My Friend Chepe / Rene Gomez Manzano

Oscar Espinosa ChepeHAVANA, Cuba , September, www.cubanet.org – I chose to let a few days pass before writing a few lines about the unfortunate death of the eminent Cuban economist Oscar Espinosa Chepe, in Madrid last Monday. I knew that many colleagues would write about it but was not intimidated by the idea that my possible arguments would be used before, by these alternative journalists.

Indeed, there were a great number of pieces published about the member of the Group of 75, a prisoner of conscience on parole when he died, still subject to fifteen years in prison. Cubanet, the prestigious digital daily to which he was a regular contributor, published on Tuesday alone six works devoted to the distinguished professional. A deserved tribute.

I met Oscar in the seventies when we both worked together in the architectural complex occupied in part by a body with a long name: The National Commission for Economic and Scientific-Technical Collaboration. It was an old building of luxury apartments, located at the corner of First and B, in El Vedado.

Both of us, having rare second surnames, were known primarily for this. Chepe was concerned with coordinating, for Cuba, the links with several of then socialist countries of Europe, while I served as General Counsel for the participation of our country in the giant factory of meetings and papers known as CAME: the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance.

They were, strictly speaking, two different state agencies, although we were in the same building because the leadership of both entities was occupied by the same director. We dealt with different topics, so that the business contacts between Chepe and me were almost nonexistent. However, as the group was small, we met and interacted, but without much depth.

In time, the decision to live in the truth, that we each made separately, brought us together again in the ranks of internal dissent. In Chepe’s case, the formidable work of economic analysis he performed was punished with imprisonment during the dark Black Spring of 2003.

The inconsistency with which the Castro regime acted in his case is illustrative: Against the defendants at that time they brandished the pretext that they served the United States and supported the embargo maintained by that country against Cuba. It was of no use to Chepe that for years, and until the day of his death, he was a firm opponent of these measures. Castro’s judges punished him regardless.

Those of us who had the honor of knowing him, will always remember his kindness and his substantial conversation, peppered with funny anecdotes of the times in which he grew up believing in the justness of Communist ideas. In these stories, the amazing nature of this absurd system was reflected with precision no less than that of his well-argued articles devoted to the problems of his specialty.

During my recent trip to the U.S., I had the opportunity to observe the immense prestige Chepe enjoyed among his colleagues. At the congress of the Association for the Study of the Cuban Economy, scholars devoted to these issues — and also highly competent professionals — expressed with one voice their disappointment at the absence of the illustrious gentleman from Cienfuegos, motivated by his illness.

It wasn’t the first time that he had been unable to attend such events in person: the refusal to allow temporary travel of dissidents abroad, kept for decades by the Cuban government and lifted just months ago, prevented him from attending. However, he always collaborated with substantial presentations that were followed with great interest by his colleagues living outside the island.

In death Chepe joins other pro-democracy activists who have suffered in the internal opposition over the years. His name is now joined in our memory with those who preceded him in this passage: Jesús Yanes Pelletier, the Moncada attacker Gustavo Arcos Bergnes, Orlando Zapata Tamayo, Juan Wilfredo Soto, Wilman Villar, Laura Pollán, my father-in-law Bienvenido Perdigón, Oswaldo Payá, Harold Cepero…

Many have fallen during these decades of peaceful struggle. Not remotely as many as those killed in combat or shot during the early Castro years, but they are closer to us. They make the oldest of us feel like castaways who have managed to survive while they have gone before.

But they also show us the way forward. Their memory and their work inspires us and their work remains as a guide to those who follow in their footsteps in this peaceful battle. In that sense, Oscar Espinosa Chepe was and remains an outstanding example.

From Cubanet

27 September 2013

Cubans Are Losing Their Fear / Antonio Rodiles, Estado de Sats

Antonio Rodiles
Antonio Rodiles

By Carmen Muñoz for ABC.es

To Antonio G. Rodiles (born Havana, 1972) it seemed “unthinkable” that a Cuban musician would dare to ask for free elections during an official concert, until the jazz musician Roberto Carcassés did it last week in the capital. “It’s a sign of the new times,” said this physicist, director of the Estado de SATS (State of SATS) think tank, and coordinator of the citizen campaign For Another Cuba. The arrest of the human rights activist over 19 days last November, accompanied by a brutal beating, had wide repercussions.

After participating in Prague in a forum about transitions, this Friday he will meet in Madrid with the Secretary of State for Latin America, Jesus Gracia, and speak at the Real Instituto Elcano. His biggest challenge now is the international meeting on human rights that he is preparing for this December 10 in Havana. “If now they let us (the dissidents) travel. Why don’t they let Cubans and interested foreigners enter the country to participate in a civil society activity. We challenge the system to demonstrate whether it is really changing or not.” This Saturday he returns to the island.

– Do you think Roberto Carcasses incident has ended with the sanction imposed by the regime?*

AR: Robertico Carcassés will just have to deal with it, the regime is waiting for the storm to pass to go after him. He has put on numerous concerts, inside and outside the island, and has never put on any demonstrations like this, even though people know that neither he nor his father (the showman Bobby Carcassés) are unconditional supporters of the regime, like Silvio Rodriguez. His daring is a sign that times are changing in Cuba, people want substantial changes, of greater significance, the current ones are just superficial. Cubans are losing their fear, they are daring more, 54 years of a totalitarian regime is too much time. They now understand that for there to be changes the system must change. What Carcassés did was unthinkable, he didn’t do it as an act of suicide.

– Did the singer Silvio Rodriguez challenge the dictatorship by inviting Carcassés to his concerts?

AR: Silvio tried to throw water on the fire, to find the smartest solution for the system. The censorship of Carcassés censorship would have implied that the news of the act of free speech had acquired major notoriety, counterproductive for the regime.

– What message about the Cuban reforms did you send to Spain?

AR: They are totally inadequate, especially when the country is undergoing such an crisis. For Cuba not to collapse we need to undertake structural changes that would imply accepting all the political, economic, social and cultural rights contained in the UN covenants to enter into a real transition process.

