Category: Eduardo Herrera

Refoundation and Pluralism / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

It is true that José Martí founded a political organization, the Partido Revolucionario Cubano (Cuban Revolutionary Party), Fidel Castro founded the Partido Comunista de Cuba (Cuban Communist Party), and many people in our country and the world, just like them, have maintained their membership in the different institutions that they have erected so that from them they can work towards and develop their respective proposals. Notwithstanding, they disrespect or do not know the rights of the rest of their compatriots to legally create organizations and launch them towards their Motherland’s paths of history for the benefit of the nation and the interests of all her children wherever they might be.

The justification so often bandied about by the Cuban government and its mouthpieces — that in Cuba we have a single party system because Martí founded only one party — is ridiculous. If we depart from that weak argument, then we must answer that we should have refounded Martí’s party a few years ago – we owe it to him – as a political alternative to the existing Communist party. Or is it that this is a right that only pertains to descendants of the Movimiento 26 de Julio (26 July Movement)? That they respect everybody’s rights – not only a part of them – and legalize Cuban organizations, is the best way to honor Marti, the Apostle. Let us unfurl one of the mottoes of his profound political thinking, collaborating with all and for the benefit of all which is the best way to truly fulfill his dream, and restore, based on ethics, the inalienable right for all times of creating new parties.

Translated by: lapizcero

October 18 2011

Laura and Courage in White / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

Photo from Barefoot Rose’s files

Laura leaves us. This time she has undertaken the longest of all walks: that of eternity. A lot of walking had to be done by this courageous Cuban woman who at the start, without political leaders in government to offer protection – just the contrary, without an army or firearms to defend her, with only courage as her armor, together with other women, faced the mobs sent by the powerful – as coercive cannons – with no other shield than the love for her husband, for freedom and for peace. The church of Santa Rita was witness for almost eight years to the steps and prayers of this heroic lady who, together with other political prisoners’ families, close relations or sympathizers, decided to dress their courage in white each Sunday as a symbol of protest and without permission from the Cuban government. The price they have paid for “such impudence” is great, but not as great as the strength of character of these women who have remained firm in their demands in spite of the official scorn to which they have been despicably subjected without any possibility of responding. They got the world to cry out with them to end the Cuban political prisoners’ unjust imprisonment. That is how our Ladies from Cuba became great, and Laura with them; that is how they showed themselves on the streets, with their gladioli as symbols and standards of peaceful struggle, resistance and love of justice.

This photo courtesy of Ana Torricella (Primavera Digital)

This October 16th was the first Sunday without Laura’s physical presence at mass and in the traditional march along 5th Avenue of the Miramar neighborhood, and I went with my husband to pay homage in that House of God located on 5th and 26. The parish priest mentioned her in the religious service – in spite of its being an ordinary mass, not a mass for the dead – and made reference to the years that she had been attending that temple, and prayed for peace for her spirit and eternal rest. Once the rite ended, we joined more than one hundred compatriots on a poignant walk along the usual route with the attendance of many independent journalists and members of the press corps.

From wanting to do and live so much her health suffered, already affected by diabetes. She spent her last days away from her modest home, which she generously made the home of all who visited her. Various imprecise medical reports kept her away from her loved ones, keeping her in intensive care for 7 days. Laura was a simple woman who was not in favor of the regime, so she was not eligible to be treated in elite clinics or hospitals that offer comfortable facilities, more competent medical personnel and all the medical advances, where the local chosen few and unconditional supporters are taken, as well as international VIPs. In my country medical care is free and universal, but it is very deteriorated, and the most impoverished hospitals and polyclinics are the ones within reach of the average Cuban.

It has rained a lot in Havana. During the last few days it has almost never stopped raining in the capital. They are Cuba’s tears that are cleansing the sorrow off the streets for her eternal march through history. Rest in peace, indefatigable lady defender of the rights of Cubans.

More pictures of Sunday’s mournful event, also through Ana Torricella’s generous collaboration. Click on each miniature to enlarge it.

