Long before settling into a quiet retirement community, Fredericka Manor in Chula Vista, Bill Radatz was spending time with displaced families, helping migrants navigate foreign systems and building bridges between cultures. As a Lutheran pastor and one of the founding members of nonprofit organization Survivors of Torture, International, Radatz dedicated his life to helping people rebuild from unimaginable circumstances.
His journey has stretched across borders and decades – from Philadelphia to the highlands of Peru to the border shelters of Tijuana and crisis centers in San Diego.
And while Radatz is now retired, he remains a living testimony to the power of presence, listening and empathy.
Early foundations: Peru and the power of family
Radatz was born in Minnesota in 1945 and married his wife in 1970. Then, in 1984, he and his wife accepted a call to go to Peru, accompanied by their three young children, ages eight, seven and three. There, he served as a pastor while his wife, a teacher, worked with local students and homeschooled their children.
“We were all discovering together, our family just built such a bond because we had to create our own entertainment and life along the way,” he said. “All of us were going through major cultural shock, changes of living in a new place and I think it bonded us together as a very tight family, which we are grateful for.”
The family lived in Cusco at an elevation of 11,000 feet, navigating cultural differences and economic limitations. Access to everyday items was limited. In one story Radatz often shares, he recalls the day they returned to the U.S. after years abroad and visited an American grocery store.
“Our two boys said, ‘Dad, can we go get some sugar cereal?’” he said. “They were nearly in tears in the cereal aisle because they could not choose. There were so many choices. In Peru, there were only two.”
That moment, he said, became a metaphor for the culture shock many people experience when moving between worlds. It was a lasting lesson in perspective and a reminder not to take things for granted.
Their time in Peru also coincided with a period of deep national unrest. Between 1980 and 2000, the country was caught in a violent internal armed conflict with revolutionary groups attempting to overthrow the government. One of the most notorious, Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path), was a Maoist guerrilla group known for its brutality, including the use of torture as a weapon. The Peruvian government, in turn, also used torture in its counterinsurgency efforts.
“Although we personally, our family, never experienced torture, all the people we worked with, almost everybody knew somebody who had been tortured or experienced that kind of violence,” Radatz said. “I just learned how people who love their country and wouldn’t have wanted to leave their country, do end up having to leave, in some cases under the threat of death or torture. That’s the heart I came back with to the United States.”
Return to the U.S. and border work
After returning from Peru in 1990, Radatz, now a Spanish-speaker, was called to the U.S.-Mexico border to help establish a bilingual congregation in the South Bay. The aim was to create a welcoming space for both English and Spanish speakers – but the effort quickly expanded beyond language.
“It turned out to be not just bilingual, but multicultural,” he said.
His work at the border eventually led to a new chapter with the Presbyterian Church in San Diego, where he served as director of a crisis center for nearly a decade. The center focused on responding to emergency and homeless situations, offering critical support to vulnerable populations across the region.
Radatz reflected on the broader treatment of immigrants in the U.S. today.
“We are the most unique nation in the world. We are so diverse, and immigrants have been the backbone of the country here,” he said. “And right now to see immigrants being treated so badly and cast in such a bad light by the current administration. I just know that’s not true.”
Survivors of Torture: Founding a place of healing
A simple conversation over coffee at church led Radatz and two of his colleagues to co-found Survivors of Torture, International – a nonprofit that has since helped thousands of individuals from the trauma of torture.
Each of the three brought a different background to the table. One had grown up in Germany, where his father, a pastor, was arrested for speaking out against Hitler. And his other peer had worked with Amnesty International, who suspected San Diego was home to many immigrants who were torture survivors. Radatz had recently returned from Peru, where he witnessed the effects of civil war and political violence.
“That conversation at that church with coffee, that’s what led us to say, well, let’s start to study that issue and find out if there is anything we could do,” Radatz said.
The group spent nearly two years researching before officially launching the nonprofit. At the time, it was estimated that over 11,000 torture survivors were living in San Diego County. Rather than building a traditional clinical facility, the founders took a community-based approach, connecting clients with trained professionals who volunteered or offered services on a sliding scale.
Many survivors seeking help through Survivors of Torture fled their home countries to escape brutal violence and torture, often at the hands of governments or armed groups, like what Radatz had seen in Peru.
Because of this, survivors often fear being sent back to their countries, where they risk re-arrest, torture, or death. Navigating the U.S. asylum system is difficult, but Survivors of Torture helps by connecting survivors with legal, medical and psychological support to strengthen their cases and protect their safety.
The organization has grown to become internationally respected. Radatz noted that while national asylum approval rates typically range from 10 to 30 percent, Survivors of Torture has achieved a success rate as high as 90 percent among its clients.
“We began to realize that with the first clients we saw, what a difference it could make,” Radatz said. “There’s probably nothing as healing to a person as when a judge can tell them, ‘All right, you’re allowed to stay here.’”
What began as a grassroots effort has developed into a healing hub supported by mental health professionals, physicians, legal advocates and community members. For Radatz, the work has been both eye-opening and deeply personal.
Enjoying the retirement journey
Radatz retired about 12 years ago and, just six months ago, moved into a retirement community with his wife, with whom he is approaching 55 years of marriage.
“It’s been a very good process,” he said of retirement. “It’s nice to be relieved of the burden of a house and having to take care of all the property issues. But probably what’s most delightful here is such an extraordinary mix of people.”
He finds himself sharing lunch tables with nuclear physicists, artists and retired politicians.
“That’s been very enjoyable for us,” he added.
Lessons from a lifetime
Radatz’s decades of dedication have quietly shaped a powerful movement, one in empathy and resilience. While he may have stepped away from daily work, his journey serves as a reminder that healing often begins with simply being present – listening, understanding and standing with those who need it most.
When asked what advice he would offer to others hoping to create change in their communities, Radatz didn’t hesitate.
“Exposing yourself to people who are different than you and welcoming those opportunities,” he said. “When you travel, try to get out of the normal tourist range, find ways to meet local people, take the time to hear their stories and understand their lives.”
