Walking Through the New Nicaragua

Thoughts, journal entries, and other writings from a term with Witness for Peace in Nicaragua

Presented to the Peace Studies Department in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the course Peace Studies Internship

Mark Becker
Bethel College
August 1986

Nov 21, Pension, Yali
Julieta, James, and I walked most of the seventeen kilometers from San Rafael to Yali today. I love walking here in Nicaragua-it's almost like backpacking. I thought of the book Now We Can Speak; A Journey Through the New Nicaragua. I turned to James and Julieta and said, "If we ever write a book about this, we should call it Walking Through the New Nicaragua.

Table of Contents

• Bethel College Peace Studies Internship Contract
• Covenant and Purpose of Witness for Peace
• Introduction
• The Journal
• Appendix

Bethel College Peace Studies Internship Contract

for
Mark Becker
1985-1986

Mark Becker graduated in May, 1985 with a major in History. In 1985 he is a candidate for a Peace Studies major, having completed all requirements except the internship. Mark will do his internship during the 198-5-1986 school year with Witness for Peace in Nicaragua.

The following is our understanding of Mark's internship:

1.0 Mark will be responsible for raising his own support for language school costs and for Witness for Peace.

1.1 Mark will pay Bethel for eight hours of credit ($1248).

1.11 Since Mark has already graduated from Bethel College, he will only pay half tuition ($624).

1.12 In addition, since Mark will be working in a nonrenumerative position, policy guidelines state that one third of the collected fees ($208) will be retained by Bethel for administrative purposes aid the remaining two thirds will be reimbursed for subsidizing the nonrenumerative internship.

1.2 Mark will be financially responsible for his travel costs to Central America and back, two months of language study in Antigua Guatemala, and raising $1000 support for Witness for Peace.

2.0 Mark will receive eight hours of credit for his internship.

2.1 The first two months (September and October) will be spent in intensive language study in Antigua Guatemala.

2.2 A six month term with Witness for Peace will begin on November 2. 1985. As a long term volunteer, Mark will have three main responsibilities:

2.21 Hosting short term delegations, handling logistics, setting up interviews, acting as a translator, and accompanying the groups during their time in the country.

2.22 Gathering information and documenting effects of the contra war for dissemination to the North American public.

2.23 Standing with the Nicaraguan people as a part of a peaceful and nonviolent U.S. presence in that country.

3.0 Mark will keep a journal of his experiences in Central America. He will also make a report to the Peace Studies department upon his return to Bethel College. He will concentrate on the following areas:

3.1 First, while studying Spanish in Guatemala he will study the political, cultural, and social conditions in that country. This will give him some background against which to compare his later experiences in Nicaragua.

3.2 In Nicaragua, he will primarily be carrying out the goals and tasks of Witness for Peace. Within that context, he will be paying attention to the following points:

3.21 What does it mean to be a pacifist in a war torn country? Do his North American views have relevance in this situation? What (if any) is the connection between his recent involvement in the anti-draft movement with revolutionary movements in Latin America?

3.22 Coming to a clearer understanding of Liberation Theologies.

3.23 Acquiring an understanding of those who are disillusioned with the Sandinista Government.

3.24 Observing the role of indigenous populations (such as the Miskito Indians) in a revolutionary situation.

3.25 Learning about U.S. politics from "the other side of the tracks."

Covenant for Long and Short Term Delegations of Witness for Peace

Together, we make the following covenant:

1. We commit ourselves to a prayerful, biblical approach and unity with one another as the foundations for this project.
2. We commit ourselves to nonviolence in word and deed as the essential operating principle for Witness for Peace.
3. We commit ourselves to honesty and openness in our relationships with one another.
4. We commit ourselves to maintaining the political independence of Witness for Peace.
5. We commit ourselves to act in solidarity and community with the Nicaraguan people, respecting their lives, their culture, and their decisions. We will respect the guidelines worked out with the Nicaraguan government in regard to our presence and mobility in the war zones.
6. We commit significant time and financial resources on a regular basis to Witness for Peace.
7. We commit ourselves to regular communications documenting our witness both within Witness for Peace and to the broader public.

Our Threefold Purpose

To develop an ever-broadening, prayerful, biblically based community of United States citizens who stand with the Nicaraguan people by acting in continuous nonviolent resistance to U.S. covert or overt intervention in their country. To mobilize public opinion and help change U.S. foreign policy to one which fosters justice, peace, and friendship. To welcome others in this endeavor who vary in spiritual approach but are one with us in purpose.

Introduction

The core of this paper is edited excerpts from the journal that I kept from the time of my acceptance as a part of Witness for Peace's long term team in August of 1985, through two months in language school in Antigua Guatemala, my six month term with Witness for Peace in Jinotega, Nicaragua, and my reentry to North American realities in May and June of 1986. Included as an appendix are reports that I wrote as part of my work with Witness for Peace, letters to elected representatives in Congress, and newspaper articles on my work in Nicaragua

The intent of this document is not to argue my political viewpoints, but to candidly present my thoughts and feelings on my experience. I tend to consider my journal a very personal document and I am only sharing it now with you, my personal friends, as a means of communicating what changes I went through while in Nicaragua. I am not attempting to tow any particular political line here and, therefore, do not intend for this journal to have a general circulation.

In writing about my experiences in a Latin culture, I found it necessary to occasionally use certain Spanish words that more fully describe a point than an English translation would. Hence, I present a brief vocabulary list:

acto - a religious or political event, rally, meeting, or action.
asentamiento-a Nicaraguan resettlement camp, usually inhabited by refugees from the war zone.
brigadista-a worker on a brigade.
campo-the countryside or mountains, a rural area.
campesinos-poor rural peasant farmers.
cedula-residency paper.
comedor-a cafeteria or inexpensive restaurant serving a simple meal.
compa-a Nicaraguan Army soldier.
companero-companion, comrade, coworker.
deslazado-one who has laid down his or her weapons in their struggle against the Sandinista Army.
desplazado-one who is displaced due to the war.
EPS-Popular Sandinista Army
Frente-the "Front;" the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN), the present government of Nicaragua.
gringo-a North American or a foreigner.
padre-father, a Catholic priest.
pension-a cheap hotel.
refresco-a drink made from natural fruit juices.
responsable-a person in charge, the one "responsible."
WFP-Witness for Peace.

Lastly, I would like to thank you, Paul, for all the work you have done to make my peace studies internship a success. I really appreciate it. Thanks, Kevin, for proofreading this paper. (I really should have typed it on a word processor.) And thanks, Garth, for that quote that kept me going through times that I would have otherwise turned back from:

You can either chose to live your life and die;
or you can chose to not live your life and live.

Mark Becker
Bethel College
August 5, 1986

The Journal

Aug 9 South Dakota
Here I sit, a week after finding out that Witness for Peace accepted me for their long term team in Nicaragua for a term that begins in November, Despite the language and financial barriers that I have to mount, I felt that I was left with no choice but to "go for it." If I didn't I would regret it immensely in the future. I must meet this challenge and experience what lies ahead of me. This last week in South Dakota has been a rather difficult one. Life here is always hard for me; it has only been complicated by my decision to go to Nicaragua. That is a decision that meets up with a lot of antagonism in these parts.

Aug 14 Bethel College
The past couple days I was at Ames ' 85, the Mennonite Church conference. I went there for the nonregistrants' meeting on Sunday. Nonregistration has been such an important issue for me and now I feel like it's being ripped away from me because I'm too old to really be directly confronted with it. I feel very good about the time and energy I've put into anti-registration issues, but now I need to find someplace else to put that time and energy.

Aug 19 Arvada, Colo.
I came here this weekend to climb Long's Peak. I wanted a break from life before going to Central America-and that's all that I got, no answers to life. When we went to visit our relatives, the inevitable question eventually had to come up: "What are you going to do now?" When I said that I'm going to Nicaragua with Witness for Peace, the relatives experienced a barely restrained blow-up. What can I do? I try to avoid topics of religion and politics, but there is so much antagonism from my relatives to what I want to do with my life. Steve and Deb's pickup has a bumper sticker: "President Reagan: Bringing America Back." People accuse me of being too political. Steve is studying to be a preacher, a person who is supposed to be concerned with spiritual matters. I get so pissed. I just don't want to deal with people like that.

Aug 21 Bethel
Life can be such a hassle. I woke up this morning and realized that I only have five days left in which to get everything done before leaving for Central America, I read through the Witness for Peace (WFP) propaganda and become somewhat unsettled over their seemingly strict and authoritarian administrative structures. And I'm really feeling the pinch of financial dire straits. This is all getting to me.

Aug 24 Bethel
Trauma-today was the day, I felt as if I was going to my execution, "You better get your hair cut or you will be shot down there," I was told. It was one of the most painful sacrifices that I've had to make. My long hair represents so much of what I am; I miss the freedom and thrill of the long hair dangling on my shoulders and blowing in the wind.

Aug 26 Bethel
God-what a hectic day. I wanted to leave by noon. Now its 11:30 and I'm still here with many things to do. All the last minute things add up so much. Tomorrow morning I'm gone-I promise. Paul's been great with the Peace Studies internship-he's really pulled through on that for me. Saying goodbye to everyone. Weird how I'm so ready to be gone but yet not quite ready to leave.

Aug 29 Matamoras Bus Station, Mexico
I rush like crazy to get here early in the morning-only to find that the first bus leaves at 2:30. It's humid and I sweat while the chigger bites all over my body itch like crazy. It's time for total immersion as I make my way to the bus station, making a total fool out of myself in the process. My comprehension is so low that I can't even understand numbers.

I finally left Tuesday morning after an apple pancake breakfast with Nathan and Su. I made it to the south side of Fort Worth when I stopped for the night. After another whole day of riding (my motorcycle), I made it to Brownsville--over a thousand miles in two days. The heat, the wind, a thundershower, and a saddle sore butt complicated by a recently received gamma globulin shot all made it a trip that I am glad is behind me. I was quite exhausted-the sleep last night at the Brownsville VS unit (where I left my cycle) sure felt good.

Aug 30 Tapo Station, Mexico City
I spend my whole life waiting in bus stations. In Europe it was train stations. How worlds change.

Coming in on the bus, I was astounded by the level of poverty-a level that I don't remember seeing when I was here one and a half years ago. At first I thought I was in for an awful case of culture shock, but I am gaining my confidence back. Communication is going better. I really can't tell that I've lost anything that I really learned in Spanish Class two years ago. People have been real nice to me, struggling through language barriers with me and in directing me to the Guatemalan embassy where I got a visa. There are certain ironies, like Dutch keeps wanting to creep to the front of my mind, which really makes me miss The Netherlands.

On the Metro, shortly after I had been warned to watch my money, etc., closely, I noticed that over US$60 was missing from my right front pants pocket. Ouch, that hurt. Oh sheeze, I really could use that money. I feel real irresponsible now, as if I let down all the people whose financial contributions made this trip possible. But it was a very crowded Metro and I guess that that sort of thing happens. It makes me much more paranoid-I carefully watch all of my stuff but realize that if I didn't notice a hand in my front right pocket I probably won't notice when the next item loses me. I just hope that it isn't dad's camera--that wouldn't go over well at all.

Aug 31 Hotel Refugio, Antigua, Guate
The end of a long journey-finally, Day blends into day and who knows how long its been when most of my sleeping is done on a bus?

At the border a customs official took one look at my passport picture and exclaimed something to the affect of "Oh my!" I never felt that looking clean cut was important in Mexico, but it suddenly seems to become everything in Guatemala.

So I had my introduction to Guatemala. I found a bus to Guatemala City and it turned into a lesson on how to stretch a simple three hundred kilometer trip to a seven-hour journey by stopping in every little town and screaming out for passengers. I can get so impatient.