You can sign the book of condolences for Laura Pollán’s death that we will deliver to her widower and daughter. We have and will keep an image with a permanent link on the side of this page to facilitate access to those who wish to express their sorrow by signing. Thank you for your support.

Translated by: Espirituana

October 18 2011

Almost Coffee / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

Since Raul Castro announced that they would go back to blending chicory into the coffee they sell us through our ration cards and in local currency, I took up this topic; but the repulsiveness of the product they shipped from warehouses which results in a brew that is neither coffee nor porridge, motivated me to consider it one more time.

It is true that many have referred to this product, with its comic luggage from the fiasco – as happens in almost all categories – that was the significance of the announcement. Along came the “black nectar” with its powdered ammunition to reinforce what we already knew from experience: that they improved the brewing experience, but also reduced it, and hence now we have to serve it in a “tiny container”. But nobody swallows the pill that comes as with a perfume; on the contrary. We no longer offer visitors the luxury of a cup of that aromatic grain we used to have, but instead we save it for people who are not always welcome.

With the new despicable potable, they changed even the act of drinking this elixir and introduced an inelegant rite in the form of using both hands to drink it: one to hold the cup and the other to pinch our nose so the sip is less disagreeable. If you are feeling in need of a pickup and consider you need a stimulant such as caffeine, I advise you to try an alternative or some other kind of coffee, because that which we obtain with our ration coupons can cause stomach influences that will confine you to the restroom, and maybe chicoryflour is not the invigorator you need. Recently I advised a friend who wanted to annoy an adversary that constantly threw barbs against him in front of the group, that he make him a present of a package of ration coffee in front of all. It was in this way – and this is not a tall tale – that the problem was ended.

Something quite different happens when you have the money to pay for a package of the good stuff – if its available – in those establishments that sell in exchange for convertible currency. It’s been more than a week since the ground fruit-seed is absent from what should be honestly called the “hard currency collection centers” and other such establishments. There is a rumor in Havana that, as a result of the audits being conducted by the government to the younger of the Castros, 6 tons of the product was found missing at Cuban roasters, and that because of the investigative process, coffee has become absent from the store windows of those places that deal in hard currency.

If you visit these days the home of somebody with economic solvency it is possible that, against their wishes, they cannot share with you a sip of the infusion because of the current deficit. In my case, if I visit the home of humble persons and they offer me a cup, I will hurriedly drink it, even if the developing nausea brings tears to my eyes, I will pretend I liked it and thank them with alacrity. But since the old and hospitable “grass” has been converted indirectly into a measure of a host’s esteem, once the coffee supply is stabilized and I visit the home of others who have “good money” and they invite me to a cup of this potage or almost coffee, I will know what awaits me.

Translated by: lapizcero

September 20 2011

Dragon’s Breath / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

It seems that an anti-kissing and anti-closeness strategy has been in place for some days in Havana: toothpaste went missing. The humble consumer who micromanages the pennies in strong currencies obtained from his meager worker’s incentive or received from relatives who have emigrated – workers exploited by capitalism who plan their vacations, travel and invest around the world without permission, and in spite of that financially help their oppressed loved ones in the Cuban paradise – mostly buys strictly the basic goods in the markets that sell in foreign currencies.

But in Cuba we are vulnerable to the dictatorship of anti-consumerism and prey of the State oligopoly, since when they want to get rid of a Cuban product that no one buys, they stop stocking the foreign alternative so that we will be forced to buy the domestic one, which is almost always of poor quality and with a minimal price difference. That is, they substitute domestic products for the imports, mocking the rights of the buyers, whose ability to choose they arbitrarily limit imposing a lack of options: take it or take it! No alternatives. They choose the shortest and most dishonest route instead of working to ensure the excellence of the domestic products.

The State controls all trade and, in a way that is inefficient and unfair to society, prevents competition from the private sector in those businesses. They do not allow the private citizen to set up a store, nor offer what he produces in one of the many State chain stores. So, whether it’s bad or mediocre, we must be satisfied with whatever the State offers, and furthermore reward them with a smile.

