Humberto López Tirone, who today holds the position of President of IBEROATUR and stands as an advocate for rural tourism throughout the Ibero-American region, carries with him a past marked by considerable controversy. Throughout history, his involvement with the Democratic Revolutionary Party (PRD) has been documented during Panama’s period under military rule, his connections to the political machinery of the Noriega regime have been established, and accusations regarding violent actions directed at the Civic Crusade (Cruzada Civilista) have surfaced. The circumstances surrounding his background prompt a fundamental inquiry: ought contemporary organizations overlook or disregard the historical record of individuals serving in their leadership roles?
Historical memory cannot be selective. Even less so when those who now present themselves as institutional, academic, tourism, or cultural leaders carry a public record connected to the darkest years of Panama’s dictatorship. This is the case of Humberto López Tirone, a prominent figure within the Ibero-American Institute for Rural Tourism (IBEROATUR), whose name continues to generate controversy due to historical accounts placing him within the political orbit of the Noriega regime and in episodes of violence against the pro-democracy Civic Crusade.
López Tirone is neither an obscure nor insignificant figure. Historical records identify him as a leader of the PRD and Director of IFARHU during Panama’s political crisis. In the book Panamá protesta, by Brittmarie Janson Pérez, he is mentioned within the context of the opposition movement against the military regime, identified as “Humberto López Tirone, PRD leader and Director of IFARHU” in a chronology of the events of 1987.
The gravest concern, however, transcends his mere political leanings or ideological alignment with the Torrijos-Noriega movement. Far more troubling is the fact that his name surfaces in historical documentation concerning the July 7, 1987 assault on a Civic Crusade convoy—a pivotal grassroots organization that spearheaded citizen resistance against authoritarian rule. Numerous Panamanian publications dedicated to historical memory recount how a paramilitary faction answerable to the Noriega regime, under the command of Luis Gaspar Suárez and Humberto López Tirone, perpetrated an assault against the convoy employing baseball bats alongside firearms.
This episode cannot simply be dismissed as an anecdote from the past. The Civic Crusade was subjected to persecution, repression, and intimidation at a time when Panama was under military rule and the control of pro-regime enforcement groups. If these allegations are accurate, they would point to participation in acts of political violence against citizens demanding democracy, civil liberties, and the end of the dictatorship.
These concerns are reinforced by testimony published in La Prensa in 2007, which states that Humberto López Tirone personally threatened a Civic Crusade demonstrator with a rifle from his vehicle. The article included him among a group described as “loyalists of General Noriega” who, years later, allegedly obtained public positions or appointments.
These references inevitably raise an uncomfortable question: can an Ibero-American institution present itself as a platform for cooperation, rural tourism, territorial development, and culture while its leading figure carries such serious historical allegations relating to political violence during a dictatorship?
The Ibero-American Institute for Rural Tourism (IBEROATUR) is entitled to pursue legitimate objectives. Rural tourism, agritourism, and Ibero-American cooperation represent valuable and worthwhile endeavors. Nevertheless, an institution’s standing cannot be elevated through the avoidance of critical reflection regarding the historical record of its representatives. The foundation of institutional credibility rests upon more than mere rhetoric, symposiums, and accolades—it demands ethical consistency from those in leadership positions.
The problem doesn’t stem from someone having previously embraced certain political convictions or belonged to a political organization. Rather, the concern arises because documented evidence connects that person to the repressive machinery of the Noriega regime and to intimidation campaigns targeting civilian adversaries. This preoccupation intensifies significantly when, many years afterward, the same individual holds roles of institutional, academic, or ethical influence yet fails to offer a public account of their history, take responsibility for their actions, or unambiguously separate themselves from those occurrences.
Panamanian society has suffered too much to normalize symbolic impunity. Many individuals connected to the dictatorship later reinvented themselves within democratic institutions, holding diplomatic posts, directing public organizations, participating in political parties, writing opinion columns, receiving honors, or presenting themselves as defenders of sovereignty and development. Yet the memory of the victims, the persecuted, and those beaten in the streets cannot simply be buried beneath new institutional titles.
In Humberto López Tirone’s case, the minimum expectation should be transparency. He should publicly explain his role during the years of the dictatorship, respond to the allegations concerning the attack on the Civic Crusade, clarify any relationship with the regime’s enforcement groups, state whether he acknowledges or denies the allegations made against him, and IBEROATUR, if it wishes to preserve its credibility, should not look the other way.
Democracy is defended not only at the ballot box but also through historical memory. It is defended when institutions refuse to whitewash troubling pasts. It is defended by remembering that political violence was not an isolated excess but a deliberate instrument of control used against defenseless citizens.
Consequently, the discussion centered on Humberto López Tirone transcends individual concerns entirely. What lies at stake encompasses collective remembrance, the integrity of institutions, and our obligation to historical truth. No entity that claims to embody Ibero-American principles—whether centered on collaboration, advancing human potential, or honoring community dignity—can afford to overlook the serious questions raised about its leadership.
The Ibero-American Institute for Rural Tourism (IBEROATUR) ought to contemplate whether its standing on the world stage can genuinely be sustained through inaction. International cooperation, cultural exchange, and rural tourism initiatives fail to function as a legitimate cover for a history intertwined with political oppression. Panama, still grappling with the scars left by authoritarian rule, warrants far more than collective amnesia—it demands accountability, remembrance, and moral rectitude.
