Everyone Bears Your Name, Fidel / Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

12 07 2015

Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo, 10 April 2015

We Cubans are going to miss Fidel a lot.

Fidel was a spontaneous, almost infantile, assassin with an irresistible charisma that eroticized even his bodyguards. Meanwhile, he could kill just out of a curiosity to see his victims’ last expression of panic or rage. Like someone who naively opens up a lizard from Birán* or the virginal vagina of an adulterous woman from Havana.

With Fidel deceased–in one of those fecal spectacles of running around between stretchers and Mercedes Benzes–today, we as a people have ended up alone with a one-eyed psychopath* and the pathetic pedophile, Eusebio Leal.

Fidel was always covered in mud. He got in and out of military jeeps and helicopters whose blades decapitated the rest of the leaders of the Revolution. He cut sugar cane with gusto. He drank water from wooden cups containing the saliva of peasants. He shot three-point baskets. And thirteen-point baskets. He expelled priests and sent gays to concentration camps. Or both.

He caught marlins like Hemingway and he was an ace at cross-breeding cattle. He smoked and smoked and dodged cancer cells. He planted everything and had a talent for reaping nothing; that cycle of sterile stubbornness toward the Cuban people was a symptom of closeness. Fidel was a loser that never lost, a Cuban from the ’hood.

Fidel was me. A guy that diverted hurricanes and brought AIDS to Cuba from the African bush, in the white blood cells of his little hetero, ebony-colored soldiers. He cloned interferon and solidified the amorphous formula of Spirulina. He deported half the country and put it to work for him in malls from Miami to Melbourne. And that’s not counting that he sent the first black man into orbit. Fidel, my friends, was fearless.

Now in 2015, Cuba is on its way to democracy. The government in Havana is saturated in rich white people who have made pacts with the rich whites of the Cuban-American ex-exile community. The commanders of the Revolution are being cremated on a regular basis and the holocaust archives have not only disappeared, they’ve been quickly rewritten. The future belongs entirely to that past that never made its debut.

The only thing we can hope for from the grim, one-eyed Alejandro Castro Espín** and his Zionist zetas is massacre, but those thousands of dead matter less than Eusebio Leal’s robes. The grand nineteenth-century gentleman, the despicable thief who made off with the property of Dulce María Loynaz, Lage’s pal and other so-called reformers who ended up in pajamas*** and powerless even to give interviews, the historian who was punished for being corrupt and for making an embassy joke about taking Old Havana to the “Granma Yacht mausoleum,” in short, the parish priest who shoves his pedigreed dollars up the asses of Lolitas… he judges the Cuban people in public–a people whose mass stampede abroad has been our only revenge against the tyrant–barely equal to a speck of dirt on his Lord Spengler rain coat.

As a result, the neo-marketization between Brickell’s*** totalitarian tycoons and the corporate mafia bosses of Siboney****, must imply recycling the best minds of my generation in the laundry room of a high security prison. Nothing that happens in Cuba is believable. The first democrats to reach democracy on the Island will simply be the fast food items that Fidelism currently teaches at its world summits.

As a Cuban, I miss Fidel a lot. I miss his cadavers, who are my last contemporaries. The maximum leader of the Third World calls us “lumpen,” “scum,” “worms.” Yet he never stopped covering himself in our excrement, the excrement of a prostituted nation during half a millenium of despotism without government and without God.

It also makes me sad that, in his death, Fidel is going to really miss us, his Cubans.

Translator’s notes:
*Birán is the place in eastern Cuba where the Castro brothers were born and raised.
**Refers to Raúl Castro’s son, Alejandro Castro Espín, who lost an eye during military training in Algeria and is currently a colonel in Cuba’s interior ministry.
*** In Cuba when someone in power is ousted (but not imprisoned) their “retirement” is colloquially referred to as “the pajama plan.”
****Brickell is a street in Miami where the superrich live, and Siboney is a neighborhood in Havana where the elites live and ordinary Cubans are not allowed.

Translated by: Kathy Fox





MCl Leader for the Freedom of a Cuba without Castros / Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

4 07 2015

Interview with Rosa Maria Paya

Leader of the Christian Liberation Movement and Cuba Decides

From El Pais

 “The United States is negotiating with the Cuban caste.”

Cuban regime opponent, daughter of Oswaldo Para, speaks of the shortcomings of the thaw.