After several days using numerous water-and-salt rinses, this September 22nd the citizens of Havana were pleasantly surprised with a domestic toothpaste of the “Sonríe” (Smile) brand. That state-manufactured concoction with scant menthol is not acquired through workers’ merit, volunteer work, diplomas or passwords, but with strong Cuban pasta [money]: the CUC [Cuban convertible currency]. They charge 90 cents for it, which is equivalent to 22 pesos in national currency. As is natural, there will surely be people who will continue gargling in order to be able to smile without having foul-smelling dragon’s breath. When times are bad, put on a happy face, and if you have bad breath – no options – use Cuban toothpaste.

Translated by: Espirituana

September 28 2011

The Mambisa Virgin / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

In Cuba we celebrated with joy a new anniversary of our beloved patroness: Our Lady of Charity of El Cobre. On the occasion of the 400 years that have passed since her apparition in the Bay of Nipe, a replica of her image toured Cuba under the slogan “Charity unites us,” and many faithful paid tribute to the Holy Queen of the Cuban people. She, who watches over us and blesses us every day with her love and peace, joined our Mambises during the war of independence, we entrust ourselves to her maternal protection. To our Cachita whom we adore, we offer to her with simplicity and humility our writings and we ask her as our loving Mother to protect us from wars, hate and grudges so that together we, the Cuban people, can work with dedication and love for the future of our homeland.

Our Sovereign Mother is blessed, because Cuba is under the protection of her womb and mercy. For the prize of the triumph of love in our people, in our divided families, and for the reunion of her Juanes in our national home. Because she strengthened us in the hope and sacred love of God and country, which is the sublime expression of our capacity to love. For the ultimate birth of freedom, that inevitably and fortunately will come to pass, for all the children of our soil, and always for her loving joy and charity.

This September 8, 2011, I ask that she, from this fount of goodness and mercy that is the Sanctuary of El Cobre, intercede for the reconciliation and peace of all her children. May we grow in humility and learn to understand and forgive, knowing that to forgive is also to have charity, and that charity is patient, is helpful (Corinthians 13, 3-8) and all it can and hope. This, we have an insight into our prayer, entrusting ourselves to her, Miraculous Virgin Mary of Charity of Cobre, and ask her to anoint us with Her grace to make us better Christians and to be prepared from our beloved country, for the future of humanity.

Translated by: A.A.A.

September 14 2011

The Eye Behind the Door / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

The eye you see is not
the eye because you see it,
it is the eye because it sees you.

Antonio Machado (Proverbios y Cantares)

In Cuba, we often visit homes where their residents hang, on the inside of the main door, the image of an eye. It is a symbol associated with African-originated religions, such as one that shows a tongue traversed by a dagger.

There are several eyes on our country and its citizens; Foreign and native eyes, focused on the civil society that emerges and on the changes that are urgently needed in all aspects of national life. I don’t mean to lean on beliefs to illustrate my point of view about these themes: they have just been ingrained in our reality for decades now and call many people’s attention.

At present, the authorities are immersed in the implementation of their “procedures for good intentions,” a plan that they refer to as “an updating program” of its model, and in which they enumerate what they understand still needs to be accomplished—solely on the economic front; Nothing to put at risk their sacrificed and historical status—without a specification on how to achieve it, nor the steps and deadlines for its application. Cuban television reporters show us, via their informative audiovisuals, the representatives of the higher hierarchy of government involved in constant reprimands against their municipal and provincial cadres, who have either not advanced in the process or have hardly done so. How to put forward what, up until now, has been taboo, could very well be one of the questions.

