I Felt Shame, Much Shame

By Pablo Pacheco Avila

Translated into English by Alberto de la Cruz

Last Sunday ended the Catholic Social Week of the Miami Archdiocese, and luckily, I was able to participate in two of the events.

In one of the programs, Cuban American businessman Carlos Saladrigas held a conference on the business future of Cuba.

Saladrigas allowed the public to present written questions. According to the moderator, not all were answered due to the financier’s lack of time. A group of participants in which I found myself offered a retort to some of the answers given by Saladrigas. This gentleman compared our retorts to an act of repudiation.

Personally, my concerns are for the members of the peaceful opposition who risk their well being and even their lives for the rights of all Cubans to participate in the country’s economy. Those who demand peaceful changes and are repressed by the Cuban political police.

I have a premonition that the thesis presented by Saladrigas regarding the economic future of our country will serve the rich businessmen in exile, like Saladrigas. Those who today demand liberty for Cuba from inside will not have many options; they lack capital and business experience.

According to Saladrigas, an opposition member may be within the actual ranks of the Cuban Communist Party.

What is curious here is that Carlos Lage, Abel Prieto, Esteban Lazo, Jose Ramon Machado Ventura or any other can be an anonymous member of the opposition according to his hypothesis. These individuals can possess large amounts of capital obtained through theft and the suffering of the Cuban people. Those who confront the regime hardly have enough to put food on the table and feed their children.

Nevertheless, I respect the beliefs of Saladrigas, it is his right and I will not deprive him of it. It is also my right not to believe in his theory and my duty to remind him that the most vulnerable sector in Cuba are the members of the peaceful opposition in Cuba who the regime prohibits from investing in the country’s economy.

What caught my attention the most at this conference with Carlos Saladrigas were the words of Father Jose Conrado in response to the replies to Saladrigas. According to the pastor, he saw in this conference the same thing he sees daily in Cuba and he felt shame because of this.

Shame is what I felt, and much of it, after hearing these words from a man whom I admire. To offer a retort is a right provided by freedom of expression. The opposite would be true if they had not invited those who disagree with Saladrigas’ theory. What happens in our country can only be compared with fascist hordes or totalitarian communist regimes like the one in Havana. It has nothing to do with what took place at this conference held by Saladrigas.

Today I felt like throwing in the towel, forgetting everything, but I cannot. Cuba is above everything and everyone. I hope my wife and son will understand because I have involved them in something that is very personal; the liberty of Cuba.

Writing What my Conscience Dictates (II and Final)

By Pablo Pacheco Avila

I arrived to the Matanzas prison known as ‘Aguica’ on April 29th.  I was kept there in solitary confinement for 17 months.  The Head of Penitentiaries applied a special regiment on us: family visits were only allowed every 3 months and could only last 2 hours, they only allowed 2 relatives and their underage children, the bag with food which was intended to keep us somewhat healthy had a limit of 30 pounds.  Conjugal meetings were only allowed every 5 months and could not exceed 3 hours.

My time in ‘Aguica’ was always in The Polish Cell, located in the most rigorous of sections and which aimed to hold prisoners who were punished for disobedience, those who were sentenced to death, or those with life sentences.  There were other members of the group of the 75 there.  In ‘Aguica’, I lived the hardest days of my life, but I was also blessed because I met Miguel Galban, Alexis Rodriguez, Manuel Ulvas, and Roberto de Miranda, also victims of the crackdown of 2003.

In a matter of 7 years and 4 months, I learned of the dark side of humans, the misery of the heart always corrodes the conscience.  The impunity and low level of education of the soldiers would always start quarrels between guards and prisoners.  The soldiers would always win, while the latter suffered unimaginable punishments.  With my own eyes, I saw men amputate their ears, cut their veins, pinch their eyes and go blind, cut of their hands and legs, swallow barbed wire, throw themselves from a third floor, and all with the intent of avoiding a beating by the guards.

The sad part of this story is that, in the majority of these self-inflictions, the ones suffering are demanding that their fundamental rights, which had been violated for years, be respected.  Others grew sick in the nerves due to the rigorous conditions of captivity, while some would hurt themselves to end up in a hospital, where they could eat at least a little better.

