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For obvious reasons, the names mentioned in the present
report have usually been changed or omitted. Real names are only used when those
involved had no objections. However, no part of this report should be quoted or
used in any other way, without express authorization from Pax Christi.
Introduction
Long before the visit to Cuba of His Holiness John Paul the Second, carried
out in January, 1998, President Fidel Castro was doing his best to take personal
advantage of the occasion. 'The Pope and I, both together against poverty', he
said in a six-hour mega-speech, lasting until 3:00 in the morning. 'All of us
united against Neo-Liberalism, Capitalism and Imperialism ... religion has never
been an obstacle in Cuba's path'. For a whole week, Castro played the role of
the most devout boy in the class. 'Everybody go the Pope's mass; I'll be there
too'. Many people, especially older women, watched and listened to him through
clenched teeth: 'The hypocrite. The liar. All my children had to be baptized in
secret. We were forced to give up everything we believed in. He destroyed our
religion and our culture but we've always held on to our faith. God bless the
Pope!'. Meanwhile, uncertainty reigned over how Vatican conditions for the visit
would be handled; it was not even sure whether the Pope's masses and sermons
would be transmitted throughout the country. Clearly, though, Fidel Castro
wanted to show a refined, composed face before the world. Driven by economic
disasters, he struggled to approach Europe as never before, eager to reap
cooperation and trade benefits and to reverse the critical 'common position'
adopted by the European Union (EU) towards Cuba since 1996.
Compared with his guest, the 'Commander-in-Chief' met with an exceptionally
cool reception in his own country, whenever the two happened to appear together.
During the arrival ceremony, Fidel Castro pronounced a welcome speech, beginning
with the Adam and Eve of colonial exploitation. He rejoiced in the Revolution's
blessings and concluded his remarks by declaring that religion in sovereign Cuba
always had room to flourish in. Castro's trusted confidant, the Colombian writer
Gabriel García Márquez, hovered nearby. It was rumoured he had
written Castro's speech. People stood along the Pope's route towards the city; a
significant number proved to have been sent over directly from work.
The objective
The objective of our mission during the historical occasion of the Pope's
visit to Cuba was to broaden our local knowledge and contacts, improve our
capacity to intervene in Europe, with as much legitimacy as possible, on the
subject of human rights in Cuba, and help the voices of peaceful opposition be
heard before the different international fora. In general, informing public
opinion is an important objective for Pax Christi, but, foremost in our minds,
was influencing Dutch policy and the policy of the EU, currently chaired by
England (human rights is a high-priority issue for the UK Labor government), as
well as helping shape the 'Brussels' policy. Our findings were to be relayed to
the UN in Geneva, the European Commission and the European Parliament. It was
also our intention to monitor as closely as possible how the 'common
position'(which conditions aid to Cuba to the improvement of human rights) was
being implemented. Among other things, we were concerned about what might happen
to dissident groups once the Pope, members of the press and other international
visitors had left Cuba.
The Delegation
Our delegation consisted of Erik Laan and Liduine Zumpolle, from Pax
Christi, and Thanasis Apostolou, Member of Parliament for the Dutch Labor Party
(PvdA). Pax Christi's former visit to the island took place in July, 1996. It
was Apostolou's first trip to Cuba. In 1996, he had visited Uraba, Colombia,
with a delegation from Pax Christi, reporting back to the Dutch Parliament after
his tour. In 1997, he took part in the first international meeting of the
'Platform for Human Rights and Democracy in Cuba', held at the Dutch Parliament
in The Hague. Both events led to more Dutch involvement in different projects.
This time, the purpose of Apostolou's visit was also to brief the Dutch
Parliament and 'Brussels' on the Cuban situation, in order to determine if and
what kind of support could be given to Cuba's peaceful opposition.
