I had heard that the Sandinista Revolution was trying to do something about machismo.

President Daniel Ortega is quoted, in an interview in Playboy magazine, as saying that he is aware of machismo in himself and is trying to overcome it.

The fact that machismo is even up for discussion in Nicaragua represents a radical challenge to this ingrained Latin way of being.

In Mexico, men are proud of their machismo.

I was dismayed as I learned about the extent of machismo’s hold over the lives of women. Once a woman is married (or equivalent), if her husband does not want her to see her friends or pursue her career, she doesn’t.

I heard one woman’s story of how her jealous husband insisted she remove her IUD before he went off to military service so she would be safely pregnant and not “running around” while he was away.

An American woman working here recounted how her Nicaraguan boyfriend broke off with her when he saw a visiting American friend (male) kiss her on the cheek in greeting. He still pines for her but won’t go back.

Earlier in the relationship, she returned from a weekend trip to his quizzing: “Where were you?”

“In Matagalpa to visit ….”

“Who gave you permission to go?”

“I don’t need permission from anyone.”

“…No, I guess you don’t,” he said quietly.

How can women participate fully in rebuilding their society if their everyday interactions with other men cause their husbands and lovers to feel incurably threatened and hurt?

Yet there are nice surprises.

My American friend arrived at her new job in charge of pastures for five cattle-raising state-owned farms near Matagalpa, to be taken totally seriously in a way she would not have expected in the U.S. Fifteen months later, she is still treated with complete respect by her coworkers, from the cowboys to the director.

Of course that is the way it should be. But I too have been surprised by the respect and seriousness with which I have been treated here on occasions in which I would have expected patronizing attitudes or come-ons, whether in Canada or elsewhere.

It’s subtle. Often it happens with soldiers or others who have extended contact with Sandinista ideology. My friend has effectively shamed soldiers who catcalled her in the street with, in her fluent Nica slang (roughly translated):

“What did we have a f—ing revolution for, if women have to keep putting up with this bullshit? And you call yourselves Sandinista soldiers?”

Some women are fighting for their right to participate. As my father and I were walking into the Casa Blanca Cooperative, we met a woman returning home with a machete over her shoulder.

“Why did you come here?” I asked, expecting to hear a story of contra attacks on her former home.

She replied, “Where I used to live, the women didn’t work. Here we have a group of women who work in the fields.” These women are full members of the coop.

Later I asked some of the Casa Blanca women if the men helped with housework (they didn’t), and if it were fair that women have double work, and shouldn’t their work in the home be recognized by the co-operative as productive work?

They didn’t connect with this last point at all.

“Women are fighting for the right to work in the fields, in the factories, and in the armed struggle,” they answered.

Given the macho society they are trying to transform, it’s a lofty goal. This is their struggle.