– What do you think the appeal this week from the Cuban Catholic Church for political changes to accompany the economic?

AR: Recently the Church has taken an unwise position. However, it seems very important to me as a political actor and it would be highly recommended to begin to focus on and respect the fundamental rights in Cuba. If that happens, it could play a vital role in the short and medium term.

– Do the new times also affect the dissidence?

AR: There is a rethinking of many points of strategy, of projection, that may have had something to do with the ability to make contact with the outside world through immigration reform. Opponents can travel and make contact with politicians from other countries, Cubans abroad … which leads to a new scenario.

– And to repression?

AR: They have changed their tactics but continue doing it. Now it’s surgical, focused on the projects and actors that the Government considers dangerous to its totalitarian hegemony of power. There are still beatings, large operations to block the opposition from attending events, and short duration arrests. Lately they don’t even take those the arrest to police stations, they abandon them in inhospitable places.

State of SATS and For Another Cuba

During the summer of 2010, Antonio G. Rodiles launched this “think tank mixed with art” in order to “create a public space for discussions” in Cuba among intellectuals, artists and human rights activists . A group of eight people, among them the writer and political prisoner Angel Santiesteban, coordinate exhibitions, documentaries, debates or videos that seek to impact the civil society.

From these discussions, emerged the idea of promoting the For Another Cuba campaign, with the objective of urging the Castro regime to ratify and implement two United Nations covenants on civil and political rights, and on economic, social and cultural United Nations. The creator and director of Estado de SATS adds that “its implementation is a kind of road map to begin the transition from the recognition of fundamental rights.”

Translator’s note:
*After this interview the regime withdrew the sanction — that he would not be allowed to perform in public — against Robertico Carcassés.

Source: ABC.ES. Interview originally published on 9 September 2013

Rafters Prosecuted After Tragedy at Sea / Yaremis Flores

Yaima Nach Remedios
Yaima Nach Remedios

HAVANA, Cuba , September 25, 2013 , www.cubanet.org.- On September 4 , the Mayabeque Provincial Prosecutor accused Yaíma Nach Remedios and her stepson, Yasmany Torres Hernández, for allegedly convincing other people to illegally leave the country, in exchange for money and help to build a boat.

Yaíma (with no criminal record) and Yasmany, a young man only 23 and with no criminal record, face charges of 4 and 5 years in prison, respectively. Cuban courts impose penalties of up to eight years in prison on those enter, try to leave or leave the country, “without completing legal formalities.”

Nach Remedios — who does not belong to any opposition organization –claimed Wednesday that only false witnesses could suggest it was only she and her stepson who organized the departure. “We and 14 other people, by mutual agreement, tried to reach the United States,” she confessed.

They have used us as guinea pigs, as the other crew members are free and without charges,” she lamented.

Among the four witnesses that the prosecution called to testify, there is a coastguard and a first lieutenant instructor from the Unit of Crimes against State Security.

Tragedy on the high seas

On March 7, 2013, Yaíma and a group of 15 people threw a boarded a makeshift boat with an engine, with the dream of reaching the coast of the United States. According to what they said, they were sailing for three days and three nights, but during the voyage they were surprised by a storm.

“We try to return to find land, and wait for the calm, but all the shores had dog-teeth (sharp rocks) At 9:00 at night, the board turned around Yaima said, in a loud voice and with watery eyes, without starting to cry.

“Everyone tried to get out of the water to go their own way,” Yasmany continued. One of us never appeared. It was almost dawn when we found Yaima with her ankle cut up and bleeding. Given that, we decided to give ourselves up to save her.”
Today Yaima walks with a prosthesis on her left leg. Her husband, who had nothing to do with the events, was detained for four months, before being released for lack of proof against him.

Currently, the penalties are suspended by the migration agreements between Cuba and the United States, with respect to emigrating Cubans intercepted on the high seas by the American authorities, or who illegally enter the Guantanamo Naval Base.

The U.S. Government promised to return them to Cuba and on the Cuban side the promised not to take legal reprisals against them, on their return to their place of residence on the Island.

From Cubanet

25 September 2013

Decent Work / Dora Leonor Mesa

Poverty is the cause and reason that makes the worker particularly vulnerable to psychological stress.

Source: IX Meeting of the Mixed Committee

OIT- OMS sobre Medicina del Trabajo (1984)

Juan Somavia defined it as “productive labor in which freedom, equality, security and dignity are conditions,  rights are respected and fair wage payment exists as well as social protection”.

The notion of decent work amounts then “to what people expect in their working lives”, a productive work with: Fair pay; Safety in the workplace; Social protection of families; Better perspectives for personal development and social integration; Freedom for individuals to express their concerns, organize and take part in the decisions that affect their life; Equality of opportunity and treatment for women and men.

What is the Decent Work?

Is an important condition to overcome poverty, reduce social inequalities and ensure sustainable development and a democratic government.

The impact of improper working conditions

Impact in numbers; Early aging; Workforce exhaustion; Mental health deterioration; Work stress; Absenteeism

Work related illnesses will double by year 2020 if no changes occur.  Per the Work Ministry in Japan, some cases including suicides are on the rise: 13 cases in 1995; 18 cases in 1996; 23 cases in 1997; 355 cases in 2005

Karoshi (death due to excess work): First case in 1969.

Causes of death: Heart attacks and strokes including subarachnoid hemorrhage (18.4%); cerebral hemorrhage (17.2%); heart attack or brain stroke (6.8%); myocardial infarction (9.8%); heart failure (18.7%); other causes (29.1%), including among them illnesses of rationalization.

The National Defense Council of the Victims of Death from Overwork (karoshi), is an institution that helps the victim’s families to obtain compensation and in many cases, fight endless judicial battles; it’s considered that karoshi affects annually around 10,000 Japanese employees.

Who commits suicide?: Any social status; Work hours with a medium of 10-12 hours without rest days.

What happens in China?: The life expectancy of the “brains” that lead the technology park in Zhongguancun, north of Beijing, considered the Chinese “Silicon Valley” is 54 years and 70% risk of death from “karoshi” (death due to excess work).