On the way to Guatemala City we came over a hill and there in the valley were about ten PMA soldiers, At first I didn't understand-were these military soldiers or guerrillas? Were they going to rob us or shoot us? But they let us go on after making all the men get out of the bus for an ID check. Then I asked another passenger who they were. They were the Guatemalan military looking for guerrillas or people who were helping them. It seems that on every street corner there is a National Police station. This is obviously a militarized country and I watch carefully what I do or say. It was a relief to know that these people were the military-it seemed to make them more predictable. I wonder if and when I will run into guerrillas.

Sept 1 Central Square, Antigua
Today I was in the market and a kid asked me if I wanted to change dollars, Sure-I needed to change some. He took me to a tourist trap where we met Terry Kindle. Apparently, Terry had come here from the States as a missionary, but became disallusioned with trying to change the Indian's customs. He found that by changing money on the black market and by exporting Indian weavings to the States he could live like a king here, and he seemed to be enjoying it immensely. On his desk a Bible lay open to Psalms. He smoked an occasional North American cigarettes and he used rather rough language at points. He claimed that there was a "99.9% chance" of a revolution here within two weeks. Oh crap-and here I am.

Later I met another man who told similar stories. He said the best idea would be for me to get out of Guatemala--maybe to Honduras. I came here for excitement and for an experience, I may be in for more then what I originally bargained for.

Sept 2 Central Park, Antigua
I started school today at Francisco Marroquino. They didn't seem any too happy about me wanting to transfer to Maya, But I need to spend a week here now because I had made a reservation. My teacher Carmen is quite nice, but seems overly anxious to get to the breaks. All that we did was read over sentences. We didn't spend much time practicing conversations, which is what I really need. My living situation (with a family) is rather straining also.

Sept 3 Bedroom, Antigua
I came home tonight for supper and a white haired missionary was here. Apparently he was caught in the student unrest in Guatemala City. Perhaps an actual revolution-an actual liberation--is brewing here. Maybe I should forget about school and join the students in the street. Perhaps I don't need to go to Nicaragua now-it could be happening right here in Guatemala!

Sept 6 The Park, Antigua
Here I sit in the park at about 6:30 pm. In the distance is the volcano that I hope to climb tomorrow. Further in the distance is another that I hope to climb on another day. Somehow they seem so romantic, so intriguing. Climbing volcanoes-that is the life for me. And I feel the tension-am I here to enjoy life, or to learn Spanish?

Sept 12 Antigua
Over supper I talked with the maid here in the house, She is getting paid twenty quetzales (about US$6) for a month of work-working every day from 6 am to 7 pm, seven days a week, thirty or thirty-one days a month. "How much are you paying a week here?" she asks. One hundred and ten quetzales (US$30) I humbly answer rather embarrassed. Sometimes I think I'm so poor and live such a simple lifestyle. What can I say?

Sept 16 Antigua
I started classes with a new teacher today. His name is Abel and I think he will be good for me. He really drills me on my mistakes. It makes me realize how lazy Carmen was. Right now I'm feeling rather optimistic about my classes. I feel quite exhausted-I'm not just floating along through with this teacher,

Sept 17 Antigua
Abel and I spent this whole afternoon discussing Guatemalan politics, Not only did the talk give me good practice with Spanish, it also gave me more insight into Guatemalan politics. I'm trying my hardest not to get myself into trouble, but sometimes it's hard to keep my political opinions to myself.

Sept 18 Antigua
This afternoon I talked with Joan (the owner of the bookstore "Un Poco de Todo") about her observations of Nicaragua. She had just come back from a trip there and painted a rather dismal picture of the situation there. She said that the excitement of right after the revolution was gone, that everything was in short supply, and that the Sandinistas were becoming more totalitarian. It left me feeling very lost. What role do I play? Perhaps the Sandinista government no longer is worth protecting. But does that mean I should drop out of WFP? At this point I would say no-I still need to work to stop a war. The situation is still very tense and I want to help prevent a war with Honduras or an invasion by the U.S. But I was hoping that this time I could stand for something instead of just working against what I oppose.

Sept 21 Antigua
Today someone got a USA Today paper to read about the earthquake in Mexico. In it there was a short blurb saying that Benjamin Sasway was getting out of prison after serving six months of a thirty month sentence for not registering for the draft. Suddenly it brings back a whole era of my life that I had basically left behind. This seems to be a different world here, far removed from the one that I once knew.

Sept 24 Antigua
Tonight I discussed Central American politics with Julio, the son in the family with which I'm staying. He saw Nicaragua as a real threat to this region. Sometimes it really shocks me how naive people here are and how much they buy the propaganda that they are fed. It is difficult for me to say what I think because I need to survive here for another month and I'm trying my best to stay out of trouble. I really hate it when the topic of my life and reasons for being here comes up. What can I say? I can't help but think that it would be a great mistake to tell many of these people that I'm going to Nicaragua to work with WFP.

Sept 25 Antigua
Sometimes I stop and think about getting killed. Life here is so cheap. Two weeks ago when I was walking back from San Antonio Agua Caliente, I passed a guy laying in the ditch. I couldn't tell if he was just asleep or dead, but he looked very stiff and there were flies around his mouth. So many deaths seem so meaningless. I hate like crazy the thought of dying all for nothing. I'm not ready to go yet…

Oct 1 Antigua
A month from tomorrow I need to be in Managua Only a month left and I have so much left to learn. I wonder if I can cut it. Sometimes I get so incredibly frustrated.

Oct 5 Lake Atitlan, Panajachel
Two friends and I came out here for the weekend. On the bus out here I finally ran into the other WFPers who are studying Spanish here in Guatemala. It felt great to be surrounded by that type of person. They said that WFP needed all of the help that they can get, so I guess I can quit worrying about being rejected for whatever reason at the last minute.

On the way out here we caught a ride with a guy from Israel, I wonder how safe it was riding with him. With all of the military aid that Israel supplies to Guatemala, I imagine that he would be quite the target for a guerrilla attack.

Oct 8 Antigua
Sometimes I think about death. Last summer I had these dreams in which I was being executed for my involvement in subversive activities. I would wake up screaming, "No! I don't want to die!" There was always one more thing I wanted to do, one more sunset to watch. Whenever a helicopter appears in the sky, I can't help but think of death and destruction. But when I think of the possibility of my demise, it's Garth's quote that pushes me onward and I would choose to leave it as a tribute to my life and death:

"You can either choose to live your life and die;
or you can choose to not live your life and live."

Oct 15 Antigua
I started writing this story in which I take all these risks and do all sorts of fun, exciting things and then go home and drown in my bathtub. It kinda expresses how I feel.

Oct 24 Antigua
In a couple days it will be time for me to leave Guatemala for Nicaragua. Why does leaving need to be so difficult? I've really enjoyed my time here. Antigua feels like home. You don't know how tempting it is to forget about Nicaragua and stay here in Guatemala.

Oct 28 Guatemala
Sitting (at least) on a crowded bus to San Salvador. Why do they always have to pack people in like this? What a hectic morning. I ran all over trying to get my visa for Honduras. I hate trying to get around in a city where I'm not familiar with the public transit system and I'm dragging all of my worldly belongings with me. Such a pain.

Pension, San Salvador
Well, the bus ride was OK, if you don't mind getting off too many times for military checks. People are surprisingly friendly and the borders have been easy-so far I wouldn't have gotten into trouble for carrying anything. I met a guy who took me to a cheap pension close to the bus terminal. It's a different side of life here. There are hordes of prostitutes in windows like I haven't seen since the Red Light District of Amsterdam.

Oct 29 Choluteca, Honduras
Another long day on the bus. I got up at 5:30 this morning but ended up missing the first class bus that left at 6:00, so I spent the whole day crowded into third class buses. But otherwise things went OK. It seemed like all the bridges this side of San Salvador have been blown up but only one rather large one was still out. That stretch was supposed to be the most dangerous, but the roads were full of people and I guess it really wasn't that big of a risk. I've never seen so many soldiers lining a road before. I guess it's more of a war zone, but except for the bridges I didn't see much damage. I feel more relaxed now that I'm in Honduras. I begin telling people that I'm going to Estelí to visit a friend-even the immigration officer at the border. Hopefully, tomorrow night I will be with Tim-Blob in Estelí, Nicaragua.

Oct 31 Hotel Moderno, Estelí, Nicaragua
"Greetings from Free Nicaragua." I got here without too many problems. When we were leaving Honduras a soldier stopped us, asked for our passports and asked where we were going, "Duh-I don't know. Where does this road go?" We walked past the old bombed-out border station to a waiting pickup that took us to Nicaraguan customs five kilometers away. Now that I'm here I feel pretty free to say what I'm doing and where I'm going. Crossing the border really wasn't that much of a problem, even though I had to change $60 US for the rate of 28 Cordobas to $1 US (the going rate is 750 Cords to the dollar). We caught another pickup to Somoto where we waited for about three hours for a bus to Estelí. I hate waiting for buses and here it was worse. There aren't enough buses and these "really nice people" become quite pushy and nasty in an attempt to get on the few buses that there are. It was quite a rude introduction to a country that is supposed to be so kind, humane, and helpful to each other.

Anyway, after we got on the bus to Estelí we started talking to some soldiers and they were more friendly and helpful. They told me where to get off for the school where Tim is working. Tim's been great in cluing me in on what is happening here. He really has helped in interpreting the news stories I was reading in Guatemala over the "protests" of the Catholic Church here in Estelí.

Nov 1 WFP Little House, Managua, Nicaragua
We left Estelí this morning and stood on a packed bus all the way to Managua. We took a taxi to change money and then I caught a bus to the WFP house. We're starting in heavy duty tomorrow night on our orientation. In ways this group really pulls together-good people to be with.

Nov 5 Short Term Team House (STTH), Managua
Walt and Sali (two new long-termers) just kinda drop out of WFP and our lives. I wonder how well thought-out some people's coming here was. But I become more and more comfortable with WFP and life here. WFP seems more open and less authoritarian from this angle. Now I wonder if my original impressions come from the Durham office. When I ask about an unpopular policy it always seems to have come from the Durham office. Or maybe that's just their way of dealing with such things. I've become quite lazy amongst these gringos--I'm not using my Spanish much in conversations, writings, studying, or writing papers. I hope that I don't begin to lose it. It was easier in language school when I was always using my Spanish.

We run role plays here. We're on a bus attacked by contras. I begin realizing more and more that I don't want to die here- that Nicaragua's freedom doesn't mean that much to me. I said that last night in our personal reflection: "I don't want to die in Nicaragua." Today more and more people repeated that same line- "I don't want to die in Nicaragua." I guess that expresses what a lot of us are feeling.

Nov 7 STTH
Statement by WFP new long term team at the U.S. Embassy vigil on November 7, 1985:

"We are twelve Christians from North America joining with those (the Witness for Peace team) already here in opposing the war of the United States government against Nicaragua.

We will be here for at least six months living and working non-violently in the war zones, standing in solidarity with the Nicaraguan people in their suffering.

We are here this morning because each of us considers the U.S. policy of terrorist war against Nicaragua to be intolerable, immoral, and an impediment to peace, justices and freedom in this country. These vigils have been going on for two years and still we await every day as do the Nicaraguan people and the people of the world, some concrete actions for peace by the U.S. government instead of the insincere rhetoric for peace which is regularly disseminated from Washington, DC.

We come here insistent, we come here urgent, and we come here citizens of the U.S. demanding an end to this war.

Joining us in similar vigils every week in their hometowns are our compatriots in Charleston, W.V.; Colville, WA; and Debuke, Iowa, among others.

We hope this circle of peace and love will spread until the positions of our government change."

We went to the lake again this afternoon. I started walking around it. It was so peaceful and beautiful-it was hard to believe that a war was going on in this country. I just wanted life to stop and stay there. Why can't we always be like that?

