Over Mojitos, Cubans React To Castro’s Resignation
Cuban immigrants are torn between hope and skepticism as the ailing dictator calls it quits.
“Can we get a couple more mojitos?” Ricardo Bacallao said to the waiter here at the Agozar restaurant downtown when asked the obligatory “Is everything alright?” So far, for Bacallao, a thirty-six-year old Cuban filmmaker, everything was fine—his friends surrounded him, clinking glasses and singing songs on the karaoke monitor.
When the sugary-rum, Cuban cocktails arrived, Bacallao slid one over to his friend on the right, Renelio Marin, a soft-spoken fine arts painter. It was time to celebrate. Fidel Castro, Cuban dictator of 49 years, had resigned.
“It’s a psychological change more than a political one. But sometimes that’s enough to set the wheels in motion,” said Bacallao, who arrived in Bedford Stuyvesant from Cuba two years ago.
Marin, who arrived from Cuba a few years earlier — eight years, to be exact — looked at his friend, shook his head and took a sip of his drink in which mint leaves swam.
“Castro was a huge figure, but the problem isn’t just one person,” said Le’Marin, 37, who’s pursuing an MFA at Hunter College. “It’s the entire political system. The problem is a sickness called totalitarianism. Until that changes, all others changes that happen now will be cosmetic.”
As news of Fidel Castro’s resignation raced around the globe Febuary 19th, some Cubans reacted with joy, others tepidly. Bacallao and Marin said that news was a lot to absorb. They also agreed that the effects of the leader’s half-a-century rule wouldn’t quickly dissipate. But when it came to predictions about what shape Cuba would take in the coming months, the two squared off. Hope was on one side, skepticism on the other.
“When I heard the news this morning, I had to call Rene up to celebrate. He’s so down. He thinks things will never change. He’ll come around,” said Bacallao in his black blazer and matching black-framed glasses.
Bacallao, who came to New York because, he said, it was the “art capital of the world,” recently made a documentary about what life is like for dark-skinned Cuban women living in America.
The two shared a large table tucked away in the back of this East Village Cuban restaurant with several friends —other filmmakers, an architect, a writer — most of whom were Cuban and here to celebrate.
News of Castro’s resignation came in the early morning hours on Tuesday. In his letter of resignation, Castro told the people of Cuba that his “wishes have always been to discharge my duties to my last breath,” but because of health problems would be handing full power of president of the State Council and commander-in-chief to his brother Raul.
Some found the change uninspiring.
“Same tricks, different dog,” said ’Marin, who wore a frown every time he mentioned Castro or his regime. “How could we ever consider that there’d be freedom? This is militarized, police state. This is a state where everyone seems like a spy for the government. It’ll be forever before you see anything wholly significant change.”
Others agreed that the transfer of power to Raul Castro would simply be a passing of the torch.
“How progressive can a 76-year-old guy be?” said Gustavo Pérez-Firmat, professor of Cuban-American literature at Columbia. “Plus,” Pérez-Firmat said, “Raul has a history of presiding over firing squads. The problem in Cuba is that they seem to be in the midst of a succession rather than a transition.”
Indeed, Castro, in his resignation letter, didn’t seem to think his leaving would precipitate anything drastic. “Fortunately,” Castro wrote, “our process can still count on cadres from the old guard and others who were very young…when they joined the fight on the mountains and later filled the country with glory with their heroism.”
Although Marin is a professed pessimist when it comes to all things political in Cuba, he admitted some hopes for the future, which center mostly on things he’d like changed.
“In Cuba, there’s this whole institution devoted to protecting Fidel Castro’s life, at whatever cost. I want to see that gone.”
And Marin has good reason. One night several years ago, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Cuban secret police greeted him. Because he lived about four blocks from one of Fidel Castro’s apartments, extra security was around. The agents had somehow found out that Le’Marin’s girlfriend from Canada was living with him.
“In the middle of the night, they demanded to see her passport. They looked at it and asked her [scornfully] if she remembered the day she had to leave Cuba. They were trying to send a message; I was completely humiliated. It’s crazy, I know, but it’s just one example. This is why were are celebrating tonight.”
To protect the regime, Cuban security forces have been known to revert to Soviet inspired scare tactics.
The U.S. State Department’s Web site has this to say about visiting the island: “Americans visiting Cuba should be aware that any encounter with a Cuban could be subject to surreptitious scrutiny by the Castro regime’s secret police.”
Bacallao, who had been chatting with a girl on his left, reentered the conversation. “Remember, we were inside of the Cold War. That’s a scary place to be.”
Still, Bacallao said he hoped that at very least, Castro’s departure would open the door to more visitation possibilities to Cuba. As it stands, Cubans like Marin and Bacallao may only visit their country every three years for only three weeks. Both of their families still live there. Bacallao said he pined for the day that they could again celebrate a freer Cuba, and enjoy its best aspects.
“The sense of community in Cuba is so strong, I miss that,” Bacallao said, and then added, “I also miss my mother’s cooking.”
Another round of mojitos came as Marin searched for what he missed about Cuba, besides his family. Stumped, the Manhattan resident had this to say: “First give me liberty. Take away fear. Then we’ll talk about missing Cuba.”