By Carlos Alberto Montaner
http://www.firmaspress.com/


MADRID Unexpectedly, the guard, in a voice less harsh than usual, said to him: "Paneque, leave your cell to take a phone call."

José Luis García Paneque, 44, is a doctor, a plastic surgeon specializing in burn injuries, a family man with several young children, talkative and intelligent like a good imp. In March 2003, during the so-called "Black Spring in Havana," he was arrested and summarily sentenced to 15 years in prison.

His crime? Like the rest of the 75 detainees during that repressive orgy, he wrote chronicles about the Cuban reality in foreign newspapers (because he wasn't allowed to do so in the government-fettered press), lent forbidden books, wanted and asked for democracy for his country and was a devout Catholic. In other words, the living portrait of a dangerous enemy of the people and an agent of Yankee imperialism.

The call came from Cardinal Jaime Ortega. Amiably, the prelate asked him if he wished to be released and sent to Spain. There were no humiliating conditions. Neither would Paneque have accepted them nor would Ortega have proposed them. Paneque answered Yes. Somehow, the democratic opposition had won the game, and the dictatorship was beginning to get rid of the prisoners of conscience.

Besides, Paneque trusted his church. The priests and bishops had not abandoned him when he was arrested. They helped his family and looked after him when they discovered that he was dying of the infectious diseases contracted in the filthy cells.

His immunological system no longer fought off the intestinal parasites, the medicines had lost their effectiveness and he gradually became malnourished. He looked like one of the prisoners in the Nazi concentration camps. Besides him, two other captives, Normando Hernández González and Ariel Sigler Amaya, suffered variations of the same chronic and incurable illness.

Of the three, Sigler, who was the strongest when they walked into prison, an almost-200-pound athlete, is in the worst condition: invalid, thin as a rail, in a wheelchair and incapable of even holding his head up without a neck brace. He's still in Havana because the Cuban government cruelly denies him an exit permit, even though he has a U.S. visa.

I went over to embrace the prisoners, who had just arrived in Spain. It was a very emotional moment. It is impossible to hold back the tears. One hides them, because of that awful curse that "men don't cry.'' But the eyes usually do their own thing.

Normando's mother, Blanca González, who had just arrived from Miami, hugged her son with the intense love of someone who had given birth to him for the second time. Andrés Ely Blanco, the great popular Venezuelan poet, perceptively stated it many decades ago: There is no happier day than the day the prisoners are freed.

I had seen Blanca shout at a hundred demonstrations, invoking Normando's name and waving his picture. To see him alive again was her wish when she went to bed and when she rose every single day. His cause encouraged her to continue breathing amid so much pain and so many sad reports that flew from the prison cells, like ravens, to warn her that Normando would die soon if he was not rescued.

The prisoners were housed in a modest hostel in Vallecas, an industrial neighborhood near Madrid. That's understandable. Spain, which has extended a generous hand amid a crisis, does not have funds to dispense charity profusely. The prisoners have arrived with their relatives, and the final bill could be high for any of the underbudgeted state institutions. Maybe there was also the objective of isolating them so the media hoopla could be kept down. The Zapatero government does not want this operation to become a broadside against the dictatorship.

But it won't accomplish that. These men -- for now, Paneque and Normando, Léster González, Antonio Villarreal, Pablo Pacheco, Julio César Gálvez, Omar Ruiz, Ricardo González -- are willing to die to defend their right to say what they think.

If they weren't silenced by the blows, the hunger and the caging in terrible prisons, who can even think of muzzling them now that they've gained freedom? They came to exercise their throats and will not keep quiet.

By RICARDO GONZÁLEZ ALFONSO
Madrid

I NEVER imagined I would be born at the age of 60, at an altitude of several thousand feet above the Atlantic. That isn’t gibberish; it’s what I felt when I was released from jail in Cuba and exiled to Spain last Monday.

My debut as a prisoner of conscience came early in 2003, a period subsequently characterized by the world’s press as the Black Spring. I was just one of 75 Cubans imprisoned for our belief that freedom is an achievable miracle and not a crime against the state.

They say prison is a school, and it’s true. I did my best to be a good student and kept back my tears. I succeeded so well that my prison companions still think me a brave man.

Within a few months I could find my way pretty well around the labyrinths of shipwrecked souls. I learned the secrets and legends of killers for hire, crimes of passion, traffickers in illicit powdery substances, would-be emigrants whose clandestine departures had been no secret to the state — even thieves who’d share their teaspoon of sugar on days of hunger.

