The Legacy Project: Nicaragua Report

January 26: Report from Managua: Trust No One If you visit Managua's Estatua al Soldado at 9am on a Saturday morning, you'll likely be alone with the soldier, his Nicaraguan flag fluttering in the breeze as morning traffic putters by. Frozen in an eternal pose of victory and rage, the soldier might remind you of the Sandinista Revolution, which never had a chance to savor its success.

If you walk three blocks east, to the Parque de la Paz, you might meet two hookers, sitting in the shade, who will whistle and wave at you. The one without front teeth will do most of the talking, while the other one will smile shyly while sliding a wrapped condom along her leg. If you look across the plaza, you can see their pimp, sitting on the hill, unblinking. They will ask you to take their picture; if you say yes, the conversation will move on to other things.

But, over their shoulder you see the charred remains of a tank from the war. Like the soldier, it lingers in central Managua, oddly complemented by the hookers and their pimp, reminders that peace is rarely more than a ceasefire and war is a symptom, not a disease.

If you walk around the Area Monumental - which the locals will advise you not to do - you will be struck above all by the emptiness. The traditional heart of the capital, it is home to the Presidential House, the National Museum, the Ruben Dario Theater, the Old Cathedral, and little else. The 1972 earthquake leveled the capital, destroying much of the city. Followed in short order by the Sandinista Revolution and war with the Contras, there was little money to rebuild. People moved outward, building new structures on the fringes; the center was left in ruin. Eventually the ruins were cleared, but little else has changed. The monuments and important buildings are stark reminders of what was and what cannot be. There can be no greater symbol of national impotence than the emptiness radiating out from the capitol building. The best intentions will always be undercut by economic limitations. Even the divine is subsumed by poverty; the old cathedral is little more than a cracked hull, its interior decimated by the quake.

If you flag down a taxi to return to your safe neighborhood - and, really, in Nicaragua the taxis flag you down - you may get to meet a taxi driver named Elvis. For no apparent reason, he will tell you a story about being a young man during the Sandinista Revolution, and going to the hills to teach peasants how to read, as part of the national literacy project. His voice will get louder and more excited as the story continues. But, switching topics rapidly, he will remind you that you should really be careful where you walk.

Back at the hostel, you will find most of the guests lingering by the pool or around the TV. All are happy to be in Managua, but have no idea what to do.

---------------------------------------------

Bayardo Izaba Soliz is the Executive Director of the Nicaraguan Center for Human Rights (CENIDH). It's 10am on a Monday morning and the center is already active, with half a dozen Nicaraguans in the lobby. Don Izaba arrives shortly after I do; as he greets me, he proceeds through what I assume to be a typical morning ritual. He carefully sorts out 7 vitamins and a lozenge on his desk, while his secretary brings in a glass of water. At the same time, he describes the organization in general terms. As seems to be the norm here, Don Izaba is a soft-spoken man who talks with his head lowered toward his chest. Words blur together - softer enunciation plus subtle accent differences make following along more of a challenge.

Soon, it's my turn to describe my work. In preparation, I scripted the overview in Spanish. I read it as crisply as I can, in fairly precise Castellano, unable to shake the damned Spanish lisp. Still, I think it's comprehensible; a periodic nod is barely perceptible from the director, as is the occasional glimmer of recognition in his eyes. When I finish, I peek at his notepad. It's blank, aside from my name. At least he spelled it right.

He transitions into a long overview of human rights in Nicaragua, which in reality is a sprawling discussion of Nicaragua, the US, Israel/Palestine, and capitalism. I'm still unsure why he kept coming back to the Middle East, but the other matters, fortunately enough, were comprehensible.

Over the course of the conversation, it becomes clear that, in Don Izaba's mind, most human rights problems in Nicaragua are the result, directly or not, of US policy. First, he brings up the Contras. Following the Sandinista Revolution in 1979 and the rise of a socialist-leaning government with strong popular support, the US funded a small rebel group, the Contras, to destabilize the new government. When congress blocked funds, Reagan illegally continued the assistance by transferring revenue generated through the secret sale of weapons to our nominal enemy, Iran. "The Contras were a terrorist organization," Don Izaba says, "and you supported them." Beyond the obvious problems this created for Nicaragua - a lengthy and bloody civil war, economic paralysis, and complete distrust of the US - it produced a problem of potentially greater significance, according to Izaba. It inspired widespread distrust of the Nicaraguan government among its people. When the Sandinistas rose to power, the US showed some willingness to maintain relations. Reagan demanded that the Sandinistas cut off all aid and supply routes to the Salvadoran rebels; once completed, we would restore economic assistance. By all accounts, the Nicaraguan government swiftly complied, but we dropped our end of the bargain. Then, Contra violence proceeded to undermine the Nicaraguan government. CIA-sponsored and organized activities crippled what remained of the economy.

