Every week, I write about at least one Cuban political prisoner, as an attempt to put a human face on one of the many tragedies that is Cuba today. The numbers alone — more than 275 prisoners in Fidel Castro's gulag — are awful enough, but the true magnitude of the dictatorship's horrors, I believe, can truly be comprehended only when you reflect on its effects on one brave soul.
That's why on most days, visitors to this site will find at the top of the page, a profile of one these heroes. We must all be reminded, so that we never forget.
Sometimes, my frustration boils over.
"Sons-of-bitches," I will cry out when reading of one of the regime's latest outrages.
Something similar, too, when I again realize that the suffering by these brave prisoners of conscience goes largely unnoticed in the United States. They are forgotten, as Cindy Sheehan and her cohorts go to the island to protest outside the U.S. base at Guantanamo Bay, and they are forgotten as American politicians line up to lift a so-called "embargo," with no demands or expectations for changed behavior by the dictators.
Sometimes, I am ashamed to say, I wonder why I care. After all, what difference does it make? No one seems to be paying attention. And I don't need any more stress.
And then I read the words of former Cuban political prisoner Armando Valladares, who in 1988, as the American ambassador to the United Nations Human Rights Commission, said:
Torture and violations of human rights, come from where might, are an aggression against all mankind and we must fight back with all our strength. There lies, precisely, the efficacy of our message.
International denouncements achieve their objective. They are the only means of pressuring the torturers, the only means to force them to free prisoners for the sake of public image, to save face, to be more careful, to transgressing less.
Denouncing the criminal does not guarantee his punishment but it may deter him from continuing the practice. We must raise our voices without fear and use all resources available to defend the persecuted, the tortured of the world. We must shout their suffering for them and fearlessly denounce their henchmen.
We must enter the cell of every Fernando López del Toro (a fellow political prisoner who took his own life while in jail) in the world, embrace him in solidarity and tell them to their faces, "do not take your life, there are men of good will who are standing by you, your dignity as a human being will prevail. In remembrance, there will always be a flower, the notes of a violin, the saddened voice of the so-called brothers who grief with you and defend you. Look, you are not a beast. Do not take your life. Freedom will never disappear from the face of the Earth."
I am once again inspired for the good fight, mainly because I recognize the struggle is not about me.
It is about freedom, for Cuban political prisoners, and for the rest of us, too.
Read all of Valladares' speech here.
And order a copy of his prison memoirs, "Against All Hope," here.
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