It also happens in Europe: The Appellate Court in Riom (Puy-de Dome) confirmed it in February 2000; In January 20, 1997 a man was found hanged, having been threatened with dismissal.

What is burn-out?  Some define it as a psychological retirement from work as an answer to dissatisfaction and excessive stress.

Dynamic Definition of burn-out: Labor Stress / Tiredness / Defensive Attitudes:  Rigidity, Cynicism and Indifference; Demand – Available Resources / Tension; Fatigue, Irritability.

Absenteeism: An employee who is absent from work “without reason” is showing his desire to leave that job forever.

How can we intervene to prevent this?: With the improvement of working conditions.  Improving the quality of the job is the central requirement to ensure health and security at work; so decent works exists.  It’s essential to prevention.

Translated by – LYD

23 September 2013

Oscar in Memoriam / Rosa Maria Rodriguez

Photo from paraclito.net

I met Oscar Espinosa Chepe† at the home of another opposition activist around the year 1997.  Later, I had the opportunity to interact more with him when he would go to the headquarters of CubaPress, then situated in the residence of Ricardo González Alfonso, in Havana’s Miramar neighborhood, so that the editor of that press agency could edit his next article to be published.  So careful was he when stating his opinion responsibly and in the best way possible, that after a while, Germán Díaz Castro told me that the articles that Chepe would bring him did not need editing.  In his effort to “say and to write well” he had acquired the necessary dexterity to provide with discernible journalistic skill his economic observations of the Cuban situation.

Years of opposition activities led us to running into each other several times, and in him I always found a decent, cordial, solicitous and supportive fellow citizen, a comrade in peaceful fights so polite that he never “threw the chalk piece”* of bad behavior against his comrades in the struggle.  His path of economist, civic and opposition activist, plus the intolerant and dictatorial nature of Cuban authorities, led him unjustly to prison in March of 2003.  He was sentenced to twenty years, and released on parole the next year, for health reasons.  He came out with the same humility and simplicity, without the rancor that corrodes and weakens moral and character, and which are the trademark of the dictatorial men in charge that ordered his confinement.  From prison he came out marked by the ailment that closed his eyes to life a few days ago, and opened them to immortality.

This past Sunday, September 22nd, he absented himself physically.  I prefer to remember that part of Chepe’s biography that I knew: educated like a diplomat, and as humble and as much of a dreamer as any patriot opposed to the totalitarian regime.  The man who worked so much for Cuba that for many years we will have the light shone by his analyses and his wisdom guiding our democratizing economic paths.  Those that inevitably will come to create and encourage laws that stimulate trade and production so that our country can definitely prosper without this failed planning socialism –centralism- in which the government has been the flogging and destructive gendarme of our economy and the archipelago in general.

I send my sincere condolences to his widow and other relatives for the death of Oscar, as well as to all who like me, are afflicted by this grievous loss.  R.I.P.

*Translator’s note: Cuban expression that means to misbehave in a furtive way.

Translated by Ernesto Ariel Suarez

26 September 2013

Political Opposition and Negotiations in Today’s Cuba / Dimas Castellanos

Interview of Dimas Castellanos by Ernesto Santana Zaldivar, published on April 26 and 29, 2013 in Cubanet.

Although still uttered timidly, recently you have begun to hear the word “negotiation” in some statements by the Cuban political opposition. Despite having diverse opinions about it, a negotiation is, in general, a process in which two or more parties try to find a mutually satisfactory solution to their problem, be it labor union, financial, military, commercial, political, etc.

The American expert on the subject, Herb Cohen, believes that “everything is negotiable” and defines negotiation as “a field of knowledge and action whose objective is to win the consent or the favor of the people from whom you want to get something.” He also says that the three main factors of a negotiation are power, information, and time.

In order to approach, from a Cuban historical perspective, an issue so complex, but which has had such importance for determining fundamental political changes in many countries and eras, we talked with sociologist and historian Dimas Castellanos, also known for his independent journalism in the digital magazine Consensus, in Diario de Cuba, and in other media.

Cubanet: Do you think there is still no pressure in Cuba that requires the government to negotiate?

Dimas Castellanos: First, this is not the case of an armed movement that occupied a region of the country over which the government now has no control, as in Colombia. Another thing that may force a government to negotiate is that the opposition has such influence over a sector of the population that it can create difficulties for the authorities.

In Cuba there is great discontent, manifested for example in the elections: almost fifteen percent of the voters did not go to the polls or annulled their ballots. But they did so spontaneously, by an individual act of conscience. No one should believe that this was in response to some opposition party that has that kind of drawing power.

So the government has no reason, nor anyone with whom, to negotiate. And on the other hand the opposition is not strong enough to prevent the government from doing what it wants.

Cubanet: What, in your opinion, is the reason for this situation?

Dimas Castellanos: In Cuba, there were always forces that at some point could compel those in power to do certain things. These forces do not exist today. When the revolutionary government took power, the first thing it did was to dismantle the whole network of institutions that existed, mainly civic institutions. So all the citizen organizations, which had been here since the end of the Ten-Year War, disappeared.

Civil society, which erupted with force in the Republic, achieved admirable results, as the strike by apprentices and masons demonstrated in 1901 and 1902, which spread to other sectors.

By 1910, the government was forced to enact several legislative measures favorable to the working class, such as the eight-hour day for government workers, payment in cash and not in tokens and vouchers (as before), and paid holidays.

The labor movement accomplished all that because it had real strength and could, for example, paralyze sugar mills or transportation. Cubans now are not as poor as they were, but we do not have unions and other civil society organizations able to play that role.

Cubanet: So is it essential, first of all, to set up the network again?

Dimas Castellanos: It’s hard to understand that this is a long-term battle. And you have to pace yourself and take advantage of all the gaps and openings to help the civic formation of citizens. Many dissidents want change for Cuba, just as I do, who am also part of the opposition, but I try to be as realistic as possible.

