When I say dogs, I mean those wretched guys, capable of killing if necessary to look after the role of assuring the security of the state in Cuba. The 21 refers to the department that is dedicated to confronting the enemy in Havana but which has regional offices in the entire country.
A doctor, a psychologist, a writer, a bricklayer, a seamstress, a pre-school teacher, in short any citizen swelling this diffuse mass that, for the totalitarian power, constitutes the enemy.
For a sick and contagious system, that drags behind it the hatred of its countrymen, the main task is to preserve power at the expense of the heads that need to be placed in the public pillory.
Although it sounds rhetorical to some, there is no better way for the State Council and its gang of speechmakers in the Communist Party Central Committee to communicate than through the insult, discrediting the public, the act of repudiation, beatings, imprisonment, arbitrary detention, shootings, death by “accident” or exile in the most Solomonic of solutions in order to get rid of an opponent in question.
The renewed army of boys who watch on street corners in every neighbourhood, informing on every pound of sugar that enters or leaves the house, every bicycle tire, each banned book or the most discreet of family gatherings with a political tinge, all of it is reported or monitored with animosity because according to them it has the stinky ‘hint of conspiracy’.
Cuba has become a nation with a malignant tumor growing inside it, covered by the breath of violent speeches and hatred towards all things that contradict the political command and control.
Like hounds, those glorious fighters believe in state security, sniffing every corner of the island to poke their noses where a Cuban man or woman might have given up thinking with their stomach or a departure card from the country permanently or temporarily.
The accompanying photo strip to my post is visual testimony against those who prevented me from leaving for the funeral of Orlando Zapata Tamayo that fateful February 24.
Days will have passed, weeks perhaps, before I can get this to the light, but patience will be needed: there are around seven hundred kilometers of Internet between St. Germain, Havana and the world.
Note dictated today.
Once again I was imprisoned, they arrested me again, only not in St. Germain, but at dawn at a friend’s house in Bayamo. Once again I was taken by political police to Bayamo general headquarters where, after the usual threats (Gag Law, Writing for my blog, in order to do independent journalism), they sent me to the general headquarters in Holguin known as Pedernales but freed me six hours later.
Once again I had to phone to ask those who help me to add this note to the post ‘The puppies …’ that had been sent before. I say! this is almost up to date with events from ‘inside the country’ and real life elsewhere!
Translated by: CIMF