The Human Suffering of Statelessness

United Nations Human Rights
Office of the High Commissioner
May 6th, 2025



Thanks to the Office of the High Commissioner for inviting me to this expert workshop. Although I do not consider myself an expert, I was arbitrarily stripped of my nationality, so I think I can speak from a personal perspective that complements the views of the experts.

Nationality is what associates us with a common history, traditions, language and land. It cannot be taken away from us because it is not something we have; it is the very social essence of what we are.

Despite the multiple origins of statelessness, I will focus on the one that affected me: arbitrary deprivation of nationality based on political grounds. This action is the result of an explicit policy by the state, supposed to provide protection, to arbitrarily eliminate the link just because of mi political opposition to the regime of Daniel Ortega in Nicaragua.

Although mine is a very special case of deprivation of nationality, general conclusions can be derived from my experience as it develops identical consequences for others deprived of their nationality. The origins of the statelessness conditions may differ, but the effects are basically the same.

On February 9th, 2023, the regime of Daniel Ortega stripped me of my nationality—the very same day they banished me and 221 other political prisoners from our homeland. After spending nearly two years in prison, we were told we were “free,” yet at that moment, we were also told we were no longer Nicaraguan. This cruel paradox was the regime’s final blow: a symbolic act meant to crush our spirit, even as we stepped into physical freedom. They wanted our first breath of liberation to be laced with pain.

This was not just a political decision. It was deeply personal. The intention of the regime was for us to feel erased, cut off from our roots, our history, our identity. They wanted us to feel that a part of us was amputated that day. And the message was clear: repression in Nicaragua does not end when you walk out of a prison gate. It follows you, shadows you, and reminds you, no matter where you go, that you have been marked.

The arbitrary deprivation of my nationality was just the latest chapter in a long, brutal story of state violence. In April of 2018 the Ortega regime reformed social security and massive protests erupted through the country. Ortega responded with live ammunition, killing more than 350 people, injuring tens of thousands and imprisoning more than one thousand protesters. After participating in a failed dialogue organized by the Catholic Church with the regime in 2018, I became a target. For eight months, I lived under constant siege, illegal house arrest, and police harassment.

After I announced my intention to run for president, the regime came for me with full force. On June 8, 2021, I was arrested without a legal warrant and held incommunicado for the first 89 days. I was accused of treason and sentenced to 13 years in prison. That sentence broke my wife, my daughter, my entire family. They believed they wouldn’t see me again until 2038.

Prison was a living nightmare, and yet, when the gates opened through a negotiation with the U.S. and I thought the worst was over, the regime delivered its final punishment: I was being banished from Nicaragua and the regime declared me stateless.

By the time of my release, the regime had already violated 19 of the 30 rights guaranteed under the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. And they weren’t done. After our expulsion, all 222 of us had our homes, bank accounts, businesses, savings, and social security rights confiscated. Lifetimes of effort, entire legacies, stolen in broad daylight.

In the last two years, the Ortega regime has continued with stripping nationality. Hundreds of Nicaraguans, traveling abroad, have not been permitted to enter into the country, making them de facto stateless.

From arbitrary deprivation of nationality on political grounds derives the violations of all the fundamental rights given by citizenship, with the aggravating condition of state repression, persecution and violence. It is not a passive condition of State denial, but a consistent, deliberate action of a repressive regime to not just eliminate any kind of legal bond, but to attack and infringe the most brutal suffering to the individual. Arbitrary deprivation of nationality is used in the general context of political repression and discrimination to legally eliminate any person who politically opposes a repressive regime.

Arbitrary deprivation of nationality conveys a series of logistical, economic, social and emotional complications that extend over time and space. It is a type of crime that the victim carries wherever he or she goes.

I want to focus on a specific and deeply dehumanizing cruelty: the personal, devastating consequences of being decreed stateless.

Statelessness is not just a bureaucratic condition; it is a form of living torture. Without nationality, we are naked before the world. We have no protection, no rights. The regime has deleted us not only from the citizen registry but from our families’ lives, our marriages annulled by decree. Our children are now listed as having only one parent. Some have even had their last names erased. This is not just a legal anomaly, it is an emotional wound, fixed onto our children’s identities.

