logo
Violeta Chamorro obituary

Violeta Chamorro obituary

The Guardian5 days ago

Like her political contemporary Corazon Aquino in the Philippines, Violeta Chamorro, who has died aged 95, was thrust into the limelight in Nicaragua – and ultimately, in 1990, to the presidency – because a dictator murdered her husband.
He was Pedro Joaquín Chamorro, publisher of the family newspaper La Prensa, and for many years a serious irritant to the Somoza dictatorship that ruled in Nicaragua from 1936. After the assassination of Anastasio Somoza García in 1956, Pedro Joaquín was arrested on charges of rebellion and sent into internal exile.
Never one for quiet acceptance of his fate, he escaped with Violeta to neighbouring Costa Rica. From there he organised a rebel force that in 1959 attempted to overthrow Anastasio's son Luis, who had succeeded as president. The attempt failed, and Pedro Joaquín was sentenced to a nine-year jail term. On his release, he went back to editing La Prensa. By the late 1960s, Anastasio Jr (also known as Tachito) had taken over from his brother Luis, but the situation in Nicaragua had deteriorated still further.
In 1975, Tachito suspended civil rights. Pedro Joaquín not only campaigned against him through La Prensa, but he also took on a political role as head of the Democratic Liberation Union (Udel). Tachito had had enough. In January 1978, he sent his gunmen to machine-gun Pedro Joaquín to death on his way to work.
The murder provoked a national uprising which led, the following year, to the overthrow by the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN) of the 40-year-old dictatorship. As Pedro Joaquín's widow, Violeta Chamorro took over the newspaper. With it, she inherited an uncomfortable role as one of the principal leaders of the visible opposition.
When the Sandinistas swept to power in July 1979, she became a member of the first, five-member transitional junta that controlled Nicaragua until the election of Daniel Ortega as president in 1984. But her conservative politics soon caused a split with the predominantly Marxist FSLN. Once more she was in opposition.
As the rebellion mounted by the US-backed contra rebels grew stronger, the Sandinista government grew correspondingly less tolerant. La Prensa, accused of receiving CIA funds to destabilise the government, was again subjected to censorship. For a year it was closed down altogether.
Like many Nicaraguan families, the Chamorros themselves were deeply divided. Of Violeta's four children, two were pro-Sandinista and two anti. Carlos Fernando edited the FSLN daily Barricada, and his sister Claudia was a Sandinista diplomat. Cristiana remained at La Prensa, while Pedro Joaquín Jr became a member of the contra leadership. The country's other main paper, the independent but pro-government Nuevo Diario, was edited by their uncle, Xavier.
In the 1990 general election, held against a background of war, the FSLN faced a heterogeneous coalition of anti-Sandinista forces, ranging from communists to the far right. Known as the UNO, this shaky front needed a candidate capable of ousting Ortega — and the only viable option was Violeta Chamorro, who had little genuine political experience.
One of the seven children of Amalia Torres and Carlos Barrios Sacasa, she was born into a well-to-do farming family in the southern town of Rivas. Sent as a teenager to a Catholic girls' school in the US before her marriage in 1950 to Pedro Joaquín Chamorro, she had acquired a knowledge of English and a certain grasp of world affairs. But perhaps her principal asset at the time of the 1990 election – leaving aside support from Washington – was her grandmotherly demeanour and apparent absence of guile.
Much to the astonishment of most observers — not least the Sandinistas themselves – she beat Ortega handsomely and became the first elected female president in Latin American history.
It was an unenviable job. More than a decade of war, coming on top of dictatorship, had wrecked what little infrastructure existed and reduced living standards in Nicaragua to the levels of the 30s. Forty per cent of the workforce was unemployed and there was a huge foreign debt. Inflation stood at more than 13,000%.
Chamorro faced a hostile, mainly pro-FSLN, union movement, which staged a series of strikes, and a huge contra force, sceptical of her intentions. The Sandinista leaders used the transition period to transfer large amounts of state property into their own, private hands. Nonetheless, the new president could not govern without them. She agreed to leave Ortega's brother Humberto in charge of the army, provoking a split in the UNO coalition from which it did not recover.
Throughout her seven-year term she was in effect obliged to rule in alliance with the FSLN, under the guidance of her politically savvy son-in-law, Antonio Lacayo – a de facto prime minister. Within months, she succeeded in persuading most of the contras to demobilise, in exchange for an offer of land. Ending the war, and beginning the process of national reconciliation, was probably her most lasting achievement.
On the economic front she was not so successful. Her policies were based on the revival of the prostrate private sector and on a public sector reform programme that followed the standard, free-market, International Monetary Fund recipe. Burdened by debt and underdevelopment, plagued by natural disasters that included both drought and floods, Nicaragua stubbornly refused to advance, and by the end of Chamorro's term it seemed just as firmly stuck at the bottom of the Latin American pile.
In January 1997, Chamorro handed the presidency to Arnoldo Alemán. It was only the second time in the country's history that one elected president had been succeeded by another. The celebration, however, was short-lived: within a few years Alemán was facing corruption charges, and in 2007 Ortega returned to office, and imposed a harsh crackdown on any opposition.
Chamorro herself retired from active politics, though her family remained involved in public life. Since 2023 she had been receiving medical care in Costa Rica.
She is survived by her children, and 12 grandchildren.
Violeta Barrios de Chamorro, politician and newspaper proprietor, born 18 October 1929; died 14 June 2025

