‘La Prensa”s Juan Lorenzo Holmann: “I turned around and said goodbye to Nicaragua”

This statement was originally published on cpj.org on 16 February 2023.

Juan Lorenzo Holmann Chamorro was on the verge of sleep in his Nicaraguan jail cell when he was issued civilian clothes, taken to the airport, and told to sign a handwritten document agreeing to be deported to the United States.

Holmann, the publisher of La Prensa, Nicaragua’s oldest newspaper, had been incarcerated since August 2021. Arrested during a widespread crackdown on the country’s independent media and accused of money laundering, he was serving a nine-year sentence in the country’s notorious El Chipote prison at the time he boarded the flight that would take him to Washington, D.C.

Along with Miguel Mendoza Urbina and five other journalists and media workers who asked to remain anonymous for security reasons, Holmann was among the 222 political prisoners unexpectedly released and deported by Nicaraguan authorities on February 9. He and Mendoza spoke to CPJ’s Dánae Vílchez about their experience in prison, their commitment to freedom of expression, and their mixed feelings about being forced to leave their country.

“I don’t feel totally free,” said Holmann. “Because free would be if I could be in Nicaragua, that’s the real freedom.” [Read Vílchez’s interview with Mendoza here.]

Excerpts from the interview, which has been edited for length and clarity:

How do you feel after your first days of freedom?

Many mixed feelings may sound like a cliché, but I am really missing part of my family. My wife is still in Nicaragua. Here I have my daughters, who are studying in the United States. So I had the feeling of coming to see my daughters, but that I am truly leaving my heart and my wife in Nicaragua.

What was the last day in jail like? Did you have any idea that something like this would happen?

The last day in jail went like all the other days, with the same routine of getting up, praying, doing a little exercise, eating what they gave us, and eating a little bit of what they had been letting in. They call it parcels. The wardens definitely knew absolutely nothing about what was going on or what was going to happen.

I was already falling asleep when a guard arrived. He called one of my cellmates and told him to take off his uniform and put on these civilian clothes, and we looked at my other cellmate and [said] “Oh, what’s going on?” After a few minutes, I asked [the guard], “What happens to me?” “Your clothes are coming,” he said, and they put us in a cell in groups of maybe 12 people. There we met a lot of “brothers of pain” [other prisoners] we had not seen [before] because we did not have access to communication between us. We were in that cell for several hours.

What happened in Nicaragua before getting on the plane for the United States?

At some point, a high-ranking officer arrived and said buses were going to each of the cells, “but please don’t ask me where they are going, because even I don’t know where they are going.”

We went out with [our hands] in plastic straps in front of us, not behind us, and they lined us up. I was the first in line on the bus, and I could see through the windshield of the bus because the side windows were covered with a curtain. Two options came to my mind. One was that we were going to the courthouse to hear a change [in our] sentences, and the other was that we would be transferred to a different prison. We took a route that looked like we were going to the courthouse. As I was passing in front of the La Prensa offices, I felt inspiration. And I said to myself, I think they are taking us to the airport.

We got to the airport, the bus stopped, and an officer got on the bus and told us we were being deported. Deported to the United States of America. And did we have any objections?

[I was told] to sign a handwritten document [that I] agreed to be deported to the United States of America under the conditions of the current law. I asked, “What are the conditions of the current law?” He told me, “Sign or I take you off the bus.” That is coercion, [but] I signed.

When I was walking towards the people from the [U.S.] State department, [one of them] said, “Welcome, Juan Lorenzo, we were waiting for you.” I was astonished because he [knew] my name. The first thing I asked him [was whether] this is for real, and [what about] my wife. “Don’t worry, we will see about that later,” I was told. “They [your daughters] are waiting for you.” “Thank you very much,” I said and went in.

They had a plastic container with a bunch of Nicaraguan passports. “What is your name?” [they asked.] “Juan Lorenzo.” And then the person said “Welcome,” and he took out my passport, saying, “This is you? Well, come on in.” They took my vitals, and another officer said, “You can come up.” I said, “Well, stairway to liberty,” and he said, “Yes, that’s me.” Still, before I got on the plane, I turned around and said goodbye to Nicaragua because I don’t know when I will be able to return.

The Nicaraguan government says that they took away your nationality

No one can take away my Nicaraguan nationality. I am going to die, and I am going to continue being Nicaraguan.

I feel very grateful to these people [in the U.S.] who have been so generous, first in accepting us 222 exiles, accepting and giving us warmth. To embrace us and make us feel loved.

Continue reading excerpts from the interview on CPJ’s site

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