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FROM
PRISON
Some
drug lord!
Manuel Vázquez Portal,
sentenced to 18 years in prison. Boniato Prison,
Santiago de Cuba.
BONIATO PRISON Manuel Vázquez Portal (www.cubanet.org)
- On March 19, I was taken to Villa Marista, the
State Security headquarters, where I was held
in cell 47 until April 24.
It was there I lost my name; they called me 239682.
It was also there I saw my first Cuban drug lords:
Mumúa, Cachirulo, and Hectico the butcher.
My cellmates. The four of us were stuffed into
the minuscule cell; we had to be careful when
turning over in bed so as not to poke each other.
They did not look like drug traffickers. Mumúa
was a small man, barely five feet tall. He later
told me his real name was Osvaldo, and that he
had a strong predilection for horses. Cachirulo
was a nervous, smiling black man, with a metal
plate in his head.
He had scars all over his body and usually complained
of a headache. He has spent most of his youth
in prison. Hectico the butcher, who would have
sold meat in his butcher shop had there been any
available, was the youngest of the three.
They all swore they had nothing to do with drugs.
That was to be expected at Villa Marista, where
even bugs are presumed to carry concealed microphones.
But then, there had never been any material evidence
that incriminated any of them. They were all there
because So-and-so said to Such-and-thus that Tweedledee
mentioned Tweedledum.
When I left April 24 to begin serving 18 years
in Boniato prison, they stayed behind. I don't
know what's become of them.
In Boniato, they put me in the maximum severity
block, in cell 31. It's smaller than the one in
Villa Marista, but at least I have it to myself.
I also have to myself the odors from the pipe
in the floor, the leaks in the ceiling, the sun,
the rain and the insects that come in through
the window, and the 23 hours of the day that I
spend alone there.
The first few days they took me out for one hour
a day with two fellow independent journalists
or dissidents. Later, the order came down we were
to be kept separate. That was when I came across
some Cuban drug lords again, this time from the
eastern half of the island. The impression I got
was the same; if these folks are drug traffickers,
I'm Donald Duck.
I spoke to some of them. Same story. Held in
solitary, brutal questioning, pressures of every
kind, Someone said to Someone else that Someone
did to Someone else. But proof, what you might
call solid proof, nah.
Yet, the sentences suggested all the cocaine
in South America had been funneled through this
tiny Caribbean island and our drug lords were
firmly in control of the world's drug traffic.
The least of them got between 15 and 20 years.
I spoke with José Eduardo Girón,
with Juan Suárez, with William Morales,
with Santiago Mestre, and they all told me a similar
story. Prosecutors bent on a conviction, defense
attorneys who couldn't really defend, State Security
officers turning a mere few words of other suspects
into proofs, nebulous witnesses and dubious reports.
So here they are, in solitary confinement, our
drug lords. None was found with a load of narcotics,
a considerable sum of money, or a large bank account.
There were no processing labs, fire arms, yachts,
planes, mansions, false passports or links to
organized crime.
And, one has to ask the question, what kind of
drug lords are these that Cuban newspapers have
never mentioned them?
Prison
Journal (I) / Manuel Vazquez Portal
Prison
Journal (II) / Manuel Vázquez Portal
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