The Possible Paths of Panamá’s Voldemort—Or, Is General Manuel Antonio Noriega Going to France?

Noriega es nuestro Voldemort.
Ana Alfaro


A French cell is bound to be more humane than confinement in Azkaban.

That’s what I’d be thinking if I were General Manuel Antonio Noriega and my bid to return to my homeland, where I’d sit on a rocking chair with a grandchild on each knee and assume the role of elder statesman—as his attorneys suggested during his extradition hearings—had failed.

At least in France he wouldn’t have dementors hovering nearby, ready to inhale his soul.

I’ve borrowed the metaphor of General Noriega as Voldemort from Ana Alfaro, the restaurant and food critic for La Prensa. She is that newspaper’s most literate writer. Her reviews of local restaurants are always witty, original, and well crafted—a difficult thing to do when week after week you write about the same topic. But Ms. Alfaro seems to have a limitless arsenal of metaphors and similes regarding the experience of eating out.

And, in addition to her food columns, Ms. Alfaro publishes short essays, on a wide range of topics, in Mosaico, the literary and cultural supplement of La Prensa. And not too long ago, she wrote a piece on Noriega’s possible return to Panamá. It was in that article that she made an intriguing statement: “Noriega is our Voldemort.”

I find that metaphor both striking and appropriate.

Manuel Antonio Noriega, like Voldemort, became all-powerful and, as is the case with all dictators, ruled through fear. And although the General wrapped himself in the Panamanian flag during his reign, posing as a nationalist, the only interest he served was his own—again, like Voldemort.

But in spite of Noriega being confined to a Miami prison for seventeen years—that is, like Voldemort he ceased to be a physical presence for a decade and a half—he still has considerable influence in this country.

When the prospect first surfaced that Noriega might be extradited to France—as opposed to Panamá, where he faces two twenty-year sentences for the deaths of several opponents—there was a clamor of outrage from some of the victims’ families.

But other family members are saying that if Noriega came to Panamá, they believe that they would not see justice.

And that’s because—if we accept the metaphor that Noriega is Panamá’s Voldemort—there are still plenty of Death-eaters around; and some of them, out of an odd sense of loyalty, or simply perhaps because they fear the man, would once again start doing their master’s bidding. Thus, if Noriega came back to Panamá, before long before he’d be set free.

The “Death-eaters” would see to it.

Do many “Death-eaters” still remain?

Definitely. What’s more, some occupy positions of power. One just needs to look at the resumes of the members of President Martin Torrijos’s cabinet. Several current ministers and vice-ministers served—and with great honor—under the General.

These “Death-eaters” may not be performing cartwheels over their former master’s return. In fact, they must certainly be troubled over the prospect of his reemergence—particularly in light of what the former head of Panamá’s G2, the defunct army’s secret service, knows about them.

And because of this, to borrow a metaphor from American football, it’s not surprising that the offices of Panamá’s Foreign Ministry fumbled the ball—and it’s obvious that the fumble was intentional—to allow the clock to run out on requesting, in the appropriate legal format, You-Know-Who’s extradition to Panamá.

Manuel Antonio Noriega’s sojourn in a French prison is, in my estimation, in Panamá’s best interest. If the General should come back to his homeland, his former followers may renew their allegiance to him. And, unfortunately, there’s not a Dumbledore—a commanding opponent of impeccable character—capable of putting a stop to the chaos that would surely ensue.