From the classroom to exile

Only a day and a half after being in his new country being evaluated, examined and inspected by U.S. medical and immigration authorities, he grabbed his practically empty backpack - his only belongings - and left. He didn't want to be detained again, much less for a list of vaccinations he needed to get. "I just thought: I came from being in a box and they want to put me in a bigger box," he repeats. 

He does the math again and estimates that since he was released from prison and banished to the United States, until this conversation with DIVERGENTES, exactly 301 days have passed. "I always say that the person they used to know stayed in El Infiernillo. That's where he stayed because he went through a process of metamorphosis and transformation," he says.

Although the confinement to which the Ortega Murillo dictatorship subjected him changed him in many ways, his essence remains the same. The dictatorship could not take away what was most important to him: his faith in God, his love for his family and his determination to stay alive. 

"Today I can say that I took care of my legal documents to stay in the country, a work permit, a social security number and a driver's license," he says.

"I can also say that I am no longer stateless," he proudly points to one of his latest accomplishments. He obtained Spanish nationality two days after his 28th birthday, July 25, 2023.

Physical aftermath,
a sign of political violence

Nearly three thousand kilometers away from Cerna, in a colder and more distant land, is student activist Samantha Jiron. Passionate about political science and communication, and marked by a strong sense of justice. She was the youngest female political prisoner held by the dictatorship until February 9, 2023.

Like many, she was captured in the year of the electoral fraud, the year in which for the fourth consecutive time Daniel Ortega declared himself president of Nicaragua, with all his electoral competitors locked up in jail or in exile. 

Like other exiled student activists, Jiron's post-imprisonment health is an issue. With difficulty, due to a severe cough that attacks her, she says she is recovering from an unexpected surgery. Her left ovary was twisted and she needed immediate surgery.

"Just like that, it twisted out of nowhere," she says. The twisting of her ovary happened in October 2023, just a few months after her partner and also an exiled political prisoner, Kevin Solis, experienced a facial paralysis "out of the blue".

However, this is no coincidence. Jiron knows the origin of all their ills: the after-effects of being in the regime's dungeons, deprived of medical attention and any other humanitarian needs they required at the time.

She, who has always been in good health and had few medical problems, spent her last year in the United States riddled with illnesses, discomforts and worries.

"It's completely after-effects and I'm a witness to that," she says. "I have had many health problems, both while in prison and after my incarceration," she says. These are the manifestations of physical, emotional and mental damages of being unjustly deprived of liberty for more than a year.

The first consequence she noticed is her inability to be in closed spaces, even if it is a car or a bus. "My blood pressure drops, my blood sugar drops, I turn pale and I feel like I'm going to faint," she says.

Surprised by her reactions, she went to a doctor to find out if the reason was a blood pressure problem, but the doctor told her that it was all an emotional reaction to experiencing confinement again.

"I had never been through this before I was in prison. I've never had these medical problems before," she says. To reduce the constant discomfort, she wears a special bracelet that regulates her blood pressure. Although she still has anxiety attacks, with this device she can at least control them.

Because of the special protection that Jiron has with the humanitarian parole - which the rest of the 222 exiles also have - she has an insurance called Medical, which is available only for the state where she lives, California. So her surgery and postoperative treatment, which cost $89,000, was not paid for by her. "Getting sick here is the worst thing that can happen to you," she says.

Even in the midst of all the problems, she laughs and says that when her boyfriend, Solis, suffered the facial paralysis that cost more than $20,000, they were joking about fleeing the country if the insurance company did not pay the hospital bill.

The young student says something that all the other banished people endlessly repeat: "that they sent us to the United States doesn't solve our lives."

"Many say that they made it easier for us because we came here, but that's not the case," she emphasizes. Due to her constant medical problems and to improve her health, Jiron decided to quit her job at the company where she worked. 

There, many of her responsibilities involved physical effort. In addition, as in any other place in the North American country, if she did not have at least one year working, she had no right to receive compensation for her rest and recovery days.

"We have little time to work (my partner and I). In these companies they don't give you a leave for full recovery, not in this company at least. A job is not worth your health deteriorating," she adds.

She says that the month in which Solís was paralyzed, she was unable to work for several weeks and therefore did not even receive half of her salary. Her insurance only covers medical expenses, but does not cover the lost work days. 

The space where she lives alone costs $1800 and it is not even an apartment. It is a studio apartment with no rooms or partitions. It only has a small bathroom and a laundry room that simulates a kitchen. It is enough to look around to see the whole space.

Exiled and now a foreigner in another country, these are elements that intertwine to make it difficult for her to find a job that will allow her to afford a better place. "It's very difficult to get a job here, even if you're a professional. It's not like I'm a journalist and I'm going to work in a media outlet here. The jobs for us are different," she stresses. "Us," meaning the banished.

Becoming independent,
the biggest challenge for exiled students

Rayo no longer lives with her sister. She managed to move out and rent an apartment a few months later in San Francisco, California, along with her boyfriend, Hilfrem Saborío, and political activist Max Jeréz. Saborío was never engaged in any activism and was detained by the regime's military at the same time as Rayo, on the eve of the 2022 municipal elections. 

Rayo points out that the fact that they were able to rent an apartment is a privilege because to date, many of the exiles have not been able to become independent from the people who took them in on February 9, 2023. 