Our families’ properties, passed down for generations, were taken as if they were nothing. The loss is not just financial, it’s existential. Years of saving, building, and dreaming, gone. The homes where our children took their first steps, the farms where our parents worked the land, the businesses we poured our souls into, all stolen.

The same happened with social security. Decades of contributions erased. For many, especially the elderly, this meant losing their only income. Over 70 retired Nicaraguans were suddenly left with nothing. I have spoken to them. I have heard the despair in their voices. They feel discarded, forgotten.

Statelessness robs you of everything: your ability to travel, to study, to work. It follows you like a shadow, even in exile. No passport. No ID. No access to social services. No protection from any consulate. Nothing. You are invisible.

For young Nicaraguan students, it means losing years of education. They now face the agonizing reality of starting over, that is if they can even find a school willing to accept them without academic records.

But perhaps the most painful consequence is family separation. The psychological toll is immeasurable. Being forced to leave our families behind, has torn us apart in ways prison never could. The regime uses our children as hostages, refusing them permission to leave and reunite with us. It’s deliberate cruelty, inflicted not just on us but on the innocent. In my case however, I was fortunate to have my wife and daughter in the U.S. before my liberation, but I was the exception. I have seen the terrible pain of family separation in my cellmate Roger, who spent an additional year without seeing his two little girls and wife, until they were smuggled outside Nicaragua to Costa Rica, and from there, they were allowed to fly into the U.S. The Ortega regime threatens our families inside Nicaragua as a way of punishing us for our denounces the abuses of the dictatorship through the world.

For the 20 elderly among our group—those over 80—the slow legal processes to seek for a new nationality are a death sentence. Without urgent intervention, they may die without ever obtaining legal protection by another state.

And yet, in our darkest hour, there was light. Countries like Spain, Argentina, Brazil, Mexico, and Colombia extended a hand. Their offers of nationality were more than political gestures, they were acts of profound human solidarity. I became a Spanish citizen in February 2024. I cannot express enough gratitude to the Spanish people and government. They gave me not just a passport, but a sense of protection.

Before summarizing some recommendations, I want to tell you what it feels to be a stateless person. All the complications I enumerated causes anxiety, distress and pain. It continuously distracts your attention to solve problems that most people in the world do not experience: to have a valid ID, to demonstrate that you exist and to reassure that your identity is intact. I had never needed to say I felt Nicaraguan, as I do now.

After six years of documenting the violations of my rights, and with the help of human rights lawyers, I introduced a petition at the Interamerican Court of Human Rights, and I expect the court reach a verdict in the upcoming years. This petition makes me feel hopeful and most important, that I am using my energies in finding justice for me, my family and my fellow democracy fighters.

Finally, I would like to share some policy recommendations.

First, to raise awareness about the international legal framework prohibiting this crime. Conventions constitute obligations for signing states to respond to the situation and provide practical and coherent solutions to the problems derived from statelessness.

Second, as statelessness is often combined with refugee conditions, it is important the coordination of international agencies and Governments to identify the cases and provide logistical and legal solutions.

Third, it is important always to keep the advocacy for freedom and denunciation of violation of rights. It is necessary to illustrate the human dimension of statelessness, the suffering of the victims and their families.

Fourth, justice. Arbitrary deprivation of nationality usually comes as a result of a specific legal action, that can in turn be used as evidence of the crime committed by the repressive regime. This makes this crime easier to demonstrate than other forms of repression.

Fifth, legal support to victims. To carry these cases into the international court system, resources, both material and human are needed to bring justice and reparations to the victims.

Sixth, promote awareness and alert systems. More discussion must be around this situation. The role of universities and think tanks is fundamental in the generation of data and analysis that help to better understand the phenomenon.

Finally, recognize the risks of returning. In a context of more anti-immigrant laws and policies, governments and migration authorities in receiving countries should recognize the great danger victims or repression face in returning home, as political violence, discrimination, torture and even death can be waiting. I sincerely hope that the life-threatening nature of our situation is carefully considered by the authorities of the countries receiving them.

Statelessness is, regardless of the causes, the source of an enormous level of distress for families and victims. It is a form of torture, prolonged in space and persistent in time. It can only be solved by changing the conditions that caused it in the first place. It can be mitigated by attending the problem with practical solutions from Governments and organizations willing to end the suffering of millions around the world.

Thanks.