World Rally Champions

I cheered my arse off for Hugo Chavez, partly because he´s charismatic, but mostly because I wanted to make it clear that, despite my appearance, I was in no way in favour of the so called Imperial Occupying Force that we will kick out of Latin America just like Bolivar kicked out the Spaniards. That way, I figured, I was less likely to get lynched by the hundreds of thousands of increasingly excited people in my imediate vicinity screaming the words to revolutionary anthems.

In Nicaragua, politics matters, and people care. There´s a good reason for this; the country has seen a lot of fuck-ups over the last 50 years. Having your son shot by government troops tends to quell political apathy, as does your parents dying of starvation.

To understand better, it´s important to read the following completely un-prejudiced history of the country´s recent past. It starts not in Nicaragua but a little further north, in the world´s headquarters.




The United States has a history of producing great war heroes, like Jonny Rambo and George W Bush. The famous military school at the heart of this success, West Point, also trained a Nicaraguan called Somoza, who then went back to his country and became the president, round about 1950. The US liked this, because they had a man who did things their way, and the US likes other countries to do things their way. Somoza was happy too, because he got a lot of money and support and made Nicaragua relatively prosperous, at least in terms of figures and economics.

Some other people were less happy because although the numbers looked good it was only a very small rich elite that actually had money and opportunities. Worse still, whenever they tried to complain they were put in prison, which doesn´t seem like the sort of thing that should happen in a country that is the friend of the world´s most influential democracy. Neither does passing the presidency to your son when you die without asking the people, but that happened too.

People protested, especially students, often in large numbers, although they kept getting shot. They were angry that those who lived in rural areas were being prevented from learning to read and write and rarely had enough to eat, angry that people couldn´t say what they wanted and angry that the same family had ruled the country for almost 30 years. They wanted a homeland that was free, and were very brave, but the Somoza dynasty, with financial support from some star-spangled friends, kept killing them.

As time passed the number of people who were rich got smaller and everyone else not only got cheesed off but also better organised. Eventually a war started. It lasted a long time and a lot of bad things happened, both to soldiers and civilians, but on 19th July 1979 Nicaragua was freed of Somoza, who escaped to Paraguay where he was blown up by a bomb.

The country was in a terrible state but for the majority of Nicaraguans it was an incredible triumph against adversity. A new government was formed and immediately tried to teach poor people to read and write, gave them food and allow them access to some of the rights that were previously only the preserve of the wealthy few.

Since then a lot has happened. The new government struggled to run the country because it was so battered by war and because, overnight, the United States stopped sending aid and support. Worse still, by comparing the Nicaraguans to Russian communists they were able to get the American people to support the funding of an army which would mobilise in bordering countries and then invade Nicaragua to topple the government.

Of course, this was a terrible shame for the Nicaraguan people because it meant the peace they were expecting never really came. The country remained in a state of war, while mass murders and other atrocities continued to happen.

After a while, the American people realised it wasn´t really any of their business, or at least that a free Nicaragua didn´t necessarily mean a dirty red terror spreading accross the continent. They helped to ensure that Congress voted against sending more support to the contra-revolutionary forces. It seemed the fighting and atrocities might finally stop and the people might have a chance to build lives.

But strangely the contra forces were able to keep fighting. So the bloodshed and suffering continued, and there was little hope of economic recovery either.

Some time later it emerged that, despite the money being refused by Congress, Reagan had found an ingenious way of continuing to support the contras. He sold arms to Iran (for which their civilian population was undoubtedly grateful) and sent the profits to some men in bushes in Central America, against the wishes of the American people.

Unfortuntately for Reagan, an Arab journalists let the secret silp. So, as you might imagine, he and the others responsible for prolonging for nine years a state of bloody war in Nicaragua, fighting in which over 30,000 lives were lost, were punished. Or at least they were threatened with punishment (for lying to the American people) and some were made to resign.

And then pardoned by George HW Bush a few years later.

So it was never a glorious revolution, but there was eventually peace and a democracy did come to exist. And for those reasons the Nicaraguan people are incredibly proud of their efforts in the late seventies and how the vast majority of the nation worked together to support the rights of the very poor, making things change against the odds.

And that explains why lots of people come to Managua on the 19th of July every year, and what I was doing in the middle of them all.




This year´s bash was a little different because the political party most associated with the revolution, the FSLN, was back in power after 16 years and its leader, two-time president Daniel Ortega, was determined to make a big scene. What Ortega had realised, and what I was about to find out, is that Hugo Chavez is a good ally to have when you want to make a big scene.

To ensure the largest possible attendance, free buses were provided from all over the country. I was living in Leon with a wealthy family who opposed the revolution because their salaries were cut, but snuck out and met up with a pro-FSLN family before catching an old American school bus (your child´s safety is OUR business, said the sign above drivers seat) that was waiting up the street.

