GUATEMALA CITY — Sergio Mena’s world crumbled in mere hours. After years of opposition against President Daniel Ortega, this rural activist escaped Nicaragua in 2018, joining a multitude of others fleeing an oppressive crackdown on dissent. Mena made his way back from exile in Costa Rica in 2021 to persist in his advocacy, but instead of freedom, he found himself imprisoned in a facility where he claims inmates were hung upside down and shocked with electric currents. Mena, now 40, recounted his harrowing experience stating, “We were tortured continuously, both physically and mentally, from the moment we arrived until the end.”
Though Mena is now exiled in Guatemala, his situation remains dire. He, along with hundreds of other religious figures, students, activists, and journalists, were declared “stateless” upon their release, stripped of their citizenship, homes, and pension rights. The United Nations reports that these individuals join a global count of approximately 4.4 million stateless persons, many of whom face challenges in accessing employment, education, and healthcare, or even the ability to marry or open bank accounts due to lacking valid identity documents.
“Being stateless is a form of torture,” stated Karina Ambartsoumian-Clough, the executive director of United Stateless, a U.S. organization committed to advocating for those without citizenship. “You become legally invisible, regardless of your physical presence as a person.”
In September, Mena and 134 fellow prisoners were forcibly taken on a flight to Guatemala, joining 317 other individuals the Ortega regime had classified as adversaries, individuals no longer entitled to Nicaraguan identity. In conversations with more than two dozen Nicaraguan exiles deprived of their citizenship, it became clear they are scattered across the U.S., Guatemala, Costa Rica, Mexico, and Spain, all attempting to navigate paths forward while grappling with both physical and mental trauma, which intensifies the hardships experienced in Nicaragua.
The Nicaraguan government has yet to provide any clarity on why it released Mena and his peers, although experts speculate that the regime seeks to mitigate international backlash while still retaining a grip on its perceived enemies.
Most stateless children worldwide are born to refugees and migrants in contexts that deny them the right to become citizens by birth. Many Nicaraguans currently find it difficult to afford basic necessities while others live in constant fear, bracing for a potential return of the Nicaraguan government. The situation is bleak for many who have found refuge in the U.S., where recent promises by President-elect Donald Trump to tighten immigration policies only exacerbate their uncertainty.
The Ortega administration began revoking citizenship for numerous individuals early last year. Mena claims he was imprisoned amidst this crackdown, with the government alleging his involvement in drug trafficking and organized crime, which he firmly disputes. In February 2023, the regime breached international law by starting to transport prisoners to the U.S. and more recently to Guatemala, while others were stripped of citizenship without prior imprisonment.
Presently residing in a hotel in Guatemala City, Mena reflects on grim memories illustrated by photographs of a dilapidated jail, remnants of food, and images of his beaten body from over two years of confinement. His life now exists in a state of constant trepidation—“The reach of (the Nicaraguan government) still extends here,” he lamented through tears.
The Biden administration has offered temporary protections to Nicaraguans, and Mena holds on to hopes of obtaining asylum in the U.S. However, such protections are likely to diminish or face stringent limitations under Trump. Meanwhile, the Spanish government has extended offers of nationality to select stateless exiles, yet many lack the necessary resources to build new lives or understand the application process involved.
Among those affected is 54-year-old Allan Bermudez, a former university professor who was imprisoned for allegedly conspiring against the government, as Ortega’s administration viewed universities as breeding grounds for dissent. Like Mena, he was unexpectedly transported to the U.S. in February 2023, left ignorant of his destination. Though the U.S. government initially provided him with temporary assistance—including a brief hotel stay, a new phone, and limited financial aid—support has since dwindled. Currently, Bermudez works at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Salisbury, Maryland, struggling to secure enough hours while managing chronic heart issues and post-traumatic stress disorder without access to medical care.
Bermudez faces further distress as he has multiple family members still in Nicaragua. His mother suffered a stroke this year, and he battles difficulties sending money back home. With his wife and daughter remaining in Nicaragua, anxiety and depression loom over him. After applying for asylum in February while living in the U.S. under humanitarian measures from the Biden administration, he has yet to receive any updates. “I can’t leave; I feel trapped,” he voiced, finding solace only in prayer for assistance.
The upheaval affecting Bermudez is echoed by many others who have fled Nicaragua amidst the government’s oppressive tactics. Thousands of civil society organizations have been dismantled and their resources seized, as the government continues its efforts to quash dissent. Despite hopes for eventual return among many Nicaraguans, 82-year-old Moises Hassan feels resigned in his secluded corner of Costa Rica.
Having once fought against the dictatorship of Anastasio Somoza and later served as mayor of Managua, Hassan’s life took a drastic turn as he began to challenge Ortega’s anti-democratic actions. Fleeing the country in 2021, he learned that he was on a list of individuals who were stripped of their citizenship and labeled as traitors. With his pension confiscated, he now relies on support from his children and stays inside, afraid to venture into the nearest city as he fears potential government reprisal. “It’s like I’m living under house arrest,” he disclosed, clutching his now obsolete Nicaraguan passport. “I’m a prisoner in my own home.”
