Voices Behind The Bars

Image: La Quimera de Arezzo

The prisoner of conscience Antonio Ramón Díaz Sánchez finds himself confined to an isolation cell in the provincial prison of Canaleta in Ciego de Avila.  Tony, who is also a member of the Group of 75 and who resides in the municipal capital of Marianao, finds himself isolated since May 30 for refusing to wear the uniform of a common prisoner and is currently confronting reprisals against him from Castro’s political police.  Some of these restrictions include denying him the right to receive family mail and visits of religious assistance, among others.

On August 12 Tony was allowed his regulated two-hour family visit, and he requested, as is the habitual practice for prisoners who live in Havana, that they also permit his three-hour matrimonial visit the same day, but the prison warden flat-out refused, alleging that he’d get his conjugal visit on August 20.  Furthermore, his family brought him some photocopies of a Spanish press article that were taken away from them at the prison entrance. The soldiers said that they would be given to Tony later, but when his family left after the visit, the press articles were returned to them, denying Tony his right to freedom of information in Canaleta prison.

Pedro Argüelles Morán
Group of the 75
Provincial prison of Canaleta in Ciego de Avila

A few weeks ago, I wrote about Juanes’ performance in the Cuban capital. Now I am convinced that the appearance of Juan Esteban Aristizabal and other accompanying musicians would constitute a fabulous and necessary artistic show in the Plaza of the Revolution, formerly known as the Jose Marti Civic Plaza. A large diversity of opinions have arisen around the so-called “Concert for Peace”, which is normal. What I do see as out of place are the images, manipulated by Cuban television, of one part of the Miami exile community smashing the Colombian singer’s CDs.

Today I am in prison for writing what my conscience dictates. I long for the respect of different opinions to be part of the future of Cuba, and I don’t doubt that my fellow brothers in the cause, the group of 75 arrested in the Black Spring of 2003, other political prisoners, those who fight day after day in the street for the democratization of Cuba, and of course in the diaspora, all feel the same. This country needs love and reconciliation and that is what we, men of good will, give night and day and will continue offering tomorrow. I have noticed that the government of the island has been intelligently quiet, trying to take advantage of the attacks from both sides. There is no better strategy for creating enemies than that of “divide and conquer,” and we cannot let ourselves fall into a trap that causes further harm to the idea of respecting different opinions.

When Juanes and other singers decided to give a concert with the purpose of harmoniously unifying the governments of Colombia, Ecuador, and Venezuela, there also surged a wave of opposition. However, the show ended up being an all-around success. It couldn’t have happened any other way, for the joining of the voices of Carlos Vives, Juanes, Juan Fernando Velasco, the Dominican Juan Luis Guerra and the Venezuelan Ricardo Montaner was something delightful, almost celestial. We Cubans do not live at the end of the world, and we deserve the performances of these artists and many others, including Cubans who today are in exile but have never stopped being part of our people. Many of them belong to the most talented and brilliant group of artists on an international level.

On the other hand, Juanes, Olga Tanon, Victor Manuel, and the others will have a unique chance to see – with their own eyes and without anyone telling them – the state of tension under which we live. They will notice the degree of militarization that exists in this society, whether it is in the streets, plazas, hotels, clubs, or even on our beautiful beaches. If these giants of the musical world do not demand liberty for the political prisoners, or do not even meet with opposition leaders – for the sake of claiming to be apolitical – only they shall know if they will be able to sleep peacefully with their consciences in a Havana hotel, surely one of 5-star rating.

The people want to see them perform and I am content with that. I am convinced that both the exile community and a significant number of Cubans located on the island would like Juanes to meet with the brave Ladies in White. I hope that is what will happen. A few days ago, Bill Richardson was in Cuba and the everyday Cuban people did not even notice. I don’t question his strategy but am surprised that at this level a North American governor of such high stature would continue the rhetoric supported by Michelle Bachelet, Cristina Fernandez, and others. It’s a sad situation, and however these politicians try to minimize it, it’s a reality. The authorities of Havana know this and are worried though they don’t show it. Let’s see what experience Juanes and his companions take away with them, but at least we Cubans will have an exclusive opportunity after so many years.