The government is sometimes forced to take some step, more for external reasons than from pressure from within Cuba. After more than fifty years, it has the luxury of making reforms from the same position of power, and therefore can determine the pace and direction they take. They can make a change in one direction, then take back a little, then shift it forward again, and play with it, but there is no internal force able to avoid it.

The government will negotiate when there is a force that compels it to negotiate, and that force has to be formed over the long term.

Cubanet: Do you share the opinion of many Cuban historians that the Protest of Baraguá represents a milestone in our history as a method of negotiating without compromising dignity?

Dimas Castellanos: I regret that the Zanjón Compact has not received the historical recognition that it should have, and that only the Protest of Baraguá has been glorified, because it demobilized the rebel troops in exchange for Spain allowing in Cuba a regime very similar to that which existed in Spain itself or in Puerto Rico.

The laws of the metropolis governed here starting from the Zanjón Compact, and from it came freedoms of expression, association, and assembly, among other benefits.

Despite all the limitations that it kept, there Cuban civil society was born and the first political parties were created. The union movement grew, newspapers spread, there were organizations of all kinds – political, fraternal, labor – that began to take on an enormous burden within society.

The burden was such that you cannot understand the beginning of the war in 1895 without the work that civil society did in the whole colony. That was a time, in terms of freedoms, very superior to what currently exists.

Due to the shortness of time that this form of communication offers and at the same time, due to the interest and to the meaty responses from Dimas Castellanos, we have divided this interview in two parts which will be available to the readers in a coming edition.

Cubanet: In his first responses for this two-part interview, Dimas Castellanos explained the reasons why, in his view, the peaceful opposition movement in Cuba is not yet in a position to force the government to sit at a negotiating table. He also set out his criterion from examples of notable negotiated events that took place throughout our history. Just for this aspect we return to the theme.

Cubanet: How do you assess the role played by civil society in Cuba, as far as negotiation is concerned, in the Republican era, from its beginnings to 1958?

Dimas Castellanos: Negotiation played a role of obvious importance. The Constitution of 1901 is an example. The interventionist U.S. government allowed the formation of a Constituent Assembly and created the conditions for it, but, as it had the force of the occupation, it made sure that the Platt Amendment was incorporated to secure their power over the country.

More progressive Cuban forces strongly opposed the amendment and even traveled to the United States, but failed except for a few small changes. Although during the revolution those who signed the Platt Amendment were condemned, the truth is that there were only two options: either sign the addendum to the Constitution or the United States maintained its military control over the country.

And there were no longer mambises nor the Cuban Revolutionary Party, nor an economy; and a people, moreover, tired of wars. The best minds saw that they could lose everything and accepted the Amendment – although it was an insult, a humiliation – as a tactic, to then gradually remove it, as they did.

In 1934 the Platt Amendment was finally abrogated. And it was all through negotiation.

Cubanet: And in terms of the Constitution of 1940?

Dimas Castellanos: It was a master class in negotiating in which the participants ranged from communists to the extreme right. They arrived at a Constitution that provided balance, though perhaps, in my opinion, it was above the civic potential of the Cuban people. That is why afterward our military tradition manages to prevail.

There was not a strong civic tradition, but rather a dictatorship tradition, which is demonstrated in the governments from 1902 until the fall of Machado in 1933. Between that year and 1940 was very turbulent. After 1937 they managed to calm the situation a little and finally return to a democratic exercise that culminated with the Constitution of 1940.

Batista cleanly won the presidential election. Then Grau defeated him in 1944 with the Aunténticos, winning again in ’48 with Prío, and in 1952 he looked certain to defeat the Orthodox Party, which was nothing more than an offshoot of the Authentic Party, whose main argument was the prevailing political and administrative corruption.

Curiously, this corruption did not affect society, because, even though we were not very advanced in public spirit, the morality of the Cuban people was very high. After the 1952 coup, those who wanted to overthrow Batista were divided into two camps: on one side,  the civic forces (the Law Society, the Medical Association, the Lions Club, Rotary Club, etc..), and on the other, those who opted for armed struggle.

Cubanet: We now know which was the winning side. What is not well understood, especially by the Cuban population, is what later happened with the negotiating capacity of our civil society.

Dimas Castellanos: The Revolution became the source of power, without any compromise with what existed before and swept it all away.

Actually, the Revolution had the support of only one part of the population (the fighting was carried out by a few thousand men in a population of six million), mainly peasant farmers, but the massive support occurred afterward and the Revolutionary government acted with skill. The result: it disarmed Cuban civil society, all the autonomous movements disappeared (of peasants, students, women, workers, etc.).

The unions were taken over in January 1959. Many who disagreed with that course thought that if Fidel Castro had taken power by force, he could also be overthrown by arms, but all violent resistance was defeated.

Cubanet: When can you say that Cuban civil society finally woke up, after the long slumber imposed by the Revolution?

Dimas Castellanos: In the late 80s and early 90s opposition organizations and political parties began to emerge, but very weakly, because of government repression first of all, and because many of the people continued to identify with the power, despite its failure, because the mindset does not change very quickly. Also because of the monopoly the government maintains over the media. It can say whatever it wants about the opposition and it is hard to deny internally. So it is isolated and marginalized.

From my point of view, the political parties that were created in the 90s are now worn out. That hurts a lot and no one likes to be told that, but I personally come from one of those parties, the Socialist Democratic, which has disappeared.

But a kind of proto civil society began to develop and there are movements with a very stable work, although they are not talked about much, such as Dagoberto Valdés, in Pinar del Rio, who has a method of advancing step by step and for years has insisted on the power of the small, with a theoretical basis for change, an accumulated political thought that should be used at some point.

But the problem of dictatorship continues, which we have always suffered with.

Cubanet: And what about the current conditions for strengthening the bargaining power of the opposition?

Dimas Castellanos: Now the government is exhausted and the model has proved unworkable.

With lack of freedoms there can be no development of anything, from the economy to sports. Everything is damaged, and the rulers do not want to engage in the suicide of promoting reforms that bring them to the end of the road, and result in their criminal prosecution.