Putting us together with common prisoners was a perverse tactic by the authorities.  Fortunately, during those years I was able to shatter the plans of the ruling elite.  Without intending it, the prisoners saw me as a shield to confront their oppressors and, with time, they [the common prisoners] ended up respecting our cause, with very few exceptions.  In fact, there were even some  policemen of lower ranking which defended political prisoners of conscience.

On the day which Cardinal Jaime Ortega informed me through the phone that I would be allowed to travel to Spain, I was shocked and it was difficult for me to speak.  It was the end of a terrible nightmare which consumed me for years.

Now that the storm faded, I believe that if it had not been for my faith in God, the love of my country and love of my family, I could have not withstood such torture.  I appreciate all that Spain and its people did, offering human warmth to me, despite the difficult financial crisis that country is going through.  They lent me their hand, and I will never forget that, just like I will never forget my days behind bars.

To live in exile is difficult, and because of this, I admire the Cuban diaspora very much.  Despite the hardships they may live on a daily basis, they never forget the political prisoners and they offer help to those who now arrive with nothing.

Cuba is physically missing from us, but it is still in the mind of this exile.  What is true always lasts, and because of this, my cause does not fade, for it is the cause of those who aspire to achieve a better world.

Writing What my Conscience Dictates (I)

By Pablo Pacheco Avila

Writing what one’s conscience dictates in a totalitarian system represents a grand risk for those who break the barriers of silence which the soldiers impose.  Generally speaking, those who are brave end up in prison, exiled, and in the worst of cases in a cemetery.  Despite this, continuing to write without censoring our thoughts means to strengthen that free soul which we all carry inside.

Luckily for Cuba, while the State-run media assumes the role of the submissive spokesperson of the longest dictatorship of the Western hemisphere, others decided to describe the cruel reality in which Cubans live.  If the crackdown of March 2003 was the reflection of hate and intolerance of a regime, the brutal deportation of various dissidents to Spain is proof that nothing has change on the island.  It is just a cosmetic sign of “open-ness” which is far too absurd.

On March 19th, 2003, as I was taking an afternoon nap with my son, a large number of State Security agents knocked on my door.  I was arrested and taken to a cell of the political police in the province of Ciego de Avila.

One week later, I was able to see my wife again and she told me that the soldiers forced my son Jimmy to wake up so that they could search the mattress in search of proof to incriminate me.  At that moment, I did not imagine that I would spend 87 months behind bars.  One day before my 33rd birthday, I met for the first time with my lawyer and she was the one who told me the trial would be held on April 4th.  A fiscal petition of 26 years imprisonment weighed over my head.  The trial was nothing more than a Roman Circus.  The Communist Party members and the soldiers played the role of Cesar, while the fiscals and judges represented  the lions, and the defense lawyers were just spectators.  Pedro Arguelles and I were the slaves being sacrificed.  After various hours in that judicial parody, we were both sentenced to 20 years of prison.

Oleivys was left in the mercy of the goodwill of a few friends which followed their human instincts and tore apart their ideological indoctrination, in addition to the hostility of the authorities  from the Ministry of Health for which she worked.  To this they added an additional punishment of forcing her to travel 360 kilometers with our 4 year old son in order to see me.  Oleivys, with her strong and optimistic character, stood back up again.  The separation forced her to be a mother, a father, a sister, a friend, and confident of Jimmy.  He was the one who least understood what was happening.  Day after day, he would ask his mother when his father was going to return.  My other half, finding strength somewhere inside of her, would respond with pain: when he finishes studying.

“Every night, I would submerge myself in a sea of tears”, Oleivys now tells me, after she surpassed the storm.

One of my Dreams Has Come True

By Pablo Pacheco Avila

When my only son was born, I dreamed that he would be a baseball player.  Ever since he was very young, Jimmy liked baseball and he did not miss a single occasion for any adult to throw him a ball.  He batted with style, something very impressive for his age.

Everything was going good, little Jimmy was showing signs of being a good athlete.  He had the drive and talent.

On one afternoon of March 2003, I was taking an afternoon nap with my son who was only 4 years old at the time, when a Cuban political police official, accompanied by a large police operation, knocked on the door of my house.