Zoology was one class we had every day. I learned to live with rats, and even came, on certain nights of our tropical winter (which is winter, nevertheless) to stare at them with an urgency not unlike what people call appetite. I was a solitary friend to the deft spiders that sometimes freed me from the torturous buzzings and blood-shedding bites that accompanied my insomnia.

I became well versed in cosmic solitude and silence. I remember being in a cell no wider than a man with outstretched arms. I also grew familiar with fetid overcrowding and unceasing clamor. Months of unending darkness, months of eternal light.

I was only an auditor in certain courses, in which I learned that some prisoners were specializing in self-injury as a crude solution to their despair. I was witness to mutilated hands and other wounds as mortal or venial as sins. A man cut off his own penis and testicles in a desperate attempt to become a woman. Others, more radical and exhausted by perpetual existential tumult, turned to various methods of suicide, all of them extremely effective.

A large part of the program of study consisted in the defense of one’s rights. There was no theoretical option, only the very Cuban practice of the hunger strike. I carried one out for 16 days, until part of my will felt satisfied with my victory. That long and voluntary fast vindicated the enforced daily fast of imprisonment.

As in any school, there were periods of leisure. Packs of cigarettes were wagered on the outcome of chess matches, card games or soccer contests. I knew sellers and buyers of recreational drugs who were very good at evading or bribing both prison guards and informer inmates.

There was no lack of expertise in armed aggression. Pitiful, decaying knives that were nevertheless sharp-edged and skillfully wielded left trails of blood and rage behind them. (But I never signed up for that class.)

I’ve always had an aptitude for subjects that have to do with dreams, and I dreamed of my wife and children with such fervor that I know they felt my caresses as they lay asleep.

I was almost an exemplary student, and received only one failing grade: in hatred. Despite certain zones of memory, I bear no rancor against my jailers.

And now, after this senescent birth of mine, I’m contemplating the future with all the hope of the newly unveiled. Ever the optimist, I even dream of returning to a Cuba where freedom is not an impossible illusion. I know that, in the next 60 years, I won’t have to be reborn again.


Ricardo González Alfonso is a journalist. This article was translated by Esther Allen from the Spanish.

The Miami Herald publishes today an extensive report by Fabiola Santiago on the Cuban political prisoners exiled to Spain:

11 Cuban prisoners, expatriated to Spain, are weary, ailing, defiant and free
After years in windowless cells, they find themselves reunited with family but deprived of their homeland.

BY FABIOLA SANTIAGO
FSANTIAGO@MIAMIHERALD.COM

MADRID -- Packed into a hostel named Welcome that advertises lodging for about $18 a night -- the same as a cab ride to this industrial hub 10 miles away from the city center -- the 11 freed Cuban prisoners who arrived this week with their families face an uncertain future in a country reeling from economic woes.

The ex-prisoners are not euphoric, as one might expect newly freed men to be, and despite the crisp white shirt, dress slacks, leather shoes and striped tie with which the Cuban government put them on a plane to the Spanish capital, the men look weathered by their whirlwind transatlantic flight and seven years of incarceration in windowless cells alongside common prisoners.

"I can't enjoy anything. I can't feel free as long as there is a political prisoner in Cuba. How can I be happy with all I left behind?'' asks Mijail Barzaga Lugo, 43, who served time in four different prisons for filing news reports about life in Cuba to CubaNet and Radio Martí.

Barzaga and the others are part of a group of 75 independent journalists and peaceful dissidents jailed in the massive crackdown of 2003 known as the Black Spring. These 11 freed prisoners are the first of 52 scheduled to be released and expatriated to Spain in the next four months under an agreement negotiated by the Spanish government and the island's highest-ranking Catholic, Cardinal Jaime Ortega. Two others from the group of 75 -- the poet and columnist Raul Rivero, released in 2005, and Alejandro Gonzalez Raga, released in 2008 -- also were resettled here.

Besides Barzaga, those who arrived between Tuesday and Thursday were Ricardo Gonzalez Alfonso, Lester Gonzalez, Omar Ruiz, Antonio Villareal, Julio Cesar Galvez, Jose Luis Garcia Paneque, Pablo Pacheco, Omar Rodriguez Saludes, Normando Hernandez Gonzalez, and Luis Milan. All were accompanied by family members, some of them members of the support group Ladies in White, who marched every Sunday in Havana to demand the prisoners' freedom.

BY PAUL WEBSTER HARE
PAULHARE@BU.EDU

Cuban political prisoners are being released because of dialogue, Spanish Minister Moratinos is telling the European Union. He is claiming the Spanish government's approach is vindicated and that the EU Common Position on Cuba should now be abandoned. There is a ``new era'' in Cuba.

