circumspect.’
The conversation moved on to the subject of the remaining Nicaraguan bishops. The trouble with them, Ortega said, was that their attitudes were so parochial, so provincial. ‘The best one is Estelí, also the one from Bluefields, Schmitt. The rest … We opened discussions with them, you know. We said, we know you feel threatened by us, by the revolution. Tell us what your fears are and let’s see if we can work something out. We also said we wanted to consult them on various policy matters before making them public. The law on national service, for example, we would have liked to consult them on that. And on other matters, including military business.’ But the bishops had been unwilling or unable, he suggested, to speak at that level. ‘You know, one of them would pull out a piece of paper with his little local grievances listed on it, and the next would have his piece of paper, and so on. They all came with their private agendas. We had told them to resolve these things at the regional level. But they can’t think nationally.’ In his view, the bishops were far from unified. ‘They often have no coherent view on an issue. But Obando’s statements make it seem as if they do.’
Obando y Bravo’s theological education, Ortega said, had been paid for by a Somoza crony, a certain Guerrero, known as ‘Dr Quinine’ because of his dealings in the drug. Then Somoza gave Obando a house, a bank account and a Mercedes-Benz. (An embarrassing photograph existed of Somoza and Obando having a hug.) ‘There was a big fuss about the car, because it was such a blatant thing. Finally he had to give it back, but it took him nine months to do so. Nobody knew about the house and the bank account at the time. We didn’t knowourselves until after we came to power and could examine the records. We decided it would be counter-productive to move against Obando. So these things have still not been returned.’
He grinned. ‘The funny thing is, he and I are from the same village. I knew about Obando’s family from my mother.’
In 1974, the FSLN’s fortunes, which had been at a low ebb, were revived by a dramatic coup. On 27 December, Sandinista commandos arrived at a fancy dress party at the home of a Somoza crony, Chema Castillo, and kidnapped a group of ambassadors and senior officials. Somoza was obliged to accept their terms. Sandinista statements were put out on radio and TV, a number of political prisoners were freed and a ransom of $2 million was paid. (The commandos had originally asked for $5 million, but two wasn’t bad.) The intermediary between the guerrillas and Somoza was none other than Obando y Bravo. And one of the prisoners freed was Daniel Ortega.
‘Obando came with us on the plane to Cuba,’ Ortega reminisced. ‘I went over to talk to him, to say that our families knew each other and so on. But I formed the impression that he was very frightened. I asked him what the matter was and he finally said, “Do you think Somoza put a bomb on the plane?” It was sad; he was afraid that he would be sacrificed.’ Ortega, fresh from jail, had to offer reassurance. ‘I told him our people had checked the plane and we didn’t think there was a bomb. But after a while he was frightened again. This time he said, “Do you think they will arrest me when we land in Cuba?” It was incredible. I said, “Do you seriously think Fidel is going to put you in jail?” It showed how provincial his thinking was.’
I brought the discussion back to its starting-point. ‘What will the US bishops offer you, do you think?’
‘They will have their own agenda, that’s sure; Vega and so on. But maybe they want to mediate between us and the Vatican.’
‘Do you really think the Vatican is ready to make a settlement with you?’
‘It’s possible. There are indications. In the period in which I was refusing to meet Obando, Sergio visited Rome. Before he left, the papal nuncio here in Managua said it was
The conversation moved on to the subject of the remaining Nicaraguan bishops. The trouble with them, Ortega said, was that their attitudes were so parochial, so provincial. ‘The best one is Estelí, also the one from Bluefields, Schmitt. The rest … We opened discussions with them, you know. We said, we know you feel threatened by us, by the revolution. Tell us what your fears are and let’s see if we can work something out. We also said we wanted to consult them on various policy matters before making them public. The law on national service, for example, we would have liked to consult them on that. And on other matters, including military business.’ But the bishops had been unwilling or unable, he suggested, to speak at that level. ‘You know, one of them would pull out a piece of paper with his little local grievances listed on it, and the next would have his piece of paper, and so on. They all came with their private agendas. We had told them to resolve these things at the regional level. But they can’t think nationally.’ In his view, the bishops were far from unified. ‘They often have no coherent view on an issue. But Obando’s statements make it seem as if they do.’
Obando y Bravo’s theological education, Ortega said, had been paid for by a Somoza crony, a certain Guerrero, known as ‘Dr Quinine’ because of his dealings in the drug. Then Somoza gave Obando a house, a bank account and a Mercedes-Benz. (An embarrassing photograph existed of Somoza and Obando having a hug.) ‘There was a big fuss about the car, because it was such a blatant thing. Finally he had to give it back, but it took him nine months to do so. Nobody knew about the house and the bank account at the time. We didn’t knowourselves until after we came to power and could examine the records. We decided it would be counter-productive to move against Obando. So these things have still not been returned.’
He grinned. ‘The funny thing is, he and I are from the same village. I knew about Obando’s family from my mother.’
In 1974, the FSLN’s fortunes, which had been at a low ebb, were revived by a dramatic coup. On 27 December, Sandinista commandos arrived at a fancy dress party at the home of a Somoza crony, Chema Castillo, and kidnapped a group of ambassadors and senior officials. Somoza was obliged to accept their terms. Sandinista statements were put out on radio and TV, a number of political prisoners were freed and a ransom of $2 million was paid. (The commandos had originally asked for $5 million, but two wasn’t bad.) The intermediary between the guerrillas and Somoza was none other than Obando y Bravo. And one of the prisoners freed was Daniel Ortega.
‘Obando came with us on the plane to Cuba,’ Ortega reminisced. ‘I went over to talk to him, to say that our families knew each other and so on. But I formed the impression that he was very frightened. I asked him what the matter was and he finally said, “Do you think Somoza put a bomb on the plane?” It was sad; he was afraid that he would be sacrificed.’ Ortega, fresh from jail, had to offer reassurance. ‘I told him our people had checked the plane and we didn’t think there was a bomb. But after a while he was frightened again. This time he said, “Do you think they will arrest me when we land in Cuba?” It was incredible. I said, “Do you seriously think Fidel is going to put you in jail?” It showed how provincial his thinking was.’
I brought the discussion back to its starting-point. ‘What will the US bishops offer you, do you think?’
‘They will have their own agenda, that’s sure; Vega and so on. But maybe they want to mediate between us and the Vatican.’
‘Do you really think the Vatican is ready to make a settlement with you?’
‘It’s possible. There are indications. In the period in which I was refusing to meet Obando, Sergio visited Rome. Before he left, the papal nuncio here in Managua said it was
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