presidential

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.”

Their debate might not matter much, but Mike Pence and Tim Kaine would be key White House players »

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.”

::

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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March 12 (UPI) — Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva and right-wing Sen. Flávio Bolsonaro are tied for the first time for a potential runoff after the Oct. 4 presidential election, according to a poll released Wednesday. A runoff would be Oct. 25.

The survey found each candidate with 41% support in a hypothetical second round.

Bolsonaro, a member of the Liberal Party and son of former President Jair Bolsonaro, leads among voters who identify as independent, a shift that could give him an edge.

Among independents, Bolsonaro gained 6 percentage points and would lead Lula 32% to 27% in a runoff scenario. Another 36% said they would not vote and 5% were undecided.

The gap between the two candidates has narrowed steadily, from 10 points in December to seven in January, five in February and zero in March, according to the survey conducted by polling firm Quaest and commissioned by Genial Investimentos.

Similar trends have appeared in other recent polls. A Datafolha survey published Saturday showed Lula with 46% support compared with 43% for Bolsonaro.

Quaest tested first- and second-round scenarios with eight potential candidates. In first-round simulations, Lula leads in two scenarios and is statistically tied with Bolsonaro in five others. Lula’s support ranges between 36% and 39%, while Bolsonaro’s support ranges between 30% and 35%.

Felipe Nunes, Quaest’s director, said Bolsonaro’s gradual rise began after his father publicly named him as a potential candidate in December.

“Flávio has managed to consolidate Bolsonaro’s electorate. He has grown among right-wing voters and improved his performance among independent voters,” Nunes said, according to news website O Globo.

The poll also showed worsening public assessments of the government and the economy.

Both Lula and Bolsonaro face high rejection rates, with 56% of respondents saying they would not vote for Lula and 55% saying the same about Bolsonaro.

“The shift over time is striking. In December, Lula had much greater potential and lower rejection. Now, both have similar levels,” Nunes said.

The survey found 48% of Brazilians believe the economy has worsened over the past 12 months, while 24% say it has improved. In February, negative perceptions stood at 43%.

Gavin Newsom and Kamala Harris have long circled one another.

The two moved in the same political slipstream, wooed the same set of Democratic donors and, for a time, even shared the same group of campaign advisors.

Harris rose from San Francisco district attorney to elected positions in Sacramento and Washington before twice running unsuccessfully for president.

Newsom climbed from San Francisco mayor to lieutenant governor to California’s governorship, where he quietly stewed as Harris leapfrogged past him into the vice presidency. While she served in the White House, Newsom tried any number of ways to insinuate himself into the national spotlight.

Now both have at least one eye on the Oval Office, setting up a potential clash of egos and ambition that’s been decades in the making.

Newsom, whose term as governor expires in January, has been auditioning for president from practically the moment the polls closed in 2024 and horrified Democrats realized Harris had lost to Donald Trump.

Harris, who’s mostly focused on writing and promoting her campaign autobiography — while giving a political speech here and there — hasn’t publicly declared she’ll seek the White House a third time. But, notably, she has yet to rule out the possibility.

In a CNN interview aired Sunday, Newsom was asked about the prospect of facing his longtime frenemy in a fight for the Democratic nomination. (California’s gallivanting governor is embarked on his own national book tour, promoting both the “memoir of discovery” that was published Tuesday and his all-but-declared presidential bid.)

“Well, I’m San Francisco now, she’s L.A.,” Newsom joked, referring to Harris’ post-Washington residency in Brentwood. “So there’s a little distance between the two of us.”

He then turned zen-like, saying fate would determine if the two face off in the 2028 primary contest. “You can only control what you can control,” Newsom told CNN host Dana Bash.

A decade ago, Newsom and Harris swerved to keep their careers from colliding.

In 2015, Barbara Boxer said she would step down once she finished her fourth term in the U.S. Senate. The opening presented a rare opportunity for political advancement after years in which a clutch of aging incumbents held California’s top elected offices. Between Lt. Gov. Newsom and state Atty. Gen. Harris, there was no lack of pent-up ambition.