The promised release (or exile) of 52 political prisoners is welcome news, but how really did it happen and how should the international community now engage with Cuba?

Dialogue with Cuba is nothing new to the EU. Since the Common Position was agreed upon in 1996, scores of EU ministers from member countries have visited Cuba, and many Cuban government officials have visited Europe. The EU has sponsored major cooperation programs with Cuba and exchanges in science, education, sport and culture. EU tourists and foreign investment have followed. The objective is to promote greater political and economic openness from within Cuba.

This EU dialogue and engagement with Cuba has been achieved with a Common Position. Indeed such instruments are widely used to coordinate EU foreign policy. The EU and Cuba opened a formal EU Commission office in Havana in March 2003 and the Cuban government was delighted.

However, five days later, when the eyes of the rest of the world were on Iraq, the EU reacted to Cuba's crackdown and jailing of the 75, whose releases we see now. The EU imposed diplomatic sanctions on Cuba and invited the dissidents and their families to their parties, alongside members of the government. Fidel Castro was furious, staging massive rallies against the Spanish and Italian embassies and freezing diplomatic contacts. The British embassy received a bomb threat. The solidarity which the EU fostered helped the formation of the Damas de Blanco group. They and Oswaldo Paya have both won EU Parliament prizes. All this was under the Common Position.

Moratinos came to office in 2004 and proposed a radical shift in EU policy. He questioned the purpose of the sanctions, arguing the Common Position stood in the way of "a serene and confident relationship'' between the EU and Cuba. Moratinos set about negotiating the sanctions away.

Fourteen prisoners were released by December 2004 (while the EU sanctions were still in place) including prominent figures like Raul Rivero, Martha Beatriz Roque and Oscar Espinosa Chepe. Since the dropping of the EU sanctions there were no other mass releases of prisoners -- until July 2010.

Moratinos' diplomacy has involved regular contact with the Cuban government. Yet when in Havana he has refused to meet opposition figures and did not question the Cuban government's record on human rights. In 2009 Moratinos said that the scrapping of the Common Position on Cuba would be a centerpiece of the Spanish EU presidency in the first half of 2010.

Why? Because it was disrespectful to the Cuban government and stood in the way of a "normal'' relationship between Cuba and the EU.

As often in Cuba policy, events have intervened. Five years after the EU dropped its sanctions, Yoani Sánchez was being attacked, the Damas de Blanco were being harassed and threatened and Orlando Zapata Tamayo had died for the cause of the dissident prisoners. On March 11, the European Parliament condemned the Cuban government for Zapata's death and called for renewed EU attention to human rights. On March 24, President Obama echoed the same sentiments. In April 2010, Cardinal Jaime Ortega gave his now famous, forthright interview to the Catholic Church's Palabra Nueva, and respected Cubans like Silvio Rodríguez and Carlos Varela criticized repression in Cuba.

The prisoner releases are not then simply attributable to "dialogue.'' The EU has had to play a more versatile role as Cubans themselves have been emboldened. The church's assertiveness followed EU and international outrage and showed what many suspected -- that the church had long underused it potential for political influence.

The church has now embraced the dissidents' cause and wider frustrations. Combined with the opposition's own courage they have forged an effective alliance. But the EU has also continued to focus on Cuba. Its tourists, investment and cooperation are still there. But it refused to abandon the Common Position in June 2010 as Moratinos wanted, postponing their review until September. We see the results today.

Moratinos can claim credit for keeping the EU's attention on Cuba but the firmness of the collective EU in denouncing Cuban repression has surely proved more valuable since 1996. It has helped to produce more than dialogue for its own sake. The EU should heed these lessons when it reviews Cuba policy -- and the continued lack of basic freedoms on the island -- in September.

Paul Webster Hare was British ambassador to Cuba from 2001-04 and was in Havana at the time of the jailing of the 75 political prisoners in 2003.

This is the entire interview as it appears today on The Huffington Post*:

Today I had the opportunity to interview Pedro Arguelles, one of the 52 political prisoners planned to be released following recent negotiations between Cuban President Raul Castro, Havana Archbishop Cardinal Jaime Ortego, and Spain's Foreign Minister Miguel Angel Moratinos. The first group of released prisoners were flown out of Havana heading to Madrid this evening. An audio of the interview, in Spanish of course, can be heard here. Following is a transcript in English.

Interview with Pedro Arguelles

Yoani Sanchez: What is your current situation? Where are you and what have they told you?

