“The constitution proposed by the Nicaraguan Constituent Commission was a progressive, democratic, and moderate document. Written with the aid of legal scholars from Europe, the United States and even Israel, Costa Rica and Japan, the 1976 Constitution carefully balanced individual rights with demands for social justice, promoted checks and balances against tyranny and over-centralization in the form of a semi-presidential system and a strong judiciary, and guaranteed civil and social liberties. The political crisis that ensued upon its introduction into the House of Delegates had less to do with the proposed constitution itself than the deep cleavages in Nicaraguan society between revolutionaries, moderate reformers and a fading but powerful elite nostalgic for the certainty of the Somozas…
The draft constitution was introduced on October 25, 1975. The constituent commission, which included members of all the major Nicaraguan political parties, members of the business establishment, labour unions, professional associations, landowners and even the Church hierarchy, had managed to come to a consensus, with only the Somocista representative boycotting the final draft. Óscar Arias, a Costa Rican lawyer and member of the country’s center-left National Liberation Party, wrote most of the actual text of the document, while French legal scholar Georges Burdeau dominated the committee’s jurisprudential direction.
The 1976 Constitution established Nicaragua as a semi-presidential unitary republic. The President’s powers were rolled back, with the office losing the power to unilaterally declare a ‘state of siege’, appoint high-ranking bureaucrats or ministers, or issue executive decrees beyond a narrow range of scenarios. However, the President retained significant veto authority; could negotiate treaties and control foreign policy largely without parliamentary permission; held the power of a presidential pardon; and was the Commander-in-Chief of the country’s armed forces. The President was to be directly elected by the people, with a run-off election between the two highest-achieving candidates in the event that no one candidate won an absolute majority of votes in the first round. The President of Nicaragua would remain the tribune of the people and an important political player, but they would no longer dominate the political stage as the sole center of gravity.
Instead, many of the powers shorn from the President were transferred to the new position of Prime Minister. Elected from the members of the recently renamed legislature, the National Assembly, the Prime Minister directed domestic policy-making. Control of the national budget, the appointments of ministers, and confirmation of presidentially appointed bureaucrats and judges rested with the Prime Minister’s Office. Moreover, unlike the President, the Prime Minister was not restricted to two four-year terms; instead, one could technically serve as Prime Minister indefinitely. Critics of the new document, such as National Conservative Party leader Fernando Agüero, called the new position a ‘recipe for tyranny’, although most saw this type of denunciation as rank hypocrisy.
Yet, despite the potential power of the head of government, the prospect of a parliamentary dictatorship seemed remote for a number of reasons. A new electoral system, based on closed-list proportional representation for the lower house and single-member districts for the Senate, was put into the constitution, with an intermediate electoral threshold of 4%. This incentivized some degree of party consolidation without the polarization of a two-party system. This meant that coalition building, particularly in a country as politically divided as Nicaragua, would be necessary for nearly every government. Meanwhile, the Supreme Court was reformed, and a new Constitutional Court was created. The latter institutions had the power to strike down laws on the basis of their unconstitutionality, decisions that could only be overturned either with a constitutional amendment or a three-quarters majority in the National Assembly and the Senate. Judges were to be selected by a non-partisan committee of former legislators, lawyers and foreign advisors. This system maintained parliamentary supremacy, but placed a strong check on the ability of a majority to suppress civil liberties.
The individual rights and liberties reserved to the people by the constitution were extensive. Freedoms of conscience, speech, expression, assembly, association, thought, faith, mobility and communication were guaranteed as ‘fundamental’, subject to limits only as “reasonably and minimally restricted within the bounds of a free and democratic nation”. Democratic rights were also guaranteed, with the right to vote, run for elected office and participate in the political process allowed for all Nicaraguans over the age of 18. Legal rights, such as
habeus corpus, the right to a fair trial and freedom from unreasonable search and seizure, were assured along with the right to ‘fair and equal treatment under the law regardless of “race, religion, income, gender or national origin”. Traditional indigenous communities also gained a greater voice, with the document conferring them special status, with constitutionally guaranteed protection of their communal structures and ‘traditional lifestyle’.