Like the rest of the 40 buses that left from my town, it was jammed full of people wearing the colours of the revolutionaries, and we drove the hour and a half to the capital with a flags on poles stuck out of every window. Sticking my head out the window like the rest of the passangers gave a sense of the scale of the operation; there must have been over a hundred buses, lorries and vans hurtling down the highway, all packed full with flags flapping by the sides, almost nose to nose.

Why do you support the FSLN? asked the twelve year old boy sitting next to me, realising the party paraphanalia that I had covered myself with didn´t really match my less-than-Nicaraguan features. I was caught off guard and felt like a fake; a phoney tourist amongst those really affected. Shamlessley I threw the question straight back: err...why do you support the FSLN? Theyre the only ones that look out for the poor people, came the immediate response.

Managua was wrecked by a huge earthquake in 1972 which, as well as killing thousands of people, turned the capital into one of the world´s ugliest cities. The vast open space created when buildings collapsed in the centre of the city is now used to host huge public events like this one.

Nicaraguans are short, so from our vantage point somewhere in the middle I was able to see that the mass of red and black spread for hundreds of metres in all directions.

That was late afternoon and the square was rapidly filling up. I spent some time observing the various T-shirts on show. The most common was completely red, with a photo of Ortega with his arm raised and the slogan Arriba los Pobres del Mundo. Up the poor people of the world.

Second place was a large print with the faces of Bolivia´s Evo Morales, Ortega, Chavez and Castro and their names written vertically or horizontally across the front. The presentation made them look a bit like a boy-band (new socialists on the block?), although this illusion was shatterd on closer inspection by Ortega´s moustache. Third spot was, predictably, the red Guevara, a common sight the world over, leaving Morales-on-his-own, Chavez-and-Castro, Guevara-and-Castro and Puma to fight it out amongst the also-rans.

The first to speak was Ortega´s wife, mother of his 8 children, who jabbered on for ages about unity and sacrifice and was often interupted by revolutionary songs played over the PA system and fireworks going off behind her. Eventually she introduced the guest speakers; first up was Honduras´ lefty president who spoke about the Central American pueblo. Pueblo means village, by the way, although in this context it has come to mean the common people or the poor.

Next up was Panama´s new socialist leader who looked suspiciously slick and didn´t mention pueblos at all, merely co-operation and stuff. He looked a bit slick to be a proper socialist; like a young tony blair with a tan.

After Mrs Ortega had harped on a little bit more and the first of many rounds of fireworks had transformed the sky into a deep red, it was time for the big guns. As I braced myself for Chavez she pulled out a trump card I hadn´t expected. He wasn´t able to be there in person, but Colnel Gadaffi was appearing by live video linkup (well he sent a message and she red it). From Lybia came comparisons with the African Pueblo and a reminder that Lybia had supported the revolution all those years back.

The crowd was increasingly animated, with almost everyone waving large flags; the red and black of the revolutionaries, or the blue and white of Nicaraguan . Amidst the smoke from the fireworks and flares were the sihouettes of men who had climbed lampposts to display banners. The largest on show: Cuba Supports our Revolutionary Brothers.

And so came the turn of Chavez, who's presence on the stage seemed to dominate the other speakers. He started quietly (its a pleasure to be here), raised the heat with a touch of panto,

Do we have any young male revolutionaries in the crowd? Lets hear you. [loud cheer]
What about the girls? [loud cheer, higher pitch]

before whipping the hordes into a patriotic frenzy. Citing legends from the Bible, Latin folklore, Roman times and the Colonial wars, he castigated the imperial tyranny of Washington and urged the Latin people to come together to form one big err, well, pueblo. The woman next to me began screaming hysterically. I pulled the black and red flag I had just bought higher up by my face and raised my arm in support, but feared it wasn´t enough of a disguise. My hair was too light and Chavez was showing no signs of stopping.

Luckily some small kids emerged from behind me trying to catch a glimpse of the giant screen. Without asking I hoisted one onto my shoulders high above the crowd and gave him my flag. Blue eyes or not, I was surely lynch-safe now.


There can´t have been many examples of stolen thunder more clear that Chavez´s theft of Ortega´s limelight here. The hero of the revolution and former child abuser (according to wikipedia) spoke for ages about some touchy domestic things (tractors, electricity shortages), some hot potatoes (why he recieves aid from both China and Taiwan) and the occasional juicy bit (his support of Iran, Evo Morales, Castro, how the revolution is spreading), although mostly he was boring and waffly, a bit like a grandad, and nobody seemed too interested. The rapidly dwindling numbers also reflected the many who support the revolution but not the president´s history of corruption (yes but the others are worse argued a supporter when I mentioned this).

Eventually I too chose to leave, or rather my adopted family did, so it was back to Leon for us and back to looking at people's calves for the kid on my shoulders. The hysteria continued on the bus back, where the chanting was led by a frail grey-haired 80 year old: el pueblo, unido, jamás será vencido he shouted defiantly.

United, the poor will never be defeated.