(noel paul stookey's journal, written during the
group's visit to El Salvador and Nicaragua... june 23
through july 2,1986)
Nicaragua
area: 45,698 square miles
(size of pennsylvania) population: 2,954,000 capital:
managua (615,000) geography: the western half of the
country is occupied by low, rugged mountain ranges separated
by basins and fertile valleys; a string of about forty
volcanoes extends along the pacific coast; there are
two large lakes; the hills in the central part of country
give way to sparsely populated tropical lowlands in the
eastern half.
Economy
chief export crops: coffee,
sugar, cotton, timber. chief customers: u.s. (26.1%);
eec (16.3%); latin america (11.2%) gross domestic product:
$2.4 billion government expenditures: not available foreign
debt: $3.5 billion u.s. aid (1984): none
Demographic and Social Indicators
per capita income: $897 population
density: 22 inhabitants/square km life expectancy: 55
years infant mortality: 94/1000 live births adult literacy:
48% (before revolution; 88% after literacy campaign).
in july 1979, the forty-five
year Somoza dictatorship was overthrown by a popular
insurrection led by the Sandinista National Liberation
Front. Formally the executive power was in the hands
of a junta and the state council operated as a kind of
assembly, although its members were chosen by sectors
instead of by direct representation. effective power
is held by the nine-person Sandinista nation directorate.
people participate in government through organizations
of workers, peasants, farm laborers, women, youth, professional
people, and neighborhood committees. in November 1984,
Nicaragua held elections, although a major opposition
candidate, Arturo Cruz, after months of negotiation with
the Sandinistas, refused to participate. Sandinista commander
Daniel Ortega was elected president with 68 percent of
the votes cast.
day four / nicaragua
imagine. the stewardess comes
back to our seats and asks us to come forward immediately
after landing so that we may be the first off the plane.
we are being met in managua by rosario ortega (the president's
wife) and their seven children. we have met once before
in washington at the martin luther king birthday party
when she came back stage and reconfirmed her desire for
the group to visit her country. there are many lights
more than our film crew's connie chung is here with the
nbc folks doing an in-depth story on rosario and there
is certainly the national press of nicaragua...but still
it's a little heady to be met with flowers and the children
and be whisked away to a sitting area where we are welcomed,
peter makes the statement for us condemning the contra-aid
bill which was passed just yesterday, mary and i make
a few nice- nices, nbc asks a few questions and i play
horsie on the kneesie with a few of the ortega boys while
we wait for the luggage. zack (the sound man) had a few
problems with the nagra and missed the sound for the
whole welcome ceremony but fortunately the nbc producer
(first name Houston - i call him Whitney by mistake -
the old reflex syndrome) will let zack take a dub from
the nbc videotape which rolled for the entire event.
we renew acquaintence with marguarite (rosario's aide
and one of the translators assigned to us for the next
four days) and noel (also an aide but of what i know
not). they too were in washington for the king celebration.
though it is dark as we approach
the hotel in the air-conditioned bus that we will have
the use of during our stay here, the large gap in buildings
is pointed out to us as the former downtown managua.
in 1972 there was a big earthquake (most of us remember)
that killed 10000 nicaraguans immediately. bob stark
and marguarite fill us in on little details. the sign
that calls for a constitution that will provide health
services and education is said to be the result of a
dialogue that the government has been having with all
of its citizens. there are periodic visits to all the
districts and great debates held on what should be included
in the document to be. the Triumph (as the defeat of
Somoza is called) took place shortly after the earthquake
and in fact, as bob tells us, it was somoza's greedy
handling of the international funds that poured into
nicaragua that angered the wealthy and remaining supporters
of his dictatorship and opened the way for the FSLN and
the popular revolt to succeed.
we arrive at the hotel and
an old face from the village meets us in the lobby. don't
remember his name...but he has all the right credentials...ran
lights at the cock and bull...knew us when for sure.
he is here with a filmmakers group (along with ed asner
who just left this morning) and introduces me to his
friend donna. i mention john brent as one of those old
faces and he tells me that john is dead...i'm sorry he
says...i said are you sure i just talked to howard hessman
maybe a year...yeah he says...3 months ago...i'm sorry.
aw shit my heart says...i really loved that guy and never
got a chance to tell him. at least he was clean continues
the report...it was a heart problem that had been fixed
temporarily about 6 years ago by the insertion of a pig
valve (similar operation to lyndon johnsons) in the heart...but
maybe the hard life and drugs john laid on himself in
the early years would't allow a little flexibility in
the later days...i'm teary from the information...and
probably a little emotionally edgy anyway - there is
a new experience every three hours on this trip...
we get our room keys and i
come upstairs for about a half hour until the luggage
arrives and then it's downstairs to meet xavier and peter...the
first two nicaraguan spokespeople to address us as a
group. they are both jesuit priests - i'm beginning to
feel like i'm reading shogun again... and they are a
combination of articulate and engaging. they don't mind
when i phrase questions in off-the-wall ways. i'm leaping
ahead in my mind to the meeting coming up with the american
ambassador here and i know from the meeting with Coor
how we will get stonewalled by us policy statements rather
than answers to our questions. so i ask when the ambassador
says that there is a popular movement to overthrow the
government and the united states is merely supporting
that faction that seeks to obtain democracy in the country
(which considering that the contras are mostly ex-somozans
dictatorship stock is in itself a bit of wishful thinking)
what can we say? peter (not yarrow) answers surprisingly.
say "isn't that great?". say "what other
central american country allows that kind of freedom?".
and the truth is certainly not el salvador where the
political parties are center to right and even to profess
a philosophy left of the existing ruling party means
arrest, torture and prison. ok i say well how about if
the ambassador then says "if only the sandinistas
would sit down and negotiate with the contras".
kay (xavier's confidant and soon to be ours) speaks up...she
says the nicaragua people would scream in fury that such
goons who kill innocent people in bomb shelters with
grenades and hack apart doctors and sandinista farmers
to scare the rest of the campesinos would be allowed
to sit down and negotiate. xabier brings up the same
points that were brought up when jimmy carter asked about
the negotiations...who are the contra leaders? and he
identifies the top four and none of them are from nicaragua.
one of them a former cia man, one of them a business
man...who are you really negotiating with? better he
says that washington should negotiate directly with nicaragua...and
that has been tried several times with very negative
results. the contadora peace proposal created by all
the central american countries had a chance a while ago...until
nicaragua said it was prepared to sign...then suddenly
the administration realized that among the rules of the
contadora pact would be the removal of all foregn military
presences in the area...personnel and equipment...and
where would that leave them in el salvador...very tricky
eh?
peter (the yarrow type) was
hard pressed to leave without getting a few more questions
answered, but the rest of us knew what time we had to
get up in the morning...and we excused ourselves and
went to bed...most of us...except of course the log-writer
here...but now it has caught up with me and...bye...
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz........
day five / nicaragua
early. everything seems earlier
now. and soon to be earlier still. but here we are in
the bus on the way to the children's hospital. the film
crew is now shooting on the bus as well as when we get
to our destinations. and sometimes at lunch. my energy
level is sagging...i don't know how they do it. on the
way marguarita tells us that the doctor is known around
the hospital as 'the poet'. he is also known among poets
as 'the doctor'. he says he thinks this may be a bad
sign. we arrive to meet him and begin our tour with a
brief 3 song concert in the hallway next to 50-60 cartons
of the infamil which we will present to this hospital.
cartons are hung with a banner that says 'quest for peace'.
through this agency much of the outside resources that
comes to all the hospitals in nicaragua arrives. there
is no direct trading with the united states. even the
the U.S. wheat that makes the flour for the bread here
comes from an agency in paris that buys it from the soviet
block countries. it would be hard to tell from the attitude
of the people that this is a country at war. and how
ironic that we should be paying the taxes that just put
110 million dollars at the disposal of an army who could
conceivably attack the city in which we're now staying!
after the songs and the presentation,
the poet/doctor takes us through several hallways. there
is a page for someone over the intercom. it sounds like
singing. i mention that it is much prettier than the
paging in the united states hospitals. i don't think
he understands. maybe announcements in nicaragua all
have a lilt to them... he takes us to the breast feeding
room (he's very proud of this room). here any mother
with milk can pump her breasts and keep the result refrigerated
not only for her child but for others as well.
he takes us to the inventory
room. the shelves are embarrassingly spare. he gives
us a list. i take it. i will try to find pdfunding for
'quest for peace' group and earmark the list of medicines
to this hospital...i'm beginning to be involved. i'm
trying to maintain my objectivity...but when children
are in need...what's the difference. the page happens
again. and again. i'm learning how to sing harmony to
the page...the film crew likes that...they try to capture
the next page with harmony...on the way out of the hospital
they do.
and now to the national assembly.
the buildings here are some of the few still standing
since the earthquake...one of the former eight story
buildings is now a functioning four story building. we
enter. there is a semi-circle of seating for 200+ people
but there is no meeting in progress as we climb the stairs
to the conference lounges. we are seated at a long table
with two representatives of the FSLN and an aide. we
can just reach across the table to shake hands and can
barely hear one another. it takes only a few minutes
to relocate the meeting to a couple of couches. much
nicer... some visitors stop by...some press. we begin
to unravel the political makeup. we ask about the opposition.
there are apparently two parties to the right but neither
of them are here...i ask if they are real or token parties
in name only so that it appears that there are political
alternatives...i'm told i should ask them myself...
basically what is reviewed
here is the fact that if it were not for the war the
FSLN could get on with the running of the country...mary
explains her background as a newspaper brat and volunteers
that since freedom of the press is a fundamental concern
for all americans, it would seem to be an issue that
the nicaraguan government must deal with sensitively...she
asks for an explanation of the closing of La Prensa...there
are some abstract cases made for the free dissemination
of information and then one of the men makes the following
argument. "if the united states were in a war, would
the government allow the printing of a paper that supported
the invading forces?" hmmmm... sticky question eh?
it would be similar to dropping propaganda leaflets on
a major city. hmmmm.