The Preparations
Prior to the Pope's visit, Pax Christi Netherlands held repeated
consultations in Rome with different church commissions involved in preparing
the visit to Cuba. The theme of such discussions was human rights, in general,
and the importance attributed to this issue during the course of the visit
itself. Precisely because of the Pope's visit to Cuba, Pax Christi decided to
hold the second international gathering of the 'Platform for Human Rights and
Democracy in Cuba'(coalition of European human-rights organizations seeking
attention for Cuba) in Rome, November, 1997. Also, a public debate between
victims and actors of the Cuban regime took place in Rome. Father Miguel Loredo,
now exiled in the US, after spending ten years in a Cuban prison cell, met there
with Dariel Alarcón, alias 'Benigno', former guerrilla fighter and
top-security agent in Castro's troops, who recently fled to Europe. Both men
have published impressive testimony on their experiences. The encounter was
amply covered by both the local and international press.
Our flight to Cuba was full of high-ranking, black-and-purple-clad Church
servants, given respectful treatment by Iberia on the way to Cuba. Arriving in
Havana, the Church representatives went through Customs without a hitch. This
was not the case for us. When Apostolou and I passed Customs, Laan was abruptly
being turned back in the same aircraft. Calling the supervisor, trying to invoke
the protection of the Bishops and threatening to make a scandal were to no avail
against the 'orders from above'. As it became evident later, only the timely
waving of dollar bills might have been more effective. A Cuban auxiliary Bishop,
well-known to us, stood waiting in the hall with several foreign Prelates. I
said hello, surprised to see him. We had met during the recent Rome meeting
(among others, he had given us a detailed account of the arrival in Rome of
Castro's secret agents). Then, he had been sharply outspoken on the subject of
Cuba's social, moral and political paralysis, in the Italian press. Now, he
turned pale and looked away, almost in panic. Pope visit or not: it was obvious
who still held the reins in this country.
Outside were a handful of Dutch journalists, eager to observe the rising
confusion and report back to their home offices. The Dutch ambassador was told
of Laan's expulsion. Pax Christi could not complain about the press attention
received in the days that followed. 'The Cuban authorities made a blunder and,
from now on, they will probably not bother you anymore', was what the diplomats
had to say about Laan's expulsion. Why should international human-rights
organizations always be forced to 'camouflage' as tourists, anyhow, in order to
enter Cuba? M.P. Apostolou will pose the question to the Minister.
The Visit
On the recommended list of people and places to visit during our ten-day
stay, old contacts, new opposition groups, Church and diplomatic
representatives, and European aid and business organizations were to be found.
The Dutch Embassy was quite helpful, making our intended visit known in
different circles. Soon we left the ugly, expensive state hotel which Cubans
themselves are usually not even allowed to enter. We rented a small apartment
(tax-free during 'Pope days') from a Cuban family, who made believe it did not
live there during our stay. Thus we could experience, first-hand, what it is
like to have no bread, no gas and no water in the mornings. Our old
acquaintance, Oswaldo Payá, from the 'Movimiento Cristiano de Liberación
(MCL), lost no time tracing us. Seeing him again that evening was a real
celebration.
General impressions: the average Cuban
The average Cuban wearily spends his or her day in 'resolver' (solving):
'rustling up' ways to ward off the constant poverty and shortages. In the few
farmer markets available, you find vegetables, fruit and sometimes even meat,
but have to pay in dollars or huge amounts of pesos. The city shops which allow
ration books to be used are hollow, gloomy spaces with many empty shelves.
Getting dollars is the big question and, above all, finding transport. Physical
hunger is often the result. Cuba is very expensive for foreigners (reporters
from abroad can vouch for this: no other country's authorities squeeze so much
money out of its visitors, exacting thousands of dollars for special taxes,
permits, visas etc. The story goes that the Vatican paid US$ 400.000 for the
Pope's visit). Cuba is even more expensive for Cubans themselves, since their
earning capacity is so limited.
We talked with a 92-year-old street sweeper in a park in the middle of
Havana, not someone with access to dollars; that is, either employed by a
foreign 'joint-venture' or the tourist sector, or having rich relatives living
in Miami. He had a pension of 118 pesos (about US$5) a month. Since no one can
survive on that, he had to earn an extra income; from two to eight o'clock in
the morning, he swept streets and got 100 pesos for it from the State. Even in
Cuba, Socialist Mecca, you cannot avoid hunger on 218 pesos a month, or survive
on the small daily ration you are entitled to (in the 'dollar shops', a bottle
of water costs two dollars, a pound of 'ham' ten, a pack of coffee seven, a
plain piece of bread one, a liter of oil three dollars, a bar of soap one
dollar, etc.).
