Jane Sawyer
- August 18th, 2024
Thank you Bonnie and Bob for your tributes.
I was deeply moved when I heard of Jean's murder. I have not forgotten her nor will I ever.
I went to Religious Instructions with her. I remember her being very friendly and genuine.
I am in agreement that there needs to be more recognition of her. Jean is considered a martyr by Roman Catholics. But regardless of religious beliefs, she demonstrated a pure love that can be appreciated universally.
Rest in peace, Jean.
Bonnie Housner Erickson
- November 24th, 2022
The Westport News, Woog's World - Remembering Jean Donovan, by Dan Woog, 12/14/07
The holidays are supposed to be a joyful time -- a month-long celebration of love and kindness, family and friends. It is a difficult period, however, for anyone who ever lost someone dear around this time. Amid the parties and celebrations, the colors and life, some Westporters are reminded only of death.
December always reminds John Suggs of Jean Donovan. She died in 1980, he remembers. And every December he wonders why more Westporters don't recall, and mourn, Jean Donovan, too.
Jean Donovan grew up in Westport. Her father was an executive at United Technologies; she rode a horse, joined the Girl Scouts, played field hockey and passed through Long Lots Junior High School and Staples High School. She graduated in 1971, relatively untouched by the antiwar, sex-drugs-and-rock 'n' roll '60s. She went on to Mary Washington College, majored in economics, earned a master's degree in information sciences from Case Western Reserve University, and looked forward to a successful business career.
Instead she became one of the most famous religious lay workers in the world.
During a year in Ireland, a charismatic priest committed to helping the Latin American poor challenged her to do the same. Quitting her job as a management consultant with Arthur Andersen, she joined the Maryknoll religious order in 1978.
Assigned to El Salvador, she witnessed firsthand that government's brutal war against the disaffected peasants. She buried the bodies of dead villagers and helped distraught relatives search for missing loved ones. She was deeply affected by the murder of Archbishop Oscar Romero, and two close friends. The brutality she saw only intensified her efforts to help those on the margins of society.
According to The Life and Example of Jean Donovan by Rev. John Dear, a Jesuit peace activist, in November of 1980 she noticed a U.S. military helicopter following her. She told the U.S. ambassador about it. When he denied that American helicopters were in the country, she told him her father had spent his life helping build them. She knew the exact name and model of the craft.
On Dec. 2, 1980, she was driving a bus carrying three nuns. In a remote area, members of Salvadoran military death squads forced it off the road. Two days later, the bodies of the four women were found in a makeshift grave. They had been tortured, raped and shot at close range. Jean Donovan's face was completely destroyed. She was 27 years old.
A United Nations Truth Commission investigated who gave the orders, who approved the killings and who covered them up. Eventually, it was learned that several death squad soldiers had been trained at the U.S. Army School of the Americas in Fort Benning, Ga. Subsequent publicity shined a light on foreign policy decisions of the Carter, Reagan and George H.W. Bush administrations, all of which had supported El Salvador's right-wing military government.
Melissa Gilbert played Jean Donovan in a 1983 television movie, Choices of the Heart. At least two plays have also been written about the women's murders.
But, says John Suggs, Jean Donovan has been virtually forgotten in her own home town.
St. Luke Church -- her home parish -- has no memorial to her. There is no plaque at Staples High School. In fact, Suggs says, "the only place in Fairfield County I have successfully managed to discover her memory recalled and her photograph displayed is at the Fairfield University campus ministry office. But that shouldn't be too surprising, considering that the Jesuits also lost members to the El Salvador military death squads."
Suggs says that in progressive Catholic social justice networks, "Jean Donovan is considered a saint." At least two organizations have honored her memory in tangible ways. A Jean Donovan Summer Fellowship at Santa Clara University -- a Jesuit school -- supports students interested in social justice, while in Los Angeles the Casa Jean Donovan Community Residence houses members of the Jesuit Volunteer Corps.