That day, they shattered my dream and the dream of an innocent child.  Hate, intolerance, and the obsession with power of Fidel Castro took me away from my family for more than 7 years.  However, we still did not give up and we continued onward.

Against all odds, my wife Oleivys knew how to confront the situation and fueled my hope and desire of having my son become a baseball player.

This past weekend, Oleivys, Jimmy and I went to the inauguration of the baseball championship of Miami Lakes.  Our son, now an adolescent, is among the ranks of The Giants team.

Seeing the teams come out filled me with an indescribable feeling.  I was emotional, proud, and happy, but most of all, my dream had come true.  It is possible that my son may end up wanting to be a baseball player and it’s really what I desire the most, but my greatest satisfaction is that he lives in a free country where only he can decide his own limit.

Today, I can proudly say that despite all the missteps we have suffered and of all the efforts of the Cuban dictatorship to try and ruin our lives, they were not successful.  We can walk through thorny paths or even over sharp blades, but if we never give up, we will make it.  And that’s what is important.

Meeting the Congresswoman

A few days ago, a couple of friends invited Oleivys and I to have an American breakfast.  As I always say, the future is unpredictable.  We were with my friend Olga, American by birth but Cuban by heart and descent, and her husband Frank, who escaped Cuba during the rafter crisis in 1994 and spent various months in the naval base of Guantanamo.  They both suffer the pain of seeing their country enslaved, and one can clearly see that pain whenever the couple talks  about the subject.  You can also see the interest they express to help the peaceful dissidents on the island who confront the regime.

After heading out to an I-Hop near their home, we had to turn back because I had left some of my papers and my phone in the car.  In one of those coincidences of destiny, we decided to head to another I-Hop.  In all honesty, we were not even sure why it was we had chosen to go to another one.

A few minutes after sitting at the table in the restaurant, a familiar looking woman walked in- she was short, blonde, and was smiling while holding the arm of a man a bit older than her.  She was dressed like everyone else that was there and she made the line to sit down just like everybody else.  I’ve always believed that doubts weigh heavier than the truth and I could no longer support my curiosity.  I turned to my friends and told them that the woman looked a lot like Ileana Ros-Lehtinen.

I must confess that it was a somewhat confusing moment for me.  I have lived the majority of my life in a closed society, thanks to a totalitarian system, where American politicians who defend the freedom of Cuba are constantly attacked by the dictatorship.  On the other hand, I can also remember the differences between politicians who make up the elite part of the Cuban nomenclature and the everyday Cuban.  The closest I have ever come to seeing a Cuban politician has been on TV.

Olga, very sure of her political knowledge, confirmed that it was indeed Ileana Ros.  Frank enthusiastically took me to the congresswoman and presented me to her.

We chatted with the same natural tone of any two Cubans who long to see their nation in freedom.  She demonstrated much concern for the island, for my family, and my current situation.  I told her about the vulnerable situation in which former political prisoners and their families living in Spain are in, and how soon the help given to them by the Spanish government will come to an end.  They have all been going to interviews and are waiting to receive a Visa for the United States, but for reasons unknown to me, they have not yet received the authorizations.

After a few minutes of conversation, we sat back down at our respective tables to have breakfast, which was exquisite.  And the company of Olga and Frank made the morning very well worth it.

Before leaving, the Congresswoman passed by our table to say goodbye and to show us the photo we took together.  She told us that she had already sent out an e-mail to her secretary informing him that in the next couple of days I would pass by her office to talk about the Cuban refugees in Spain and other topics of common interest.

I profoundly meditated that night and I understood, more than ever, that in a democracy we are all equal.  Despite how much influence one may yield, they cannot look down upon others.  Despite how much political power a person may have, they still have to make lines, eat amongst everyday people, and dress like everyone else, because in the end they are just simple human beings like all of us.  Overall, I learned a very important lesson: that democracy gives you the possibility of setting your own limit.  Every person can achieve whatever they want, depending on just how capable they are to push on in life.

My First Check

Ever since I was exiled to Spain by the Cuban authorities nearly more than 16 months ago, I have enjoyed many joyful moments.  The most important, of course, has been reuniting with my family.

