A year in exile: this is how the political prisoners expelled by Daniel Ortega reinvent themselves in the United States

Miguel Flores has been living for three months in a basement he rents in the northeast area of ​​Washington DC.

Guessing that he is a kitchen lover is not difficult when you see how he has decorated the small space in which he barely fits his bed, a kitchenette and a bathroom: recipe books on a shelf, a paella pan hanging on a wall, the utensils on the aluminum table – next to the pantry, the

pantry

– neatly organized.

And on the refrigerator door, stuck, a pop stick that reads: “

From across the seas / Your passion follows with hope / A lovely kitchen.”

“It is a note that they gave me in a cooking class and that I keep with great affection.

It represents my dream of being a chef,” says Miguel, a 26-year-old young man who exactly one year ago, at dawn on February 9, 2023, was exiled by the regime of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo.

In Nicaragua he was a university leader and he was imprisoned for a central reason that he describes with plain self-confidence: “For being an opponent.”

Dora María Téllez, Yader Parajón, Ana Margarita Vijil, Suyen Barahona, Tamara Dávila, Orlando Campos and Raúl Oporta outside the hotel where the US Department of State hosted them, on February 11, 2023. Miguel Andrés

“For being against the Government.

For raising my voice.

For defending human rights.

Everything we have been doing since the protests in 2018... And then came the conviction for conspiracy and all those political crimes," adds the boy in a calm tone of voice, as if the interrogations to which the police subjected him in underwear, and the thirst he felt for 48 continuous hours due to lack of water in the cell, would have happened many decades ago.

“I'm not going to let Ortega and Rosario steal all my dreams,” Miguel explains in a way that, as he speaks, leads one to think about his resilience.

“When I was arrested I had dreams.

He told me that when I got out of prison I was going to finish my degree in Political Science while I consolidated my catering business, because I cook everything, and for what... I was doing well despite the disaster in the country.

That's why I decided to stay inside and not go into exile.

But anyway, I was arrested in Rivas by Army agents and then they handed me over to the police.”

His time in prison ended on February 9, 2023, that morning when he heard from his cell noises of police patrols entering District III, very unusual at that time.

The jailers suddenly took him out of the cell, put him on a bus that had the windows covered with cloth and, looking through the cracks, Flores saw that he was being taken to the Managua International Airport.

The plane that transported Flores and the other released prisoners upon arrival at Dulles Airport, on the outskirts of Washington.HANDOUT (REUTERS)

When he got off the bus he saw a huge plane on the runway and officials from the United States embassy.

He had never flown in his life and immediately, talking with the other political prisoners, he understood that the Sandinista Government was releasing them and sending them to another country.

A bittersweet release: to exile and he soon learned, when speaking with the Americans, that the final destination was Washington DC

Hours later the plane took the 222 political prisoners into exile and reality slapped Miguel Flores, after the initial

shock

of experiencing a flight for the first time under those strange mandatory conditions, and realizing after landing that the Sandinista regime had had stripped of his Nicaraguan nationality.

A protest in favor of the government of Ortega and Murillo, on February 11, 2023.AP

“When the initial

shock

passes and they explain to us the immigration process to be able to live in the United States, which was the Humanitarian Parole, I realize that I have neither clothes nor anyone in this country.

“I was very cold,” recalls the university student.

Indeed, it was a winter morning in Dulles and the uncertainty made everything more icy for political prisoners like him, who did not have family members in the United States.

The image remains intact in this reporter's memories: the prisoners were rummaging through a pile of coats that solidarity had provided for them.

Finding one of his size gave warmth, a little certainty in the midst of that whirlwind.

A group of young people gathered to see who to call.

Search for who could accommodate them after the three days of hotel accommodation that the State Department (the institution of Joe Biden's Government that coordinated the rescue of these prisoners of conscience after Ortega and Murillo decided to expel them from Nicaragua) were exhausted.

Miguel Flores found some friends who lived in Washington DC and they offered him shelter and food at no cost for months.

"What I do?

"I don't have a job, I don't have anything."

“The true story in exile begins when I ask myself, what do I do?

I don't have a job, I don't have anything,” Miguel Flores remembers a year after his expulsion.

The interview is part of a documentary that I produce for Race and Equality, an organization that defends political prisoners in the Americas and that, at the request of the State Department, was key to receiving the 222 political prisoners and helping them settle in the United States.

“A few days later I went for a long walk, sat in a cafe and encountered the first barrier: the language.

“I told myself I have to learn English and I applied for my work permit.”

