How do I relate the horror? The last image I have of Juan Wilfredo Soto Garcia is of him at my side running around under the Santa Clara’s relentless sun. We tried to get permission from the Bishop so that Padre Dominico–who had come halfway around the world to get to Cuba–could go see Guillermo Fariñas in Intensive Care at the scheduled visiting hours. At the church they told us that State Security was in charge of giving out permissions, and at State Security they told us it was the Bishop.
Now I look at the photo in Penultimos Dias of the Student and I don’t recognize him. It must be that I refuse to accept that they beat him to death. It must be that I can’t admit that this time of horror has come to this Island. I must be that I don’t have the ability to look death–murder–in the face. And I ask myself–is it the obvious uncertainty of rationalism–how many Wilfredos have there already been and how many are still to come? While sitting in a park, an incomprehensible crime, the massive weight of half a century of police impunity falling on his body.
Anonymous faces in blue. For a long time people have feared them more than the thieves, scammers and criminals. “Call the police” has become the last card in the deck. Because justice does not come with them. Because they are not here to protect us, but to control us at any price. Because they are corrupt and they are unafraid to dirty their hands, which in any event are almost all already dirty.
What are we going to ask of the National Revolutionary Police now that we have seen them force into a patrol car of the “new” State power the former Minister of Health, “compañero” Balaguer with his line of twenty-six dead of starvation and cold at the psychiatric hospital; now that we have seen the government, on national TV, justify the death of a man on hunger strike? What can we ask of the police except that they not kill us?
It begins happening more every day. First as an accident, then as business-as-usual. The despicable childishness of the police beating innocents (in the street and in prison) is also a sinister little game, eventually an assassination.
As the pyramid of governability disintegrates in Cuba, as the budget for repressive personnel grows (the only sector of the economy that is never depressed), as the citizenry reclaims its streets as a natural place to demonstrate, political death in Cuba will again occupy this public space that was snatched away during decades of closed-door totalitarianism (skeletons stacked in a closet under an anonymous tombstone).
From the stretcher of a polyclinic it will pass to the provincial gutters. From slander against the victims it will become an unpronounceable list of the disappeared. Each cadaver will incite a fatal cycle of the next cadaver, and the frequency of State imposed violence will stretch to infinity (with replies from the population against such out of control authority, more deranged than despotic).
I just woke up this morning with the funereal fanfare on my cell phone. Martha Beatriz Roque reports in near real time the death of Juan Wilfredo Soto Garcia (46), member of the Central Opposition Coalition, beaten last Thursday morning by several police officers in Vidal Park in his city of Santa Clara, while they arrested and handcuffed him (these outbreaks of sadism are often spontaneous because of the low moral nature of those who are supposed to be agents of public order). From the Third Station of the People’s Revolutionary Police they had to move him immediately to the Arnalso Milian Castro Hospital, decadent and wickedly free as is the entire national health system, where very little could be done to improve his critical condition.
It is Sunday, Mother’s Day, on the Island and in the world. On the bed of our room the horizontal body of my septuagenarian mother snores with emphysema and more or less references her imminent image within a coffin. Every time I take notice of this image I can’t help but lie next to her with my almost forty years, trying to transmit some of my delirious life force, reviewing our little neighborhood lives with unfathomable sadness, so attached before (when my father was alive) and now so distant on an intellectual level.
And my mother, big heart and all, was a servant in peace as in capitalism as in the Revolution (her noble soul will remain so even in eternity) while I, with cynical brick un my sternum, became an extreme writer who does not fit into the pedestrian logic of this country. My mother knows and prays trembling on her knees every night for me, before and after taking a deadly aerosol for her asthma. I know she would give what remains of her existence if I would never end up like another Orlando (Zapata Tamayo). As long as no one in uniform (or in plain clothes) makes an end of me as was done to Juan Wilfredo Soto Garcia today, in honor of the hyena mothers of our nation.
It will begin to happen every day. First as usual, then like we failed to stop in time in the name of our children. Not my mother (it’s obvious the prayers are not enough). Nor I (writing becomes humiliating in the face of the horror).
On February 25, in a human-trafficking case, the Las Tunas Provincial Court recognized in Judgment No. 92 that the young Cuban women “were blinded in the presence of foreigners, seeing in them the possibility of wearing stylish clothing and shoes, and the ability to visit historic sites.”