Hunger had the bent street sweeper also in its hold: you could see it
plainly. A woman neighbor used to cook for him once in a while, since the shed
assigned to him had no gas or anything resembling a kitchen. The neighbor had
been absent for some days now. The old man had just returned from a compulsory
meeting of his 'work unit', a three-hour walking distance from his own place.
Apart from hunger, he complained of nothing else and showed us his working tools
with pride: a broom and a scoop. The longer we spoke, the more 'inconspicuous'
conspicuous characters drifted by, the familiar-looking individuals with dark
glasses whose job is to spy on Cuban citizens and, above all, to keep the
tourists shielded from reality. The very old man we spoke with pointedly ignored
them, however, saying goodby with the words: 'No me abandonen' (don't abandon
me).
Cuba's timid private 'entrepreneurs'(those who repair lighters on the
streets, rent rooms or bicycle-taxis, for example) must suffer a lot before they
can thrive at all, due to Cuba's exorbitant taxes. The measure is intentional,
in order to discourage economic (and therefore political) independence. Anyone
who wants to rent a miserable room in one of Havana's poor neighborhoods, pays
US$ 100 a month in taxes, regardless of whether the room is rented or not. Add
to this a US$ 100 registration fee and a 15% yearly income tax. In better
neighborhoods, taxes can go up to US$ 250 a month. And what about renting
illegally? That fine consists of US$ 1.400! Excessive taxation and a bureaucracy
capable of driving anyone crazy can nip any initiative in the bud: people must
choose between inertia or 'dodging the law', resorting to the Black Market,
which is unavoidable. Thus, the entire population is in the grip of permanent
blackmail. This is the method most favored by the authorities to arrest
'politically unreliable' citizens, under the guise of one 'transgression' or
another. Under these circumstances, it is extraordinarily difficult to organize
political opposition, considering the all-seeing eye watching over the city.
We visit the mother of someone who rented his rooms during the Pope's visit,
an elderly woman, formerly married to a member of the Armed Forces. She divorced
him due to differences over religion and the Revolution. She had baptized their
children without his knowledge and held on fast to her beliefs. The Pope's visit
gave her strength. We are alone in her kitchen, for a while; her voice is barely
audible. Her brother 'disappeared' years ago, trying to reach the Coast of
Florida in a raft. Her only daughter and grandson are now in the U.S. Her oldest
son managed to escape to Argentina. The two sons still living in Cuba will
follow in his footsteps as soon as they can (the rent paid by 'Pope tourists'
helps towards this end). 'I won't have any more family near me, but I prefer
that they can build their futures in freedom, than to see them languish before
my eyes'. She starts to cry. She is bitter about all the wasted years, about all
the things she feels have been destroyed for the Cuban people: their family
life, their culture, their ethics and things like plain happiness and beauty.
'Don't betray me', she whispers. What could we possibly betray, in Heaven's
name? Her sadness? We are destined to hear many such stories in the days that
follow. Virtually no family in Cuba has remained intact, without having loved
ones who have drowned, escaped to other countries or been estranged from them by
politics.
One of the many people who drive tourists around during the Pope days is
Jeronimo, a highly-qualified technician. He is shy and withdrawn. He has a good
job (he earns US$18 per month approximately), but he does the tourist rounds
just the same, sometimes replaced by unemployed 'Ivan', someone who trained as a
ship repairer but does not even bother to look for this type of work, since it
only pays about US$12 a month. The car they drive is a shocking wreck; the
exhaust pipe seems to en in the passenger seat. The city's once imposing streets
(according to Unesco, most old Havana is already beyond repair) stink like never
before, also outside the city limits: along the asphalt of the Pinar del Río
highway, permanent clouds of poison caused by little traffic cling over
everything. People say this is due to the bad quality of gasoline, which is
mixed with crude oil. The generation growing up in these surroundings is bound
to be an expensive one, as far as the Public Health Service is concerned.
