With Old Escape Routes Gone, Dictators Hang On
In the past, embattled strongmen would flee to comfortable exiles, but
a global crackdown on past crimes now makes it harder for them to
surrender power
By José de Córdoba, Aug. 3, 2018, Wall St. Journal

Decades ago, Latin American dictators losing their grip on power had a
reliable exit strategy: exile in some hospitable foreign locale.

In 1958, the Venezuelan strongman Marcos Pérez Jiménez fled from a
military coup and civilian general strike after eight years in power.
He flew first to the Dominican Republic and then to Miami, where he
spent five years before his successors managed to extradite him. Even
then, after serving five years in prison, he lived out the rest of his
life comfortably in Spain.

In 1979, Nicaragua’s ruler Anastasio Somoza also found temporary
refuge in Miami, fleeing the Sandinista guerrillas who overthrew his
government and taking much of the country’s national treasure with
him. When he had overstayed his welcome in the U.S, he moved on to
Paraguay, hosted by his fellow dictator, Gen. Alfredo Stroessner.

For the beleaguered strongmen who now rule these countries, however,
such escapes are hard to imagine. President Nicolás Maduro of
Venezuela and President Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua both face restive
populations and opposition forces determined to drive them from power.
But going abroad will not help them to escape accountability for their
years in office. Since the days of Pérez Jiménez and Somoza, the
international community has established far-reaching mechanisms for
adjudicating human-rights abuses and tracking the ill-gotten gains of
corruption. Former dictators can no longer expect to find refuge
abroad, which makes them even more unlikely to surrender power.

“It’s a conundrum,” says Elliott Abrams, who was the State
Department’s top diplomat for Latin America during the Reagan
administration, when the U.S. assisted in arranging exits for Haiti’s
Jean Claude Duvalier, who lived for years in a French chteau, and for
the Philippines’ Ferdinand Marcos, who ended his days in Hawaii. “We
were able to say, if you leave you will be OK, but if you stay who
knows what will happen to you. Now, you don’t have that option.”

The options for former dictators began to narrow in 1998, when the
Spanish judge Baltasar Garzón caused shock waves by issuing an
international arrest warrant for former Chilean strongman Gen. Augusto
Pinochet, who was then visiting London, for human-rights violations
against Spanish nationals. British police detained Mr. Pinochet for 18
months before releasing him because of his failing health. He returned
to Chile, where he was eventually placed under house arrest as he
faced multiple criminal charges, from kidnapping and murder to
embezzlement and tax fraud.

Then, in 2002, the International Criminal Court at The Hague began to
prosecute crimes against humanity. The ICC has since indicted 41
warlords, presidents and officials, though only four have been
incarcerated. All of those indicted so far are from African countries,
but the court recently opened a preliminary investigation of the
Maduro government. Venezuela is one of 123 countries that have agreed
to be subject to the court’s jurisdiction. In Managua, the idea of ICC
charges against Mr. Ortega has been discussed by regional politicians,
but Nicaragua isn’t a signatory.

“Third World dictators always knew in the past that they would end up
their days in Europe,” says Moisès Naím, a distinguished fellow at the
Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. “But now instead of having
a house on the Costa Azul, they might end up in The Hague in the
International Criminal Court.” That’s appropriate from a moral point
of view, says Mr. Naim, but from a practical point of view, what he
calls the “cornered rat” syndrome—when an embattled tyrant has nowhere
to go—makes political transitions more difficult. Further complicating
matters for current and former dictators is the willingness of judges
in a number of countries, following the precedent set by Spain’s Judge
Garzón, to claim jurisdiction to prosecute human-rights violations.

Newly vigorous international cooperation to verify dodgy finances is
another obstacle for dictators who may want to strike a deal and leave
power with their fortunes intact. A web of international treaties
allows for information exchanges and legal cooperation in clawing back
looted riches, says Diego Garcia Sayán, a former president of the
Organization of American States’ human-rights court.

In the past, Panama was often a haven for toppled strongmen and
compromised politicians of all stripes. Prompted by the U.S., the
country gave refuge to members of Haiti’s military junta, including
Gen. Raoul Cédras, an avid snorkeler. Ecuador’s impeached president
Abdalá “El Loco” Bucaram, wanted in his own country for looting the
treasury, spent much of his time in exile in the casinos of Panama
City. The toppled Shah of Iran spent some time on the Panamanian
island of Contadora before moving on to Egypt. But Panama took down
the welcome sign a decade ago, as President Martín Torrijos was
pushing to expand the Panama Canal and wanted no potential
complications from hosting controversial foreign leaders, says former
U.S. ambassador John Feeley.

Striking a balance between justice for victims and getting a political
deal to facilitate a transition from dictatorship to democracy is
difficult. But it would be a mistake to sacrifice human rights for
expediency, says José Miguel Vivanco, the director for the Americas of
Human Rights Watch. “You don’t deter future abuses if you promise
immunity for present abuses,” he says.

For now, that leaves Latin America’s most troubled countries in a
bind, as their rulers cling to power. In April, much of Nicaragua
rebelled against Mr. Ortega after he imposed a tax hike to fund a
penniless state pension system. Mr. Ortega violently crushed initial
protests, causing a nationwide backlash against his regime. So far,
more than 300 people have been killed.

Mr. Ortega has regained control of swaths of Nicaragua that were for a
time in the hands of protesters. Last month, his forces knocked down
the last few barricades that protected rebel bastions in the country
and fired on a Catholic church, killing two people, and on the
national university in Managua, where the revolts started.

In Venezuela, the economic schemes of Mr. Maduro have produced
extraordinary hyperinflation, pushing the once oil-rich nation into
famine. About 170 people have died in street protests since 2014, with
more than 1.2 million Venezuelans emigrating in that period to escape
the country’s great unraveling. Meanwhile, Mr. Maduro and many of his
ruling elite are being investigated or have been sanctioned by the
U.S. and other countries for alleged crimes, ranging from drug
trafficking to embezzlement.

For ex-dictators of the past, an initial escape did not always result
in a comfortable retirement abroad. In 1980, a year after fleeing
Nicaragua, Anastasio Somoza was tracked down by his enemies and
assassinated in his Paraguayan refuge.

But Mr. Ortega and Mr. Maduro have far fewer options than their
ignominious predecessors. Within Latin America, their only likely
haven is Cuba, which has supported both ostensibly socialist regimes.
In crumbling Havana, they could hope to avoid the prying of an
independent press and the reach of human-rights prosecutors and
judges. “Only Cuba would be safe for them,” says Mr. Vivanco.