Regarding the singer Juanes’ visit to the island, some compatriots, on and off the island, have stirred up a lamentable reaction of intolerance and rejection. This has even led to some acts of intransigence which, by my understanding, do not correlate with the essence and spirit of democracy. What difference is there between these stubborn attitudes and those daily systematic and institutional ones that are forced upon us by the totalitarian regime of the Castros? Is it that for you there are dictatorships of the left or of the right? Civil regimes or military ones? Well, for me none of those classifications exist: There are dictatorships, period.

Is Juanes coming to sing for the tyrant on his birthday, for the nomenklatura living under a capitalism of luxury, waste, and sinecures of all types, or is he coming to sing for the suffering Cuban people? Brothers and sisters, please analyze this intolerant posture that only serves the same Castroite regime to feed its hatreds and justify its cruel, inhuman and degrading acts against the same population for whom Juanes is coming to sing.

Compatriots, one cannot hypocritically demand morality; if one fights civilly for a new Cuba let it be for all, with all, and for the benefit of all. Let us begin by adopting praise-worthy and dignifying democratic principles and leave the intolerance to the communist regime in Havana.

Pedro Argüelles Morán, Group of the 75, Provincial Prison of Canaleta, Cuba

Image taken during the Bienal de La Habana

Today could have been a day like any other… I regret not being able to say so. It is my son, Jimmy’s, 11th birthday. It has been six years of forced absence imposed by hatred and evil, incapable of understanding that not all men think alike. That has been my punishment, for the government to separate me from my son, by imprisoning me.

His birth comes to my memory: I was so happy I cried, and If I intend to be sincere with my conscience, I also cried while in my cell the day I left him sleeping like an angel when the state security forces arrested me. Jimmy suffered, and even worse, his mother was unable to take him to day care the same way any child of a working mother would be allowed to. She pretty much had to be with the child constantly wherever she went.

Jimmy’s sin was being the son of an independent journalist. I was finally able to see him in school uniform thanks to a picture taken by my wife on the first day of class. I was far, far away, in the gloomy prison of Aguica, in the province of Matanzas, more than 450 KM from my home in Ciego de Avila.

My son was growing, and Oleyvis served as his mother, father, friend, and teacher. Today he is a decent and educated child, a little bit shy and reserved, and perhaps a bit mistrustful of life. It’s normal. I understand. But he also loves his parents and respects his teachers.

The question that haunts him and that he always asks is “Why did Fidel Castro imprison my father?” As of now, he is too young to understand. I pray to God that he has a happy day today. And I hope we can spend the next birthday together, go out as a family, the three of us: he, his mother, and I, any place where we can have a good time, the way we should have been able to do during these past six years that I have been absent.

He and I still need to forgive those who are responsible for these difficult years of imprisonment. I hope the same thing they have done to Jimmy and me does not happen to them.

Pablo Pacheco, Canaleta Prison

Image: Taken during the Bienal de La Habana

The world in which we live cannot be viewed as a drop of water in a glass.  Much less can it be seen in black and white.  If we intend to be just with our fellow human beings, it is necessary to acknowledge all aspects of life.  It is then that something will tell us that sincerity begins with oneself; otherwise, justice will never be attained.

Today’s world has been inevitably globalized. in my opinion, for the benefit of humanity.  Before the island’s authorities made me a prisoner of conscience, I asked myself again and again why some political prisoners can denounce the reality of Cuban prisons and others cannot?

Now that I am in their position, I have found the key: In these six years and four months of captivity many of us have systematically denounced the violations of human rights, and as far as I know, two of my brothers have been able to write down their memories in powerful books.

Obviously, we are not going to all have the same intellectual capacity.  If we are going to be objective and practical we must analyze the importance of writing about the cruelty found in the penitentiaries in Cuba, not be primarily self-indulgent, and see the situation from the most realistic point of view possible.

