One way to explain the mass exodus of journalists from Nicaragua is to compare it to an emergency evacuation. We suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a catastrophe and had to flee the country just to survive. Abuse of power collided directly with our lives.
Yet the spread of authoritarianism only adds to an increasingly hostile landscape for freedoms across the region. At times, the overwhelming number of crises makes you want to step off the ride entirely, much like the cartoon character Mafalda once famously mused. I chose to stay in the game.
Here are my reasons—first, the personal ones. In my garden back home, I had a gardenia plant; in the living room, a photo of my father smiling, taken just a day before he passed away. I had my personal library, and a tree I had planted was steadily growing. That place was our home—a sanctuary where my children grew up alongside their dog, a pet rabbit, a hen, and a rooster whose morning crows helped make the online classes I taught a bit less dull.
Leaving all of that behind hurts, but I have to look forward. I hit the five-year mark in exile in 2026. Not a single day has passed without me reflecting on the vital importance of journalism.
For anyone who has lived through this experience, it hasn’t been easy. There are rewarding moments, of course. Along the way, I watched my two teenage children grow up in a safe environment in Spain, surrounded by Central American, Spanish, African, and Chinese friends.
While exile began as an emergency evacuation, it quickly spiraled into a permanent crisis due to the ongoing persecution of independent media, the struggle to build a sustainable business model, and a severe funding drought. It all converged into a perfect storm right at the peak of the disinformation age, precisely when professional journalism is needed the most.
Journalists were left with no job prospects. Anyone looking toward major news organizations in Latin America saw the same reality: everyone was operating strictly in survival mode. Journalism literally became an act of faith. I do believe in journalism.
I completed a vocational training program in warehousing to have a fallback plan for making a living. It wasn’t a bad idea; financially, my life probably would be much calmer. I live in a city surrounded by warehouses, and that line of work felt familiar to me because my parents used to run a shop in Managua’s Oriental Market. The concept of handling merchandise and assisting customers has been part of my life since childhood. Even so, I wanted to stick with journalism.
I learned a great deal during my warehouse logistics course. I now have an alternate trade I can practice if things fail to improve in the media sector in the coming years. Back when I was studying, my Spanish classmates fondly nicknamed me «the professor» whenever I hopped on a forklift (or torito, as they call them here).
I shared my story with them. Most of them expressed solidarity over the abuse of power my family and I had endured. I graduated and completed an internship at a company. But deep down, I felt that if I committed to that line of work, my journalistic vocation would die. Exile demands a pragmatic adaptation to reality, but I chose to be stubborn.
During my youth, one of my journalism mentors, Danilo Aguirre Solís (DAS), who served as the director of El Nuevo Diario, told me that our work was as essential as daily bread.
To him, journalism was never just another job where you simply collect a paycheck. Every single day, he would get into his minivan, turn on the radio, and mentally map out the next edition of the paper. That notion of journalism as daily bread, often cited by DAS, as we, his newsroom pupils, called him, always stuck with me.
I think about that phrase frequently in exile, applying it to authoritarian contexts. In the face of censorship attempts, high-quality journalism must always shine through.
According to the Foundation for Freedom of Expression and Democracy (FLED), 310 journalists and media workers have fled Nicaragua into exile since 2018. Although some have stepped away —to pursue other careers to survive, a choice that is both legitimate and rational— others have pressed on and continue in journalism. Sustaining that effort has required a collective push.
I want to highlight the critical work of organizations supporting independent press. I’ll offer two international examples dedicated to keeping journalism alive: First is CONNECTAS, a Latin American investigative journalism platform that took me in during my most critical moment and where I never lacked a supportive friend. Every time I return there, I feel right at home.
Professional networks have been indispensable for investigating those in power and developing our skills as editors. CONNECTAS taught me far more than technical expertise; it taught me human values, ensuring that wherever I travel, I find someone who shares those same principles.
The second initiative is the Latin American Network of Journalists in Exile (RELPEX). The Inter American Press Association (IAPA) created this dedicated program for exiled journalists to address the pressing needs of those who continue to report. It now has 500 members.
This support extends to entire media outlets, enabling the publication of investigative reports and stories in the public interest.
The great tragedy is that the forced displacement of journalists continues to rise globally. Autocrats view press reporting and journalism as an enemy. That, of course, is nothing new, but it is chilling to see professionals from different corners of the world sharing not only a passion for their craft but also state persecution.
Journalism helps shape public opinion and cultivates critical thinking. It is an essential element of the democratic space that dictators in our region explicitly seek to destroy. If Latin Americans are aware of what the autocrats in our countries have been capable of, it is because there were courageous journalists and media outlets that documented it. We owe a great deal of gratitude to our sources and to the victims who have shared their testimonies, but journalism is vital for unmasking so many perpetrators of abuses.
A few years ago, I wrote that this profession saved my life. That remains true. But I must also credit my wife. From her, I learned to endure without empty rhetoric; because of her, my anchor, we are doing a little better today. My list of gratitude also extends to my friends, to the host countries that welcomed us, to the encouraging voices outside our immediate circle that inspire us to write the next chronicle on Nicaragua, and to the news organization where I work. I thought about selecting a photo to illustrate this article, and the only image that comes to mind is a rising sun.
The author is an exiled Nicaraguan journalist and editor. He is a recipient of the Ortega y Gasset, King of Spain, IPYS, and IAPA Excellence in Journalism awards.
This article was originally published in Hora de Cierre, an IAPA publication.