Finally, and most controversially, positive social and economic rights were guaranteed. The state was obligated to the right of every Nicaraguan citizen to “the necessities of a simple and dignified life”. A compromise struck between Christian democrats and the left on the constituent commission, the document used religious language and did not explicitly enumerate rights to food, shelter, employment and healthcare as demanded by the socialists, but it was still a truly radical move. This, more than anything, precipitated what happened afterwards…
The political crisis began shortly after the constitution was introduced into the House of Delegates for a first reading. The opposition parties, beginning with Fernando Agüero and followed by other Somoza-era notables including the young Anastasio Somoza, rose in succession to denounce the new document as a ‘Bolshevik fraud’ and an ‘act of war against the Nicaraguan people’. A scuffle between a member of the pro-Chamorro Social Christian Party and a National Conservative erupted into a full-scale brawl. When order was finally restored to the chamber, the opposition parties had walked out, leaving barely a quorum in the legislature.
The first reading completed, Chamorro knew immediately that this was no normal political fracas. Returning to his family residence –Chamorro had converted the Presidential Palace into a home for indigent pensioners as a gesture of social solidarity– the president readied to address the nation…
José White. “Much Ado About Something: The Nicaraguan 'Constitutional' Crisis of 1976.” Democracy in Latin America 19:2 (2012). 113-160
President Pedro Chamorro rubbed his eyes. He had had more sleepless nights than not in the past two weeks, and it showed in his mood. He snapped at the slightest provocation, and felt as though he could barely keep a thought in his head long enough to speak before it slipped away. His advisors sat in a circle around him, dark circles ringing their eyes too, papers and charts scattered across the coffee table. His wife Violetta, his rock and a key councilor even in times like these, brought another pot of black coffee, refilling all of their cups. The commander of the National Police, Ernesto Castillo Martínez, looked like he was nodding off, before the Minister of the Economy, Jorge Salazar, kicked him and startled him back to the mortal realm.
“Damn Agüero to Hell and back,” muttered Chamorro to himself, sipping his mug. Since the National Conservative leader had walked out of the House with his delegates, he had done nothing but cause trouble. Crowds had turned out in
La Plaza de la República, calling for his resignation as President and threatening revolution. While Agüero was ostensibly the leader of the opposition, calling itself the Movement for the Defence of Democracy, posters plastered with the face of the ‘young lion’, Anastasio Somoza Portocarrero, had popped up all over the city. Chamorro hoped that the people knew better than to be nostalgic for the despotism of a Somoza.
Perhaps not. The crowds had only grown, occupying the central plaza for two weeks now. The police told him that people who didn’t like the new Nicaragua were paying many of the protestors to show up, and that the gringos might be involved as well. Chamorro had met Gerald Ford, and found him to be a honourable, like-minded man. While he had not come through on all of his promises of aid, he seemed to have meant them. He was a tricky bastard, had less control over his shadows than he thought, or maybe both. Still, there would not be crowds at all if the country were pleased with his presidency. He had considered resigning in exchange for the passage of the new constitution: while he was not completely happy, he could not indict the entire document for its small imperfections. His wife and advisors had shot that plan down immediately though. There was no one to replace Chamorro other than Somoza or one of his puppets, and the new system was not consolidated enough for the leadership of a cynic or a moron.
“Ernesto, numbers for the crowd?”
Castillo cleared his throat. “Some have left since yesterday. We’re probably down to 20,000. They don’t look like they are going anywhere though. We could clear the square, although we’d need to call in units from the rest of the country and possibly ask for support from the National Guard. It could be bloody.”
“I am not shooting my own people.”
“I don’t see any other choice.”
“We can’t build democracy on a foundation of corpses. Ernesto, have we been able to get Martínez to the table?”