Yet in Westport, Suggs insists, "she is all but forgotten. I don't doubt that there are still a few people living here who remember her and mourn her passing each December. But they, like me, are forced to mourn her alone in the silence of their hearts because her town, her school, her parish church have all forgotten."
While he mourns the deaths of the many priests, nuns, lay workers and common Salvadorans killed by the military death squads, Jean Donovan's is particularly painful and profound. "Perhaps because of her youth," he says, "or perhaps because of her role as a volunteer, she was always so easily identifiable to me and countless others who would ultimately devote a portion of our own lives and energies over the years, volunteering in local and international grassroots social justice peace efforts."
Suggs says that remembering Jean Donovan this year is particularly important, because the circumstances of her death are both timely and topical. He cites a Los Angeles Times story suggesting that American military planners' fallback strategy for Iraq -- including a gradual withdrawal of forces and renewed emphasis on training Iraqi fighters -- is based in part on the U.S. experience in El Salvador in the 1980s.
"Years after, the U.S. role in El Salvador remains controversial," the Times piece notes. "Some academics have argued that the U.S. military turned a blind eye to government-backed death squads, or even aided them. But former advisors and military historians argue that the U.S. gradually professionalized the Salvadoran army and curbed the government's abuses."
Suggs's stance is clear. He wants Westporters to be reminded that "all the terrible things that are currently being done in Iraq in all of our names had, in a sad and tragic way, part of its genesis right here in Westport -- in the bright, happy face of a little girl named Jean Donovan."
The Iraq-El Salvador connection may not be clear for years. But for now, let's heed Suggs's call. This holiday season, amid the carols and greeting cards that blithely call for "peace on earth," let's take a moment to recall Jean Donovan: a young woman from our small corner of the planet who, 27 years ago this month, gave her life for that very cause.
Westporter and author Dan Woog can be contacted at dwoog@optonline.net
Bonnie Housner Erickson
- November 24th, 2022
Westport News, 'Westport's own Catholic martyr'; Remembering Jean Donovan 40 years later, by Jarret Lotta and Katrina Koerting, Dec 11, 2020
Despite the tragedy of her death 40 years ago, Jean Donovan remains an inspiration to the congregation of Assumption Church and beyond.
On Sunday the church shared its annual remembrance of Donovan, who was a member of the congregation decades ago.
"She's a Westport kid and we're humbled by the fact that she's one of us," said Bill Macnamara, grand knight of Westport's Knights of Columbus Council 3688, which led a color guard in her honor at the beginning of Sunday's service, which was also broadcast remotely.
She also belonged to St. Luke's across town, where she was confirmed after her family moved while she was growing up.
"I never had the pleasure of knowing her, but we honor her," Macnamara said. "This parish honors her every year because she received Holy Communion here. She went to Assumption grammar school. ... So it's a big deal."
Donovan, then 27, was raped and murdered on Dec. 2, 1980, along with three nuns - Maura Clarke, Ita Ford and Dorothy Kazel. They were some of the first Americans killed in El Salvador's civil war. Five members of the El Salvador National Guard were later convicted in the crimes. The women's deaths resonated within religious and political communities and have been well-documented and depicted in many books and movies.
"We are here to celebrate the life and legacy of a great woman," The Rev. Cyrus Bartolome said, keeping his own remarks about her brief but noting a scroll had been prepared by Cathy Romano, director of religious education, for congregants to take home to read about Donovan.
Since 2017, a large plaque has also adorned the vestibule inside the main doors of the sanctuary, recounting Donovan's life and legacy.
"It's powerful," said Romano, who like Donovan is a Westport native.
"She had the Westport dream," she said. "She had the college and she had the job, but she heard God speaking to her, saying 'Help my people.'"
Donovan left her job as a management consultant with Arthur Anderson, just a few years before her death so she could do missionary work.
"We're honoring a true martyr of the church," said Deacon Bill Koniers, who spoke briefly of her to the congregation in relation to the second Sunday of Advent, which for the Catholic religion in part reflects on God's plan for individuals.
