Rick Steves’ Travel Blog

Driving an hour outside of Managua, we visit the town of San Juan de Oriente, where 90 percent of the people are indigenous (of native rather than European descent), and the economy is based on pottery. We meet Valentín López, who is passionate about keeping the pre-Colombian local art alive in his craft. As we sit in his workshop, he dances while his son plays the marimba (a xylophone-like wooden instrument favored among indigenous Nicaraguans). And as he dances, he explains the connection of their craft to their indigenous past.

Then we gather around the wheel and he demonstrates the traditional way pottery is made, painted, and burnished. It’s all organic: clay pounded by bare feet, brushes made of a woman’s hair, and giant seeds as burnishers. As his son kick-starts the potter’s wheel, Valentín notes there is no electricity involved ‘ “The gas is rice and beans.” When the boy quickly gets the wheel really ramped up with his muscular leg, he adds, “This town produces very good soccer players.” A recurring theme of his demonstration is how the indigenous potters are in tune with nature. In the US, a potter orders clay on the phone. Here, they hike to the clay pit and gather it themselves.

The chance for the tourist to be humiliated follows, and I jump at the opportunity. Climbing into the potter’s chair is like saddling a strange animal. I push the heavy stone wheel with my feet. It’s awkward. With images of Fred Flintstone trying to start his car, I struggle to get it going. My foot nearly gets pinched and dragged by the rough wheel under the brace of the table ‘ which would make me probably the first person to lose a leg to a potter’s wheel.

The potter’s son helps me get the wheel turning with a full head of steam, and then slams a blob of clay onto my spinning work table. I cup it, and it wobbles. He shows me how to be gentle with the clay. As he trickles on some water and guides my fingers and thumbs, the clay comes to life. But my creation is still a clumsy little baby…eventually made elegant, effortlessly, by my teenage teacher.

Glancing down the row of eight stations like the one I’m sitting at, all under the shade of a corrugated tin roof, I imagine this cottage industry in full swing. And I appreciate the timelessness of the technology. While the advent of plastic must have done to pottery what the advent of cars did to blacksmithing, indigenous people want vessels that are of the earth, made by hand, and ornamented with the iconography of their ancestors. And, as long as there are indigenous people ‘ even if there are no tourists seeking souvenirs ‘ there will be potters in Latin America.

There’s an indigenous pride throughout Latin America. And, although decimated by European colonialism, the indigenous people of Latin America play a bigger role in contemporary society than Native Americans do in the USA.

The struggles of the indigenous people are an important theme in the political discussion in Latin America today. They are the ones discriminated against in schools, the work force, in the judicial system, and so on. If a Mestizo (mixed-race Latin American) loses his temper or does something violent, rather than say, “The devil made me do it,” he’ll say, “Se me salió el indio” (The Indian just came out of me.) Throughout much of Latin America, to call someone indigenous is an insult. For any indigenous person, a visit to Bolivia or Guatemala ‘ the only two predominantly indigenous countries left ‘ is how they can go back in time.

While indigenous people have distinct languages and cultures, their spiritual outlook is basically the same ‘ from the wilderness of Canada to the southern tip of the hemisphere. While it seems they have embraced Catholicism vigorously, I’ve heard the word “synchronism” repeatedly. The traditional spirituality survives to this day as many indigenous Christians routinely weave pre-Christian customs into their modern religion.

Unfortunately, in most of Latin America, it is the brown people who end up living with discrimination and are destined to live in poverty. I grew up fascinated by Pancho Villa, but always considered him a Mexican bandit. Indigenous Latin Americans refer to him as a hero who stood up against white dominance. As long as indigenous Latin Americans are kept down, my hunch is that the headlines will be filled with the Pancho Villas of the 21st century as they stand up for their rights in an aggressive and often uncompromising modern world.

As I watch Valentín and his son turn, polish, and bake their pottery with a spiritual connection to their ancestors much healthier than the connection I enjoy to my ancestors, I gain a new respect for the strength of indigenous culture in our hemisphere.