In assemblies of “moral table-slammings” and “shouted, public scoldings,” it seems evident that not only frustration abounds, but also despair. As they have built a government based on the “price of propaganda” and on looking for the straw in the American and, in general, all other capitalist countries’ eye. But they disregarded looking into their own country, and, today, in spite of the quality of life enjoyed in Cuba up until 1959, and of the human potential it possesses, we are like a discordant Polyphemus, lacking in freedoms and democracy in full modern times and looking clumsily to reestablish a more just order to rescue our rights and all the constitutional guarantees we enjoyed when they came to power. Ambiguous procedures are not needed: What is needed is that they acknowledge they were wrong and that they revert what they changed for the worst with the purpose of subjecting society and cling to power forever.

Their constant preaching is not fair, nor is the fact that they refuse to acknowledge their role in the economic, political and social mess that, for decades now, has lacerated Cuba. After so many years of programs and suggestions from the part of the Cuban political opposition, it becomes clear to us today how they have been incorporating some of those ideas in the fore-mentioned pamphlet, even when they don’t know this opposition and condemn it to illegality. But this time around, the authorities appear to have a real will to hop on the train of much-needed reforms. We are going from an almost paralyzed “gradualism” with which they lulled us, to a galloping transition that seems to be conditioned by the illness of the Venezuelan president, even when they don’t admit it.

But a real process of reform in Cuba, if it is to last, must ensure an authentic state of law and cement itself in the acknowledgement and legitimacy of political options. Even if they traverse our tongue with a dagger, we must continue in our insistence on these fundamental premises for the health of our nations, and in keeping “our eye” focused on our national life. Because there is still much to do.

Translated by T.

August 9 2011

Scar Case / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

Taken from http://www.uncuyo.edu.ar/

Dictatorships leave indelible scars that neither a psychiatrist nor the best plastic surgeon can repair. We Cubans, forced to ignore the definition or concept of a personal computer, organize ourselves within our families to work in an orderly way on the computer. Disciplined by lines and trained in the art of waiting, we bite our nails waiting for our turn to use the machine that allows us to reveal that scholarly and cybercompatible vein that hides in our DNA. As if they were prehistoric tools, we no longer take paper and pencil to color our opinions; our fingers travel more rapidly on a keyboard than tied to a pen, and it is easier to “cut and paste” changes in our writing, than to use the old eraser from our childhood, with which we began to smudge our written language.

I have taken to dreaming nonsense to the fullest. I dream I can say what I want without being labeled by the political police; that I can travel to any country, that I can claim my rights without being told I am subversive or going against the usual traffic. I dream I can receive any foreign books without the censorship of an authority, start a newspaper, see unions and syndicates arising, associate myself according to my opinions, see my country’s workers exercise their right to strike, and the disproportionate desire, almost unattainable, of having internet at home.

The postures of liberty we have been planted for years, have become trees, and their branches threaten to spread too far for official taste. Maybe the answer is for the electric company to cut them a bit, producing a lasting black out for our dreams. Sometimes, the mere olive green presence of its employees with light interrupting guns, paralyze the act of dreaming. But it’s a recipe that doesn’t always work, and every time a right is violated, a scar is left, like a new scar left in the face of this sad period of more than half a century of our nation.

Translated by: Claudia D.

September 8 2011

Conversion / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

It was a bright and well nourished blue ferret. He belonged to Carlos Enriquez‘s magic lineage, dressed with a guayabera made of talent, was giving and making life, art and beauty… creating, in short. But he got sick when they took off his clothes, oversaturated him with doctrine, vilified him with betrayals and adulations and put him in a tank. Such was his frustration that he felt trapped in the words’ coffin, the wings’ tomb. He made vows of silence and apathy and ended up being a gray mouse.

Translator’s Note:
Carlos Enriquez Gomez (1900-1957) was a Cuban painter, writer and illustrator. He named his home “The Blue Ferret” and it now functions as a meeting place for a small group of Cuban artists, under the same name.