(i'm afraid i'm losing detail
here...i'm behind on this log and have decided to come
back and work on this, the second day, whenever i get
the chance - this installment being done on a bus with
11 other loonies on the way to the black woods for an
overnight. we are being forced by our fatigue to sing
all the camp songs we ever knew...and then some doowoppa
too)
ahem...
we leave the assembly building
for a lunch at the art center to which we will return
several times in the next few days...we park the bus
and walk over a little bridge to an outdoor garden section.
there are three rocking chairs. i line them up in a row.
we stage a pp&m 50th year reunion. we sing if i had
a hammer...we crack ourselves up...somebody tells us
that we should come to the restaurant/gallery now for
lunch. we enter a california ranch-like building. there
are paintings on the wooden walls, tile floors, 15-20
people are at various tables...there is an informal almost
collegiate attitude here... we go to the porch for a
lunch with gus pajaron. part of it will be filmed. we
drink tamarind juice and pina juice and most of us try
the rice/bean juice lunch arrives in the most disconnected
order - the beans arrive last (and they are the best
part of the meal) - still we are just getting settled
in and the conversation with gus almost seems like chit-chat
until he begins to describe the effects of the targeted
killing (double speak = low intensity war) by the contras.
he speaks of the danger to doctors and those transporting
medicines to villages in the combat zones. we ask if
his life is in danger. he says that it has been. gus
is the head of protestant relief here and mentions briefly
the division occuring in the catholic church and the
increase in the protestant population...we will learn
more of this later... the film crew has finished and
moved outside for some 'local color'. we thank gus and
on the way back to the bus become part of the color.
the afternoon is reserved
for exploring the opposition. such a contrast to el salvador
where you had to makes secret arrangements to find the
opposition. we round the corner of the entrance to La
Prensa, heavily censored newspaper (sometimes quite arbitrarily
according to peter from his last visit here). to the
right and to the left of the front door are photostatic
copies of the stories that have been censored out of
individual editions. today however is an historic day.
concurrent with the granting of the 110 million dollars
to the contra by the u.s. congress, La Prensa has been
shut down. we ask if we can film an interview with a
representative...mr velasquez volunteers (or is appointed?).
we enter his office and sit on a couch of questionable
stability. mary reiterates her abhorrance of censorship
except possibly in the most extreme of circumstances
and then asks if La Prensa advocates the violent overthrow
of the government. the question is avoided. she asks
again. there is a long thoughtful silence. finally mr
valesquez replys coyly "that would be against the
law..." hmmm. a couple more questions about the
ethics of journalists during national emergencies (eg.
the story printed by la prensa about a rice shortage
which in turn created a rice shortage). margie tells
of both the new york times and washington post knowing
of the recent U.S. raid on Lybia prior to the strike.
mr valesquez seems surprised. ...marge asks about the
$100,000 received by the paper several years ago from
an american agency (shortly to be exposed as CIA funding...
mr valesquez allows that yes he does recall receiving
some kind of assistance but he doesn't remember from
whom...marjorie is just chock full of information on
the paper...she has me ask about the ownership and the
printing of the two other papers (supposed tools of the
state but one of them run by a relation of the chamorros
- the owners of this paper). there is some talk about
the scope of the relationship and i lose my place...ethan
wants a picture before we leave and he gets one of valesquez
by the door to the office. we stop at the front of the
building again to read and photograph the outtakes before
getting on the bus for the transport to our COSEP meeting.
on again off again. the bus
already seems like a second home and we've only been
here for two days. COSEP is a society of businesses who
are in opposition to the FSLN. they are quick to point
out as we begin the interview outside in a little patio
area under darkening skies that they were big supporters
of the overthrow of Somoza even to the extent of paying
employees who were on 'leave' to fight in the revolution.
but then things changed they say. there are two of them.
one of them is an oriental. they both speak passable
english. did they change before the contra aid began
we ask. oh yes they answer. they say that the government
has 'confiscated' businesses like the singer sewing machine
company without changing the names so that they could
obtain loans not otherwise available. we ask if they
are in danger by speaking up. they hem and haw a bit
but then one of them says yes...and when we ask why he
explaines that he was in prison for a while for just
writing a letter and asks his secretary to bring out
copies of his letter. there are a few sprinkles of rain.
the inhibition of the profits keeps reestablishing itself
as primary motive of their discontent - fear of more
companies being taken over - a reluctance to accept the
fact that these are hard times exacerbated by the war
and, more emotionally interesting toward the end of the
interview, a discussion of motives. the only motives
understood by COSEP seems to be to be business success
and the accumulation of money (capital)...i ask what
Jesus Christ's motive was. one of the men says "to
save us"....hmmm. peter never gets to ask what they
think the motive of the revolution is...we ask about
the freedoms available and they allow that yes there
are some freedoms but then they lapse into complaining
about the shortages as margie gives us the wrap-up sign.
we have just 20 minutes or
so before we must leave for the repliegue to see the
celebration of the walk to masaya. a quick stop at the
hotel and we are bussing in the midst of big traffic.
toward the end of Somoza's rule, the guard had backed
the FSLN into one of the poorer neighborhoods of managua.
it was early evening and the Somoza guard would attack
in the morning. the FSLN decided to withdraw their forces
in a strategic retreat to the town of masaya some 40
kilometers away and offered to assist anyone else who
might want to join them. to their surprise nearly 2500
men, women and children left with the guerilla forces
in the dead of night and made the 10 hour walk. when
Somoza's troops arrived in the morning the neighborhood
was deserted. each year since the Triumph, this march
is celebrated and this year over 30,000 people are expected
to make the overnight march. we arrive at the starting
gournds and make our way with the film crew to the large
stage. it is set up with many chairs. ortega will be
speaking here. the crowd is immense already. there are
quite a few soldiers around the stage area. there is
a cordoned off section for the press and some cameras
are set up there already. marguarita speaks to several
of the soldiers and we are admitted to the area. around
us every 100 feet or so there are human pyramids being
built - one man standing on three men standing on five
men - then collapsed for a moment and celebrated the
next by throwing the top man in the air and catching
him. we take turns standing on the metal railing separating
the crowd from the press section and there are people
as far as the eye can see. many are dressed in green
fatiques, though few are in the army. but this is the
revolution...you can sense the spirit of the country
here...it is getting dark now as the headlights of several
jeeps round the corner near the stage. it is rosario
and daniel and sergio and several other members of the
FSLN government. instead of mounting the stairs to the
platform they come over and welcome us. we speak of our
concern at the passage of the contra-aid bill and daniel
accepts our words somberly. he says he is glad that we
are here and declares what we will hear a lot in the
next few days...that he feels that it is the Reagan administration
that has forced the passage of the bill and not the american
people. he turns and the entire group climbs the stairs
to increasing applause. there are several statements
prior to ortega's speech that condemn the contra-aid
and aver that the nicaraguan people will never be defeated
no matter what size the army. the crowd starts to chant "yanqui
come here...yanqui die here" we don't join in.
after much cheering daniel
speaks. i am impressed by his modest delivery. this is
not a political figure in the traditional american sense
of the word. he speaks deliberately. his expressions
are poetic. and the crowd which moments ago was boisterous
is rapt. there is a real connection going on here. a
sense of unity so rich that even though we don't catch
all the words of the translation or understand the occasional
slogan shouted from those behind us we get the sense
of a young determined nation who in spite of hardship
have a vision to fufill. the speech ends, and daniel
and several other officials take their place at the head
of the march. i have never seen such a casual clearing
of 30000 people from a field before...in a matter of
10 minutes the entire area has returned to open field
again. daniel will march the entire distance. so will
most of the marchers.
we do a few interviews in
the aftermath - a particularly emotional one for nicaraguan
t.v. - and walk back to the bus. hugh puts his foot into
a hole takes a tumble and tries to maintain his composure...he
mostly succeeds... we reach the bus and moments later
are back at the hotel preparing for the dinner at the
home of Luiz Enrique Godoy - the other performer on the
bill when we give our first performance tomorrow at the
national circus tent.
it's brief ride to the driveway
that leads up through the army base to Luiz's house.