To balance our conversation, we went from poor, maternal head-of-household (Señora Nicaragua) to longtime activist/publisher. We had coffee with María López Vigil, a former nun and now editor of Envío (the monthly magazine of political and economic analysis on Nicaragua, published by the University of Central America). Here are a few insights from our conversation:

The birth of Liberation Theology as a political power came out of the 1968 gathering of Latin American Catholic Church leaders in Medellín, Colombia. It established a radical doctrine with three key points: 1. Structural poverty is sinful; 2. Violent response to that is just, for the sake of dignity which God intended for all people; 3. God is not neutral ‘ God is on the side of the poor. Medellín (meh-deh-YEEN) empowered peasants throughout Latin America. In El Salvador, where this brand of Christianity was particularly strong, campesinos kept saying, “We follow Medellín” ‘ which caused the befuddled National Guard to look for a person named Medellín.

The revolution used Liberation Theology to stand up against John Paul II, who opposed using religious fervor to win economic justice. Liberation Theology came naturally for Latin America because it’s poor and the only continent with a majority of Catholics. When the Sandinistas won power, the wind went out of the Liberation Theology sails. But its basic message remains embraced by the people: The Church should be about justice, not rituals.

María affirmed the feeling I picked up from others in Nicaragua that today it seems, in general, the Church has lost the revolutionary fervor. Once-activist Christians are spent. They have accepted peace without as much justice as they once demanded. The Mother Teresa approach to things ‘ that a Christian is charitable and helps the poor ‘ has surpassed the Archbishop Oscar Romero approach, which fights for economic justice, asks why there is hunger and desperation in a world of plenty, and organizes the poor. During the revolutionary days, the big question was not, “What’s his political party?” It was, “Is he organized?”

I asked María about globalization, and she said locals seem to accept it like they do the weather. Not liking it is futile and makes no sense. You just have to live with it. In globalization, there are no frontiers or borders for the flow of money ‘ but there are borders for flow of people. This is the crux of why globalization is tough on the poor. María pointed out that there is plenty good about globalization. Ideas have no borders now. That means, for example, women can see examples where women in other cultures have rights. She said globalization ‘ which inspires, motivates, and generates hard questions ‘ has been good for women.

I am particularly interested in the cost of debt relief for the world’s poorest countries. Banks in the rich world don’t just forgive debt to poor countries. They exact a price. According to María, neoliberal structural adjustment exacted on Nicaragua in return for some debt relief has been disastrous on her society. In return for debt relief, health and education were cut back and privatized. (It seems interesting that health care and education will take a hit as the USA attempts to tackle its own debt problems.) María said it was believed that the private sector would better manage health and education ‘ but in reality, in the transition from government to corporation, it just went from one monopoly to another.

When asked what one thing might be fundamental to Nicaragua’s economic success, María said, “Education.” Education is like planting seeds. When done right, the fruit will just keep on coming.

For a dirt-floor view of this country, we visited the poor barrio of Batahola, and dropped in on a simple woman with a grandiose name: Señora Nicaragua. Her husband fought for the Sandinistas, and she’s in her fourth decade as a Sandinista supporter. She stays at home, managing a three-generation family of 12 and running a tiny pulpería(“octopus shop” ‘ a Nicaraguan nickname for a corner convenience store that sells enough odds and ends to even fill eight arms). Her shop was crammed into the walled porch of their cinderblock home. While clearly poor, she’s strong, bright, and politically savvy. Talking with her offered an intriguing insight into the thinking of salt-of-the-earth Nicaraguans.

Señora Nicaragua lived through frightening times, as the USA bore down on their revolution. She told of her entire family being terrorized back in the 1980s by the “thunder of the black bird,” as they referred to the US fighter jets that intentionally broke the sound barrier over Managua. She now understands how these caused sonic booms over their heads, to illustrate the power of the US military.

