Monsenor Romero Quotes

“Those sloppy priests that go around without their cassocks!” he would agonize. “Better that they go without their cassocks since they’re just chasing after prostitutes anyway!” And he’d agonize more. It was true. There were womanizing priests. And liquor flowed faster than communion wine among them. Pastoral plans? They all went up in smoke. There was no interest. There was no effort. And the bishop? Bishop Machado didn’t give orders and he didn’t give advice. What he gave were loans at outrageous interest rates. Everybody knew those stories, and Father Romero knew them best because he saw all the drama from the inside.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“You know?” I said to a friend, “God gave us a prophet for three years. And everything has happened in the period of time between two Masses: that single Mass on March 20, 1977, and the Mass that was never finished yesterday, March 24, 1980.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Thousands—no, millions—of flowers came in. I don’t think there were any flowers left in all of El Salvador that day. They were all there. —Teodora Puertas”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Did you hear they finally killed that son of a bitch? We’re going to have a party tonight to celebrate. You’re invited!”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Monseñor, whether we like it or not, the stage is already set for a war to break out. Neither the coup nor the junta is going to be able to stop it . . .” “But we have to try everything to avoid it . . .” That was what tormented him: the possibility of war. During those months, Monseñor Romero seemed like a pair of enormous hands trying to hold El Salvador together when it was at the point of breaking into a million pieces. —César Jerez”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“I got into their military truck all equipped with its mounted machine guns. At the hospitalito, Monseñor Romero came out reluctantly to talk with him, and the colonel gave him a speech. “The situation is serious. It’s more than serious! We fear for your life, and we’d like to begin providing protection for you. Right away!” “I appreciate it, but I don’t think it’s necessary for you to make any special efforts to protect me. Truthfully, I don’t think I need it, especially since there are so many other people who need protection . . .” “All right then. But we should send you some instructions on what measures to take and how to protect yourself, so that you can be familiar with the procedures.” “All right. Send them if you like.” “We’ll send them to you right away!” And the colonel stuck his chest out, gave a military salute, and left. But the famed instructions didn’t arrive, not “right away,” not ever. The offer to protect him was pure theater. —Ricardo Urioste”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Whoever’s got a mole on his forehead is as good as dead!” they shouted. Some people tried to get out, but they locked the doors and looked us over one by one. Finally they found the one they were looking for, the boy with the mole. “Here’s the faggot! I found him!” They grabbed him by his neck as though he were an animal. The boy was putting up a fight and resisting, but they had him outnumbered. “I haven’t done anything!” “You’ve been lucky up ’til now, you church-boy son of a bitch!” They pushed him out of the place, beating him the whole way. Then, they threw him on the ground, and right there in front of everybody, they shot him until he was dead. “You, finish him off!” shouted one. And another shot him right in the heart.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“They call me and tell me that if you keep working at the archdiocese, something’s going to happen to you. They say they know your license plate numbers, that they know your every move, that they’re going to search our house . . . They say I should convince you to leave your work or . . .” “Or what . . . ?”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“There were insults, offensive comments, complaints—all of them vulgar. “Son of a bitch, we’re going to drink your blood!” They’d say things like that. Or: “We’re going to crush you to pieces;” “Your days are numbered;” and other things I won’t even repeat. Other letters came without any words—just a Nazi swastika or a white hand over a black piece of paper. It was understood that those were death sentences. There were days when it wasn’t just two or three of these anonymous letters; it was a whole handful of them!”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Tell me his name, and the day he disappeared . . .” I was just torn apart by the time I left those interviews. I felt so powerless! The only thing we could do was to turn those acts of cruelty into news.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“But his greatest pleasure was the circus. That was something he’d brought with him from childhood. There was never a circus in or outside of El Salvador that he knew about that he didn’t go see. “But aren’t you too busy?” I’d say. “Are you going to be able to take the time?” “You get the tickets, and let’s go!” So we’d go to the circus. When the tightrope walker or the trapeze artist would do their jumps and turns way up in the air, he would get so nervous his hands would sweat. But it was a kind of nervousness he enjoyed. He loved it. And the clowns! The ones with names like “Firuliche” and “Chocolate.” A clown would do a couple of silly tricks, and he would just roar with laughter. I never saw him laugh so hard as he did with the clowns. —Salvador Barraza”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Emilio had the pleasure of going back home completely cured and able to tell all of his stories. But there were only a few pleasures left to him in life. He lived for only two more years. A few days before Monseñor Romero was assassinated, the National Guard attacked and burned down his entire cantón, killing him and the rest of his family. —Margarita Herrera”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“I would like it more if you would do me a favor, ma’am. There’s something I’d really like.” “Ask me anything you want, Emilio. Tell me what you want most in life, and I’ll get it for you.” Would he want a bicycle? Or maybe a trip to the ocean? “What is it? Tell me.” “I want to meet Monseñor Romero.” That was what he wanted most in his eight-year-old life.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Is it true that priests have raised your political awareness?” “Reality has raised our political awareness. When we go home after working ourselves to death in the hot sun like beasts of burden, and we don’t even have enough money to buy medicine for our sick child, who do you think is raising our awareness?”