TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=90TT0117> <title> Jan. 15, 1990: A Guest Who Wore Out His Welcome </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990 Jan. 15, 1990 Antarctica </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> NATION, Page 26 A Guest Who Wore Out His Welcome </hdr> <body> Ordinarily Monsignor Jose Sebastian Laboa, the Vatican's Ambassador to Panama, greets visitors with a tray of coffee and cake. But when General Manuel Antonio Noriega strode into the papal embassy on Christmas Eve, such hospitality was hardly appropriate. The fugitive strongman was agitated, pacing the nunciature's marble floors like a caged tiger. The four aides who accompanied him were carrying suspicious vials of injectable liquids and an assortment of guns. Laboa demanded that Noriega relinquish the weapons. At first he refused, but then he apparently complied--although a submachine gun was later found under the bed in his room at the nunciature. Thus began an eleven-day test of wills as the Spanish-born papal nuncio used psychological pressure and logic to convince his guest that Noriega's best, indeed only, option was to give himself up. Upholding the Vatican tradition of granting sanctuary to anyone fleeing persecution, Laboa would not kick the general out. But he had no intention of allowing him to prolong his stay indefinitely. The man accustomed to lavish quarters amply stocked with alcohol and drugs was given a stark 10-ft. by 6-ft. rear room, decorated only with a crucifix. From his spartan quarters Noriega could not see the U.S. soldiers deployed outside on the Avenida Balboa; his only window was opaque. His television set did not work. There was no air conditioning. In Panama's 90 degrees heat, that hardly made for comfort. As the days dragged on, Noriega underwent abrupt mood shifts. One night he sat in the kitchen and swapped stories with Laboa while awaiting dinner. The next day he never left his room. Recalled Laboa: "He talked very little, nodded a lot. He is impenetrable." Some diplomatic observers thought Noriega was showing classic signs of drug withdrawal. But a pharmacist who examined him in the nunciature concluded that he was not an addict. "Poor Noriega," said a diplomat posted to the Vatican in Rome. "No drugs, no booze, no sex--and eating Vatican food." Though increasingly nervous, Noriega did not seem bothered by the loud rock-'n'-roll that American troops were blasting at the embassy through loudspeakers for three days. But the speakers also carried news broadcasts reporting that his troops had stopped fighting after he abandoned them, that U.S. officials were moving to freeze funds he had stashed abroad. When the Vatican protested the rock-'n'-roll offensive and the music stopped, Noriega lived in relative silence, with only a Bible to read. While Noriega waited, Secretary of State James Baker on Dec. 26 sent a letter to the Vatican arguing that Noriega was not a political refugee but a common criminal fleeing prosecution. Later he assured the Vatican that Noriega would be arrested, not killed, by U.S. forces if he left the embassy. Laboa then stepped up the pressure. He told Noriega, quietly but forcefully, that no country would give him refuge. (That was not entirely accurate; Cuba might have been willing, but Washington had told the Vatican that sending him there would be unacceptable.) The monsignor pointed out that the troops surrounding the embassy made an escape from the building impossible. Noriega was told he had only two choices: to walk out and surrender to the Americans or to let Laboa arrange for him to be delivered to the new Panamanian government. Asked Noriega: Did it really matter? At one point the general agreed to leave, then changed his mind after discussing the matter with his four fellow refugees. With him were Lieut. Colonel Nivaldo Madrinan, head of Panama's secret police; Captain Eliecer Gaitan, who led the special force charged with protecting Noriega; Belgica de Castillo, the former head of the immigration department, and her husband Carlos Castillo. Laboa at first saw the foursome as an obstacle in his psychostruggle with the general. Later he concluded that they too were pressing him to give up. As an insurance policy, the nuncio sent a written request to Major General Marc Cisneros, deputy head of the U.S. Southern Command, that American troops should storm the nunciature if its staff was threatened by Noriega and his friends. It never came to that. On Jan. 2 Noriega learned of a suggestion by Vice President Ricardo Arias Calderon that the Vatican embassy staff might temporarily leave the building, set up shop in a Roman Catholic high school across the avenue, and leave Noriega on his own. The general asked Laboa if the proposal was real. Yes, he was assured, it was. Was there a way for him to escape arrest through some diplomatic arrangement? Noriega asked. Laboa shook his head. Then, on the afternoon of Jan. 3, a huge rally organized by the Civic Crusade, an anti-Noriega group that held similar protests in 1987 and 1988, drew some 15,000 Panamanians to the Avenida Balboa. "Kill the Hitler!" some shouted. Waving white handkerchiefs, they jeered at "Pineapple Face" and raised pineapples skewered on sticks. Only barbed wire and U.S. troops separated the demonstrators from Noriega's shelter. Panamanian officials had tried to discourage the rally, fearing the crowd might try to attack the nunciature and grab Noriega--an effort that might be prevented only by U.S. gunfire. Noriega decided he did not want to surrender to his own people. Shortly after a U.S.-suggested visit from Vicky Amado, the general's 35-year-old mistress, Noriega told Laboa he would leave the embassy and give himself up to American forces. He asked permission to telephone his wife, who had sought refuge in the Cuban embassy with their three daughters and who, the U.S. had told Laboa, would be allowed to fly to exile in the Dominican Republic. Proud to the end, Noriega wanted to wear his general's uniform and surrender only to a general officer. Laboa, who had outwitted his adversary, said that would be fine. "I'm better at psychology," the nuncio summed up later. "He's more cunning than intelligent. Without his pistol, he is manageable by anyone." On the evening of Jan. 3, Noriega, described by Panama's Archbishop Marcos McGrath as "a broken man," emerged from his room in a crisp tan general's uniform with four stars. He gave Madrinan a farewell embrace; Madrinan stepped back and saluted. Noriega asked to be allowed to keep the Bible as a memento of his stay. Finally, at 8:50 p.m., accompanied by Laboa, Noriega walked out through the nunciature's front door. He stumbled twice in the darkness, but pulled himself together as he surrendered to General Cisneros. He was hustled to a Black Hawk helicopter waiting nearby and flown to Howard Air Force Base, where he was ushered into a C-130 Air Force transport and formally arrested by officials of the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration. After the plane left Panama for Florida, the once feared strongman broke into tears. By Ed Magnuson. Reported by John Moody/Panama City. </body> </article> </text>