While many Americans remember the Sandinistas for their Marxist leanings, she remembers them for education drives (when Nicaragua became one of the most literate countries in Latin America), accessible health care, and the pride of the 1980s. In her mind, Sandinista Nicaragua was neither pro-communist nor anti-capitalist ‘ just trying to find a third way.

And she remembers the 16 years of “neoliberal” (that is, pro-business) government after Ortega was voted out ‘ when health care and education were privatized, and when literacy plummeted and poor children were humiliated by education becoming unaffordable. Those years were a time when poor people needed to bring their own syringes and bandages with them to the hospital. And she believes that if the same right-wingers were in power a few years later, when her husband had his bout with colon cancer, he could have never afforded the $400 colonoscopy…and would have died. Today, under the re-elected (if watered-down) Ortega, at least people like Señor Nicaragua get affordable health care.

During the days of neoliberalism, Señora Nicaragua and her neighbors gathered in their barrio church to protect its art ‘ fearful that the post-revolutionary police would paint over their Liberation Theology murals. (Nearly all of the stirring murals of the Sandinista era were painted over in the 1990s by the neoliberal government that succeeded them.) Later, while walking through her barrio, we came upon a poster that bragged, “Eradicación de Polio y Somocismo”‘ by working together, they had eradicated both the scourge of polio and the policies of the dictator Somoza.

Señora Nicaragua knows Daniel Ortega has betrayed the revolution’s ideals as (she says) power has corrupted him, and she would prefer another candidate for president. And, as is so common with strongmen even beyond Latin America, he’s had his sex scandals. But she understands the Latin American penchant for having strongman governments, and that Ortega ‘ while compromising ‘ is the first Nicaraguan leader with a heart for the poor. For example, she thanks her government for the fact that her son is enjoying a college education. For her, education is the foundation for her society to pull itself up out of poverty.

When asked what she wished for her family for the New Year, Señora Nicaragua said, “Health, happiness, and the blessing of work.”

Traveling in Nicaragua, it helps to have a handle on the country’s recent history. The last 60 years can basically be divided into four periods: pre-revolutionary (1950s-1970s, Samoza family dictatorship, friendly with big landowners and the USA), Sandinista (1980s, with Daniel Ortega’s leftist government fighting the US-funded Contra insurgency), neoliberalism (1990-2006, after the right-wing, business-friendly party defeated the Sandinistas at the polls and the country was ruled by Violeta Chamorro, then Arnoldo Alemán, then Enrique Bolaños), and the return of the Sandinistas (since 2006, during which the ideals of the revolution have been tempered by the need to work with the right). In a nutshell: right, left, right, left over the last six decades.

Much of this power struggle coincided with the Cold War, and the political players here were pawns in a greater US-versus-USSR, capitalism-versus-communism struggle. Well-intended, patriotic Americans ‘ fearful of the Soviet sphere of influence ‘ felt we should support the pro-US, pro-capitalist factions. And yet, those same factions exacerbated horrific living conditions for the country’s poor. While Marxist, at least the Sandinistas wanted to improve things for the people. The US waded into the fray when the Reagan Administration imposed a trade embargo and financed a counter-revolutionary army, called the Contras, to fight against the Sandinistas. From one way of looking at things, to cheer on the Sandinistas was to support a dangerous communist influence in our hemisphere, and to subvert America’s capitalistic way of life. From another perspective, the Sandinistas were the only thing here that attempted to empower the downtrodden populace…geopolitics be damned. Communism was evil in Eastern Europe…but was it really so evil here in Latin America, where it strove to provide starving people with necessary food and medicine?

The scrappy leader of Nicaragua’s Sandinista Revolution, Daniel Ortega ‘ who stirred the hearts of romantics in the 1980s ‘ is now running the place. Back then, Ortega led an idealistic leftist revolution named for Augusto Sandino, who fought against the US occupation of Nicaragua in the 1920s and 1930s. Ortega’s Sandinista movement (and its political wing, the FSLN party) overthrew the dictatorial, US-backed Somoza regime, which had ruled the country with an iron fist for decades. It was a victory for bleeding-heart liberals the world over: Finally, “the people” had taken over the government. Things could only improve for Nicaragua’s poor.