we pull to the side to let the mercedes and 4 wheel drive
vehicle of rosario ortega slip by. up the hill past a
couple of sentries and into a front yard that could be
a page out of Santa Barbara homes and gardens... the
house is open in design and walls filled with clusters
of interest. one wall has nothing but masks. noel correa
tells me a story of when the spanish first conquered
the nicaraguans. the nicaraguans put on a play 'in honor'
of the white man's visit which was a satire of the spanish
morality... they wore masks, paraded pompously and stole
from one another. the spanish, according to noel, loved
the play since they thought the natives were trying to
adopt their culture.
another wall is filled with
musical instruments; pan pipes, small ukeleles, a lot
of rhythm instruments, maracas, tambourine...near this
rack of colorful equipment is a photo gallery of Luiz
in action. above a piano is a collection of cassette
tapes - must be 200 - most of them personal. i make a
drink for myself...uh let's see...guess i'll try for
a margarita...i'll try some of this and some of this
and hey not half bad...except if i have more than one
of these i'm gonna be some silly fellow. i'm in the kitchen
looking for salt when noel walks by and we get into a
so hows it goin conversation. he tells me of his wife
joan, of his son jalette*, of his mother being a maid
in the u.s. and studying in america. jerry van campen
is here tonight... he's been working for 3-4 days setting
up the sound...he tells me about the tent and how it
bent the uprights and collapsed and it took 2 days and
a crane and some patching to pull it back up into shape...rosario
and luiz come over near the buffet table. luiz's wife
has done a beautiful spread and the 20 or 30 of us here
stroll around the table loading up...i take my plate
outside and marge joins me. it seems tranquil and not
quite real after the intensity of el salvador...just
wait...
one of luiz's band is playing
a guitar...the living room seems to come together now...a
little circle tight around luiz, myself and peter...we
play a few chords of hammer. luiz is such a great improvisor...he
picks up a pad of paper he starts writing lyrics (a spanish
version of one of the verses of hammer) he starts back
phrasing against the melody... i come up with a format
idea...and we run it down...we talk about trini lopez
and luiz says he was a big blow-out in nicaragua...hammer
was his only song... i've got a toothpick in the corner
of my mouth. while i'm trying to teach luiz what part
of hammer he should sing he puts a toothpick in the corner
of his mouth and imitates me...it's an affectionate gesture
and i'm knocked out at how loose this guy is. we ask
about the song that jerry says sounds like puff the magic
dragon...oh no he says...we say c'mon...and sure enough
the beginning changes of each verse are the A, C#m, D,
A, D, A, F#m, B7, E of puff but who cares and the song
blossoms from there into another piece... but if this
is what it takes to get him to play...well...he plays
another song ...beautiful song...commandante carlos fonseca...tries
to teach me the chorus ...i get the first line and a
bit of the last line...he's a powerful singer/player...the
song is beautiful and everyone is singing by the time
he finishes. he hands me the guitar... i try to pass
it on to peter...peter says no you sing...i think...well
when in latin america...i sing april fool...luiz's band
play a few percussion things behind me and it feels in
the pocket. when it's over, i ask if janet would translate
the lyrics for me...peter helps me remember a line (gads...it's
so weird when the hand/throat coordination is not there
to remind you of what words come next). i'm told the
next day that the christian allegory did not translate
at all...
luiz sings another song and
someone translates it. it is pretty with tones of the
revolution threaded through it...thoughts like i lay
with you now but think of the mountains i must climb
to secure the future of our people... i remember lorca
and the first time i read his poetry in the village in
'60.
peter's turn...he chooses
don't take away my freedom and janet translates each
verse...we all sing the choruses...it takes on a very
special significance here in this country...pretty and
profound and a wonderful way to end the party (though
luiz does just one more...)
it is almost midnight when
we call it a night. mary left earlier but peter and i
will pay for this tomorrow...
day six / nicaragua
the orphanage has a lovely
little courtyard...and there are sixty children waiting
for us this morning at 8:30. we meet miriam the director.
her recovery from polio - stricken as a child is a story
unto itself - from total immobilization to wheelchair
to full function and a life now dedicated to these children.
and what children. more open than any we've met so far...we
sing puff the magic dragon and they are immediately captivated
by peter's facial expressions...mary and i play counterpoint
to him acting out the characters in the second verse
and the songs end to happy applause. kay is an energetic
translator - she becomes a performer as well and on the
next song (after i do a little cross arm over head routine)
she supplements peter and i in old lady who swallowed
a fly wonderfully...we finish with weave me the sunshine
and everyone claps in time. we thank them - they thank
us - we leave two tapes with the directors and start
to hang out with the children. mary is having her blond
hair adored and bestows exotic english names (ebony,
auburn, etc.) on all the different shades of hair that
the young girls ask her about. i am helping a boy with
two broken legs play my guitar...he strums...i chord
and sing...several others 'play' the guitar this way.
these children are very open and a great testimony to
the manner in which the orphanage is being administered.
a little girl is carrying my guitar to the gateway...it
is heavy for her...many children are walking with us...they
hold our hands...they lean their heads against our hips...they
say they have seen us on television...the little girl
that is carrying my guitar stops and lowers the case
to the ground. she has a little square of red tape from
the film crew on her cheek. i peel it off, place a kiss
on the spot and 'reseal' it.
back on the bus and on the
way to the old sear's store here. it is now a headquarters
for combatant support. we meet the director who introduces
us to the concept of homefront help to the families of
those fighting the contras. we enter a room with chairs
arranged in several rings and the mothers stand to applaud.
i say that it is with a heavy heart brought about by
the recent contra funding that we are here to share your
sorrow...peter picks it up...and to hear the story of
your fight so that we might take back the reality of
the nicaraguan people to the people of the united states.
and it begins. the mothers and the soldiers speak of
their losses and their anguish but included in each declaration
is the determination to prevail so that their country
might remain free. i'm thinking once again of how we
are painting these people into a corner...of how by dumping
massive funds into the contra army (the popular support
for which is difficult to find here in managua or even
perhaps in the country), we force nicaragua to wage a
war that costs them over half of their national budget
and thereby delay and restrict economically the possible
fufillment of the hopes of the revolution.
a catch 110, eh? another mother
testifies. she is very old. she reminds us of peter's
mother, vera. she is feisty. she says that when her son
was killed at a university protest rally by somoza's
national guard she sold her house her farm all of her
possessions and gave the money and all her time to the
revolution. she says she tells this so that we can know
the struggle has been going on for a long time. while
another mother is talking 3 women with flowers enter
the circle and give them to us all. they hug us while
the other woman is still talking. the one i am embracing
begins to sob deeply... i remember the farina song...'if
somehow you could pack up your sorrows and give them
all to me'... and i feel that i am taking part of her
burden. peter delivers a strong message of hope and a
promise to continue to tell the american people what
we have found. nicaraguan television has arrived and
mary reiterates our encouragement and though the nearness
of tears makes it difficult to speak full voiced, i whisper-speak
that i know that the flowers we just received from the
mothers were the flowers of forgiveness...and ask that
they pray for us as we will continue to pray for them...
whew...
it's raining and we are going
to pass on the marketplace and go back to the hotel...ahhh
showers, maybe some sleep and certainly more pounding
on this keyboard.
12:45...i had to have some
lunch and i did...something with swiss cheese ham and
pork on bread called a Cubano...last night i saw my first
bottle of Cuban rum...today i'm eating a Cubano...if
i could stand cigar smoke i think i know what would come
next. down to the bus a little early to keep typing on
this log...i am a full day behind now having skipped
yesterday...which was so full (children's hospital to
daniel ortega's speech) that i am almost intimidated
by the prospect. this trip will be to meet with the Witness
for Peace people (one of whom, ed griffin, was on the
kidnapped boat may 31 of last year), chico, jim (jaime)
and george (three priests working actively in the combat
zones), sylvia (who works with children) and of course
our own bob stark who has been instrumental along with
margie in setting up the entire trip - particularly nicaragua.
it is lunch time (yeah, i know i already ate...i'll nibble
at some fish ok?) and i speak briefly to ed about the
sojourner's community. we assemble at the table and before
the lunch is served chico and jim speak of the atrocities...the
food arrives and peter makes a strong case for not mixing
food with horror. we all agree, and the conversation
continues off camera with a lighter touch.
tick-tock back to the clock,
the cameras are rolling again. george allows that jim
is being too humble about his part in the intercession
for his parish. Jim is brief and his spirit humbling.
he feels that God has charged him with the care of his
parish of 35000 campasinos. ed describes with accuracy
the accounts of the witness for peace voyage and the
subsequent observations that the group has made. (they
have 'witnesses' who have volunteered for the future
trips lined up through 1988. pat speaks eloquently of
the real call of the christian to the poor, the information
that many facts are being distorted or concealed by the
press in the united states. as bob stark speaks his eyes
begin to brim. he has lost a close friend recently to
cancer and now is recalling the loss of another friend
who, just because he was nicaraguan, was taken away from
where bob and jim had guns held to their heads and shot.
their friend died in their arms. his crime? being a village
leader. the systematic assassinations are the new wave
of terror now in nicaragua. all teachers, doctors, village
leaders are to be eliminated so that the community will
flounder and instead of growing in the encouragement
toward self fufillment, will collapse and depend upon
a more exploitive system. these assassinations are usually
done in front of the villagers and are horribly brutal
(rape, decapitation are common) so that the others will
know that that is what will happen to them should they
try to emulate the fallen ones. ed says that of the 140
or so human rights abuses that witness for peace reported
on both sides about 120 of them were contra generated
and of the 20 attributable to the army all of them were
either the disobeying of orders or drunkeness related.
this is probably the most
devastating piece of footage we have shot ...to hear
in the american tongue the description of the innocents
killed, and to hear presented with such clarity the proper
calling of Christ's church is to cause weeping both inside...for
the victims...and outside...for the american church;
led so far from the new testament compassion by conservative
rhetoric.