Pedro Arguelles: I'm in the provincial prison of Canaletas in Ciego de Avila. And what I have been told is on Saturday, July 10, I went to the office of the head of the prison and there they put me through on the phone to talk to the Archbishop of Havana, Cardinal Jaime Ortega. He informed me that I was on the list of those who would leave for Spain if I would agree to go. I told him that no, I had no interest in leaving my country. He asked me about my wife as well, if she would have any interest. I said no. Well, he told me, he would report back and he said goodbye. That is all I have been told, they haven't told me anything more, I'm here waiting for events and their development.

Yoani Sanchez: Pedro, do you think these releases will strengthen or weaken the dissident movement and independent journalism inside Cuba?

Pedro Arguelles: Well, look, whether or not it will affect the strength honestly I can't say right now because I am here inside and I've been here seven and a half years, here in the prison. I know there are new groups, I know there are new people doing independent journalism, carrying on the civil struggle. I think it doesn't weaken it because in any case there are new pines, as our apostle Jose Marti said, and well, since 1976 when the first cell of the Cuban Committee for Human Rights was created in the Combinado del Este prison, that was the first cell, and we could get to this point because there have been relays, reliefs, there have been people who have carried on, people who died, new people coming out into the public arena. So I think that, ultimately, here we fulfill the law that everyone has the right and the freedom to decide for their own person, my brothers who would like to go I have absolutely nothing against them, that is their sovereign decision, it is their freedom. I make use of the thoughts of Marti who said that the duty of a man is to be where he is most useful. I believe that here is where I am most useful, that this is my place to fight for the rights and freedom inherent in the dignity of the human person and this is where I want to be. I don't want to be in any other place, here on the front line of combat facing the Castros' totalitarian regime.

Yoani Sanchez: And what will Pedro Arguelles do once he is outside Canaletas prisons?

Pedro Arguelles: Continue what we started in mid-1992 when I joined the Cuban Committee for Human Rights here in Ciego de Avila and then in 1998 founded the Ciego de Avila Independent Journalists Cooperative. Continue to denounce human rights violations and continue with the independent press and civil struggle. In order to achieve what we have so longed for and suffered for, the transition to democracy in Cuba.

Yoani Sanchez: Well, Pedro, thank you very much and we really hope that your name is among the next to be freed. We wish so much to give you that embrace so long postponed.

Pedro Arguelles: Some day it will happen, and I too am longing to meet with all all these new pines that have arisen.

Yoani Sanchez: Well, thank you very much.

Pedro Arguelles: A hug.

The first dissidents released by the Cuban authorities as part of a deal to free 52 in total worked as journalists or campaigned for political reforms.
They were arrested in 2003, during what became known as the Black Spring. Some 75 activists were jailed during the crackdown.

Like many Cuban dissidents, the prisoners were adopted by human and media rights groups like PEN, Reporters without Borders and Amnesty International.

Keeping in touch with the prisoners' families and friends, these organisations compiled what little information was to be had about the men locked up in various prisons around the country.

The seven dissidents flown to Spain are:

Ricardo Gonzalez

Journalist Ricardo Gonzalez worked for the independent news agency Cuba Press and was Cuba correspondent for the media rights group Reporters Without Borders.

He also edited the independent fortnightly magazine De Cuba and was one of the founders of the Manuel Marquez Sterling Association in May 2001, an organisation that trains independent journalists.

Mr Gonzalez was arrested in March 2003 and sentenced to 20 years in prison for "being in the pay of the United States" and "undermining Cuba's independence and territorial integrity."

He was jailed in Havana's Combinado del Este prison and has suffered from various health problems, including a heart condition.

In 2008 the media rights group named Mr Gonzalez Reporter of the Year, praising his efforts to help "an independent press survive in Cuba". He turned 60 in February.

Lester Gonzalez Penton

At 26, Lester Gonzalez was the youngest of the dissidents detained in Cuba in March 2003.

The independent journalist was sentenced to 20 years imprisonment and sent to a jail in Santa Clara.

To protest against poor prison conditions Mr Gonzalez went on hunger strike several times, Pen reported.

He had to undergo a hernia operation in 2008 and suffered from chronic gastritis and other health problems, Pen said.

Julio Cesar Galvez

65-year-old Julio Cesar Galvez was one of the journalists, writers and librarians arrested in 2003.

Having worked for official Cuban media organisations for 24 years, he became an independent journalist in 2001.

Mr Galvez was jailed for 15 years and locked up in Havana's Combinado del Este prison, where he suffered from respiratory problems and other ailments, Pen reported.

In 2009 his wife, Irene Viera Silloy, told the Committee to Protect Journalists that her husband was allowed one family visit every two months.

She also said that Mr Galvez continued to write in prison.

