Nicaragua
César Jérez: “The Hope of the Poor Will Never Perish”
Envío team
My term as rector of the UCA ends on December 1st. I've always been opposed to reelections and if I've done my "patriotic military service" for six years, well, that's enough! The most important thing is having served Nicaragua, leaving accomplishments. Where I'll be going will be decided in the second half of October. What I can guarantee is that, whether I stay or go, the UCA's position will be the same, because it is a decision of the Society of Jesus. I think some will say, "It's great that this guy is finally going!" But many will say, "Man, what a shame that he's going!" I've always said that I consider myself a Central American born in Guatemala and my greatest desire is to serve Central America. I've tried to serve Nicaragua with great affection, because the people here have really captured my heart. All the students and professors I've worked with know that. And on more than one occasion, I've said that I would like to be buried here in Nicaragua. But we Jesuits are always ready to serve where needed and if they tell me my place is at the UCA in San Salvador, I'm willing to go there.
Thus spoke Father César Jérez in his last radio interview, broadcast over Managua's Radio Istmo, only one month before his death. On November 30, the exact day that his term as head of the Central American University (UCA) in Managua came to an end, hundreds of César's students, professors, friends and compañeros bid farewell to him at the UCA. His elderly mother, who came from Guatemala for the homage, then carried his ashes back to the country of his birth early that evening.
As he had predicted, many cried because he was leaving, not for the UCA in San Salvador, where so many others were awaiting him, but because he was leaving for good. He died in the prime of life, and also at the peak of his popularity in Nicaragua. And, as he wanted, he will be buried here, because his example, his way of being and acting, will remain with us, all this will later germinate and give fruit.
envío had planned to use this issue to publish a long interview with César, in which he would evaluate his six years at the UCA and also talk of many other things, some of them personal. We were so close to him that we kept putting it off, postponing it with the security that we would somehow find a long, comfortable time for such an interview. But it never happened. Given the kind of man César was, he would not have given much importance to this unforeseen lack of coordination.
Thus it falls to us, in our words and without his own evaluation of his far-reaching term of administration at the UCA, to reconstruct something of his life and a little of his very rich personality.
A Central American mestizo conscious of his dignityHe was born in August, 55 years ago, in San Martín Jilotepeque, a small indigenous village in the Guatemalan highlands. César, mestizo, liked to say he was an "Indian of San Martín." His father died when he was 5 years old, obliging his 25-year-old mother, with much effort, to bring up her 5 children, the oldest of whom was only 8. His first two inheritances—his indigenous roots and his mother's energy—were to mark the rest of his life.
César, the best primary student of the San Martín parish, was a source of great enthusiasm for the parish priest, Father Teofilo Solares. And so César decided to undertake his secondary studies at a Jesuit seminary in Guatemala. There he met two Spaniards who also left a lasting impression on his life: Father Carmelo Saenz de Santamaría, who introduced the Catholic University youth to Guatemala, and Father José Ramón Scheifler, who read passages from the Rusticatio Mexicana, the epic poem of the 18th century Jesuit Landívar, then took the students to see the scenery portrayed in the text. From these two sources, César Jérez quickly learned to aspire to a priesthood that would transcend a strictly sacramental, ministerial or institutional mission. At age 18, sensing that there he would encounter these wider horizons, he decided to enter the Society of Jesus as a novitiate.
César Jérez was too big for either San Martín Jilotepeque or Guatemala, and soon began to think of himself as Central American. In his years of Jesuit training in El Salvador, he came to know many of that country's regions, joining the great Bishop Luís Chávez y González on his forays to the countryside. "Chavito" had a special fondness for that lucid young man who was so proud of being a Central American mestizo; theirs was a lifelong friendship. César didn't feel himself to be better than anyone. Nor did he feel less than anyone. He had a clear sense of his dignity. And that was the dignity he demanded his entire life for all his Central and Latin American brothers and sisters, for all the peoples of the South. One constant in his life was his thoroughgoing affirmation of the human value of those born in the marginalized areas of the world like San Martín Jilotepeque, where his eyes were opened. Everyone who knew him saw "the Indian in him come out" at least once as he would silence or put in their place people from the US or Europe who tried to lecture us from a position of superiority.
