helped

Reporting from El Progreso, Honduras — Not long after Jesuit priest Jack Warner met a bearded, 22-year-old Midwesterner in 1980, the two Americans bonded, drawn together by the goals and questions that led them both to El Progreso, a small city not far from vast banana fields — the campos bananeros.

Warner was 35 and had arrived a year earlier to form the Teatro La Fragua, a theater company for Hondurans. As the young priest looked to forge a relationship with the campesinos, his friendship blossomed with Tim Kaine, who had taken a year off from Harvard Law School to join the Jesuit mission.

“He was 22 years old,” Warner said, “and it was the typical thing that a 22-year-old would do: What do I do with my life?”

Kaine, now a 58-year-old U.S. senator from Virginia and the Democratic vice presidential nominee, has often said that his time in Honduras helped him answer that question, giving him “a North Star” to guide his life toward public service. It’s central to his biography and likely to arise Tuesday night when he debates his Republican opponent, Mike Pence.

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When Kaine traveled to Honduras, the nation was in the throes of turmoil, flanked by countries torn by civil war and ruled by the heavy hand of a U.S-backed military bent on stamping out what it perceived to be communism spreading in the region.

“I got a firsthand look at a system — a dictatorship — where a few people at the top had all the power and everyone else got left out,” Kaine said in July at the Democratic National Convention.

He also witnessed extreme poverty. His experiences, coupled with the Jesuit goal of being “men for others,” led him to become a civil-rights lawyer for 17 years, specializing in housing-discrimination cases. Honduras convinced him, he said, “that we’ve got to advance opportunity for everyone.”

Kaine now serves on the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations and this year co-sponsored a bill that would increase aid to Central America’s “Northern Triangle” — Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras.

Key to his experiences in Honduras was the friendship and example of Warner and a handful of other Jesuits. And a Christmastime visit to a poor man’s house taught him a lesson that resonates decades later.

During his time in El Progreso, Kaine lived in a barracks, along with Warner and other Jesuits. After their work days wrapped up about 5 p.m., he and Warner frequently commiserated over office duties, students, the teatro and the poetry Kaine was writing. Warner, a former English teacher, worked with Kaine on his verse. Over time, they became confidants.

Father Jack Warner admires a painting created by an actor who performs in the Teatro la Fragua in El Progreso, Honduras.

(Veronica Rocha / Los Angeles Times )

Both men grew up in the Midwest — Kaine in the Kansas City, Kan., suburb of Overland Park; Warner in St. Louis — and had been drawn to the Jesuit mission of social justice from an early age.

Kaine attended Rockhurst High School for boys, run by Jesuit priests who ran a demanding schedule of daily Masses, theology classes and community service activities with retreats.

Kaine, who earned a bachelor’s degree in economics at the University of Missouri, was at Harvard Law when he began to question his faith and the path he should take in life, he says. Because he had made a brief trip to Honduras in 1974 to deliver donations to the Jesuits, he decided to write them and see whether they could use some help. They said yes.

“He took a rather strong decision to seek out an answer — not everyone comes to Progreso,” Warner said.

Kaine had to tell his law school dean, and his parents, of this new direction. “The dean, not to mention my parents and friends, were confused about what I was doing and even questioned whether I would come back,” Kaine once recalled in a Virginia Tech speech.

By September 1980, Kaine was rumbling along in a bus into northern Nicaragua, where he visited another American Jesuit, Father James Carney. In Honduras months earlier, Carney had encouraged peasants to fight for their land, and he was expelled by the Honduran military, which saw him as one of the leftist priests who embraced liberation theology and the Sandinista revolution in Nicaragua.

Activists, some of them priests or the peasants they worked with, would be banished or killed by authorities. Carney would later disappear in what was believed to be a clandestine Honduran military operation backed by the CIA.

“It was a time when anytime the police stopped you, you got really nervous. You never knew what was going to happen,” Warner recalled. “We were under a military dictatorship at the time and very heavy military control. It was scary, and one had to live very carefully.”