Alba Casas

Madrid, 3 July 2015, 23:03 CEST

To Rosa Maria Paya (b. January 1989, Havana), daughter of the late Cuban dissident Oswaldo Paya and a member of the Christian Liberation Movement — founded by her father — is not afraid to say the thaw will not end “the embargo on freedoms” that the Cuban Executive imposes on its inhabitants. “The United States is talking with the Government and those surrounding it. But civil society is left outside. It is a privilege reserved for the Cuban caste. For the rest, it is a situation of exclusion,” she says.

Although she looks favorably on the advance in relations between both countries — in her own words: “And attempt to include Cuba as part of the international community is good, provided the inclusion is of all of Cuba, not just the government.” Paya believes that the reestablishment of the talks offers a “halo of legitimacy to a Government that every day violates the rights of its citizens.”

And she defends, over and over again, the need for this process to come with a change for society. “The confrontation with the United States is the excise the government has used to justify some of its repressive measures. Now the excuse has fallen but the situation continues the same, which shows that it was not the United States that was oppressing Cubans, but rather the government itself.”

Among the North American giant’s motives, according to Paya, should be to defend “the opening of Cuba to Cubans themselves,” to offer legal security to entrepreneurs who want to embark on new commercial activities on the island.

“Totalitarianism is a tacit threat to them, like negotiating with the mafia. I don’t expect an altruism from foreign investors, but to negotiate without the guarantees of democracy is to accept the rules of the Cuban government,” says this young woman of 26, with some political ideas of her own who spend this same time leading rallies in front of the cameras.

In drawing a parallel between this “game that follows the rules of the Cuban government,” with the current situation of the thaw in which the United States, despite its initial demand to ensure the rights of Cubans, has finalized the embargo and removed Cuba from the list of countries sponsoring terrorism, without a real advance in freedoms for society.

Paya says, “It is terrible when talking becomes more important than the objectives of the talks. When this happens, the impunity is total and the government feels free to assassinate a Sakharov Prize winner and nothing happens.” She is referring to her father, Oswaldo Paya, who died in 2012 in strange circumstances in a traffic accident. “To call it an accident is to use the government’s words,” she says.

Paya’s criticism against the executives who prefer “to ignore the violations of human rights” is not directed solely at the North American giant. The young woman even links to “the 15 years of recession experienced by the democracies in the region,” with the Cuban dictatorship.

“I’m not saying it’s the only reason, but it is a common denominator. And you can observe the complicit silence of the senior Latin American politicians with all the crimes of the region, not only those of Cuba,” she says.

The instrument that the Cuban Christian Liberation Movement proposed to achieve that advance in rights and initiate a process of the democratic transition is to hold a plebiscite to ask the citizens of the island if they want to participate in free elections, in which any citizen can stand as a candidate of the opposition, with full media coverage and, above all, “with guarantees for the voters that there will be no consequences from the powers-that-be.”

Looking at this utopian scenario cannot, however, ensure that Cubans taking to the polls is going to translate into the end of the Castro mandate. “I believe that if Cubans could vote, they would vote for freedom. But if they do not do it, all we can do is to give them the tool. Cubans will be free when they want to be so.”





OLPL at 2015 LASA CONGRESS in SAN JUAN, PUERTO RICO

8 06 2015

Josu Imaz with two members of ETA (Basque National Liberation Movement) with refugee status in Cuba.

 