The average Nicaraguan looked at this situation and saw a complete failure by the government he had cheered in rising to power. Life was better, more stable, under Somoza's government. Who cares if your leader is a tyrant or an idealist - what matters are the basics: food, shelter, security. Those were increasingly hard to find in 1980s Nicaragua.

By tarnishing the government's reputation, and by producing a powerful sense of disillusionment among the public about its leaders' capacity to make positive change, Izaba concluded, US actions produced cynicism and the pursuit in some cases of extralegal or illegal opportunities for personal enrichment. It has damaged civil society and left the government in the hands of two prominent figures - Daniel Ortega and Arnoldo Aleman - neither of whom displays any interest in sharing power with anyone. This period has also borne witness to the rise of gang activity in Nicaragua, one of the major sources of violence in the country and a primary concern of CENIDH.

Closely related to these issues is the drug trade. Don Izaba is quite blunt here: "The US provides no financial support to fight drug trafficking in Nicaragua." I'm momentarily stunned by this statement - the common theme in places like Colombia and Peru is that US interference via the War on Drugs is a huge problem for those countries. Izaba's argument runs counter to that; he says the US has failed to intervene. The drug trade compounds all of the problems previously discussed. It reinforces gang activity, by giving them a source of revenue that offers the promise of a higher quality of life to their members. At the same time, it sparks a great deal of violence, whether through turf wars or other related conflicts. The drug trade also serves to weaken and destabilize the government and law enforcement; traffickers infiltrate the police, the military, the congress, gaining influence over the system - which only serves, of course, to reinforce the existing cynicism about the merits and viability of the democratic system.

The US has an obligation, Izaba says, to fund positive socioeconomic projects in Nicaragua. "How would you respond to Americans who argue that our government's only obligation is to protect and aid its own citizens?" I ask. "You spent money in Nicaragua for years," Izaba responds, "putting it into military aid which ravaged our country and killed our people. We have not recovered. Now, use that money to build hospitals, roads, supply medicine, fight climate change. Give us a chance to live decent lives."

NOTE: All quotes are paraphrased translations.