In El Progreso that September, Kaine soon met another Jesuit, Brother James O’Leary, a missionary also from Missouri.

O’Leary, who died in 2002, was often described as an outspoken, occasionally cranky but also skilled carpenter, painter and electrician who built houses and chapels for the poor. Kaine worked with him at his Loyola Technical Vocational Center, helping to boost the school’s enrollment and teaching carpentry and welding. As a youngster, Kaine had picked up skills working in his father’s ironworking shop in the Kansas City area.

Kaine declined to be interviewed for this story, but in a speech at the 2008 Democratic National Convention, he recalled what O’Leary taught him.

“I learned from a great mentor there, Brother Jim O’Leary, that faith is about more than words or doctrine — it’s about action,” he said. “And that led me to spend my life in public service.”

One of Kaine’s former students at the vocational center, Alex Hernandez Monroy, recalled the daily lessons in carpentry and welding from the shaggy-haired young American.

“His Spanish wasn’t very good, but despite all that he interacted with us,” said Hernandez Monroy, then 13 and now 48. Although Kaine couldn’t pronounce certain words, the students appreciated his efforts.

“Something very important that he did was that he visited the families of the students,” he said. “We were not used to interacting with Americans, so it had an impression on us to see someone like him educating us.”

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Using some of the skills he learned from Kaine and O’Leary, Hernandez Monroy teaches carpentry to a group of 15 students at the school. “They taught us that we could help our kids,” he said. “The majority of our youth are at risk, so that left an impression on us.”

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About 35,000 people lived in El Progreso in 1980, when it was dominated by the presence of the United Fruit Co., the world’s largest — and often exploitative — banana company. Today it has a population of about 200,000, and the winding roads leading to the city are lined by brightly colored, one-story concrete homes.

During Kaine’s time there, however, it was a collection of dusty, rural villages and banana camps, with mountaintop towns accessible only by foot or mule. As a center for union activity, it became a target of the communism-fearing Reagan administration.

While war raged in neighboring El Salvador and Nicaragua, Honduras remained calm — but was gripped in fear. It was the staging ground for many of the United States’ clandestine operations aimed at toppling other governments.

People dared not speak about activism or union organizing lest they risk being among those who “disappeared.” More than a dozen priests were killed in the 1970s and 1980s after being associated with liberation theology, considered a Marxist-tinged doctrine that preached to the poor.

While Catholic priests in Central America were attacked for advocating on behalf of the poor, Kaine maintained a low profile and didn’t attract notice from the military.

Warner, a slender man with gray shoulder-length hair, recalled Kaine’s time in Honduras during a recent interview at the theater in El Progreso.

“His interest was in the students and what he was doing in his work, which is what we were all doing,” Warner said. “Trying to figure how we can do the work without being kicked out of the country for exploring it.”

Kaine also saw poverty and expressed his feelings about it through writing, as did Warner.

The priest maintained a daily newsletter with accounts of poverty and life in El Progreso. “We all have our defenses to shut out the existence of human misery, most of which consist of closing our eyes and pretending it doesn’t exist,” Warner wrote in a December 1980 newsletter. “Hopelessness then becomes a way of life for both parties.”

Warner published one of Kaine’s poems, titled “Still Life,” in which he described the “thick misery” of the town of San Pedro Sula. “In the saddest slum of San Pedro, lives are played out in the shade of a highway where buses glide like lost thoughts overhead.”

He likened the challenges, or “questions marks” facing the town to fingers testing the wind. “Each predicts change that just won’t come.”

Kaine spent nine months in El Progreso before returning to Harvard. He has kept in occasional touch with Warner and has returned to Honduras several times, most recently last year. This year, he and 25 senators called for an end to immigration raids in the U.S. targeting women and children who were fleeing violence in Honduras, Guatemala and El Salvador.