One of the released prisoners selects clothing donated by groups of the Nicaraguan diaspora in the United States, on February 11, 2023. Miguel Andres

The work permit took more than two months to reach Miguel Flores.

He felt sorry for his friends because they continued to cover his support.

He took advantage of that time to study English, learn to get around Washington DC and discover, in large and small ways, a country so different for a young man who had never left Nicaragua.

The first job he found was gardening and he does not disdain it at all, although on his hands he has some marks from the work he did in stifling heat, at more than 37 degrees Celsius, and other days with temperatures below zero.

“My thought was that I was in this country on vacation.

I didn't understand that I had to start living here.

But when I started working I got organized, and I also realized that I didn't want to do gardening.

That I was not going to allow what I told myself: that Ortega and Rosario take away my dreams,” says Miguel Flores.

“I dreamed of opening a restaurant in Nicaragua.

I like to emphasize that, because I saw myself investing in my country.

Then I started making nacatamales and typical food here, to start over with what I liked.

The response from the Nicaraguan community was incredible.

They started me buying, supporting me, and I managed to make a living from that.”

People from the Nicaraguan community of Washington DC receive those released from prison at Dulles Airport, in February 2023. Jose Luis Magana (AP)

While making Nicaraguan food to survive, and dealing with an illness that sent him to the hospital and generated a bill that to this day he continues to pay in installments, Miguel Flores “was looking for other opportunities.”

The university student found a scholarship in culinary training for people in the asylum process.

It was “perfect” because they paid him for his study hours as work.

“I had doubts and fears about applying because I didn't master the language;

I didn't feel qualified.

Even though I didn't know what I was doing, I did it and they accepted me.

I left my friends' house, I moved from Maryland to DC, and I started to professionalize, because I want to be a chef.

I did everything alone and it was hard;

Christmas was another hard blow, but I kept telling myself that I was not going to let Ortega and Rosario make me feel like a worm.

"They banished me and took away my nationality, but they were not going to steal my joy... or my goals or my dreams," says the university student.

When he finished the course, one of his teachers gave him the pop stick with that phrase that Miguel Flores keeps as a kind of amulet because it soon brought him good luck:

“From across the seas / Your passion follows with hope / A lovely kitchen.”

He immediately found work in a five-star hotel in Washington and has already managed to be named head of a cooking station.

“Miguel Flores,” he says with a smile that eases his exile, “he has a dream to fulfill.”

***

According to a database built by the NY/NJ - Nicaraguan Diaspora Working Group, the majority of banished political prisoners settled in the state of Florida, specifically in Miami, where English is not so essential.

68 people live in Florida, 33 settled in Maryland, 21 in California and the rest are distributed in North Carolina, Colorado, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Minnesota, Nebraska, New York, New Jersey, Oregon, Ohio, San Diego , Pennsylvania and Tennessee.

This spread throughout the United States responds to a basic condition: they move wherever they find work.

Despite the exhausting work hours, some of them persist in their opposition activism.

Others have joined as victims in universal justice processes, such as Evelyn Pinto, a 63-year-old matriarch who promises “that she will not rest until she finds justice.”

Five days after arriving in the United States, a group of released prisoners holds a press conference in Miami.Lynne Sladky (AP)

"Since I was released I have been in communication with organizations such as the Legal Defense Unit, the UDJ, some lawyers who are now reviewing the file in order to be able to file a future complaint so that there is justice for everything they did to me," he details. He paints with aplomb in Glen Burnie, Maryland, a quiet town where he lives with his daughter and where he works online in education.

The political prisoner is a very believer and she clings to it when she feels very alone, and tries to take care of herself even in those everyday things like going to the supermarket on her own.

Further south on the east coast of the United States, in Miami, farmer Armando Robles found peace in exile until a couple of months ago.

He achieved family reunification with his wife and his seven-year-old son, a lively little boy who already says his first words in English;

a language that his father struggles with “in order to give him a better future.”

“If one day it were necessary to return to Nicaragua, if it were today or tomorrow, I would return that same day, but now I think about it.

There are other things that motivate me, like having my little son in school.

This is a country of opportunities, opportunities that we did not have in Nicaragua.

In the United States, life is hard, we are going to be here, but I can't forget my town, my family, my country and my life," says Robles on a sofa where every Sunday night, along with the other two families with whom they share the apartment in Miami, they watch news on Hispanic channels to “understand more” the country that shelters them.

The interview takes place precisely on a Sunday, after the news, and the man says goodbye to us with a smile and a yawn.

Tomorrow, Monday, he has to get up early to work in the cold room of a company that imports flowers from Guatemala.

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