1. THE CUBAN STRANGEVOLUTION
 
Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can’t be sure. The telegram from the Home says: YOUR MOTHER PASSED AWAY. FUNERAL TOMORROW. DEEP SYMPATHY. Which leaves the matter doubtful.
As in the beginning of Albert Camus’s novel The Stranger, Mother Revolution may have died today. Or yesterday. The tweets from the Homeland —the last disconnected spot in the hemisphere— are misleading. No funerals for Fidel, despite the successive unsuccessful farewells on-line. Abroad, deep sympathy for socialism all over the US academy and surprisingly also from its supposed archenemy, the State Department. Within, reforms emerge as the new style of repression: the Realpolitik of Raúlpolitik. Soldiers turned into salesmen. Spies into diplomats. Which leaves doubtful the matter of Marxism after the handshake of markets, with the US Chamber of Commerce approaching our Central Committee, for the sake of avoiding chaos in Cuba and converting another Communism into Consumerism.
A hyper-nationalist environment is opening up 25 years too late to the global economy. This process implies an overdose of estrangement. Strangers are reaching out before Cuba changes to commonplace capitalism. Cubans themselves are learning fast profitable practices, copy-and-paste from abroad, driven by the numismatist osmosis from exile to insile. The figure of the foreigner is no longer —as in the 20th-century Cuba— a taboo imposed by the totalitarian State, much less the dramaturgic dilemma repeated from poetry to playwrights and from short-stories to cinema screen —with Strawberry and Chocolate as the transgender example par excellence. After dealing with more than 3 million tourists in 2014 alone, the open code of our closed society is now obvious: wealth and welfare are imported effects in Cuba and do not depend on any endemic effort.
The Sugar Curtain, with its ideological filter of loyalty to the Leader, its secret alliances with dictatorships both from left and right, and the export of violence to every continent as a way to divert subversion out of the Island, is crumbling in Cuba; yet the Castro elite in power keeps total control of a self-transition not to democracy but to dictocracy. A second generation of Castros is knocking at the foreign door of the Oval Office. And their olive green guerrilla uniforms, in an act of transvestism, fit into luxury guayaberas and civil suits cut by the tailors of our post-totalitarian State capitalism.
We, the others, are now approaching you, the other others, in a close encounter of the Cuban kind. The alternative model that used to play the victim —first during the Cold War and then in this unipolar world— is about to join the classic canon of capitals and cops, without quitting the revolutionary —technically, retrovolutionary— rhetorics. Decades of autocratic Asian experience, and billions in geopolitical loans, legitimizes our Caribbean experiment.
In consequence, in our popular vocabulary the feared term “foreigner” has mutated into the much more noble “amici” —the plural which welcomes singular citizens from the First Europe—, the colloquial “pepe” —who generously share even our mother tongue, preferably from Spain and Argentine—, the efficient “fula” —a reduction of the visitor to the color of his hard currency—, the astounding “faste” —which in Cuba is the flying metaphor of “fasten your seat belts” before takeoff, and the unique “yuma” —to avoid any derogative reminiscence of the Yankee imperialists.
All these etymological delicacies of our vocubalary are just the first step of a neighboring procedure that doesn’t take foreigners for granted. On the contrary, Cuba is expected to cubanize them right on the spot. And such a hyper-politeness is the secret shortcut to foreignizing ourselves. We are really committed to this conversion from claustrophobic comrades to cosmopolitan colleagues. The New Man of Ernesto Guevara is the New Manager: “Ché” is overpronounced in Cuba today as “check”.
The relief from the scarcities of Castroism points now to JetBlue, MasterCard, Netflix, Airbnb, Amazon, AT&T, US agricultural corporations, Google apps and other external et ceteras. True life is elsewhere, as poet Arthur Rimbaud put it. Given the current circumstances, the POW Rambo —himself a byproduct of the Cold War as well— is reference enough to start our journey back to the future. And, more prone to McDonalds than what Americans are ever willing to accept —as we recognize each other, we will realize how unknown we have been— at least we do agree that fundamental freedoms are to be excluded from this formula of fidelity. The rationale is that, if we Cubans have already waited for over half a century to fully exercise our rights, now we must wait a little longer. Until history freezes over. Till democracy do us part.
 
 
2. THE CUBAN DECALOGUE OF THE PERFECT FOREIGNER
The Cuban XXth century ended on Wednesday July 13th, 1989, with the bullets that killed a National Hero —general Arnaldo Ochoa— and a hitman —Tony de la Guardia. Both knew more about the crimes of the Revolution than Fidel himself, and thus they were sentenced to death by him in person. However, the Cuban XXIst century did not start until 25 years of Wednesdays later, on December 17th, 2014, with the simultaneous speeches of president Barack Obama and dictator Raul Castro, each announcing that all the revolutionary riffraff had been just a daydream.
Sovereignty in Castro’s Cuba has always been dependent on the notion of a foreign foe, in a sort of inverted annexationism that legitimates all governmental impunity: “in a besieged plaza, dissent is treason”, it’s the Jesuit quote that —Jesuit-educated himself— Fidel ordered to be painted on the front of dissidents’ houses, like Oswaldo Payá’s, the founding leader of the Christian Liberation Movement, until he was extrajudicially killed in July 2012 and the banner was immediately erased after 15 years in place.
Sovereignty on the Island is also sequestered by the legal imposition of a foreign friend. The first Cuban Constitution after 1959 consecrated in its Article 12 that the Republic was based on “its relations with the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and other socialist countries in the socialist internationalism”. A redundant line from 1976 that in 1992 had to be similarly erased, after the end of the Soviet empire and the Eastern European satellites behind the Iron Curtain.
How do Cubans love thee, foreigner? Let me count the ways:
 