Nov 11 Little House
I got discerned this morning by Ed and Sharon (the WFP coordinators). I guess it went OK and I guess I'm probably in for sure now. I keep trying to think, "Why am I here?" To experience a different culture and to try to affect a positive change in U.S. foreign policy. How are you going to affect that change? Sheeze, I don't know. I really don't know.

Nov 12 Little House
Today was the last day of our orientation. We had our commissioning service and signing of the covenant tonight. Before I signed it, I thought, "Maybe I don't want to sign this" and decided that at least I should read what it said. It's kinda funny-they never asked us if we wanted to sign. Becoming part of WFP has been such a gradual process, this was just another small step. But I feel good here-this is where I should be.

Nov 14 Pensión La Colonia, Matagalpa
We finally left Managua for the campo today. Julieta, James, Julio, Mary, and I hitchhiked here on the backs of dump trucks (one full of dirt) and on a semi. It feels good to be out of Managua and closer to the "real Nicaragua."

Nov 15 Hotel Tito, Jinotega
Today we arrived in Jinotega, where I will be working with WFP. I begin giving up on ever talking much Spanish here. I'm working with Gringos in a Gringo organization and of course we'll speak English. I'm never going to start thinking in Spanish here like I did in Antigua, and therefore I'm never going to learn any. That's really too bad, but what can I do about it? I realized this morning that this job really needs self-motivating people. And it's time to get to work, eh?

Nov 16 Jinotega
I started reading Ayn Rand's We The Living. I suppose Ayn Randists would want me to see the parallels between her view of Soviet Russia and Nicaragua. She seemed to have quite an elitist view of the world.

I begin to feel a bit of the effect of this experience in Nicaragua on me. "Simple lifestyle" comes to mean something else. How Garth, Tim, and I lived last year in our trailer at Bethel is really quite rich compared to many people's lives here. It all becomes relative and I realize that I just want to live on a level that I'm comfortable with.

Nov 20 Pensión, San Rafael del Norte
We finally got out of the city of Jinotega and into the campo. James, Julieta, and I went with Ed to Sisley where we talked with some people who had been attacked by the contras on August 15. Then we went to La Pradera where the attack occurred. We took pictures of three houses they had burned down; they also had killed one guy there.

Then we continued on to San Rafael. James fell in with some kids who play basketball, he seems to fit in here. Julieta can't wait to get to Yali-that's like her home away from home. But where do I fit in? It seems nowhere, I really want to get away and speak and live only Spanish.

Nov 22 Yali
Yali-the end of the line. You can tell we're getting out there. Of the three newspapers, only the Barricada makes it here and that doesn't arrive until the 6:00pm bus pulls in. What is there to do in Yali? Go to the comedor for supper and that's about it. I suppose it'd be OK if I had friends here though. This Pensión is like an old barn-including the sound of pigs. Last night, a rat helped itself to a banana in my pack. James and I woke up in the middle of the night to machine gun fire. It was from only one gun and I suppose some compa just got bored.

Nov 24 Yali
I read a little piece in the paper today about Nelson Mandela. I realized how isolated and "Nica-centric" this place is. All that's important is Nicaragua and that the Sandinistas survive. I want to view this situation with a bit more historical objectivity. I think Julieta is getting pissed at me. I make cynical comments about these green people here killing people, She says that they are protecting the people. So much for nonviolence and political independence.

Nov 25 Pensión, San Rafael
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning. It smells like...victory." That's a quote from Apocalypse Now. I'm not sure why it keeps coming back to me. Walking from Yali to here I really felt the need to say it. But it was dusk and therefore didn't seem appropriate. Finally here in San Rafael it came out. Julieta and James just kinda laughed at me.

The walk from Yali to San Rafael is about seventeen kilometers, or so they say. We left Yali at 2:30 and walked for four or four and a half hours. I think only three vehicles passed us, but that's OK. I really don't mind walking. We walked the last hour or so after sunset, but that was OK because the moon was almost full. An IFA (army truck) roared by with a spotlight shining into the roadside. The realization that "there's contras in them hills" jumped to mind and we begin talking of contingency plans in case of an attack. I really wasn't scared, I just don't care to be out in the country after sunset, that's all.

Nov 27 Hotel Tito, Jinotega
You learn all sorts of interesting things living in a war zone-like, did you know that if you're about to be hit by a shell you should open your mouth or you'll explode?

Today we went out to Tamalaque by Pantasma with Padre Douglas and two doctors. Padre holds a mass while the doctors check out people. Julieta and James fill prescriptions and I try to help for awhile but decide that I'm just getting in the way so I take off down the road. We were in a valley--it was really quiet, except for the sounds of birds and locusts. How peaceful it could be to live there. About ten days ago, there was a contra attack there. "Deje apoya a la contra no más muertos," the writing on the wall said. ("Stop support to the contras, no more deaths"). I wouldn't mind participating in more concrete actions like this. But still, this was mostly just a political action. One of the doctors (who is from Basque) admitted this. Pushing medicine isn't the answer. Some of the people's customs need to change--they need to pay more attention to their diet and sanitary conditions. This would help them a lot more then the medicine will. I start thinking about what I would be like if I had been raised there. How would being raised in a traditional culture affect me? But then I looked around me and I wondered what the difference between this place and rural, isolated South Dakota would be. I looked at some of the people and it seemed as if they were the same as my friends from High School-just reflecting the values and norms and views of their surroundings. Then I wondered how much of my politics came from my education and how much comes from within and I decided that I probably would have turned out the same with similar values and concerns.

Nov 28 Selva Negra
And so here we are at Selva Negra ("Black Forest"-an old German coffee plantation converted into a hotel) for a WFP retreat. We caught a ride here with two Soviet journalists, which was really interesting. They joked that there were three Soviets in Nicaragua-the two of them and the ambassador. They said that Nicaragua will have to learn how to fight and what to fight for.

Nov 30 Selva Negra
I feel that I have a personality filled with ironies. I hate this war and what its effects are, but I thrive on the excitement that it produces. If I wasn't a pacifist, I would join the army for the adventure- here, I can be a pacifist and experience war also. But still, while other people around me become militant supporters of the Sandinista Army, I back off and become more critical and objective of the situation. I read in the Barricada of contra attacks, amnesties, and draft evaders coming back and it all sounds like propaganda. To me, this army seems just like any other army with similar goals, methods and objectives. "There must be a better way," my mind keeps thinking. "All of this killing can't be necessary." And the Anabaptist theme of a third way keeps resurfacing. I want my life to be a force for a third way.

Dec 6 Jinotega
Yesterday we walked most of the twenty kilometers to the coop Hector Flores in Namanji to get affidavits of a contra attack and kidnaping in which they killed the president of the coup. The wife of the president seemed scared and didn't want to talk much about her experiences. People in general seemed to be suspicious of us being there. But we did talk with some men who were working on a well that they were building with materials donated by Switzerland. Later I was talking with another guy about life in that community. He had a dismal view of things. The government isn't doing much in that community, and most everything is in short supply. He knew that the much needed materials come from the states and it's only in the last couple years that it has been a crisis situation like this. But if he knew why this situation existed, he didn't indicate that to me. They have trouble getting a hold of food, clothing, and anything for the Chevy pickup which is their transportation link to the outside world. This was the first cooperative that I'd visited, but Julieta said that it was a badly organized one. They sure could use some political education and exposure to how these world forces that are affecting them so directly operate.

Dec 9 Bocas de Vilan
Well, I got here yesterday without getting sick on the long ride out here, although I was still feeling a bit weak from being sick a couple days ago.

This morning Tim and Terry (WFP coworkers who brought me out here) continued on to Wiwili and just kinda left me here all alone. I wasn't really sure if I really felt up to this, but what choice did I have? At least I'm getting more Spanish now and, to my satisfaction, I'm holding my own. I smile when I realize that I can now understand "Padre Douglas" without the "s" when I couldn't have a month ago. Now I'm waiting to go with a woman to Flor del Pino de Vilan to help her pick coffee.

Dec 10 Manuel's farm, Bocas de Vilan
Well, I ended up staying here in Bocas de Vilan for the night and I'm still here. Yesterday and today I've been helping Manuel- mostly with cleaning bad beans out of the coffee. That woman decided that it was too late for me to risk going with her last night, so she sent her boys to get me today along with some beans. Now it's getting about as late as it was yesterday when she wouldn't take me.

I'm quite apprehensive about my health here. Hogs and chickens wander freely about everywhere-I feel like I'm in a pig pen back home and the house seems like that red cabin in the trees (in which we kept pigs) that I always wondered if people once lived in. The dirt floors don't bother me (actually, there is a fair amount of concrete) and the food is great (although I probably shouldn't be drinking the refrescos, but I'm not getting enough liquids in my diet); I just feel like I'm compromising some basic sanitary measures, I hope that it doesn't catch up with me.

These kids sure seem curious about my bags. When I begin to open it up they jump and are right there to watch, So last night I went through everything and showed them everything that I had. I hope that they were satisfied. One of them said something about a "regalo" (a present)-I hope they weren't expecting one. Sorry, I'm not Santa Claus. Manuel asked how much my sleeping bag cost. I always get embarrassed when someone asks that. But everything is on such a different level here. Twenty dollars for my backpack is too expensive here. Sometimes it gets to me how people stare at me here, but I guess I stare at them too.

Dec 12 Doña Carmen, Flor del Pino de Vilan
This place is set kinda back in the woods-almost an hour on a muddy trail from the road. Coming here, we passed over a ridge and at the top there was this house overlooking an awesomely beautiful valley. My thoughts on this place were crossing-my contempt for the isolation and ignorance of these people was changing for my romantic desire to live in a log cabin in the mountains. Here I could do it. "How much would it cost to rent-or even buy-that place?" I wondered. I could move out here and live my life the way I want to. Their school needs a teacher-I might even have a job.

We live on a dirt floor here. That's OK, but when the kid craps on it they go outside the front door to where the pigs hang out and bring in some dirt to clean it up. They pee and throw all sorts of trash out of the kitchen door and I then walk through it all the time. They eat beans and corn tortillas all the time, but I begin to realize that this land is relatively rich with fruits and veggies and they could be eating a diet a lot better and varied. Really, it's surprising that they don't seem to have more problems with sickness. It's surprising that I'm not having more problems then I am. Life here doesn't have to be this way-it could be a lot better. Maybe I could come here and live and show them a better way.

Anyway, so I spent my first day picking coffee-five and a half medias of it, if that means anything to you. Suzana (Carmen's fifteen year old daughter) picked ten. If I had come here as a brigadista to pick coffee for two or three months, I think I would be quite depressed at this moment. It's quite tedious and meaningless work, but at least I'm getting a lot of time to think. It's easier then walking beans, and I probably could stand it if I was getting paid five dollars an hour. That's quite a capitalistic admission, isn't it? As it is, though, a crew of about six of us didn't even pick five dollars worth of coffee all day yesterday. Sometimes I wonder how these people can make ends meet.

Dec 13 A creek someplace in Nicaragua
I really love this area. It's so quiet and so beautiful. I think if I had my own house and my own little group of friends I could live here. Why does there have to be this war going on?

Anyway, these people are always so curious about my bags. Once I saw three or four of them watching me stuff my sleeping bag in its storage sack. Argentina, the little girl, saw my frisbee and asked what that purple plate was. So I showed it to them. I threw it and promptly lost it. When I found it, Doña Carmen said it was just a plastic plate and so she washed it for me. I guess she'd think it stupid to pay five dollars for something like that.

