You get up every morning, drag yourself out of bed, slowly button up your shirt and walk into your office. Maybe you had a blackout the night before, maybe your family didn’t have breakfast this morning, but you choose to believe that others are to blame. An important part of you must think that there is an external culprit, that he is powerful, that he exists for the sole purpose of crushing you and the ideals you defend, that your ideals are noble and pure, after all, you are defending a system of education and public and universal health care, which could be against the accessibility of health and education. You have convinced yourself that the end justifies the means. That those who do not think the same as you directly threaten the possibility of being according to your ideals that serve that powerful enemy that is everywhere. You know that your ideals are nothing more than ideals, that neither health, nor education, nor many of the achievements that were sold to you as conquests remain. You know everything is collapsing, health care, education and the roof of your neighbors house. But the government, wise man, has given you something to cling to. He gave you a culprit. He gave you a cause. It gave you permanent relief. Because the culprit and the cause will not disappear. It doesn’t matter what you have to run over. The ending is important.
The me who gets up every day and drags my feet out of bed, who slowly buttons my dress and hugs my kids before I go to work, which sometimes I spend two or three hours trying to guess your Anyway, I I still can’t understand why or what you are doing. For several years I believed that your purpose was to destroy those spaces of rebellion and freedom from which your purpose, your means, your ideals were contested. And that the way to destroy these spaces is to condemn his characters to wander through each of the planet’s time zones. Condemn them to exile, to migrant status, to the permanent helplessness that comes from losing your home. I thought you believed that by generating mass resignations and putting pressure on human beings, you would destroy the spaces.
You and I agree that the strategy didn’t work. Those who left knew how to patch up the wounds caused by exile, learned to reinvent themselves, to share their pain with others, not to be silent. The new generation of exiles did not adapt to the existing spaces in their host countries, they did not try to integrate by force and even continued to use their voices to make visible what you are doing from Havana. I think at the time you thought the strategy of driving them out wasn’t going to work. Or maybe you always knew. You went for more as you requested back in 2003 when you put 75 innocents behind bars. Because you’ve gone for the more systematic without cell phone cameras or broadcast networks to judge you. And you, always one step ahead, decided to use this visibility and these networks to your advantage to increase the fear of contagion. Few things are more contagious than fear. What better strategy than fear of faces and names.
You fear nothing more than being named and recognized as a supporter. The images of the murdered, the tortured are still very clear in the books of Cuba. The faces of Frank, of Abel are alive in the popular imagination. And you don’t want people to go back 60 years and feel like they’re going through a time of physical torture. You looked for other methods. Because he who devotes himself to torture always finds a way to torture. I couldn’t see it clearly for a long time. I failed to guess that your goal was not to end spaces, but to end people on an individual level. Nothing hates your value system more than individuality. Nothing condemns more than the right to speak and think about a human being. He fears nothing more than citizenship. The system is designed to control the individual in his mass state through multiple spaces: the warehouse book, the CDR, the government job, the children’s school, the groups of friends and acquaintances, the family. The system is not designed to control the individual as a citizen. He doesn’t know what to do with this person when the stock book, CDR, government job, children’s school and their groups of friends and acquaintances stop working… To end the citizen, you had to become a supporter. A good minion goes unnoticed and achieves its goal with as little blood as possible. You passed the test with flying colors. Zero blood. Mass resignations. Fear of infection. neutralized persons.
I had to observe from afar the results of your strategy. He was so brilliant that he didn’t even get strong enough international condemnation to stop him. With so much going on in the world, who cares about a few more journalists. I had to get the pieces you spit out across the Florida Straits. I had to go to therapy for months to be able to name what I was feeling as I watched from afar. I had to recognize myself as someone capable of hating, and calling what I felt hate was profoundly liberating. It fell to me, after the naming, to learn to live with hatred, to learn to dominate it, to transform it into a desire for justice and freedom.
You had to transport young people in their twenties to guesthouses to shoot worthless guilt videos. It’s amazing how obsessed you are with my guilt videos. As if a video recording of psychological torture served as anything other than evidence of the mental torture itself. You had to humiliate people, make them feel fearful, wring the words you wanted to hear from them through threats, the words that made sense of everything, the words that pointed to the other culprit. To the enemy. You pounded your fists on the table when those words wouldn’t come out and you dragged out interrogations for hours and brought in a psychologist to analyze in real time those who refused to say what you wanted to hear. It happens that what you wanted to hear does not exist. It’s in your head. It’s in the heads of every single person who gets interrogated, videotaped and beaten. Torture is never lonely. The presence of another torturer justifies yours. There is the one who takes pictures, there is the one who interrogates, there is also the psychologist. Everything with a purpose. Don’t make you feel alone. Affirming what you will do every day when you wake up, get out of bed, slowly button up your shirt and walk into your office.
But every day you’re more and more alone. We both notice it. You try to hide it, but your children, the ones with heroic blood in their veins, did not wake up to go to May Day this time. Your friend’s son, who has a picture of Fidel Castro at work, is raising money to go to Nicaragua. One day you will come to the office to torture young people and they will change the psychologist or the operator. The youths you tortured over eleven years ago who appeared in your videos will scream what happened and your recordings will be universally ridiculed. You’ll name mercenaries and people will recognize the characters. You’ll want to delete any confessions obtained under duress, but your videos will be there to haunt you. You’re going to stop getting up every morning, buttoning up your shirt and coming to the office because you’re going to be in jail. Your victims at this time may rest in justice.
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