One of the strongest examples of selective vision on
the part of the U.S. media was their coverage of the
Pope’s visit to Nicaragua in March.
There were actually two stories in that visit. The
basis for the first was laid by some reporters the day
before the Pope’s arrival, when they schematically
listed the political divisions among the faithful, and
the expectations each had from the Pope. Juan Ta-
mayo, of The Miami Herald, for example, identified
four groupings. “Government officials would like to
portray the pontiff’s visit as a blessing of sorts for the
Sandinista revolution …. Conservatives within the
Church … led by Managua’s Archbishop Obando y
Bravo will be looking to the Polish-born pope to
endorse their active if subtle opposition to the San-
dinistas…. Liberal Church members, including five
priests who hold top government jobs, will be sifting
through the pope’s words for confirmation of their
concept of a church committed to the poor. …. And a
group of’ moderate priests . .. will be looking for the
pope to endorse their desire for a live-and-let-live
accommodation with the Sandinistas.”‘ It is worth
pointing out that, by Tamayo’s description, only one
faction-that of the Obando opposition-had expec-
tations incompatible with the others.
The second story came the day of the visit, center-
ing on the reception the Pope received and how he
related to revolutionary Nicaragua. The fundamental
link between the two stories got lost as reporters
scribbled notes about finger-wagging admonitions to
unrepentent priests in government, the Pope being
flown in a Soviet-made helicopter and angry demands
for silence to a pandemonious crowd. (With the
Pope’s visit to Poland now a matter of record, one can
reflect that the Pope does not always disdain exten-
sive chanting.) Virtually forgotten were the expecta-
tions reported the previous day. Nearly buried by
denunciatory reporting of the “impolitic treatment of
the Pope” by the Sandinista government was the fact
that the Pope’s homily was directed only to that fac-
tion that wanted unity under the bishops reinforced. 2
Journalists reported anti-government assertions by
opposition spokespeople, often without qualification
and usually without verification of the facts. In some
cases, accusations were made by the reporters them-
selves. Both in tone and in selection of material, the
majority of reports conveyed an attitude toward the
Nicaraguan government ranging from subtle disre-
spect to open contempt. The chief message was that
of a politically manipulated event orchestrated at the
highest levels of the Sandinista government.
* Many underscored the introductory speech by Co-
mandante Daniel Ortega at the airport (the Los An-
geles Times reporter called it a “23-minute diatribe
against the U.S. role in Central America”).’ Virtually
none mentioned that the strongest anti-U.S. phrases
were those of a Nicaraguan bishop in a letter to U S.
Cardinal James Carl Simpson following the 1912 U S.
occupation of Nicaragua, which Ortega quoted ex-
tensively 4
* Generally reported without challenge were charges
by Archbishop Obando y Bravo that the Sandinistas
had tried to limit attendance at the plaza.’ It went
unnoted that bus routes and pick-up times had been
broadcast over radio for a week, and few recorded
that the government had spent two months’ gasoline
allotment to bring an estimated 700,000 people to
hear the Pope. 6 (Only.Guatemala had a larger crowd,
and it has three times the population of Nicaragua.)
* There were assertions by reporters that the sound
system in the plaza had intentionally focused on the
chanters in the crowd. (The Los Angeles Times re
ported that “hecklers harassed, interrupted and hurled
insults” at the Pope, while The New York Times focused
more on volume and less on epithets: “Halfway through
the Pope’s homily, Sandinist technicians apparently
connected microphones among pro-government
groups to the main loudspeaker system, amplifying
the cry of ‘Popular Power!’ so much that the Pope’s
words were drowned out.”)7 Numerous independent
Church sources as well as some journalists from other
Western countries ascertained that the mikes had
picked up the chants of 50 mourning mothers seated
near the stage as special guests. These women
wanted prayers for their children, who had been killed
by the contras, and were distressed as they realized
that was not the Pope’s message.’
The charges went on and on, becoming particu-
larly vituperative in the editorials that followed. “No-
where else has the world’s most visible spiritual leader
been treated with such disrespect,” said a Miami
Herald editorial, “that the faith of hundreds of millions
was insulted in the name of the mean little deity called
Marxism.”‘ While many of the charges were investi-
gated independently, little more was said in the major
media. Reporters moved on with the Pope, leaving
Nicaragua to grapple alone with the internal conse-
quences of the event itself, and with the international
repercussions of U.S. media coverage.
Mind Men Describe an Elephant
Even more fundamental than disputed details or
questionable characterizations of government moti-
vations was the narrow context set by most reporters.
