Karl Gaspar

I met Karl Gaspar in January. We were both in Geneva for the dialogue between First and Third World theologians which I wrote about in this column a few months ago.

Conferences, I must admit, are not my favorite things. The best part about them, and often the redeeming aspect, is the people you meet. And sometimes, if you are fortunate, a new friendship is made which makes the whole trip worthwhile.

During that week in January, Karl Gaspar and I became friends. The sense of kindred spirit and common struggles came easily and quickly. We are the same age. Both of us have come out of the student movements of the 1960s, he in the Philippines, and now root our activism in a deeply held Christian commitment. We each do theology for the sake of building a grassroots movement in the churches, and both work closely with small "base communities" emerging throughout the church in our two countries.

During the busy conference schedule we found time to take long walks and talk about the gospel and what it means for us. We spoke of our backgrounds, families, theological work, political struggles, and personal lives.

The sometimes academic and overly rhetorical nature of the conference bothered us both. I laughed and then almost cried when Karl carried out his assignment to report from our small group to the plenary session by improvising a drama and dance to convey what we had discussed. His spontaneity and creativity were infectious as Karl brought genuine feeling and joy to the often dry proceedings of the conference.

Karl is indeed a charismatic figure and has a sense of humor that is too rare among those who daily struggle for justice and peace. For our closing worship celebration Karl painted a huge banner which captured the spirit and struggles represented by the conference participants better than all the speeches that had been made. I enjoyed and respected the many facets of my new friend--church worker, activist, artist, musician, dancer, pastor, brother. When we said good-bye, I could feel the personal bond that had been formed. Then we both returned home to our busy lives.

In March I received a letter from Karl. In it he spoke of the friendship between us, saying, "It will take a miracle to get us together again, but the bond between us will remain strong."

Three days later, I got a phone call--Karl had disappeared. Eyewitnesses reported that he had been picked up by the military the day before Palm Sunday.

The days that followed were filled with the efforts of Karl's many friends to draw international attention to his disappearance, for the sake of discovering his whereabouts, protecting his safety, and defending his life. Phone calls and cables were sent to the Philippines. Status inquiries were filed with the State Department by sympathetic members of Congress. The press was alerted.

We did everything we could think of to do. We knew Karl's life was at stake. I even resorted to calling Philippine President Marcos' palace and the Ministry of Defense to register my concern for Karl. They seemed taken aback by an American pastor calling from that distance and being so insistent. "And what is your name?" they wanted to know.

Preoccupation with Karl's well-being became my reflection for Holy Week. Where had they taken him, what had they done to him, is he being tortured, is he still alive? I thought of the painful questions of Holy Week for Karl's family and friends. My prayers for Karl were desperate and intense; I felt helpless.

I fasted through the weekend and later learned that Karl had been fasting too. He was on a hunger strike to protest his illegal detention and the denial of his constitutional rights.

On Easter Sunday, our community had a sunrise service. I did the homily and Eucharist. There was still no news of Karl. As the sun came up, however, I knew that if Karl were still alive, he would be celebrating Easter too. For the first time, I had a deep sense that Karl's faith and God's grace would bring him through.

A few days later, Karl's whereabouts were made known, no doubt in response to all the attention. He had been moved to a detention camp in Manila and was being held on some trumped-up charges of inciting rebellion or the like.

Just today I received a letter from Karl. In it he shared the following reflections:

On March 23, I got a copy of the March [Nicaragua] issue of Sojourners. By March 25 before I went to sleep, I had read it cover to cover....One of the things that really struck me was a quote in the interview of Fr. Miguel [D'Escoto] where he said: "We should always be ready to embrace our cross..."

March 26 I was to be confronted with my challenge to embrace my own cross. I was arrested by the military. For close to two weeks I was confined in a "safehouse" and later put in solitary confinement in a small room in a military camp here in Manila....In our situation, one is guilty until proven innocent. Thus, I will be detained until God knows when.

But don't worry, I'm okay and in fact I feel privileged with this "gift" of detention. It was very significant that all this happened during the Holy Week. I was thus able to enter into Christ's own experience of pain, anguish, agony, despair, suffering, resignation, and hope. And with His grace I was able to embrace my cross fully and survived.... What really was the thread that kept my reflections intact was the image provided by Fr. Miguel, through Sojourners.

I thought of you and prayed for you during my detention as I prayed for all friends. I remembered our long talk at the tower of that old cathedral in the old section of Geneva.... Your kind words helped keep me strong during my long vigil.

I prayed that you and the members of your community grow in strength and courage to face more crucial tests....Maybe one day you can come to the Philippines so we can also have a special issue on the Philippines.

Jim Wallis was editor-in-chief of Sojourners magazine when this article appeared.