An Open Letter to a Young Nicaraguan

For Sandra Mariela Peña

Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts . . . perhaps the fear of a loss of power.
John Steinbeck

Man's nature is not essentially evil. Brute nature has been known to yield to the influence of love. You must never despair of human nature.
Mohandas Gandhi

Faith has to do with things that are not seen and hope with things that are not at hand.
Saint Thomas Aquinas

Good habits formed at youth make all the difference.
Aristotle


Today you’ve made me realize how blessed I am to have several countries I can call my own. Being so fortunate allows me to look away when something painful is occurring in one of my homelands, and find solace in the good things that are taking place in another. Thus, whenever the United States, Nicaragua, or Panama experience painful events that have been inflicted by the worst traits of human nature, I take respite in the positive that’s alive in another of my countries. This blessing certainly helps me fight off despair and often allows me to see light in the darkness.

Of my three homelands, Nicaragua is, by far, the one from which I’ve most often had to avert my eyes. We’ve been unable to learn from the suffering we’ve inflicted upon each other for the sake of gaining and retaining power. In Latin America we’ve become the quintessential example of the danger inherent in surrendering to caudillos: warlords, dictators, and strongmen who possess just enough charisma to make vague promises of future populist reforms in order to gain the sympathy, at least at the outset, of the working class. Such men have been the plague of our nation throughout the last three centuries. And Daniel Ortega, as the world can clearly see today, is no exception.

What makes matters seem grimmer for those, like you, who reside in Nicaragua is that the twenty-first century brand of caudillismo—as practiced by Ortega’s new mentor, Hugo Chávez—has emboldened the Sandinista leader, allowing him to believe that by hiding under the banner of the elected leader of a sovereign developing nation he can govern as he wishes, like a spoiled child with a new toy, without scrutiny or criticism. The manner in which Ortega orchestrated the theft of the recent of the municipal elections—and, to all appearances, gotten away with the dastardly act—can lead those who dream of a better Nicaragua to despair, to have little hope of a just and fair future.

You may believe, at present, that the world will soon forget recent events and allow Daniel Ortega to get away with his electoral crime. You may also believe that he is now free to move toward becoming our nation’s next dictator.

This, I assure you, will not happen. The world has changed, and Ortega and his allies have failed to realize this. They underestimate, to their great detriment, the power that young, intelligent, educated people—just like you—possess. You have the means to tell your stories, to keep the world outside your borders informed of the truth, to not allow us to forget.

During the 2001 Nicaraguan election campaign, Daniel Ortega, who lost that race, came to San Marcos, the town where I was living, to give a speech. What I heard that day, as he spoke in the central park before a largely unresponsive crowd of 500, convinced me that he is a relic of the past. For more than twenty minutes he lectured—and boringly—about the virtues of the World Wide Web. What’s more, he promised that if he won the election every Nicaraguan home would be connected to the internet. (I guess he didn’t realize that people would first have to buy computers, which the Nicaraguan working class certainly can’t afford.) The more Ortega spoke, the more obvious it became that he was largely ignorant about the cyber-world. Cynically, however, he took advantage of his public’s greater ignorance. But what I realized that day was that Daniel was afraid of the ability people have to use these instruments of mass communication, as he continues to be afraid of that power today.

But what Daniel Ortega fears most is to become irrelevant again (and if it were not because Nicaraguans became fed up with the idiocy of the opposition, he would continue to be irrelevant). He misses the limelight of the days of yore, when he was the leader of a highly romanticized revolution that many in the world adored. He even appeared on the Donahue Show (the Oprah Show of its time), and some of us still remember the scandal of the $3,000.00 pair of glasses he wore at the taping while many in Nicaragua went hungry.

His mistake, then, in these municipal elections is that he succumbed to his fear of being forgotten.

Believe me, this gross miscalculation will cost Ortega dearly—the entire world witnessed what he did, and as a result he took a big step toward becoming irrelevant once again. And the days of the caudillos are numbered: people want change, and not posturing—of this they are already growing tired.

Daniel Ortega and his outmoded allies have started their journey toward the sunset. The Sandinista Party is sure to lose the next presidential elections. And you, I promise, will be rid of him for good.

