The true measure of a tragedy that takes a great number of lives, whether a terror attack like 9/11 or a tyranny like Fidel Castro's, is not in the number, no matter how great, but in each life lost. Consider each victim, one at a time — and the effect of that loss on their family and friends — and the magnitude of the tragedy is almost incomprehensible.
That realization enveloped me Sunday as I visited the Cuban Memorial on display this past week in Tamiami Park in Miami. As I walked up on the wind-swept field of white crosses planted into the ground — each one, for a victim of the Castro dictatorship — I was overwhelmed by how the crosses seemed to go on forever. The wide-shot only reinforced what I already knew about the evils of the Castro regime.
But it wasn't until I got close up and started reading the names attached to each cross did I realize that we are called not to remember the number of Cubans lost to Castro — whether 10,000 or 100,000, or greater — but to remember that each cross represents one victim, one family, one story.
As far as I know, I did not have a close family member represented in the memorial. Most of my relatives, on both sides of my family, made it out before they could suffer greater harm.
But that does not diminish my responsibility as a Cuban, as a journalist, as a blogger, as a human being, to never forget, and to do what I can to make sure the world never forgets what each one one of those crosses represents. Visiting the Memorial helped me re-commit to the work I do on this blog.
As I walked back to my car, I wished every member of Congress would have come to Miami this past weekend, so they can understand what truly is at stake before they even consider weakening the "embargo" or making other accommodations to the Castro regime.
Fidel Castro is a criminal, and each name on each cross, his victim. There must be no reward for his treachery.
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Several of the crosses I saw caused me to pause in prayer and memory.
Cornelio Rojas, the police chief of Santa Clara and a cousin of my grandfather's, executed on Jan. 7, 1959.
Elizabeth Broton Rodriguez, who died in the Florida Straits in November 1999, trying to take her son, Elian Gonzalez, to a better life.
And the several who died on Aug. 14, my birthday.
In 1965, it was Felipe Bocanegra. A year later, it was Pedro-Raúl Chacon Orellana. And in 1993, Gilberto Guirnera Rivas.
And many, many more.
Each one, with a family and friends — maybe someone who went to the Memorial over the weekend to lay flowers or a Cuban flag in their memory. Each one with a story that must never be forgotten.
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