(did ya ever notice department:
how the old testament of the bible is used as the scriptural
justification of war yet the nature of the fundamentalist
'rebirth' is to embrace and be embraced by Christ and
His new commandment to return not evil for evil but to
love our neighbor as ourselves?!)
there is a concert tonight.
we will sing with Luiz Enrique Godoy (he will scat on
Hammer at the end of our portion) and then there will
be a small party following...but first a stop by the
hotel and a try at calling betty for today is her birthday...she
is 48...and this is the first birthday in 23 years or
so that we have not spent together...i am seeing life
as so much more precious that i suspect i will have a
difficult time telling her how much i love her...
it's a collect call...there
are some noises on the line...but it's betty and it's
great to hear her voice...i'm feeling very weepy so we
talk about some matter of fact stuff and make sure that
she'll come pick me up in portland on the 3rd and we
will go see the dentist - hey, life goes on eh? i tell
her i love her and miss her for about the 4th time and
then we hang up...believe it or not it will really only
be 4 days till i see her again!
the bus makes its last run
to the tent with me and marjorie and mary and ethan.
bob stark has gone for the endless coffee and peter is
just finishing up the sound check. pretty smooth actually...sounds
nice on stage and in the tent... Luiz' group starts their
sound check and peter, mary and i return to the bus to
review with janet the order of the songs and the places
where there will be translations/introductions. we've
finished the meeting with janet and Luiz and greg have
joined us to run through Hammer when jerry van campen
(the sound man) comes running over, pulls the door open
and says "we've got trouble..." gads. seems
the board blew a power transformer and now we have to
switch boards, equalization settings are no longer applicable
and in a moment of panic the the cords of Luiz' band
are pulled from the board to set up the new PPM wiring.
fortunately cool heads prevail and we decide to have
the new sound check during the intermission between Luiz
and ourselves. daniel and rosario ortega arrive with
sergio the vice president and manuel the minister of
information...manuel is in his late 40's or early 50's
and not effervescent...i suspect that a supplemental
shot of marguarita (the person not the drink) might give
the office and subsequent international outreach a little
bzazz...but who am i to mention...and besides the opportunity
would have to present itself.
luiz is on...he sounds just
fine though we will learn later that this is an off night
for him (the sound being an off again on again patch
job and i think his monitors must be leaving much to
be desired). still, when he sings commandante carlos
fonseca...the crowd is so much with him...they love him...he
is nicaragua in song and spirit...
intermission is a little grim...lots
of microphone testing...the crowd is patient but this
is ridiculous. then again what choice do we have? finally
it is set and, with a brief 3 handed hum peter, mary
and i enter the stage area. the applause is strong but
brief and we begin with weave me the sunshine and the
first verse and double chorus...janet gives a translated
synopsis...and we continue...song follows song...we are
working without monitors...the songs seem to have some
new connection to the nicaragua people each verse a new
discovery. el salvador does not get applause between
verses...jet plane gets ooohs and ahhs...blowin in the
wind gets singing along (in english mind you) and then
it's time for hammer and we call out luiz and his group.
the tempo is bright, luiz is playing tambourine, the
band is playing the a,c#m,d,e changes just fine but they
can't seem to find the handle in the bridge and we go
careening through the first verse with the trio, the
2nd verse with luiz, the third verse with the three of
us again, and the fourth verse as a kind of a trading
off lines...then we come around to the 4 chord vamp change
and around and around and around...and the audience is
clapping and luiz is scatting and the band is cooking
and hey hot dig...this is some fun...we finish take a
bow take another bow and then it's backstage with the
ortegas and vice president and ministers. we pose for
a picture and i say why do i feel like shouting viva
la revolucion! and peter yells viva la liberte. and i
say "i feel like i've been heart-washed" and
the vice president says "that's because we still
do it by hand".
slowly we cool off dry down
and pass through the hotel rooms quickly on our way to
a dinner at the arts center (where we had those great
beans the other day), a few minutes at a table with manuel
(i suggest i might write a talking blues about 110 million
dollars of mercenaries living just across the border
from wisconsin requiring over half of the city budget
to fight...and the subway is not running too well anymore...and
reagan puts an embargo on all the shipments of beer...and
i ran out of ideas but somewhere in all this is a real
need to get the information about nicaragua's predicament
to the audiences this summer!). luis and his wife are
there and he speaks of the 6/8 way of nicaraguan life...he
pounds out tortillas to make the point... fascinating
man and thoughts...not the least inhibited...but everyone
agrees when i suggest laughingly that without the stability
of his wife, he would be too scattered (wonder where
i learned that from?).
our group leaves early - we
were supposed to film another jam session here but everyone's
too pooped - and on the way out i see this bright primative
painting. it is of a festival. the ballet de folklora
is dancing in the street with crowds on both sides. we
see the vendors we see the instrumentalists and we can
even see in through the open windows of some of the houses
along the parade route. in one of the the houses a child
is watching television. a smurf is on the screen. i ask
if i can buy it. i am told that it must first be registered
(all art leaving the country is registered) and then
in a few minutes i'm walking out with it under my arm.
the film crew is leaving the lights where the placed
them in the ceiling. they'll come back tomorrow to tear
down. i do not blame them...
returning to the hotel it's
fun talking computers with karl gottlieb (that old face
from the village and one of the writers of "jaws" i
find out) and after leaving him my card with the bbs
# and copying sweep from one of his micro- cassettes
(he has a px8 too), i bid anyone i can still recognize
goodnight and lurch into my room to finish this entry.
which i have done. nigh-nigh...
day seven / nicaragua
oh boy a bus ride...well maybe
not oh boy...but a bus ride. peter is in the lead car
with mary hartman. mary hartman...a sister in the human
rights commission is leading us to the first of two prisons
we will see this morning. it is a 15-20 minute drive
and i ask marguarita about her twin sister sofia and
growing up. she speaks of a rule in her family never
to reveal report cards except to their father, one at
a time. she says she would go in to talk about her grades
and he would look at them and say "did you try your
best?" and she would talk about her classes and
the test and then he would look at the grades again and
say "these are excellent...you've done a very good
job". years later, margarita continues, when she
and her sister and brother were all getting A's, she
found some of her old report cards with C's and D+'s.
we arrive at the prison and
i'm barely a notch above zomboid...i am like a write-only
floppy disk - you can put information in but you won't
get any information out. still, this is a chance of a
life time right? so in through the front gate we go and
meet one of the directors. he is surpris- ingly young;
jeans and a baseball cap, and once leaving the pretty
courtyard, we talk on the hoof so that sherry can get
some different images than three heads in a flourescent
room. into the cell block. and i'm impressed...i mean
prison can't be anybody's shangrila, but these halls
are wide, clean and un- cluttered...inmates are mopping
floors and because it is sunday there is a mini-festival
in the dining area with a brightly painted stage and
the men and women prisoners have created a dance for
the families visiting today.
we ask a prisoner if he will
talk with us. he agrees. he is in a cell block reserved
for prisoners who refuse to co-operate with the system.
the 'punishments' for not joining the work force are
the restrictions of priveleges. most prisoners may have
visitors every 15 days. non-working prisoners every 30
days. the prisons in nicaragua have a strong emphasis
on rehabilitation (a real departure for latin america)
and teaching trades. we ask this prisoner how is treatment
has been. he says fine. we ask if there has been torture.
he appears to be searching his memory. he says not him,
but of course there are some psychological tortures.
we ask what. he says like removal of priveleges...my...we
ask him why he chooses not to learn a trade or work in
the system. he answers that he was in Somoza's national
guard and that he refuses to work for the Sandinistas
in any way. he points to the balcony cells at an inmate
who he says is the only one he knows of who has been
tortured. we wave/ask if the prisoner will come down
to talk to us on camera. he comes briskly down the iron
steps in the bright open cell- way. he is about 5'10" tall.
he is in his early 30's. we ask him about the torture...he
says sure...we say tell us...he shuffles a little...he
says well solitary confinement. uh-huh. he says there
is psychological pressure to adopt the sandinista's ways.
we ask what kind. he shuffles again...they uh take away
your priveleges. uh-huh. peter asks why he is in prison.
before marguarita translates she advises us that prisoners
are not required to answer and peter asks instead how
long a prison term are you serving? he says 30 years.
i whistle inwardly...thirty years...gads he must be a
heavy 'hitter'. were you a member of Somoza's guard?
yes he says. were you a soldier? he crosses his arms.
i was in mechanics and aviation. later we will surmise
that for a 30 year sentence he must have done more than
wipe windshields and check the oil...we are told that
in the last days of Somoza there were bombs dropped on
Managua by the airforce and one incident where 50 gallon
barrels of gasoline were dropped on the city...we thank
him for answering our questions and move to a cell block
where the contras have been imprisoned.
