Under the Red Hat: Getting to Know Managua's New Cardinal
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CHRISTIANITY & CRISIS Vol. 45, No. 12 (22 July 1985), 307-310 Under the red hat Getting to know Managua’s new cardinal By Andrew Reding “GOD BLESSES NICARAGUA: MONSIGNOR OBANDO A CARDINAL,” read the banner headline when the April 24 issue of La Prensa hit the streets of Managua, announcing Pope John Paul II’s appointment of Managua’s archbishop to the College of Cardinals. Halfway down the page, another bold heading—“GREAT POPULAR JUBILATION”—appeared over a story reporting how people in the city responded when La Prensa staffers told them the news. The result was one of those persons-on-the-street collages so popular with the editors of Barricada, the Sandinista paper, and the oppositionist La Prensa: Try as they may, they never seem to find anyone who disagrees with their viewpoint. Curiously, in this case not one of the faces in the accompanying row of photographs betrayed any sign of emotion, let alone jubilation. But in La Prensa’s own newsroom, the joy was doubtless real. These days, in the wake of its failure to elicit wide popular support for Washington-based anti-Sandinista banker Arturo Cruz, La Prensa has launched an intensified campaign of veneration for Miguel Obando y Bravo. It is a shrewd strategy. Unlike Cruz, Obando has lived in Nicaragua all his life, was the first Nicaraguan to become an archbishop, and as such appeals strongly to the emotions of hundreds of thousands of Nicaraguan Catholics whose religiosity remains essentially preconciliar, thus heavily identified with ecclesiastical authority. La Prensa has labored hard to reinforce such attitudes by cultivating an image of piety and rectitude around the person of the archbishop. The effort is political in intent; La Prensa badly needs a prominent and respectable figure as symbol for its anti-Sandinista crusade. A major, though perhaps unwitting, contribution to this effort was a highly flattering profile of Obando (“Nicaragua’s Fighting Archbishop”) written by Steven Kinzer, Managua bureau chief for the New York Times. First published in the Times Magazine for November 18, 1984, the article was promptly translated into Spanish and featured in two installments in La Prensa. The story was important in the U.S. because of the Times’ reputation for balanced reporting, and because Kinzer is known as co-author of Bitter Fruit, a penetrating expose of the CIA-directed overthrow of the elected Guatemalan government of Jacobo Arbenz in 1954. Its usefulness to La Prensa was enhanced because the Times is widely regarded among middle-class Central Americans as the voice of the left in the U.S.; if even this source had to acknowledge Obando as a brave fighter for religious freedom and human rights, La Prensa’s objectives were significantly furthered. Yet according to well-placed Nicaraguan Catholics, both clerical and lay, Kinzer’s profile is laden with half-truths and marred by omissions of significant detail. My sources declined to be quoted by name, but they would not have been inaccessible to Kinzer, and some of what they said is corroborated by accounts in other media (the Miami Herald and the Washington Post) and by knowledgeable church-related sources in the U.S. To begin with, there’s the Mercedes-Benz incident. Anastasio Somoza Debayle was still in power in Nicaragua when Obando was named archbishop of Managua in 1970. Among his many other holdings was the country’s Mercedes-Benz dealership. Not surprisingly, he presented one of the luxury cars to the new archbishop as a gift. Kinzer tells the story briskly: “Somoza gave Obando a new Mercedes-Benz; the archbishop raffled it off and used the proceeds for church work.” The implication is that Obando, a man of principle, perceived the gift as tainted and disposed of it immediately. In reality Obando used the limousine with no evident sign of discomfort, until anti-Somoza Catholics turned it into a source of embarrassment. A popular saying rose—De la mulita a la Mercedes-Benz (“from the humble she-mule to the Mercedes-Benz”)—alluding both to the transformation from the archbishop’s humble beginnings (when, in Kinzer’s words, he “rode oxcarts and pack animals through the alternately muddy and dusty back country to counsel the faithful in remote parishes”), and to the contrast between Jesus entering Jerusalem on an ass and Obando traveling about Managua in a Mercedes-Benz. From the emergent perspective of liberation theology, Obando’s acceptance was biblically tantamount to accepting a new chariot from Pontius Pilate. Acting out of that perspective, Father Fernando Cardenal led a delegation from his community to counsel the archbishop to dispose of the vehicle. Obando protested that the Mercedes-Benz was like a wedding gift, a reference to the tradition that a new bishop’s installation effects a marital bond between him and his diocese. Cardenal is said to have cautioned, “Yes, but remember you’re not getting married