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Nicaraguan ex-military officer killed in exile, wife and party say
Nicaraguan ex-military officer killed in exile, wife and party say

Reuters

timea day ago

  • Reuters

Nicaraguan ex-military officer killed in exile, wife and party say

SAN JOSE, June 19 (Reuters) - Former Nicaraguan military officer Roberto Samcam was killed on Thursday in Costa Rica, where he was living in exile, his wife and the UNAMOS political party said. Samcam, a retired Sandinista major, was a vocal critic of the Nicaraguan government led by President Daniel Ortega. Costa Rica's national police did not immediately respond to a request for comment. The Nicaraguan government did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

New Rio de Janeiro law requires public hospitals to display anti-abortion signs
New Rio de Janeiro law requires public hospitals to display anti-abortion signs

The Guardian

timea day ago

  • The Guardian

New Rio de Janeiro law requires public hospitals to display anti-abortion signs

A new law has just come into force in Rio de Janeiro requiring all public hospitals and clinics run by the municipal government to display anti-abortion signs bearing messages such as: 'Did you know that the unborn child is discarded as hospital waste?' Reproductive rights activists view the act as the latest example of a growing trend across Brazil to further restrict access to abortion in a country that already has some of the world's most restrictive laws. In Latin America's largest country, abortion is only legal in cases of rape, when the pregnant person's life is at risk, or if the foetus has anencephaly, a fatal brain disorder. In recent years, however, politicians, doctors and even judges have taken steps to prevent abortions even in those circumstances. Brazil's main hospital for such procedures, in São Paulo, stopped offering terminations after a decision by the city's mayor, a staunch supporter of former president Jair Bolsonaro, a strident anti-abortion advocate. A congressman from his party proposed a bill punishing abortions after 22 weeks – even in cases of rape or risk to life – with up to 20 years in prison. The federal medical council, which is reportedly dominated by Bolsonaro loyalists, last year banned doctors from using the safest method recommended by the World Health Organization for pregnancies over 22 weeks – a measure later deemed illegal by Brazil's supreme court. 'This is a direct result of the Bolsonaro years in power,' said anthropologist Debora Diniz, a professor at the University of Brasília and one of the country's leading reproductive rights researchers and activists. She acknowledges that the dispute between pro- and anti-abortion positions is not new. Diniz herself had to leave the country in 2018 after receiving death threats for her involvement in a campaign to push the supreme court to discuss decriminalising abortion up to the 12th week of pregnancy – a reform that ultimately stalled. What has changed now, she says, is that the issue, once confined to the federal level, has become 'scattered' across local and regional authorities. 'Authoritarian governments in Latin America have a particular trait: they don't just disappear when their leader leaves office. Bolsonaro may be gone, but forces aligned with him and his ideas have occupied bodies like the medical council,' said Diniz. Such attempts are even more harmful given that legal abortion is not widely available across Brazil – only 4% of Brazilian cities have facilities and trained professionals to carry out the procedure, and that does not include even all state capitals. In the state of Goiás, a 13-year-old girl who had been raped turned to the courts after she was denied a legal abortion at a hospital, but a judge prohibited any method that would induce the death of the foetus. A higher court eventually authorised the abortion. In that state, the governor – also a Bolsonaro loyalist – signed a law requiring women seeking a legal abortion to first listen to the foetal heartbeat. Rio's anti-abortion signs law was approved last Friday by Mayor Eduardo Paes – who is not a Bolsonaro supporter and is aligned with the current leftwing president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. The mayor's decision not to veto the law – which was proposed by three far-right city councillors – is being seen as a political move, as he is expected to run for state governor next year. Under the law, hospitals providing abortions must also display signs saying: 'You have the right to give your baby up for adoption anonymously … Give life a chance!' and 'Abortion can lead to consequences such as infertility, psychological problems, infections and even death.' Diniz said the second sign was even more problematic as there is no scientific evidence that abortion, when carried out safely and with medical support, causes any of those effects. 'This law is perverse because it is based on a false narrative of 'care' for women and girls, when in fact it is persecuting them,' said Diniz. On Tuesday, a public prosecutor filed a lawsuit arguing that the law is unconstitutional and requesting that the city government be barred from putting up the signs. The case is yet to be reviewed by a judge.

Religious leaders released from Nicaraguan prison say their experience only strengthens their faith
Religious leaders released from Nicaraguan prison say their experience only strengthens their faith

The Independent

time2 days ago

  • The Independent

Religious leaders released from Nicaraguan prison say their experience only strengthens their faith

