitol and we spent an afternoon, sitting
in rocking chairs and talking about her work keeping Oscar
Romero's legacy alive. She's an activist who protested the unfair
treatment of the working class in the seventies, and she's
the co founder of the Oscar Romero Foundation. Because what
(19:04):
happened to Oscar Romero and the history of the working
class in El Salvador, they kind of go hand in hand.
Speaker 6 (19:12):
And daran porlos seeing say colonees the ideas he Yeslasion
Soto Campina kea Pocamari Bivier sultante.
Speaker 1 (19:28):
In the nineteen seventies, when Oscar Romero was serving in
San Miguel, the vast majority of the country lived this
way in an insulting poverty. Competinos made less than a
dollar a day, and most families suffered from malnutrition, including mine.
My great grandmother who helped raise me. She had fourteen kids,
(19:53):
only six of them survived past six months. That's the
kind of malnutrition we're talking about here. And for many families,
the only option to survive was to buy things on credit,
credit that they got from their own bosses, the plantation ownersdotals.
Speaker 6 (20:20):
I mean fila de hintel di lacinde la fila the
hint parandoz it is euna.
Speaker 1 (20:40):
It was a never ending cycle. Most Campsinos never learned
to read because there were no schools, and so neither
did their children. They lived at the mercy of the
plantation owners for.
Speaker 6 (20:52):
Generations loke sinica potlaying Houstisia.
Speaker 1 (21:03):
And these rich oligarchic families they didn't just control the
country's wealth. They were also deeply involved in the Catholic Church.
By involved, I mean controlling. Now, the relationship between the
wealthy and the Catholic Church didn't start in El Salvador.
(21:23):
They've been intertwined since the first gold bar was delivered
to Vatican City. But the relationship in El Salvador was
particularly tight. It was a well oiled machine. The country's
rich would provide lavish donations to the Church, and in return,
the Church would turn a blind eye to the systemic injustice.
(21:46):
Priests would tell the poor, your reward is waiting for
you in heaven. But in the seventies some priests dared
to break this protocol. That's after the break is one
(22:17):
of the priests who dared to step out of the
established oligarchy church relationship. I met him on a sweltering
afternoon at his parish in Montserrat, a suburb in the
hills around San Salvador. He's about eighty years old, with
(22:39):
a thin sheet of white hair and a twinkle in
his eye. He invites me, in my fixed Roerto, into
his cramped office in the back of the church. On
his desk is a picture of him as a young man,
smiling next to a somber oscar Romero. If this is safe, Eira,
(23:03):
It's ninety degrees with sixty percent humidity. I've already swept
through two shirts. He seems totally unfazed by the heat.
He offers me and Roerto some ice water. As we
settle in, Roberto asks him, don't you need some water?
Paparretoar just smiles.
Speaker 7 (23:25):
No, tomorrow, keta Coca col.
Speaker 1 (23:32):
Yeah, the old man's got swag anyway. When Barrettoar became
a priest in the early seventies, the church was still
doing what it had been doing since the Spaniards landed
on the shores of a place called Guscatlan and decided
to rename it after Jesus. Keeping their packed with the
rich and the poor in their place.
Speaker 7 (23:52):
O Compecinokala King and Sulugan Ilo Rico Vivienzo Cistoia.
Speaker 1 (23:59):
And this is where Oscar Romero comes back into the picture,
because while my tapas might remember him as a man
who knew the troubles of the poor, he did not
have that reputation among the country's elites.
Speaker 7 (24:14):
Yes, Mother and Plata de San Miguel.
Speaker 1 (24:20):
For the rich families in San Miguel, Oscar was the
ideal priest, quiet shy, happy to baptize their babies and
enjoy a good carna with them afterwards.
Speaker 7 (24:33):
Elista and el sentido solo araci una fees in dimensium
uman as in dimension politic as in dimensium.
Speaker 1 (24:57):
Oscar was regarded as a gentle bookworm, and this unassuming
nature it got him far. He quietly rose through the
ranks from deacon to priest to Bishop of San Miguel,
far from the politics of the capital. If he disagreed
with the elite's business practices, he didn't share it out loud.
(25:20):
Maybe he wrote about it in his journal, maybe he
prayed on it. But Oscar's easy life in San Miguel
would soon get flipped upside down. In nineteen seventy seven,
Oscar's boss, a man who had served as archbishop in
El Salvador for thirty eight years, decided to resign. But
(25:42):
who would be next? The Church and the oligarchy came
together to hand pick the country's next top priest. The
obvious and expected candidate was the auxiliary archbishop who had
been second in command, but to everyone's surprise, the Vatican
announced that Oscar Romero would take the position. The nation
(26:06):
turned their eyes to this quiet priest from the.
Speaker 8 (26:09):
East, Hello the Rio.
Speaker 7 (26:13):
Conveniencias digamos de fe in Lilesia.
Speaker 1 (26:19):
Politic it was a politically convenient move. Oscar was known
as a quiet local priest, the kind who built his
career on staying away from controversy. In February of nineteen
seventy seven, Oscar Romero was named Archbishop of El Salvador
by Pope John Paul.
Speaker 7 (26:40):
Himself stansso Fuelay Garda de Monsignor Romero.