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“We were old women, after all. But with the younger girls it was worse. After having them like that, tied up like garrobos, they did vulgar things to them. They stood in line for their turn, as though they were possessed by the devil, and they violated them, you know, in their private parts. One man after another raped them. They even raped the little girls. Menches had a miscarriage. —Mariana Alonso”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“From Gotera they took me to the National Guard headquarters in San Salvador. They held me there for almost two weeks, torturing me and denying me food. There were electric shocks and other things they did that I’d like to forget. Then they sent me to the National Police where it was another dozen days of the same kind of cruelty, maybe worse. They beat me all over my body, stabbing me with an ice pick to make me bleed. When I was full of holes they held a mirror in front of me so that I’d be terrified at the sight of myself and start giving them the names of the “subversive” priests.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“The torture continued in a cell at the Anamorós barracks. And they say that after he was finally released, a few people went to lodge a complaint with the bishop of San Miguel, Eduardo Álvarez. He was Ventura’s immediate superior. He was also a colonel in the Salvadoran Army, and he had neither said nor done anything to defend his priest. When questioned about this, the bishop-colonel responded “theologically.” “But you see, Father Miguel was tortured as a man, not as a priest.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“The last thing I saw as the cars started up to take us out of Aguilares was guardsmen machine-gunning the sanctuary. Then they threw the communion wafers on the floor and stomped them to pieces with their boots. —José Luis Ortega”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Monseñor Romero didn’t even look at Alvarenga when he spoke. He turned to look at me instead. “How have they treated you, Father?” “Do you want me to tell you?” “Yes, yes. Tell the bishop how we’ve treated you,” Alvarenga cut in. “All right. They haven’t given me anything to eat for five days. They’ve kicked the hell out of me, and they had me tied to a bed! And they’ve yet to tell me why I’m here and why they’re doing this to me . . .”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Son of a bitch priest! Now we’ll see if you have a tongue to speak!” He kicked me for ten minutes, just for the hell of it. I was expecting to die, so I hardly felt the blows. He left and I stayed there sprawled on the floor. My whole body ached.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“I was coming back from saying Mass in a little cantón near Nejapa when a National Guardsman stopped me in the street near the Reloj de Flores. “Show me your I.D.!” When they saw I was Panamanian, and a priest to boot, their expressions changed. They looked like dogs that had just found a bone. “What’s this SJ after your name?” “Societatis Jesu.” “What the hell is that?” “Society of Jesus. Jesuit.” “Oh, you’re a Jesuit! Well, face it. You’re in big trouble.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Show me your I.D.!” When they saw I was Panamanian, and a priest to boot, their expressions changed. They looked like dogs that had just found a bone. “What’s this SJ after your name?” “Societatis Jesu.” “What the hell is that?” “Society of Jesus. Jesuit.” “Oh, you’re a Jesuit! Well, face it. You’re in big trouble.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“When I saw Rutilio dead, I thought, ‘If they killed him for what he was doing, it’s my job to go down that same road . . .’ So yes, I changed. But I also came back home again.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Dear listeners, this Wednesday we have with us Monseñor Romero. Today he’s going to answer our questions on the topic of the family . . .” the journalist of the day would begin. Then he would take the reins and never let go of them. Questions followed, then the answers. He always got inspired in front of the microphone. He was crazy about radio.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Tell me then, first of all, does the archbishop know how much a campesino ‘poor-o-tariat’ gets paid for the backbreaking work he does in a day?” “Well, I guess I don’t know exactly . . .” “Three colones, Monseñor! We’re going around ‘exciting’ the campesinos, as you say, so that they’ll pay us two more colones! Now tell me, Monseñor, what would you do if you only had three colones in your pocket for the whole blessed day? I mean, even if you had five! It probably costs more than that just to have your cassock washed.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“MY LITTLE GRANDSON WAS THE FIRST CHILD that Monseñor Romero baptized and confirmed. “You don’t know me,” I said when I arrived at the church for the ceremony. “I’m the grandmother. I want to tell you that I’m with you, and if I can help you in anyway, I’d like to.” He looked at me. “What is your name?” “Aída Parker de Muyshondt.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Reds! Communists!” they said to us; the hatred was so strong that many benefactors withdrew their contributions to the sick. “I’m scaring off your donors,” he would say, upset. He even said that he would leave. But how could we allow him to go?”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“I don’t know why, but he was fond of this place. Soon after he was named archbishop, he came to ask us if he could live here, and our community was very proud to be asked. “It is a great honor for us, Monseñor,” we told him. “Well for me, it’s a great opportunity to have a good place to rest,” he said.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Brothers and sisters, I fear that if Jesus were to return today, walking from Galilea to Judea, which for us is from Chalatenango to San Salvador . . . I dare say that with his words and actions, he’d never get as far as Apopa. They’d arrest him around Guazapa, and they’d treat him badly, even silence him, or have him disappeared!”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic

“Holy Saturday, the Army came back and threw their tortured, lifeless bodies at the entrance to the village. I felt like I would die of frustration and helplessness. On Monday I went to see Eduardo Álvarez, the Bishop of San Miguel. In addition to being a bishop, he was a colonel in the Army with long-established ties to the military. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked when I told him about the killings. “You should go to El Carmen and console the people there. They need it . . .” “They need it?! Ha! Those people were asking for it. Now they’ll just have to take what’s coming to them!” That was his only response. I felt even more powerless, and my anger was starting to choke me.”
― María López Vigil, Monsenor Romero: Memories in Mosaic