	Nicaragua Report
Home	January 26: Report from Managua: Trust No One If you visit Managua's Estatua al Soldado at 9am on a Saturday morning, you'll likely be alone with the soldier, his Nicaraguan flag fluttering in the breeze as morning traffic putters by. Frozen in an eternal pose of victory and rage, the soldier might remind you of the Sandinista Revolution, which never had a chance to savor its success. If you walk three blocks east, to the Parque de la Paz, you might meet two hookers, sitting in the shade, who will whistle and wave at you. The one without front teeth will do most of the talking, while the other one will smile shyly while sliding a wrapped condom along her leg. If you look across the plaza, you can see their pimp, sitting on the hill, unblinking. They will ask you to take their picture; if you say yes, the conversation will move on to other things. But, over their shoulder you see the charred remains of a tank from the war. Like the soldier, it lingers in central Managua, oddly complemented by the hookers and their pimp, reminders that peace is rarely more than a ceasefire and war is a symptom, not a disease. If you walk around the Area Monumental - which the locals will advise you not to do - you will be struck above all by the emptiness. The traditional heart of the capital, it is home to the Presidential House, the National Museum, the Ruben Dario Theater, the Old Cathedral, and little else. The 1972 earthquake leveled the capital, destroying much of the city. Followed in short order by the Sandinista Revolution and war with the Contras, there was little money to rebuild. People moved outward, building new structures on the fringes; the center was left in ruin. Eventually the ruins were cleared, but little else has changed. The monuments and important buildings are stark reminders of what was and what cannot be. There can be no greater symbol of national impotence than the emptiness radiating out from the capitol building. The best intentions will always be undercut by economic limitations. Even the divine is subsumed by poverty; the old cathedral is little more than a cracked hull, its interior decimated by the quake. If you flag down a taxi to return to your safe neighborhood - and, really, in Nicaragua the taxis flag you down - you may get to meet a taxi driver named Elvis. For no apparent reason, he will tell you a story about being a young man during the Sandinista Revolution, and going to the hills to teach peasants how to read, as part of the national literacy project. His voice will get louder and more excited as the story continues. But, switching topics rapidly, he will remind you that you should really be careful where you walk. Back at the hostel, you will find most of the guests lingering by the pool or around the TV. All are happy to be in Managua, but have no idea what to do. --------------------------------------------- Bayardo Izaba Soliz is the Executive Director of the Nicaraguan Center for Human Rights (CENIDH). It's 10am on a Monday morning and the center is already active, with half a dozen Nicaraguans in the lobby. Don Izaba arrives shortly after I do; as he greets me, he proceeds through what I assume to be a typical morning ritual. He carefully sorts out 7 vitamins and a lozenge on his desk, while his secretary brings in a glass of water. At the same time, he describes the organization in general terms. As seems to be the norm here, Don Izaba is a soft-spoken man who talks with his head lowered toward his chest. Words blur together - softer enunciation plus subtle accent differences make following along more of a challenge. Soon, it's my turn to describe my work. In preparation, I scripted the overview in Spanish. I read it as crisply as I can, in fairly precise Castellano, unable to shake the damned Spanish lisp. Still, I think it's comprehensible; a periodic nod is barely perceptible from the director, as is the occasional glimmer of recognition in his eyes. When I finish, I peek at his notepad. It's blank, aside from my name. At least he spelled it right. He transitions into a long overview of human rights in Nicaragua, which in reality is a sprawling discussion of Nicaragua, the US, Israel/Palestine, and capitalism. I'm still unsure why he kept coming back to the Middle East, but the other matters, fortunately enough, were comprehensible. Over the course of the conversation, it becomes clear that, in Don Izaba's mind, most human rights problems in Nicaragua are the result, directly or not, of US policy. First, he brings up the Contras. Following the Sandinista Revolution in 1979 and the rise of a socialist-leaning government with strong popular support, the US funded a small rebel group, the Contras, to destabilize the new government. When congress blocked funds, Reagan illegally continued the assistance by transferring revenue generated through the secret sale of weapons to our nominal enemy, Iran. "The Contras were a terrorist organization," Don Izaba says, "and you supported them." Beyond the obvious problems this created for Nicaragua - a lengthy and bloody civil war, economic paralysis, and complete distrust of the US - it produced a problem of potentially greater significance, according to Izaba. It inspired widespread distrust of the Nicaraguan government among its people. When the Sandinistas rose to power, the US showed some willingness to maintain relations. Reagan demanded that the Sandinistas cut off all aid and supply routes to the Salvadoran rebels; once completed, we would restore economic assistance. By all accounts, the Nicaraguan government swiftly complied, but we dropped our end of the bargain. Then, Contra violence proceeded to undermine the Nicaraguan government. CIA-sponsored and organized activities crippled what remained of the economy. The average Nicaraguan looked at this situation and saw a complete failure by the government he had cheered in rising to power. Life was better, more stable, under Somoza's government. Who cares if your leader is a tyrant or an idealist - what matters are the basics: food, shelter, security. Those were increasingly hard to find in 1980s Nicaragua. By tarnishing the government's reputation, and by producing a powerful sense of disillusionment among the public about its leaders' capacity to make positive change, Izaba concluded, US actions produced cynicism and the pursuit in some cases of extralegal or illegal opportunities for personal enrichment. It has damaged civil society and left the government in the hands of two prominent figures - Daniel Ortega and Arnoldo Aleman - neither of whom displays any interest in sharing power with anyone. This period has also borne witness to the rise of gang activity in Nicaragua, one of the major sources of violence in the country and a primary concern of CENIDH. Closely related to these issues is the drug trade. Don Izaba is quite blunt here: "The US provides no financial support to fight drug trafficking in Nicaragua." I'm momentarily stunned by this statement - the common theme in places like Colombia and Peru is that US interference via the War on Drugs is a huge problem for those countries. Izaba's argument runs counter to that; he says the US has failed to intervene. The drug trade compounds all of the problems previously discussed. It reinforces gang activity, by giving them a source of revenue that offers the promise of a higher quality of life to their members. At the same time, it sparks a great deal of violence, whether through turf wars or other related conflicts. The drug trade also serves to weaken and destabilize the government and law enforcement; traffickers infiltrate the police, the military, the congress, gaining influence over the system - which only serves, of course, to reinforce the existing cynicism about the merits and viability of the democratic system. The US has an obligation, Izaba says, to fund positive socioeconomic projects in Nicaragua. "How would you respond to Americans who argue that our government's only obligation is to protect and aid its own citizens?" I ask. "You spent money in Nicaragua for years," Izaba responds, "putting it into military aid which ravaged our country and killed our people. We have not recovered. Now, use that money to build hospitals, roads, supply medicine, fight climate change. Give us a chance to live decent lives." NOTE: All quotes are paraphrased translations.
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