to Somoza.” History as instrument Another Kinzer one-liner similarly conveys interpretive overtones without appearing to do so: “[W]hen the victorious Sandinista troops converged on Managua in July 1979, Archbishop Obando offered a festive mass to welcome them.” That version of events supports a view Obando and his supporters like to encourage, that the archbishop originally sympathized with the Sandinistas, only to pull away in disillusionment as the FSLN betrayed its democratic promises. In reality, as the Sandinistas well know, Obando worked hard in the closing days of Somoza’s rule to prevent the Frente from assuming the vanguard role in the new government that it had played during the insurrection— arguably a legitimate goal, from his perspective, but hardly a neutral or apolitical stance. For example, though Obando was properly outraged by the atrocities committed by Somoza’s forces, he wanted a purified National Guard kept in place so that the country’s armed forces would not be instruments of the Frente. He flew to Caracas, Venezuela, and then to San José, Costa Rica, to urge the leaders of other Latin nations that had helped arm the revolutionaries to help obtain a stronger position for the anti-Somoza right in the provisional government—most particularly for soon-to-be junta member (and current contra leader) Alfonso Robelo. Robelo, in fact, is said to be the key to understanding the rapid reversal in the archdiocese’s position toward the revolution that occurred within a year of the Sandinista takeover. During the nine months he was a member of the Junta of National Reconstruction, Robelo sought to wrest the mantle of Sandinismo from the FSLN with an impassioned advocacy of “democratic socialism.” It was during this period that the Nicaraguan Bishops’ Conference adopted the supportive line toward socialism quoted by Kinzer: “If…socialism means, as it should mean, that the majority of the Nicaraguan people will rule…that there will be a transfer of power to the popular classes, then it will find support and help from the faith.” But as soon as Robelo resigned in April 1980 the bishops began to accept political guidance from CELAM, the conservative Latin American Bishops’ Conference, and turned against the practitioners of liberation theology in Nicaragua. Kinzer’s account of the August 1982 shooting of unarmed civilians that occurred in front of a Catholic school in Masaya, is again unsatisfying. In his telling, “gunfire broke out during a clash between students and Sandinista demonstrators, and one of the demonstrators was killed by a bullet whose origin remains uncertain.” True, up to a point: No one ever found out exactly who fired that particular bullet, one of many that flew. But it is known that all the gunfire came from the school, which had been occupied by armed youths who had pulled down the FSLN flag, and that all the resulting casualties were Sandinista supporters protesting the action. Though the degree of church complicity was never firmly established, the school’s principal, like Obando a Salesian priest, was eventually deported with but the faintest murmur of protest. Granted, not all the news is fit to print; but in those incidents the details Kinzer omits seem relevant. Why are they omitted? According to same of his colleagues in Managua, Kinzer has become so thoroughly disenchanted with the Sandinistas that he now gives them scant credence. That attitude reveals itself once more when he contrasts Obando’s political stance and judgment with those of the archbishop’s critics within the church: “There are some churchmen in Nicaragua, including many Jesuits, who find themselves capable of making leaps of political faith in order to support an audacious revolutionary process, however flawed…. Archbishop Obando, however, does not leap.” Obando’s agility The problem with that judgment—and the reason Kinzer’s portrayal needs reexamination even at this late date—is that it leaves the cardinal’s own position, and that of the forces making use of him, unexamined, a failure that obscures the political realities of Nicaragua and the religious-ethical issues at stake. For one example, Obando’s support of “dialogue” between the government and the contras appears to grant the anti-Sandinista guerrillas a political legitimacy and moral standing that few Nicaraguans outside the La Prensa-Cruz-Robelo circle believe they have earned. The cardinal’s arrival at that position may have required a leap of faith that would tax the agility of your average romantic Jesuit. The cardinal conveys his politics mostly by means of indirection. His silence about the constitutional process now under way angers some opposition party leaders who express their dissent from Frente policies, sometimes effectively, within the National Assembly. His homiletic jabs at the government are constructed out of obliquely applied biblical allusions whose point could easily be missed by an outsider but are readily understood by their anti-Sandinista audiences.