jueves, 27 de enero de 2011

A Must-Read Testimonial

PUBLICADO PARA HOY 28 DE ENERO

BY: CAPITOL HILL CUBANS



The following testimonial by recently-banished Cuban political prisoner, Juan Carlos Herrera Acosta, was published last week by the Committee to Protect Journalists.

Many of you may have already seen it, but in case you missed it -- it's a must-read:

For Cuban dissidents, prison is the only destination

I was born beneath the yoke of a tyranny, now more than 50 years old, in which prison is the only destination for its deterrents. I first came across this destination in 1997, when I was sentenced to five years in prison for the alleged crime of committing an outrage "against state security." In Cuba, besides being a journalist, I was the coordinator of the Cuban Youth for Democracy Movement, an organization that defends the many truncated rights within higher learning institutions, such as a university's autonomy. The answer to our demands? Prison.

I spent four years, seven months, and 27 days in total isolation from the world, in addition to the sad record of 43 sutures on my body, resulting from the beast-like nature of my jailers.

Later, in 2003, one of many miserable springs took place. The Castro regime put 75 opposition members, librarians, and independent journalists behind bars. I was among them. Immediately after a summary trial, a judge sentenced me to life in prison. The funniest thing was that, on the same day, one minute before that (farcical) court hearing began, I met my state-appointed defense attorney for the first time.

I was sent to Kilo 8, a prison nicknamed "I lost the key" after the never-ending detentions endured by the highly dangerous prisoners housed there. Before long I learned that hope is what's really lost there.

We journalists and other prisoners of conscience were put with highly dangerous criminals--murderers, drug traffickers--and there were even informers to keep an eye on us. We were surrounded by well-nourished colonies of mosquitoes, cockroaches, and rodents. They kept us on a diet devoid of proteins and calories. There was no governmental entity to turn to when confronted with the horror of that place; neither the International Red Cross nor the High Commissioner for Human Rights have access.

I sewed my mouth shut, literally, as an act of shame and honor at the same time.

Behind bars, I also saw the spring of 2008 grow dark. On March 12, I received the devastating news that a traffic accident had taken my daughter's life. She was barely 15. Her name was Llanet. Since I was locked up, it had been difficult to be in contact with her and the rest of my family. I was only allowed three visits a year. The prison authorities seized my correspondence, and transferred me to different prisons across the island, like a tourist of the Castros' hells, always far from where my family lived.

In one of these detention centers, I shared my confinement with Orlando Zapata Tamayo, the leader of political dissidence in Cuba. When we saw each other for the first time, we dissolved in a sincere embrace, one that transmitted not only yearning, but also misery.

Last February, his death left me with an eternal sadness, and reminded the world of those Cubans that deny that prison is the only destination.

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