"To be able to rent here you must have a credit history, proof that you can pay the monthly rent, and we don't have one yet. I know that many of the 222 don't have it. I know that renting has been a privilege," she says.

Most of the exiles have created networks to emotionally and economically support each other, to share expenses, experiences and their own fight that they started in Nicaragua. 

In their free time, the former prisoners who live nearby get together, and in the case of her boyfriend, Hilfrem and Samantha Jiron's boyfriend, Kevin Solis, they meet to play soccer and spend time together. While those who live far away make calls and text each other to stay in touch.

"There's a girl I was in prison with who I still talk to. We are an hour apart. In fact, I still talk to all the girls. The networks we made are hard to break. It's a bond beyond belief," Rayo says.

Moreover, what unites them is their continued activism, which, far from being stopped by the banishment, was driven by it. When all of them are asked what their demands are, they all have a clear answer: freedom for political prisoners.

"Without a doubt, freedom for all the imprisoned people, democracy for Nicaragua and justice for all the victims, who are our families as well and the people who are still inside. They have a prison for a country. Many cannot leave, because they had their nationality taken away", denounces Rayo.

***

The need for
effective leadership

Back in the eastern United States, John Cerna is harsh and critical of many of the leaderships that have been exercised by various opposition groups. "If these people are not able to confront each other and speak their minds, they are not effective leaders," he says.

Although he works in a catering service, with many responsibilities and "a crazy schedule," he clarifies that he is always aware of what is happening in Nicaragua, reports through his social media accounts and helps all Nicaraguans who come to the United States, either with information or contacts that may be useful.

University autonomy is his constant demand. It is not only because the dictatorship interrupted his opportunity to finish his degrees on two occasions. The first time by expelling him from the University of Engineering and the second time by arresting him outside of the university, the former Central American University.

His demands are not only because of his own experience, but also because many of his friends and family members have been affected by the cancellation of the legal status of private universities, the confiscation of the campuses and the imposition of Ortega's propaganda in these stolen institutions.

His demands are also focused on the more than 90 people currently detained for political reasons. "I lived through that and I know the things their mothers go through, because they are subjected to all kinds of humiliations", says the former politician, also known as El Tigrillo, a nickname he got when he was part of the Scouts.

"My friends are dead, arrested, or in exile. Activism is something I have kept with me, not only in these five years. I have always insisted on education, since my mother is an educator. Civility defines a society's behavior," he adds.

John Cerna is straightforward. He does not say things behind anyone's back and makes his ideas clear in the spaces where he is. However, he is calm and serene. With a 2023 full of changes, he talks about his progress towards his goals. After surgery on his shoulder and medical follow-up on all his conditions (those he had before his incarceration and those that followed), he says he has improved a lot.

He still struggles to adapt to light and wears glasses, but exercise and sports have been his allies. Not only for his physical well-being, but also mentally. He also finds it difficult to be in crowds and large groups of people, because it is difficult to go from being subjected to total solitude to being in constant company.

With great joy, he says that he was able to embrace "his wonder women": his mother and his two sisters. He says he will soon be with his children. "The future is an opportunity to brave people," he says.

A future full of hope
is coming

Samantha Jiron's demands also include the release of those unfairly detained by the regime, but not the restitution of her Nicaraguan nationality; at least, not for the moment.

"I can demand my nationality, but there are no safe conditions for a return to Nicaragua. There are no economic conditions, nor a future for us young people due to the closing of all spaces for thought. Even Professor Freddy Quezada, who was my teacher, was captured and transferred to La Modelo," said Jiron.

"There can be no dialogue with the dictatorship. They don't understand words. The dictatorship only understands violence. It is the only thing they know," says the young activist. From Monteverde, a space for the different opposition groups to come together, Jiron keeps the university agenda as a priority. 

Jirón plans to continue studying Communication and Political Science, the majors she was studying in Nicaragua. "I love journalism and writing. I'm going to continue studying that. Maybe I will specialize in political, economic and social issues, which is what I have always liked," she says.

Her target destination is Spain because as a future citizen she would have the opportunity to enroll in a public university in that country, she would have no language barriers, and she could settle down in Europe.

Meanwhile, Mildred Rayos plans to certify her university grades in the United States and get an architecture degree. Although she finished her degree in Nicaragua, she was arbitrarily detained just as she was getting her university diploma. Her goals are such that if she has to pay to get her diploma, she will do it, she says with determination.

"I don't care. I didn't work so hard for five or six years to get my degree and not even have my diploma," she says. 

Always with the goal of preparing himself academically, John Cerna will not give up on finishing his studies. It doesn't matter that there is banishment in between. He is currently enrolled at Universidad Rafael Landívar (URL), a Jesuit university that offered the continuation of studies to Universidad Centroamericana (UCA) students after its confiscation.

Online, Cerna intends to resume his studies in Civil Engineering, which he had already tried to study, but the dictatorship prevented him from doing so. He is also excited to be able to study at a Jesuit institution where he will be able to continue with the Jesuit mission "in all things to love and serve", which inspired him at former UCA.

A future full of plans, aspirations, struggles and dreams surrounds these students. They are the hope that the dictatorship could not erase with any political punishment, nor will they be able to do so. "The future is for the brave", says "Tigrillo" again.