Democracy gets close and personal

On Nicaragua's Atlantic Coast, long-neglected communities prepare to take charge

By Roger Hamilton, Corn Island, Nicaragua

The man was clearly agitated. He strode from one side of the dusty road to the other, pacing off what he considered to be the public right of way. He stopped at a row of boulders and newly planted palm trees. Here, he said, was where his property began.

George Howard listened patiently. For the mayor of Corn Island, Nicaragua, it was all in a Saturday morning's work. He had come to check on the progress of a new sidewalk that would line part of the road that encircled the island, which lay 65 km off the mainland's Atlantic coast. He chatted with the construction foreman while the crew leveled off another section of freshly poured concrete. Then he dropped by a grocery store to thank its owner for letting the workers connect to his water outlet. "Send the bill to the municipality," he said as he was leaving. Every so often, a pickup or a decrepit Soviet-era Lada passed by, raising clouds of dust.

The sidewalk would fulfill a longstanding dream for local residents. It would mean they could go to church during the rainy season without getting their good shoes covered with mud. Their children could walk to school a safe distance from the passing cars and trucks. Maybe someday the road itself would be paved.

But this defiant homeowner, an expatriate from a distant northern city, would have none of it. He told Howard that he had come to Corn Island in search of a warm climate, but most of all, for peace and quiet. To that end he had built a modest house overlooking the Caribbean Sea.

But now he felt under siege. Part of his property had already tumbled into the sea, a victim of the 1998 Hurricane Mitch. And here was the local municipality, planning to build a new sidewalk on "his" land. It would never happen, he vowed.

Fisherman turned mayor...

New position, new responsibilities. Howard left the scene exasperated but unbowed. It was not easy being the first elected mayor of Corn Island, a position that has been in existence only since 1996. Before then, mayors in Nicaragua were appointed by the central government, as has historically been the case in much of Latin America. But today, in Nicaragua and elsewhere, central governments are loosening the reins of power, and local elected officials are assuming the responsibility for addressing local problems.

It's a historic change, and it's not happening easily. In most cases, the newly minted municipalities are ill-equipped to exercise effective authority. They lack the basic administrative and financial skills that residents of big cities and developed countries take for granted. Nor do they have financial resources, either from tax revenue or reliable transfer payments from the central government.

Finally, the problems municipalities face are often staggering: extreme poverty, joblessness, illiteracy, bad infrastructure, nonexistent services, a weak judicial system, in some cases even rampant violence and civil unrest.

So it is all the more remarkable that here on Corn Island, in the poorest region of one of the poorest countries in Latin America, residents can point to their municipal government with justifiable pride.

A large part of the reason is Howard himself. Born in the mainland community of Pearl Lagoon, Howard combines an easygoing rapport with an air of authority that commands respect. He manages the municipal government as he does his 85-foot fishing boat--prudently, efficiently, and with clear goals. For good reason, he was elected to head a group that brings together mayors from the whole Atlantic Coast region.

Naturally, there are frustrations, particularly since the mayoral post is a political position. In Nicaragua, politics matter a great deal. Howard has his detractors, but even about these, he is philosophical.

One thorn in his side is the activist and irrepressible editor of the island's first local newsletter, Lorrain Bodden. She cheerfully admits to "saying ugly things about the municipality." But Howard's view is that it's better to have a newsletter that he sometimes disagrees with than no newsletter at all. And to make his point, he allocates 3,000 cordobas from the municipality budget each month to defray the publication's printing costs. (Distribution of the newsletter is taken care of through a similar act of good will, by a vegetable vendor who hands out copies along with his tomatoes, yucca and plantains. See column at right for a sample copy.)

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Date posted: May 2001

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