It has also been unforgettable to be able to finally breathe in freedom, to meet with students in London and Venice, or with human rights activists in Berlin, Chile, Peru, and Poland, where I had the honor to shake hands with the Nobel Peace Prize winner Lech Walesa.  I have also been able to dialogue with political leaders that are in favor of the Cuban cause for freedom.  They have been moments of my life which I will never forget.

Today, I have received my first check, earned by my own sweat, and what I feel is difficult to put into words, for I have finally found a path which has given me the opportunity to feel like a human being.

The Vilarino family, which so profoundly shares the pain of Cuban political prisoners, has extended their hand to me and have offered me a job in one of their restaurants.  It is very gratifying to experience that human solidarity as soon as we arrive in exile, knocking on doors.  Those doors actually open, allowing us to move forward.

It is a gift from life to be able to say what you think in your workplace whenever you have the chance.  It is even more of a gift to not sense fear of being fired from work just for your political ideas.  It is very formidable to be able to work without accepting double standards and without betraying one’s own ideals.  What matters is that you fulfill your duties and that you be honest.

Earning my first check has allowed me to pay off some bills and to do so is magnificent.

Upon receiving this first payment for my work, I think back on the times when I was expelled from jobs in my country just for being a dissident of the communist doctrine, or for not signing documents with which I was not in favor of.  The political police forces administrators to learn their scripts and they would always tell me: “you are not reliable because of your political position“.  I would laugh, but with pain.  Those of us who lived through such experiences know that it was the regime’s method of economically suffocating us.  And they can do that because in Cuba, the only employer is the regime.

Just yesterday, in my own nation, I was suffering because I was kept from working in any field to buy my family food just because of my political ideas, but today I thank God that I have a job and that I can make a living off of my own efforts and my freedom.

Notes from Captivity XX

Violation of Correspondence IV, Final Chapter
by Pablo Pacheco Avila

It was not yet afternoon when I was taken to the last jail cell of the ‘Vivac’ section.  This dungeon is the most notorious amongst common prisoners due to its inhumane conditions.  Penate ordered that I be left with my belongings because I had assured him I would accuse the prison authorities of theft in the event that I lose even the most minimal of things, even if it was something as simple as a pencil.

Many prisoner stories I had heard told of their experiences in the Vivac cells, and to be honest, up to that moment I had thought that these prisoners were exaggerating.  As soon as the guard shut the door of my new dungeon I was petrified.

I would look at my hands, my feet, and my legs but I could not see anything.  Absolutely nothing.  I began to patiently breath in and out.  I knew I had to develop nerves of steal if I wanted to survive this test imposed on me by destiny and the thought police.

After a few minutes, I noticed that there was a very small light emanating from one of the corners of the cell.  Much to my surprise, it was coming from the floor and I was automatically bent on trying to find its source.

The more I came closer to the light the more I could smell a very strong odor- it smelled like urine and feces.  It became so strong that I took off the shirt I was wearing and covered my nose.  I never knew that in order to see myself I had to go up to a prison “toilet”.

The cell I was closed in was 4 meters in width and 4 in height.  It consisted of a concrete bench to sleep on and very uncomfortable walls which did not allow inmates to lean on them.

My months in captivity trained me to react with a positive instinct and that is what I automatically did.  I lay on the floor next to my small bag and began to devise a plan to get out of there the least affected as possible.  The option which I found was to pray.  To pray to God.

That night, I could not sleep because of the mosquitoes, the roaches, and the rodents.  In addition, it did not help that my thoughts were not there, but instead they were 350 kilometers away, with my 4 year old son and my loving wife.  They were suffering from the separations inflicted on us by hate and intolerance.  They were the ones bearing the heaviest burden of my captivity.

Cruelty is limitless in the prisons of totalitarian regimes.  To damage my psychological state, the guards did not put any water for me throughout the whole night.  Neither did they in the morning and in the afternoon they only did so for 30 minutes.  The precious liquid I was to drink was coming from the same hole where prisoners defecated and urinated.  The tube with the water would come up from there.  The entire cell is designed to humiliate the prisoner to the maximum.  In fact, in many cases prisoners tried to take their own lives.