we want to speak with a contra
to find out about interrogation methods and conditions.
in a few minutes a prisoner comes to the central hallway
where peter, mary hartman, the film crew, marjorie, marguarite,
and i are waiting. he appears to be in good physical
shape and we ask him to explain how he came to be captured.
he said that he was on a domestic destruction mission.
his target was a cement factory and that he was captured
in 1981* he said there was no torture and that the conditions
were alright. he said that he has come to recognize certain
errors in his political thinking (hmmmmm...sure sounds
disturbingly like a learned phrase but maybe that's because
of the movies eh?) and that his sentence has been reduced
to 7 years. we ask if he thinks he may get out even before
then and he smiles modestly. we ask how he came to join
the contras and he asks if he may know to whom he is
speaking. we introduce ourselves. and he thinks he knows
us. it may be the old "peter paul and mary ford" syndrome
but we don't bother to elaborate. he says that he participated
in the overthrow of Somoza and about a year or two later
some friends of his who were in the contra contacted
him and asked him to join them...i ask where he was based...he
says honduras...i ask if he ever heard of human rights
abuses by the contras...he says he was an adminis- trator
and not in the field...kinda begs the issue but marjorie
is looking grim and making 'T's' with her two hands...time
to push on to the next event.
beside the courtyard there
is an open area where auto repair takes place... there
is an air hose hissing and zack asks if we could have
it turned off until the next interview is done. i sit
down beside peter and mary hartman on what appears to
be a small concrete well cover. peter has written out
about 5 questions relating to the prison system and particularly
focusing on charges by america's watch. this appears
less to me like a conversation and more like setting
sister hartman up with the subject material and filming
her answers so i leave as the first is being asked and
stroll about the work area. in regards to human rights
abuses, the interview begins, the vast majority fall
to the contras. of the remaining abuses connected to
the sandinistas, all have been brought to court an sentencing
carried out...some were in the prison we just visited.
there is an old car seat against the wall. i have seen
that "couch" many times since moving to new
york in 1960.
peter is asking about the
interrogation center of the sandinistas...ms hartman
is saying that any attempt to get into the center has
met with failure. she says this is not surprising...it
is customary in any nation to keep places like that removed
from any kind of public access. but she says she has
interviewed those released and has found that the terms
of incarceration run from a few hours to a few weeks.
marjorie has me slip a question to peter while this last
answer is being filmed, and after a description of the
most liberal aspect of the new prison farms, we leave
to visit one.
in probably what is the quickest
on-site visit ever, we leave the bus, make a bee-line
for the dammed portion of the stream where the prisoners
who are not home on visiting weekends are seated with
their families, watch about 30 children dive and splash
in the pool area, and after a couple of longing looks
at the water, hear marjorie ask "what do you have
to do to get put here?"
we are lickety-split up the
hill, right through the middle of the payroll shed for
the prisoners. there are about 50 here and in front of
an askewed bulletin board with messages of the revolucion,
pay envelopes are being handed out. we pass through.
there are two blackboards upon which complex mathmatical
formulae have been written...obviously this building
has many purposes.
bottom line this IS a farm...and
the smells remind me of maine. maine? how long have i
been gone now? gads...i can't remember the first day
in el salvador unless i reread these log entries...gads.
back in the bus and the race
against the clock to the traditional catholic mass. marguarita
thinks we might get there in time for the homily. we
will meet up with mary and ethan here. as we pull up
they are trying to film an interview with one of the
parishoners. marjorie tells me later of the typical parishoner
response that they found here..."who have you spoken
with so far? i want the names of the people that you've
spoken with." just a normal sunday at the cathedral?
bob stark and i walk up to
the open door of the church. the homily is about half
over. the officiator is not cardinal bravo. the subject
is about the authority of the church. the church does
not yet recognize the government. to the extent that
that might affect the national security it is a real
danger homiles that speak in parables are one thing...publishing
support of the armed overthrow of the government is quite
another. (THUMBNAIL OVERVIEW: cardinal bravo was given
his first appointment as bishop by Somoza, and while
he disagreed more and more with Somoza's abuses of power,
his constituancy and support comes even now from that
corner. the vatican traditionally has supported dictatorships
(Somoza was no exception) and meanwhile liberation theology
has taken firm root in the third world and small barrio
churches like the one i will go to later today represent
the ennobling of the poor by their learning that they
are sons and daughters of Christ and brothers and sisters
in the kingdom of God.
today is the celebration of
the saints Peter and Paul (peter and i were given flowers
earlier in our stay) and the homily is based on the scripture
where, after telling Christ who the people think He is,
Jesus asks "who do you say I am?"...to which
Peter responds "Thou art the Messiah, the son of
God" and Jesus says "upon this rock I will
build my church". I have always thought it a matter
of interpretation as to whether Jesus was referring to
the strength of Peter's faith or to Peter himself but
for the purposes of this particular homily (and perhaps
this particular heirarchy), it is assumed that Jesus
was entrusting the earthly body of believers to Peter
(and his 'appointed' descendants). therefore, the homily
continues to imply, all authority comes from this descendency
to the pope, and from the pope to this church... the
message is clear: this authority does not recognize that
a revolution has taken place = this body of believers
will not recognize that a revolution has taken place.
bob and i turn and walk together
to the corner. there is short ride from here to the united
states ambassador's home and the group reassembles on
the bus. ambassador Bergold himself comes to the front
door and welcomes us. he is in shirt sleeves, soft spoken,
and his face looks familiar though i'm sure i've not
seen photos of him before. he brings us to his living
room. there are several chairs, a low coffee table, and
a couch. he asks if we'd like something to drink and
i volunteer to go help "whip it up" before
realizing embarrassedly that because of his informality
i had assumed that it was the 'maid's day off'. the door
opens gently and the ambassador gives the drink orders.
he is relaxed, accessible,
and we discover sympathetic to the principles of any
people's self-determination. i ask him about the ambassadorship
being a two-way street and do his recommendations reach
the white house. he says his reporting is actually to
the state department and Schultz though if the occasion
is called for he can go higher. he speaks of the ambassadorship
as the responsibility to implement the current administrations
policies...the emphasis on 'current'. he is a knowlegeable
analyist...he is a career diplomat; serving previously
in a couple of europe eastern block nations... his estimations
seem accurate...his suggestions to the FSLN important
(ie: when a delegation of american congress people arrive
in Nicaragua it is not sufficient to arrange a meeting
with Ortega...better to intensify and diversify the experience
of this country...arrange for these groups to meet more
of the people)...Bergold says several times he is the
one that is arranging for the visiting groups to see
a more liberal picture of the country. it is suggested
that perhaps he might be more outspoken in the press
about his personal views on the situation here. he says
that might be effective or newsworthy for about two or
three days. i suggest he might write an expose and go
out in a 'blaze of glory'. we laugh. he says actually
he has received a couple of offers already. it goes no
further. margie gives the T sign...we are due at Daniel
and Rosario's for lunch. peter insists on his 'question
caliente' which takes from the living room to the front
door to ask and three or four more minutes in front of
the house to answer. we are thankful...he has been very
gracious and an oasis of rational thought in a desert
of u.s. rhetoric.
we return to the art center
to be met by an escort for the ride to the house of the
Ortegas. it is a breath in time. we are on the bus constructing
the questions we think will be the most important to
ask Daniel on camera. the film crew will be allowed in
the house for this interview...it's important.
arrival at the house and while
everybody oohs and aahs, i'm on the floor with the kids.
i go through every superhero comic book they have. I'm
adding sound effects when neccessary (most of the time
since they don't speak english). one of the children
asks me if i would like to see his room. hey i'm up for
that...into the back hallway...he leads me in and i sit
down on one of the two beds here...the ortega's are a
large family and rosario announced last night that soon
they would be one bigger...he shows me his drawings...he
takes the drawing tablet to the living room. i look at
the pictures in the back hallway. there is a picture
from Daniel's visit to the soviet union. he is wearing
a cosmonaut's suit. it is so incongruous...he looks like
he's swimming in it... there are other pictures...many
of the family together...daniel as a young boy and younger...dinah
wiley is looking at the pictures with me. near another
doorway there is a picture of Daniel and Fidel Castro.
Castro is looking down at the floor and Daniel is looking
more or less at him. i think to myself gosh cuba...haven't
heard much about cuba lately...i remember jack paar's
visit to the recently liberated Batista house in the
50's and all those suits with matching shoes...cuba...i
kind of muse out loud to dinah..."what's happening
in cuba?" she joins me in looking at the photo, "oh
it's kinda boring what's happening in nicaragua?" i
do a double take and then realize she's suggesting a
caption that might have gone under this photograph. it
cracks me up.
i come back to the living
room, meet more kids and take them to a big chair and
begin to draw. i draw two ellipses and say "como"?
certainly not the proper spanish but sufficient. suddenly
the little one gets the idea...and completes the drawing
of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. i start an ambitious
drawing. it is an automobile on a hydraulic lift. there
is a man with tools in his belt and he is waving. into
this scene comes Daniel...welcome home dear, a few friends
dropped over...it is sunday and the Ortegas are most
gracious. the young one shows daddy the drawing...he
points to the mechanic...he says it looks like you daddy...there
is laughter.
we sense that the following
questions are among the most important to the FBH (folks
back home).
