With all the problems one has, I prefer the secret police in their “bad guy” mode
Cubanet, Luis Cino, Havana, 30 April 2026. — A few days ago, an official from State Security showed up at my house and, in no more than 15 minutes that we talked while standing at my door, augured for me–in varying tones–a future even darker than that which his fellow repressors predict when they have this type of conversation with me.
Imprisonment, misery, hardship, death, are what he predicted for me. As if I didn’t already know that I’ve had a little of each of those things for a long time. Even death, because even though I am blessed with good health, the life we Cubans live is no kind of life. As Solzhenitsyn wrote, “If in order to live it is necessary not to live, is it worth it?”
For starters, the Lieutenant warned me that “tolerance is over; with the threats from the yanquis, this is no time for your antics,” and he assured me that “if there is an attack, all counterrevolutionaries will be taken out of circulation.”
The official did not specify if the withdrawal from circulation–or disappearance (as they have called it to various oppositionists)–means that they will kill us. But it doesn’t matter, because if the official (who is convinced that the conflagration will occur within a matter of days) is to be believed, it is likely that before they have time to “pick me up preventively,” I would be one of the first victims of the US missiles.
“You’d better pray that Trump will not decide to attack us,” he told me, “because you, who live less than a couple of kilometers from the Western Army* General Command, won’t stand a chance when the bombs start flying.”
After he got apocalyptic, he put his hand on my shoulder and counseled me to “get out of that independent journalism, because with your age and how skinny you are, you wouldn’t last in jail.” Right away he got into good-guy mode, as if he were a friend worrying because I smoke a lot, taking interest in my family problems and my future.
“Why didn’t you stay one of those times when you went to the US? What a mistake you made, what a blunder!” he lamented. “Here you have no future. You have one foot on the street and the other in jail. But, supposing that you don’t end up in jail, can you imagine when you get even older, your mind not working, and not being able to write anymore? What will you live on? At that point you won’t have the strength to work in construction or agriculture. And you don’t have a pension. I see you scavenging the dumpsters for cans and bottles.”
Then suddenly, as if illuminated from heaven, he gave me the solution to my problems: “You need to set up a business, become a self-employed worker.” Then he got indignant and before long called me an ingrate when I told him that, if I were to set up a business, then I really would be vulnerable–not as they officially or euphemistically refer to the disabled–but rather because I would be continuously subjected to the multi-thousand-peso fines imposed by the inspectors, who would sometimes be deployed by the very same State Security as a way to harass me without it seeming for political reasons.
He didn’t finish listening to me. He turned around, got on his Suzuki, cranked it up, and went back the way he came.
Truly, with all the problems one has, I prefer the secret police when they come in their bad-guy mode. When they mix their bullying with friendly advice, they make my head spin.
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Translator’s Notes:
*The Western Army of Cuba’s Revolutionary Armed Forces is headquartered in Havana and covers the strategic western end (the region closest to the US) of the Island.
Luis Cino biography: Born Havana, 1956. He worked as an English teacher, in construction, and in agriculture. He began working in independent journalism in 1998. He was a member of the editorial board of the magazine De Cuba and deputy director of Primavera Digital. A regular contributor to CubaNet since 2003, he writes about art, history, politics, and society. He lives in Arroyo Naranjo. He dreams of being able to dedicate himself fully and freely to writing fiction. He is passionate about good books, the sea, jazz, and blues.
Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison