A Heavy Burden

When we entered the camp, he was the first one who caught my eye. He was only a boy, but he was carrying an automatic rifle over his shoulder. He was shy, but very curious about our group. Wherever we went, he followed a short way behind. I found myself looking back over my shoulder again and again. Whenever my eyes caught his, he would smile. He stayed with us as we were led around the camp.

We were in the La Estancia refugee settlement near Jalapa, Nicaragua. The boy is part of the citizen militia which is trying to defend the people of Nicaragua's northern frontier from terrorist attacks led by the contras, the mercenary army backed by the United States government.

I knew that the militia includes many children as well as 80-year-olds. And I'd even seen kids with guns before, in the inner city of Washington, D.C. But he really captured my attention.

I am deeply committed to nonviolence. And to see a little kid with a rifle on his shoulder was very hard. He looked so frail and vulnerable to me. I just wanted to pick him up and tell him it's going to be okay. But it's not okay, so he has to carry a gun.

I wanted to talk to him, so I hung back a little from the group and waited for him to catch up. A priest translated for me as I asked him some questions.

I introduced myself and asked him his name. "My name is Agenor."

"How old are you?"

"I'm 13 years old." He went on to tell me that he lives in the settlement there with his family. He's one of six children. He said he had been in the militia only for a little while and that he was on the night watch.

"Do you carry the gun all the time?" I asked him.

"Every day," he replied.

"How do you feel about carrying such a heavy gun all day long?"

"I'm happy because everybody is here. I like to live here. I can defend my family with this in case they are attacked, and that makes me happy."

Agenor told me he hadn't yet been in any combat and had only used the gun in practice. He told me he goes to school there in the settlement and is in the third grade.

"What do you like best about school?" I asked him.

"Everything," he replied.

"What do you think the revolution means? How are things different now?" I asked.

"The revolution has made me happy because we can do everything now. Before there was nothing, we couldn't do anything. We had nothing to eat. Nothing to harvest. We couldn't build houses and live like we're living now. Now it's much better."

"And your family?" I asked.

"They are happy now. Before there was nothing for the children to eat. Now there is."

Agenor carried the gun the whole time we were there. It's a heavy gun for such a little kid. And this is the army that is supposedly going to take over all of Central America, that threatens the security of the United States. Obviously a crack, professional, Soviet-trained force we're dealing with here—13-year-old kids with old shoes, ragged clothes, and blue baseball caps.

He is just like the kids in our neighborhood who run up and down the street all day playing ball. But he's not playing ball, he's carrying an automatic weapon over his shoulder. The whole time I just wanted to put my arm around him.

This is what we've done to Nicaragua. We are making it necessary for little kids to carry guns on their backs. We are the ones who put such a heavy burden on these children.

When it came time for the Eucharist later that day, the priest said, "Let the future of the community come forward." He asked all the children to gather around the table because they would be the first to be served. I looked for my 13-year-old friend. He was like a typical 13-year-old, not sure whether he should come forward, not sure whether he was still a child or was too grown up to come with the rest of the children. He started forward, then hesitated, then started again. Finally he went, deciding that he was still one of the children. He stood at the edge of the circle of children and received communion, wearing his blue baseball cap and the rifle over his shoulder.

I didn't know what to say to Agenor or to his family. I believe in nonviolence but the source of the violence here is not 13-year-old kids with guns on their backs. The source is all that causes children to feel that they must carry weapons to defend themselves and their families.

I don't think I'll forget Agenor soon. I brought his picture back home with me and put it up on my wall, so that the memory of his face wouldn't go away.

That boy and so many others like him are a big part of the reason why we went to Nicaragua and why we will continue to go until our government stops making war on innocent families, Agenor's and all others. We will go until he can stop carrying that rifle on his back and instead play ball or do whatever 13-year-old Nicaraguan boys would really like to do.

Jim Wallis is editor-in-chief of Sojourners magazine.