The trial resulted in penalties for seven residents of Las Tunas, five of them for illegally renting space in their homes to an Italian citizen, who had sex with five young women (including two 16-year-olds and one 18-year old), between 2005 and 2010. The age of the other two was not mentioned.
The initial indictment was for a crime of procurement and human trafficking, although only three of those involved were convicted. The rest were fined for “illegal economic activity.” The owners, who were tried by the administrative clerk, were also punished with the confiscation of their homes.
Those involved were arrested in late March 2010. In August, the authorities found in the province of Granma the body of a 12-year-old girl, apparently murdered. In connection with this incident, three Italian citizens were arrested along with at least 12 residents in the eastern territory of the country.
After the discovery of the body, the authorities unleashed a major operation in Bayamo, which was concentrated on city residents who rented their homes to foreigners. Most of the houses were confiscated.
The preliminary investigation did not mention the Italian citizens arrested just two weeks after the crime or the girl’s links with foreigners. However, popular versions of the facts indicate that the child visited a rented house where they were holding a party with foreigners, and there she consumed high amounts of alcohol and drugs.
In June 2000, the Committee for the Elimination of Discrimination against Women called on the Government of Cuba to expand official programs so that Cubans could achieve economic independence and, thereby, eliminate the need to resort to prostitution.
Ten years later, in June 2010, the United States reaffirmed Cuba as a country where people are trafficked. Earlier, in 2003, the U.S. government had included the island on the black list for “not meeting minimum standards for eliminating trafficking in persons and not making significant efforts in this regard.” And it suggested that Cuba is “a source of children subjected to trafficking, especially for commercial exploitation within the country.”
For its part, the Committee for the Elimination of Discrimination against Women also recommended that the Cuban government analyze the causes of prostitution and the results of preventive and rehabilitative measures taken, in order to make them more effective.
The legislation in force in Cuba provides special protection to children under 14 years against the crimes of procurement and human trafficking. After that age, the same laws govern as those for adults.
Cuba actively prosecutes prostitutes, mostly young ones, under the criminal offense of pre-criminal dangerousness. In the majority of cases, for their rehabilitation, they are confined to correctional work farms. Criminal liability is acquired on the island at age 16.
Laritza Diversent, Diario de Cuba
Translated by Regina Anavy
Today I was going to publish a text about Mother’s Day, a brief vignette where I would tell of my mother, her hands smelling of onions, garlic and cumin… from all the time she spends in the kitchen. I had the idea of telling you of the pleasure it gave me to see her come to the door of my high school in the countryside, bringing the food that had cost her an entire week–and great effort–to get. But just as I put the finishing touched on my little material chronicle, Juan Wilfredo Soto died in Santa Clara and it all became senseless.
The police batons are thirsty for backs in these parts. The growing violence of those in uniform is something that is whispered about and many describe it detail without daring to publicly denounce it. Those of us who have ever been in dungeon know well that the sweetened propaganda of “Police, police, you are my friend,” repeated on TV, is one thing, and the impunity enjoyed by these individuals with a badge is another thing entirely. If, on top of that, those arrested have ideas that differ from the prevailing ideology, then their treatment will be even harsher. Fists want to convince them where meager arguments can’t succeed.
I don’t know how the authorities of my country are going to explain it, but I doubt, this time, they will manage to persuade us it wasn’t the fault of the police. There is no way to understand how an unarmed man sitting in a downtown park could represent a major threat. What happens is that when intolerance is given free rein it feeds public disrespect and gives a green light to the police, and these tragedies occur. As of today, a mother in Santa Clara is not sitting at the table prepared by her children, but in a dark room at a funeral home, keeping vigil over the body of her son.
Just arrived on my planet and quickly, the good news: Coffee is scarce and rumors are it will increase in price.
This overnight raising of prices is nothing new. What caught my attention, and had me worried, was today, on receiving the new quota of coffee was reading the label, where it said: Ground coffee/dark roast MIXED with substitute at 50% (4onz/115g). It cost four pesos in national money (both are national but for different uses). Just three years ago it cost 20 cents for the same mixed coffee in the same quantity. My greatest worry is: How will a citizen who is allergic to certain products, such as wheat or other grains, be able to drink this coffee, where the substitute is a mystery. Is this not an unpardonable lack of seriousness?
The press release says, In consideration of the increase in coffee prices on the world market… I wonder, and perhaps they might also take into account the increase in salaries worldwide, to raise ours?
“In addition to the previous cause, this measure is influenced by the low national production,” continues the press release. Is this not the real reason, the previous one being only an effect of it?
