April 2006

Dear Friends:

On a recent Sunday I stayed home from church with our sons because one was sick. My husband Elmer, the pastor of the Methodist church we attend in a marginal Managua neighborhood called Hialeah, left at the normal time.

An hour later, Elmer called me. “We didn’t have the service today,” he told me. “Something horrible has happened. There was an argument between Jose Artola’s brother Mauricio and a man named Carlos Ramirez. Mauricio and Carlos are both dead.”

Earlier that morning, Jose Artola was reading the Gospel lesson with his wife Maria, their son Yader, and Maria’s grown daughter Aleyda, all members of our church. Jose was preparing to lead Sunday school for the first time. “I was just getting ready to shower and go to the church,” he later told Elmer. But that is when a nephew came and said that Mauricio wanted Jose to come right away.

It seems that Mauricio was leaving the neighborhood in his pick-up, and Carlos was riding his bike in the middle of the same narrow street in front of Mauricio. When Carlos refused to move to the side of the road to let Mauricio’s truck go by, a argument ensued. Finally, Carlos said to Mauricio, “Just wait—I’m going to get my sons. Prepare yourself, because this will be your last day.” Carlos went to get his family, then, armed with machetes and homemade guns, his family and the Artola family engaged in all-out street warfare.

When Elmer arrived at the church, hundreds of people were in the streets. One of Mauricio nieces went to Elmer, crying uncontrollably. “Pastor, pastor,” she wailed. “They killed my uncle Mauricio! Please, help us!” Jose was in the street, holding his brother Mauricio’s body in his arms. Mauricio had been shot in the chest at point-blank range. Carlos’ body was slumped near the busy suburban thoroughfare that runs east to west at the southern extreme of the barrio, a machete wound to his neck. The police had just arrived, and three television crews raced past Elmer out of the neighborhood, careening over the bumpy dirt streets, each trying to be the first with the breaking-news story of the hour.

“The news media didn’t even bother to get the story right,” Elmer says. What was most important was to get the story out quickly and to grab the audience’s attention. The station to get the story out first wins.

What happened that Sunday morning, and the trend in Nicaragua towards sensationalist journalism (called "nota roja"), causes me to reflect on the role of news media in our perception of—and our ability to digest—tragic events. Many people—at least in Nicaragua—enjoy nota roja, and watch it with a combination of passionate horror and passive disinterest, inoculating themselves against human tragedy.

Yet even when the news is not sensationalist, and we learn of it through Internet, television, and other media, we are inundated with tragic events happening all over the world. It is easy to get overwhelmed by (and become insensitive to) information from which we are emotionally and mentally distant, and with which we can do very little.

The aftermath of these deaths in the Hialeah neighborhood is painful and overwhelming: Carlos was the father of three children, Mauricio the father of two. Two of Carlos’ sons are being held in custody as suspects for Mauricio’s death. Jose, who was severely wounded in the fight, is being held as a suspect for Carlos’ death. To date, none of the witnesses who saw that Carlos was killed accidentally by his own son (not by Jose) has the courage to testify, for fear of vengeance. If no witnesses come forward, Jose may spend decades in jail.

Life is fragile, so easy to mess up, to snuff out. In the blink of an eye a man is killed, then another. Two families are left without fathers and husbands. Three more men are in jail—some culpable, some innocent.

How do we keep ourselves informed and in touch with real life, yet not allow ourselves to become insensitive to tragic or difficult events around us and in the rest of the world? And where is God in all of this?

Elmer and I feel powerless in the face of what happened in Hialeah that Sunday, except for our capacity to be with those who were and are most affected.

My hope is that we would be willing and open to hear and see what is going on in the world today, allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to life’s fragility and pain. I also hope that we might take actions—as we are able—to bring about peace and justice where there is violence, poverty, anger, sorrow, and injustice. In our capacity to be compassionate, open to life’s vulnerability, and as we attempt to take action towards the peace that makes justice, God is there also.

Finally, I am reminded once again that we cannot live without giving our burdens over to God, allowing God’s spirit to sustain us. I’m sure both the Artola and Ramirez families would appreciate your prayers.

Sincerely,

Ellen Sherby

The 2006 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 57