Photograph and caption courtesy of Don Maclay Visit his site The Death of Ben Linder

Destroyed Co-op A militiaman silhouetted in the ruins of Miraflores potato cooperative. The coop, east of Esteli, was attacked by the Contras in 1986. Eight farmers were killed and 17 were wounded.

About living during the war
...The longer I lived in the war zones the more I got to know the military capabilities of both the contra and the army. The more I knew the more I became afraid for my life. I saw many others loose theirs. I had seen attacks where the army did not respond because it was drunk and asleep. I had walked into camps with no-one on guard, everyone asleep. I had met officers who did not know the area and could not read a topographical map. I repaired their weapons in our shop and I knew what kind of shape they were in. I had seen local officers turn out to be contras. I had seen drunk troops blasting their weapons in the night and the troops sent to stop them just join into the drinking. I had been in battles that went on for hours with no-one ever shooting at a real target, just blasting away. I had seen officers walk straight into assignations and ambushes. And of course I had seen a few officers who never left the office in their clean polished shoes to go out into a war being fought in tropical mud. The one Ben found at that road block was one of those… As the head of the electric company it was an easy guess to think that someone in the contra might try to kill me. We had one of the 7 vehicles that lived in the area, and given its condition, everyone knew who we were a long way away.

...I rarely put my guys in danger. When I did so I took all the precautions. I treated every day like there was a war going on, because there was. When we arrived it was without phoning ahead. We arrived from one direction and often left in another. When we came back we did not follow the same routes we did the first time. When we could not follow a convoy of mobile troops. (my favourite) Our cars were spaced out on the road. When walking outside of defense perimeters people were spaced out so that we presented no easy target. I wore the same cloths as everyone else, my distinctive hat was discarded on the road. I got to know the officers I could trust and depend on and I learned to hear the indirect warnings that Contra sympathizers who liked me would give. Sometimes I assigned work so that one of our guys with military experience could be there to keep some of our outsiders from getting themselves killed. At one point someone said that I would make a good officer if I ever left the Militia and joined the regulars. She was not sure if that was a character compliment or not...
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Photograph and caption courtesy of Don Maclay Visit his site The Death of Ben Linder

"Any House"

About living conditions
...Poverty sure defined everything we did there. Our project worked with scant resources, and we had more than many. The only thing I felt like doing when I got into town was eating. Our area had one flush toilet for 33 thousand people. When I stopped bathing in the river I stopped getting sick. I saw more funerals for children who died of disease than for war victims. That was partly because the guy who made the little coffins lived across the road from me. Our project took place where water, latrines and vaccinations were an urgent matter. We had malaria and hepatitis and I caught both before the first year was over. Most of my clients and most people in the area lived in substandard housing, mostly shacks, converted buildings and refugee housing.

The people who worked for the project were really at the margin. George and Sarah were paid close to nothing. He and I would take stuff into town to sell, that paid for some of out trips. Almost everyone I worked with there had next to nothing. Most had a roof over their heads. About a quarter had no walls.

After I left Nicaragua it took quite a while to get used to so much wealth.. Using a paper towel to clean a table seemed like a waste of paper to me.

Once during that period I went to see some Canadians who had come in a delegation to Managua. I joined them for dinner at a banquet type table. I came towards the end. There were several dinners in front of the empty chairs. I sat at one and stuffed myself. Chicken and Rice. A member of the delegation is a close friend of mine and told them where I lived. They asked me all kinds of questions about what life is like there in the countryside. I answered with my mouth full. When no-one came to take the other unclaimed meals, I asked the staff if I could help myself to another one. Then another after that.
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Photograph and caption courtesy of Don Maclay Visit his site The Death of Ben Linder

Photograph of Don Maclay taken in 1989.

About being armed
Ten years later, during my senior year at college I was in the Student Union Building making some photocopies. I was sitting down at a long table to straighten out my things when a conversation between two students and a left wing teacher caught my ear. They were talking about giving weapons to the people and what it meant. Forgetting all about my photocopies I listened raptly to their teacher describe in theory what I had lived through as national policy. If the people have the guns, then they do not fear their government. They mentioned the coup in Chile and places like, and including Nicaragua. About Nicaragua the teacher added that having the people armed helped to defend the country as well, that is why they gave rifles to the people. Not wanting to appear to strange, or disrupt their talk, I did not invite myself into their conversation, but I sure wanted to. I really had nothing of substance to add. I had nothing to say, but had everything to say at the same time. When they talked about rifles, I felt like letting them know that in modern warfare you also need rocket propelled grenades and antiaircraft missiles. Those details did not matter much at a lunch counter in a university, but they were very important when combat helicopters are flying overhead. By and large I agreed with what the teacher had to say, but it just all sounded so abstract and analytical and in real contrast with my feelings about it at the other end of their table pretending to be looking at my books and trying not to be noticed eavesdropping. For me it did not feel theoretical, it felt like my past. I was not remembering the day our electric company jeep was parked in the base to load up on guns in particular. My mind was reviewing the whole thing. I still think the Sandinistas did well to hand out guns, and my friends and I did right by taking them.
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