Ivan is young and completely cynical about the system: 'If there were only
weapons, I would be the first to enlist to put an end to the scoundrel'. His
younger brother left Cuba one day, in a raft. He told no one anything. He was
never seen again. Ivan's father had a fatal accident at work and Ivan (not the
Party) was left to care for his mother and sister. The father of his young wife
(she is expecting a child: 'why not?', she says, 'there's nothing better to do')
fought in the mountains with Castro's army, spending 18 years in jail after the
triumph of the Revolution. Many others who fought alongside Castro have also
been imprisoned, either for later opposing the regime or because the
'Comandante' sees them as rivals. Ivan's former father-in-law was a human-rights
activist. He was dismissed from his academic post at the university for it and
escaped to the U.S., together with his daughter. This brought a painful end to
Ivan's relationship. For Ivan, the Pope's visit hardly has any meaning: 'It is
just cosmetics', he reckons.
Driver Jeronimo was often in the former Soviet Union. He served for a long
time in the Army and was part of Castro's special troops, entrusted with
personal security services. It took a great deal of complicated maneuvering for
him to distance himself gradually from the Party, without arousing suspicion. He
is all too familiar with military procedures and the forms of blackmail used to
control the population.'Only because the economic crisis forced him, did Castro
accept 'joint-ventures' with foreign companies'. 'The standard of living for
average Cubans has not improved, however: only the elite profit from these
ventures, above all, the military, who get many privileges and 'stimuli'. Mainly
retired high-ranking officers are involved in the various 'joint-venture'
schemes, especially in the tourist sector. They are bound to try to retain their
privileges in a post-Castro era. The question is obvious: why should an ordinary
Cuban citizen also not be able to set up a small business in his own land?'
'It is also the military elite that profits from the scarce medical supplies
and medical care: the embargo does not affect them. Jeronimo tells us about the
diseases now prevalent in Cuba, due to malnutrition, lack of infrastructures,
medicines, hygiene and safe drinking water. To admit this in public can cost one
his or her job and even a prison sentence (for the 'crime' of making 'enemy
propaganda'). This is what happened at the beginning of the Nineties to former
Sub-Minister of Health Dr. Terry, 'set to cool' after he presented Castro with a
report confirming the local presence of 'peripheric neuritis' (a form of
Beri-beri), an affliction which affects the nervous system and is due to vitamin
deficiency. People dying from this disease get written off as victims of
something else, a diagnosis that doctors are often forced to endorse, lest the
Revolution's achievements be placed under threat. This is also how the prominent
doctor Desi Mendoza was vanquished sometime ago, jailed in Santiago de Cuba for
warning against the appearance of 'dengue hemorrágico'. This disease
begins with bleeding of the eyes and has caused many deaths until now. It is
transmitted by a fly that thrives on unhygienic conditions and the lack of
adequate medicines. The Ministry of Health does everything in its power to
conceal such evidence, even supplying false figures to the World Health
Organization, in order not to discredit the Cuban health services.'
'Donations of medical supplies arriving from the U.S. only reach the
military hospitals and the dollar shops; there you can find the essential
vitamin B, no longer available in drug stores, where often even aspirin no
longer is stocked. Many people resort to their parish churches for medicines.
Even the Church NGO 'Caritas', a distributor of medicines, is obliged to give
the State a percentage of its proceeds.'
The mother of an acquaintance is over seventy. She comes from a poor family.
At the beginning, she was happy with the triumph of the Revolution, because it
meant she and her seven children would at least have a roof over their heads.
One night we are invited to her home for a 'typical Cuban meal'. Preparations
(the 'resolver') had lain ready in the hallway for days. The crumbling,
dilapidated building was not too inviting. The elevator was broken and the
stench of urine rose on each floor as we passed. We joked, to counteract the
uneasy feeling we shared. Our hostess was almost blind but prepared the meal for
us.