When he accepted the nomination for vice president, Kaine said that the three basic values he absorbed in Honduras hold true today: “Fe, familia y trabajo.” Faith, family and work.

Students take a break before heading to class to learn carpentry at Loyola Technical Vocational Center, where Tim Kaine volunteered, in El Progreso, Honduras.

(Veronica Rocha / Los Angeles Times )

“I came to understand the power of faith and communal worship,” Kaine said at Virginia Tech in 2006. “I learned how to speak Spanish and began to understand how the things which can seem to divide us — like language and skin color — were so much smaller than the dreams and fears that unite us.”

Kaine also has repeatedly recalled what became one of his most indelible memories of Honduras.

He and Father Jarrell Wade, a Jesuit known as Father Patricio, had traveled by mule to visit a dirt-poor family around Christmas. As they prepared to leave, the husband handed Wade a bag. “Merry Christmas, padre,” he said.

Inside the worn bag were fruits and vegetables he had saved for the priest. Wade took the bag and thanked him.

Kaine was appalled and angered that the priest would take food from such a poor family — “I was fuming” — until Wade imparted the lesson: “You must be really humble to accept a gift of food from a poor person, and the most important thing in life is the ability to give.”

veronica.rocha@latimes.com

Twitter: @VeronicaRochaLA

Times staff writer Tracy Wilkinson in Washington contributed to this report.

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Washington, DC – More than 40 years ago, United States civil rights leader Jesse Jackson called on the Democratic Party to open its doors and welcome “the desperate, the damned, the disinherited, the disrespected and the despised”.

This included Arab Americans and Palestinian rights supporters, who have suffered from decades of racism, demonisation and marginalisation.

Advocates in those communities say that Jackson, who died on Tuesday at the age of 84, helped elevate their voices over his decades-long career.

“I don’t think there’s a way to tell the Arab Americans’ political empowerment story without understanding the path that Reverend Jackson created for us,” said Maya Berry, executive director of the Arab American Institute (AAI).

In 1984, Jackson appointed Arab American activist James Zogby as one of his deputy campaign managers as he mounted a bid for the presidency. Zogby would later found the AAI.

Jackson’s campaign also actively courted Arab Americans and amplified calls for Palestinian self-determination in an era when unquestioning support for Israel was the default position in US politics.

Berry said Jackson always rejected pressure to disassociate from Arab Americans who view Palestine as a focal issue.

“He understood that the fight for justice was one that had to be done when it was both hard and easy. Our country has lost a giant,” she told Al Jazeera.

The party platform

Jackson launched a second campaign for president in 1988, winning 13 states, including Michigan and much of the South, in the Democratic primary.

He ultimately lost the nomination to then-Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis. Still, Jackson’s campaign catapulted Palestinian rights into the national discourse.

Zogby and other Jackson delegates at the Democratic National Convention rallied to include support for Palestinian statehood in the party’s platform that year.

While the push eventually fell short at the national level, 11 state parties adopted platforms expressing support for “the rights of the Palestinian people to safety, self-determination and an independent state”.

Jackson’s relative success in the primary also led to the appointment of an Arab-American activist, Texan Ruth Ann Skaff, to the Democratic National Committee (DNC), the party’s executive board.

At the time, Skaff faced unfounded accusations of anti-Semitism for her pro-Palestinian stance, not to mention calls to be removed from the committee.

But in an interview with Al Jazeera, she said she was just a local organiser from Houston, Texas, not a high-level political operative.

She explained that Jackson’s embrace of the Arab-American community rang “true to his message of wanting to empower those who do not have power or who are excluded”.

She also recalled him being humorous and approachable.

“We were learning how to organise, how to spread the message and then take it to the next step of being active politically at the very local level. And he guided us and inspired us the entire way,” Skaff said.

Born in South Carolina in 1941, under the racial segregation of the Jim Crow laws, Jackson was dedicated to civil rights from a young age.