But that’s when your greater challenge begins. The youth of Nicaragua are easy prey for the merchants of despair. The world saw the bat-toting, stone-throwing, mortar-launching gang members who under the banner of the Sandinista Party intimidated those protesting the electoral fraud. This is the battle that you, and others like you, need to win. The education of Nicaragua’s youth is the key to our nation’s future: an education free of political or religious indoctrination; an education that will make us a better people.

The time has come for young Nicaraguans to learn to place the common good far above the cult of personality.

Although this task is monumental, I have faith that you, and those like you who love Nicaragua and are ready to place the fruits of your schooling at its service, will start leading the rest of us there.

The Herald of a Coming Dictatorship: Nicaragua’s Municipal Elections

Force and fraud are in war the two cardinal virtues.
Thomas Hobbes

Democracy will be overthrown with the tools of democracy.
Adolph Hitler

The spirit of democracy is not a mechanical thing to be adjusted by abolition of forms. It requires change of heart.
Mohandas Gandhi


Barack Obama’s victory gave the world a sterling example of the merits inherent in the democratic process when it approximates perfection. The consensus and community building of the democrat’s campaign were remarkable—a lesson for politicians everywhere. Today few can question that when elections are honest, creative, and open, humankind is better for it. That, in large part, is why much of the world rejoiced upon learning the results of the elections and wished the United States well as it enters an uncharted era with hope and enthusiasm.

Yet only a few days after Obama’s resounding victory, in a dastardly plot Daniel Ortega hatched with the help of his cronies—a stratagem that went largely unnoticed because of the riveting US electoral year—democracy suffered a disheartening defeat in Nicaragua’s municipal elections.

The blatant fraud that took place on Sunday, November 9, started taking shape months ago. The first sign for alarm appeared in May of this year, when the members of the Sandinista-controlled Consejo Supremo Electoral—the institution charged with safeguarding the legitimacy of elections—canceled the participation of the Movimiento Renovador Sandinista and the Partido Conservador, claiming that they had failed to meet the deadline to submit their plans for internal restructuring (a claim both parties still maintain was false). With this move, Daniel Ortega and his associates eliminated the two political parties most likely to draw away the votes of potential Sandinista sympathizers.

Then, when José Miguel Insulza, Secretary General of the Organization of American States, publicly expressed his concern over the measure, Ortega countered in a speech replete with passionate, nationalistic rhetoric that outside interference in Nicaraguan affairs would not be tolerated. He went on to suggest that international electoral monitoring organizations, such as the well-respected Carter Center (which has supervised every Nicaraguan election since 1990, including the one Daniel Ortega won two years ago), would not be allowed to observe the balloting. And only a week before votes were scheduled to be cast, Rosa Marina Zelaya, former president of Nicaragua’s Electoral Council, expressed that it was “lamentable and distressing” that the current Council had failed to accredit reputable international observers to verify the results.

In light of these events, then, the chaos and violence that followed the announcement of the landslide Sandinista victories in the municipal elections, including the much disputed mayoral race in Managua, is not surprising. And at present, Ortega’s “turbas”—gangs of unschooled adolescents armed with baseball bats, stones, and under the supervision of Sandinista elders—are roaming the streets of many Nicaraguan communities intimidating the opposition. These swarming harbingers of fear have been Daniel Ortega’s most effective response to dissension since the early 1980s—the height of the Sandinista Revolution.

Within the Sandinista party—of which Daniel and his wife, Rosario Murillo, are the undisputed rulers—democracy long ago ceased to exist. One only needs to heed the words of internationally respected Nicaraguan writers—such as Sergio Ramírez, Gioconda Belli, and Ernesto Cardenal, among others—all former Sandinista stalwarts, who for years have been trying to alert the world that under Daniel Ortega’s reign democracy in Nicaragua is only a few heartbeats away from its demise.

But as the world celebrated democracy at its best following Barack Obama’s election, the abuses taking place in Nicaragua have gone largely unnoticed. With the exception of a few European nations that are withholding financial aid to Nicaragua, Daniel Ortega's maneuvers to remain in power far longer than the current constitution allows have gone uncontested in the international arena.

