Downfall of a Dictator

Somoza resigns, and a rebel regime takes control

The sun had not yet risen when the blue-and-white presidential helicopter took off from the hills above Managua. It hovered over a heavily fortified complex in the heart of the war-torn capital and flicked on its landing lights. For the last time, President Anastasio ("Tacho") Somoza Debayle gazed down upon the bunker that had been his combination home and command post for the past 20 months. Then the chopper alighted at Las Mercedes Airport, where Somoza's private jet was standing by. Moments later, the wan and pasty-faced dictator, drooping with fatigue, was on his way into exile in the U.S.

Thus ended, ingloriously, the 46-year reign of the Somoza dynasty. It was as if a giant weight had been lifted off Nicaragua's back. Late in the week, after the new provisional Government of National Reconstruction had taken command of Managua, the capital awoke to an orchestra of gunfire. It was not a resumption of the civil war that ended in Somoza's humiliating defeat. Instead, guerrillas of the victorious Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN) were firing their weapons in jubilation. Men and women cheered and cried tears of joy as a huge equestrian statue of the dictator's father, the founder of the Somoza dynasty, was dislodged from its pedestal in front of Managua's sports arena.

To TIME Correspondent Bernard Diederich, who was in Havana 20 years ago when Fidel Castro's bearded guerrillas marched into that city, there were striking parallels between the revolution in Cuba and the one that many observers expect will take hold in Nicaragua. The FSLN'S Slogan, FREE THE FATHERLAND OR DIE, was the battle cry of Nicaragua's legendary rebel leader of the 1930s, Augusto Sandino. It had inspired the Castroite catch phrase, FATHERLAND OR DEATH. While the people of Managua celebrated, the disciplined Sandinista troops, who will become the country's only effective force for maintaining law-and-order, looked on. Whether Nicaragua's revolution proves to be a moderate one or a reproduction of Castro's coup depends in large measure on the emerging leader of the new provisional government, Sergio Ramirez Mercado (see box).

Somoza's resignation followed weeks of complicated negotiations between his decaying regime, the U.S. and the five-man junta that the rebels had named as Nicaragua's provisional government. At first, Somoza stalled, apparently hoping that his powerfully armed 12,000-member national guard might still reverse the tide of battle. But by the beginning of last week even Somoza could see that further resistance was futile. He agreed to the rebel junta's plan for turning over power to the new regime. The first step would be for Somoza to resign and leave the country. The National Assembly would then elect an interim President, who would in turn step aside for the incoming provisional government. Finally, the Sandinista's 5,000-man guerrilla army and remnants of the national guard would be melded into a new armed force.

Though it frequently indulged in anti-American rhetoric, the junta proved flexible enough to allay most of Washington's fears. The junta appointed a 15-member Cabinet dominated by moderates, which satisfied American insistence that the new regime should represent all shades of Nicaraguan political opinion. Among its members are Corporate Lawyer Joachin Cuadra Chamorro, Carlos Tuennermann Bernheim, who was rector of the National University, and Cesar Amador Khull, a former officer of the Inter-American Development Bank. There are only two hard-core radicals: a Sandinista commander, Tomas Borge Martinez, who was appointed Interior Minister, and the Rev. Ernesto Cardenal Martinez, a radical priest who was named Minister of Culture.

The rebel junta also agreed to provide "safe conduct" for any Somoza henchmen who wished to leave Nicaragua; only those charged with "grave crimes" or "genocide" would not be covered by that pledge. To back up that guarantee, the junta also agreed to a proposal originated by Washington's special envoy, William Bowdler, that the Organization of American States would be invited to monitor the protection of human rights. Satisfied with the junta's promises, Washington pledged to support the new regime. Said Bowdler: "You are now the government of Nicaragua."

Facing the harsh reality that he had lost American support, Somoza placed all his high-ranking Guardia officers with 30 years or more service on the retirement list. That step allowed them to immediately abandon their commands and seek refuge in the U.S. or elsewhere in Latin America. As Somoza's officers planned their getaways, Nicaraguan Congressmen who had been confined in Managua's Intercontinental Hotel grew increasingly panicky. Finally, they were called into a post-midnight session. They unanimously accepted Somoza's resignation and conferred the blue-and-white sash, symbolic of the presidency, on his longtime flunky, former Health Minister Francisco Urcuyo Maliano. As soon as the session adjourned, most of the lawmakers lit out for the airport or to the foreign embassies that had offered them asylum. They carried away everything they could. One politician was seen struggling with three automobile tires that he had kept hidden in his room.

Word of Somoza's resignation reached San Jose at 2:15 a.m. last Tuesday. It was a cause of quiet celebration for the junta, four of whose five members had gathered at the home of Sergio Ramirez Mercado to await the news. With victory seemingly at hand, Nicaragua's new leaders prepared to board two private planes provided by the Costa Rican government. Their triumphant entry into Managua, they announced, would take place "within 24 hours." But that was not to be.

In Managua, Urcuyo startled friend and foe alike by delivering a belligerent speech in which he vowed to complete the remaining two years of Somoza's term. On his instructions, newly appointed Guardia Commander Frederico Mejia Gonzales ordered his troops to "redouble your efforts in the current fight."

Urcuyo's unexpected power play set off tremors in Washington; State Department officials feared that the tenuous relations they had established with the junta would be destroyed if the transition did not take place on schedule. Deputy Secretary of State Warren Christopher, who suspected that Urcuyo would not have acted without Somoza's approval, placed an angry phone call to the ex-dictator's $1 million, nine-room waterfront mansion in Miami Beach. According to Somoza, Christopher warned that if Urcuyo could not be persuaded to step down immediately, Somoza would no longer be welcome in the U.S. Chastened by Christopher's blunt talk, Somoza telephoned Urcuyo and ordered him to go along with the transition plan.

By then, Urcuyo had doubtless realized that his scheme had been a big mistake. Abandoned by the leader whose cause they had supported for so long, the national guard began to disintegrate. In a matter of hours, every one of Somoza's pilots, who had mercilessly bombed and strafed the barrios where the Sandinistas had their greatest support, had defected to neighboring countries. Soon Urcuyo flew to Guatemala and asked for asylum.

By the time the rebel government arrived in Managua last Friday, resistance had evaporated. Hundreds of thousands of cheering Managuans gathered in front of the National Palace to hail the new regime. Secure in victory, they embraced nervous national guardsmen who had been in fear of their lives. "Don't cry, brother," said an elderly guerrilla to a frightened young guardsman; he had threatened to kill himself with a hand grenade if he was not permitted to board an emergency flight out of the country. In the end, he lay down the grenade and fell, sobbing, into his former enemy's arms.

Safely ensconced in his Miami Beach estate, Tacho Somoza played host to a stream of reporters, blaming "Communist elements" for his ouster. Asked about his fortune, which has been estimated at up to $500 million, the dictator-in-exile allowed that he was worth about $100 million; 80% of his fortune, he claimed, had been left behind in Nicaragua. Before sailing off on a vacation to the Bahamas, Somoza said that he planned, as a private citizen, to carry on the fight against those who ousted him. "I don't feel morally defeated," he said. "I stepped down because of human compassion. I hate to see my people being killed."

No doubt. But during his bloody last stand against the Sandinistas' "final offensive," more than 15,000 people died. Another 600,000--roughly a fourth of the country's population--had been driven from their homes by Somoza's desperate, ultimately unsuccessful counteroffensive to save a regime that most Nicaraguans had learned to loathe.

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