I believe that in order to criticize one must earn the right.  Not all prisons are the same, and for that reason I can’t imagine the international community thinking that Cuban prisons are a paradise. Only we, the political prisoners, especially those of the cause of the 75, know what it’s like to live, if you can call it living, in solitary and enclosed cells without being exposed to the sun for 18 months, with visits allowed only every three months, and matrimonial encounters every five. In other words, we have sex with our wives twice a year.

Bags weighing 30 pounds. No telephone. Two religious meetings in about two years. Enduring the crazed screams of those condemned to death.  Since they won’t separate us from the common prisoners, we have learned to live in the jungle, together with the actual delinquents, rapists, child molesters, assassins, the worst of Cuban society.

I’m convinced that none of us will ever be the same again.  And it is not because of weakness.  Quite some time has passed and we have remained as hard as rocks.  But really, we now will never return to being ourselves.

Now I have my blog, which as I always say belongs to all.  If someone believes that Cuban prisons are heavenly, then please forgive me: they should cleanse their brains.  There are days when I have written about a common prisoner, with my ulcer acting up and my kidney barely letting me rise from my bed.  Nevertheless I continue forward.  Without knowing if I will ever emerge free from this tomb of living men.  My only hope is in knowing that I am a prisoner only because of my thoughts and my desire to be a free man.  Then it is worth it.

Pablo Pacheco, Canaleta Prison

Image: Bird Headed Monster by Bosch

At lunchtime on July 8, we, the prisoners of Sections 3, 4 and 5 reported to the dining room of the prison where we were met by Unit Chief Orlando Major Fernández Fernández and Michael Vesalles, Kitchen Chief, here at Canaleta in Ciego de Ávila, where they admit that the meal they were to serve us today had actually gone rotten. Several other prisoners confirmed to me that, fearing reprisal for letting this happen, Fernández Fernández ordered that the rotten fish be replaced by ham hash. The inmates where able to eat soon after. Of the 350 prisoners that live in the three sections combined, quite a few confirmed this isn’t the first time this situation had occurred.

To conclude, the reasons behind this situation are still unknown.

Pablo Pacheco: Canaleta Prison

Image: Luis Trapaga

In February of this year, the warden of Canaleta Prison in the province of Ciego de Ávila stopped allowing us to wear our own clothes and introduced a uniform that all prisoners are required to wear, consisting of two undershirts, one pair of shorts and one pair of pants. Several weeks later, a common prisoner,* Ernesto Jiménez Aragón, reported for his new clothing and was advised that it would not be delivered until visiting day. Because of this surprising response, Ernesto’s family asked again, on visiting day, for the clothing, but this time they were told that someone had robbed the prison warehouse. With this new development, the family, distressed, spoke with the Chief Prison Warden, General Marcos Hernández Alcalá, who assured them that the pieces of clothing would either turn up or be paid for by those who are responsible for the warehouse. However, according to Ernesto, neither one of these things happened, and he ordered five shorts, five pants, five pullovers and four undershirts. But the worst part of the situation is that even though there is a severe penalty for theft, these things can happen. Aragón alleges that his mother cannot afford to buy him any more clothes, since she is sick with cancer of the throat and does not have enough money for this anomaly.

Moreover, other prisoners assert that recently, in this same provincial prison, someone robbed the workers’ pay, and they still have not caught the responsible party.

Perhaps this title brings hope to those set apart from society in the Canaleta provincial prison, in Ciego de Ávila. Thinking about the performance of the famous Columbian singer this afternoon, I appealed to the good humor of those men who, because of mistreatment, live day after day hoping for freedom, and those out of prison, the living dead, existing in a world designed for power and evil.

