In the chess game of international politics, the pieces sometimes move with such grandiloquent rhetoric that one wonders if they're even talking on the same board. This week, ALBA-TCP, the alliance of countries with leftist governments in Latin America and the Caribbean, came out swinging, condemning the European Union's renewal of sanctions against Nicaragua . The statement, laden with epic pomp, speaks of "anachronistic colonialism," "supremacism," and an "affront to the dignity" of the Nicaraguan people. Strong words, no doubt, but they force us to look for the fifth leg of the cat and ask ourselves what lies behind this stubborn defense.
sanctions against Nicaragua
The bloc, which includes Venezuela, Cuba, Bolivia, and Nicaragua itself, among others, described the measures as "illegal and arbitrary." In its view, it's all part of an "interventionist agenda" that, combined with the US military deployment in the Caribbean, seeks to isolate governments that don't play to Washington or Brussels' tune. So far, a familiar narrative, almost a script. The statement reaffirms "unrestricted solidarity" with President Daniel Ortega and Vice President Rosario Murillo, the couple who pull the strings in the Central American country. However, it is precisely at this point where the narrative begins to fall apart.
A speech from the gallery that clashes with reality
While ALBA-TCP raises the banner of peoples' self-determination, the European Union justifies its decision in a different way. It doesn't speak of ideologies, but of concrete facts. The EU-27 extended sanctions against Nicaragua due to the continued "democratic deterioration" and "systematic abuses of rights" that have been occurring since the massive opposition protests of 2018. Those demonstrations, which called for more democracy and less authoritarianism, ended with hundreds of deaths, thousands injured, and a wave of exiles.
This is where things get even more complicated. The sanctions aren't an economic embargo that makes work more difficult for ordinary citizens or increases the price of yerba mate and milk. No, these measures are surgical, targeting specific individuals and entities. The blacklist includes 21 individuals and three organizations. And who are they? Well, Vice President Murillo herself, several of her children, close advisors to the presidential couple, and high-ranking police officers. They are accused of, no less, orchestrating repression, using excessive force, authorizing arbitrary arrests, and even torture. These individuals are prohibited from traveling to Europe and have their assets frozen. In other words, they are cut off from any money they might have on the Old Continent.
Who really suffers from sanctions?
The ALBA statement insists that these measures "cause serious harm to the well-being of the Nicaraguan people." But this assertion is, at the very least, debatable. How does it change the life of a worker in Managua if the president's son can't go shopping in Paris, or if a police chief can't deposit funds in a bank in Luxembourg? On the other hand, what does seem to affect people's well-being is the internal politics of the Ortega-Murillo regime.
Since 2018, the persecution of anyone who thinks differently has been relentless. Independent media outlets have been shut down, universities have been seized, and more than 3,000 non-governmental organizations, ranging from feminist groups to charities, have been outlawed. In a move that left the world perplexed, last year the regime stripped more than 300 opponents and critics of their nationality, rendering them stateless overnight and sending a group of them on a plane to the United States. Imagine if, for criticizing the current government, someone were stripped of their ID and told they were no longer Uruguayan or Argentine. It's unbelievable.
The situation is so serious that in February of this year, the European Parliament went a step further and called for high-ranking Nicaraguan government officials to be investigated by the International Criminal Court for possible crimes against humanity. This is no minor accusation; it's the kind of charge faced by the worst dictators in history.
Between geopolitics and human rights
Meanwhile, the defense of ALBA-TCP seems to respond more to a bloc logic, to the principle of "today for you, tomorrow for me" among like-minded governments, than to an objective analysis of the situation. They wrap themselves in the banner of anti-imperialism to avoid condemning the actions of an ally, no matter how indefensible they may seem. It's a strategy that has worked for them for domestic consumption, but one that appears increasingly fragile in the face of the overwhelming reports from human rights organizations.
At the end of the day, while diplomatic communiqués go back and forth, with their accusations of "interventionism" and "colonialism," those left in the middle are the Nicaraguans. The children who have no clear future, the journalists who can't report, the exiled opposition members who can't return to their homeland, and the families who just want to make ends meet in peace. Solidarity, to be credible, should begin with them. The rest is often nothing more than lip service.