In the early 1980’s, when the Sandinista Revolution enjoyed great support throughout the world, the former Comandante of the Revolution said in an interview: “We (Nicaraguans) grew up in a situation where we didn't know the meaning of freedom or justice, and therefore we didn't know a thing about democracy.” At the time his pronouncement seemed harmless—the quaint thought of a young, perhaps even innocent, leader of an impoverished and long-suffering nation that was in the process of reinventing itself. Today, however, Ortega fully understands how the democratic process works, and aware that his approval rating among his people is abysmal, he has opted to take a page out of the Third Reich’s playbook and use the tools of democracy to bring about its downfall in Nicaragua.

Balbina Herrera’s Head-Start

The first lesson is this: take it from me, every vote counts.
Al Gore

Youth is easily deceived because it is quick to hope.
Aristotle


It’s difficult to overlook the power this continent’s youth has exercised in recent presidential elections. Much is being said and written about the advantage Barack Obama had over John McCain with regard to his remarkable ability to capture the youth vote—an advantage that paid off handsomely in a landslide victory.

Courting young voters also paid off two years ago for Nicaragua’s Daniel Ortega. His campaign was designed to appeal to a significantly large portion of the electorate—Nicaragua’s voting age is sixteen—who were infants, or yet to be born, when Violeta Chamorro’s 1990 victory brought the Sandinista Revolution to an end.

For Nicaragua’s youth, who had scant memories of what life was like during that era, the stories their elders told them about Ortega’s previous reign seemed more akin to fables about the Big Bad Wolf; and the harsh national economic realities, coupled with the blatant corruption of Arnoldo Aleman’s government, made Daniel’s return actually seem desirable. Thus, thanks to young voters, the leader of the Sandinista Party, in a three-way race, obtained 37% of the required 35% of the ballots to barely win the election. (Ironically, many of the youth who voted the former Comandante back into power have now become his most vocal critics.)

In the Republic of Panama, Balbina Herrera, presidential candidate for the ruling party, the Partido Revolucionario Democratico (PRD), is directing the heart of her campaign to the nation’s younger voters. Throughout Panama City, a series of large ads and billboards supporting Herrera’s candidacy have suddenly sprung up, and seemingly everywhere. What’s interesting to note is that the ads are not the traditional candidate mug-shot. Instead, attractive children, teenagers, and young adults smile blissfully—often in a models’ poses—while the legends of the announcements proclaim that their lives will have far greater educational and employment opportunities with Balbina as president. In one ad, the candidate stands up front and center while at her side and behind her are a couple of dozen beaming faces, all of voting age and not one over twenty-five.

Thirty percent of Panama’s electorate is under the age of twenty-five. What’s more, the ads promising better education include children of elementary school age, a clear indication that Balbina is also reaching out to young parents. In sum, then, she’s aggressively going after the thirty-five and under vote, which constitutes close to fifty percent of Panama’s voters.

Balbina’s “De Corazón”—From the Heart—campaign motif is counting on the certainty that the youth are quick to hope, and hope is what she offers in the highly attractive ads: ads that contain no traces of her once-close association with General Manuel Antonio Noriega, Panama’s former dictator. The campaign’s publicity looks single-mindedly toward the future. Still, subtle hints of Latin America’s historical paternalism are in evidence: ask what the government will do for you, and you shall receive. But in offering to help every Panamanian achieve his or her dreams, Balbina makes the campaign not about herself, but about the desire for a better life of the common voters.

Ricardo Martinelli, of Cambio Democratico, and Juan Carlos Varela, of the Panameñista Party—the two opposition candidates of significance—are doggedly sticking to the traditional mug-shot ads. Ricardo Martinelli’s face, in particular, is on large billboards near every Super 99—the large chain of supermarkets he owns—and many Panamanians are beginning to express their annoyance of having to stare at the unimaginative billboard-sized photograph of his face for another five months.

Clearly, Martinelli’s and Varela’s campaigns are lagging far behind Balbina Herrera’s—both in imagination and in effectively targeting the crucial segment of the youth vote. And as often happens in elections, unless they come up with equally effective ads, and within the next few weeks, the upcoming Panamanian presidential election will essentially be over as they will not be able to catch up to Balbina Herrera’s formidable head-start.

