The Lost Paradise of Panamá

October 3 is the 20th anniversary of the attempted coup d’etat against the commander of the Panama Defense Force (PDF), General Manuel Antonio Noriega.

It wasn’t the first time, but it’d be the last. Only a US led invasion would remove the Mouse that Roared. He’d later surrender to Gen. Wayne A. Downing, (affectionately known as WAD by his fellow soldiers) outside of the Papal Nuncio in January, 1990. It was strange watching these events unfold on TV, outside the gates of a place I used to run by when I lived in PC. Little Tony had only recently become Panama’s “Maximum Leader” or Head of State. He mistakenly believed it would insulate him from being forcibly removed.

I reminisced a little. Years before, Panama Defense Force officers used to send their troops to train with us. They’d show up in our AO (area of operation), with a light rucksack, and one canteen of water. There’s no way, not even for an acclimatized Panamanian, that you can survive on one canteen of water a day. They knew it–and we knew it. Behind the backs of their officers, we’d get them the gear and water they needed, jump into the Rio Hato area, and be out in the boonies for the next week or two. Even then, Major Noriega was well-known for his pock-marked face. With his illicit money, he went to Europe to have it fixed, but to no avail. For anyone that has ever cut the rough skin off of a pineapple, you know that pock marks are left. And so it was that Noriega’s hated moniker became, Cara de Piña, or Pineapple Face.

On the morning of October 3, Little Tony was taken prisoner at the Comandancia by his Special Forces commander, Major Giroldi. Not all gangsters are stupid, and Noriega didn’t rise to the top of Panama’s intelligence community, or work for the CIA, without picking up a few tricks. Coups were nothing new. In 1969, he was a young officer stationed near the border town of David when Gen. Omar Torrijos flew in from Mexico, to retake Panama after a coup attempt. It was Torrijos who had only the year before staged a successful coup against Arnulfo Arias. (Arias’ wife later became Panama’s first female president, and Torrijos’ son Martin, was elected president after her).

In 1983 Noriega successfully duped the commander of the PDF, Gen. Paredes, to resign and run for president. The PDF would support him and that automatically meant a victory. Noriega became the new CO and he changed his mind.

A few years later, Presidente Eric DelValle, in a pre-recorded message to the nation (he was already in hiding), fired Noriega. In March of 1988, Noriega’s Chief of Police attempted a coup. When gunshots were reported, Noriega went in front of a camera and said, “Kisses, he was throwing kisses.”

After being taken prisoner on October 3, Gen. Noriega was allowed to make phone calls. This set in motion a series of events that by day’s end would find him a free man, the US with a black eye, and the stage set for a full-fledged invasion. Little Tony called one of his mistresses, and she called Battalion 2000, a PDF unit loyal to Noriega. Meanwhile, the new commander of the US Southern Command, Gen. Max Thurman, related the events to his boss, Gen. Colin Powell.

Battalion 2000 came to the rescue and in the ensuing battle, which you could see from the Southern Command atop Quarry Heights, they prevailed. A relative of ours was working as a nurse at Santo Tomas hospital. She said for days on end, members of the PDF kept arriving, and every one of them was dead. That sent up a flag. It seemed to mean only one thing. The PDF was being purged.

There were many events that led up to the coup of October 3. Numerous demonstrations and gunfights. In the middle of all this turmoil, I saw one of the funniest things I can remember. It was 1987, amist the daily rioting, in which the PDF were quickly called in using tear gas assaults. It was ironic that I may have trained some of these very troops in years past. On this day, the unions came out to support Noriega. If they wanted a job, they needed to show up. Free food and beer helps, too.

I was watching from a balcony on Via España about seven floors up. Car after car of pro-Noriega supporters came by, surrounded by a gauntlet of anti-Noriega protesters on the sidewalks and balconies, wearing white, and beating pots and pans. The noise was deafening. It was late afternoon, and the sun was setting. Long shadows crossed the road, and I thought that once it grew dark there’d be blood. I remember looking down at the pro-Noriega supporters and there seemed to be a lot of women. And the more I looked, the most vocal, riding in the back of convertibles, were women. Men were there, but they were just going along for the ride. One woman in particular was more vocal than the rest. She had a voice like a bullhorn, and she screamed above the noise. And then suddenly… she stopped. She stopped and she started laughing. I followed her eyes, as did the crowd.

Adjacent to my balcony was another building. That building had a balcony at about the same level. From the shadows of that balcony protruded a long wooden pole, probably a broom or mop stick. At the end of the pole was tied a very common fruit. A pineapple. It was swinging to and fro, controlled by some unknown person behind a thin curtain. Maybe a man. Maybe a woman. A maid. A child. I don’t know. And sticking out of that pineapple was a knife. The wooden handle was clearly visible.

So it was that the most vocal of the General’s supporters stopped her banshee wailing as she stared down the myriad of balcony residents, who banged pots and screamed back. She not only stopped, but she smiled, and then she laughed. She laughed like a Panamanian, the kind of laugh you’re accustomed to. And then, just as quickly, she covered her mouth–but it was too late. It was evident to me and everyone watching that a “moment” had just occurred. This fervent supporter just showed her true colors, and it wasn’t for Uncle Tony.

That pineapple tied to a wooden stick with a knife stuck in it swinging seven stories above a violent crowd caused it to pause… and then, as people at ground level who were looking around and wondering what was going on, slowly began to look up, they started cheering.

There were no more demonstrations that night. A very intense situation was defused by some wily Panamanian, who, by their on-the-spot ingenuity, helped to change the pulse of a nation.

Unfortunately, days later, that building was targeted. I witnessed from the same balcony PDF troops wearing DOBERMAN patches chasing people into the parking lot, and I heard the loud echoes that only gunshots in the confines of tall buildings can make.

Every revolution has its moment, its point of no return. That moment is based on a series of other things that most people never hear about. In Panama, on this day, when even the most ardent supporter of the dictator stopped in mid-sentence of her denunciations, and paused to laugh at a swinging pineapple with a knife stabbed in it, a small butterfly landed in the anti-Noriega camp and the weight of critical mass shifted.