Dec 14 Jinotega
I got back to Jinotega today and found fourteen letters waiting for me. It's a bit of an overdose, I guess, especially since I had received about three letters in the last two months. Anyway, the biggest surprise was the letter from my old friend Cheryl. She said that she was coming to Nicaragua with the WFP student delegation in January. One letter informed me that my paper on draft resistance finished third in the John Horst Contribution contest. That's quite disappointing. I really thought that I was going to win it. Mom and Dad sent news of the explosion in the grain elevator in Marion. Death-three of them. Nicaragua doesn't have a corner on pain and dying, and death for whatever reason isn't easy for me to deal with. Sheeze-it's just so hard to imagine. Gone, gone forever…

Anyway, I came back from Bocas de Vilan this afternoon. I spent the morning picking coffee at Epifanio's. I really like that family-it's so much more fun then the heavy atmosphere that hangs over Manuel's. Manuel told me that the night that the contras kidnaped three of his sons he ran after them imploring them in the name of Jesus Christ to leave them go. They didn't listen. When I asked if it would be a bother to have me spend the night in his house he said that there was lots of room-his house was empty now. Just feel the pain.

Dec 15 Jinotega
A Frente vehicle was ambushed on the road to Las Colinas yesterday. Two people were killed and two injured. Julieta and James had been on that same vehicle just a couple hours earlier. The thought that he could have been on it really is shaking up James. He knew those people, including the thirteen year-old kid who got shrapnel in his arm. I start thinking-next time it could be someone I know and love. Suddenly it seems a lot more dangerous.

Dec 18 Bocas de Vilan
Here I sit in front of the house that I suppose is more of a "home" than I'll find anyplace in Nicaragua. I just spent a hot, sun-baked day in the field clearing corn stalks into piles, which we burned, thereby clearing the way for plowing. Wouldn't it be better to plow it under? After all, it's good mulch for the soil. But what can I say? I'm not here as a development worker and know nothing about their agricultural practices.

James and I were talking about the ambushed Frente vehicle. I told him about Marion's grain elevator and that Nicaragua doesn't have a corner on pain and suffering. Yeh, he said, but that was an accident-the Frente vehicle wasn't. I guess a more proper analogy would be the South Church-both that and the Frente vehicle were the result of an evil and malicious intent.

Anyway, I went back to Jinotega this weekend to meet Peter and we came back here together on Monday to begin setting up for the Seminary Delegation that is coming in January. The fear of getting blown up, especially while on the road, becomes wearing after awhile. How can I live with this day after day? Even worse is the realization that when I go, this journal will probably go with me and all the work of leaving behind a tribute to myself will have been for nothing.

Dec 20 Hotel Tito Jinotega
I'm back in Jinotega for the weekend. It's not even 8:00pm and I feel incredibly tired, but there's so much stuff I want to do-reading and writing. I spent all of yesterday in the field again. I heard shelling all day and occasional machine gun fire. God-this is a war zone. What the heck am I doing here? The kids in Bocas de Vilan really take to my Frisbee. We throw it around for hours. It's so weird thinking of playing frisbee (basically a middle class college pastime) in this cultural backwash.

Dec 22 WFP house, Estelí
So I'm back in Estelí once again, this time trying to find Tim and the Central American Peace March. Apparently they are at a coop north of town. The march seems to be screwed up-there's dissension in the ranks, they're busing it almost all the way instead of walking, and a lot of Central American governments are resisting allowing them to come into their countries. It's really too bad that a march for peace has to result in so much discord. It seems so characteristic of the peace movement- it reminds me so much of Dave Lohrentz's stories of the peace march he was on in 1982. I wonder how much of it is due to infiltration by antagonistic elements with the intent to sabotage the march.

Telcor (the communications office) can be a bit strange. They never seem to have change, so they give you stamps as change instead. It would be interesting to start a Nicaraguan stamp collection-what do their stamps say about the revolution? They gave me red Lenin stamps for my letter to Barb in the Philippians. I wonder what the government there will think of that.

Dec 24 Poneloya beach
What better place to be on Christmas? It sure doesn't seem like Christmas, but that's OK with me. The waves are crashing on the beach and it sounds so beautiful. The peace march left without me. Maybe that's just as well. I took Jonathan and Lauren (who had just gotten off of a WFP delegation) to the WFP house and then followed them to Leon where we stayed with Andrew from their delegation. Leon is hot with a lot of bombed out buildings, but I kinda liked it there. Sometime I should go back.

Dec 27 Little House, Managua
I get assaulted from both sides and I feel so confused. I made a remark to Mary D. about maybe we are just trying to find evidence to fit our already foregone conclusions about the situation here and she jumps all over me. At Poneloya I was talking with two Political Science students from San Diego who claimed to be neutral and "seeing for themselves" here, but were obviously quite conservative. I didn't talk much-most people never seem to have much interest in listening to anybody but themselves-but they remarked how I was the most reasonable "leftist" they had met. Why don't people ever stop and listen to criticism? They just scream at each other. No one ever listens. Maybe the problem just is that I have different goals in being here. I would describe myself as being very much a socialist- I make no qualms about that. But it doesn't start and stop with Nicaragua and the Sandinistas. There are much deeper and broader reaching issues at stake here. Do revolutions always follow the same pattern? Can they succeed without violence? Or are they victimized by human nature? I begin to wonder if the most positive contribution I could give would be as a school teacher-in education.

Dec 29 Little House, Managua
I heard three shots while walking by the lake Xiloa and almost just zoned them out. Sheeze that's scary. Am I becoming numb to the sounds of war and violence?

Jan 1 STTH, Managua
Sitting here listening to Jack Nelson Palmier speak to our student delegation that came in last night. I forgot my backpack at the airport last night when we picked them up. I got it back this morning, but it was unnerving to think of facing life without this journal and my dictionary, which I had left in the backpack.

Jan 3 Hotel Tito, Jinotega
So here I am back here. Four people from the student delegation are sick here and two more are down at our doctor friends Justin and Mag. I'm beginning to feel quite tired. I really hadn't imagined that I would be doing this. I don't enjoy playing doctor. But I do enjoy being with this student group. I feel as if I'm back with my peers.

Jan 5 Mag & Justin's, Jinotega
We passed the evening with our sick delegation at Mag and Justin's place. Justin said that he and Jack Nelson Palmier heard this song on the contra radio station:

J.J. & the Contras

We arm the world
We starve the children
We arm the ones that steal the people's land
So let's keep on giving
There's a choice we're making
We're taking all their lives
So that we can have a brighter day
Just you and me.

We arm the world
Kill women and children
We are the freedom fighting, founding fathers, Reagan's brothers
There's some laws we're breaking
But hell we know we're right
So as long as Congress foots the bill
We'll keep up the fight.

We've armed the world
We've nuked the children
We've maimed and killed to save our world from Commie sympathizers
There's a chance we've taken
Some people say we're wrong
But we know that God is on our side
That's why we're strong,

We'll arm the world
We'll bomb the children
We'll terrorize until their miserable lives just ain't worth living
It's democracy we're making
All around the world
It's freedom for the privileged few
That's me and you.

It's freedom for the privileged few
That's us not you.

It's freedom for the privileged few
That's me not you.

Jan 6 Museum San Rafael
Now we finally have the whole delegation back together and everybody is feeling better. It's the five year anniversary of my Revolution. Maybe it's kinda ironic to pass the date of when the statute of limitations would normally expire for my not registering outside of the U.S. and in Nicaragua, of all places. Almost half of my time since I was supposed to have registered has been spent outside of the U.S. Originally, I didn't register because of U.S. policies in places like Nicaragua, but the cart has almost come before the horse-registration remains the primary issue in my life.

Jan 9 Julieta's Ranch
Song written especially for the vigil at the U.S. Embassy on January 9, 1986, and sung by the WFP student delegation:

Burn It Bright!
(Set Nicaragua Free)
Words and Music by Jeff Dixon

1.) Sweet, sweet, sweet Jesus Christ
Gave, gave, gave his precious life
To break the captives chains
To end the prisoner's pain

And set them free
Set them free
Then why do you refrain (from breaking)
Nicaragua' s chain

To set them free?
Set them free?

2.) Blood, blood, blood is on the land
Dark, dark, dark is Reagan's hand
Gunfire in the night
Is taking precious lives

Endlessly
Endlessly
Mothers and their babes are being
Sent to early graves
Are you proud? Is Reagan proud?

(chorus)
Burn it bright, burn it bright, burn it bright, burn it bright!
Freedom's light, freedom's lights freedom's light freedoms light!
End the night, end the night, end the night, end the night!
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon!
Set Nicaragua Free!

3.) Peace, peace, peace, there's no peace
No. no, no, there's no release
When thirteen year old boys
Play with guns like they were toys!
And fight grown men
Fight grown men
They must take up arms
To save their families and their farms

And grow up too soon!
Grow up too soon!

4.) Just, just, just, is it just?
To burn, burn, burn this land to dust?
What morality
Burns everything it sees

In the name of truth?
The name of truth?
The mercenary hides
In freedom fighter guise

And kills for pay!
Kills for pay!

5.) Peace, peace, peace, we want peace!
Please, please, please, please release
Let Nicaragua go
To heal its wounds on its own
And live in peace
Live in peace
Our own freedom cannot last
If you stab freedom in the back
And let it die
Let it die

6.) Love, love, love is the light
If, if, I if you let it shine
The darkness of your night
Will fade away from sight
Just open up your eyes
And realize
We never have to fear
Weeping joyful tears
In freedom's light

Burning bright!

Jan 13 Little House, Managua
Well, the student delegation left two days ago and I'm still feeling somewhat wasted, both physically and emotionally. But it's time to move on. I feel like soon I'm going to be heading toward some unknown fate. It's only a matter of time till it catches up with me. I'm not ready to go yet. Oh, spiritually and maybe emotionally I am, but it's just the lingering presence of things left undone. But then, when will I ever be ready to go? There will always be one more sunset that I need to watch, one more full moon to walk under. I suppose most people are never really ready to go. That's really too bad, I guess. Right now, it just all seems so meaningless to go. But what would I have done if I didn't go? That's an unanswered question too.

Jan 16 Jinotega
Here I sit in "our" new house waiting for the house warming party to begin. After many months of searching, we finally found a house to rent. It will be OK here, I think.

I finally left Managua this morning. It would have been just as easy not to. I felt incredibly apprehensive and nervous. I came with the Kansas delegation as far as Sebaco and then started hitching. I just wasn't in that mind frame. Going to San José de Bocay really scares me, I feel like a dreadful fate lies out on that long road to nowhere. But still I have to go-to not go would be cheating life. I can't turn back now. There's only one way to go-and that's onward, I wonder if I'll still feel that way when I reach the end.

Jan 18 Jinotega
James and I lay here talking about life, death, and love. Peter and I leave tomorrow for our long trip to nowhere. I'm ready to go now. There comes a point where you just have to go on-to turn back would be to deny life. Remember that quote? "You can either choose to live your life and die; or you can choose to not live your life and live." I want so much to leave something behind that says something about life, but I keep coming up blank. Two hundred pages in a journal and I still haven't been able to say it. I've tried, and maybe that's why it's so rough and weird at points. I really feel bad for making you have to try to read all this-with my bad handwriting (typing?) and all the crap I've had to say. I don't want to die-I have no death wish. Any death I can imagine at this point seems so meaningless. I'd much rather "live humbly" than to die bravely for my cause. "This is the end…" that's from Apocolypse Now too-it starts out with that song by The Doors. I want life to go on-not just for me, but for everybody and everything. What more can I say? Maybe I've said it all, but I've said nothing...

Jan 19 Coop Ernesto Acuña
Well, we left Jinotega today. Really, it was time to be on our way. We caught a bus (well, really a truck) to La Colonia and walked most of the rest of the way (about ten kilometers) to Ernesto Acuña. I feel a lot better now-the fear is gone. Fate may come if it wishes, but I don't feel as if I'm going to meet my destiny.

