Dreaming in Cuban

Forty-eight years tonight, Cuba's nightmare began.

And so did the story of my family in America.

The things that have defined the latter — namely, education, good careers and most importantly, freedom — drive me to do whatever I can to help break the grip of the former, whether it is working on Uncommon Sense or some other chapter in my life still to come.

An horrific dictatorship, whose latest crimes against humanity I try to document here, came to power 48 years ago tonight. And, in part, because of a compliant world purposefully blind to that horror, the dictator and his cronies continue to terrorize their own people. No one in the world, even in America, can consider themselves entirely free, as long as Cubans are enslaved. To remain silent, only magnifies that crime.

For my part, I pledge in 2007 to continue Uncommon Sense, both exposing the truth about the dictatorship and telling the stories of the brave Cuban men and women — the political prisoners, the independent journalists and librarians, the human rights activists, etc. — who stand up to the regime, in the name of freedom for their fellow citizens, and for the whole world.

I think that is what my grandfather, Raimundo Masferrer, and his brothers, Rolando and Kiki, would want me to do. I cannot help but think that these three brave men — who fled Havana for Key West 48 years ago tonight on Rolando's boat — would be proud of my efforts. They, especially Rolando, aka "El Tigre," were men of action, moreso than I have ever been, not afraid to take up a gun to defend themselves and their nation. But one of Rolando's many careers — in addition to lawyer and politician — was as a journalist. He knew the power of the written word to change the world, which I, too, have tried to do as a journalist, for newspapers and on this blog.

My grandfather was the first of my immediate family to reach American shores after Fidel Castro's defeat of the previous Cuban dictatorship. My father, then 15 years old, could have been on that boat, with his father and uncles, but he had to stay in Cuba, to take care of his mother and younger sister. The family would reunite later in America, to begin their American dream.

But they, and their children and grandchildren — each of us American and Cuban, to our cores — have not forgotten the nightmare that is life in Cuba today. Most of us may not fixate about it as much as I do on this blog, but always in the back of our minds is the realization of the sacrifices our parents and grandparents made — They were forced to flee their homes! — so we can have the freedom we enjoy today.

At least this first-generation American of Cuban descent, understands that I will not be truly free until the same liberties I enjoy in my family's adopted home, are shared by my brothers and sisters on the island.

I have faith that one day, perhaps in 2007, that dream will come true.