Although some alluded to divisions within the Church
rather than between Church and state, for example,
there was little that would give a U.S. audience any
understanding of the depth and breadth of public
sentiment in Nicaragua. “The people” barely played
in this profound drama, other than as “pro-govem-
ment groups” or “opposition.” The Miami Herald
editorial went so far as to state that “The common
people were kept from their spiritual leader because
he refused to subjugate his universal message of
peace, unity and love to the political needs of the
Sandinista directorate.”
Reflecting on the day’s events and U.S. media
coverage, a Maryknoll lay missioner working in Nica-
ragua used the childhood story of three blind men
trying to describe an elephant. “The first had hold of
the tail and promptly said that it was a snake. The
second had the leg and just as promptly said that it
was a tree trunk. The third, not to be outdone, had a
hold on the elephant’s trunk and promptly proclaimed
that it was a fire hose.”‘”
The moral of this story is not that all journalists are
blind. Rather, it suggests that Nicaraguan reality to-
day is complex, and the journalists assigned to this
story, many of them in Nicaragua just for the day,
could only comprehend what was familiar to them.
Understanding a country in the process of revolu-
tionary change is not easy. The contradictory forces
at work, the compressed speed of pivotal events and,
particularly, the intensity of passions during such so-
cial upheaval, are all alien to those of us who live in a
calmer, more stable world. Nicaraguan society has
become increasingly polarized along class lines, no
small thanks to the U.S. government. And the Church
itself, polarized along the same lines, has become a
prime political actor in this drama. After lifetimes of
enforced quiescence, Nicaraguans since the triumph
have found their voice, and use it easily in the multi-
tude of public events-religious and secular–which
now occur.
How many can easily understand a people who
have recently experienced a brutal internal war in
which 2% of the population died, and who are now
facing the possibility of a much more costly war? Is it
not likely that anyone coming into Nicaragua today
will only be able to describe that portion of the ele-
phant which they immediately recognize?
It is least surprising that this should be true of U.S.
journalists. Prepared only for the acceptable proprie-
ties of the Pope’s visit, and primed to see the govern-
ment as the crass instigator of anything that fell out-
side of such proprieties, journalists could not under-
stand the political passions of the people for what
they were. (For example, they seem to have been
deeply offended by those who shouted “We want
peace!” but were oblivious to those on the rooftop of
the airport who shouted “Viva Obando!” as the Pope
arrived, although that is an equally political statement
in today’s Nicaragua.)
Sister Marjorie Tuite, a Chicago nun from the Do-
minican order, witnessed the mood of the crowd-in
that country of 90% Catholics-change from “loving
obedience to confusion, and then to anger” as they
slowly understood the message behind the Pope’s
sophisticated words and harsh, stentorian tone.” The
media saw only a service “repeatedly brought to a
halt-in what was apparently a planned disruption.”‘ 2
Seeing Another Part of the Elephant
The following is a letter to the Pope, written by a
Spanish journalist who was with the press entourage
which covered the visit. It reveals some of the road-
signs which might have been seen by others had they
been looking for them. Had the U.S. press corps been
open to these images, and been willing to incorporate
their lessons into its coverage, a fairer and more
understandable accounting of the Pope’s visit might
have resulted.
Author Maria L6pez Vigil worked for Proceso, a
weekly publication of the Central American University
in El Salvador until she was captured by the Salvado-
rean National Police in August 1981. She was freed
after 48 hours, thanks to pressure from the interna-
tional, and particularly Spanish, press. She now works
for El Tayacin, a weekly newspaper in Nicaragua.
Holy Father,
For many months the people of Nicaragua awaited
you. Those who are poor and find their religious ex-
pression among the rockets and rum that come each
year with the festivals for the Virgin Mary and for Santo
Domingo awaited you. Also those poor whose faith
has matured more and who are organized in base
communities, catechumenical or charismatic com-
munities, those who have seen dozens of Delegates
of the Word-peasant catechists-die at the border,
they too awaited you. For the first time in many months-
not without tension, certainly-one event united all of
Nicaragua.
Full of hopes, they awaited you. There were peas-
ants who signed up for the journey to the capital three
days in advance. The government used up two whole
months’ worth of gasoline so that all who wanted to
hear you in Le6n or Managua could do so. All the
impoverished and weak infrastructure of this “small
and martyred” country (as Comandante Daniel Ortega
called it on greeting you) was put at your service. This
Billboard for Pope’s visit to Plaza. “John Paul: Welcome to Free Nicaragua-Thanks to God and the Revolution.”
was done with pleasure, in the belief that a pilgrim of
peace with your social influence would show your
solidarity, as so many others have done, with the just
cause of a people who have suffered so much.