1. The foreigner as a goldmine. All transactions lead to abroad. Besides being considered “idoneous” by the authorities, any investment on the Island implies the condition of otherness. This applies to bureaucrats with relatives residing elsewhere, as well as to social activists of the Cuban alternative civil society. Despite their complaints and accusations of “mercenaries” against critical citizens who lead independent projects, the State ministers are not only the main beneficiaries of the solidarity of NGOs worldwide, but they also grab as secretly as possible the donations from other governments, private magnates, and terrorist regimes.
 
2. The foreigner as a boarding gate, a springboard to leave Cuba behind. Every visitor is in risk of being used and then discarded as a human raft —a last boat for salvation— as a migratory catalyst or a catapult out of the catacombs of communism to consumerism. We favor freedom of movement, but our people-to-people exchange tends to be one-way. Cubans seem to be making room for over 3 million tourists a year, plus waves of artists, athletes and academics from “that absurd First World” —as Fidel used to describe it— who arrive in a rapture of fascination to document the esthetics and to edulcorate the ethics of our architectonical and anthropological ruins. Cuban hospitality wouldn’t let our guests suffer being crammed in a bus or a barbacoa, so we hitch to their passports, even if later this means breaking a contract or a heart. We dare not sign an on-line petition, but we have web access enough almost to graduate as MFAs in virtual love, typing typos that are taken for tenderness in this genital stampede: a DNA diplomacy that is diminishing the Cuban population within our shores, but it’s both inspiring and inseminating from Sarah Montiel to Madonna, from Camilo Sesto to Luis Miguel.
 
3. The foreigner as the fast and furious heroes of Fidel. The Cuban people prefer to ignore the details of this horror collection, since knowledge is the ultimate evidence of culpability for our ubiquitous secret police. Yet, the Island has been a safe haven for the spiritual appeasement of a gallery of international ex-convicts and fugitives charged with embezzlement, money laundering, bank robbery, drug trafficking, airplane hijacking, bombing, cop-killing, with violence and justice for all the liberation movements from the Basque Country to Puerto Rico, from the Tupamaros to the Black Liberation Army. Several of these now peaceful warriors and their otherwise innocent families ended up denouncing their treatment by a disenchanted Castro as hostages of the proletarian paradise —that is to say, as common Cubans. Some died of a timely terminal disease —like the American fraudster Robert Vesco. Others committed suicide —including the strange cases of one daughter and the sister of Salvador Allende. Others —as the official propaganda claims— are still the “anonymous heroes and friends” of our underground uncivil archives: in a Revolution rescued by foreigners to foreigners and for the foreigners.
 
4. The foreigner as the defenestrated. There is the insistent investor who, generation after generation during the Castrozoic Era, trusts and thrusts his money in the black hole of a Revolution in bankruptcy or in bankcorrupt. They seem to search for no benefits at all, according to their own statements on national TV. They seek the development of our people, with the surplus value of a handshake with the Commander in Chief (before it’s too late). Their incomes are almost about humanitarian numismatics, although they are not allowed to pay their own workers directly: the money can go only to the monopolistic State. Until one day their illusion insurance expires. Then some manage to escape —like Chilean Marxist mafia entrepreneur Max Marambio, although his partner Roberto Baudrand died of a heart attack after hours of tortured interrogation by the State Security. Then some accept that it’s never too late to pay a ransom to be kicked out of business without indemnification —like Canadian transportation tycoon Cy Tokmakjian. Yet some are accused of espionage after years of revamping the Cuban economy —like British architect Stephen Purvis. Many externalize their pain by writing a best-seller out of their adverse Castro adventure —like Michel Villand, the expelled owner of the fine pastry chain Pain de Paris. One —Sebastián Martínez Ferraté— was invited to invest in Cuba only to then be captured at Havana airport, and thus punished for a documentary he directed a few years before on prostitution and corruption by students, teachers and the police. Still others still remain there on the Lost Island, foreignly forgotten behind the bars of La Condesa special prison for foreigners. David Pathe, CEO of Sherritt International from Toronto, the biggest foreign investor in Cuba, which has been mining nickel for two decades, summarizes it better than any Cubanologist: “It’s not about commercial outcomes; it’s about who can they trust”.
 
