Earlier this year, I volunteered as an Observer in El Salvador's Presidential Election. For the first time in the country's history there was a democratic transition of power: Mauricio Funes, a former journalist, was elected with 51.27 per cent of the vote.
He represents the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front (FMLN), the political party of the former guerrilla forces in the civil war, and has dedicated his presidency to the life of Monseñor Oscar Romero, who was assassinated in 1980 for speaking out against the repression and human rights abuses that occurred in the lead-up to the war.
The election took place on 15 March, and the 29th Anniversary of Romero's death occurred on 24 March. That day was charged with symbolism for those who had hoped, prayed and struggled for so long for an improvement in the conditions of the poor majority of the country.
I went to the University of Central America (UCA), Jose Simeon Cañas, on that day. It is named after a man who campaigned to end slavery, but is better known for the events of 16 November 1989, when six Jesuit priests and two others were assassinated there.
Five days before their deaths, on 11 November 1989, the FMLN had commenced their final offensive against the military. In response, the top military brass decided to make an example of the UCA Jesuits, who had been some of the strongest voices promoting social justice and human rights in the country.
I thought I had a good understanding of El Salvador's recent history, but my insight was deepened by the people I was living with at the time.
One was a former Salvadoran Catholic priest who had been kidnapped and tortured by the military. The other was a Canadian Lutheran Minister who was imprisoned and accused of the murder of the Jesuits, before being expelled by a government desperate to tell any story except for the reality: that the UCA Martyrs were assassinated by an elite military unit. Under cover of darkness, they had broken into the Jesuits' living quarters, rounded them up and led them outside for execution. They then burnt the neighbouring centre that commemorated Romero's life.
In a cruel twist of fate, the Jesuits' cook had stayed over that night with her 15 year old daughter for the first time: her husband was out of town, and they considered it safer than home. They