Ernesto Acuña-it's a cooperative of campesinos with a high level of political consciousness who asked the Sandinistas to organize them into a CAS (Cooperativa Agricultura Sandinista) where they would farm all the land together. I guess it's a bit unusual to find campesinos like this. Peter and the other WFPers who've been here really seem to love this place. I'm doing OK. We'll just be here for a short time (we're leaving early tomorrow morning already) so I really don't have a good feel yet for the place. I've talked some with the brigadistas who are here picking coffee and the Germans who are working on the water project, but I feel that language is still being a barrier. I'm finding that I can understand quite well, but that I have problems getting people to understand me.

Jan 20 El Cua
Well, we made it this far, Tomorrow we'll try for Bocay. The road was quite beautiful between La Colonia and here. I probably wouldn't have thought much about it if Peter hadn't made occasional references to ambushes and contra attacks along the road. But it sounds like this zone is fairly quiet and I doubt that we'll have any problems. El Cua seems like a nice place to be. There are comedors, a river that is nice both for bathing and for just hanging out by, and the Pensión is OK. We spent a couple hours at the Frente office this afternoon, but really didn't find out much useful info.

Jan 21 El Cua
Waiting-just sitting here in the Pensión waiting for a ride to San José de Bocay. So much of life is just spent waiting. Right now I'd just as soon be on the road again-on my way. My ears perk up at every sound in the distance that could possibly be a vehicle that would carry us away. I'm feeling OK, for the most part, being out here. It's rougher on Peter. He would just as soon go home and be with Maria. I guess relationships like that do it to you.

San José de Bocay
Well, I took up my Post watching for a vehicle heading out while I read Howard Zinn. After a couple false alerts, along came a truck that took us to Bocay. It sure felt good to be on the road again. The military presence on the road seemed less pronounced, but the signs were there-numerous ambushed IFA army trucks along the road and helicopters in the sky. We're getting closer to the rain forest so it's raining continuously and the vegetation is becoming more lush. The road kept crossing stream beds and Jinotega seems to become more beautiful the further we get away from the city. It reminded me so much of backpacking and the type of environments I've backpacked in and it begins to surprise me that someone would actually live like that for fun.

But we got here-the end of the road. There's two kids from the city of Matagalpa here. They kinda seem out of place. Victor had trouble guessing where we're from-he could only come up with Russia. I wonder where he got that from. Well, tomorrow we can start in on such things as our work might be.

Jan 23 Frente Office, Bocay
Now I know what they meant when they said that we will spend a lot of time in the Frente office. We spent like half of yesterday here waiting for Louis Fischer, the Frente representative here in San José de Bocay. At about 9:00am he promised us that he'd meet us here in half an hour, but he never showed. I guess he must have gotten busy because last night he found us in the comedor when we were eating and he invited us to come visit him after supper, which we did. I was quite impressed with him. I don't think he's any older then I am- maybe twenty-one years old. He's not from here; he's from Leon. But he's had this job for a year and has been in the zone for one and a half years. He was rather apologetic for the mistakes of the Sandinistas, but was also very proud of the of the revolution. "What was the first thing that the revolution brought?" he asked rhetorically. "It wasn't guns and the war, it was pens and notebooks. That was the first thing, and the people are going to remember it. The guns came only after the revolution was being attacked and we needed to defend it." We were sitting in the midst of the accomplishments of the revolution-in front of the Banco de Desarrollo, which is a government sponsored bank which gives loans to people to help plant crops, start projects, and get on their feet economically; behind the health center which provides free health care; and beside the warehouse through which passes the basic elements (food, soap, etc.) for the people of this zone. In a way, it was a quite sad situation.

The Sandinistas don't want this war-they only want to defend their revolution. Just think of the possibilities if it wasn't for the war! Louis admitted to having problems in learning to deal with the poor campesinos of this zone. He's not alone in his frustration-we feel it too. Some of it is a cultural gap, but it's also a development gap. I'm too cynical to believe that technology will save us all, but I'm beginning to see the importance and power of education. Yesterday afternoon we went to visit an asentamiento on the north side of town. At the first house, we dropped in on we found a woman with eight children ranging from two months to sixteen years of age. All of them (including her husband) lived in a house with a dirt floor and plastic sheets for a roof.

The floor space was about nine feet by twelve feet. Peter and I could not imagine where everyone slept. It is raining all the time, even now in the dry season. During the rainy season, the floor must turn into a sea of mud. Yet, they've been there for eight months. None of them could read or write-not even as much as signing their names. Someone needs to teach them about birth control. In the next house we visited, a mother held her kid (maybe about one year old) as he peed on the floor. Someone needs to teach them about basic health and sanitation measures. Their diet probably consists wholly of beans and cornmeal tortillas. They miss entirely the minerals and vitamins gained from fruits and veggies. Someone needs to teach them basic nutrition.

The asentamiento we visited yesterday is called Ramiro Cruz Luna and in general consists of the displaced families who live now on the outskirts of Bocay. Twenty-three families came here about a year ago, but since December seventeen more families have come-all voluntarily. Every day more and more people come in from the surrounding mountains to escape the fighting that's going one. This morning Ramón Torrez, who is in charge of the asentamientos here, took us to the Héroes y Mártires (Heroes and Martyrs) asentamiento, several kilometers north of Bocay. This asentamiento has two parts to it-the first fifteen families or so came in 1981 and have since formed what they call the colectivo (the collective)-a CAB similar to Ernesto Acuña. They farm about one hundred manzanas (about one hundred seventy acres) of land. In the last couple weeks, about fifteen more families have also come here from the mountains and settled there. About one half of them lived in houses, the rest were in tents or under plastic tarps.

Jan 25 Pensión, El Cua
I just got into one of those arguments that leaves me feeling lousy. Peter says all he cares about is Nicaragua here and now; for me, life doesn't start and stop with what happens to the Sandinista revolution. I want to learn from history in order to construct a more sound, more just, and more sustainable system. We're here to share in the plight of the Nicaraguan people, but still we can't handle the rice and beans for more than a couple days at a time. My whole thinking has been orientated toward a liberation theology, pro-justice, pro-poor and oppressed framework. Now I'm feeling more and more like a middle-class elitist and it's making me rethink my whole system of thought. If I can't live without my culture then I'm not doing a very good job of standing in solidarity with the downtrodden. I really liked the areas of Bocay. I really want to go back. But I also got the feeling that if I had stayed there another day I would really have gotten burned out on being there. I'm not at all sure what my role in life should be. I just have a lot of figuring out to do.

Anyway, the Frente told us that sixty-three families-367 people-had come voluntarily out of the mountains to San José de Bocay this year. We got a different perspective when we actually talked to the desplazados (the displaced). First of all, we didn't actually find sixty-three families-we weren't sure where all of those people were at. Second, the families claimed the army had brought them there-apparently with the two helicopters that flew over all day long. We asked them why the army had moved them, "Because they were taking everybody," they would answer. We asked if the contras had bothered them, "No one bothered us, neither the contras nor the compas (Nicaraguan soldiers)," they told us. What? There they were, living in the middle of the war zone with combat going on all around them and they didn't have any stories of contra attacks or atrocities to relate to us? That's why sometimes I have a bit of a problem buying fully into the WFP line that the Sandinistas are good and God-like and the contras represent the epitome of evil and all things bad and would rape and kill their own mothers if given half the chance. But there are shades of gray. Although I remain very committed to my socialistic principles, I wonder if there's anything to be gained by distorting reality in order to more forcefully make our point.

Yesterday morning we caught one of those 5:00am transports out of Bocay. We stopped in El Cedro--an asentamiento about an hour south of Bocay. El Cedro (which is also a CAS) has been there since March of 1983, but it was totally destroyed in a June 9, 1985 contra attack. They are still rebuilding the houses, but haven't started yet on the school. Peter got a series of testimonies there-from people who had been kidnaped, raped, or had their husbands or other relatives kidnaped and/or killed by the contras. In the afternoon we continued on to Bocaycito (another asentamiento and CAS) where we talked with a woman whose husband has been killed by the contras one and a half years ago on the road between El Cua and Bocaycito, and three kids seventeen to nineteen years old who had been taken by the contras and forced to fight with them this fall. Now we are waiting for a ride back there (after coming to El Cua to spend the night) to try to find a woman whose husband was killed by the contras about ten days ago.

There's really a difference between the campesinos of asentamientos such as El Cedro and Bocaycito and those arriving in San José de Bocay from the mountains during the last several weeks. The campesinos in El Cedro and Bocaycito were more pro-process, are green and carry AK-47 machine guns, and (to use the terminology of my friends) have a higher level of political consciousness. One friendly compa at El Cedro was rambling on and on about the revolution, as all of these people are apt to do, but he made a couple points that I thought were worth noting. He gave three reasons for campesinos being with the contras-either they had been fooled by the contras, were scared of what might happen to them if they didn't help the contras, or they had been kidnaped. He also noted that many of the desplazados who hadn't been bothered by the contras probably had been left alone because they had family members fighting with the contras. This may actually be an accurate observation and a valid explanation for why they didn't have stories of contra abuses to tell us.

Feb 1 Peñas Blancas Border station, Costa Rica
Now I am on my way to Panama for a week vacation to visit my parents who are working there with the Gospel Missionary Union. Just before 1:00pm while we (Hazel, a woman from the Kansas WFP delegation and I) were waiting on the border between Nicaragua and Costa Rica we heard a plane flying over. Unfortunately, I did not see the plane myself, but according to the Costa Ricans around me it was a Nicaraguan "avioneta" (a little plane). Suddenly there was machine gun fire from the border region and the Costa Rican soldiers gripped their guns and ran onto the road and ordered a group of Nicaraguan women who were waiting by the road to go behind the immigration "caseta" (guard house). The women and Hazel appeared rather frightened and the soldiers had nervous grins on their faces. A bit later we talked with an immigration official. He said that Nicaragua has been intentionally violating Costa Rican airspace-flying a plane over Costa Rica every five days or so. About a month ago, the Costa Rican government gave orders to fire on these unauthorized violations of their airspace.

As in El Espiño on the Honduran side of Nicaragua, here the Nicaraguan border station is set several kilometers back from the actual border. Just on the Nicaraguan side of the border, they have dug a trench with rifle portholes, have tank traps along the road, and a rather heavily armed presence on the border. It definitely appears as if they are expecting (or at least preparing for) an invasion from the Costa Rican side of the border. And the airplane overflight makes a person wonder if they are trying to provoke such an incident.

Costa Rica, for not having an army, sure seems well armed. The soldiers here do not have the old beat up AKs I grew accustomed to seeing in Nicaragua. I don't know enough about weapons to know what type they are carrying, but they are definitely nice, new machine guns. Already I miss Nicaragua, especially its affordable standard of living (life is expensive here). Maybe this trip will be good for me and help me appreciate Nicaragua more. "So you live here, Marcos," the Nicaraguan immigration officer said as I left. Yeah, I'll be back in a week. I feel at home there.

Feb 2 Mom & Dad's, El Amanecer, Panama
Well, I made it all the way here-really without any problems. It looks like I'm going to be in for lots of stories about repression in Nicaragua from the conservative missionary folk that hang out here, stories that just aren't going to match up with the reality that I've experienced. It will probably be a good dry run for my return to the States. I'm already beginning to feel what Tom said--I'm here hasta el fin ("until the end"). The way things are, I just can't handle living back there.

There was a guy on the bus who was Nicaraguan but had been studying in Costa Rica for two years. He didn't like the Sandinista government and didn't want to do his military service. Yeah, I guess maybe I'm out of my country for the same purpose (different reaons though, perhaps). yeah.

