David Holiday

Maggi’s death, for all of us, was unexpected. But equally unexpected for me was my immediate sense of loss. Maggi was the kind of friend and colleague who, like so many others, I simply took for granted. I would always try to see her when I came to Washington, and it was always expected that she (and occasionally Damian) would stay at my house when she came to El Salvador.

As I’ve thought about Maggi over the past few days, I realize that I’ve simply always counted on Maggi to be there. I’ve known Maggi ever since 1987; in the early 1990s we shared an office for a brief period in San Salvador. And in recent years it was wonderful having Maggi as a frequent guest in my house in El Salvador, where we would often sit around my kitchen for hours, sipping tea or coffee (or wine), and catching up on our mutual friends or talking politics. I especially appreciated being able to count on her to be patient and open-minded as she listened to my rant of the week.

Maggi had a critical eye, but she was not judgmental. You might have heard her comment on a badly written report, or a poorly planned event she’d witnessed (or more often than not, one in which she herself was a speaker), but her criticisms were never personal. Now that I think about it, it seems that she often rescued the positive in every person and situation. Hers was a kind, gentle and unassuming spirit that seemed to defuse any anger and negativity she came up against.

Maggi was quietly but persistently passionate in her advocacy for the victims of human rights abuses, but she was also extremely dispassionate about politics. As far as I could tell, she held to no ideology, unless caring deeply about truth and justice could be considered an ideology.

I remember worrying about Maggi when she left El Salvador, and started looking for a job in the U.S. She waited, and waited, and waited, and I remember urging her to take anything, anything at all, so she could get begin to get settled. I think those were difficult years financially -- and very few of us, I think, would have chosen the path that she did -- but her waiting paid off when she finally got the job at the RFK Center.

Then I worried that Maggi was going to be eaten alive by Washington and its ego-driven politics. I mean, how could a gentle, unassuming, and self-effacing person like Maggi really expect to survive there? But Maggi surprised me. She created a niche for herself, and it was a niche that was totally true to her convictions.

Looking back on Maggi’s career, it’s evident that her path was uniquely her own, and that the only lead she ever followed was her desire to make a difference, to make a contribution. She had a calling, and she followed it.

One of things I appreciated about Maggi in recent years was how she sought to create links between different people involved in justice reform across Latin America, and beyond. She really wanted people to talk to each other, to listen to each other, to learn from the experience of others. And she never needed to take credit for her contributions. In that sense, she was a kind of “open-source” intellectual, advocating for greater transparency and access to information in judicial systems, and walking the talk by readily making available everything she and others did. (Just check out the DPLF website to see all of the publications she generated and put online.)

As we all know, Maggi had a profound attachment to El Salvador, and in recent years she always seemed to know even more about happenings there than those of us who were living there. Maggi had many friends in El Salvador, but she had family in El Salvador as well. Here I think of Maria Luz and her two sons, Juan Carlos and Eduardo, who lived with Maggi for many years. What I say about their relationship is that, at Maggi’s despedida when she and Damian left El Salvador over 10 years ago, Maria Luz was deeply sad, and shared with all of us present that she felt she owed her life to Maggi. I saw that deep love for Maggi every time she came to El Salvador, when Maria Luz would bring over dozens of tamales and pupusas, and she and her family (which now includes two grandchildren) would hang out for hours on end. And Maggi was always there for them (emotionally as well as monetarily) as they struggled to survive. I wish I could have been with them in the past few days, because I know how utterly devastated they must feel.

Of course, Maggi also brought Damian into this world – and as Madalene O’Donnell reminded me the other day – that was certainly the best thing she ever did.

I’m not really sure what I think of the notion of an afterlife, and I’m certainly unsure of what Maggi would have believed, but as some of her friends gathered last weekend for her memorial service, I felt very strongly that Maggi hasn’t really left us.