After a weekend of intensive deliberations, Newsom passed on the Senate race and Harris jumped in, establishing herself as the front-runner for Boxer’s seat, which she won in 2016. Newsom waited and was elected governor in 2018, succeeding Jerry Brown.

Once in their preferred roles, the two got along reasonably well. Each campaigned on the other’s behalf. But, privately, there has never been a great deal of mutual regard or affection.

Come 2028, there will doubtless be many Democrats seeking to replace President Trump. The party’s last wide-open contest, in 2020, drew more than two dozen major contestants. So it’s not as though Harris and Newsom would face each other in a one-on-one fight.

But dueling on the national stage, with the country’s top political prize at stake, is something that Hollywood might have scripted for Newsom and Harris as the way to settle, once and for all, their long-standing rivalry.

The two Californians would start out closely matched in good looks and charisma.

Those who know them well, having observed Newsom and Harris up close, cite other strengths and weaknesses.

Harris has thicker skin, they suggested, and is more disciplined. Her forte is set-piece events, like debates and big speeches.

Newsom is more of a policy wonk, a greater risk-taker and is more willing to venture into challenging and even hostile settings.

Newson is more fluent in the ecosphere of social media, podcasts and the like. Harris has the advantage of performing longer on the national stage and bears nothing like the personal scandals that have plagued Newsom.

But Harris’ problem, it was widely agreed, is that she has run twice before and, worse, lost the last time to Trump.

“To a lot of voters, she’s yesterday’s news,” said one campaign strategist.

“She had her shot,” said another, channeling the perceived way Democratic primary voters would react to another Harris run. “You didn’t make it, so why should we give you another shot?”

(Those half-dozen kibbitzers who agreed to candidly assess the prospects of Newsom and Harris asked not to be identified, so they could preserve their relationships with the two.)

Most of the handicappers gave the edge to Newsom in a prospective match-up; one political operative familiar with both would have placed their wager on Harris had she not run before.

“I think her demographic appeal to Black women and coming up the ranks as a Black woman working in criminal justice is a very strong card,” said the campaign strategist. “The white guy from California, the pretty boy, is not as much of a primary draw.”

That said, this strategist, too, suggested that “being tagged as someone who not only lost but lost in this situation that has set the world on fire … is too big a cross to bear.”

The consensus among these cognoscenti is that Harris will not run again and that Newsom — notwithstanding any demurrals — will.

Of course, the only two who know for sure are those principals, and it’s quite possible neither Harris nor Newsom have entirely made up their minds.

Those who enjoy their politics cut with a dash of soap opera will just have to wait.

President Trump on Tuesday awarded Team USA’s hockey goalie Connor Hellebuyck the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian honor.

The American team won the Olympic gold medal on Sunday, the first time in 46 years, on the anniversary of the team’s legendary triumph over the USSR, known as the “Miracle on Ice.” They won in a 2-1 overtime game against Canada, with Hellebuyck’s performance widely lauded throughout the tournament. He received credit for the second assist on the tournament-winning goal.

“I just want to say a … very big congratulations to Team USA,” Trump said in the opening moments of his speech, adding that he asked team members to vote on awarding the medal to Hellebuyck. “I just want to tell you that the members of this great hockey squad will be very happy to hear based on their vote and my vote — and in this case, my vote was more important — that I will soon be presenting Connor with our highest civilian honor.”

Hellebuyck, 32, plays for the National Hockey League’s Winnipeg Jets.

The Presidential Medal of Freedom has previously been awarded to politicians, religious leaders, artists, fashion designers and others who have made significant contributions to American society. Prior athletes who have received the honor include soccer legend Lionel Messi, former Los Angeles Laker Magic Johnson and Olympians Katie Ledecky, Simone Biles and Megan Rapinoe.

