Pardon as a king-maker by Mia Rodríguez

When Juan Orlando Hernández walked out of that West Virginia prison, a man once branded as the architect of a narco-state, it wasn’t just the closing of a sentence, it was the opening of a new chapter of interference in the politics of his homeland. The timing of his pardon, just days before the Honduran election, was too convenient to be accidental. And the reverberations aren’t just moral or legal: they’re deeply political and deeply destabilizing for the democratic future of Honduras.

Hernández’s conviction in March 2024 was seismic: found guilty of conspiring to import hundreds of tons of cocaine into the United States, and of orchestrating a web of corruption that turned Honduras into cartel ground zero. The 45-year sentence was meant to stand as a warning, a signal that even kings can be shackled when they traffic in human misery for protection and profit. Instead, the pardon erased that warning. With one stroke, the message became: power, even tainted, still commands protection.

And the beneficiary of that protection? Nasry Asfura, a candidate of Hernández’s own party, the right-wing National Party. Asfura, once a two-term mayor of the capital and latterly an underdog candidate, suddenly found himself buoyed by U.S. endorsement and the resurrection of his political Godfather.

From a moral standpoint, this is corruption writ large: a former president convicted of blood-money crimes is now freed to enjoy the benefits he once wielded. But from a strategic, diplomatic viewpoint, the move is even more alarming. The pardon and the accompanying endorsement weren’t signals of absolution, but of leverage. With Honduras’s economy deeply tied to U.S. aid, and remittances making up a large chunk of GDP, the promise of favor from Washington becomes a powerful tool.

Asfura’s early lead, by mere hundreds of votes, now looks less like a fluke and more like the product of a carefully orchestrated foreign intervention. If the pardon had come after the vote, it might have been dismissed by some as irrelevant. But delivered in the final hours of the campaign, it had the force of a political accelerator and it may already have changed the outcome.

For many Hondurans, the pardon is a betrayal. It is a message that criminality pays, that foreign powers will bail out their favored scoundrels and that justice, can be overridden by geopolitics. For others likely enough to sway the vote, it is a sign of protection and promise: under Asfura, they hope, stability, U.S. money and remittances to communities will continue.

The cost, however, is immense. Democracy is not just about ballots cast; it’s about legitimacy, rule of law, and the sense that the people’s will is sovereign, not foreign dictation. With this pardon, the sovereignty of Honduras has been compromised, its elections rendered suspect, and its future potentially hostage to the whims of foreign power brokers.

Moreover, this pardon highlights a double standard: while the U.S. continues to prosecute lower-level traffickers and launch anti-drug operations in Latin America, it now shields one of the most notorious kingpins in the region, simply because he serves U.S. geopolitical aims. Hypocrisy has rarely looked so brazen, or so destructive.

In years to come, historians may ask: did this pardon mark the moment when Honduras traded its fragile democracy for foreign-backed oligarchy? Did it plant the seed of cynicism so deep that no future election could ever feel free or fair again? Because what we are witnessing is not just a return of a man, it is the return of an entire political ecosystem built on impunity, drug money, and foreign influence.

For Honduras, the question is no longer just who wins this election, it is what kind of country they will live in afterward. Will rights, justice, and real representation matter? Or will the next government be just another puppet dancing to outside strings?

And for the rest of the world watching: if pardons become tools of election meddling, if former narco-leaders remerge as kingmakers, then the war on narco-corruption becomes not just hollow, it becomes a farce.


No comments:

The camp that became a country by Marja Heikkinen

There is a soft, persistent hum inside the Rohingya refugee camps of Cox’s Bazar, a sound stitched together from monsoon winds, human breat...