5. The foreigner as the fool. Poet Allen Ginsberg in the 60s shrieking for sex with Ché Guevara, scandalizing the good revolutionary macho savages, who would get rid of him in the next airplane. Anthropologist Oscar Lewis in the 70s with his raw research confiscated as a CIA plan to impoverish the Cuban way of life under Fidel, plus the bonus track of a sudden death once released to the US. Commander William Morgan —the Americano— condemned by treason to die in front of a friendly firing squad. It’s a long list of foreigners that crosses centuries until reaching the risible of the Spaniard actor Willy Toledo pretending to survive in Cuba with his savings in euros. An ephemeral performance exploited in the media by Patrick Symmes from Harper’s Magazine, when he chronicled his ethno-tourism of being a fake Cuban for a month with just the 15 dollars of our minimum wage. This ridicule could only be surpassed by the USAID contractor Alan Gross, incarcerated 5 years as an internet martyr on the Island, only to be swapped for The Five Castro’s professional spies in the US —and a federal sample in advance of one spy’s faithful sperm.
 
6. The foreigner as a clown. Specifically, as Clownan O’Brian. Last March 4th he launched his Cuban comedy by TBS. He landed in Havana loaded with make-up, ready for incomprehensible gags in the face of his spontaneous Cuban partners. Laughter has the advantage of being always half way between criticism and complicity. He is the funny US ambassador who will precede the real ones. Behind cameras, his crew paid here and there to obtain filming permits and interviews. He doesn’t learn a thing about Cuba, but at least he exposes himself as the nerd that never asks where is or who was Fidel, since his TBS contract depends on that eloquent silence. Memories of undermemories. As an archeologist in a tropical theme park, his show is a time machine, from an out-of-date despotic iconography in a flash-forward to the Havana downtown that would be, where no Americans will rush to travel as they do now. He proudly shows off the prodigy of a tablet, like a forbidden fruit Made in Apple. He could easily buy the long island of Habananhattan in exchange for a couple of miracle mirrors like this. As fossil aborigines of the last Siouxcialist tribe, we adore his performance in our clowntry with a dose of distrust. It had to be a black kid in the background who reveals a truth that escapes the hermeneutics of subtitles: “Give me that, mister, so we can watch you later at home.” While Big Conan Chief brags, Little Barbarian Indian is begging, but both smile for the selfie. Simultaneously. Like Young President and Old Dictator in the parallel windows of all computers —except in Cuba— last December 17th. No further questions, your Horror.
 
7. The foreigner as the estranged reporter of Cuban reality. Cuban narratives always fed on such an imported impulse, especially today when the Maximum Narrator is already on mute. We listen and read those foreigners as discoverers of our self. Cuba is better thought from abroad. The Cuban race issue was to be raised only in The New York Times, as later the US embargo was to be first lifted in its pages. The best interviews and documentaries of Fidel Castro have a copyright Made in USA, including two exclusive interviews forPlayboy, a magazine that no Cuban can read in Cuba without being accused of being a pornographer. Friendship with any foreigner always had to wait for Fidel to delimit the good guys from the bad ones beyond our waterfront. In a paternalistic State, citizens learn to behave like children never mature enough to interact with a foreigner and resist such a close encounter of the corruptive kind. As pleasure is displaced by duty, responsibility is disciplined into hypocrisy.
 
8. The foreigner as the ex-self. The circling Cubans who go away but at the end return. Cuban-Americans and Cuban-Europeans are foreigners by default, despite their mandatory passports and entry permits, but the new successful Cuban Cubans from the Island are also perceived as such. Migratory nationals are treated especially like endangered species: they become predators of privileges. And even the local language used to talk to these first-class Cubans is caricatured, as if the round-trip had made them unable to fully understand their own tongue. In the streets of Havana my Canon digital camera was sufficient cause to provoke the transubstantiation of terms, the syntax metamorphosis. They call me “amici”, “yuma”, “pepe”, “fula”, “faste” and overall, “white”. Even if we shared the same skin pigmentation, by calling me “blanco” they explicitly recognized themselves as non-whites. If I dared to let them know that I was as Cuban as they were, they immediately insisted: “yes, man, but you’re Cuban where from?” This xenophillia protects them from their own failure of movement and it’s very risky to contradict. Only once I confessed that I had never traveled beyond the Malecón. My interlocutor felt humiliated by my difference and replied with his most virulent Cuban argot and gesticulation. In Cuba, to look like a source of sustainability without being one is a crime against Cubanity. We Cubans from Cuba must resemble Cubans from Cuba. Revolution is essentially about revolving around the same.
 
