I am a Dinosaur in Nicaragua

This week the International Poetry Festival begins in Granada, Nica. This week, at least, I will encounter some of my people, some of the old dinosaurs from the idealistic years when we were in solidarity with those trying to overthrow a dictator from hell. Ernesto Cardinal and Giaconda Belli will be here, treated like the fine poets and writers they are. Treated by the living memory of what they sacrificed for the welfare of others.

But, I notice that they are a dying breed here now, as am I. The Norte Americanos who come here now are a very different species. The vast majority are evangelicals, who come to get converts, who come in competition with each other, who come with a huge political agenda, who often come to get their tithe from the poor , who come to educate, if you can call it that, who come to preach about Jesus wanting you to think positively about the concentration of wealth because the rich are just better Christians, getting what they deserve.

And then there are the ex-military men. I use that term in the bigger context of former mercenaries, former CIA, former spies, former Contras. (And God only knows which are still active). They congregate here as they do in Vietnam, Cambodia, Columbia and other places which they worked hard to destroy. They are here because they created a society where they brought their values of very cheap drugs, very cheap booze, the ability to buy underage girls and boys for next to nothing, the obvious subversive imports from the US military. They are all over here. They speak Texan or at least southern, by and large. They brag about their killings in the past when they get boozed up. They act like they own the place and they verbally trash this country while exploiting it for everything they can get.

And these two groups seem to live in harmony because of past convergences of thought such as fear of communism, love of power and money, thinking that those who are poor somehow deserve it. And I somehow feel that I am identified with them for what else could be the reason that I am here? There are no Birkenstock sandalista brigades here any more.

All this will be forgotten for a week during the International Poetry Festival. The elites and the downtrodden from countries all over the world, the romantics, the artists, and their fans will come together and celebrate the common themes that unite all humanity. I look forward to this very much.