Small Steps Offer Hope

A letter from Kristi Van Nostran serving in El Salvador

Summer 2015

“Buenas noches,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. It took me a minute to recognize the polite and timid tone. It was Jose, a young man whose family I have become close to at church. “Sorry to bother you this late,” he continued, “but I wanted to talk to you about something important—I’m considering going north.”

My heart sank.

“You know what it’s like in my neighborhood,” he said. “Gracias a Dios I don’t have problems with anyone right now, but ‘they’ know I don’t have work and it’s just a matter of time before they start asking me to ‘do favors.’ That’s a business that I don’t want to get into.” Jose paused; “Once you’re in, there’s no way out.”

I did know what it was like in Jose’s neighborhood, a marginal community built on the side of a ravine at the San Salvador city limits, and he was right. They—the local clique or cell group of one of the major street gangs—control the area. Despite a large and well-staffed police post in the center of the neighborhood, it is known that drugs, weapons and cash move in and out of the community with relative ease. Surrounded by this pervasive culture of illicit activity, it’s nothing short of a miracle that Jose and his family have remained reasonably untouched as long as they have.

Riverside Presbytery delegation during their visit with the ManaOjushte team in June 2015

I wept silently and listened as he shared his fears and frustrations.  He told me of a conversation with a coyote, a smuggler who could help him cross the border in a semi-truck for the fee of $6,000. Jose would have to pay half up front and the other half upon arrival, payment of which had been promised by a cousin living in Houston.

I felt so helpless to respond. He had clearly given this a lot of thought; what could I possibly say that might discourage him from this decision? When your reality includes 16-year-old boys going missing, never to be seen or heard from again, and 13-year-old girls impregnated as a means to claim them as gang “property,” somehow the dangers, expense and lack of guarantee associated with making the journey north seem like the better of bad options.

As heart-wrenching as it is, stories like Jose’s are not uncommon in El Salvador. Still, much of the discussion around immigration is centered on the conditions that cause children, youth and families to migrate, and whether or not the insecurity and violence, economic strife, impoverishment and hunger they face in their countries of origin justify being received as refugees or asylum-seekers upon arrival at the U.S. border. The media continue to focus primarily on the political debate surrounding unaccompanied migrants, immigration policy reform, and an appropriate response to this ongoing dilemma. But the exodus of tens of thousands of Central American children and families is much more than a border emergency or a humanitarian crisis, and meanwhile politicians on all sides are posturing and the least of these, our sisters and brothers,continue to suffer—in the desert, in detention centers, as deportees.

But there is hope.

Ana Edith, Joining Hands partner and founder of the ManáOjushte project, a sustainable food initiative to reclaim and promote the native and highly nutritious Ojushte nut, beams as she introduces us to a young man who has been volunteering with the project for over a year. Edwin was unsure if he would finish high school when he was invited by a friend to volunteer with the youth brigades to harvest Ojushte. “I thought I would go to the U.S. like my cousins had,” he said. “That was the only option I saw if I wanted to work and have a future.”

Edwin’s plans have changed, as have the plans of several other young people in the community of San Isidro. “ManáOjushte has given us an opportunity, a chance to contribute something positive to our community,” he shares as he shoots a smile in Ana Edith’s direction. “With all that I’ve learned about the history and culture of our ancestors, and about working to protect and restore the local environment, I’ve been able to get a scholarship to study tourism at the university.” When asked if he still considered joining his cousins in the United States, Edwin laughed and said, “El Salvador is my home, and now I have every reason to stay.”

As people of faith, we are called to come alongside, to offer a compassionate response, and to advocate for all people who are pushed to choose between risking it all by leaving and risking it all by staying. The Joining Hands Network in El Salvador, with partner churches and local initiatives like ManáOjushte, is taking small steps to transform the broken systems that drive young people, children and families from their homes. Through opportunities to build relationships and capacities, our Salvadoran sisters and brothers are empowered—and in turn empower others—to advocate, take action and create the changes they dream of for their communities and their country.

I thank you for your continued prayers and generous financial support for the Joining Hands ministry in El Salvador and my role as mission co-worker, accompanying this slow and deep work for transformation. It is an honor to journey together with you as we pursue our common dream that all people, in every place, will enjoy the abundant life that God promises.

Kristi

The 2015 Presbyterian Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 69