When he was studying to be a teacher—part of his Jesuit training—in the Javier Institute in Panama, he heard one of his superiors, a Spanish priest, question whether Central Americans could be full Jesuits. He went straight to his superiors and appealed to them directly: "Tell me whether or not I'm worthy as a Jesuit, because if you think I'm not, then better I do something else that I think I'd be good at: be a politician, get married, and have a bunch of kids. But if you tell me I'm worthy, then put your doubts aside." With that same sureness, frankness and integrity, he would always defend the value and dignity of others, particularly of the very poorest.
A struggle for justice from the very startTrained as a theologian at the San Jorge Seminary in Frankfurt, Germany, he then earned a Masters in Social Sciences and a PhD in Political Science at the University of Chicago. His vocation was politics, but politics as service. He was a man born to be a leader, with that rare ability of knowing how to create consensus, and with a permanent clarity of thought that helped him deal with the problems of dialogue and negotiation. He was living proof of the principle that politics "is the art of the possible"; he always knew what, in fact, was possible. But he always fought to do more than the possible because he was also a dreamer. A visionary. Among his dreams, the most constant, the most oft proclaimed, was that of a united Central America, one nation overcoming all the borders between our countries. His trips, his responsibilities, his studies made him dream with increasing intensity of Central American integration, and realistically measure its possibilities. He dedicated his doctoral thesis to this topic.
The Guatemalan oligarchy long had its eye on him. It began in 1969, when he gave a conference on violence in the Economics Department at the University of San Carlos, daring to speak aloud of the "institutionalized violence"—hunger, poverty and repression—that reigned in Guatemala. It continued from 1972 to 1976, when he directed the Central American Jesuits' Center for Research and Social Action (CIAS), as well as when he joined the religious community in Zone 5 of Guatemala City, close to the Palmita Market, a community which always had its doors open to everyone and served as a meeting place for unionists, anthropologists, intellectuals and, particularly, many poor people who came together to think about how to build a better Guatemala.
They were working for a Guatemala that would be better for the indigenous people, the majority of all Guatemalans. Although César never worked directly in an indigenous parish, his work in the newborn CIAS and later in his other tasks found him searching for ways to make his brothers and sisters protagonists of their own history. He was completely taken with the Mayan roots of his people, with Guatemala's indigenous history, its ruins, its ceramics, its weavings, its rituals, its colors, and confraternities and, above all, with the courageous struggles of the Mayan heirs to survive with dignity. The Popol-Vuh, Sacred Book of the Mayan-Quiché peoples, was one of his most beloved and reread books. He reacted very strongly, and harshly, upon seeing any ladinos or whites scorn the indigenous population.
He never worked as a parish priest. The closest he ever came to pastoral work was "spiritual conversation," giving advice, counseling, talking, listening, drawing people out. He was particularly good at this and devoted much of his time to this form of pastoral work.
In contrast to many other priests in the Latin America church during this era, César Jérez was not "converted" by the force of the changes and transformations emerging from the Medellín conference. The struggle for justice and dignity for the poor, the systematic, thoughtful, delicate and impassioned effort to transform the structures that make poor people poor—all fundamental underpinnings of liberation theology—were constants in his life. His was a determined, committed struggle, yet one also full of compassion, intelligence and humor. Nobody who knew him can forget that ironic smile, his frank humor, his frequent bursts of laughter. "Let's not make tragedy out of what we can handle as comedy," was one of his mottos and he always put it into practice.
The tragic 1976 earthquake in Guatemala, which destroyed his village, killed his grandmother, his sister and three of his nephews, made him grow. Out of the rubble, he stepped into leadership and as an improvised "mayor," overcame the authorities' discouragement and passivity. He organized the arrival and distribution of emergency assistance, fighting to make sure that everyone was treated equally. It was while he was in the midst of this task that he was called to Rome to be named the Jesuit Provincial Superior in Central America.