1) what factors led to your
visit to the soviet union? 2) the closing of la prensa?
3) negotiation with the contras? 4) views on the contadora?
5) problems with the church? 6) greatest accomplishments;
greatest disappointments?
he begins to answer the first
question. he gradually broadens its scope. now he is
reviewing the entire revolution. he is approaching the
15 minute mark. i find a moment to interrupt and explain
that i don't wish to appear rude but we have a fixed
time here (even though we ARE his guests for lunch) and
that for the purposes of making this film it would be
better if he could limit his answers more directly to
the questions. i am aware (as his intense brown eyes
harden their stare) that i am in fact talking to Daniel
Ortega, the ruling president of Nicaragua, and telling
him to cut the fat out of this speech-making stuff and
get on with it. hmmmmm. i wonder if it's too late to
apologize. i try. his eyes warm again. he says he understands
the time limitations. we move on.
whew.
lunch of course is outrageously
good. there is a buffet of cheeses, meats, beans, a gourmet
plantain dish, and on and on... i beg out early because
i am going to the little barrio church for an appearance
that marguarita has arranged. we walk briskly to the
art center parking lot where the driver is waiting to
take us...on the way i ask a little about the circumstance;
do they expect me to sing (yes), will there be children
there (yes), how many songs should i sing (1 or 2), will
they have been expecting peter and mary as well (no).
in the car i'm wondering which songs to sing and become
aware of how difficult it is to easily translate a song
like obediant servant or april fool into spanish...the
nuance is in the interplay of word meanings and in translation
the choices are usually effective but gross. we arrive
as the mass is drawing to a conclusion. i leave my guitar
case in the trunk and just carry the bare guitar in.
marguarita leads us to the right and to a pew four or
five rows from the front. the priest is delivering a
homily. marguarita translates in a whisper. he is speaking
to the poor. i look around the church at the smiling
faces and many children. if there is poverty here it
is certainly not of the spirit. the priest mentions pedro,
paulo, y marie and marguarita tells me to raise my hand...i
do...what's not to do around these people? he asks if
i would like to come up and say a few words now or later...i
don't want to segment the church service and say later...there
is singing by a trio (1 woman, two men who play guitar
and flute)...then the congregation joins...the priest
has a good voice and leads well...he offers the eucharist
and marguarita and i both go to stand in line. there
is the wafer only. they do not offer the wine. i forget
to ask marguarita why...perhaps they can't afford it...and
now during the singing there are fireworks in honor of
St Peter and St Paul...what a great combination of emotions...the
joyousness of praising God combined with the noise and
celebration of fireworks. the mass concludes and after
a couple of false starts, marguarita and i go to the
front. i speak of not being nervous because of a great
peace that jesus has brought to my heart. i speak of
a greeting from peter and mary who cannot be here. i
tell them that i would like to sing a song with them
and teach them to sing in english "day is done" -
just those three words...they are quick to learn and
sing well... there are some english speaking people here
as well. i see ed griffen from the witness for peace
with his wife. i say that whenever i sing this song i
am thinking of two levels of meaning; the hand that God
extends to us, his children, and the hand that we extend
to our children... we sing. and then i teach them the
answer day is done/day is done and then the song finishes.
marguarita asks if there is not something that i can
sing for the children... i say sure let's do puff...she
introduces it...the priest comes up and asks for blowing
in the wind...whoops...too late. we do puff. i over-act
every character in the song...i get every body to la-la-la...and
the la-la's are so strong that at the end of the song,
acting like Puff (his very rascally self), i exit from
the church out the side door... the children love it...
and i think it has been another piece of the sunshine
here. the priest comes forward for the benediction. he
takes a white stalk of flowers from the arrangement to
the side of the altar and holds it aloft. he speaks and
marguarita translates. "we thank you paul for being
here during this time. this time when the united states
government has declared war on nicaragua. we know that
the americans do not want this war. please take this
flower as a sign of peace from the nicaraguan people
and ask your people not to pour our blood on it." i
am numbed. i feel so powerless. but i accept the flower
with a silent promise to answer their request...
back to the hotel for a quick
shower/change and to the tent. hopefully the sound problems
will not resurface and we can get on with gettin on...
peter is in a funk and i am too tired to interface well...i'm
so bushed that when a radio journalist from mexico city
comes to the bus for an interview, i lay down in the
back seat and actually go completely out while peter
and mary talk to him. moments later ruben zamora a leader
of the El Salvadorian FDR comes to the bus. he has just
returned from the vatican. he is not pleased with the
outcome of the meeting. he does not discuss detail but
rather says that when his daughter found out PP&M
were here she pleaded with him to bring her. he has also
brought his wife and we will sing to them in the 3rd
row front tonight!
luiz and the band go on first
again...and boy are they hot tonight! aside from the
powerful music, there is a casualness - an ease and a
series of adlibs just before their last song that is
irresistable. the audience feels like they're in luiz's
living room...i know...i've been there...
tonight the film crew will
wander the tent and get audience shots and cutaways of
us. we make sure we're wearing the same outfits (even
though mary has to send ethan back to the hotel to get
the much-wrinkled original over blouse) and all signs
are pointing to a grand night. but it's just one of those
gremlin events...a missed cue here...a funny mix there...the
mind wanders a bit and a capo gets put on late...anyway
we never really climb on top of the evening and though
the audience seems to find the music inspiring and entertaining,
we are crushed that we weren't boffo...still, the hammer
piece at the end is great and luiz and i do some scatting...and
then peter and mary get into it as well...
the show is over, the photos
taken, the hugs shared and now comes the quick coordination
at the hotel for the midnight run to matagalpa. yes,
believe it or not, we are making a late night run to
a small inn north of matagalpa so that we won't have
to leave at 5 a.m. tomorrow! it's a 2 hour trip (we hope)
and with beer and sandwiches and companionship (the film
crew is on this one), the time should pass quickly. it
does, and three hours later, assembled outside the bus
in the black forest we are assigned rooms and led to
the cabin by a man with a flashlight. it smells great
here...but we'll have to wait for the morning to find
out what it looks like.
peter and i are roomies for
the first time in probably 20 years...gads...we both
take a more than a passing interest in the gas hot water
heater but to no avail...it looks like shampoo to a cold
tap in the morning...
goodnight peter...gooodnight
noel...goodnight john boy...
day eight / nicaragua
it's 8 a.m. my calculator
just told me...45 minutes to the breakfast meeting with
the Sandinista leaders in this area. can't tell if i'm
used to being numb or if i've gotten used to 5-7 hours
sleep a day. into the bathroom; step over a 100 legged
creepy crawler and wonder how life is going in the other
cabins. i slept pretty well. Peter is flat on his back
with his hands under his head...snoring. has he been
like that all night...if i tried that my arms would go
to sleep...i decide i'll let him get another 10 minutes
when there's a knock at the door. it's kay and towels.
i have a sheet wrapped about my middle and was content
to use it as a towel. peter wakes as kay leaves...he
decides to go for the cold shower (so did Hugh i heard
later)... "Arrrgh...oh, uh-uh-uh...prphlgmglm...rouwa...oh,
uh-uh-uh..." the litany goes on until he turns off
the water... i hang my heating coil in a glass of water
and come up with enough hot water for a nice shave. peter
leaves and i spend 10 minutes entering more in this diary...
breakfast? gads i haven't
had a full out breakfast with eggs since i left maine...i
put some tabasco on add a dollop of rice and beans and
lay a liberal dose of what tastes like tamarind and honey
on some homemade bread...mmmmm. over the table hangs
a large (8' x 12') painting of the early days here at
the black forest. included in the canvas are the pictures
of the foresting fathers. the picture in the lower left
hand corner bears the name Travers.
the military chief, the lieutenant-governor
of the region, and a woman wearing a solidaridat t-shirt
are introduced. they sit at one end of the table. we
are introduced to certain facts about the area...it's
prime crop, coffee...the number of schools destroyed
by the contra (50+)...the fact that the Km per person
statistic runs 12/1 here in this remote area...we speak
about the contras...the raids...the pay scale (reported
joining bonuses of $1000 - big bucks in nicaragua)...the
recruitment of entire families and their removal across
the border to honduras...the selective assassination
of leaders...and with the passage of the new contra-aid
bill the fact that the military advisors will be allowed
within 10 miles/kilometers of the border which increases
the chances of their involvement during border skirmishes.
i try to light the woman's cigarette (actually i've been
quite the little hostess, pouring coffee, setting up
the salt shaker and tabasco sauce - you know, good zomboid
activity) with mary's lighter. can't find the right end...can't
flip the top open...can't find the strike roller...won't
spark until the third try... thank you.
marge gives us the T. the
woman has never spoken. as we say goodbye i discover
she has the strongest handshake of the three of them.