He was considered a talented public speaker, and as a pre-teen, he became a protege of the civil rights icon Martin Luther King Jr.

A central part of his national platform was to stress the need for a broad coalition of communities to come together and demand equal rights.

Jackson moved to Chicago in 1965, where he founded the civil rights and community empowerment movement that became known as the Rainbow/PUSH Coalition.

Even after his presidential run, Jackson remained close with the Arab community.

Hatem Abudayyeh, the executive director of the Arab American Action Network (AAAN) in Illinois, praised Jackson as “a tried-and-true Chicagoan, one of us, who opened the doors to Rainbow/PUSH for Palestinians and Arabs in Chicagoland”.

“Under his leadership, Black, Latino, Asian, Arab and so many other communities worked together for racial, economic, and social justice,” Abudayyeh told Al Jazeera in a statement.

“He never shied away from solid and principled solidarity with our Palestinian and Arab communities,” he added. “We mourn today with our friends in the Black community, and with all those who will carry on his fight.”

Support for Gaza protesters

Nabih Ayad, the founder of the Arab American Civil Rights League (ACRL), said Jackson was one of the first leaders to shine light on the plight of Palestinians at the national stage.

He also worked on other issues related to the Arab community. In 2015, for instance, Jackson lobbied for the admission and resettlement of Syrian refugees, despite opposition from Republican governors.

The ACRL, based in the Michigan suburb of Dearborn, hosted Jackson on a panel to highlight the refugees’ plight. Ayad said Jackson’s message was that “justice is universal”.

“It was an honour to cross his path and be able to see a giant like Jesse Jackson really caring about the little people, the small guys, about injustice wherever it happens, no matter where it is around the world,” Ayad told Al Jazeera.

This drive to address injustice drove Jackson to speak up for Palestinians even when it may have cost him politically, according to Ayad.

Jackson’s Rainbow/PUSH Coalition organised an emergency summit in 2024 to call for a ceasefire during Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza.

Later that year, he voiced support for pro-Palestine protests on college campuses, writing in the University of Chicago’s newspaper, The Chicago Maroon, that the student leaders “represent the best of our nation”.

Matthew Jaber Stiffler, the director of the Center for Arab Narratives, a research institution, said Jackson helped the Arab community feel “seen”. He, too, highlighted the political costs of championing Palestinian rights.

“Even just saying, ‘I support the rights for Palestinians to exist in the national political sphere,’ could get you branded as a radical, could get you pushed to the margins,” Stiffler told Al Jazeera.

“Mainstream candidates didn’t – and still don’t – really want that plank in their platform. And I think that’s why there was such love for Jesse Jackson and what he stood for, because he was not afraid.”

‘Work that has to be done’

In the decades since Jackson’s presidential campaigns, Palestine has become less of a taboo subject in US politics. Congress members, mayors and celebrities have become vocal in criticising Israeli abuses.

Still, the leadership of the Democratic and Republican parties have avoided publicly supporting Palestinian rights. During the 2024 presidential race, for instance, both major parties adopted staunchly pro-Israel platforms.

The campaign of Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris even refused to allow a Palestinian speaker at the party’s convention that year.

The flow of US money and weapons to Israel has also continued uninterrupted, despite the horrific atrocities in Gaza.

Furthermore, since taking office in January 2025, the administration of President Donald Trump has led a crackdown on Palestinian rights advocates, threatening foreign-born activists with deportation and other penalties.

Berry said that while the current conditions are challenging, Jackson taught the community to overcome barriers and build its power.

“I think that the lessons and the legacy of someone like Reverend Jackson teaches us that this is work that has to be done,” she told Al Jazeera.

For her part, Skaff said Jackson wanted Arab Americans to stand up and let their message be known.

“We’re stronger when we’re united and when we exercise our rights and responsibilities as American citizens: to stand up, to speak out, to run for office, to vote, vote, vote, vote,” she told Al Jazeera.