Translated by : Adrian Rodriguez

August 12 2011

Convict 1959-0711 / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

She was one of so many recluses of misfortune, of those by failing to use the olive green conscience were deprived of liberty. They gave her permission to go out and she left without baggage, like the images they like to give to poets. She thought that with her backpack on her back with the most necessary items was enough. That resulted in correspondence documentation being indispensable in the country in which she sought safe conducts. At the exit port, the accredited officer, after reviewing her papers three times, put on six seals and authorized her licence. She got on the sky blue boat towards a new life without looking back. She did all this quickly, because she feared that someone inconvenient would grab her arm at the last minute.

She took her first lungful of air breathing deeply and stunningly full. She realized then that she should repeat the act slowly, for as hungry for emancipation as she was, it was preferable to gradually assimilate her recent condition. She delighted in rescuing forgotten scents; tastes that she’d already lost and to discover new ones that were pleasingly new. She felt small and disoriented in this unknown environment, but she rejoiced to see how others exercised the rights that had been stolen from her.

She didn’t wait long to look for work; she liked to be independent and satisfy her desires without asking permission from anyone. She began by cleaning the bathrooms at an establishment for a salary which, after paying the rent and the rest of her bills, only allowed her one daily meal and a café con leche at night. It wasn’t much, but winter was making its entrance and there wasn’t time to choose.

The first days were spent beautifully, like a romance novel. After, they seemed more like a melodrama, with nostalgia for what was left behind mixed with the asphyxiating smell of bathroom disinfectants. Her first overcoat of good quality took almost a whole week’s salary and she had to look for an extra job to make up for the rest of her expenses. At night, she fell so brokenly into bed that her dreams decomposed into fragments. As she put together the scattered pieces by insomnia, she began to give names to the objects to lessen the thirst for human warmth in the midst of her existential snows. In the morning, she woke up dizzy, because poor sleep all night on her pillow kicked her in the neck.

After six months she had a better wardrobe than she had ever dreamed of. This way she learned that starting from scratch — without any inheritances — and receiving an adequate salary, she could obtain the most necessary things and live from the fruits of her labor. But she noticed that recently the line of her life refused to bend, that she was a prisoner of the apathy produced by daily sameness and repetitive acts, and the sap was drying out – that with which she seasoned her distant life.

At one year, she began to reexamine her past conduct and old concepts. She asked herself if she hadn’t been too intolerant in judging certain acts of others or if she hadn’t known how to defend her rights when she felt cheated. Also, if it was normal to bear grudges because they had penalized her dreams. She was so mesmerized in her meditation that she began to think that she might be suffering a type of tropical “Stockholm syndrome”. Anyway, she packed what she could of what she had acquired during that period, took its weight, and she found herself next to a metal bird again. She took one last look at what she could see of that beautiful and generous territory; she got on board the airplane and returned to Cuba.

Translated by: JT

August 1 2011

Gilipolladas* of Etiquette / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

The realities imposed on us during the time of the “Special Period”*[2] and the foreign investments, brought with them new forms of expression that involved part of the Cuban society. Those nationals linked to the tourism, to the diplomatic community and those working with foreigners and their currency or the exchange market, integrated into their language words such as “sir, madam, or miss” to address someone — As if the “comrades”*[3] of so many years, men or women, had emigrated — and other Anglicisms such as “llámame para atrás” (call me back) or verbal crutches such as “tú sabes” (you know); and the spanish ones, “¿vale?” to agree or assent to something, the “gilipollas” (idiot) in substitution of the ultra-Cuban “comemierda“*[4] (shiteater). I didn’t find an etymological dictionary to check whether or not the origin of this word is Cuban, but it is an image that reflects how much identified we are in our slang with such vulgarism. Also, due to the presence of Spanish businessmen and tourists in recent years, and our interaction with them, we acquired additional words of erotic content, that I prefer to avoid here.

The foreigners, who travel to Cuba as tourists, are seeking for “chicas“*[5] and “chicos” *[5]; not muchachas*[5] or muchachos*[5], young people, women and men to get involved with. People around the world have their own jargons and language traits and their customs which define them as a nation, even if we share the same language. The inclusion of foreign expressions and practices in a sector of our society is not a local phenomenon that has political overtones, as two friends argued recently, they are due to globalization, which is connecting us worldwide in various spheres of life; the internet, which allows us to interact in real time with many places of the world and to the opening to foreign tourism in our country after nearly three decades of staying stuck in snow crystals incubators “for better handling,” as the wolf of Little Red Riding Hood would say.

