Steering a Middle Course

The new regime guides a merciful, but moneyless, revolution

"This is a polite revolution" With those words Sergio Ramirez Mercado, soft-spoken leader of Nicaragua's revolutionary junta, summed up all the changes in his nation since the overthrow of Dictator Anastasio ("Tacho") Somoza Debayle five weeks ago. Polite has meant, above all, merciful. After 46 years of stifling one-man rule, the pervading atmosphere of fear is gone. There has been no reprisal by the victors; not a single member of Somoza's national guard has been executed, though its members killed thousands during the revolt. Despite predictions to the contrary, the unity of diverse political groups who joined together to topple Somoza has not collapsed. Instead, Nicaraguans of differing ideologies seem to be luxuriating in the unaccustomed privilege of political freedom.

No sooner did the junta feel secure enough in victory to lift a 7 p.m. curfew than Managua burst into noisy life. Roadblocks at major intersections came down, and the streets filled with honking traffic. Restaurants and theaters showing old American films like Mandingo began to attract crowds. Radio Sandino, voice of the Sandinista National Liberation Front (F.S.L.N.), adjusted to the brand new beat: to its broadcasts of revolutionary anthems it added disco hits by the Bee Gees.

Meanwhile, the Government of National Reconstruction was issuing many welcome decrees. First came an end of censorship, permitting long-silenced newspapers like the stridently anti-Somoza La Prensa to start up their presses. Homes, cars and other property that guerrillas had confiscated during their battle with Tacho's national guard were ordered returned to the rightful owners, though some of the Sandinistas were reluctant to give up their "liberated" booty. Last week a 52-article provisional constitution was announced, containing guarantees of equal justice under law, the abolition of torture and capital punishment, and the right to free expression. Of the 3,000 guardsmen and Somoza thugs that the junta had held in custody while determining if they had committed atrocities in the despot's name, more than 1,000 have been cleared and allowed either to go home if they wished or enlist in the revolutionary army.

Since the majority of Somoza's ministers fled into exile with the departed dictator, the junta has resorted to unusual tactics to recruit civil servants. "I called every friend in my telephone book until I had a staff," one harried official told TIME Correspondent Roberto Suro. To ensure that the bureaucracy does not fall back into the predatory pattern of the past, the junta enacted a tough anticorruption law that provides hefty fines for malfeasance. Says Ramirez: "A government official today can stick his foot in his mouth, but not his hand in the cookie jar."

Until elections can be held, at least two years from now, local governments are being literally hailed into office. In Matagalpa, for example, five candidates selected by the F.S.L.N. lined up on the steps of a church. "Do you approve of these men as your representatives?" bellowed a Sandinista commander dressed in combat fatigues to the thousands assembled in the plaza below. "If you give them your vote, raise your hands." After an almost unanimous show of hands, the five were sworn in as the city's Municipal Reconstruction Junta, "in the name of the heroes and martyrs fallen in the fight for the liberty of Nicaragua."

Though it is the only organized armed force in the country and by far the dominant political faction, the F.S.L.N. has refrained from stacking the new government with its own adherents. From the junta down, each body has included not only leftists but also representatives of such moderate groups as Ramirez's Broad Opposition Front and the probusiness Superior Council for Private Enterprise. The unlikely coalition of moderates and leftists could well split if businessmen grow disenchanted with the socialist policies advocated by the Sandinistas. Surprisingly, the first serious threat came from the extreme left. Dissatisfied with the government's plans for building a mixed economy melding public and private enterprise, 60 Latin-American Trotskyites, calling themselves the Simon Bolivar Brigade, incited a demonstration by 3,000 Managua factory workers demanding compensation for wages lost during the revolution. The revolutionary government reacted by ordering its armed forces to put the Trotskyites on a plane to Panama.

The junta has clung to its program of middle-of-the-road socialism not only to reassure jittery businessmen, but also to assuage potential sources of foreign aid, who are concerned about the new regime's leftist cast. Nicaragua's leaders know that they need help to recover from the Somoza dynasty's 46 years of brutality and neglect. More than 45% of Nicaragua's people are illiterate. At least 500,000 persons driven from their homes by Somoza's fierce counterattack must be resettled. Food is in such short supply that long lines form wherever beans, rice and other staples are distributed. So many factories and shops were destroyed in the fight against Somoza that half of the labor force has been unable to return to work.

In a final act of piracy, Somoza and his men looted $500 million from the country's banks, leaving Nicaragua with only $3.5 million in reserves and more than $600 million in foreign debts to be paid by the end of the year. To help fill the gap and to finance a five-year $2.5 billion reconstruction program, the Inter-American Development Bank pledged loans of $170 million, and the central banks of several Latin American nations chipped in an additional $50 million. But, concedes Junta Member Alfonso Robelo Callejas, a businessman: "I see the U.S. as probably our biggest source of aid." Washington, which has already provided $7 million, seems ready to come up with more, hoping that by generously assisting Nicaragua, it can not only prevent the new regime from falling into the embrace of Fidel Castro, but also foster a new partnership with democratic regimes throughout the region. The junta plans to send representatives to the U.S. in September to press its bid for economic aid as well as arms to ward off a counteroffensive that Somoza has threatened to mount. But the junta is also courting Castro. Two weeks ago, Interior Minister Tomas Borge, a Marxist who is emerging as perhaps the most powerful figure in the government, slipped into Havana. His purpose: to invite the Cuban leader to pay an official visit to Managua some time this fall.

The ousted Somoza, meanwhile, has been trying to find a place to settle down. Expelled from the Bahamas more than three weeks ago, warned by the U.S. that he could not organize a counterattack from his million-dollar mansion in Miami Beach, Somoza last week turned up in Paraguay, where he was effusively welcomed by Strongman Alfredo Stroessner. In the past, Paraguay has provided hospitality to such celebrated exiles as Argentina's late dictator Juan Peron and Nazi Death Doctor Josef Mengele. At last, it seemed, Tacho had found a place where he could feel at home.

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