we are into the bus (peter runs back to the room and
gets one of the pillows we borrowed from the intercontinental)
and off for La Dahlia and a co-operative/resettle- ment
area that was hit on May 30th by the contra. the bus
ride is easy for the first half-hour, but the next half-hour
is rock n' roll, side to side, up and down, forward and
backward - well you get the idea - dust all over the
place and i give up pounding the epson. we arrive in
La Dahlia about 1pm. we are going to leave the bus here
and take the three jeeps further up into the hills (mary
and i have worked out this paranoia spy story where we
get set up to be martyrs by a faked contra attack where
the vehicles are totally destroyed and in the ensuing
outrage, the contra-aid is abandoned - it's beginning
to seem as though it would be a very small price to pay
for the peace of this country). la dahlia is not exactly
a flower of a place. there is a stream of latrine that
runs down the gutter of main street. several people are
standing around with their arms crossed. there are saddled
horses and donkeys...i step over to a donkey and pat
his neck...peter asks if we should take guitars...there's
no room. we have got the film crew and all the gear plus
marjorie, kay, and marguarita, the drivers and some accompanying
guards. this after all is where the contras make their
runs.
not since betty and i visited
baja california in the early sixties have i ridden over
roof-benders like this. bob stark, marjorie, peter and
i are 2 x 2 facing each other in the back of a toyota
land-cruiser. take the bus routine and triple the shock
value and you get an idea of the comfort... nonetheless
our driver tears out at breakneck speed (based on the
stookey avoidance of road hazards principle - 'the faster
you go the less time your wheel spends in the rut').
but he is excellent and we are the lead vehicle. a thought
of road mines crosses my mind on the road (what me worry?),
i feel sorry for the folks behind eating our dust...
it is 40 minutes to the village...and
as slow as we are to stretch out the cramped muscles
we manage to trickle together with the villagers up to
the school being rebuilt but roofed at least. we meet
the leader of the co- operative. he says that for the
first time in their lives they are free. why do the contras
come to kill us. we have a school. what are the kind
of men that destroy our school and kill our children?
my mind twists away to a briefing tent where men in camoflauge
point, grunt and draw circles around a cluster of dots
on a waterproof map.
the old woman in blue speaks
of the death of her two sons. there is soft crying in
the background. her grandson sits on peter's knee and
they hold tight to one another. peter will be his father
for the next hour and a half. the grandmother points
to another woman. she could be from hawaii or fiji. but
she is from nicaragua and her 8 year old daughter was
shot and killed less than a month ago in her own village.
we ask if she can talk about it... we know that these
scenes are powerful on film. nothing cuts like the truth.
and she starts. but that is all she can do. the village
watches as she stops talking. her eyes begin to brim.
she says "i don't want to remember this thing"...kay
translates...the woman cries...we wait...the woman says "there
were 350 of them"...kay cannot look at anyone as
she tells us this... the woman speaks again "she
was only a little girl"...kay tries to keep her
voice from trembling...the woman says "and i miss
her"...kay can barely say this..."why don't
they just leave us alone"...the woman breaks down
and leans her head into the corner of the partially completed
building...except for the weeping there is total silence.
and then kay loses it...still staring into nothing she
sobs, "they're the same bastards that killed my
..." i put my arms around her and she lets go...(this
is the same kay that at 15 years old came to nicaragua
on a baptist youth trip...struck by an illness so severe
that her tounge turned black and she lay in a managua
hospital for days with high fever and, after her return
home in ohio, surprised her parents by not only saying
she wanted to return but gained their permission and
admiration by working three summer jobs to help pay for
the trip)...it feels like this sorrow has been there
since her husband died seven years ago.
marguarita sits with her back
to the wall. she has a child on her knee. a mother with
another child is talking to her. the camera rolls as
the mother speaks of the devastation. "it was about
4:30 in the morning when the contras hit the lookout
posts. they set up their mortars on the hills and began
to shell the village. 30 men and boys went out to meet
them. 15 died. a woman was shot in the leg as she tried
to enter the civilian shelter. the mortars hit several
of the houses and they caught on fire. there were 350
contras but they never did take the entire village"
one of the village men finds
an old guitar. it has a third string where the fifth
string should be...who cares really...i tune it best
i can and we begin weave me the sunshine. as i sing "they
say that the tree of loving, shine on me again, they
say that it grows on the bank of the river of suffering" i
look at kay who leans against the wall. these are not
just lyrics to a song today. we finish together but the
guitar is out of tune again...who cares really...
after having margarita explain
to the boy on his lap that he is leaving him with me
for just a few minutes while he sings a song and then
he will be back, peter takes the guitar and begins i
know an old lady...kay translates...peter is inspired...the
laughter starts and when he reaches the goat verse, i
glance over at the old woman and the 8-year old's mother...they
are laughing in spite of the absurdity...or maybe its
because of the absurdity...i don't know...i just know
that for a moment there is a lightness in their hearts
and in the hearts of the entire camp...peter finishes
with some adlibs to which kay adlibs a rhyme in spanish
('i got it' she says and they move on)...he knows an
old lady who swallowed a roof...and she says "it's
a fact, she swallowed a roof" which in spanish turns
out to be a great rhyme. they end the song to great applause.
we open the bag of candy and
such and present the live savers and the pencils and
walk down the hill from the school house. peter and i
have riders on our shoulders (click, clock)...and into
the village again to see some of the ruins and the newest
addition to rural life; the cemetary. bob and i walk
between the burnt uprights of one of the remains. he
tells me of the shelters where the non-combatants are
supposed to stay during battle. we stop by the house
of the woman who was shot in the leg. the bullet has
been removed but there is swelling and pain. as i leave
i say Dios te bendiga (God bless you) and she immediately
reaches out her hand to squeeze mine... there are children
outside...i take pictures...i line up 10 of them for
a group photo. there is one more child i've had my eye
on for a horsie ride...i catch him up...and he is delighted...he
is yelling oy, oy, oy...i ask kay later what that means
and she says it means "there are no words to describe
this good feeling".
the jeeps are parked together
under a tree...and in my growing paranoia, i find myself
thinking more in terms of their camoflauge than shelter
from the afternoon heat...and as we load in bottles are
opened...i still don't have my knife...grrrr...bob keeps
offering his humongeous swiss army knife as a temporary
replacement...the jeeps start up and it's back on the
roller coaster again...something in me gets real giddy...i
must sense the most painful parts of the trip are now
behind me...that leaving this tiny little village at
3:30 pm is the end of the trip in many ways...and the
giddiness i think must be the funny way my psyche is
releasing this tension. we talk in the jeep about the
best way to make use of the film ...not for PPM but for
nicaragua...
40 minutes later loaded back
on the bus, we begin our return...we take a brief detour
through matagalpa for some local color on film...it's
a small interesting town on the side of a hill...there
is a park...we drive around it there is a man selling
something cold from a colorful cart...three girls giggle
as the bus passes by them...life goes on...and we are
out the other side of town and i am back at the keyboard
trying to beat the sunset...
jerry van campen and i get
into a big rap about the stock market and computers and
he's been working on statistics and cyclical relationships
and knows a whole bunch about ticker tapes and dow jones
and put and call options and i'm impressed but my enthusiasm
doesn't seem to be able to hold my eyes open and i find
myself nodding but not affirmatively...still the conversation
makes the kilometers fly and soon we are turning onto
the road leading to the hotel and it is only 7:15 pm.
big cheer for the driver...we have 45 minutes until the
press conference...we know how we feel about most of
the issues...bob just keeps encouraging us to be personal
when we talk to the press...tell about the things that
we experienced personally...he'll learn.
we stand around in the hallway
saying "elevator check" to the occasional passenger
who stops at the 3rd floor. we are all showered and waiting
for bob to come back upstairs and tell us that the conference
is ready to roll. we don't know who will be in the room...some
stringers for the networks probably...certainly television
nicaragua...we walk in with janet shenk and the four
of us sit crowded around the cluster of eight or nine
microphones. peter speaks of our purpose in visiting
nicaragua...we came to learn about the situation so that
we might better understand what seems so complex an issue.
the first question is well what have you seen here...
and mary answers in a very introductory manner...it's
informative...it speaks of the people and at the end
concludes with the ever present awareness that there
is a war going on here. a reporter standing in the back
asks how we feel about the contra aid being passed by
the congress. i am having trouble talking. peter and
mary are holding my hand, now my arm. "so when you
ask me about how i feel about contra-aid...what i remember
most", i say, "is the priest holding this white
flower above his head and saying this is a flower of
peace...take it to the american people and ask them please
not to pour our blood on it". there are tears down
my cheeks and there is a hush...peter answers the next
question...and in each case somewhere during each answer
there comes that time for personal recall and the breakdown
happens again...mary tells them that we've been doing
press conferences for 25 years in countries all over
the world and that this is the first time we have ever
been so emotional. she answers a question about la prensa.
i tell an anecdote about the absurdity of a golf trophy
in the black forest lodge. and we speak of our meeting
with Daniel Ortega. peter speaks of the assurance that
nicaragua would be non-aligned because this is a country
who is fighting and will continue to fight to preserve
its freedom and independence...they will not be compromised
by either the united states or the soviet union.
the conference is over in
twenty minutes and we stand. a few feet from the table
we put our arms around each other...this has been the
most galvanizing experience of our pp&m lives.