Therefore, it doesn’t worry me too much that our language is nuanced with foreign words. I can listen a youth calling another “brother”, assenting with a “that’s ok”, or leaving with a “see you…”, that does not wake me up from my dreams; what really concerns me is the frantic emigration with which we Cubans have been naturalized as world citizens. That’s more important and significant that the locutions of our vernacular spanish. Let’s leave those misgivings to more conservative specialists.

I disapprove of false behavior, such as those who, in their environment, uncork their repressions and unleash their own churlishness in their element and in others, laminate in plastic their attitudes and with this label places, as if they ignore that we should behave in an educated way, regardless of where we are.

That’s how we, a large portion of the Cubans living in our country, are going these days: the Penelopes weave their dreams — with imported yarn — while waiting for the democracy ship; the believers in religions of African origin don’t offer drums to their African pantheon ‘orishas’*[6], now they revere them using violins*[7] more often than before; and the majority still waits in frustration because “a malicious man” seized our rights and our freedom. With the permanent production chain of poverty that most Cubans inherited, they leave us also with the sad reality of the everyday ordinary fellow citizen who, to offset the economic hardships, is adorning his language with foreign gems to experience at least how the vocabulary is “being enriched.”

*Translator’s notes:
(1)- Gilipolladas is a Spain’s bad word meaning foolishness , idiocies, therefore a gilipollas is an idiot , a fool and can be use as an asshole etc…
(2)-The special period was the name given by the Cuban government to the economic situation after the fall of the USSR and the eastern Europe socialist governments.
(3)- Comrade was the usual way to address another person in Cuba since 1959.
(4)- Comemierda is a Cuba’s bad word for fool, idiot, asshole, etc.. although literally means shit eater.
(5)- chicos, chicas, muchachos and muchachas all have the same meaning: young men and women, but in Cuba muchachas and muchachos are used.
(6) An Orisha is a spirit or deity that reflects one of the manifestations of Olodumare (God) in the Yoruba spiritual or religious system.
(7) violins are played to revere Oshun, who has been syncretized with Our Lady of Charity , Cuba’s patroness.

Translated by: Adrian Rodriguez

July 20 2011

The Country Carousel / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

With its rustic figures of wood with a vertical tube going through it that no longer makes it go up and down, the little horses of Mónaco, en La Víbora, are the rusty gallop of boredom, the wheel of poverty in turns of hopelessness. With faces unexpressive of emotion, we purchased the rides for our toddlers on the plain slowness and monotony, to cross the doors of imagination in machines re-molded by abandonment and unrepaired from laziness.

That’s how we also find the adults, caught in the green map of prohibitions, with footprints of hammers of litanies and patched dreams of absence and silence. This unremarkable merry-go-round forces its tedious motor, whose arrhythmia of pistons can hardly turn the rusted structure.

Translated by: BW

July 11 2011

XY, Axis of Coordinates or Chromosomes of Survival / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

A little while ago I left my house and a neighbor in my sector (whom I shall call ‘X’) signaled me to come to the sidewalk in front. The attitude of her corporeal whisper intrigued me. I crossed the street to go meet her, looking all around, because her conspiratorial gestures put me on alert. There were only a few kids playing football in the street, and on the corner, a mysterious man with short hair was walking in small circles. Nevertheless I calmly approached her and her expression changed to one of admiration when I reached her: “Mi’ja, you didn’t tell me you have a blog!” ‘X’ only knows how to send and receive mail on “the appliance” which for her is the computer, as her youngest child (Y) showed her how before emigrating. So she regularly goes to an internet cafe to exchange messages with her offspring. In ‘Y’s’ most recent email, she commented that she’d found my journal via Google, that she subscribed to it and reads my works. She also sent X the link so she could visit me.

