By Michel Torres Corona on December 24, 2022
Thousands of Cubans have emigrated in 2022, either in boats that usually capsize or through the very dangerous “Central American route”, which popular humor has metabolized as “tour of the volcanoes”. We all know someone who has left.
There are those who announced it in advance, publicly and notoriously. They traveled for a scholarship and let us know they would never return, or they got a visa and sold everything. Others planned and executed their departure in secret: we found out once they were “there”. There are those who deserted their medical, sports or diplomatic missions. There were broadcasters who one day were making very revolutionary spots and the next day they were asking for political asylum.
A friend of mine spent weeks stranded in Guyana, waiting for a visa that the U.S. Embassy in Havana refused to process. An acquaintance swam across the Rio Bravo, leaving his shoes on the shore, and wandered around “the land of the free” barefoot for three days, barely eating, without bathing, until he somehow made it to Miami. A DJ who “produced songs” for many “opposition artists”, who are now out of the country or in prison, tried to pass off his fear as “credible” but it didn’t work and he was deported, as were several “stowaways”.
We all know someone who left or wants to leave. When they tell me about it, I can only reply: “Don’t leave on a raft, wait for the visa. Do the paperwork, the Americans are going to normalize that at the embassy.” Convincing them not to leave is nonsense: these are decisions already made. Some are fed up with “passing work”, or they are disappointed, they have lost hope; others have never suffered from precariousness but have between their eyebrows the symbol of the United States as progress, as prosperity, even if they have more comforts here.
I see them, on the Facebook wall, with a flag with many stars and stripes, celebrating at the Miami airport; or making the post that they are already U.S. citizens (“God bless America”), with a photo in some European city or sharing news about Cuba that only someone who is not here can share. There are those who decide to move away from the “exile community”, and go further north, to New York or New Jersey; or cross the Atlantic and end up in Madrid or Barcelona… Or anywhere else. There are Cubans everywhere.
It is sad to have compatriots who have not found, for whatever reason, a life project in Cuba. Yes, there are many emigrants who are not seduced by the prevailing narrative, who defend their country from abroad, who left for love or for a job opportunity; but one cannot help missing, above all, those valuable people who would do so much good to the nation.
And neither can one stop thinking about families, especially today, when it is Christmas Eve, and in Cuban homes we gather to eat, drink and feel a little more together, in another December that hopefully will be the last in a succession of winters somewhat more bitter than sweet. Turkey is rare, as rare (and expensive) as pork, but the meal will be frugal and modest, with whatever is available. The delicacies are replaceable, dispensable; what is painful is the absence of a chair at the table, a laugh that will not burst, a hug in suspense.
We all ache for someone who left, we all miss someone this Christmas Eve, in one way or another. May they return, may the situation improve, may they be able to come and go, may they not forget us or themselves, what they once were. And on Christmas Eve next year may we meet again, together, to break bread and celebrate, if not all of us at least more than today.
Coda; an ever-relevant friend, reading me, reminded me of the moral obligation of hope that every coherent revolutionary must preserve. And for that stubborn hope she reminded me that I am not alone, that there are many young people who have decided to make socialism in Cuba their meaning in life, that there are many people who continue to be part of that collective feeling for social justice and popular sovereignty. In them, in us, I think and for them, for us, I continue.
Source: La Pupilia Insomne, translation Resumen Latinoamericano – US