Speaker 1 (26:47):
Oscar moves to the capitol his new parish and starts
leading Sunday Mass in the largest cathedral in the country.
The rich pat themselves on the back for assigning a
priest that they believe will watch over their interests for
decad needs to come. Here's Marissa again.
Speaker 9 (27:03):
La.
Speaker 6 (27:06):
Porqurado alce seesuponi the via asumir elasovial.
Speaker 1 (27:14):
But Oscar was stepping into a hornet's nest. There had
been unrest brewing in the capitol and several protests led
by Campasino groups. People were unionizing demanding better wages. The
military government's response had not been pretty.
Speaker 6 (27:41):
The Graciaca guando marchas solicitando pacificamente dos tortillas lejuadrons de quesouevoitres.
Speaker 1 (28:05):
Marisa says that the compasinos would organize marches in the
capitol asking for better wages, and that those protests regularly
ended with the military shooting directly into the crowd, and
when the protests didn't stop, the military started going after
(28:25):
the leaders of the movements. People started disappearing. Oscar Romero
had a habit of going out into his congregation after
mass on Sundays. He wanted to get to know the
people of his flock the way that he had in
(28:45):
San Miguel. But here in the capital people were coming
to him with names, the names of sons, brothers, mothers
who had disappeared or been taken. Oscar had gone from
baptizing babies to having to face the cries of mourning mothers.
(29:07):
In the span of a few years, Oscar transformed from
a quiet bookworm into a champion for the poor. Three
years after his arrival to the capitol, he stood before
his congregation as a changed man, not a puppet, but
a priest with.
Speaker 9 (29:25):
A message Ermano's song de matan ermanos campesinostar ure lala matar.
Speaker 1 (29:49):
He gave a speech that cemented his legacy. It's a
speech that's the Salvadoran equivalent of Martin Luther King's I
Have a Dream speech.
Speaker 9 (30:01):
Nimundo esto.
Speaker 1 (30:10):
Oscar was issuing a warning, a warning to the rich
that he would not be in their pockets. The speech
would be the landmark of his career, and he tells
the government soldiers to disobey the orders of their commanders,
to stop the repression against their own people and follow
(30:32):
God's most basic command, thou shalt not.
Speaker 9 (30:36):
Kill ignombre de dios, the numbre pueblo, CuO lament maas
tumultuosos lesuplico leego leon.
Speaker 1 (31:00):
It's the last homily he ever gave, the very next day,
before Oscar could give communion, he was shot in the heart,
murdered at his own pulpit. But Oscar was just the
beginning of a domino effect, one that brought us to
(31:20):
the new El Salvador we have today. El Salvador's President, Naibukele,
has won reelection today in a resounding victory that has
essentially wiped out the opposition. Over the next eleven episodes,
we're going to cover one of the bloodiest chapters in history,
one that includes government cover ups.
Speaker 6 (31:43):
So it was just outrageous that the nuns would have
guns and would have exchanged fire.
Speaker 8 (31:48):
A school for dictators every time there was a heinous
killing in Alsawada Hills with somebody that was past grides
of the School of America.
Speaker 1 (32:00):
One of the biggest massacres to ever occur in the Americas.
Speaker 3 (32:04):
The security forces in Al Salvador have been responsible for
the deaths of thousands and thousands of young people. Are
we really going to send military advisors in there to
be part of that type of machinery?
Speaker 1 (32:21):
But I'll also tell you the story of one family mine,
because on this journey I discovered things about my family
that still haunt us today, Mom.
Speaker 5 (32:35):
What happened to your sister Margarita?
Speaker 1 (32:41):
Well, they said that they took her and the next day.
Speaker 2 (32:46):
She was that she was killed.
Speaker 8 (32:50):
She was killed.
Speaker 1 (32:57):
Ye, that's this season on Nation of Saints Sacred Scandal.
Nation of Saints is a production of AJA Podcasts in
partnership with Iheart's Mike Wultura podcast Network, and is hosted
and written by me Jasmine Romero, produced by Jazmine Romero
(33:21):
with help from Jorge Just, Renald Gutierres, and Aloesbres. Research
and reporting by Jasmine Romero, Edited by Cyda Kevelo, Porge
Just and Rose Red. Nation of Saints was recorded in
New York City at the Relic Room with engineering by
Sam Bear, Mixing and sound designed by Paciquinones. Original music
by Golden Mines, Darko and Dieme based on Patrick Hart's
(33:45):
original composition. Fact checking by Erendidra Aquino Ayala. Executive producers
are Carman geraterol Isaac Lee, rose Red, and Nando Villa.
Our executive producers at iHeart are Giselle Mansis and Arlene Santana.
Sacred Scandal was created by Melanie Bartley and Paula Vadros.
Special thanks to Roerto Valencia, Matt Eisenbrandt, sayid Tjan Thomas,
(34:08):
Alice Wilder, Sofia Palita Carr, Eric Mennel, Peter Bresnan, and Riemachres.
The recording at the top of the episode is from
Latino USA and provided courtesy of Futuro Studios. This episode
is dedicated to Mythia Pacita, who passed in twenty twenty four.
For more podcasts, go to the iHeartRadio app or wherever
(34:30):
you listen to your favorite podcasts.
Host
Jasmine Romero
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