9. The foreigner as Fidel. Unaware of what’s been going on during 18 months of secret diplomacy, he now incarnates not the unknown but the unknowable. No last-minute biography by Jon Lee Anderson will be able to redeem Fidel. No obituary note already requested from Anthony de Palma byThe New York Times or El Nuevo Granma will bring Fidel closer to the Cubans to come. As Fidel will not leave a decent corpse for his mausoleum, his ashes will be spread throughout Cuban geography —including Miami— maybe as a malefice to abort any deviation of his legacy of loss. Fidel has forced more Cubans into a state of foreignness forever than all the rest of Cuban statesmen combined. In part, because a country of foreigners is much more governable than a country with its sovereignty restored to individuals. In part, to fulfill the prediction of the Independence Apostle José Martí that “Cuba reunites us on foreign soil”.
 
10. As in Camus’s Strangervolution, Mother Homeland might not deserve anymore the look that used to link us to her.
 
“We put the lid on, but I was told to unscrew it when you came, so that you could see her.”
 
While he was going up to the coffin I told him not to trouble.
 
“Eh? What’s that?” he exclaimed. “You don’t want me to …?”
 
“No,” I said.
 
He put back the screwdriver in his pocket and stared at me. I realized then that I shouldn’t have said, “No,” and it made me rather embarrassed. After eying me for some moments he asked:
 
“Why not?” But he didn’t sound reproachful; he simply wanted to know.
 
“Well, really I couldn’t say,” I answered.
 
He began twiddling his white mustache; then, without looking at me, said gently:
 
“I understand.”

Note: Original in English

27 May 2015





Decrepit Cuba / Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

5 06 2015

Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo, 15 May 2015 — Cuba’s sun beats down on everything. Shrinking the eyes. Crushing the skin. Dehydrating us, making us seem older than we have always been.

And it’s not only Cuba’s sun. It is Miami’s sun, too. Which is indistinguishable with so much uncivil barbarity.

Below that continuous light without gaps, which flattens out forms and extinguishes colors, we Cubans have very little to do. That excessive luminosity is called Castroism, and it existed before and will exist after Castro.

There are no hues, there is no texture nor context. Nothing is subtle or mysterious. Everything is body and corpse. Cuba like a great Castroite caiman, from San Antonio to Maisí (that is to say, between Maceo and Martí: the violence that decapitates and the violence of the demagogue).

From that country without shadows is what we Cubans escape. From its history of eternal day, without nights in which to be oneself. With no space for pleasure, understood as freedom and not as animalism. That is why there is no possible return to an Island without imagination, where everything is factual yet fictitious, where our life passes us by in a kind of restless sleep yet it is impossible to dream.

Cuba has no State and has no God. In its midst, there does not yet exist the first Cuban man who will survive that oversaturated absence of light. (When one is born, they assassinate him in the plain light of day.) To speak of hope in Cuba is to spit upon the remnants of our intelligence, and even upon that instinct for self-preservation that disguises our cowardice as dignity.

He who respects his love will leave Cuba immediately. To love in Cuba is to betray love.

Go, Cubano. Go, Cubana. For you. For him, for her, for love.

Do not perpetuate with your pathos that Cuba that is only body and corpse with no heart.

Translated by: Alicia Barraqué Ellison





Dearest Obama

5 06 2015

Barack Obama, behind, channeling the corpse of Hugo Chavez

The presidents of the USA have been a taboo subject in Cuba for 55 years. The image of the Bad Imperialist can only be authorized by the top propaganda authorities of the Communist Party (the only legal one on the island) or, when appropriate, by the very Council of State.  The idea was to depersonalize and discredit all the men of the White House (the documentary pamphleteer Santiago Alvarez embodied the vile vanguard of that mission). The external enemy has to be artificially animalized, to be slain just the same as one more internal opponent. Only in that way, by a simple media comparison for the eyes of a captive audience, would the elevated image of our Maximum Leader shine brighter in our hearts.