For a month they studied your orations in other
countries and wrote letters to you expressing their
problems. They prepared songs, painted signs, or-
ganized vigils. On the eve of your visit they prayed
that God would enlighten you. The peasants of Jalapa-
the war zone on the border-sang on television: “Here
all of us love you; speak for Nicaragua.”
Holy Father, they needed you to speak for Nicara
gua. One day before you arrived in Managua and in
the same plaza where you celebrated the mass, they
held a service for 17 youths assassinated by somo-
cistas on the northern border of the country. Then
they dried their tears and went to meet you, certain
that your message would help stop the hands that
come from Honduras to shoot at Nicaragua.
With microphone in hand I had the opportunity to
follow you closely through your stay in this country, I
saw you arrive at the airport, a little tired and even
cold, despite the heat of this land and the protective
warmth of its people.
A group of mothers of “heroes and martyrs” (as
they are called here), those mourning women who
were at the end of the diplomatic receiving line, were
happy with that white rosary that your assistant pre-
sented to them after you had already moved toward
the helicopter that would take you to Le6n. “Can I put
it on now?” one asked me. “Why not? It is for you.” The
woman’s eyes were full of tears as she put it around
her neck, over her black dress. She had lost her son.
The somocista guards killed him. But the Pope had
given her a rosary and this consoled her.
When we arrived at the Cosar Augusto Silva Center
to broadcast for all Nicaragua the event that was
going to happen there-the meeting with the Govern-
ment Junta and the leadership of the Sandinista
Front-we saw again in the entrance a group of
mourning women who were anxiously awaiting you.
More mothers of more dead. (Every day young people
fall on Nicaragua’s border, defending this country
from those who want to return to the past.) I saw how
they handed you a letter, in which they asked from
you a word for peace and a condemnation of U.S.
aggression. They asked it in the name of Jesus Christ
and of the Virgin Mary. I read this letter on the radio. It
was one more among the thousands that these people,
recently made literate, wrote to their Holy Father.
Among the mothers, doria Mercedes was the most
forward. With unsure letters she penciled her own
letter to read to you personally. And she began to do
so. You could scarcely listen to her. With the rush that
characterizes these necessarily pressured trips you
moved on to the next point of the pre-established
agenda. But dora Mercedes was happy. You had
smiled at her. She had lost her son. The somocista
guards killed him, but the Pope at least had looked at
her.
At 4:30, under a relentless sun-in which one per-
son fainted per minute, as we could see from the
press gallery-600,000 Nicaraguans waited for you
in the July 19th Plaza. All who wanted to could come
to the plaza. All. Not only the “Sandinistas,” Holy
Father. That multitude made up the half of this country
that was able enough to get to Managua, from little
children to pot-bellied women to the old people; all
those that you had been told couldn’t come.
I found myself, broadcasting on radio, just behind a
group of mothers of heroes and martyrs at the left side
of the gallery. They were dressed in mourning, and
with the photo of their dead children in their hands
they were saying the rosary as you arrived at the
plaza. “What do you expect of the Pope?” we asked
them. “I am hoping for a prayer for our dead.” “I hope
that he will pray for peace, so that there will be no
more deaths on the border.” “If the Pope makes such
a pronouncement, the U.S. government will not con-
tinue carrying on such outrages against us.” “The
Pope will defend us, he will show solidarity, we are
sure of it.”
When you got to the plaza, with the staff of the
shepherd and the miter of your authority, 600,000
flags waved in the air. There were the blue and white
of the Republic, the white and yellow of the Vatican,
the red and black of the Sandinistas. Dozens of doves
were released and 600,000 voices shouted “Long
live the Pope!” “We want peace!”
The mothers in mourning sang and followed the
mass attentively, as did all the people. Respectfully
and with growing expectation as the homily ap-
proached. “Now the Pope is going to speak, now he is
going to speak. . .” (“Speak for Nicaragua,” resonated
silently the eager voices of the peasants on the border.)
You began your homily. The central theme was the
unity of the Church. In a language difficult to under-
stand, you spoke of unity around the bishops. You
insisted. And unity around the poorest? And unity of
all to achieve peace? And unity of all around Jesus,
who was assassinated by the Roman empire? In a
tone more understandable than your words, you af-
firmed your authority with disquieting emphasis.
It was at the end of the homily, when, after having
heard the word “bishops” fifteen times and never
once the word “dead” or “peace,” that the outcry
began to escape from the hearts of those women. It
was a cry which the bishops themselves detected
years ago as the identity of the poor of Latin America.
It was the cry “ever more tumultuous and impres-
sive,” that “growing, impetuous and occasionally
threatening cry,” that is the “shout of a people who
suffer and demand justice, liberty and respect for the
fundamental rights of the individual and of the people.”