Pushing forward the Central American ChurchIn 1969, the Central American Jesuits had begun to make profound changes, in order to fulfill the goal of "service to faith in the promotion of justice." Fathers Ignacio Ellacuría and Miguel Elizondo had been forging the first glimmerings of these changes—the first in philosophical-political terms and the second in terms of a new spirituality. The first period of transformations was painful and traumatic for many who feared their consequences. As Provincial, it fell to César Jérez to consolidate this new position and, more than anything, construct consensus around it; and he was able to do just that. Given his radical positions, about half of the Central American Jesuits had received news of his appointment with misgivings. In 1982, after six years in the position, more than 90% supported his position and leadership, and 17 of the 18 superiors of the Jesuit communities throughout Central America requested that his appointment as Provincial be extended beyond the normal period. In April 1983, César Jérez received 46 of 51 possible votes possible to represent the Central American Jesuits as a delegate to the 33rd Congregation in Rome, attended by Jesuits from around the world.
He was a complete Jesuit. "For me, the Society of Jesus is a very high ideal," he said in that last radio interview. "Some say that we're a party of lazy types who accommodate ourselves to the circumstances. I would say that, if in our actions we are able to give our lives for the principles that we believe in, any accusation of opportunism is excessive. When someone puts his life at stake, opportunistic traits disappear. Our greatest credibility comes from whether or not we are really willing to risk everything for the cause in which we believe."
His term as Provincial (1976-1982) was a continual process of putting everything at risk. In El Salvador, where he spent most of his time, those six years were filled with tension and violence against the poor and the Church itself suffered merciless persecution. In those years, the wars of liberation in El Salvador, Nicaragua and Guatemala stepped up.
It fell continually to César—with his tremendous capacity for judgment in difficult situations—to have to make ongoing decisions about very complex issues. He had to take full charge of the pain when the first Jesuit was killed in Central America. Rutilio Grande, whose martyrdom was a beacon for the Salvadoran Church, had been instrumental in building a consensus among the Jesuits around the struggle for justice. Then, still in 1976, when the White Warrior Union threatened all Jesuits working in El Salvador, César did not hesitate even an hour in deciding that they should all remain at their posts. He personally visited all the communities to clarify to each one that, if they did not feel strong enough at the moment, they could leave the country temporarily. He had to make prudent decisions regarding various young Jesuits who decided to join the revolutionary movements in Guatemala, El Salvador and Nicaragua.
In those years, during which Bishop Oscar Arnulfo Romero was transformed into the voice of the voiceless in El Salvador and the Sandinista revolution triumphed in Nicaragua, César Jérez also made his own far-reaching contribution at moments that today we can understand in all their historic dimension. His position and his capacity for leadership and dialogue pushed Central America and the Central American Church forward.
With his tremendous energy, he worked tirelessly to instill in people and institutions from the First World a respect for people and institutions from our countries to build an effective solidarity with our peoples. At the same time, he accepted offers of service from wherever they came. His capacity for this kind of interchange made him a friend to politicians, bishops, administrators of international organizations, intellectuals, US congressional representatives and guerrilla commanders. He always knew how to make the best use of the international prestige of those with power and influence, to put it at the service of the poor. And he linked himself to those who, from whatever angle, struggled for this cause.
Seizing the opportunity of a visit to Honduras by Jesuit Superior General Father Pedro Arrupe, with whom he had a longstanding friendship and convergence of purpose, César invited him to come to Nicaragua in August 1979. Given the confidence he had in César Jérez, Arrupe saw the recently liberated Nicaragua through César's hopeful eyes and months later articulated a slogan for all the Jesuits working in Nicaragua: "critical support" for the Sandinista revolution.
César loved Honduras—he knew the country, and its riches and its peoples' potential very well. He was the first Provincial Superior to visit the remote parish maintained by the Jesuits in the Garifona zone of Sangrelaya. He traveled there by canoe, much like in the film, "The Mission," and later told over and over the story of a Delegate of the Word whom he met there, a sailor who had spoken of Singapore, Germany and Norway, countries that both men knew, although from very different points of view. He was confident of Central America's potential and, with boldness and stubborn insistence, demanded confidence in Central Americans because he had come to know every corner of the region, and thousands of its people.