The men’s team visited the White House earlier Tuesday and several members attended the State of the Union address.

The team has been a source of controversy for the administration after FBI Director Kash Patel was seen chugging beer in their locker room after their victory in the midst of multiple law-enforcement emergencies, including Americans trapped in Mexico in the aftermath of the killing of Mexico’s most powerful cartel leader, Nemesio Rubén Oseguera Cervantes.

In video posted on social media, Patel appears to hold out a phone in the locker room as Trump invites the team to the White House and says he will also have to invite the U.S. women’s hockey team, which also won a gold medal, or “be impeached.”

During his State of the Union address, the president claimed that the women’s team would be visiting the White House “very soon.” The team earlier announced that it had turned down the White House’s invitation this week.

“We are sincerely grateful for the invitation extended to our gold medal-winning U.S. Women’s Hockey Team and deeply appreciate the recognition of their extraordinary achievement,” the team said in a statement. “Due to the timing and previously scheduled academic and professional commitments following the Games, the athletes are unable to participate. They were honored to be included and are grateful for the acknowledgment.”

Rapper-turned-Olympian patron Flavor Flav invited them to party with him and with other Olympic athletes in Las Vegas instead.

Reporting from Washington — When Elizabeth Warren launched her 2012 Senate bid in Massachusetts, some Democrats there worried. Another woman had run two years earlier and failed miserably. But Warren ignored warnings that she would be “another Martha Coakley.” She beat the incumbent by more than 7 percentage points and became the first woman elected to statewide office in Massachusetts.

Now Warren is among a record number of women running for president in 2020. Again, they’re operating in the shadow of failure — Hillary Clinton’s unsuccessful White House bid in 2016 — but also the widespread successes of women in the 2018 midterm election.

Sen. Kamala Harris of California joins Warren and New York Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand in the upper tier of candidates seeking the Democratic nomination. Each takes a different tack in navigating the powerful crosscurrents of being a woman in national politics.

Gillibrand plays the gender card most emphatically, emphasizing her record on protecting women from sexual assault and her support for female candidates. Explaining why she is running for president, she often begins, “As a young mom…”

Harris’ campaign rollout, including Sunday’s kickoff rally in Oakland, focused more on her connections with the black community and a career in law enforcement that breaks from gender stereotypes.

Warren tells her story as the daughter of an economically struggling family, putting class, not gender, at the center of her campaign.

“There is no uniform approach to how these women will navigate gender in the campaign,” said Kelly Dittmar, a scholar at the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University.

2020 candidates: Who’s in and who’s on the fence? »

“While Gillibrand sees and discusses politics and policy through a gender lens, Warren’s primary focus has been on class. In her rollout, Kamala Harris has already shown that she will embrace and discuss being a black woman in power.”

Rep. Tulsi Gabbard of Hawaii also has announced a long-shot bid for president, with considerable focus on her status as a military veteran. The field of female candidates may grow if Sen. Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota, a former prosecutor like Harris, decides to run.

“I love that fact that we have four women running, and that America gets to see what different forms of female leadership look like,” Gillibrand said.

In the aftermath of Clinton’s failure, however, some Democrats worry about a stubborn strain of sexism in the electorate.

“I don’t know if America has changed enough; hopefully they have, with the #MeToo movement,” said Brad Lego, 69, a retired teacher in Sioux City, Iowa, who supports Warren.

Women historically have had a harder time winning executive offices than legislative ones. Even with a record number of women running for governor in 2018, just nine of the nation’s 50 governors are now women.

“Solo leadership is still tougher for women and people of color,” said Celinda Lake, a Democratic pollster who is an expert on women in politics. “There is still a little concern about the difficulty of electing women to executive office. That wasn’t just Hillary Clinton.”

But for Democrats in 2020, for the first time in the history of presidential campaigns, being a woman is probably more a political asset than a liability. Women —- as voters and candidates — became the vanguard of the party’s resistance to President Trump, from the 2017 Women’s March to the midterm election that drew out female candidates in record numbers.

