A Nicaraguan priest recounts his exile after persecution, detailing repression, escape, and rebuilding his ministry in the United States.
Newsroom (14/05/2026 Gaudium Press ) A Catholic priest forced to flee Nicaragua amid escalating repression by the country’s government has rebuilt his life and ministry in the United States, after what he describes as a “long and painful journey” marked by fear, loss, and resilience.
Speaking anonymously to protect his family and colleagues still in Nicaragua, the priest recounted how his ordeal began in the aftermath of the 2018 protests against President Daniel Ortega’s government. During those demonstrations—largely driven by young people—he publicly supported protesters and provided assistance to victims of violent police crackdowns.
“It was time to support the boys,” he said, explaining that his parish became a space where young people could gather and organize. At the same time, he aided those injured during clashes with police and accompanied families grieving the loss of loved ones. According to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, more than 350 people were killed during the government’s repression of the protests.
From that moment, he became a target.
A Climate of Fear and Surveillance
After briefly leaving Nicaragua, the priest returned in 2022, only to find conditions had worsened. His sermons, in which he criticized the government and denounced human rights abuses, drew increasing scrutiny.
“There is no respect for the human person,” he said, describing the ideology of Sandinismo as one rooted in Marxist principles that, in his view, lacks a moral framework and suppresses the spiritual dimension of life.
Soon, he noticed unfamiliar individuals attending Mass and recording his homilies. Others offered to volunteer in the parish but appeared more interested in monitoring who entered and what activities took place.
“They were government cronies,” he said. “Their eyes and ears in the neighborhoods.”
This pervasive surveillance extended beyond the church. Police regularly stopped him while driving, interrogating him and accusing him of being a political agitator. The pressure was constant and exhausting.
“The congregation in Nicaragua is divided,” he explained. “You don’t know who’s who.”
Threats Escalate
The situation reached a breaking point when unidentified individuals scaled the walls of his parish residence one day while his mother was inside. Though he was not present, the incident sent a clear message.
“That’s when we realized we had no security,” he said.
Warnings followed from people connected to the government, who told him that priests viewed as problematic were being tracked. Even within the confidentiality of confession, parishioners expressed fear—some admitting they were forced by their government jobs to inform on others.
“They were suffering terribly,” he said. “And they told me, ‘Father, you have to leave the country as soon as possible. You are at risk.’”
A Dangerous Escape
In mid-2023, he made the decision to flee—one he describes as the hardest of his life. Telling only his mother, he left with a backpack containing a few belongings, including a cherished image of the Virgin Mary.
Accompanied by a former police officer who had broken with the government, he made his way toward Costa Rica. The journey involved crossing through a “blind spot,” an informal and dangerous border route used to evade immigration controls.
What he encountered there shocked him.
“It was terrible,” he recalled. “There are places of prostitution, of drugs… dark, filthy corridors where human trafficking happens. I had never seen anything like it.”
After several days, he reached Costa Rica, where he was taken in by religious sisters and fellow priests.
Descent into Depression
Safety did not bring immediate relief. Instead, the emotional toll of exile set in.
“I truly sank into a deep depression,” he said. “It’s not easy to sever ties with everything—your Church, your brother priests, your family. I felt like I was dying.”
In Costa Rica, he was able to carry out some aspects of his ministry, but the experience felt incomplete. He described the period as one of profound confusion and inner collapse—but also, ultimately, of healing.
“It was a kind of personal retreat,” he said, “an inner restoration.”
A New Beginning in the United States
In 2024, the priest arrived in the United States with uncertainty but a renewed desire to serve. He was welcomed into a diocese where the local bishop allowed him to continue his pastoral work.
The community embraced him, even organizing housing where he could live independently and establish a small chapel.
“They’ve shown me great affection,” he said.
Today, he continues his ministry, offering spiritual guidance while also studying and adapting to a new culture. The transition has not been easy.
“We have to battle with a thousand things—the language, the culture, the cost of living,” he said, noting that his experience mirrors that of many Nicaraguans living abroad.
Faith Amid Exile
Despite the suffering he carries, the priest remains hopeful.
“Our hope is Jesus Christ,” he said, drawing parallels between his experience and the persecution faced by early Christians. “I identify with those who had to migrate while carrying the Gospel.”
Though far from home, he remains committed to his vocation.
“We are priests for the Church,” he said. “Even if we are not in Nicaragua, we must continue to serve. Other churches are benefiting from our suffering.”
Still, the wounds of exile remain.
“It’s a pain that takes time to heal,” he reflected. “Those of us outside and those inside the country—we are all suffering. There is pain on both sides.”
For now, he continues forward, guided by faith, rebuilding a life that was forced into exile but not abandoned.
- Raju Hasmukh with files from ACI Prensa
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