Ariel Dorfman. Published Wednesday, May 10, 2000, in the Miami Herald
Ariel Dorfman, a Chilean novelist, is a distinguished professor at Duke University.
It is somewhat reluctantly that I find myself about to burden poor Elian Gonzalez with yet another metaphor. It would be best, of course, just to leave the child alone to mourn the death of his mother, hope that as he heals, he will be able to erase the collective madness that swirled around
him. But perhaps some good could come out of so much pain, perhaps these traumatic months may not have been in vain, if we might only see Elian, not as an abyss separating foes but -- this is my metaphor -- as a bridge that embodies reconciliation.
The distant Miami relatives who cared for him during all these months could start this process of turning Elian's ordeal into something positive, by calling for an end to the embargo against Cuba. They say they adore the child and would do anything for his well-being, and we have to presume that
their love, no matter how hysterically it has thus far been expressed, will not cease when he soon returns, as it now seems probable, to his homeland. Once there, he will suffer the effects of the absurd American embargo against Fidel Castro, one of the most extraordinary foreign policy failures in
U.S. history, joining the millions of other Cuban children who are just as deserving of attention, even if they have not been shipwrecked or ravished by millions of hours of TV footage. How about them? Couldn't they lead better lives if free trade with the neighbor to the north were resumed? Do the
people of Miami hate Castro more than they love the boy? Or would they rather continue to punish him and so many other little (and adult) Cubans for not having chosen to live in exile?
As for Castro, he could make a reciprocal gesture. When Elian goes back to Cuba, he will benefit from one of the best educational and health systems in the Americas. But he will not enjoy some of the freedoms that he would have had, in theory, if he had remained in the United States -- and I am
not referring to quick trips to Disney World.
There are books, for instance, that Elian or his schoolmates will not be able to read, masterpieces by exiled Cuban authors such as Guillermo Cabrera Infante or Reynaldo Arenas. If the Cuban government were to allow every and any book to circulate freely in the country and, moreover, to stop
harassing and intimidating the independent librarians who have been working against censorship, wouldn't this be a wonderful gift to Elian and the other future citizens of Cuba? Don't they deserve the chance to decide for themselves what is dangerous, what is critical, what is counter-revolutionary?
What better way to greet the returning child-hero than to trust him?
I admit that these two developments, from both sides of the divided Cuban nation, have slim chances of succeeding. But if the dolphins are rumored to have watched over Elian and escorted him to safety, why not dream about an even more incredible possibility, the chance that Elian's tribulations
could lead to a truly wondrous outcome?
That indeed would be a slow and authentic miracle. And as these two neighboring nations grow closer and learn to live with each other, perhaps Elian finally could cease to be a territory in dispute, neither a gulf opposing antagonists nor a bridge connecting them. Elian might, in fact, be given
the chance of being what he has been all along under the flash of the photos and the avalanche of words, Elian could reconquer the right we all should possess merely because we were born to the human species: Elian could once again become, quite simply, a child. Nothing more and nothing less and
certainly not a metaphor. Just a kid.
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