A Purist of His Trade: Anastacio Moreno, Cutarra-Maker

You cannot put the same shoe on every foot.
Publilius Syrus


I own a pair of cutarras. They are the traditional campesino footwear of Panama: open-toed with an intricate polished weave on top, an engraved polished sheet of leather as platform, and rubber soles. One needs to be careful when purchasing these since they’re handmade—trying on both the left and right cutarras until a pair fits perfectly. I find cutarras wonderfully comfortable. In fact, they’re what I wear at home most of the time.

Recently, however, I discovered that what most Panamanians refer to as cutarras are an aberration—that, in reality, the more popular version, the kind I own, are a grave violation of tradition.

“Genuine cutarras don’t have rubber soles. The bottom should a single, unpolished plank of leather with nothing underneath. The things people today refer to as cutarras are an insult to the craft,” says Anastacio Moreno, professional cutarra-maker.

When it comes to his trade, Anastacio (who spells his first name with a “c”) is a purist. And although he’s in his early fifties, he’s been making cutarras for well over forty years.

“I started making them when I was a little boy, living in the countryside near the town of Guararé, in the province of Los Santos. In those days, every campesino knew how to make cutarras. They’re what everyone wore back then. Today, though, making genuine cutarras is a dying art.”

Every single cutarra Anastacio Moreno manufactures is custom-made—woven especially for each customer. Señor Moreno practices his trade in an alleyway off Sal-Si-Puedes: the quintessentially third-world street off Avenida Central that’s cluttered with zinc-covered booths that sell a wide and odd assortment of things, including folkloric items.

For eight dollars, Anastacio will make a pair of cutarras, cut and woven to the measurements of each foot. First, the craftsman asks the client to sit on a stool and place a foot on a wood box, similar to that of a shoe-shiner’s. The craftsman then sits on the opposite end of the box and places a leather sheet under the foot. He traces a broad outline with a pen. Afterward, he marks several specific points, including one between the first two toes, and proceeds to cut the leather according to the outline. Once this is done, Señor Moreno punctures the sheet at the marks. He then takes two long, thin strips of leather, soaks them in water, squeezes out the excess water, and begins to tie the sheet onto the customer’s foot. Prior to tying the final knot, he asks if the fit is comfortable and, if necessary, makes the adjustments before completing the weave. He repeats the process on the second foot. After that, the cutarras are ready—fitting every customer to perfection. The entire process takes close to twenty minutes and is fascinating to watch.

Panamanian folkloric dancers keep Anastacio Moreno in business. “The true cutarras are the only kind that makes the slapping sound dancers require,” Señor Moreno says with obvious pride.

November, a month replete with Panamanian national holidays, is the peak season of his business year. And five years ago, in 2003, when Panama celebrated the centennial of its independence from Colombia, Anastacio barely kept up with the demand. “At one point, people were lined-up half a block down the alley to get a pair of cutarras. Suddenly cutarras became a symbol of national pride; it was incredible. If business was always that good I’d be a wealthy man. But as it is, I make enough to get by.”

My wife is one of the handful of foreigners who have come to him to have cutarras made. She’s bought two pairs so far, and she swears they're extremely comfortable.

“Would you like a pair?” Señor Moreno asks me. Feeling terribly guilty, I confess that I own a pair of the aberrations, the kind with rubber soles. The cutarra-maker stares at me without saying a word; his disapproving glare bears holes into my conscience. “But the ones you have don’t make the sound cutarras should make.” When I timidly admit that, contrary to my wife, I like to walk without making sounds, Anastacio Moreno shakes his head mournfully and, after a long pause, says: “As you wish; but I want you to know that those things you own aren’t cutarras. They’re nothing more than sandals.”

As we prepare to leave, my wife asks him to autograph the cutarras he made. Surprised by the unusual request, Anastacio smiles shyly, the hardcore purist in him tamed for the moment, and writes his signature with obvious pride on the right cutarra.

“You know,” he says as my wife gives him the eight dollars, “I may be the last legitimate cutarra-maker in Panama City. I’ve trained several young men to make them, but they’ve all ended up making those damn sandals because there’s more money in it.” He sighs, looks longingly at his workbench, and says in parting, “People don’t seem to care much about tradition any more.”