After a few minutes of talking, in which her flattery rose up into my face, I humbly thanked her and told her I’d write about this. She reacted with fear and the insistence of someone verbally begging on her knees and made me promise her I would not do it. She would not even agree to the option of changing the names, as she is in the phase of “behaving better than ever” to avoid problems and be able to reunite with her family in the United States.

During our farewell I turned my face and saw that coming towards us was the man on the corner who I was suspicious of, with a woman who appeared to be his wife and who carried a large purse. As they passed close to us, she told him–looking back secretively–that she was late because she had to walk about to avoid the police, and she feared they would confiscate the merchandise. ‘X’ and I looked at each other–with the indifference that tedious and repeated stories awaken–opened our eyes and with a sarcastic and silent smile we said goodbye that day.

I’ve come across her two or three times more, and after assuring herself that no one is observing her, she greets me with affection and she gives me the thumbs-up sign, the “V” of victory, or the “L” of liberty. I saw her again last night and she had an expression of repugnance. She greeted me coldly–like some revolutionary CDR* spy who knows my dissident activities–went toward the group that was gathering a few meters from us, where the CDR president’s house is and in front of which they were going to celebrate the National Assembly of the People’s Power.

The repressive agencies of the regime have implanted over decades, in regard to political matters, an osteomiedosis–a “fear in the bones”–that has penetrated deep into Cuban sociogenetics, generating frustration and forcing habitual pretense as a survival strategy. Regardless of everything I am an optimist, so I am sure that those problems that now seem hopeless will not be permanent in our society.

*Translator’s note: CDR stands for Committee for the Defense of the Revolution. These neighborhood-by-neighborhood and even block-by-block watchdog groups are one of the key mechanisms through which the state controls every individual.

Translated by Julietta Appleton

June 15 2011

Choking it Down / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

When I say metaphorically to my friends that my mouth is dry, they think that probably I have diabetes – because of my weight gain since I quit smoking – or a thirst to drink the vital liquid. They don’t understand that fifty-two years of the same party (the only one legally approved) ruling Cuba is a huge amount of time. “Maybe the ones who will come after will be worst”, they tell me, resigned, and convinced that a small group of people has dominion over our country.

For a long time we’ve worked to “quench the thirst” for democratic values, national and personal freedom, the respect for all the civil and political rights and democratization in general, but we are stuck because of the lack of such attributes in the power elite and the lack of a democratic culture among Cubans. However, we had been and continue to advocate for these values of benefit to our motherland and nation. So far, I will have to continue “choking it down,” while we fill the glass with that fundamental matter for Cuba’s democratic health.

Translated by: Adrian Rodriguez

July 8 2011

The Anti-Bread / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

It should be done with wheat flour, but is often reinvented with sweet potato starch, is supposed to have grease, but it’s missing in the recipe, and salt, but because it causes the modified dough to collapse nobody uses it: the result is the anti-bread — one a day — which is the quota assigned to Cubans by the imposed rationing card.

With its ugly appearance of a Middle Ages crust of bread, in “the middle” of the stench and unhealthiness, the bread is one of the areas where the government timeservers show their contempt towards the people. It is the pandemonium of the underestimation and disrespect of cuban society. If you try to eat it the day after, most probably you will have two obnoxious experiences. The first one is that for sure you will have to pinch your nose or hold your breath to ignore its acrid smell, and second, you may chip a tooth in the process. The acridity is because it is made with bad quality yeast and because it has too much water added to ensure the proper weight just in case an inspector “shows up”, he won’t be able to verify the ingredients adulteration — in which case ‘the dough’ to silence him would rise; the hardness, because the lack of grease in it. In addition you have to bring your own bag to buy your bread, the employee snatches the pen from behind his ear to write in your rationing card the one and only bun that you are entitled to buy for that day. He takes your money, shakes hands with all the people who greets him, swipes the sweat from his forehead and then, he serves your bread using his bare hands (without using tongs or gloves) and without washing them.

