English Translations of Cubans Writing From the Island
So Orlando Zapata gave himself up with the only weapon he had. Guillermo Fariñas then went to the edge of the abyss, from where it is assumed there is no return, but his spiritual energy carried him and brought him back; besides, the fight is not over, that was only one chapter. Both Zapata and … Continue reading “Cuba, We Who Are About to Die Salute You / Ángel Santiesteban”
Some days ago, the newspaper Granma published on its first page of news: Google’s censorship of a Cubadebate channel of videos for “copyright infringement,” and the following note: Miami: Billboard Dedicated to the Five Dismantled. The newspaper explained in the associated article: “For 24 hours the air of tolerance and freedom of expression was breathed … Continue reading “Cynicism as an Ideology / Ángel Santiesteban”
Rufo Caballero won admiration for his objective and perceptive criticism. All the artists understood, even when his judgment was negative toward the work in question, that the only thing he worried about, and defended above all else, was creativity, which he respected to the point of adoration. Whoever managed to discern and assume his point … Continue reading “Ode to Caballero / Ángel Santiesteban”
THE INDEPENDENCE heroes of America agreed that the continent is one Fatherland. And I felt that my love was much larger than the Island, so much so that I brushed aside other things and thought at some point that I had confused my own borders and felt I belonged everywhere. With this doubt that crushed … Continue reading “The Concept of Fatherland / Ángel Santiesteban”
Photo: Yoandri Jiménez A JOURNALIST FRIEND FROM Bayamo told me that in 1990, when he was six, he was walking to school and his mother told him about the Special Period. Somehow, she was trying to prepare for the challenge to come. Later she confessed she had no idea how far it would go and … Continue reading “Like Rabbits / Ángel Santiesteban”
THAT MORNING MY mother didn’t threaten me with if I left my breakfast I wouldn’t go to Salvador’s study to see him paint. Those words were enough to accept any of her commandments. Salvador had become used to my presence. I understood not to bother him. From a corner, I watched his ritual of preparing … Continue reading “The Color of Life / Ángel Santiesteban”
I WAS IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD cruising the streets on my scooter like a Caribbean Quixote in the year 1992. One afternoon, I turn the corner of my house and notice a neighbor stopped on his bike, one foot on the curb of the sidewalk, the other in the street, an arm on the handlebars, with … Continue reading “The Treasure / Ángel Santiesteban”
THE FAMILIES, after several days of walking along the beach, assured the mothers there was nothing more they could do to find their children, the sea would not give them back, and they managed to convince them to leave the coast and return home, but not before carrying out the final ritual: with their swollen … Continue reading “Mothers of the Plaza of August (2) / Ángel Santiesteban”
WHEN, IN AUGUST OF 1994, the generation of the children whom no one wants was preparing their rafts along the Cuban coast, you could hear the cries of the mothers who searched for their children over several nights, and the sea, cloudy, let out a long roar, breaking against the reefs. Dawn broke and still … Continue reading “Mothers of the Plaza of August (1) / Ángel Santiesteban”
HE WILL BE LOOKING FOR “residence” in the Czech Republic to achieve the dreams of a better life. She will travel, for “family reunification” to Miami. They have been a couple for four years. And in love. Their eyes shine just looking at each other. They have seen reflected in others so many who have … Continue reading “Stories of My Neighbors (IV) / Ángel Santiesteban”
THE GIRL WHO LIVES above my apartment is named Pilar and comes from an ancient Catholic family. She’s had a relationship with her boyfriend for three years. In these thirty-six months they’ve been excited many times. Alberto lives with his parents and grandparents. And for her, it’s the same. It has been very difficult to … Continue reading “Stories of My Neighbors (III) / Ángel Santiesteban”
Photo: Alejandro Azcuy AFTER THE SPEECH of the new president. After the announcement of the end of all gratuities*, my neighbor, who for several consecutive years had been named the Vanguard Worker of his factory, decided to cease his incessant effort. Which, day-by-day, he brought to his workplace. He would not work more until they … Continue reading “Stories of My Neighbors (II) / Ángel Santiesteban”
Photo: Alejandro Ascuy ALL NIGHT I LISTENED to my neighbor’s wife weeping. At intervals she claimed to be tired. Very tired, she insisted. Most of the time her husband wouldn’t respond, but when he did, he agreed: me too. Then she would moan, in a choking way that called to mind the crying of childhood. … Continue reading “Stories of My Neighbors (I) / Ángel Santiesteban”
RECENTLY I HAVE BEEN HOPING I might read my blog for the first time. Some friends have seen it and described it to me, and I feel the same pleasure as when they speak to me about my children. They suggested that I buy a card that would let me enter cyberspace from the services … Continue reading “Blogging Blind / Ángel Santiesteban”
Photo: AP She enters the room in search of her son; on the previous visit they told her he was in the punishment cell for indiscipline, he would be there for twenty-one days with half rations of food and no sun; so, to see him, she would have to come back the next month. Now, … Continue reading “Prison Diary (5) (Mother) / Ángel Santiesteban”