A footnote to my story on the Nicaraguan-Costa Rican border incident yesterday-a Costa Rican civilian there said it might have been a contra plane that flew over trying to create an international incident that would make the Nicaraguan government look bad. Although this explanation has various problems (like, why wouldn't the Sandinistas shoot it down then, or at least follow it to where it landed and capture it?) it demonstrates to me the danger in jumping to obvious conclusions.

Feb 3 Panama
We went to Panama City today. Dad made a wrong turn at an intersection and a cop stopped us. After arguing about it for about an hour, the cop offered to forget it for twenty dollars. Dad paid it, but the only thing I could think of was that this wouldn't happen in Nicaragua. You know how moralistic these Commies are, corruption such as bribing just isn't possible there. And I miss "repressive" Nicaragua.

Feb 12 Jinotega
On the way back from Panama, I got pulled out of the Costa Rican customs line at the Costa Rican-Panama border. The customs official briefly unzipped my backpack, put his chalk mark on it, and then an immigration officer indicated that I needed to go with him. We went to a bare office-two desks, three chairs, you know--one of those places where it looks like they shoot people. The immigration officer told me to sit down. He pulled out a notebook and took down the basic information from my passport. Then he had me sign it. He asked where I was going-I said Nicaragua, I wanted to meet up with some friends there. "Why would you want to go there?'' was his reaction. He asked me how much money I had-I showed him. He took a twenty, for a moment I feared he would keep it. But he only rubbed it on a sheet of paper-apparently to test if it was genuine. He went over to the other desk where he had instructed me to put my backpack. He zipped it open and asked why I was traveling without any clothes. I explained that I had all of my clothes rolled up with my sleeping bag and strapped on the bottom of the pack; in the backpack I only had assorted items such as my shoes, camera, frisbee, and this journal. Then he let me go, as another person from the bus came into the room. What do you make of it? Did he see all the Nicaraguan stamps in my passport? Did I look a bit too shaggy? Or was it just a random control? I don't know.

Feb 14 Jinotega
Today I went out to the asentamiento Loma Alto and its accompanying CAB cooperative- Carlos Fonseca. Everything was pretty quiet there-fourteen families in the cooperative, all they had was coffee, and no history of contra attacks. The asentamiento was small-only eight families, all of them having arrived in the last three months. Really no stories of kidnapings, rapes, or tortures. More a story of people looking for work and a more secure place to live.

There is a West German water project that has been going on there for a year. I talked with eight of them for a couple hours. We talked a bit about revolution and nonviolence. In a way, I really felt akin to them. The Green Party, for them, was too conservative-it works within a system that needs to be overthrown. Several of them had done some sort of draft resistance in Germany, but here they were in Nicaragua carrying AK machine guns. They really felt a need to defend themselves. If the contras attacked, they would get killed, they said, regardless of the fact that they were Germans. They were helping the Sandinistas and this would be sufficient reason for the contras to kill them. They mentioned the story of the two German women who had been working on that same water project several months before whom the contras had taken off of a public transit pickup on the road from Jinotega to Loma Alta and raped them. It seemed to be very much on their minds. They also told me the story of a German doctor who was stopped and killed by the contras on the road between Pantasma and Wiwili in 1983 (I believe), even though they knew who he was and what he was doing. They laughed at me for thinking that my gringo blood could save me; they thought that I was being naïve.

When I first thought about heading out there today, it was the story of the two women, ironically, that flashed through my mind. That had happened on that supposedly safe and free of contra stretch of road I had traveled out on. These Germans don't ride on the public transit anymore-"you don't know who you are riding with." They thought I was crazy for traveling alone and unarmed. "You could disappear and no one would know it." Now they only ride on Frente or army vehicles. My mind jumped to James and how he and Julieta almost were on an ambushed Frente vehicle and how he thought we should stay off of them. I felt trapped. Choose your way to die. But when it came time for me to go back to town, I was on a Frente vehicle-they had me too apprehensive to get on a public transit pickup. I am well aware that most of the drivers of those pickups are contra-sympathizers.

One of my main personal agenda items in coming here was to work through my feelings on nonviolence and my position on pacifism. I'm still very much at the same point where I was before-it's an irrelevant issue. I'm not at a point where I really have a choice. Like my German friends, I resisted the draft, and militarism in the US because it's unjust, oppressive, and exploitive-not because of its violence. They face the irony of now fighting for justice. For me, I do not see picking up a weapon here as having any constructive results--the struggle is Nicaraguan. I have not even been asked to pick up a gun, they ask us to go back to the States and change U.S. policy against Nicaragua. Another irony-I mention that unlike them, WFP is not trying to improve the Nicaraguans' lives, but to change US policy so that they can improve their own lives. But the Germans disagreed with me-their work was only a medium for changing German policy, to give them experience here and legitimacy for going back to Europe and trying to affect change there. The fruits of their labor here they saw as being quite minute.

Feb 19 Little House, Managua
I went out for pizza last night with Bruce. I had a real good talk with him. Turns out that he's a non-registrant too, although a more quiet one. Somehow, that world seems far removed from this reality, but in my mind they are still closely intertwined. Resisting the draft is one way I have of (hopefully) stopping U.S. aggression in Nicaragua.

On Sunday, February 16, the contras attacked a pickup by Somotillo. Four Nicaraguan women and Maurice Demierre, a Swiss agronomist who had been working for over two years in that area with the organization Brothers without Borders, were killed. Several people in WFP knew Maurice. The papers are full of news about these murders, the vigil at the U.S.Embassy tomorrow is in memory of Maurice, and there will be a mass for him at UCA (Universidad Centroamericana) tomorrow nights. Several things run through my head:

1.) If Maurice hadn't been injured, if it was only the four Nicaraguan women, this incident wouldn't be receiving near the news coverage that it is. Somehow internationalistas' lives have a worth higher then those of Nicaraguans, especially Nicaraguan women. I wonder if this worldview will ever change.

2.) The thought that this might be a "good" thing--Today at a press conference in DC, Mary Dutcher released the WOLA report that we've been working on. This appears to be a clear-cut case of a contra atrocity-it should add considerable weight to the report. The irony of going out of our way to locate clear-cut examples of what we are trying to stop.

3.) We had just pulled out of Somotillo at our December retreat-the zone was so quiet we didn't think we needed personnel there. I think this attack caught us by surprise. Julio noted that when the FOR delegation was in Nueva Guinea there wasn't much contra activity there; when they left it suddenly increased again. Maybe our presence in a place is more effective then we generally give it credit for being. We've been thinking about pulling some people out of Jinotega because it's so quiet there, maybe they should be sent to where the war really is. Now I'm really hesitating over whether that would really be such a good idea.

4.) How long will it be before it's one of us? I'm getting deep into Howard Zinn's & People's History of the United States. It leaves me feeling frustrated and exasperated. Zinn outlines so well where I'm at-not really a communist, more of a socialistic-orientated program for improving people's lives-not only in the U.S. but all around the world. But we are fighting against a deeply entrenched capitalistic system that creates a coalition of liberals and conservatives that oppose true social change. How can we really make change? And at what cost? Pacifism becomes more and more of a non-issue; the struggle is for justice.

Feb 20 Managua
We went to the mass and acto for Maurice tonight. There was a poster on the wall that said: "Reagan: assassinating Christians is religious persecution and is terrorism." Yes, there is religious persecution here in Nicaragua. Guess where it comes from?

I'm reading in Zinn about the Vietnam war. That must have been a lot worse then Nicaragua is now. I guess we still have it easy-we need to do our work while the going is easy. Maybe the best thing we can do is to speak truth--to continue to uncover Reagan's lies. Maybe that's all we can do.

Feb 22 Managua
Warren came back from Nueva Guinea. He had been with the ARDE forces the past several days. The Sandinistas had tried to clear a free fire zone, but the campesinos that they had taken to the asentamientos went back to their homes. Now the Sandinista army goes in and blows everybody away (including civilians) in an attempt to destroy the social base for the contras. Warren brought back affidavits of Sandinista human rights abuses, and these can't be dismissed as isolated activities that are subsequently punished. They are a result of the Sandinista policy in that situation. Things would be a lot easier if they came in black and white. My mind jumps to San José de Bocay and how people told us that the army had removed them from their homes. I begin to wonder what we would find if we traveled up to those areas, if we would find the same things. I really want to go and find out.

Feb 27 Tipitapa
Tired and sore, with shin splints and sunburns, but I'm glad to be on it, I must say. It's Miguel D'Escoto's Via Crucis por la Paz y la Vida (Way of the Cross for Peace and Life). Yesterday morning, I hitched out with Mark and Michelle to Puerto Viejo where we met up with the March. Spent last night sleeping in a school in Las Maderas. We set out a 5:00 this morning. It was awesome starting out before dawn-nice and cool too. The middle of the day gets blistering hot. Today we made it to Tipitapa. We've come fifty kilometers now, and have twenty more to go tomorrow to get to the Plaza de la Revolución for the final celebration. I'm really enjoying walking. I always do. I feel like I could keep on going forever. Too bad it has to end tomorrow. I wish I could have walked the whole way from Jalapa (on the Honduras border, where the March started from). Walking is such a meditative experience.

March 1 Managua
We walked from Tipitapa to Managua yesterday. In a way it was anti-climatic. The March seemed to become more of a religious procession and Managua just kinda drug on and on under the hot sun. I enjoyed walking out on the open roads. The final mass in front of the old cathedral was pretty neat though-kinda powerful. Padre Miguel D'Escoto said some pretty powerful things--like the U.S. is an expert in the manufacture of death but not in God's justice; and how Cardinal Obando y Bravo stands with the wealthy in Miami but not with the people of Nicaragua--and how he shouldn't celebrate any more masses until he gets right with God and the people. I suppose that antagonistic people would argue that he was not very peace-loving and reconciling, but I know from my experiences at Marion High School that these other things cannot happen until justice is established.

March 5 Jinotega
I'm reading Marge Piercy's Vida. It's about a radical from the sixties and her life underground in the late seventies. After reading Zinn and now this, I feel more and more drawn to the Weather Underground. That's where I should be. Why? The marxist philosophies and insquabbling of leftist groups over ideology doesn't really appeal to me. It's more just a simple-minded commitment to an idea and a vision. How would you describe it? It's idealistic orientated, but not really idea orientated. I drift away from my pacifistic start, but don't really disavow it. I can't see myself pipebombing people and buildings. That's just not in myself. But to be there on the radical cutting edge, that's where I need to be.

March 7 Managua
Rubén Zamora from the FDR-FMLN in El Salvador spoke to us tonight. My overriding reaction was how unradical he was. He just seemed to want a peaceful settlement that allowed for social change. The hardline rhetoric that I'm drifting more and more into would say that such a settlement with exploitative forces would co-op any real-changes they want to make. After all, why will Cuba and Nicaragua survive where Allende's Chile and Arbenz's Guatemala didn't? It says something for a complete, thorough-going revolution instead of a reformist movement that leaves the basic corrupt structures intact. I guess in my militancy I am drifting further and further away from my pacifistic beginnings. It becomes clearer and clearer that the Sandinistas are really whipping the contras and it seems like good news. I'm really looking for a way to become involved in radical change. A hardline critique of the present anti-interventionalist movement would state that it doesn't go far enough--doesn't seek to change and overthrow the system that results in this type of unjust imperialism. Maybe it's missing the anger, urgency, and passionate commitment of a similar movement fifteen years ago. But I see in history movements tearing themselves apart by bitter infighting over such philosophical points and I'm not quite willing to become involved in such divisions. It's best to work together against our enemies, eh?

March 11 Managua
Early evening on another Managua day. What useful reflections can I make on life on this planet?

