THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL | NOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2026 19 Weathering a Storm That Didn’t Pass Seven years after this work began, in 1998, Hurricane Mitch struck. The storm devastated much of Central America. In Nicaragua, torrential rains triggered the catastrophic collapse of part of Volcán Casita, burying entire communities and killing thousands. In the immediate aftermath, I traveled there with colleagues. I remember standing silently on hardened mud, children’s toys, shoes, scraps of clothing, and other remnants of ordinary lives scattered across it. For years, we worked in those communities, and now the people we had known and the clinics and cooperatives we had supported were gone. We knew we had to begin again. And we did. The international community and our Nicaraguan counterparts redoubled our efforts. Roads, bridges, schools, clinics, homes, and water systems were rebuilt. We continued investing in education, local government, public institutions, civil society, health, and economic opportunity. This seemed at the time to be another sign of the country’s democratic resilience. But now I believe we misunderstood where Nicaragua was in its democratic journey. Yes, we had strengthened institutions, and the laws and policies intended to make them function. We had trained public servants, teachers, judges, local officials, and community leaders. Even ordinary citizens had learned to advocate for their communities and demand accountability. Those accomplishments were genuine and should not be diminished simply because we know what happened later. But, at some point, we began to act as Ortega’s long game reminds me of Fidel Castro’s in Cuba, where he consolidated political power over decades, building a system that could endure changing circumstances and shifting international pressures. Today, Nicaragua too has returned to authoritarian rule. Independent media and civil society have been severely restricted. Political opponents have been imprisoned or forced into exile. Institutions that once offered hope of democratic consolidation have come under government control. This is not a criticism or even the fault of the dedicated professionals who worked in Nicaragua or of the programs themselves. I remain enormously proud to have been part of that effort. But democratic consolidation does not follow a project calendar. Building a court is one thing; maintaining a bench of judges committed to its independence is another. Passing an electoral law can be difficult; developing a political culture in which candidates accept losing elections is much harder. Training mayors and council members is important; continuing to elect local leaders who regard public office as a public trust is even more so. Democracy extends across generations. Children have to learn it. Communities Speaking Out is the Journal’s opinion forum, a place for lively discussion of issues affecting the U.S. Foreign Service and American diplomacy. The views expressed are those of the author; their publication here does not imply endorsement by the American Foreign Service Association. Responses are welcome; send them to journal@afsa.org. though much of the democratic transition was complete, believing that Nicaragua had reached an actual milestone. That milestone, though, was artificial: Funding declined. The crowds of international experts thinned. Experienced advisers rotated to other assignments. Governments and international organizations confronted new crises elsewhere. That is typical in foreign affairs and development. Resources are finite. Priorities change. Foreign Service officers rotate. Projects close. But perhaps we allowed the rhythms of our own institutions to shape the way we understood Nicaragua’s democratic development. We measured progress in stats: in three- and five-year strategies, project evaluations, laws passed, institutions strengthened, people trained, and programs successfully completed. Playing the Long Game History uses a different measure. It asks whether institutions, and the people entrusted with them, remain independent and resilient 10, 20, or 30 years later. Daniel Ortega understood this. After losing power, he did not abandon his political ambitions. Over the years, he was able to place loyalists in the very institutions intended to provide checks on political power: the Supreme Court, the Supreme Electoral Council, the National Assembly, and other parts of the state. He did not need to abolish those institutions. They remained—but their independence gradually disappeared. This is where the contrast in time horizons becomes particularly important. Ortega pursued a consistent political strategy across decades. Meanwhile, U.S. administrations changed, congressional majorities shifted, foreign policy priorities evolved, and funding and international attention rose and fell.
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