But Ortega’s election to the presidency in the 1980s ‘ and again in 2006 ‘ has seen his idealistic worldview shifted, as he’s compromised on some of his core values. Today even many of Ortega’s former supporters consider him corrupt and willing to do anything just to hold onto power. Ortega confounded his base with what’s called “El Pacto” ‘ an alliance with his political archenemy, Arnoldo Alemán, to edge other parties out of power. And he reconciled with the archconservative cardinal, Miguel Obando y Bravo, who was once a harsh critic of the Sandinista movement. While campesinos still struggle, the Ortega family enriches itself by fashioning corrupt policies enabling them to virtually own entire industries.

While there’s plenty of desperation these days in Managua, you see almost no angry graffiti. But the city is covered with spray-painted cheers for Daniel Ortega. And yet, the graffiti rings hollow…it has as much soul as a sea of prefab Tea Party banners. This pro-Ortega propaganda appeared all at once, basically overnight, after the president unleashed a battalion of graffiti artists armed with black spray-paint cans to tag the entire city with “Viva Daniel” and “Viva FSLN” (his political party). It’s ugly, and it is a constant reminder of how power corrupts. The broad-based “Sandinismo” people’s movement has morphed into “Danielismo” ‘ a cult-of-personality celebration of one man’s ego.

When asked about this, people here shrug and say, “Well, our leaders are always corrupt and abuse democracy. At least the excesses of Ortega are not as worker- and campesino-brutal as Somoza’s were. Ortega never dropped his political opponents from helicopters into the Masaya Volcano that towers above Managua.”

While Ortega is the current big man, the official signs of national respect (coins, governmental slogans, monuments) ‘ like people’s hearts ‘ cheer not for Daniel Ortega, but for Augusto Sandino. While the Samoza regime killed this inspiration for the modern guerilla movement that would ultimately overthrow them in 1934, Sandino clearly lives in the hearts of the Nicaraguan people.

For me, it’s a personal challenge to come here and, rather than have my preconceptions confirmed, be forced to grapple with an uncomfortable reality. The Sandinistas are in power, and their FSLN flags are everywhere. The “people” have won, and yes, things are better for Nicaragua’s poor. But not all of the promises have materialized. The leader of the revolution seems to have been corrupted by power.

In the 1980s, the political voices of both liberal and conservative churches were stoked by left-wing and right-wing forces with an agenda. But today, after a generation of war ‘ fighting Samoza, and then the USA and the Contras ‘ the Nicaraguan people seem tired of struggle. The Nicaraguan right wing is also exhausted. Once emboldened by what seemed like unconditional support from the USA, it’s so overtly corrupt now that the US government has been revoking the visas of powerful right-wingers. A Nicaraguan elite without access to USA is no longer much of an elite. Stranded in Nicaragua ‘ even with endless money ‘ there’s something hollow about your elite-ness.

It feels like speaking out in either extreme is impolite. With Ortega so cozy with his former enemies, the Church no longer speaking for the poor, and the lack of political anger in the streets, it all seems like the symptoms of society that is, in general, exhausted. While once as agreeable as American Democrats and Republicans, today, it seems Nicaraguan society has found a more pragmatic alternative: cooperation.

This all reminds me of Europe in the 1600s, after a century of Catholics-versus-Protestants religious wars: People just embraced the Baroque, pro-status-quo world of divine monarchs and lofty Church ritual. So much of Central American contemporary history has parallels in European history ‘ affirming my belief that societies are evolving on similar tracks on different timelines.

I don’t know whether the FSLN leaders have been corrupted by power, or simply have no choice but to compromise pragmatically to stay in power in a world where the current of globalization cannot be paddled against. Either way, the ideals and spirit of the Sandinista revolution have blossomed into the society at large. They live in the people we talked to. While Daniel may have jumped ship, the boat of revolution has been cut loose and is still sailing.