The Damaged Cuban
The Damaged Cuban
All during my life, and more so these days, I have encountered Cubans during the course of my day. Inevitably, after we exchange pleasantries and talk about my great grandfather and my other family members, the conversation turns to, what happened to them and their family and friends at the hands of the Castro regime. It is this terrible thing that has happened to them which they cannot even discuss openly. For those of you who do not understand, this is because even after 47 years their loved ones are still held hostage by Castro and his criminal organized gang. Cubans know if they say something truthful about the Cuban regime that embarrasses them the goon squad will soon be knocking on the door of their family and friends on the island. So these sweet people tell me their horror stories instead. I think it makes them feel better just to tell someone safe what has happened to them. All of these stories are difficult to hear and they cause me to choke back tears only by feeling a rage towards these evil doers. The perpetrators need to feel shame for what they have done and what they continue to do to these nice people. And I want to hear every Cuban’s sad story of abuse before I die because it makes them feel better. I want to give them all an enormous hug, slap them on the back and say everything is going to be alright in the future. It is just so sad that the future for Cubans just keeps getting push out of reach by both tyrants and western ignorance.
Why? Because Americans, Canadians and Europeans keep vacationing in
Tribute to Cubans
There was a time I didn’t feel very Cuban, I was lost in between cultures. I didn’t want to identify as a Cuban. The painful years were in the past and that’s where they would stay. English would be my language and
We have a lot of people that try to come to this country for a better life, because no matter what you think of this country, everybody wants to come here and they usually do better here than in their own country. Crossing a border is pretty hard to do; Mexicans do it by the thousands every week, and if they carry enough water and they are in good health, it's like a walk in the park. However, crossing the 90 miles of shark-infested ocean waters in a raft is another thing. I hear there are approximately 3 million Cubans in exile. Some didn’t make it all the way. Unfortunately a lot of them disappeared half way into their journey. The moment you decide, you’d rather die than live with shackles, when life is no longer a priority but freedom is, when the mind no longer wonders with aspirations, when the hope is all gone, when your children belong to the Government, when the spirit gets broken, when it seems that God no longer listens, when there’s nobody to rescue you, then it’s time to take a raft and hope the wind is blowing to the North. Many Cubans perished in the ocean, for this we can thank El Commandant Fidel Castro, beloved by many uninformed people. They are brainwashed. They say that Castro is a good man because his people get free education. I don’t respect anybody that gives me free education and then tells me what I can or can’t read. Communism, the biggest rip off in history.
It was summer and I was a kid. We packed our bags to spend the summer at the country house. I didn’t like summers at the country. The beach was more fun. The country house was like out of a John Wayne movie. The first room was a great big dining room with a huge sign high up on the wall made out of jute rope that spelled the word “WELCOME.” The long rustic table had two long benches on each side and could have easily accommodated ten to twelve people. To the left was the primitive kitchen with a window that opened to the outside as well as a door facing the barn. On the right was the living room with prim and refined white wicker furniture, and a book shelf in the corner without books on it. One wall had windows and double doors that opened out to the porch and beyond was the tropical fruit orchard with mangoes, bananas, oranges, papayas, mameys, guavas and so many varieties of exquisite fruit. I used to climb those trees and eat mangoes and bananas until my tummy ached.
Sometimes it is great to think and transport myself to the farm remembering those days, where the palm trees went straight to the heavens. Not a care in my mind. It was fun to see my mother grab the neck of a chicken and with a good twist I would see my dinner do the Macarena. Everything tasted better in
Summer was great, but when December came the whole family got together at my maternal grandparents house and feasted on a delicious typical Christmas dinner that consisted of a delicious suckling pig cooked on a pit, rice, black beans, yucca con mojo, plantains and buñuelos and torrejas for dessert. The Christmas lights decorated the town and everybody wished Merry Christmas to all. Midnight mass service was available at every church and the spirit of Jesus was everywhere. It was a holiday to celebrate and we all did. There was no fear or persecution.
After the attack of the
There were rumors that there was an attack at the
On this night, we were having dinner. It was a night like any other and my mother had the steamed rice, black beans, some meat and fried plantains on the table. As usual we were getting ready to have our supper. There was a knock at the door, followed by thumping noises. My father finally opened the front door and many soldiers came in. It was like an army and two soldiers pushed my father to the floor, held him down, and about 10 other soldiers went thru the house searching for weapons or something they could take back to their commandant. Of course they found nothing, but they still took my father prisoner - no charges, no warrant, no explanations, no lawyer, no Miranda Rights. In
My mother was frantic, I was horrified. What were they going to do with my father? My mother received some news from friends that the soldiers were arresting some citizens that may have been affiliated to those counter-revolutionaries in the attack at the
He planned the trip and found the boat. He invited members of the family to go on a ride. They all knew what kind of a ride, of course. The soldiers stopped us in the middle of our journey, arrested all the men and women then all four of us children were taken to a building until the next of kin came to pick us up. The men received a year in prison. The women only got a month, but my father received two years in San Severino’s prison as a political prisoner for trying to escape the country illegally and for planning the escape. San Severino was a castle constructed by the Spaniards during their colonization of
This brave lady will have more of her story to come in the future. So while you westerners are all snug enjoying your holiday remember that thousands of Cubans missed many Christmas’ with loved ones thanks to Fidel Castro and westerners' support – some will never see loved ones again. So if you unknowingly aided the tyrant due to ignorance we forgive you. But you must repent now and make it right.