“He’s demanding to be Prime Minister in the next government, and for you to step down and endorse him for President in ’78. We can probably bargain with him further, but for now he’s sticking with Agüero.”
Chamorro shook his head. “Jorge?”
Salazar shuffled his papers and sighed. “The situation is not looking good. We need to borrow at least 30 million at the end of the month to roll over old debt, and the interest rates on our bonds has spiked. We’ll be paying nearly 15% interest on an 18-month bond. We may have to devalue the (currency) just to stay afloat, and prices are already rising.”
Chamorro held his head in his hands, and then looked at Castillo. “Draw up a plan for how you’d clear the square. No use of live rounds, nothing that will kill anyone. It has to be bloodless.” Castillo looked dubious, but promised that he would do it.
Suddenly, a servant entered the room. “Mr. President,” he interrupted, using the more casual honorific adopted from the Americans since the transition, “Colonel Mejía, of the National Guard, is here to see you.”
Chamorro nodded, and the military officer entered. Mejía, recently promoted to full colonel, wore a simple uniform with his sleeves rolled up and a cigarette behind his ear. His shoulder straps each displayed three silver stars, carefully polished along with his boots. Mejía stood to attention and saluted. Chamorro waved him down, “At ease, Colonel.”
Mejía sat down, and handed Chamorro a folder before lighting his cigarette. “Mr. President, I suggest you take a look at the contents of that.”
Chamorro opened the folder, and began to read. About forty seconds later, he placed it down carefully. He looked at the others, and said quietly, “I’d like everyone to leave for a moment. The Colonel and I have something to discuss.”
Slowly, glancing at each other, the members of Chamorro’s inner circle stood up and left the room. Violetta was the last to leave, looking pleadingly at her husband. He nodded and smiled, then shook his head. She smiled back, and strode out.
Chamorro lean back, then grabbed a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it up. After a long silence, he asked Mejía, “Would you like a drink? The British Ambassador gave me a good bottle of scotch to break Lent.”
Mejía nodded, and Chamorro rose. Pouring two healthy drinks, he handed one to the colonel and sat back down. They clinked their glasses and in silence took a drink. After a few minutes, Chamorro started. “So, you bastards mean business.”
Mejía thought for a moment, and answered deliberately. “When it comes to Communists, yes, Mr. President, we do.”
Chamorro snorted. “Communists, under the bed, in the attic, hiding in your plumbing!” he said sarcastically. “I’m no Communist, boy.”
Mejía chuckled. “I know, Mr. President. That’s why I’m here.”
Chamorro narrowed his eyes, and then started laughing. “I see. I wish I could prove it to the rest of the Guard in the next-” Chamorro checked the file “-in the next two hours.”
“You wouldn’t have to, Mr. President. Leave it up to me. I have a good relationship with the enlisted men. They’ll listen to me before some jumped-up rich kid like Humberto.”
Chamorro drained his whisky and poured another. “And what’s in all of this for you, Colonel?” he asked.
“A promotion and a raise. Chief Director of the National Guard would be a start. Also, leave the Guard alone, and let us deal with the Communists in the countryside.”
“The first I can do, Colonel, but the second… We can’t have a civil war.”
Mejía leaned back. “I can always leave without a deal, Mr. President. Roll the dice. You might make it to the airport before we do. I wouldn’t bet on your odds though.”
Chamorro made a face. “Fine. You can have your war, but keep it to the countryside, and be careful. For every
campesino you torture, the guerrillas get another five recruits.”
Mejía nodded, and rose to leave. “Thank you Mr. President. I voted for you, and I’m glad I did. I want to see this country thrive just as much as you do.”
Chamorro stood, and shook his hand. “Congratulations, General Mejía.
Mejía began to leave. “How will you handle General Humberto?” Chamorro asked.
The colonel turned, and grinned. “He’s inspecting our brave soldiers on the northern coast, despite the danger. Small aircraft have such a poor safety record, you know.”
