Presente

I looked out at the seemingly endless procession of mourners, holding their white crosses solemnly as they chant, “Presenté, presenté.” So many people, so many individuals who care about the injustices in Latin America. I had never even heard of the School of the Americas two years ago, as little or no mention of the November protest appeared in the media; today, however, I had joined thousands of protesters working to close the institution.

Sixteen St. Ignatius College Prep students, along with students from Loyola Academy, left by bus for Ft. Benning, Georgia, on Thursday, November 15th. Only three Ignatius students had attended the event in 2006, so most of us were uncertain as to what would actually take place. Before we left, we watched a video about main event of the protest. Figures in black with painted-white faces carried coffins in a mock funeral procession; thousands of people held crosses, while others lay “dead” on the ground, covered in “blood.” Endless chanting, tears, and solemn faces bombarded me on the video screen. Then, I saw the busloads of protesters who were being arrested because they had crossed the line onto the property of the school. Not only hardcore activists filled those buses, but fathers and students. These people were fighting for what they believed in, no matter what the cost, and I admired them. I wanted to join them in this fight. I wanted to live out my faith, to be a “woman for others,” as we say at Ignatius.

So, I left on Thursday night with the images of these protesters in my head. Throughout the journey to Georgia, my friend and I discussed our expectations for the event. There was a nervous energy permeating the students, and I added my own excitement when we pulled in to our hotel in Ft. Benning. Though we left on Thursday night, I feel as though the trip didn’t really begin for me until Friday night, at the first event we attended: the Ignatian Family Teach-In.

The Teach-In was held inside an enormous hall, whose large interior was packed with students from Jesuit colleges and high schools across America, as well as Jesuits, churchwomen, and people who had no Jesuit affiliation whatsoever, but were interested in attending the Teach-In. Speakers representing different social justice issues appealed to their audience to take action, to be aware of the injustices in their world. Environmental activists, reformed prisoners, anti-sweatshop representatives, and many other such speakers were present. Overall, the Teach-In was very inspiring and educational.

The next day, we traveled to the gates of the school. I had no idea what to expect, so I was surprised to find vendors with booths lining the driveway and lively music being played from a large stage. Thousands of people mingled in front of the booths, buying “End the War in Iraq” or “Recycle!” or “Peace” t-shirts and buttons. The voices of speakers from Latin America sounded from the stage, and people crowded the fence surrounding the school. It was like a huge outdoor hippie music festival; I felt as though I was back in the 60s.

Though my experience at the gates on Saturday was fun and exciting, the mass we attended on Saturday night remains the most meaningful event in my mind. We returned to the college where the Teach-In was held, and once again, it was packed with people. Even more people attended the mass than did the Teach-In; we were sharing seats, and many had to stand in the back. I felt the presence of God throughout the entire mass: in the songs, which each person sung with passion; in the priest’s homily, which implored the congregation to become aware of social injustice in the world; in the presence of the thousands of others who were praying with me to close the SOA. At the end of the mass, those present who were over 50 were asked to bless the “younger” members of the congregation, to pass on their wisdom. So, I left with a blessing and the hope that the peace, unity, and love that I had felt on Saturday night would be present at the protest on Sunday morning.

That morning, Sunday morning, we arrived at the driveway to the SOA. Immediately, I sensed that the atmosphere had changed since the day before. Only a few vendors remained, quietly advertising their goods. Masses of people moved solemnly towards the gates, holding white crosses with the names of victims of SOA graduates. Then, the procession began. The name of a victim, and their age, was called out, and we chanted, “Presenté” as a response. As the names were called out, I began to think about why I had come. I remembered the frustration and sorrow I had felt about the crimes that had been committed against the Latin American mothers, fathers, and children. Hearing those names, seeing the thousands of people who had prayed with me the night before, and who were now helping me make sure that the victims were never forgotten, personified the concept of peace for me.

The entire weekend resulted in an enlightening journey for me. I left with preconceived notions about what the protest would be like, but these notions were flipped upside-down and scrambled before the experience was over. I felt extreme joy, sorrow, and confusion in the course of three days. I was uncomfortable, insecure, and nervous throughout much of the time I spent in Ft. Benning; yet, I would not change a single aspect of the journey. I can pinpoint one lesson out of many that I took away from the trip: to be a true Christian, I must be willing to question the status quo, face my uneasiness, and act for social justice.