When a Nicaraguan crosses the border into exile, it’s not just a person leaving—it’s also years of education and training that represent a significant investment of national resources, now lost.
With a suitcase full of fears and hopes, Rubén left for Costa Rica in June 2018, at the height of the violent crackdown by the dictatorship of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo. The Mother’s Day Massacre had just taken place, followed by the launch of “Operation Clean-Up,” carried out by police and paramilitary forces.
“I never imagined I’d leave so young. It was hard to accept that I couldn’t stay, but staying was more dangerous than leaving,” he recalls.
His mother warned him in a prophetic tone: “If you stay, you’ll be a martyr—and the cemeteries are filling up with martyrs.” Those words gave him the push he needed to flee.
Rubén was just 18 and studying engineering. “I had so many dreams and goals,” he says wistfully. But that April, Nicaragua plunged into the deepest sociopolitical crisis in its recent history. His university shut down, and government persecution turned fear into a constant.
“They chased us, harassed us, threatened us,” he says. He received death threats and watched his future crumble in a matter of weeks.
According to a study by the Inter-American Dialogue, nearly 900,000 Nicaraguans have left the country since the crisis erupted in 2018—a figure representing nearly 11% of the total population.
Much of this migration consists of young professionals, technicians, and students who were unable to reach their potential in Nicaragua. This phenomenon, known as brain drain, represents a structural loss of skilled human capital.
An economist who requested anonymity for fear of reprisals explains:
“Brain drain happens when the cost of staying outweighs the benefit. In Nicaragua, insecurity, economic crisis, and lack of opportunity have made staying far too costly.”
Economist and exiled former political prisoner Juan Sebastián Chamorro emphasizes that while the migration of young professionals might increase remittances, it is not a viable strategy for national development.
“It’s bread for today and hunger for tomorrow. Nicaragua is losing its human capital and becoming increasingly dependent on remittances. The problem is, these professionals—educated with national resources—now work abroad in jobs that often don’t match their training,” he warns.
Rubén is a clear example of that reality. He tried to resume his studies at the University of Costa Rica (UCR), but the lack of legal status and inability to validate his academic credits thwarted his efforts. “The universities in Nicaragua had been suspended, so I couldn’t prove my studies,” he laments.
He managed to continue virtually through the Central American University (UCA) until the regime seized the institution. Thanks to support from Jesuit universities in Guatemala and El Salvador, he was able to keep studying.
To survive, he worked as a translator, survey taker, background actor in a Costa Rican film, and in customer service at a call center. “Ironically, I was able to fulfill my dream of acting—something I’d wanted since I was in Nicaragua,” he says.
Costa Rica: The Main Destination
Between 2018 and 2023, Costa Rica received 48.85% of Nicaraguan migrants, followed by the United States (33.51%)and Spain (5.96%), according to data from the International Organization for Migration (IOM).
Rubén recalls the moment that led him to flee: the Mother’s Day March on May 30, 2018.
“That was the last protest I took part in. I went with a relative and some friends; we only carried flags. Suddenly, a young man on a motorcycle was shot in the forehead and died. That image scarred me forever,” he recounts.
After being labeled a “student leader,” he received direct death threats. His family tricked him into leaving the country by telling him it was just a vacation. “Now I’m grateful they did. At the time, I felt like leaving was betraying my ideals,” he admits.
Safe Mobility: The Migration Pathway Suspended by Donald Trump
Carolina, a licensed pharmacist, also emigrated to Costa Rica in 2018. Despite finding work outside her field, the minimum wage of $500 a month didn’t cover the country’s high cost of living.
After six years of struggle, in 2024 she managed to relocate to the United States through the Safe Mobility program, an initiative that facilitates legal resettlement of Nicaraguans, Venezuelans, and Ecuadorians in the U.S. and Spain.
The program, however, was suspended in January 2025 by President Donald Trump as part of his anti-immigration policies. The United Nations Refugee Agency (UNHCR) reported that by December 2024, 117,000 people had applied through the program from Colombia, Costa Rica, Ecuador, and Guatemala.
“There aren’t many economic opportunities here in Costa Rica. Applying to the program changed my life,” she says.
Rubén was one of the last beneficiaries of the initiative. He moved to the United States at the end of December 2024. Now, he’s trying to build a life in a country that’s becoming increasingly hostile to migrants—even those accepted as refugees.
The Wasted Demographic Bonus
Nicaragua is in a key phase of its demographic bonus, an economic term that refers to a sustained increase in the working-age population. This phase offers a historic opportunity for development—if investments are made in education and employment.
Economist Adolfo Acevedo warned back in 2010:
“If Nicaragua doesn’t invest in education now, it will be too late.”
Development plans recommended allocating at least 7% of GDP to public education, but over the past five years, spending under the Ortega-Murillo regime hasn’t exceeded 5%. As a result, the country faces a severe educational deficit in both coverage and quality.
The big question for migrants is whether they will ever return. With repression still in place and the future uncertain, many don’t see a return anytime soon.
Rubén, however, holds onto hope:
“Yes, going back is a dream. I want to return and contribute to my country’s growth with everything I’ve learned abroad.”
This text is part of the series Contar el Exilio (Telling the Story of Exile), produced in collaboration with DW Akademie, the Institute for Press and Freedom of Expression (IPLEX) and the Latin American Network of Journalism in Exile (RELPEX). It is part of the Space For Freedom project within the framework of the Hannah Arendt initiative funded by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.