To advance the economy and get out of the disaster, the government knows it has to connect back to the developed world, especially Western Europe and the United States, which conditions the relationship on respect for human rights, so it has begun to make small concessions.

In any event, the developed world believes that these reforms are still insufficient. That’s why the government is going to have to make more changes.

Cubanet: Do you think then that the new circumstances and the new waves of opponents are creating the conditions for a possible negotiator?

Dimas Castellanos: Whatever happens, the time for negotiation will come, though not in a situation like now exists.
The example is in the release of political prisoners, where there was no negotiation between the government and the opposition. Although many criticized the Church, I find that there was no other way and that civil society, which the Church is part of, was strengthened. Although the Church was able to meet some of its own demands, I don’t really think it was because it has common interests with the government, except for momentary tactical considerations. Strategically, the government and the Church are not going in the same direction.
There are now 400,000 self-employed workers who do not depend on the state. But what work has the opposition done among these workers? They do not think about human rights, but about their most basic needs. What they want is greater economic liberalization.
These 400,000 self-employed are a field in which we must work. We ought to create many more spaces, small schools about Cuban history, political courses, lessons about what a constitution is, about rights, because people will gradually come around.
The opposition has not given the importance that it should to the formation of civic society. You cannot fight for change if people do not even know where they have come from or where they are going.
The day that the opposition can say that the fifteen percent of the population that does not attend the elections is on its side, it will be a minority against the remaining eighty-five percent, but it will represent a great force because then it would be structured, and then it would be realistic to see the possibility of negotiations.

That’s what we have to work for. If we look at the history of Cuba, we see that we have always been changing, and yet we are now more backward in human rights than in 1878, because we backtracked on civil liberties. The Revolution of 1959 seemed like the greatest thing, but we fell into a trap and ended up worse than before. So our work has to be from the ground up and with patience.

Translated by Tomás A.

10 May 2013

Family Fragmentation / Rebeca Monzo

Before the year 1959, I had a great family: grandparents, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, godmothers, godfathers as well as their partners.  We formed a clan, united by love and the daily routine; where our very close and beloved friends were part of it and the family ties were blurred, to the point where it was hard to distinguish if the same blood ran through our veins.

At the beginning, the very beginning of that old year, the contagious happiness inundated all Cuban homes: “The tyrant had left”; but this happiness would last a short time.

Quickly the first “Revolutionary laws” were implemented and behind this hardship some of the familiar faces started disappearing; then some more.  That happiness was replaced by uncertainty, followed by sadness and later on by fear.  We, the youngest wouldn’t realize what was happening until we stopped seeing the faces of our closest friends.  Our neighborhood started turning sad, then the school, then the house, the city, the country.

Everyday we would hear of someone very close leaving the country, abandoning us.  Who knows when we would see each other, if it would even happen, since the radio and television media said the opposite:  “The traitors and unpatriotic that leave the country will never come back.”  For me, a teenager, who was raised in a world of harmony and love, this represented very harsh words, very blunt, immeasurable.

My most dear friends started disappearing as if by magic; but it was truly because of “the magician”.  Some left with identity tags hanging around their necks, leaving for the unknown, they were sent by their own parents with the purpose of “saving them from what was to come”; they were the Operation Peter Pan* kids.  Between hugs and tears we would say goodbye, we would exchange small keepsakes, thinking that we would never see each other, it was tremendously painful.

I still remember with great pain, the day that one of my cousins and his wife left: she took in her womb her first-born, for whom I had embroidered many diapers with the extreme love of someone who expects their first nephew; I met him 38 years later when the cultural exchange trips were re-established, because with the passage of time, among prohibitions and avatars I had become a an artist and for the first time I was able to go to an exposition outside of the captive island.

Then, little by little, I started to cultivate new friendships, I got married, had kids.  One day, my kids left looking for freedom and new horizons.  They settled in different parts of the world, and I had granddaughters that I couldn’t enjoy.  I met those years later, after I had missed all their baby delight, their first words and their first steps.  Also my new friends were leaving too.

Upon my return from a trip, in which I was able to hold an exhibition “outside” I contacted my children and I confirmed with extreme pain all the big and small things that we had missed sharing in this long and grueling way; but the most painful of all, without any doubt has been this extreme family fragmentation.

*Translator’s note: Operation Peter Pan (Pedro Pan), was a program where unaccompanied minors were sent to the United States by their families, who generally hoped to follow them later.  The children were raised by relatives or in foster homes; many were ultimately reunited with their families in the US, but for many others their families were never able to join them.

Translated by – LYD

26 September 2013

The Same Eyes / Lizabel Mónica

Luis Trapaga drawing
Luis Trapaga

Then you turned toward the mirror, to the image of your face reflected there in the murky surface, to prove your existence. No longer did you recognize yourself. You were the other woman, dressed in an outmoded nurse’s uniform.
Farabeuf

Salvador Elizondo

And then the last of them: Denisse, from the waist up. I was seventeen, and I hadn’t seen that photo since I was a girl. I had been entrusted with it as with her eyes—now mine too—and the old suitcase I hadn’t opened in ten years.

She was pretty. That blouse always looked good on her. But her favorite was the white one with red flowers around the neckline, over her breasts, almost over her areolas, which I could make out when I saw her dressed.

There were her crooked lips, painted red. Her blank eyes. Underneath those eyes you could make out the clean tongue, the even teeth. A mouth not made for talking.

Denisse was laconic. She would reserve verbal communication for moments when there was no other solution, like on that night when, perhaps convinced of the contrary, she said, “Don’t worry, honey, I’m sure nothing’s going to happen to us.”

Then the clacking of the metal knocker sounded at the door. Startled, I dropped the photo album next to my feet.

I bent to pick it up before going to the door. It had to be Lilian.

***

“Since I was six, there’s been two types of doors to me. The ones that make me sick with nerves and give me this harsh pain in my stomach, and the ones that don’t. The first smell like glue; the second like all kinds of things, or they don’t have any… wait, no, it went out, give me a light.”