Fidel the future, Eisenhower the fossil; Fidel the strapping, handsome proletarian, Kennedy the bourgeois little asshole; Fidel the internationalist warrior, Johnson the international warmonger; Fidel sincere to the bone; Nixon scandalously phony; Fidel the perpetual comrade; Ford this year’s fleeting model; Fidel the pitcher, Carter the catcher; Fidel the still-young star, Reagan the nearly senile stuntman; Fidel in the “Special Period in Times of Peace,” Bush the bombings of post-perestroika; Fidel celibate, Clinton promiscuous; Fidel the horse, W. Bush the jackass; Fidel the dove who has been robbed several times of his Nobel Peace Price, Obama the white hawk with a blackbird’s feathers (the official Cuban press racistly accused him of betraying his own race).

After nearly a decade of being censored in Cuba (in spite of receiving the clear signal and being invaded by Cuban personnel), the TeleSUR channel started to be free in Cuba as a gift from Raul in the New Year. Now it’s not just the pirate patch of Walter Martinez on tape, savoring the Bolivarian mush to the illiterate and fanatics of the continent, but rather, since January 2013, it’s finally Mr. Barack Obama, live and kicking on every TV in Havana.

And, to the confusion of everyone at home, it turns out that the skinny kid from The Mulatto House in Washington doesn’t shout, nor present a threat to the public with his hooked fingers, nor wear a military uniform, nor spend hours and hours giving speeches to the millions and millions of his Babylonian nation. To top it off, the guy looks like a citizen and, as such, talks about urgent environmental concerns, about minority rights (representing the local LGBT community better than our National Assembly), or social projects that don’t need another half-century of sacrifice (while at the same time the police authorize a protest against him).

In my surveilled neighborhood of Lawton, after seeing this unheard of thing—a civilian president who does not preside in perpetuity—there were those who made the joke that the next People’s Power electoral ballot should include an extra box to check for “Deputy Obama.” I should publicize that humorous story online. OK, now I’ve done it here.

If I were the Cuban government, I would not take so lightly the symptoms of satisfaction or scorn for our socialism within the Cuban neighborhood. And, just in case, I would prepare one more chair in the Palace of Conventions. The slogan of the plebiscite of the Castros to the Castros in 2018 could well be this:

Cuba, Obamaness is coming!

Translated by: BW

11 April 2015





Rosa Maria Returns to the Revolution of Death / Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

13 05 2015
Click on image for link to video in Spanish

Click on image for link to video in Spanish

ROSA MARIA AND DEATH

Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo, 11 May 2015

Since she was a little girl, death was a guest in her home. A guest no one invited in the midst of the family happiness, rather an intruder imposed by a fascist State called Revolution. A totalitarian state that began killing before the assault on power, killing that prevailed for decades, and that will end up killing more, sooner than later. It is the only logic of a governance in which the Castros are effective, a dynasty of several generations that were never elected in Cuba. Since she was a little girl, death peeked through the blinds and revealed the probable terror: she always knew that the Cuban wanted to kill her papá.

Rosa María Payá, after a year and a half living outside Cuba, returns today to the Island where lie the remains of Harold Cepero — her soulmate — and those of Oswaldo Payá. She brings them a flower. A little flower of the most commercial and cowardly Miami. Where thousands of “mules” travel daily as accomplices of the Castro regime. Where all the entrepreneurs are Castros with Cubanologist ties, but ultimately they are simply thirst for dollars and power. A caste that, with the story of the economic empowerment of civil society, aspires to enslave Cuba based on their earnings and their corruption. They are not another shitty mafia, but they are the same and of the same ideological sign as the shitty mafiosos of the Plaza of the Revolution.

Cepero and Payá were assassinated in Cuba by order of the high command of the Ministry of the Interior on Sunday, 22 July 2012. It was a personal vengeance on the part of the homicidal brothers. A crime against humanity whose atrocious guilt will never expire, and for which they will be held accountable before justice, including the descendants of the tyrants: in particular Alejandro Castro Espín, who was already in office when they killed Cepero and Paya.

This crime would never have been undertaken blindly. Before executing it, the Castro regime consulted on the double homicide with the highest spheres of power in the European Union and in the United States. And also with the insulting insular Catholic hierarchy, and it is possible with the Vatican (Ratzinger’s resignation will eventually be totally explained). The Cuban-American tycoons, of course, did their part, with the perverse promise they would soon be allowed to return.

