“No One Is Prepared for Prison or Banishment”
Ana Margarita Vijil recounts her time in prison and how she has experienced exile. “Both experiences leave scars,” she says.
By Ana Margarita Vijil (100% Noticias)
HAVANA TIMES – It was the night of February 9, 2023. I was in the middle of the largest hall of the Westin Hotel in Washington DC, surrounded by acquaintances and strangers. The crowd was suffocating me, the floor was moving, and the sensation of having opened an Alka-Seltzer in my head clouded my senses, but I was amazingly happy.
Six hundred six days in solitary confinement, in a police facility turned into a maximum security prison by the Ortega-Murillo dictatorship, took a toll on my body and mind, but my spirit was soaring. I was sure of that liberation, with a conviction sometimes labeled as magical, which some people now blame me for when I say, with equal emphasis, that we will achieve the other freedom, that of Nicaragua, and it will be sooner than we think.
Just the day before, I had performed my prison routine for the last time. Alone in a cell, I divided my time between walks, managing the pain of a back injury, meals, and moments of reflection. The most exciting, restorative, and rebellious part of the day was the time to pray the rosary, which my fellow inmates and I did in our cells, an activity prohibited until a few weeks ago when our jailers stopped reprimanding us for carrying it out.
I arrived at that Westin Hotel after being part of a movie-like adventure. In a matter of hours and in absolute secrecy, 222 political prisoners of the Ortega Murillo dictatorship were taken out of our cells, put on buses, forcibly taken to the air force base, and handed over to US authorities who facilitated a plane to transport us to the United States. We were not all who should have been. Several dozen political prisoners remained in jail, and my friend and mentor, Hugo Torres, who should have boarded that plane, had already been dead for a year as a prisoner until his last minute.
That first night, amid the hustle and bustle, we received instructions on how to proceed with immigration paperwork, a cell phone, three hundred dollars, a small backpack with personal hygiene items, and a winter jacket. The task ahead of us was enormous, for some more than others.
As we flew to Washington, although the sentences and convictions imposed on us remained alive, the dictatorship exacted more vengeance. The complete list of released and exiled people were stripped of our nationality, prevented from returning to our country, to our homes.
We arrived in a new country, with a different culture, without our families, and without prospects of an immediate return. In addition to serious economic deficiencies, we all had to face the consequences, the damages caused by prison, which were not few.
From those unforgettable days, I especially remember the enormous solidarity displayed for the group. Dozens of Nicaraguans and US citizens paraded through the hotel leaving clothes and any other goods they deemed useful to us. Nicaraguans living in different parts of the United States quickly organized to support us, opening their homes and hearts to us.
A year has passed. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge, I could say. No one is prepared for prison, much less in the hands of a criminal dictatorship. No one is prepared for exile either, even though it means being free. Both experiences leave scars, deep marks, but also great life lessons. Just a few days ago, Mike Healy, with whom I shared the same gallery at our jail, passed away. I can’t help but think about how much of the suffering he endured finally caused his heart to fail.
I can write many pages about both experiences. About the pains and sufferings, the learnings and joys. I am not the same as before and I don’t want to be anymore, I stick with what I learned. I work to be a better person, putting problems and difficulties into perspective. I appreciate the sun more, the rain on my face, a hug, a smile, an encounter with friends. The dictatorship wanted to break me, and it didn’t succeed. In prison, I had to push my limits to face suffering and overcome it, dying and coming back to life, raising my commitment and eagerness to build a beautiful, free, and just Nicaragua. I know we will achieve it.