I reached out toward Nara, but before she could react, Sandra lifted her lighter and helped me relight the joint. I smoked some more.

Soon, I didn’t feel like chatting anymore, and I rubbed my fingers together as if to demand something. Maybe I was only trying to palpate my sudden desire not to speak another single word for the moment. I passed the joint.
“Hey, hello over there, girl.”

They were all looking at me, and Nara was waving her hand.

I must have been absorbed in my fingers for some time. With marijuana, one loses notions of temporality. In any case, whether twenty minutes or a second had passed, I still didn’t feel like talking, and worse, I didn’t want to be there anymore.

It was a sign that something was going to happen… Maybe I was already remembering it.

***

My father was awake. He wanted to know what I’d been doing, where I’d been. I told him at Nara’s house and that I was going to sleep. He grabbed my arm and though he didn’t say anything, I knew he’d seen the marijuana in my eyes. He let me realize that he knew. Then he let me go and told me to call him next time to say where I was.

***

I went to my room but couldn’t get to sleep right away. I thought about Denisse. I heard my father turn off the lights and, as always, open the door to the balcony before he went to bed. I thought of the knife he kept at his bedside to defend against thieves.

Then I imagined my father entering the room. He never did that without asking permission from the other side of the curtain.

It was a very strange thought.

Finally I went to sleep.

***

The next day my father woke up in a bad mood, and I don’t remember why we argued. We ended up unusually irritated with each other. Accustomed to talking as little as possible, we would almost always avoid fighting. On rare occasions we would lose control; that day was one of those occasions.

I shouted at him without looking him in the eye, raising my voice in a way I’d never dared to before. I knew he was too angry with me to hold back.
“Clean up the kitchen,” he said, yanking me up off the chair.

Maybe I should’ve stayed quiet. But that day I wasn’t in the mood to repress what I felt, maybe because of the aftereffects of the marijuana, or because at one point or another I’d have to go to school; what’s certain is I couldn’t hold back. I told my fears to go to hell and squared up to him.

“As soon as you get out of here,” I said.

I’d never used the informal address with him to his face. He stayed quiet a moment. Then he brought his face up close to mine and said quietly, but pronouncing the words slowly, hoarsely, with a harsh tone he knew how to use well:

“You get more like Denisse every day. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up like her.”

His disgusting face was right up to mine, and I couldn’t move. When he spoke again, his breath shot out on top of me:

“The same black eyes…”

READ THE REST OF THIS STORY ON SAMPSONIA WAY, HERE

The publication of this story is part of Sampsonia Way Magazine’s “CUBAN NEWRRATIVE: e-MERGING LITERATURE FROM GENERATION ZERO” project, in collaboration with Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo, and a collection of authors writing from Cuba. You can read this story in Spanish here, and other stories from the project, here.

A Functionary Writes Me From Havana / Juan Juan Almeida

Juan Juan Almeida as a child with Raul Castro

A day like yesterday, September 22, in the long ago 1927, in Chicago, Illinois, the most expensive boxing match in all of pre-television history was held. I do not know if it was luck or misfortune, but the historic match brought bettors more frustration than joy. At Soldiers Field stadium, before more than 10,000 fans of pugilism, the favorite Jack Dempsey lost his crown facing someone who was then virtually unknown, Gene Tunney.

Like everything in life is, boxing is fickle; how variable is the luck of those who bet on the challenger. I take advantage of the mention of this anniversary to acknowledge a slightly fraternal message with sentimental engagement that came for me a few days ago from Havana like a snack hidden in the mouth of a naive “office boy” who, through ambition (always commendable, by the way), is determined to live a dangerous experience that goes a little beyond the controllable.

Receiving the oral epistle, with its juxtaposed olive-green authoritarian tone, I respond. According to the Royal Spanish Academy, “treason” mean, and I quote the text from the dictionary: 1- fault that is committed breaking a fidelity or loyalty that should be kept; and 2 – (relative to the right), crime committed by civilian or military that threatens the security of the nation.

In none of its forms, taking into account that the RAE handles the Spanish language much better than I do, I take the hint.  However, I believe that the concept belongs to the devious and predictable transmitter, who to do something deep doesn’t find a better option but to practice scuba diving.

The absurd verbal communication, less extensive than a twitter and plagued with silly chatter uttered with contempt, says among other things that I write crap. Understandable, in Cuba to offend is habitual and as common as palms trees and clay pots (tinjones).  And, although I must admit that I liked it, it saddens me to know that a Cuban functionary, instead of working towards rebuilding the people’s trust and their sense of purpose, dedicates every Monday to reading this column and making a synopsis of it to send through direct channels to the presidential office.

Faced with such aberration, and with the sole objective of bringing my contribution to preventing the resources of the State being so dilapidated, I thought to write one paragraph less each week, but it’s not worth it.

From the epic fanfare so recurrent in the politics of the trench, and the excessive use of grotesque sexual imagery, we won’t even speak; they are merely spent and decadent resources that don’t catch my attention. Of course, many still haven’t understood that from the Iliad and the KamaSutra, nothing new has been written with regards to politics and sex.

The message made me sleepy; and the messenger gave me nightmares. From an early age I learned that in Power’s pack of hounds, those who remain silent, afraid, those who bark, lie, and the rest, they are just good people who make bad decisions.

By the way, speaking of cheap bravado, and of the ironies of history, coincidentally on a day like today, September 23, 1990, the Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein publicly threatened to destroy the State of Israel and you already know where and how it ended.

25 September 2013

Prison Diary LV: A “Royal Taster” in Solidarity? / Angel Santiesteban

I overstepped the first six months in prison, paying for the attempt to give the dictatorship a lesson through my opposition to its hold on power. This is the price they found to make me pay, and this is the response that, all things considered, I offer them.

Since my imprisonment on February 28 of the current year, I finished the novels “The Summer When God Was Sleeping,”* and “God Plays Dice,” edited the novel “Johnny Million,” and I wrote a second part, entirely in pencil, and wrote a book of stories, almost finished, “Zone of Silence,” with eighteen stories. I started a period novel, set at the end of 1807, before Napoleon invaded Spain, and at the same time I’m working on a script for television, all without abandoning the posts for my blog, “The Children Nobody Wanted,” and added to this there are two novel projects awaiting their time to be born.