This is the sequence of events as I witnessed them.
The mothers first asked for peace and a prayer for
their dead. They cried and made their claim in a
reasonable voice. Then they began to do it with shouts,
with lamentations. Soon thousands and thousands
and thousands of voices supported them. (“We want
peace!,” then “Popular Power!”) The spark caught
fire and the heat spread.
Finally, the mothers at my side decided to go in
front of the rostrum itself, facing the altar, so that you
could see them. There, while the mass went on, they
raised toward you the photos of their children. “A
prayer for our dead!” By then the plaza was already in
chaos. It was the shout of the “voiceless” ones who
have now been given a voice in this recently liberated
land.
I don’t know if it is because I live in Nicaragua and
love these people, but I couldn’t continue broadcast-
ing for the lump in my throat. Perhaps you came from
very far and thus were not moved. Perhaps the stones
of that old Church you live in have become too hard
with age.
A kiss for one of these mothers and an “Our Father”
for their fallen-there are so many-would have been
enough to end all the “irreverencies.” Holy Father,
why did you not do it?
Today, the day after your arrival in Nicaragua,
Managua seems to have been to another funeral.
Tired and aghast, the people’s sorrow is indescrib-
able. There is neither peace nor joy. There is neither
unity, nor even hope. The divisions have been deep-
ened and an anguished feeling of indignation, of per-
plexity, of deception-also of shame and guilt-tor-
tures everyone. Why did you do it, Holy Father? Why
did you open this wound in a people already so full of
pain?
“The Pope said nothing to us, he left us with an
emptiness,” a peanut vender near the plaza told me.
The plaza was still covered with papers, with the
footprints of a multitude of sheep who had sought
their shepherd.
God cannot want this huge emptiness that you left
in the hearts of these people to be filled with blood,
with more blood, by those who today clap their hands
with glee for what happened in the 19th of July Plaza
in Managua.
With faith in Christ and in his Church,
Maria Lopez Vigil
THE POPE, THE PRESS AND
POLITICAL PASSIONS
1. The Miami Herald, March 4, 1983.
2. The Miami Herald, March 6, 1983.
3. Los Angeles Times, March 5, 1983.
4. Instituto Historico Centroamericano (Managua),
“John Paul II in Nicaragua: Chronicle-Report on the
Pope’s Trip,” Envio, March 1983, No. 21, p. 9.
5. The New York Times, March 5, 1983.
6. Instituto Historico Centroamericano, “John Paul
II,” p. 12.
7. The New York Times, March 6, 1983; Los Angeles
Times, March 5, 1983.
8. Latin America Weekly Rept, March 18, 1983, p. 11.
9. The Miami Herald (editorial), March 8, 1983.
10. Dina O’Connell, “Three Blind Men and a Naked
Emperor” (open letter).
11. The Miami Herald, March 18, 1983.
12. Los Angeles Times, March 5, 1983.
WHEN WORLD-VIEWS VIEW THE WORLD
1. Louis Hartz, The Liberal Tradition in America
(New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1955), p. 309.
2. Lincoln Steffens, Autobiography (New York: Har-
court, Brace and World, 1931), p. 238.
3. Time, May 9, 1983, p. 21.
4. Quoted in Av Westin, Newswatch: How TVDecides
the News (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982), p. 199.
5. Ibid., pp. 198, 200.
6. ABC World News Tonight, March 9, 1981.
7. Peter Dahlgren with Sumitra Chakrapani, “The
Third World on TV News: Western Ways of Seeing the
‘Other,” in William C. Adams, ed., Television Coverage of
International Affairs (Norwood, NJ: Ablex, 1982).
8. NBC Nightly News, June 5, 1983.
9. NSAM 328, Pentagon Papers, III, p. 349.
THE POPE, THE PRESS AND
POLITICAL PASSIONS
1. The Miami Herald, March 4, 1983.
2. The Miami Herald, March 6, 1983.
3. Los Angeles Times, March 5, 1983.
4. Instituto Historico Centroamericano (Managua),
“John Paul II in Nicaragua: Chronicle-Report on the
Pope’s Trip,” Envio, March 1983, No. 21, p. 9.
5. The New York Times, March 5, 1983.
6. Instituto Historico Centroamericano, “John Paul
II,” p. 12.
7. The New York Times, March 6, 1983; Los Angeles
Times, March 5, 1983.
8. Latin America Weekly Rept, March 18, 1983, p. 11.
9. The Miami Herald (editorial), March 8, 1983.
10. Dina O’Connell, “Three Blind Men and a Naked
Emperor” (open letter).
11. The Miami Herald, March 18, 1983.
12. Los Angeles Times, March 5, 1983.