Before 1959 our country had a high rate of coffee consumption, which it produced leaving plenty extra to export. It was traditional to offer a good cup of coffee to everyone who stopped by to say hello, without having to be concerned about whether or not we’d have enough for the morning. But the worst thing of all in this situation is that this is a dangerous game that threatens the health of the population.
With some stoicism, I followed through the TV the happenings of the Party Congress. In addition to the economic guidelines, not much has been seen. Like the presentation of the Central Committee and Political Bureau.
– So many years in power and they have not learned that the appointments must obey ability, not the fact of being young, female or black. Contributions to seek a representation that does not correspond to reality. Women and blacks still are at disadvantage, although the laws are still punishing discrimination. Because of that we have to go to the social causes, a theme (another one) that is not being solved. And certainly won’t be related to statistics.
– They approved the exit of officials after two terms. It seems that experience convinced them of the danger of a prolonged stay in public office. The previous leaders do not count.
– Even for a party’s process the closed nomination is a questionable method of transparency, even when you vote and there is a secret ballot.
I cannot understand this congress which faded the most memorable impression in the population which is that he can’t elect himself again, it can only be done for two terms, and above all, that housing may be sold legally. If I were serious, I would have focused on the lack of members to take over, evidence of failure of the management of the party’s leadership in the country. I don’t feel that decisions made with raised hands like in a deja vu will substantially change my life. I had no expectations, so I have none of the bewilderment of those who expected major changes. It is, as I was told when I was a kid: This is for grown ups, it’s not for your tender ears.
Roberto supports the legislative reforms that the government announced, but considers more important the adaptation of the Republic of Cuba Constitution, the new conditions of the development of humanity.
Roberto Esquivel slowly rocks in a chair, while he reads the news in the Daily Granma, about the government’s intentions to modify legislation, after the Communist Congress, scheduled to be held in the second half of April.
“This update policy and legislative perfection in the country in line with the new national reality and the objectives proposed,” said Granma, quoting the Minister for Justice, Maria Esther Reus.
“The future of Cuba is gradually fleeing, thousands of young people migrating to developed countries, that is our reality,” says Esquivel, a retired lawyer. Roberto regrets that his eldest son, a computer professional, was abroad in search of better career opportunities.
“Don’t think I judge him” he says, “… with my 78 years I do not know how to navigate the internet which is not unusual, but my granddaughter, 12, has never been able to use Google to do her homework, it’s an absurdity, in Cuba there is no technological generation, because they don’t have the means,” he said.
Today in the 21st Century, the right to be informed, freedom of thought, expression of ideas and opinions, and above all the right to an education, is not conceivable without the developed technological instrument of the Internet.
Roberto depends, to communicate, quickly and cheaply with his family in Spain, on email which his other daughter has at work. “What we say via this means is monitored and controlled by the business,” he says.
“Cuban laws, as the highest expression of government strategies clearly show delayed development of new technologies for citizens, at the same time they develop an infrastructure to control the flow of information,” opines Esquivel.
According to Robert the restrictions begin in the Constitution which recognizes “freedom of speech and press in accordance with the aims of socialist society” and continues with nearly 50 laws, which limit the use of technological equipment and Internet access, to make it compatible with the defense and security of the Cuban state.
According to the maximum State Law, within the island the freedom of expression is enjoyed by the mere fact that the mass media “are owned by the State” which “ensures the exclusive use of the service for working people and interests society.”
“This is the only national newspaper, it is the official organ of the Communist Party, meaning that only I have the opportunity to know the version of what they consider fair. That is not freedom of information and expression, it is imposing a view,” argues Robert, while showing the print edition of the newspaper Granma.
The Cuban Constitution only refers to the traditional media, “… the press, radio, television, film and other mass media,” when the flow of information has undergone a profound change in the past 20 years thanks to the information revolution.
According to Roberto, Cuba remained frozen in time with respect to these technological advances of mankind, not only for economic reasons but also for purely political decisions. “The cost is very large, they are sacrificing the future generation,” he concludes.
To believe that the entire galaxy is centered on this small Island or that Atlantis was here, are things many Cubans have asserted more than once. We go through life with focused manias, shedding light on ourselves and digging the curette into anything we boast of knowing. One of the most widely practiced national sports is cataloging the politicians, presidents and personalities of other countries without knowing too much about them.
