Newly Banished Nicaraguans Describe Torture in Prison
and fear for their families back home
“We thought this would never end, but God heard us,” says one of the 135 exiles. Former prisoners confirm physical and psychological torture.
HAVANA TIMES – “It was an ordeal I thought would never end,” says Jose Enrique Sanchez, one of the 135 political prisoners exiled on September 5th to Guatemala by the dictatorship of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo. “We lived in precarious conditions,” “we endured psychological torture,” “threats to our families,” “they told us we would pay dearly for this,” recalls Sanchez, who spent 17 months in the La Modelo prison.
Sanchez’s testimony is echoed by another dozen political prisoners who were exiled by the Ortega-Murillo dictatorship and interviewed in Guatemala by Confidencial.
“We were asleep, and they (the police) started beating us with batons at midnight. Some officers would throw buckets of water nearby so we couldn’t sleep. We were fed from buckets, often with insects, and when we got sick, they only gave us pain pills,” Sanchez recalls. He was imprisoned for participating in the traditional Judea in Masatepe.
Sanchez, whose family had a tradition of celebrating the Judea, also remembers that officers told him, “You will pay dearly for this, we’ll send you to a worse place,” and that police chiefs threatened reprisals against his family.
Harsh Interrogations
Jared Ramirez, another exiled political prisoner, confirms that he suffered torture from the moment he was arrested for celebrating Nicaraugan Sheynnis Palacios’ victory as Miss Universe 2023. He was detained the same night he went out with a blue and white flag to celebrate.
“They took me to the Metrocentro roundabout where there are always police, and they kept me there for two hours, hurling insults at me and psychologically mistreating me,” he recounted.
The psychological torture worsened when he was transferred to the District I jail and then to District III. In both stations, he was severely interrogated. They demanded to know where he worked, who he was with, and asked for names of opposition neighbors. When he was taken to La Modelo, the torture didn’t stop.
“They told us we’d never get out. We saw our families once a month for 30 minutes. Common prisoners had more time. It was very, very hard. We thought it would never end, but God heard our daily prayers. We prayed every day, asking the Lord for our freedom, wherever it might be,” he explains.
The muralist from Estelí, Oscar Parrilla, was also detained for celebrating the Miss Universe victory through his art. The painter recounts that, in prison, like the others, he endured harsh conditions. “Many times they left us without water. The heat was unbearable,” he said.
Parrilla also recalls that the food they were served was terrible. “The beans were bloated with baking soda, and the rice was mushy. A few weeks ago, I even found a ball of salt in the rice,” he says.
They also played mind games with them, Parrilla confirms. They made them believe several times that they would be released, but it was a lie. “They took us out to shave and for sun exposure on unusual days,” so when they took them out for exile this last time, he didn’t believe he would leave the prison.
“It wasn’t until US embassy diplomats boarded the bus and explained the situation that I really believed we were being freed,” Parrilla confesses.
“We Didn’t Even Have the Right to a Bible”
Adriana Zapata, who was imprisoned for printing a photograph of imprisoned Bishop Rolando Alvarez, confesses that her time in prison was the hardest experience of her life.
“It was really tough. You didn’t have the right to decent food. They gave us the worst. Even if you wanted a Bible, something to read, you had no right,” she laments.
“It was very sad. The treatment was very harsh. They were bad people,” describes Zapata, who was imprisoned for 11 months for allegedly spreading fake news.
Isaias Ruiz, 57, confesses that he was held in maximum-security cells in La Modelo, where he was left isolated. “The conditions were dreadful, terrible. It was very hard,” he says.
Before his arrest, Ruiz had been a primary school teacher in Managua but was fired for being openly opposed to the regime. The day he was arrested, he was selling bread on a bicycle.
“They arrested me on October 17, 2023. I was in the El Chipote jail. I spent sleepless nights there, enduring many interrogations. They claimed I was taking photos of Sandinistas, then invented that I had a child abuse case from 2008,” he explains.
“I’ve never been in jail before because I’ve always been a hardworking person,” he noted.
The young activists Gabriela Morales, Mayela Campos, and Adela Espinoza, who were imprisoned for burning a flag, describe that the torture and aggression by the police began from the moment of their arrest.
“They took me violently. They beat my partner, and we were taken to District III, where the beatings continued. The next day, they transferred us to the penitentiary system,” Campos recounts.
Espinoza recalls that, in District III, an investigator grabbed her by the neck and tried to strangle her. “She kept me standing for ten hours, without being able to lean against a wall or touch my face or any part of my body. I was handcuffed with my hands behind my back,” she recalls.
The mistreatment continued in prison. “It was extremely humiliating. Every time we ate, they took pictures of us. They rarely let us out into the sun. They even took photos when giving us medicine,” Morales points out.
“The scars on my heart are deep, and I hope to heal them little by little,” Morales laments.
Campos remembers how police continuously instilled fear in them. “They would mock us. The medical care was terrible. They only gave ibuprofen for migraines, which didn’t help. I spent three or four days with intense pain,” she recalls
Now out of prison, Campos says she fears for her family, who remain in Nicaragua. She is happy to no longer be in jail but is afraid of the possible repercussions.
Flight to Freedom
Jaqueline Rodriguez, another political prisoner who was exiled, was imprisoned along with her husband, Sergio Castilblanco. She spent 17 months in punishment cells. Rodriguez remembers being taken out of her cell at around seven in the evening on Wednesday, September 4, 2024.
“They entered quietly (the prison guards) and told us to get ready but to keep quiet. They took us out in pairs, handcuffed, and led us to a small room,” she recalls.
In that room, they gathered the rest of the female political prisoners before transferring us in a vehicle. The prisoners were taken to an unknown location where they were handed their passports. “At around two in the morning, they took us out, and we waited until around five in the morning when the flight took off,” she says.
“They took us in a closed vehicle without telling us anything, and they took us out in groups of five, but it was obvious (that we were being exiled) when we saw the airport and the plane,” says Rodriguez, who admits she has mental blocks from that night.
Rodriguez states that at least seven female political prisoners remained in the prison, including Yatama representative Nancy Henriquez. “One fellow prisoner got into the vehicle but chose not to board the plane,” she recounts.
Student leader Jason Salazar, also among the exiles, recalls that signs of a possible release began around 5:30 or six in the evening on September 4. He was in his cell when an officer ordered them to go shower.
“An hour and a half later, we saw buses and vans arriving with clothes racks. Seeing that caused an uproar among us. They entered the modules and gave us clothes with our names on them. They told us to change and not to get dirty,” he recalls.
Then they began processing their immigration paperwork, taking photos, checking their blood pressure, and pre-checking their passports. Salazar remembers that one political prisoner was separated and didn’t board the plane. The rest were taken by bus to the airport.
“At around 4:30 in the morning, embassy personnel boarded the buses and explained a bit of what was happening. By six in the morning, there was a plane waiting for us. It was a moment of joy, but we couldn’t show it because we were still inside,” Salazar recounts.
Joy for Freedom, Uncertainty for the Future
The list of the 135 political prisoners exiled to Guatemala is still unknown. US and Guatemalan authorities stated that they would not publish the names for privacy reasons. The Ortega regime has not commented on the forced exile, nor published the list, as it did in previous banishments.
The Mechanism for the Recognition of Political Prisoners confirmed by midday on Friday, September 6, 2024, the identity of 109 of the 135 prisoners of conscience exiled from Nicaragua. According to their details, 22 are women and 87 are men. The organization stated that due to the “sensitive nature of the information and for the protection of the affected individuals and their families,” they will not make the list of names public.
Many of the exiled political prisoners have not yet come to terms with what happened. “I haven’t been able to react; I’m in shock,” confesses Jaqueline Rodriguez, who longs to see her daughters again. Others express that they dream of returning to Nicaragua when the political situation changes.
“For me, it’s very painful to leave my homeland. I love Nicaragua so much; I love my country. I understand that sometimes the country’s financial situation isn’t the best, but I was trying to survive and struggle in my country, and I sincerely didn’t want to leave,” says Jared Ramírez.
“It feels awful (the exile), but at the same time, we’re happy because we won’t continue suffering this unjust imprisonment,” says a layperson from Nueva Segovia, who was imprisoned in October 2023 and agreed to be interviewed anonymously.
“We ask the people of Nicaragua not to stop praying and to keep raising prayers for the brothers and sisters who are still imprisoned,” he said.
It is a difficult process to come to terms with, admits the young university student Mayela Campos, “because one had a future already mapped out, but all of that is gone because they erased my entire academic record.”
“Now, I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, where I’m going to live. I’m neither from here nor there. I have nothing because the government decided so,” she reflects.
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First published in Spanish by Confidencial and translated and posted in English by Havana Times.