Such a plot is not launched directly, but with hallway inquiries and social destabilization blackmail. With hostages and promises of appeasement. The diplomacy of disgust. And everyone was in agreement that there would be no penalty for the Castros for the death of a man in his sixties who to the majority felt too weighty, whose moral superiority is intolerable in Cuba and in our ex-exile. He had to be sacrificed to the sanctimoniousness of democracy. It had to sink Cuba even deeper into despair. Harold Cepero, on that summer afternoon, was just collateral damage. And if Rosa María had been traveling in that Hyundai rental car, as she thought she might hours beforehand, Rosa María  would have been buried three years ago along with her papá.

But today Rosa María Payá returns as a Cuban of Cuba to Cuba. The whole world, and especially the Casto agents of the Miami press, sneeringly called her on zero day a “refugee” and the last of the “exiled.” As if all of us Cubans, wherever we live, weren’t refugees and exiles under the boot of our olive-green barbarity. Now they will tell Rosa María  whatever other vile things, as soon as the officials of El Habana Herald sends them by email the ongoing strategy of stigmatization of her.

But Rosa María will face the executioners whom she has known since childhood to be hunting her papá to behead him. The family has not even been given the autopsy showing how Oswaldo Payá died. Only Fernando Ravsberg, a Uruguayan terrorist turned privileged journalist on the Island, wrote with demonic detail of the destruction of Payá’s body: head split into five pieces, almost decapitated, heart pierced and kidneys turned to “mush.”

Rosa María Payá faces Monday May 11, 2015 in Cuba with that “mush” of a nation. The detritus of a country without citizens. Without values. Without a vision of the future. Aberration in time. Constitutional ugliness. Hatred on the surface and language as a hobby in perpetuity. Culture of simulation and a vocation to kill or be killed. De-anthropological damage, inhumane humanity. A double lack of State and of God.

From the Castro regime we can expect anything against that girl visited by death in her dreams in El Cerro in the midst of the Special Period. Because today the assassins no longer need to consult on their crimes ahead of time. The hands of President Obama and those of Pope Francis have exquisitely stretched out to the Cuban dictator, the octogenarian who has been stained and stained again with the innocent blood of Cubans.

Pray for Rosa María, please, at least those who still retain a remnant of what it is to pray after half a century of strictly observed Revolution.

 





Rosa Maria Paya of Cuba and for Cuba

11 04 2015

Statement from Rosa María Payá at the Summit of the Americas
Panama, 10 April 2015

Good day.

I would like to thank everyone for their willingness to dialog. We came willing to dialog. We wanted to listen to our Cuban brothers and sisters, who we know are in the same condition as ourselves.

I want to ask forgiveness from everyone in the name of the Cuban people for what just happened in the conference hall. Despite what you saw, we Cubans are a generous and caring people. Even those people who were there were also deprived of their rights. They also cannot decide. And probably did not decide to be there. These are the aberrations that occur when you live in a dictatorship.

My father, who was killed in an attack from the Cuban government just over two years ago, said that rights have no political color. Nor do dictatorships have a political color. And we are here today wanting to promote solutions to a problem that is no longer only Cuban, nor only Venezuelan. It is a regional problem, like that we just had here. Because we have all been affected by an intolerance that we do not share.

There are two points I would like to put forward.

The first is affecting us in several countries in the region: it is the issue of impunity. We see young people disappearing in Mexico. We see prosecutors who die the day before they present their evidence. We see children murdered on the streets of Caracas. My best friend and my father were murdered in an attack two and a half years ago, and we don’t even have an autopsy report. We know it is also an issue in Nicaragua and in Guatemala. I would like to settle our point in favor of stopping the impunity and calling attention to the political leadership of Latin America to stop this impunity and take impartial measures.

My second point perhaps could be understood as very particular, because it has to do with Cuba. But from Cuba there has been a marked interference (as there has been from other countries, such as the United States, but I am Cuban) and we have to stop the interference that in some places in Latin America, particularly in Venezuela, the Cuba government is engaging in right now.

My point is in favor of the right of Cubans to decide. Cubans have not decided in free and plural elections for more than 60 years. We are asking for support for the right of Cubans to decide in a plebiscite.

In two days time, a general will arrive here to converse with the presidents of Latin America: a person who has never been chosen by the people. We also want to hear him, but we want the people to be listened to. So we ask for your support for a plebiscite in Cuba and that Cubans be asked if they want free and plural elections, if they want the recognition of political parties, if they want access to the media. If they want this process in impartial conditions.

To support the right to decide of Cubans is also to support the right to decide, the right to development and democracy for the entire region.

Many thanks.

Rosa María Payá Acevedo

Video in Spanish








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