I spent three days without showering.  I was trying to save the most water possible.  I would use it to clean my face and drink, sip by sip.

On the final day of my punishment my nerves were destroyed.  The mental torture, the odor, the horrible personal hygiene, the lack of communication with others, and the darkness had taken their toll on me.  Luckily, I did not show this to the guards.  Nor did I demand medical assistance.

On Monday morning they took me to the office of Diosdado More.  The director of “Aguica” tried to dialogue with me, but from the initial moment I let him know that I had no intention or desire to chat.  I just needed to know if they would comply with our demands and what would happen to me, for my punishment was apparently over.

I was then taken back to “The Polish Cell” , the same one I had been in for 6 months.

Two days later, the new re-educator of the prison showed up to my cell.  He brought newspapers, cards, a planner for conjugal visits, medical assistance, and the rest of the things we had demanded.

This strike represented the beginning of various protests to demand our rights.

The Epitome of a Dictatorship’s Cynicism

By Jose Luis Garcia Paneque

The daughter of General Raul Castro- Mariela Castro Espin- learned about the prostitutes from Amsterdam’s ‘Red Neighborhood’ and praised the business, one of humankind’s oldest, while on a trip to Holland.

In an interview with Radio Netherlands Worldwide, the director of the National Center for Sexual Education (CENESEX) affirmed that in Cuba there are people who participate in prostitution “even to fix a bathroom”.

Mariela Castro Espin acknowledged the practice of prostitution on the island, the sale of drugs, and affirmed the necessity of “learning to create mechanisms” to exercise prostitution in a way that would not bother tourists and that the rights of those who carry out this “sexual work” be respected.

“The Malecon is not a problem”, she assured during the interview in a very relaxed tone.  In the destiny where “Havana and those who visit it” converge there are people who perform “prostitution on their own account”, acknowledged the CENESEX director during a visit to the Prostitution Information Center.

From her European experience she seeks to “openly handle the issue” and claimed to admire and respect the way in which prostituted in Holland “have found a dignified way to carry out their sexual labor and make themselves be respected”.

The epitome of a dictatorship’s cynicism (and the cynicism of all of their representatives) is to try to let people forget that after seizing power on January of 1959, prostitutes were taken to supposed rehabilitation centers and exposed to severe violations in the style of the Military Unit for Production Help (HUMAP).

The words of her mother spoken during a Congress of the Federation of Cuban Women must be fresh in the mind of Mariela.  In that meeting, her mother lashed out against “prostitutes” (which, up to that moment was taboo).  Supposedly, with the “successes of the Revolution, prostitution was an ill of the past”.  But as of that moment, seclusion centers for prostitutes were created in each Cuban province where the young women spent up to more than 4 years without any rights.  They were considered “assured interns” not prisoners.

Meanwhile, in Cuban male prisons, the prisoners are all heaped together and can buy sexual services from prostitutes authorized by prison functionaries.

The prison authorities pretend to look away when it comes to this phenomenon and eventually make some money off of it.

As sad and painful as it is, prostitution in Cuba is generalized- all social levels and not only the marginal sectors practice it.  From a secondary school girl who, in the morning goes to school, and at night goes out to “hustle”.  Or the nurse or schoolteacher who go out to “make the bread”, according to the jargon of that ‘business’.

The image which these representatives who supposedly freed us want to sell us is truly repugnant.

Notes from Captivity XIX

Violation of Correspondence III
by Pablo Pacheco Avila

Two soldiers took took me to a classroom, just a few steps away from the ‘Polish Cell’.  They would always take us with our hands handcuffed to our backs, for security reasons- according to the guards.  If we even slightly bumped into the uniformed officials, it could end up in the destruction of our faces or our teeth.  Luckily, that never happened.  At least with the political prisoners.

The directors of ‘Aguica’ Prison were sitting inside the classroom, as well as a political police official.  The official by the name of Penate invited me to sit down.  I preferred to stay standing.

I let them know every one of our demands until Captain Diosdado More, the director of the prison, interrupted me.