And so, we are quick to judge and deeply intrusive about matters beyond our borders. But in sticking our noses into foreign matters, we aren’t unique. This could be said of all nationalities on the planet, without committing the sin of exaggeration. And much more so now that the global village seems ever more familiar, and thanks to communication technologies what happens in our neighbors’ backyards seems as if it happened in our own. A butterfly fluttering in the Amazon may influence the purr of a collective taxi running along the Malecon. The new leader elected in Peru will greatly draw our attention, even though for 50 years we have not been able to elect our own president.
With the superficiality of those who are far away, people in the streets of Havana refer to the second round of Peruvian elections with alarm and simplicity. To change the maximum figure of a country is no longer a matter of concern only within national borders. People jump these boundaries more and more, those lines imposed by history, and they opine, assess, advise regarding what others decide, as the direction that political figures imprint on their nations, inevitably ends up influencing all those around them.
To place a ballot in a box is no longer a personal or regional act, wrapped in the privacy of the voting booth. On June 5 there is too much at stake for the region for us to reassure ourselves by saying, “This is a problem for Peruvians, it is for them to resolve it.” It is difficult to remain silent when you see your neighbor in such a difficult dilemma, and you know that the path they choose will mark a part of the path of every Latin American. The Peruvian crossroads, now, is also our conflict.
And this meddling, which we’ve turned to from modernity and insularity, has us looking south from the Caribbean Sea and wondering, will Keiko Fujimori, daughter of the now imprisoned former president, win? Will the leftist ex-army officer Ollanta Humala be elected? The negative echoes of the government led by the center-right candidate’s father still resonates in these parts, but the rival nationalist candidate worries us more.
If we were to be guided by the official press, one could say that the Cuban authorities still sympathize with the one who, in his past presidential campaign, offered an anti-system discourse, although in this campaign he appears more measured. Among the delusions of our aging political class is the fantasy that with the emergence of an axis of support, the Cuban system will stretch from the Bravo River to Patagonia.
The managers of our national destiny fantasize about the mirage that allies will come from outside to save us, as the Soviet Union once did and as Huge Chavez is now attempting. But Humala has distanced himself, at least in his current campaign, from any discourse that aligns him with the Plaza of the Revolution. This distancing has reduced the emphasis on him in the news, as well as the admiring adjectives that the daily paper, Granma, and the national news were so ready to grant him.
The big question is whether this information strategy is aimed at not showing too much enthusiasm so as not to sway the electorate, with a closeness to the Castros, or if, in fact, the one-time fellow traveler is disappointing them with his new moderation.
Perhaps some of the doubts about Humala murmured in our streets are due to his military origins. Olive green uniforms are quite traumatizing here, especially recently as Raul Castro has placed a greater number of members of the Armed Forces in key positions. But the fundamental suspicion of the Peruvian candidate comes from a history we fear to see repeated in other places.
It’s the narrative of the coming to power of a charismatic man, swearing–and perjuring himself–that the will of the people will be respected above all. A man who then dismantles the structures of civil society, the press, the means of expression, to expand his authoritarianism to every sphere of life. Probably the aspirant in Peru is far from doing the same, but our national suspicion does not let us see clearly.
Peruvians already have enough with their own tremendous national dilemma to also consider the apprehensions of Cubans, whatever they think. But beyond the call to opine on matters far from this island where we were born, we have always had the dream of being a continent, and in this particular case we are very aware of what is happening in Peru.
Not only because the small town that has ended up being the world has strengthened the ties that bind us, but because we sense that the election will also mold our next steps as well. But our fantasies will not influence the marks that will be made next to one or another name; in the end we are only a few interlopers more, worried eavesdroppers who have suffered too much.
The first time I was close to Agustin Bejarano it was in 2004, during a couple of hours of the night literary circle,and I had never seen his work. His name began to sound familiar, as a well-treated artist, but his surprising and meteoric rise that would begin a little latter was still unknown, for this man considered one of the untouchables of Cuban painting today.
My first impression of Bejarano, during that meeting at the home of the writer Eduardo Heras León, was inconsequential: jovial, shrewd, a good conversationalist, these are roughly the adjectives that would have described him at the time.
The second meeting with him, just a year ago in my native Bayamo, would have a slight difference: Agustín Bejarano came to town as the guest of honor of an event about art, preceded by his status, and then I unreservedly included myself among those who regarded him as a marvel of contemporary art from Cuba.
His works, bold and refreshing in the pictorial language of the island, seemed to me to have an irresistible authenticity.
Agustín Bejarano in his appearance before the Court.