Yes, I'm becoming more militant-placing the need for justice over the need for peace. But how does this play itself out in reality? I guess I am a de facto pacifist. But I look at the world around me-what kind of world do I envision creating? Can I hope for anything better then Nicaragua? I feel real hurt when I read of alleged Sandinista abuses. I expect them to be perfect-it shatters my world when they're not. A lot of what is reported is lies--I have to keep reminding myself of that. Events are misinterpreted or taken out of context. Today I came across a pile of censured material from La Prensa (the opposition newspaper) from several days in February. I was surprised how much--and what sort of material was cut. Couldn't the Sandinistas go ahead and let them print their lies and slanted propaganda? Won't truth win out in the end? It really destroys my idealism to begin to realize that this may not be reality, that the world is not black and white and that we may have to compromise on our ideals to achieve our ends. But this flies smack in the face of my earlier beliefs that an end is not worth achieving if we have to sacrifice our methods in the process. So…Life isn't always quite that easy, is it?

March 14 Jinotega
I finished reading Vida. The book used a phrase I never recall seeing before--violent direct action. Again, in this book pacifism was not a real issue. They bombed buildings and other symbols of corporate profit from oppression and injustice. But they were careful never to hurt people or to hold them captive--they always called in bomb threats and gave people time to evacuate. It makes me wonder how far I could go. If this is violent direct action, isn't it a fine line between that and nonviolent direct action that could still be accepted by my pacifist friends? But it makes me direct my actions a bit more. For example, I doubt I would be willing to serve a several year sentence for a Civil Disobedience action at Rocky Flats. But what would I be willing to do to prevent a U.S. invasion of Nicaragua? A lot more, that's for sure, because that would be war and I know which side I would have to be fighting on. An invasion would be a lot easier to fight against than the nuclear threats because it would be some thing a lot more concrete to organize against.

I spent all day yesterday in Matagalpa trying to get a letter of introduction from the asentamiento office for our trip next week. The director of the office, Carlos Paladino Murillo, asked me what my impressions of the asentamientos were. He made no attempt to hide the fact that the Sandinistas had made mistakes. He readily admitted that the EPS (the army) had forcefully removed campesinos from the mountains in the region north of San José de Bocay (as opposed to them coming voluntarily, as we had first been told). He felt caught in a bind-would they leave these campesinos in the isolated regions of Jinotega where they would be used, abused, and fooled by "La guardia," as he kept referring to the contras? Or would they pull them back into a zone where the army could protect them, even if this would not be what the campesinos wanted? He kept asking me rhetorically, "What would you do?" I kept wanting to tell him of Warren's recent experiences in Nueva Guinea. I told him of my desire to visit that area north of San José de Bocay. He had just returned from an eight-day trip through that area. He didn't laugh at me for wanting to go there, but said that if I got permission he would be willing to take me. I'd have to wear a uniform--camouflage to keep me from being spotted by the contras and shot at. I'm sure that Ed and Sharon (our WFP co-coordinators) would love that idea. I was surprised at his willingness to take me on such a trip-I'm sure that that area is not exactly a showcase of the possibilities of the Sandinista revolution.

March 17 Jinotega
'Twas one of those awful Managua days in which nothing ever quite gets done. Anyway, I went back to Managua two days ago (on Saturday). The pickup that I hitched a ride on between Matagalpa and Sebaco had the left rear tire blow out. The truck was weaving all over the road. I kinda screamed and ducked into the bed. It was one of those experiences in which I thought it was all over. I suppose if I have to go that's the way it'll probably be. The spare they put on wasn't in any better shape than the tire that had blown out. We were almost to Sebaco, and I was glad to get off of that ride when we got there.

The next day (March 16), I went up to Somotillo for the acto commemorating the one month anniversary of Mauricio's and the four mothers' deaths in the ambush. We started out with a mass at Jiñocuao, where the four mothers were from. Then we stopped at the cemetery where the four women were buried, and walked the twelve kilometers to where the ambush took place. There we planted five crosses. It was almost dark when we planted them. Ria Reasoner sang her song "Gracias a los Nicas." I got so pissed-thinking about how the U.S.-supported contras deliberately killed them. I had to wonder when we'd have to plant one for our own-I hope never. Anyway, then we walked to Mauricio's grave in Somotillo. After finally eating we left at 9:15 for Managua. I wonder how good of an idea it was to go back at night-we were close to the border and I hadn't seen anyplace in Nicaragua with such heavy security. The bridges were heavily guarded and surrounded with mine fields. At night they were lighted underneath and they made us turn off the truck lights when we crossed-we never really understood why. At one point on the way to Somotillo, they made us get out of the bus and they searched it-I'm just not used to that sort of activity here in Nicaragua.

March 19 Jinotega
Yesterday and today Julieta, Sue (visiting from the Durham WFP office) and I visited a string of asentamientos in the Asturias and Pantasma zones. The stories all are pretty much the same-the war's overt but the effects linger on. I read in the paper about Reagan's lies, and I get so pissed, I wanna do something to stop it. Maybe we're back to the sixties and time for some good guerrilla theatre and other such antics.

March 21 Little House, Managua
Tried to get to Yali yesterday with Julieta and Sue, but the road past San Rafael was closed because of contras in the area. It's the first time I've run into that, I wonder what's up.

March 23 Managua
I talked with Julieta by phone today. It sounds like all of Jinotega is on alert. I guess a group of about one thousand contras have been fighting in the area of Yali, La Concordia, and San Rafael del Norte. And here I sit in Managua. I should be up there with the people. My political independence and nonviolence suffer-I see Sandinista victories over the contras as a "good thing," feel encouraged by the realization that the Sandinistas are militarily defeating the contras.

March 26 STTH, Managua
Reports come in on the tense Nicaraguan-Honduran border situation. Reagan says that Nicaraguan soldiers have crossed into Honduras and that Honduras asked for twenty million dollars in logistical support. No one else seems to support this version of the story-including Honduras. Most of the story seems to come from the contras. At the same time, Reagan is making attacks against Libya. The newspapers draw parallels to the Gulf of Tonkin. Somehow it all seems to be a deliberate staged introduction to an invasion again. I wonder how much of our concern is paranoia or if we really are that close to an invasion. Maybe I won't be going home in a month. We are talking about responses-maybe even an acto on the border.

March 27 Little House, Managua
Tonight we celebrated the Passover supper and then the last supper. Daniel talked about a country under siege-a country being attacked by the world's strongest power while groups inside the country collaborated with the invaders, others turned to violence to defeat the aggressors and religious sects arose, which turned their minds to another world to take them off of the misery at hand. The irony and parallels between first century Judah and twentieth century Nicaragua were striking.

We have taken up posts at the phone and are taking turns monitoring the radio during these Easter holidays so that we are prepared to respond if the present crisis should worsen. Now, the crisis seems to be blowing over. We still do not have a clear picture of what happened on the border between Nicaragua and Honduras. In Jalapa, Julio reports that all is "tranquilo" ("quiet"). But in Jinotega, Julieta said the contra had ambushed and killed six policemen by Pueblo Nuevo-an area that I had considered to be quite safe. I feel like I really should be in Jinotega and that I'm not carrying through on my WFP responsibilities. The Senate just passed the $100 million aid bill for the contras. It is a disappointment, but as we didn't celebrate when the House defeated the aid bill we won't mourn when the Senate passes it. After all, they do not bring us salvation and life, but they only talk of death and destruction.

I worry about my return to the States-how I will react to the continual bombardment of lies and how my recent turn toward a more militant nature will affect my ability to communicate my concerns. I can't see myself becoming involved in legislative work-I don't see that avenue resulting in the needed changes. In a way, it would be much easier if they would just get on with it and invade instead of leaving us in the uncertainty of this low level war. Then we would have an organizing advantage, something concrete to fight against.

And pacifism-I still won't register for the draft because that would be for aggression and exploitation. I won't pick up an AK here because we are not here to fight the war for them. The U.S. needs to be overthrown because it is an obstacle to any real change, but at this point it would be hopeless and self defeating to try to do it with guns. I, therefore, remain de facto a pacifist (I guess) although I still have to be confronted with the issues that would allow me to process the point and a situation that would present me with the options that would make it a real choice as opposed to simply a given.

April 8 Jinotega
I got a letter from Mom and Dad with a clipping about religious repression in Nicaragua from the Evangelical Press. I get incredibly pissed when I try to read something like that. It's so biased and so full of lies and so much against people. I get so burning mad-but what good does it do? I just don't want to have to deal with that sort of thing. I just don't deal well at all with it.

Carrie started changing my vocabulary this weekend. It's not "if I come back," but "when I come back" to Nicaragua. I don't know when it'll be-maybe a couple years, maybe this summer (if I have a good enough excuse). A couple days ago I had a dream in which I was leaving and I was just bawling my eyes out. I feel so privileged to live in a country like this-that actually tries to be for people instead of for more profits for the wealthy. It makes me sad to think of leaving and it blows me away to try to imagine that in three weeks I'll be gone. Why am I leaving? I don't really understand. It's as if it's just something that must be.

April 10 Yali
Waiting by the side of the road in Yali for a ride to San Rafael. We spent yesterday afternoon and this morning trying to find out some information about people who were kidnaped during the combats in the last couple weeks. We're sure that something worth documenting did happen, but we can't seem to find out any accurate information. So we're heading back to San Rafael-(WFPers) James, Cathy, Joe, me, Steph (a gringo teacher in Yali), and an English woman named Diane that's kinda tagging along.

Pensión, San Rafael
I was thinking about going out with a polio vaccination campaign this weekend, but I guess they're going out with arms. Oh. Maybe I can't go then. Why? Because of respect for WFP's guidelines against accepting armed escort. But then I stop and think-that's a pretty low principled reason for not doing something-just because I was told not to. Then I try to think-what would I do if it wasn't for WFP? Would I go then? The issue seems so muddled and my own ideas on nonviolence so-undefined. What does it mean to be a pacifist in this situation? And what happens when our goal of changing U.S. policy comes into conflict with our nonviolence?

Alejandro was showing us some pictures tonight. James and I first met him playing basketball here five months ago. At that time he was in the SMP (the draft)- and a month later was demobilized. He won an award for his fighting, plus a trip to the Soviet Union. I remember him showing us how much he liked fighting. Then I had a flash of him shooting other people-other people who probably were fighting for the same reasons he was-probably (to a certain degree) involuntarily. It was a flash that made me cringe. The idea of people killing people just like them-that's the basic reason why I'm a pacifist. It just flies right in the face of my gut reactions and who I am.

April 11 Jinotega
Sitting here at home after a rather intense discussion at the Oriental Restaurant about nonviolence and the overthrow of the U.S. government. Cathy said that overthrow of the U.S. government wasn't at all on her agenda. Joe and I went around and around until we ended up arguing the other's original point. For me, I am still experiencing a reaction against the nonresistance of my religious upbringing, but have no desire to kill anyone (rather, I experience a quite deep moral revulsion against the idea), but still strongly feel that in order for exploitation and oppression to stop here the U.S. government has to fall first. And then there's the question of how to bring that about, and I guess that practically necessitates means which are more and more violent and perhaps more traditionally Marxist in nature. It may be hard to understand the ambiguities and uncertainties that I'm dealing with unless you've dealt with them yourself.

April 13 Jinotega
Yesterday I received the best news that I have gotten in my six months here. Peter and Alma returned from Bocas de Vilan with four of the fifteen people that had been kidnaped on October 25, 1985. The four-including Manuel's three sons-had just escaped a couple days earlier. Now they are going through the amnesty process. But this good news isn't without it's negative aspects: Manuel is afraid that the contras will return and kill his whole family in revenge for the escape of his three sons. He is afraid to spend the night in Bocas de Vilan and is planning on leaving his farm. The government would like for him to go to an asentamiento; he wants to move here to Jinotega. We are going to go back with him to his farm in Padre Douglas' pickup to get his family and things. Also, it looks like two of the three sons will be drafted now too. But after seeing Manuel so downcast over the loss of his sons, it is so exciting to see their release.