Looking at it with a cool head, I have to thank my keepers for their injustice in having imprisoned me with the intention of breaking me. I acknowledge that, thanks to them, I can see with my own eyes the terrible suffering from the inhuman treatment suffered by the incarcerated population in Cuba. And know that when it seems that hope is extinguished, a human being approaches, suffering like you, and offers you his hand.

A few days ago, after offering the inmates the usual egg or picadillo**, they gave them chicken — an infinitesimal quantity if we compare to that received by the spies imprisoned in the United States, and that they have the luxury of criticizing if they’ve already been served chicken that week***, which amuses Cuban prisoners — and after the inmates looked for their respective scrap of chicken, an inch and a half cube, including the bone, a gentleman who one day revealed his name, on learning that in my six months I have never accepted food prepared in the prison, offered to test my ration before me, imagining that I rejected it for fear that they would add something to it that with time would cause cancer or some other illness, as their masters in the Soviet KGB were accustomed to doing.

Of course, I said no, but I couldn’t help but be moved. “I’m already old,” he insisted, “I could die and nothing would happen; but you help my grandchildren with your struggle, you work for their welfare, and perhaps there is time to avoid that one of them risks their life on the sea to get to Miami.”

Again, I thanked him for his gesture, assuring him that I would never forget it. In his eyes was a that stubbornness for saving me, from his point of view, knowing of the mysterious and improbable deaths of Laura Pollán, Oswaldo Payá and Harold Cepero among others.

“No doubt they can hurt me,” I told him, “but I don’t eat the food for moral integrity.” Then, against his will, he went to the dining room.

I added another friend to my harvest, a Cuban who woke up from the alienation in which the inhabitants of this archipelago, when Fidel Castro offered dreams in exchange for their lives, without warning them, of the probable nightmare in which their existences would be converted.

Ángel Santiesteban-Prats

Lawton Prison settlement. September 2013

Note from the Editor: Angel sent me this post a few days before he fell ill with dengue. His fellow prisoner, evidently, already harbored fears about his safety. It is encouraging to know that in prison there is also someone who is attentive to his “fate.”

*Winner of the International Franz Kafka Novels of the Drawer 2013 Prize,  in the Czech Republic.

Translator’s notes:
**”Picadillo” means “minced meat” but in Cuba is often means “minced mystery ingredients.”
***The story circulated that the Cuban spies imprisoned in the United States complained about the frequency with which chicken is served.

25 September 2013

Eugenio Yanez Remembers Oscar Espinosa Chepe

Miriam Leiva and Oscar Espinosa Chepe
Miriam Leiva and Oscar Espinosa Chepe

Oscar Espinosa Chepe was a person convinced of what he did in life, without any extremist opportunisms or false remorse about his “revolutionary” phase from his earliest youth. A person of integrity, when speaking or writing he did not care about what his bosses (when he had them) would like to hear; or, after breaking up with the regime, what opposition activists and exiles [would like to hear or read], but [about] the analyses needed to understand the Cuban reality. His didactic virtuosity made any topic that he took on look easy and simple, but the rigor of his analysis and the depth of his conclusions showed a professional committed to the pursuit of the truth. As an economist, independent journalist and opposition activist, he is an example to all Cubans on both shores of the Florida Strait.

Eugenio Yáñez. Writer and Columnist. He edits Cubanálisis-El Think-Tank

Translated by Ernesto Ariel Suarez

From Cubaencuentro

24 September 2013

Rafael Alcides about the Official Novel against Angel Santiesteban

I present to you here the article that writer and poet Rafael Alcides published in the blog Penúltimos Días about the judicial farce mounted against Angel Santiesteban with the sole and hidden objective of silencing his critical and damning voice about the Castro dictatorship.

I ask readers to read this article knowing that Rafael expresses himself ironically but without removing one iota of the truth from what he says about Angel, the horrible antihero into which they try to convert him, the false testimony and the judicial manipulation and from the proxies and scribes of infamy that the regime knew so well how to buy in order to execute and legitimize such a dirty objective.

I believe the clarification is necessary because of the many reactions that his first article about the topic provoked and because he already busied himself clarifying in another article and because such bad fury was used by the Writers of Infamy concentrated in the Cuban Writers and Artists Union (UNEAC) in order to criminalize their colleague (and friend in many cases) and convert him into an example of the macho, abusive and violent man whom they should only recognize in the Castro dictator, his minions and those men in Cuba who regrettably are violent with women and each day pursue and brutally beat the Ladies in White and other brave and peaceful opponents throughout the whole island.

It remains to be said that there also exists — regrettably — a large number of men who practice domestic and gender violence.  Against these men among whom are found distinguished members of the nomenklatura, Justice has never done anything; it would seem as if they had assumed that violence against women and machismo are ingredients of national folklore.

BASIC CONSIDERATIONS ABOUT THE SANTIESTEBAN CASE

By Rafael Alcides

A novelist who would like to write the complex and diverse novel that is hinted at behind the bulky “Santiesteban case,” could begin with the presumably frightened faces that the poor magistrates who failed in said process to know the facts that they would judge.  I get it, because of my own fear and because of what obviously brought the Women of UNEAC to manifest their wrath.  The prize-winning author Angel Santiesteban, UNEAC Prize, Juan Rulfo Prize, House of the Americas Prize, and who physically only would lack the horse to seem an all-powerful rodeo cowboy (The Novelist could not describe his character), threatened his ex-wife with death, hit her, tied her up in order to rape her in comfort and set fire to the house.