The congressional midterm saw the largest gender gap in modern political history, as Democrats won 59% of the female vote, with just 40% voting Republican. Men, by contrast, favored Republicans by a 4-point margin, 51% to 47%, according to exit polls.

Clinton tried two very different approaches to gender as a political issue. When she sought the Democratic nomination in 2008, she essentially ran away from the subject.

“I am not running as a woman,” she would say. “I am running because I believe I am the best qualified and experienced person.”

Eight years later, she talked often about the history-making potential of her campaign to “shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling.”

The current crop of female candidates doesn’t follow either of those paths.

Gillibrand, at 52 the least known of the three female senators who have gotten into the race, is moving the most deliberately to build her identity as a defender of women.

“The future of the Democratic Party is with women,” an introductory campaign document said. She spotlights her Senate work on combating sexual abuse in the military and other issues related to sexual harassment and assault, and her political work raising money for female candidates through her political action committee, Off the Sidelines.

Pictures of children — her own and others’ — crowd her campaign website. She describes her rationale for running, offered first in her campaign announcement on Stephen Colbert’s “Late Show,” in explicitly gendered terms: “As a young mom, I’m going to fight for other people’s kids as hard as I would fight for my own.”

The approach risks delivering a message so gender specific that it alienates men. But in the short term, at least, her strategists think that any such risk is worth taking to gain purchase in a crowded field.

“My lifelong mission is for more women to have a voice and seat at the table with men, so that they can bring a new perspective to the problems facing our country,” Gillibrand says. “This vision does not exclude anyone, it brings more diverse voices into the conversation.”

Harris’ introduction to voters put more of a spotlight on race than gender: She announced her candidacy on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, gave her first press briefing at Howard University, the historically black college she attended in the 1980s, and scheduled her first campaign event in South Carolina — at a gala for a black sorority she belongs to.

During her Oakland rally, Harris spoke bluntly about racism in the criminal justice system and society at large. “I’m running to fight for an America where no mother or father has to teach their young son that people may stop him, arrest him, chase him or kill him because of his race,” Harris said.

Having advanced in a male-dominated career as a prosecutor, she offered this advice to young women in an interview with “Good Morning America”: “There are going to be many times you are going to be the only one like you in a room. It could be a meeting room, it could be a boardroom. And the thing I want you to remember is this: When you are in that room, we are all in that room with you, cheering you on.”

Harris’ tough-on-crime record has drawn skepticism from some on the party’s left, but it could appeal to public-safety conscious moms in the suburbs, including white women whose votes for Trump proved pivotal in 2016.

Warren’s campaign-launch video gave a personal window onto her life story — speaking from her kitchen, she talked about her family’s struggles, her mother’s resilience and her own rise to a law professorship at Harvard. The story spoke more to class struggle than a battle against sexism.

At other times, however, she has struck a more explicit note on gender. At an Ankeny, Iowa, campaign event with Democratic women in early January, for example, Warren relished telling how she had been warned against running for Senate after Coakley’s failure.

“It was almost as if folks were saying, ‘Hey, we tried that. It didn’t work. Come back in a generation or two, women.’ ”

She also paid tribute to how much women — especially those who were newly engaged in politics as voters and candidates — had contributed to Democrats’ 2018 midterm victories.

One of the newly engaged women was Liuba Grechen Shirley, a Democrat who ran unsuccessfully against GOP Rep. Peter T. King on Long Island, N.Y. She remembers vividly an unexpected phone call of support she got from Warren.

Shirley was in the middle of a grueling day juggling the demands of campaigning with the medical needs of a young son who had broken his leg. Warren listened to her woes and offered this tough-love pep talk that spoke to the continued challenges women face in politics:

“We moms, when we run out of milk, we make breakfast with orange juice.”

janet.hook@latimes.com

Twitter: @hookjan