The prisoners here, witty and funny by nature (perhaps because they are Cuban), baptized the chains they have to wear to go to doctor appointments as “Shakira.” Really funny because they don’t have hair and are extremely mean. Not until today, July 9, did I have the bad luck of having my turn to go to the provincial hospital, Antonio Luases Iraola. There were Jorge Toledo Ortiz, Heriberto Castillo Sánchez and Luis Alberto. The first one missed his appointment because of the guards’ delay. They told the reporters, Toledo Ortiz and Castillo Sánchez, we “looked like the supposed Taliban terrorists that are seen on Cuban television.” With every movement of the jeep I feared an accident, because of the abysmal quality of the driver. In addition, the heat was unbearable; nothing seemed more like torture: inside a makeshift van and shackled to the teeth, someone finally said it was better to miss the appointment with the medical specialist.

This story is sad because whenever something disgraceful happens, the high-ranking officials wash their hands of it. I confirmed this with Gamboa, the Chief of Interior Order, and he showed me that the instructions came from above. He concluded by saying it took a lot of work for Toledo Ortiz, who is completing a seven-year sentence, to go see a specialist for a cyst on his brain, and he missed his appointment. Also, the official with the Department of Technical Inquiries almost ruined his humble tennis shoes while patting down the prisoner. And for now, he doesn’t want to know anything about Shakira even from television, though she is a beautiful woman, very different from the chains they make us wear while inside a rolling oven.

Pablo Pacheco, Canatela Prison, Ciego de Avila

Image: Millet

In Cuba, during the last 50 years, I believe that the fear has been greater than the pain. And there is no more convincing reason than the last weeks of living here in Section 3 of the Provincial Prison of Canaleta in Ciego de Ávila. It’s also known that tradition is stronger than love, although I believe this adage serves more for those with the souls of slaves and cowards by nature than for courageous men.

The afore-mentioned section in which I reside is no better than the 11 others that exist in this prison with more than 150 men, and we continue to have problems with the telephone service. This benefit, available until 10 pm, offered before the 8th of the current month, now is allowed only from 8 am to 5 pm, because, according to Mayor Orlando Fernández Fernández, Deputy Chief of the unit, some prisoners contacted high-level functionaries at the Ministry of the Interior to complain about unresolved issues in the prison.

Life shows you that if you don’t like soup, you’ll get three bowls. And this saying fits like a ring on a finger to the punishments in our section. Today, July 6, while I was on my way to a doctor’s appointment at Antonio Luases Iraola provincial hospital, the “re-educator” ordered that televisions must be turned off between the hours of 10 am and 6 pm, as a new rule to conserve energy and thus help the country in the campaign of energy saving. Anyone disobeying this order would spend time in his cell, even if he had a good excuse.

Now most of the convicts criticize the order, but they were afraid to tell Joel, the re-educator, to his face. If they come and ask me, “Political teacher, tell us what to do now,” I have no other option but to write this commentary.

To conclude, I must add that for the five barracks in our section, the troughs where we bathed at 1 pm and collected water to flush the furrows we use as a toilet, have been drained. Water is piped in only at 7:30 pm and at 6 am. Consequently, there is a bad smell in the bath, and the flies are our faithful companions along with the terrible food.

As a child of God, I can only pray that we don’t fall victim to some contagious disease, so common this time of year.

Image: Claude Monet

During the night of June 16, the inmates of Canaleta Prison in Ciego de Ávila began a massive protest because there was no water to bathe in, let alone to drink. In addition, most of them had spent the whole day of terrible heat without access to the telephone, and they were banned from watching television from 10 am until 6 pm – a new regulation from the Ministry of the Interior.

Around 10 pm, you could hear catcalls and hisses, accompanied by shouts of WATER, WATER, WATER. In our division things worsened when the prisoners asked Despaine, the functionary in charge, about the absence of the precious liquid. And he continued walking, turning his back on them, a kind of blackmail.

Twenty minutes later, Captain Alberto, two other high-ranking officials, and two other functionaries arrived. The soldiers immediately explained that as a result of a shortage of electricity on the national network, the turbine that supplied the water was not on, and that only when the electricity was back would the water situation would be resolved.

The angry prisoners continued to complain from one military bureaucrat to another. Finally the water returned to our section at 12:25 am There are more than 1,200 inmates in Canaleta prison, and they remained without electricity and water for more than 17 straight hours.

Pablo Pacheco