"Jean consciously stepped away from a promising business career to serve the poor and downtrodden," Koniers said.
It's this aspect that seems to have resonated most with people and one of the reasons she is featured among the four women, said John F. Suggs, a Westport resident and former Jesuit who has worked to keep her memory alive.
"She's easier to identify with than someone who makes a lifetime commitment as a sister," he said.
Her dedication to the people there and staying despite her fears is also another touching detail for many. She wrote a letter to a friend in Connecticut just a couple weeks before she was killed, describing how the Peace Corps had left El Salvador due to the increased danger and how she had considered leaving too.
"I almost could, except for the children, the poor, bruised victims of this insanity," Donavan wrote. "Who would care for them? Whose heart could be so staunch as to favor the reasonable thing in a sea of their tears and loneliness? Not mine, dear friend, not mine."
These words now hang in the church on the plaque.
"She could have left," Romano said. "She heard the uprising was getting bad, and she didn't. She gave her life for her faith."
Suggs said Donovan's and the nuns' deaths had a great impact on his life.
"I remember the day she passed vividly," he said.
He didn't know her personally, but news of their deaths stuck with him. He was 19 at the time and in college. A few years later he would start his training to become a Catholic priest.
"Their example and their commitment has resonated for me," he said, adding especially Donovan's. "She was unique among the four."
Suggs has spent a lot of time researching Donovan's life so that he can preserve her memory. He learned she would bake chocolate chip cookies for Archbishop Oscar Romero on Sundays and attended his funeral when he was assassinated not long before she was. He also learned about her life in Westport and how she used to work in a stable.
"She was clearly independent-minded," he said. "Obviously, they all knew fear, but they knew how to overcome those fears."
Donovan knew it was dangerous but thought she had some security when she volunteered because of her nationality, Suggs said.
"She would say she was safe because she's a blond hair, blue-eyed American and no one would touch her because of the relationship between the Americans and El Salvadoran military," he said.
That changed when President Jimmy Carter lost reelection, becoming a lame duck president before President Ronald Reagan took office. Attacks then began on the American missionaries in El Salvador, who the military viewed were there for political reasons, he said.
"It's taken years and years for justice to be brought to this case," he said.
The United Nations truth commission completed a report in the 1990s that examined the civil war in El Slavador, dedicating a section to what happened to the women. It also concluded that high-ranking officials not only knew about, but covered up, many of these crimes.
"When I got here in Westport, I was surprised that it was 20 years after her death and she was only really remembered in people's hearts," Suggs said.
He started writing pieces about her for local publications and worked with her classmates and community members to create a plaque honoring her memory. Once that work started, more people began to share their stories of Donovan.
She's remembered in other parts of the country as well, with a community home and fellowship named for her at Santa Clara Univserity, a Jesuit school.
"This brave woman is Westport's own Catholic martyr," Koniers said. "She came from Westport. She lived here. She received her first Holy Communion here."
"May her service to the poor continue to be an inspiration to all of us," Konier told the congregation.
Bob Powers
- August 3rd, 2022
JEAN DONOVAN, LAY MISSIONER MARTYRED IN 1980
40 years after her martyrdom, Jean Donovan’s example continues to inspire.
BY MARYKNOLL LAY MISSIONERS | NOV 6, 2020
Jean Donovan, the youngest of the four U.S. church women martyred in El Salvador on December 2, 1980, was born on April 10, 1953.
She was the younger of two children and raised in an upper middle class family in Westport, Connecticut. Her father, Raymond, was an executive engineer, and later chief of design, at the nearby Sikorsky Aircraft Division of the United Technologies, a large defense contractor for the U.S. and manufacturer of helicopters used in the Vietnam War. Jean was very close to her brother, Michael, and was deeply affected when he was struck with Hodgkin’s disease, from which he made a complete recovery. The experience of the disease and his courageous battle to conquer it left a strong impression on Jean and, as she said later, gave her a deeper sense of the preciousness of life.