Last night Tim (Lohrentz) and I talked on the phone. We both had the same message-neither one of us is at all ready to leave Nicaragua. Right now we are tentatively looking at staying another two weeks or possibly a month more. It just doesn't seem possible that I could be leaving two weeks from tomorrow.

April 15 Tax Day
My head's feeling a bit messed up, so I'm not sure how much of this I'll get straight. Let's see-we left yesterday morning for Bocas de Vilan with Manuel and his three sons. Joe and I took them out in Padre Douglas' pickup. Manuel wanted to leave early in the morning, but we were trying to arrange getting a truck through the Frente to take out his corn and beans so it was 9:00 or so by the time we left.

On the way to Bocas de Vilan we stopped in at the Zonal Frente office in Pantasma because the Zonal Delegate there, Antonio Zamora, was supposed to have arranged the truck for us. When we got to his office he wasn't there. There just had been, at 9:00 that morning, an ambush in Bocas de Vilan and he had gone out to it. Manuel was real worried-he was sure that the contras had come and burned down his house and killed his family in an act of retaliation against his sons for their having escaped. Imagine the relief when Zamora came back and said that everyone was OK, Manuel responded, "That's it. That's the last night we're spending in Bocas de Vilan." We had heard that the road might be mined, but Zamora said it was clear. He returned to the sight of the ambush and we followed him to Manuel's house a couple minutes later.

For a family traumatized by all the fighting, they sure didn't move very quickly to get out of there. It was already noon and we still didn't have a truck, so Manuel decided to have his family spend the night in Malecon, back up the road in the Pantasma valley. Because of the size of his family, we had to make two trips with the pickup. On the way back from the first trip we had an empty pickup so we picked up people walking back to their houses in Bocas de Vilan. One of these riders talked Manuel into getting us to give her a ride to her place on the other side of Bocas de Vilan. I kinda jumped at the chance to take her because I hadn't been down the road yet to the sight of the ambush.

When I got to the ambush I suddenly became rather frightened. It was the first time that I had been anywhere in Nicaragua that I just as soon would not have been there. The ambush had been at the bridge just below Epifanio's place. A Ministry of Construction water truck had just crossed the bridge when it was attacked. A pickup coming from the other way was also hit. Both were burned, the driver of the truck and two drivers in the pickup killed, and a woman in the pickup wounded. The truck was still smoldering in the middle of the road, the pickup had gone off the side into the ditch. About fifty soldiers surrounded the scene. I asked a compa (a soldier) if we could go around the truck-sure, no problem. As we went on I became more and more scared. What did Manuel think he was doing sending us into this kind of a scene? I had Joe ask another compa, if it was sure that the road was not mined, I felt like I was losing my stability. Just above where the ambush had taken places we stopped to let the woman off, Mario, one of Manuel's sons who had just escaped from the contras, walked her home. We waited about half an hour while the sun was setting and we were in sight of this ambush scene while Mario, who had just left the contrast had to say goodbye to a girlfriend. He definitely didn't have the fear that some of the rest of us did. When we left to go back to Manuel's place, a compa yelled, "I hope the guardia doesn't get you." Sheeze, thanks a lot.

We finally got the second half of Manuel's family loaded up. They had been sitting rather tranquilo in their house all day, but when they got on the road they immediately were on pins. Joe, who was riding in back with them, said they were watching on hilltops and behind trees. "Early in the morning and late in the afternoon is the worse time for ambushes," they were saying. Great. Thanks. We could have gotten this whole show on the road hours ago, you know.

Meanwhile, I was driving naively not thinking that we might be the victim of an ambush, but thinking that the contra war had created yet another refugee family and that, but for a different turn of the cards, we could have been in the middle of the ambush that morning. That thought was unsettling. I started to cry. I felt like I was losing my head. No, when you're driving on these roads you can't let your vision blur-you won't see the potholes and land mines. So I turned my mind to other things, started singing Dire Straits "walking hand in hand like lovers are supposed to be" and thought of friends far away. My mind slipped back to matters at hand and I began to cry again. No, you can't let your vision blur…

I woke up in the middle of the night after a series of the worst war dreams that I've had here. As after a nightmare, I couldn't fall back asleep. My mind turned to the situation at hand and I began to cry. Several hours later I finally fell back asleep after finally shifting my thinking to friends far away…

We came back to Jinotega this morning. We still hadn't gotten the truck and Manuel was not interested in going back into Bocas de Vilan without any army protection. So we loaded up part of the family up for the trip to Jinotega-three infants, nine kids, four bigger kids, and their grandmother. Later, the Padre sent his driver out with the pickup to pick up Manuel, his wife, and two sons. Mario, of all people, stayed in Bocas de Vilan. Now the whole family (except for Mario), twenty-one persons in all, is staying in Padre's church until they find a house.

Antonio Zamora told us the women hurt in the ambush was at the military hospital Apanas, so when I got back to Jinotega I continued on to Matagalpa to get permission from the EPS (army) public relations office to enter the hospital. I got a ride on a cattle truck and rode up on top of the rack in the wind. I alternatively thought of reality and began to cry, and then started to sing Dire Straits and think of friends far away in order to stop. We met a truck coming from the other way with Julieta in it. We waved like crazy for as long as the stretch of road allowed us to see each other.

At the public relations office I talked with the director, Daniel Soza. He was great-carefully getting all of the data on the nature of our visit to the hospital, complete and accurate so that we wouldn't have any troubles getting in. It's people like him and Zamora who care so much about Nicaragua, the revolution, and people that makes working here such a blast that I wish I didn't have to leave.

Speaking of leaving, Tim and I talked again tonight on the phone. We pushed back our departure date till May 11. That feels good-it will give me more time to finish up some things I'm not quite done working on. But the events of these last few days just proved to fully remind me why I'm not interested in another term right now. I just don't have the maturity to deal with the sorts of things I'm being put through.

April 19 Jinotega
We were going to leave for San José de Bocay this morning, but the situation got muddled up yesterday evening when I tried to pick up a letter of introduction from Juan Tercero at the Frente office here in Jinotega to the zonal rep in the El Cua-Bocay area. It was the first time that we tried to get such a letter from Juan Tercero, though we normally get such letters to go into distant zones like El Cua. Apparently Juan had contacted State Security to see how he should handle what we intend just to be a routine request. State Security told Juan to ask to see our credentials. Well, we don't have such credentials-our work is based on agreements on freedom of movement in the war zones that we worked out with the government two and a half years ago at the beginning of our work here. Well, State Security said we should come over and meet with them. So we cancelled our travel plans for today and, at 8:00 this morning, went to the State Security office here in Jinotega. They were too busy to see us and therefore, two hours later, told us that we would need to go to the Regional office in Matagalpa. We called Juan back and he said he would see what he could do. He gave us a letter and let us continue with our travel plans, but we still need to have a meeting with State Security. I just get really exasperated when having to deal with this bureaucracy. It's such a run around. It wouldn't bother me if I thought it had a worthwhile end, if I thought it'd end the war. But it just seems like a waste.

April 22 Pensión San José de Bocay
After several fruitless days of attempting to secure transportation out here, we finally made it yesterday. This morning we went and talked with Ramón (Moncho) Torrez who is in charge of the asentamientos here. Since our last visit here in January the army has stopped the forced evacuation of campesinos from the mountains, apparently because of the expense. So in the last three months only seven new families have arrived here in Bocay and three in Tapaskún up the road.

Ramón is an "old timer" who fought with the Sandinistas before the revolution and is really pro-process. But he seems to want to use us for his political ends. Ramón took us to a UNAG (Union of small farmers) meeting where they discussed getting credit from the bank for the next year. In a way, it was just a propaganda meeting in which Ramón talked about the importance of production. The meeting began and ended with everyone standing, taking off their hats, and singing the Sandinista Hymn (although Ramón did most of the singing). The second time, one person didn't stand up. Ramón insisted that he stand, and the scene caused me to flash on my behavior in the states. There I wouldn't stand or sing the national hymn. It would be nice if things were different here. I wish they wouldn't have to engage in such blatant propaganda- I can't get used to it, no matter what its political ends are.

April 23 Rio El Cedro
"Down by the river..." is becoming a bit of a theme song for this trip. Just kinda hanging out here by the river, bathing, washing clothes, writing-kinda feeling like I was backpacking and how much of the life that is.

Yesterday afternoon we went to talk with some of the new families at the asentamiento in Bocay. It just really bummed me out-just bounce in, "Hi! I'm from the States and why don't you tell me all about how it feels being abused by the contras?" It seems so shallow and fly-by-night. Talking with Manuel and his sons was so much more meaningful because we actually had a relationship with them and knew them. I agree more and more with Julieta and her feelings of the need to do permanent presence as opposed to documentation. I do recognize the importance of documentation, it's just... The permanent presence can be pretty paternalistic too, for that matter. I remember Peter at one point asking the question if a place felt the need to be "accompanied (by a WFP delegation) through their time of suffering," What do we know about life and death to really help a people like this?

Anyway, we blew into El Cedro early this morning. We found Paulo Ramos, the responsable, right away. We had a good but short talk with him, I kinda like him-he seems to have his act together. There has been recent combat in the area- two weeks ago a band of six hundred contras passed by here and two or three days ago there had been another combat. But the BLIs (the army's rapid deployment force) do a pretty good job of handling the contras and they didn't do any damage to the coop. It seems to be in a pretty static state of being-no new families, no new stories. So we spent an hour or so this morning talking with Antonio, a desalzado who left the contras and is on his way to El Cua to turn himself in to the Ministry of Interior in order to take advantage of the amnesty law.

April 26 Jinotega
So now we are back home already. It seems unfair that reality can change so fast--it should take a while to get from the backward reality of the campo to the modern reality of the city.

We finally left El Cedro on the evening of April 24 on a truck to Bocaycito carrying medicine for the Ministry of Health. The late afternoon isn't the safest time to travel, but we really did need to be moving on.

In Bocaycito they had just finished celebrating the fourth anniversary of their founding. The combat in the area is military-the civilian population is pretty much being left alone. We found out that they were starting a new co-op in San Benito, a couple kilometers outside of Bocaycito, so we began walking there.

On the way there, we found out that apparently the contra had killed a man by La Chata, close to El Cua. We finished walking to the coop, talked a bit with a couple leaders, and left to try to get to La Chata. Again, we ran into transportation difficulties and spent the rest of the day waiting for a ride to La Chata. Early this morning we started walking there. We stopped in La Chata, just long enough to get the basic story on this guy who had been killed, and then we continued on into Cua. There we immediately got pulled into the State Security office where they proceeded to basically chew us out for being in the zone without their permission. Then a vehicle was leaving for Jinotega so we got on it (because we really wanted to get back here) without doing anything else in El Cua.

April 28 Jinotega
We found out this afternoon that early this morning a group of contras had attacked El Diamante, an asentamiento that I had visited about one and a half months ago with Sue McKinney and Julieta. Cathy and I went out there with Maj and Justin Stormogibson in their jeep. Fortunately, no one was killed in the attack, but two militia and one little girl were hurt, and one nineteen year-old man was kidnaped. The contras burned the houses of these "desplazados" ("displaced people"). I took picture after picture of the smoldering ashes of the remains of the houses, and of the people who used to live in them. The army was painting over the graffiti that the contras had left behind. On one wall it said "Cachorros de Reagan"-these freedom fighting brethren of his do such fine work here. What more can I say?

May 2 Managua
Kinda left Jinotega-kinda feels kinda weird to kinda leave for good, eh? Leaving and knowing I'm not going back in a couple days...I had to come to Managua