“Pablo”, he told me, “I can see that you’ve all reached an agreement amongst yourselves.  You have repeated the same phrases and accusations against us until the point of exhaustion”.

“No, Captain”, I responded, “It’s just that we have all suffered what we are demanding, which is very different from simply reaching an agreement”.

After nearly an hour of dialogue and their promises that they would comply with our demands, I told them to take me back to my cell.  To this, one official responded, “a guard will take you to the lunchroom where you will eat and show them all that you are discontinuing the hunger strike”.  I sarcastically smiled and said, “I will only eat in my cell.  That lunchroom is for the prisoners who work in the yard and I am confined to an isolation cell.  I will never work for re-education”.

Clearly irritated, Diosdado rose from his chair and grabbed my arm to tell me something.  I rapidly shook off his grip and told him, “You are not a friend of mine or anything of the sort to be taking me by the arm like that”.

My response angered him further, which led him to call on a guard to take me to the Vivac cell.

“Captain, if you like you could even send me to hell.  Even though I am already there.  Regardless, I will only eat in my cell”.

“Today, you will really get to know what hell is like”, he fired back.

Just a few minutes later, the guards were searching through my belongings in the Vivac cell.  Suddenly, I heard one of them say, “Penate, come look at this”.  After reading one of my notes, the political police official said, “Pacheco, this news is false”.

“Really?”, I responded, “Then tell me what happened.  Tell me what led this common prisoner, last name Licea, to throw himself from his cell’s ceiling and into his death.  You’d be a very trustworthy source for this news”.

Penate literally changed colors and furiously yelled, “Guard, take him into the cell in the back, for being such a loud mouth and for disrespect”.

“You can take me wherever you like, but tell me what happened to Licea.  You know that the guards were going to beat him and he preferred to throw himself into nothingness instead of receiving those blows.  You are all nothing but abusers and one day you will all pay for your crimes”.

“Take him away!”, screamed Penate to one of the men under him in the ranks.

Notes from Captivity XVIII

Violation of Correspondence II

by Pablo Pacheco Avila

It was a war of nerves between the guards and us on that morning.  They passed in front of our cells but they did not ask us our reasons for our abstinence from food.

At lunchtime, we once again refused food, and to be completely honest, if our decision were otherwise we would have devoured it all.  On that day, the cooks and the logistics functionaries of ‘Aguica’ were bent on doing the best job.  They served us black bean stew, white rice, fried chicken, sweet potato, a piece of bread, and even dessert.  It was the most dignified plate of food seen by human eyes and with much more quantity than they had served us during those first 6 months of captivity.

I cannot deny that my mouth watered, but I rapidly understood that it was all a mechanism on behalf of the guards to try and crack our psychological state.  Luckily, the common prisoners also noticed the manipulation and only the common prisoner who had not joined the strike accepted the food.  After the plates remained outside our cells for three hours they were taken away intact.

At 4:30 in the afternoon they served us dinner, which looked just as appetizing as the lunch, but temptation could not surpass our desire to demand respect for our rights.

Two hours later, the Unit Chief- Ricardo- and another official showed up to “The Polish Cell” and told Manuel Ubals to get dressed for a meeting with the Direction Council and the chief of the Political Police, Porfirio Penate.  The soldiers began to take each one of us out while promising the solutions to our demands, but they asked that as soon as we arrived to our dungeons that we had to start eating.

In truth, our sole interest was that our petitions be respected.  Among our points we demanded that our right to mail be respected, and that we be allowed to receive news, books, and adequate medical assistance, and that the re-educator visit “The Polish Cell” at least three times a week, for we only saw him there once in that time frame.  That last demand was decided on by the common prisoners.  We political prisoners cared very little if we saw the Unit Chief or not, we knew that it was not in his hands to solve our problems and meet our demands, and we let them know that during our meetings with the political police officials and other soldiers of the Direction Council, and even in front of Ricardo Martinez.

As my companions-in-strife were arriving to the cell they started to eat their food.  It was the agreement we had reached in the event that our demands were met, and so they were.

After 8 pm they came for me.  I was far from imagining the situation I was about to get into.  For some reason, they considered me to be the leader of the protest and I was the last to be interviewed.