JEAN’S JOURNEY TO MISSION
Jean received a master’s degree in business administration from Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, then took a job as management consultant for an accounting firm in Cleveland. She was on her way to a successful business career. Not the shy or withdrawn type, Jean was described by friends as outgoing, a “driver,” a “joker,” who often did outrageous things to get attention. Her mother, Patricia, described her as “a gutsy, loving, caring person.” She loved riding her motorcycle and was once known for pouring scotch, her drink of choice, over her cereal in the morning.
Her spirit and generosity drew loyal friends, who later were left to grapple with the choices Jean made. But Jean was not content and began a search for some deeper meaning in life. While volunteering in the Cleveland Diocese’s Youth Ministry, she heard about the diocesan mission project in El Salvador. It was what she was looking for. Jean attributed her decision to “a gut feeling,” and said, “I want to get closer to Him, and that’s the only way I think I can.”
The director of the mission program, Maryknoll Sister Mary Anne O’Donnell, described Jean as intelligent, loving and apostolic and believed that, despite (or rather, because of) her fun-loving, hard-living ways, she had the signs of being a good missioner. Jean had also been much affected by time she had spent in Ireland as an exchange student, where a priest who befriended her, Father Michael Crowley, a former missionary in Peru, introduced her to a different world, the world of those living at the margins and a life of faith committed to a more radical following of the example of Jesus of Nazareth. Jean was haunted by what she experienced there, and this brought her to question the values of her own life.
Her preparation included participating in the orientation program of the Maryknoll lay missioner Class of the Spring of 1979 at Maryknoll, New York.
IN EL SALVADOR
Jean Donovan arrived in El Salvador in July 1979, a time when the repression was intensifying and the church had become a major target. She became Caritas coordinator for the diocesan mission program. In addition to keeping the books, she worked in La Libertad with Ursuline Sister Dorothy Kazel, distributing food for displaced and poor persons and carrying out family-education programs.
Her mother, Patricia, said of her work, “Jean took her commitment to the campesinos very seriously. She was strongly motivated by St. Francis of Assisi and by Archbishop Óscar Romero. She translated God’s teachings into clothing the poor, feeding the hungry, and caring for the wounded refugees, mainly children who had lost what little they had.”
As for the people of La Libertad, they loved Jean Donovan and dubbed her, “St. Jean the Playful.”
Jean was very devoted to Archbishop Romero, often coming to the cathedral on Sundays to hear his homilies, which at that time were the only source of news and truth left in El Salvador. After his assassination, Jean and Dorothy were among those who took turns keeping vigil at his coffin. And they were present in the cathedral on March 30, 1980, when the overflow crowd in the plaza attending his funeral was attacked by security forces, resulting in a panicked stampede. The massacre left 44 dead and hundreds of wounded. As Jean sat crowded among the desperate people who fled into the cathedral for safety, she fully believed that she might die that day.
The repression touched her in other very personal ways. Friends were killed by death squads, and she witnessed one such killing first-hand. In the fall of 1980 Jean took a break from this tense reality to attend the wedding of a friend in Ireland. There she was reunited for a time with her fiancé, Dr. Douglas Cable. Many of her friends tried to persuade her to leave El Salvador, but she comforted them with the quip, “They don’t kill blond-haired, blue-eyed North Americans.”
On her way back from the wedding, Jean stopped at Maryknoll, where, a friend later told Donovan’s parents, she spent several hours in the chapel. She confessed her fear that she might be killed.
Jean Donovan icon
Holy New Martyr Jean Donovan, icon by William Hart McNichols
“When she came out [of the chapel],” her mother recalled, “the sister said that she was an entirely different woman. She was ready to go back. She had made her peace with whatever frightening thoughts she had.” After also visiting Cleveland and her parents in Miami, she returned to El Salvador to pick up the bodies, console the grieving, and lead the poor in prayer. “Life continues with many interruptions,” she wrote. “I don’t know how the poor survive. People in our positions really have to die to ourselves and our wealth to gain the spirituality of the poor and oppressed.”