So now that this Camagueyan appears in the Miami news without his admirable aura, his status shredded, wearing the orange uniform and a face with the typical expression of the common prisoner, I put the two concepts together and tell myself, “The Agustín Bejarano whose works fascinated from the very first time, and the one who is now behind bars in the Pre Trial Detention Center, facing charges of sexual abuse of a minor, are the same person.”
A sad way to make himself known to the American public: today, even those who knew nothing of his contributions in prints, or his highly prized paintings in the international market, know him from the news of the Cuban pedophile who came, invited by the Pan American Art Projects, and molested a five-year-old boy–Good God–the son of his friends in their own house.
Formally, this is the accusation against Agustín Bejarano. Carl Zogby, a spokesman for police in Hialeah and in charge of the arrest, said in essence: “The defendant confessed to the crime, is very sorry and claims he felt an inexplicable weakness that led him to commit this act.”
According to the official version, the boy told his parents five days after the alleged incident: the distinguished visitor and friend of the couple had placed his erect penis between his little hands, and kissed him on the mouth when the adults were not present.
Terrible. Maddening. I think in the Cuban cultural universe, a story as amazing as this one had never featured, starring one of those who, when they appeared in news, it was always to inspire admiration. Never disdain.
It’s worthwhile to steal away a hurried analysis of the incident, on some points in particular.
First, the conspiracy theory.
Agustín Bejarano, after being arrested by police in Hialeah
After a telephone conversation I had yesterday with another talented artist on the island, I knew one of the theories circulating about this case in Cuba: Could it be a Machiavellian trick, or a manipulated exaggeration to discredit Bejarano, to end his career, or to get a lot of money out of him?
Some, pragmatic, merchants of the art world point in Miami. Others, detectives, look toward bad politicians.
I personally do not see the point of either motive, but still, I confess: I would love to hear that it is a mistake, a deplorable stunt, and if that were the case, I would defend the artist with the same vehemence with which I will applaud his hard sentence if he is indeed guilty.
Nor do I understand how they could make money, the supposed art ruffians, with Bejarano behind bars for 20 years or for life (it could be either if he is convicted), nor do I understand what political interest could raise a man who, unlike actors or musicians, has no media presence outside his guild, and does not represent any discord or discomfort for the establishment of this country.
Worse, the argument that would weigh against him, most of all, is the powerful story of a boy of five. Why? Well because psychologists and those in charge of questioning the little boy say, without exception, that is almost impossible to invent a story like this at that age, when even the concept of lying is not part of consciousness. In conclusion, the experts say, five-year-old children never lie. Much less with such complexity.
The second vital aspect in this dramatic case, is to clear the political implications that may arise from it, and that could affect the damaged bilateral relations in the field of cultural exchange.
If we take into account the existing malaise in the Cuban exile community, which claims, with justice, that this is euphemistic exchange is only in one direction, and if we take into account also the incidents of Silvio Rodríguez advocating in New York for the Five Heroes or Spies (the reader can click on the nickname he prefers: interactive reading); the disastrous concert of “Gente de Zona” in Las Vegas, with brawl included; and now with a Cuban artist accused of committing such a heinous crime, I suspect it could revive the discontent among some sectors, and could become dangerous with little reason.
As this case has only just started, and how much–I am sure–we’ll find out in the coming days as to the veracity of these disturbing allegations, to establish an accurate view about the morals of this painter, yesterday glory, today villain, is unwise and unnecessary.
But about something I have no doubt: from now on we will attend the Olympic ascent of an already memorable career, if Agustín Bejarano emerges unscathed from this unforgettable case with the reputation that would earn him a name in the media; or, terrible reality: we will know the tragic end of a Cuban artist who lost in the United States not only his vast career, but his status as human being deserving of the most elementary respect.
Ten in the morning, an office of Metropolitan Bank on 42nd Street. Cecilia de Villaverde in very short shorts, white shirt and ballet flats, with a perfect toss of her glossy black hair, asks who is the last in the queue. Ten and ten in the queue that has not moved and a foreigner of buoyant appearance, with a face looking like he’s seen an apparition approaches a revived Cecilia. Ten and twenty, the queue has not moved and ten minutes of conversation of the dazed foreigner with Cecilia Apparition of the Morning, and the foreigner abandons the line and takes our Cecilia to his leased Audi.