I, who at the beginning believed it a magnified quarrel, discord, lovers’ disagreement of the kind that so often feed the great loves while they last (and in that respect I wrote some lines of which I now repent), on knowing the facts in detail or supposed facts (The Novelist will have to investigate them and take a position), I told myself:  this is not the Angel that I know.  It’s not him.  And searching for an explanation for the undoubted failure of the judges, it even occurred to me to think of witchcraft.  Had not Angel been a victim of the evil eye, one of those “hazards” of the sorcerers of the Guatemalan mountains in the time of my childhood?  Also The Novelist would ask himself, but on finding a certain video downloaded from the internet maybe he would stop searching in the Hereafter.

Disturbed by the disconcerting mutations in the conduct of the protagonist in the mentioned video and main witness in the charge by the ex-wife of Angel Santiesteban, he would scrutinize the mystery of this young, good-looking, talkative, well-presented man who on appearing self-pitying retracts on the video his first statements in the police station against Angel.  Regret, nothing strange, The Novelist would think, I have read Dostoyevsky in depth, but now he would draw a blank when he learns that later, in the trial, this same loquacious young man, generous to the point of opulence in the details in the filming seems to be erasing feelings of guilt that would not let him sleep, suddenly, as if suddenly exchanged for a clone, as if a power greater than all the witches of my childhood had placed grief over his head, he returned to being the fundamental witness for the accuser, the enemy of Angel.

Maybe The Novelist then imagines that compassion could very well be a named protagonist in the Case, and maybe he is wrong.  As he is not The Novelist a person who believes in evil a priori, maybe he excuses Angel’s ex wife imagining her one of those poetic souls who end up believing and swearing with hand placed on the fire what they invented in one of those trances in which any of us, fantasy or not, would give half our lives to be able to transform ourselves into nuclear weapons, which would explain the eagerness of the ex-wife to erase her ex from the memory of well-born people.  Because if anything seems like life it is radio novels.  Not for nothing has Felix B. Caignet sometimes been as medicinal as the Virgin of Charity in Cuba.

Seen this way, maybe the Novelist would stop by the office of the police officer who, according to the young man in the video, began to visit the Ex after her denunciation in the precinct and frequently began to stay to sleep over in the house.  In that case, at best it might give the Novelist to create a mutual inoculation between both characters.  She passed him the bacillus against Angel and he to her those that would be expected in a police officer who was not born tomorrow.  But let’s not complicate the Novelist.  Let’s suppose that he has left the officer listening at the foot of the accuser’s tales about her unhappy days with Angel, sorrows so great and of such a kind that they moved him to pity and he couldn’t avoid infecting the officials charged with opening the indictment in the case, this solution would permit the Novelist to explain the part of pity that seems to have decided the failure of the Trial magistrates, in the first instance, and later those of the Supreme Court.

Investigating as was his duty, The Novelist “knowing, from his time as a psychologist, the best documented historian of his time, nonetheless availed himself of apparent fictions in order to represent it,” could then be aware that a few years ago, the young prize-winning author Angel Santiesteban started to think for himself, he was then assaulted by the unknown enthusiasts who broke his arm for educational purposes.  So they might suspect that, the Novelist, asked to identify the educators with rebar wrapped in a newspaper so common at the repudiation rallies but unable to confirm it, were loose ends, adrift, down the drain (but refusing to disappear) of the old days before the Elian case, when the Rapid Response Brigades would go out to take back the street, a task that, in effect, these detachments would over accomplish with a subtle but sufficient breaking of bones, lost teeth, bleeding eyes and so-and-so’s here and there limping for weeks and some, “it’s inevitable,” who knows, perhaps for life.

The Novelist wouldn’t like these methods.  Me neither.  But shouldn’t The Novelist before judging talk to those who’ve been doing it?  Perhaps then he wouldn’t accept it, but at least he would understand these devoted people.  Or they have fought, and sometimes shed their blood in the numerous overseas wars waged by the Cuban government in its first thirty years in power or had elaborated all that was said and done by his government a mystic idea so powerful that there couldn’t exist someone on earth, in the sea or in heaven that didn’t share the idea of their leaders.  Not even in heaven.  “They are heretics”, one of them said to me once.  Another one said “I would beat them to death”, and another who was very catholic, maybe thinking of the heat from hell, with teary eyes and the passion of a Arab who has seen his faith attacked said to me twenty years ago, holding my hand with fervor and staring at me at a table with two beers “I without laying a finger on them would let them fall from a very high roof into a pool filled with boiling oil”. There was no cruelty in the heart of those devoted people, however. There was love, devotion and unconditional love beyond death for the government project that constituted the reason for their life, their marrow that has gloriously burned to say it with the poet.

In statement on the Internet, Dr. Vallín, honorable man and prestigious attorney, claims that during the trial against Santiesteban, witnesses were not allowed and he alleges the defense was obstructed, mentioning laws that were not taken into account by the court. While they aren’t a justification, the rationale of government devotees explained in the previous paragraph, might have permitted The Novelist to understand the irregularities observed by Dr. Vallín.  The pity already stated on the one side, and on the other that these learned men with cap and gown should have represented the free-thinker Angel Santiesteban, still alive, was too much. They failed.

Of course, “and The Novelist knows”, this mixture of sentimentality and  governmental loyalty that on our Island has reasons to work in the garbage truck driver who has seen his son off to the university with a doctorate degree, it would not be convincing abroad.  It couldn’t.  Those curious people from “outside” see things differently.  They still talk about social contracts and things like that.  That’s why from the beginning I assumed, or “better, I believed in being sure” that the government of Army General Raul Castro, looking out for the good image of its administration in this pivotal moment in history, would do justice to the author Angel Santiesteban.  He wouldn’t allow in this case, I thought (and I hope that with me the hypothetical Novelist believed it) to become something else.  Because any person, however humble they may be (or seem to be) can be, nevertheless, the beginning or the end of an era. I think about the nobody in Sarajevo who stepped out in front of a coach.

Finally (second ending to the story: you choose) The Novelist appeared to say, obliquely, without seeming to, in his usual subtext (and if he wouldn’t say it, I’m telling you now so you won’t misunderstand me again), finally, ladies and gentlemen, enough of repeating episodes, of different dimensions but in essence like Christ, Herod and the Pharisees of that time.

Havana, March 19, 2013

Published by Penúltimos Días