His last battle: Defend the poor from neoliberalismBut César was too big for Central America, too. His Central American soul opened more and more towards Latin America—he had a great passion for Mexico and, in the last 10 years, for Cuba and its revolutionary experience. Conscious of the power of the United States and Europe, he unceasingly sought out relations with those US and European groups and individuals who were critical of the hegemonic orientations of their countries and open to the reserve of humanity existing in our young and poor peoples.
He always worked efficiently because he always worked in teams, both using his own imagination and assisting and taking on the imagination of others.
Death came to him in Bogota, Colombia, another part of the great Latin American nation, precisely when, with other Jesuits of the continent, he was preparing a project that would help deepen our understanding of the meaning and consequences of the neoliberal economic programs that international capital is imposing on us and that are impoverishing our people and denationalizing our countries. Death arrived as, with this team, he searched for alternatives to this anti-Christian avalanche of capital and as, in Managua, people were planning to bid him farewell on his way to San Salvador, where many welcomes awaited.
Almost a year earlier, in the wake of the crisis of socialism in Eastern Europe and the Sandinista electoral defeat in Nicaragua, César had participated in a student congress at the Catholic University in Chile. "Based on our preferential option for the poor," he said in Chile, "We cannot be happy about the end of the socialist utopias. We cannot even proclaim their end. Because the death of the socialist utopias means a harsh blow to the hopes of our impoverished masses. From within our universities we should always remind the civilization of capital that the failure of the socialist models does not mean the success of capitalism. A system good for only a third of the planet's population cannot be a good system. The universities have to help tell our peoples the truth about their situation and its limits. And, alongside them, we must formulate proposals that go beyond sterile protest. The universities should increase aspirations towards democracy with the aim that it is developed from the base, among our peoples, in a totally participatory form. University knowledge, to be legitimate and Christian, will have to make the daily bread of each table in more and more popular groups."
With these ideas, forged during many years, and stronger than ever in these difficult times, he said goodbye to life. He died young, when he still had much to do, and much that he could do. He thus shared the early death suffered by so many Central Americans—because of hunger or bullets—in our crucified countries, identified in this way with the premature death of Jesus of Nazareth.
He did not die a martyr, from a violent death, but his life had been destroyed by the violence done to him by those who killed so many of his brother and sisters, thus personally defiling him. The cruelty—both personal and structural—that struggles against the goodwill of God, pursued him endlessly, causing tensions that finally cracked the fragile equilibrium of his life.
He died with hope. Hope in the God of the poor, and hope in the poor of God. He saw clearly the possibilities of the poor when they experience solidarity and achieve some measure of freedom to participate creatively in history. For this reason he was convinced, as the word of God says, that "the hope of the poor will never perish." His hope was never extinguished.
Did he have a foreboding that he was going to die? On November 7, his last night in Nicaragua, he was asked if he was afraid that they would kill him in El Salvador. "It's a good time to die," was his response. When he was hospitalized in Bogota for a routine kidney problem, he told his Colombian Jesuit friends on three different occasions that, if something happened, he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes brought back to Central America. He said this for the last time on November 17, in his last Eucharist. On November 18, he suffered a massive stroke and remained in a coma until his death on November 22.
After he knew that he would be going to the UCA in San Salvador, he wrote in one of his last letters: "I don't think of the future, I am confident in it because I believe it belongs to God." He died with this hope, in a time when, with the "new world order," there is very little room for hope for the poor and for a project that will save this planet's life along with that of the majority God's children who live on it.
César returned "clandestinely" to Guatemala, camouflaged in several handfuls of ashes on Sunday, December 1. Before leaving his remains in the Guatemalan soil, his friends sang together, "There will come a day when all, lifting their gaze, will see a land where freedom reigns." On that day, the future will be God.
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