A few years ago the State made an important investment in modern bakery technologies acquired overseas. In that chain of bakeries the bread is more expensive — ten Cuban pesos a pound — and in the beginnings the quality was noticeably better; but now days it is almost as bad as that for sale in the bodegas but the price didn’t drop as the quality did.

On many occasions and because of consumer complaints, the TV news did on-site interviews with the managers of such bakeries, they had been questioned about the production failures and urged to make public statements promising the solution to these and other problems. But the media news involvement has not been effective and the result is the same: the anti-bread.

The core of the problem is systemic and happens because the lack of control, the low salaries and the dearth of civic awareness provoked by the “grab whatever you can” way of life brought by the deceptive concept of the social property, because it is very well known that the Cubans are not allowed to own any kind of real estate. The local small leadership is struggling to survive when there’s no choice: either survive taking the “bread” home to sustain their families, joining the generalized corruption and unlawful activities, or live a poorish life in the legality of a virtual Cuba outlined by the only party and its unsuccessful government model.

Those who like to invent trash, or to reform what is already invented and works well, have to be reminded of that old Cuban saying: “It’s better to copy from something good than to create something bad”. We, the Cubans of the generations after 1959, could never be accused of being copycats.

Translated by: Adrian Rodriguez

July 8 2011

Nostradamus in a Gypsy Cab (Almendrón) / Rosa María Rodríguez Torrado

I was on my way back home in a collective gypsy cab or almendrón which I took at the intersection of Linea and G streets, in the Vedado neighborhood, where there is a popular route of these cabs going towards La Vibora. Before arriving 23rd Ave. the old car was already full. The last passenger that got in the vehicle commented “how rough is the life out there” and that was the fuse which set off all of us, including the driver, to channel our opinions. We expressed different judgements and new projects and political ideas, as well as, sociological, economic and even philosophic, over the things that should be done to rule the destinies of our country in the future. We exercised our freedom of speech in that rolling piece of junk and we were engaged in an amused and productive debate for most of the trip, in which the one who started the conversation showed a wide political culture that was praised by some of the riders. He also said that all of us in the archipelago were prophets in the political, social and economic scenes that inevitably will prevail in Cuba in the near future.
When we passed the traffic light on Santa Catalina and Vento, the debate’s protagonist raised his voice in an authoritative tone and said:

– Driver, take this car directly to Villa Marista*, because you are all arrested.

We were astonished and for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, a thought came to my mind of the upcoming trouble I would have, if, at the headquarters of the political police they dig through my long and old record as a dissident. I wished more than ever to have a cell phone at hand, to warn my family about how difficult that circumstance could be. However, in face of the silence of the rest, I replied very upset:

– What’s the reason why ? We only exercised our freedom of speech. What’s the problem ? Driver, don’t go anywhere, because this supposed officer didn’t identify himself yet!

-Lady- argued the driver in a whiney tone – Are you suggesting I should disrespect the authority ? I am a revolutionary, although I disagree with certain things, but I give my life for the Cuban Revolution and Fidel.

Just when I was expecting another intervention earmarked by fear, we turned towards Mayia Rodriguez street and the young Nostradamus ordered the owner of the vehicle:

– Stop at the next corner.

When the old car stopped he extended his hand with a ten pesos bill, got out of the car laughing, and started walking on San Mariano St.

Some of the passengers remaining in the car shouted all sort of insults, but he didn’t answer to anybody. He kept on walking, meanwhile there was a scattering of nervous laughter all around, and turning back his head every now and then as if he was a chased maniac. After that, there was a long silence that lasted until the place where I got out of the car.

I am not quite sure if we the passengers on that trip lost our sense of humor or we gained humor in the sense, but the fact is, it happened the same way as I am telling you right now.

*Translator’s note: Villa Marista is the headquarters and jail of the Cuban political police.

Translated by: Adrian Rodriguez

June 16 2011