It was a lovely evening and the Dutch drinks offered by the foreign
'journalists' were gratefully accepted. Without needing much encouragement, the
grandmother revealed a skillful alto voice. She knew and savored thoroughly many
Cuban pre-revolutionary popular songs. It was singing that filled the poor flat
that evening, not the pain and inner turmoil that practically every Cuban family
endures. When the time came to leave, the old woman hugged one of the
journalists and whispered: 'Thank you for what you are doing for us Cubans. It
is really needed. Please carry on and God bless you'. Apostolou left behind a
small souvenir from the Dutch Parliament. Afterwards, we rode through the
desolate streets of Havana. Some public ladies, strictly banished from sight
during the day because of the Pope's presence, were back in place. Some of them
looked under fifteen. No customers were to be seen. Immediately after the Pope's
departure, however, many women emerged again on the streets surrounding the
hotels, plying their trade among the tourists. Also in this aspect, Cuba was
back to its usual self. The male members of the Dutch press can vouch for it:
how Cuban beauties in urgent need of dollars lost no time approaching their male
targets.
We met an old friend, the very talented musician Teófilo, who has
worked for years in a state music center, the 'Casa de la Cultura'. Ever since
we first met Teófilo, in 1991, we have tried to find complicated ways to
get musical scores and other supplies not found in Cuba to him, which he needs
for his work. Over 40 years old now, he has reached the peak of his career. His
salary is as high as possible for his line of work: he earns 140 pesos.
Since Teófilo cannot live on this amount, he earns additional income
in the corner bakery shop, where they make the daily roll everyone gets with the
ration books. We go to the bakery and Teófilo's colleagues let us enter,
regarding us with some suspicion. We observe a bakery with shocking conditions
of hygiene and safety. For the first time, I am in the poor neighborhood where
our friend lives and I try to conceal my sense of shock. The place is just a few
square meters large. He almost bumps his head against a rudimentary storeroom,
made of corrugated tin. Until recently, he lived there with his father (whenever
both happened to be living without a woman), who was a widower and died in their
shed. 'Right now there's no water', he said, looking guilty. There was a toilet,
though: a hole in the ground. He also had electricity, judging from the
dangerous, exposed live wires in plain view. A few minutes later, the music I
had taken at his request filled the room. His face beamed. Usually the power is
cut off throughout long periods (except during the Pope's stay of course).
Especially in summers, the place must be murderously hot without vans, I think
to myself.
The floor is just plain earth. A small trunk doubles as an altar holding
small offerings for the 'gods of Santería'; a makeshift bed and clothes
on a hook complete the furnishings. Teófilo voices no complaints. 'I take
good care of my gods, because I need them', he explains. In a box sticking out
from under the bed, some diplomas and yellow, wrinkled photographs, apparently
from before the Revolution, can be made out. They show a black middle-class
family: the father, looking fit in his suit, a highly-esteemed musician with a
good job (after the Revolution, he had to go work in a factory); a handsome
mother, proudly holding a baby before the photographer; godfather and godmother
standing next to a Baptismal Fountain in a rural Catholic Church; special
occasions in hotels, dance orchestras and joyful meals are portrayed. I also see
more recent photographs. These depict Teofilo's brother, who is in the U.S. He
disappeared suddenly, one night years ago. No one knew where he had gone. Later
the family heard that he had left in a raft and managed to reach Miami. Now he
is a U.S. citizen and a strong, strikingly-looking sports instructor.
I cannot believe my eyes. The conquests of the Revolution had unexpected
effects, at least in this family: from being members of a black prosperous
middle-class, they were reduced to the poorest of existences. Teófilo
voices no complaints and we, on our side, just make small talk. When we leave
with him, at his request we visit a 'santero' known to him, who warns me about
the enemies who have it in for me, due to my reckless activities in Cuba: 'You
are not almighty', his reverence scowls at me. Luckily we also hear that the
'God Olofi' will decide for himself when the time is ripe for me, and it is not
to be here and now.
Somewhat later, we drop in on the rehearsal of a young troop of black
dancers belonging to the neighborhood. Teófilo has led the group for
years and tried, in vain, to get a contract abroad for them. The presentation of
Afro-Cuban dances is a virtuoso performance. What splendid talent is to be seen
on the shoddy stage! 'Extremely qualified for going overseas', we assure, when
asked our opinion.
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