some reporters come up to
thank us. a trio of folks from el salvador are here and
janet comes with us to translate a brief message for
the people of el salvador...i speak to the real people
that we met there...the ones who live along the river
banks because there are no jobs...the displaced in the
camps ...the refugees...the campesinos at tenancingo...it
just keeps rolling...and then we're on the bus again.
bus again?! yes, but this time for a farewell dinner
and to meet some of the wonderful members of the FSLN
governing body; Ernesto Cardenal, the novice under thomas
merton, who writes poetry and at the age of 61 has a
twinkle, gossamer white hair and young hands. he speaks
of God's impotence...an idea that has no resonance in
my experience...we spar a bit with spiritual concepts
but after a few pleasantries i excuse myself and make
room for peter and mary's animated conversation with
him. i meet the man who saved the circus tent for the
concert and discover that he also remodeled the house
in which we now stand and is a contractor with 140 people
on his staff. i ask about cosep...he has no good words
for cosep...he calls them exploitive. well...then there
IS an alternative private sector here...better late than
never i think to myself...noel insists we begin to eat
and hey, no problem...
when i come back with my full
plate i go to a new table and am joined by the film crew.
we speak of earliest trivia memories of our childhood...jack
armstrong, sky king, the dropping of the first a-bomb
(broadcast on radio), the death of FDR, we talk ourselves
right through dinner, through seconds on the meat and
suddenly i notice that there are very few folks left
here...sure enough it's time to say goodnight...and oh
my gosh this is our last night in nicaragua...did we
learn enough...can we do enough...
rosario talks to me about
john denver...do i think he would like to perform here?
i say i think he would and spend a few minutes explaining
about john's recent trip to soviet russia and the moving
song about the leningrad/kansas farmer that he did in
washington...i tell rosario that i will contact him...
we say goodbye to luiz and the band. i give one of my
business cards to the keyboard player with a note for
henry at manny's music in newyork...it says "henry,
this is one of the good guys"...he'll know what
i mean...
to the hotel and the realization
that now would be the best time to pack... 4:30 a.m.
for a 5 a.m. baggage pickup will be too crazy a scene...so
i begin to pull together all my stuff when there is a
knock at the door. it's bob stark who hands me a package
of masks and pottery and says that noel just pulled up
in front of the hotel with these presents from rosario...gads...
how am i going to get pottery home safely in my bag?
a question answered well by all my dirty clothing, 2
foam innersoles and a new hard cover bag. about 1:30
a.m. i lay me down to sleep...
(it's about that same time
on july 4th now and i'm trying to stay awake long enough
to finish these rough renderings of the central america
log that you are reading.)
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
La Daliah
Fifteen fresh dug graves,
the raw soil slightly sunken. But since it was their
first cemetery they had chosen carefully, a nice hill.
Not as tall as the ones that surround the village, the
ones the contras spilled over, but well within the circle
of their lives. The community still whole even in its
fear and grief.
A large wooden cross marked
its entrance and printed on it was the word, Forgiveness.
In the earthen depressions left by an eight year old
girl, fathers and sons, their mothers had planted the
flower Impatiens. Simple peasant people who love their
families and country with pride and passion. A people
with a new dream, of literacy, land and freedom. A dream
big enough to defy their history or even alien paid armies.
A small country where the children beg, for pencils.
Nicaragua.
(mary travers - july 4, 1986)
day nine / nicaragua
it must be 4:30 am. the alarm
went off... i've got 30 minutes to shave and finish packing...well,
not really pack; i did most of that last night...hmmm
let's see...i, uh...hmmm...uh...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
it must be 4:40 am. the alarm
went off again. good thing i set the backup alarm. now
i've got 20 minutes to get it all together...sure hope
there's hot water...aaah, consciousness...shave...dopp
kit into suitcase close slowly watching rosario's gifts
nestle into the appropriate padding...God bless dad.
out the guitar to the hallway...out the black bag to
the hallway...there's marjorie. boy she looks terriffic...wait
a minute she's wearing exactly what she was wearing last
night...oh i don't think i could have done that...back
in the room oh boy already shaved almost an hour till
we leave...back to bed for some more sleep? still wearing
my pajamas - wait a minute - pajamas should be in the
suitcase - off with the pajamas - on with the pants i'll
be wearing today - back into the hallway - pull the suitcase
into the room - pack the suitcase - push the suitcase
back out - reset the alarm for 5:00 and a backup for
5:10 - fall in to bed and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
it must be 5 am. the alarm
went off...but i probably only need 20 minutes max unless
i want to eat but i could...uh...if i got...uh...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
it must be 5:10. ok. i'm up.
honest. and into the shower for a shampoo with bar soap
and into clothes and discover the shirt i saved for this
trip has a hole in the underarm...oh well it's kinda
rustic...downstairs to find ethan, mary and janet and
foster and dinah and zack in restaurant. fruit looks
good. peter's comes in...somebody asks if somebody has
money...oh gosh this can't be charged to the hotel...what...hi
foster...oh yeah this is foster's treat - he has $60
worth of nicaraguan money.
into the bus and on to the
airport where, thanks to noel and hugh, everything has
been checked and stamped and okayed and i even go upstairs
and reclaim my swiss army knife...boy do i feel complete...except
for this nagging feeling that i am about to leave some
close friends...some addresses are traded, some promises
made, a door is opened and goodbye rosario, goodbye kay,
goodbye drivers...we are on our way across the runway
to the plane. peter's guitar is checked at the rear stairs
and goodbye noel, goodbye margarita...up the stairs and
into seats and goodbye nicaragua...
hello el salvador?! oh yeah...change
planes...next gate...what are all these shaved heads
in suits doing here? is this a moonie convention? gads...these
are the new el salvador recruits headed for miami for
training...invasion of another memory...an el salvador
paper headline 'mas represion y nicaragua' boggles the
mind...we were there...we know...so few do...i can feel
the frustration building...how few the avenues to public
awareness; how controlled the access to power...how fragile
the heart that tests the balance between God's grace
and God's leading...
i perform the boffo ending
to my 'one-man-airline routine' from the village days
and crack us up as the flight is called...onto the plane
with the troops (ours and theirs) to the soundtrack of
Star Wars...bob stark mentions the cosmic implications
and about an hour into the flight, while hugh and i are
deep into basic programming primer part one, i reach
for something in my jacket...it's not next to my seat...not
next to my seat?! i look overhead... i never put it overhead.
gads...i think i must have left it in el salvador. i
find peter and mary and ask them...mary remembers me
having the jacket on or the bust line of the stewardess
in the one-man-airline routine...aah then it must be
on the plane...i'm a mess...even for a zomboid...i must
have been mentally hyper-ventilating...
we land in miami...the luggage
takes just long enough to come off the wrong belt that
a paranoid mind set presents itself. (what if back in
el salvador when the bags were being shifted to the new
flight, the government confiscated the film...nah...)
42 pieces later, split into washington, new york and
nashville piles we enter the american reality and though
the film folks and me have a bit of a meal together,
peter mary ethan janet and hugh have caught the early
flight to new york and the family is dissolving...except
of course where it counts...
epilogue
it's july 2nd. there's a stage
set up at opryland amusement park. benson record company
with sponsorship shared by toyota is presenting all of
their artists in a three day showcase. larnell harris
will be the headliner tomorrow night. i am the headliner
tonight. kent (the bodyworks bass player) and i stand
next to the audio mix board about 300 feet out in front
of the stage...
"were there more people
than this here earlier in the day?" i ask pointing
at the 60 or so folks scattered over a lawn big enough
to hold 4000. "oh yeah...", the soundman replies, "probably
200 or 300 more than this. but by the time TRUTH finished
their second number most of 'em left... too loud...",
he surmises. i abstract for a moment on the relative
merits of soft truth and loud truth, and then climb down
from the scaffolding to go on stage with kent and jimmy
nalls.
-
a half hour has passed and
the sun is about gone in a blaze of oranges and lavanders...kent,
jimmy and i opened the set with a loose kind of gospel
blues called Know Jesus...the applause is fractured by
the space between ourselves and the people on the lawn
and the between the people themselves. i'm resting on
the Lord to bring this disparate bunch of songs and moments
together when the amusement park train signals its approach
by clanging the bell of the crossing sign about 50 yards
behind and to the left of the stage. as the 4 car choo-choo
passes by i realize that this will now become a permanent
part of the evening's routine. in an effort to co-opt
it's disruptivness, i encourage the audience to wave
and the people on the train wave back...
later in the program i'm introducing
el salvador...i tell about the church i was at this past
sunday...i don't mention that it was in nicaragua until
just before i tell the audience what the priest told
me to tell them...there is no immediate reaction. except
that the train is not coming...
what a far different situation
in which i find myself than that which i had envisioned.
what happened to the weeping contrite brothers and sisters
sickened by their complicity in an imperialist-generated
slaughter of innocents?! then i realize...what can one
do but add the grain of sand? and i know that some information
is better then none and after the 10 or 12 songs are
over and i've returned to blue hill and reflected on
this day i will be once again struck by how quietly almost
modestly, despite the garish, seemingly successful manipulations
within the political world, the larger truth will ultimately
be recognized...
after all, He picked a stable
in Bethlehem.
Back
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©1997
noel paul stookey
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