Ten the following morning, an agency of Metropolitan Bank on 42nd Street. Our Cecilia of Yesterday, this time wearing a miniskirt and sandals tied to the ankle passes by in front of the bank branch. She returns just to ask who is last with a perfect toss of her glossy black hair to a foreign newcomer in an SUV. The foreigner in shock, but a little shy, so Cecilia-She-Of-The-Perfect-Teeth, smiles and comments casually how hot it is. Fifteen minutes later, the foreigner in shock and Cecilia agrees that it’s better on the beach than in that unmoving line.
“There’s no one like that girl to make a line!” comments the peanut vendor to no one in particular.
Finally, State Security played its cards. It was time. “El Yuma,” as ordinary people colloquially called him, and as Ted Henken was delighted to call himself, from now on will be “The Yankee.” An ideological regression if we do nothing about it. And we already know where these shots will lead: Yankee, Go Home …!
In my opinion, the good American was cruelly betrayed by some of his own interviewees (they are not bloggers, but moles who will cheerfully testify in some criminal proceeding). But that is another matter.
The truth is that the governability and survival of the Cuban Revolution depends solely on maintaining a caste system. In other words, a prison. Let no one see David with Diego in the street. A simple hug or a laugh shared across differences might bring down the house of guidelines-and-cards. It is logical, then, that State Security blindly strikes out left and right. Let them do it, it’s their job.
But let us do ours as citizens as well: let’s mix with one another; let’s not be so cowardly and lacking in solidarity; let’s support those among us who have fallen from grace even though we don’t always share their ideas; let’s take from him the cross of stigmatization for whatever reason; let’s not denounce the victim but rebuke mercifully the victimizer; let’s go without prejudice to a park to see if others’ eyes are open to the beauty of the truth; let’s join in others’ projects even if they are not our own; let’s hear before we die if the other had a clean voice; let’s ignore the threatening pointed finger of the plain-clothed agent who summons us to an interview in the style of kidnapping and coercion.
In short, let’s be a little more Yumas and a little less Yankees. Let’s all stay together in our big Cuban mansion. State Security can only guarantee us a morally unhealthy hovel. And, what’s worse, one rented as standard issue.
Little Brothers of History, we are running out of time to react as a generation. If we don’t dissolve, now, this Paleolithic power that paralyzes us, it will be our biographical responsibility. And from that collective guilt, in the face of the future, not even our own State Security can save us.
Some years have passed since I started thinking of the world in terms of fiction and poetry. Now I ask myself why I am not interested in fictionalizing some lies or some truths which produce some harrowing chills. I have asked myself numerous times.
In my mind, I can see the image of Jose Cano Fuentes — a Guantanamo native who was beaten by the political police in Santiago de Cuba. His face is purplish because of the bruises. I am then frightened by the wince of pain of Martha Diaz Rondon some days after the malevolence inflicted by state security in Banes on October 31st of last year. Some things are simply better suited for writing testimonies and not for literary skirmishes for contests I am no longer invited to.
The family of a very well-known cinematographer was infuriated when I quoted the words of a high-ranking Cuban official directed towards the festive and rebellious atmosphere which a certain provincial film festival inspired from young participants. I received a tier of reprimands, but the mentioned functionary did not. I could try to write a good comedy, a variety show of our times. However, I am not inspired by that kind of usurpation of collective memory. It’s just one more attack for another detailing of what is a public act and what is not. Just another alert on how those I can now call “my new readers” have diversified or have not let themselves be induced.
The literary event becomes global as soon as a local subject is brought up. It gets held up and becomes rancid when a woman from Las Tunas who studied my same profession in the 90’s and who now lives in Lausanne, Switzerland asks me to report news about the area where she lived until recently. What matters to me is to make a proper geography of my experiences. However, I must tend to certain requests from some of the most loyal readers of this blog, those who visit the site to know the latest happenings of this asphyxiated world in which I am still breathing and therefore I should not disappoint them.
On occasion, when I attempt to balance the story of the victims and their contingent problem, these pieces of desperation are tragedies worthy of Felix B. Caignet. I think the real fruits will occur when they understand why I can never remain quiet, because my only compass is to not lie and feel like a dignified man.
Just arrived on my planet and quickly, the good news: Coffee is scarce and rumors are it will increase in price.
The press release says, In consideration of the increase in coffee prices on the world market… I wonder, and perhaps they might also take into account the increase in salaries worldwide, to raise ours?
Roberto supports the legislative reforms that the government announced, but considers more important the adaptation of the Republic of Cuba Constitution, the new conditions of the development of humanity.