God's message didn't immediately make sense to pastor José Luis Orozco. But when U.S. efforts resulted in his release from a Nicaraguan prison a few months later, everything became clear. 'The Lord had told me: 'Don't be afraid, José Luis. A wind will blow from the north, your chains will break and the doors will open,'' the pastor said from his new home in Austin, Texas. By September 2024, he had spent nine months behind bars. With 12 other Nicaraguan members of the Texas-based evangelical Christian organization Mountain Gateway, he faced charges like money laundering and illicit enrichment. Just like them, other faith leaders had been imprisoned during a crackdown that organizations, such as Human Rights Watch, have said are attacks on religious freedom. Orozco thought his innocence would eventually surface. So when the U.S. government announced that it had secured his release along with other political prisoners, he wasn't completely surprised. 'That's when I understood,' the pastor said. ' God was telling me he would act through the United States.' In the hours following the announcement, 135 Nicaraguans were escorted to Guatemala, where most sought paths to settle in other countries. Why did Nicaragua imprison religious leaders? Tensions between President Daniel Ortega and Nicaraguan faith leaders began in 2018, when a social security reform sparked massive protests that were met with a crackdown. Relations worsened as religious figures rejected political decisions harming Nicaraguans and Ortega moved aggressively to silence his critics. Members of Catholic and Evangelical churches have denounced surveillance and harassment from the government. Processions aren't allowed and investigations have been launched into both pastors and priests. CSW, a British-based group that advocates for religious freedom, documented 222 cases affecting Nicaraguans in 2024. 'Religious persecution in Nicaragua is the cruelest Latin America has seen in years,' said Martha Patricia Molina, a Nicaraguan lawyer who keeps a record of religious freedom violations. 'But the church has always accomplished its mission of protecting human life.' Spreading the gospel Orozco was the first member of his family to become evangelical. He felt called to the ministry at age 13 and convinced relatives to follow in his footsteps. He began preaching in Managua, urging different churches to unite. His experience became key for Mountain Gateway's missionary work. Founded by American pastor Jon Britton Hancock, it began operating in Nicaragua in 2013. CSW had warned that religious leaders defending human rights or speaking critically of the government can face violence and arbitrary detention. But Hancock and Orozco said their church never engaged in political discourse. While maintaining good relations with officials, Mountain Gateway developed fair-trade coffee practices and offered disaster relief to families affected by hurricanes. By the time Orozco was arrested, his church had hosted mass evangelism campaigns in eight Nicaraguan cities, including Managua, where 230,000 people gathered with the government's approval in November 2023. An unexpected imprisonment Orozco and 12 other members of Mountain Gateway were arrested the next month. 'They chained us hand and foot as if we were high-risk inmates,' he recalled. 'None of us heard from our families for nine months.' The prison where he was taken hosted around 7,000 inmates, but the cells where the pastors were held were isolated from the others. The charges they faced weren't clarified until their trial began three months later. No information was provided to their relatives, who desperately visited police stations and prisons asking about their whereabouts. 'We still had faith this was all a confusion and everything would come to light,' Orozco said. 'But they sentenced us to the maximum penalty of 12 years and were ordered to pay $84 million without a right to appeal.' Preaching in prison Fasting and prayer helped him endure prison conditions. Pastors weren't given drinking water or Bibles, but his faith kept him strong. 'The greatest war I've fought in my Christian life was the mental battle I led in that place,' Orozco recalled. Guards didn't prevent pastors from preaching, so they ministered to each other. According to the pastor, they were mocked, but when they were released, a lesson came through. 'That helped them see that God performed miracles,' he said. 'We always told them: Someday we'll leave this place.' Molina said that several faith leaders who fled Nicaragua have encountered barriers imposed by countries unprepared to address their situation. According to the testimonies she gathered, priests have struggled to relocate and minister, because passports are impossible to obtain, and foreign parishes require documents that they can't request. But Orozco fared differently. He shares his testimony during the services he leads in Texas, where he tries to rebuild his life. 'I arrived in the United States just like God told me,' the pastor said. 'So I always tell people: 'If God could perform such a miracle for me, he could do it for you too.'' Laymen were targets too Onboard the plane taking Orozco to Guatemala was Francisco Arteaga, a Catholic layman imprisoned in June 2024 for voicing his concerns over Ortega's restrictions on religious freedom. 'After 2018, when the protests erupted, I started denouncing the abuses occurring at the churches,' Arteaga said. 'For example, police sieges on the parks in front of the parishes.' Initially, he relied on Facebook posts, but later he joined a network of Nicaraguans who documented violations of religious freedom throughout the country. 'We did not limit ourselves to a single religious aspect,' said Arteaga, whose personal devices were hacked and monitored by the government. 'We documented the prohibitions imposed on processions, the fees charged at church entrances and restrictions required inside the sanctuaries.' Arteaga witnessed how police officers detained parishioners praying for causes that were regarded as criticism against Ortega. According to CSW, the government monitors religious activities, putting pressure on leaders to practice self-censorship. 'Preaching about unity or justice or praying for the general situation in the country can be considered criticism of the government and treated as a crime,' said CSW's latest report. Building a new life Prison guards also denied a Bible to Arteaga, but an inmate lent him his. It was hard for him to go through the Scripture, given that his glasses were taken away after his arrest, but he managed to read it back-to-back twice. 'I don't even know how God granted me the vision to read it,' said Arteaga, who couldn't access his diabetes medicine during his imprisonment. 'That gave me strength.' He eventually reunited with his wife and children in Guatemala, where he spent months looking for a new home to resettle. He recently arrived in Bilbao, Spain, and though he misses his country, his time in prison shaped his understanding of life. 'I've taken on the task, as I promised God in prison, of writing a book about faith,' Arteaga said. 'The title will be: 'Faith is not only believing.'' ____ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store