Jean and Dorothy often used their very visible presence to accompany people in danger, or to get supplies into areas not accessible to others. They became a well-known sight, driving along the countryside in their mission van. As the violence engulfed the country, Jean felt the personal challenge of trying to cope, to understand what was happening. It tested her faith.
“I think that the hardship one endures maybe is God’s way of taking you out into the desert and to prepare you to meet and love him more fully.” And while she had been a loyal patriotic Republican, she also saw the direct connection between the violence in El Salvador and the policies of the U.S.
Ronald Reagan won the presidential election in November 1980 promising a strong stand against “communism.” The Salvadoran government got the message. Patricia remembers that “things grew progressively worse in El Salvador after the United States election…The military believed they were given a blank check, no restrictions. In light of what happened, who’s to say they weren’t? Jean had told us that she feared there would be a bloodbath in El Salvador.”
In November, while riding her motor bike, Donovan noticed a U.S. military helicopter following her. The U.S. ambassador denied that U.S. helicopters were in El Salvador, but much to his chagrin, Donovan knew the name and model because her father had spent his life helping to build them.
Two weeks before she was murdered, with the bloodbath already begun, she wrote to a friend in Connecticut: “Several times I have decided to leave El Salvador. I almost could except for the children, the poor bruised victims of this insanity. Who would care for them? Whose heart would be so staunch as to favor the reasonable thing in a sea of their tears and helplessness? Not mine, dear friend, not mine.”
JEAN DONOVAN'S MARTYRDOM
On December 2, 1980, Jean accompanied Dorothy to the airport in San Salvador, El Salvador, to pick up two Maryknoll Sisters, Ita Ford and Maura Clarke, flying in from Nicaragua. As the four women left the airport, they were taken by soldiers, raped, killed and buried in shallow graves in a rural area about 15 miles away from the airport. Two days later their bodies were discovered. Donovan’s face was completely destroyed. She was 27 years old.
These brutal murders of four missioner women martyrs shocked the world. As Father John Dear said in 2010,“Jean Donovan was a modern-day martyr, losing her life while caring for the poor in the midst of El Salvador’s bloody civil war. Thirty years later, her memory continues to inspire.”
For the family of Jean Donovan, her death was an indescribable blow. When she had first told them she was going to El Salvador, they had to pull out a map to find out where it was. Now they had lost their only daughter in this tiny country that had become a major focus of U.S. foreign policy.
But Jean’s death was not the only blow; following her death they had to deal with what for them became the betrayal by the very government they thought embodied values of justice and political good. As they approached the State Department for information, they were treated coolly, then with hostility. Eventually they were told to stop bothering State Department officials.
In April 1981, at a hearing before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, all but one Republican Senator left the room when Michael appeared to testify. The final insult came when the Donovans received a bill from the State Department for $3,500 for the return of Jean’s body to the U.S. The scandal of the way the U.S. government treated this case, including Reagan administration officials accusing the women of “running a roadblock,” of engaging in “an exchange of fire,” of being “not just nuns…but political activists,” enraged the Donovans and other families of the women.
As levels of U.S. military aid escalated, Jean’s mother wrote, “Jean deserves, at the very least, that her native land not reward her killers.” The head of the National Guard, whose troops were responsible for the murders, Gen. Eugenio Vides Casanova, went on to become Minister of Defense under the “democratic” government of José Napoleon Duarte (1984-89).
Jean’s time in El Salvador led her to those fundamental challenges of the meaning of life, of faith, in a world torn by injustice and violence against the poorest, the most vulnerable.
It was a personal challenge. “I’m 26 years old. I should be married. I shouldn’t be running around doing all of these things. But then I think, I’ve got so many things I want to do. It’s hard when I see my friends getting married and having babies, that’s something I’ve thought about…am I ever going to have kids? Sometimes I wonder if I’m denying that to myself. I really don’t want to, but that’s maybe what I’m doing. And then I sit there and talk to God and say, why are you doing this to me? Why can’t I just be your little suburban housewife? He hasn’t answered yet.”