Pablo Pacheco Avila

Pablo Pacheco Avila is an independent journalist who worked for two independent news agencies. After his arrest in March 2003 he was sentenced to 20 years in prison.

Pen believes that the 40-year-old's health problems in Moron prison in Ciego de Avila are believed to have included acute gastritis and severe headaches.

In 2009 the dissident received special recognition for his work as a journalist under threat at Amnesty International's Media Awards.

Jose Luis Garcia Paneque

Originally a plastic surgeon, Jose Luis Paneque is said to have been sacked because of his political views. He then became an independent journalist and librarian.

Mr Garcia Paneque was sentenced to 24 years in prison after his arrest in 2003.

The 44-year-old is said to have acute stomach problems, chronic pneumonia and a kidney tumour.

His wife and children reportedly left Cuba for Texas in June 2007 after being harassed by the Cuban authorities.

Omar Moises Ruiz Hernandez

Omar Moises Ruiz Hernandez worked for two independent Cuban news agencies before he was arrested in March 2003 and sentenced to 18 years in prison.

He was also involved in the official Partido Solidaridad Democratica (Democratic Solidarity Party).

Human rights organisations believe that he has been treated badly in Nieves Morejon prison in Guayos and had to spent time in solitary confinement and punishment cells.

Like many of the other dissident prisoners, the 62-year-old is said to suffer from various illnesses, including pneumonia.

Antonio Villarreal

The 59-year-old economist and librarian Antonio Villarreal was involved in the Varela Project, a petition asking for a national referendum on political changes in Cuba.

Mr Villarreal was sentenced to 15 years in prison after his arrest in March 2003.

He is believed to have been in bad health during at least some of his imprisonment in Villa Clara province.

Reina Luisa Tamayo at the Huffington Post:

Much has been said in the Cuban regime's official media about my son Orlando Zapata Tamayo, a young black man. Many lies have been told, and it has been said that my son was a criminal, and that he was not simply allowed to die. The truth is that my son was murdered. The truth is that my son was allowed to die on a hunger strike he held to demand respect for his rights, and to demand freedom for his people. Today, I would like to tell you just who Orlando Zapata Tamayo was: a defender of human rights, and my beloved son.

Orlando Zapata Tamayo was born on May 15, 1967, a native of Santiago de Cuba. He spent his childhood in Santiago and Antilla in Holguin province, where he went to school through the ninth grade. He never spoke much, but he had a big heart for his family and all those who knew him, always giving the best of himself to his fellow man.

He competed in boxing at the provincial level in the 14-16 year olds division, winning first place and prizes for best match. Later, he began his working life. He earned a degree as a bricklayer with an elementary understanding of carpentry and plumbing, which allowed him to work in those areas. On several occasions working with crews in Havana, he earned the distinction of being named best worker.

Even though he would be offered a certain sum for his work before he started, when he finished the job he would be paid a lesser amount of money. Due to this kind of deceit, he dissociated himself from the only official employer, the government, and started working on his own account in order to survive. He was fined on repeated occasions for registering home addresses other than where he lived. It was through his work that he managed to he came into contact with the opposition. He founded a dissident discussion group in Havana's Central Park with activist Henry Saumell and others. He also worked on the Varela Project, which collected more than 10,000 signatures, as required by the Cuban constitution, on a citizen's initiative calling for democratic reform in Cuba. He was a member of the Republican Alternative Movement [Movimiento Alternativa Republicana] and the 30th of November Party [Partido 30 de Noviembre] which were actively engaged in a peaceful struggle against the Castro brothers' regime. As a result of this work, he was detained on several occasions.

Zapata was arrested on December 6, 2002 in Havana's Lawton neighborhood while on his way to attend a meeting with Dr. Oscar Elias Bicet at the Lawton Foundation for Human Rights, and he was then imprisoned. He was released three months later, without ever being tried. When he launched a protest fast with Marta Beatriz Roque and other activists against the continued jailing of activists, among them Dr. Biscet, he was arrested in the crackdown known as the Black Spring of 2003. Regime officials tried him based on his first arrest and sentenced him to three years imprisonment for resistance, disobedience and disorderly conduct for his position of opposition to the regime.

While in prison, his resistance led to additional charges with each one adding years to his sentence. Ultimately, the three year sentence was extended to 57 years and six months in prison. He remained a resistor, eating only what his family brought him. He only accepted water in prison, sleeping on the floor with bedding from home. His path through various prisons was one of physical and emotional abuse, which left their marks on his body. He underwent surgery for an intracrinal hematoma produced by a blow delivered by convicted criminals thrown into his sealed, maximum security solitary confinement cell. The prisons he went through were: Cien y Aldaboz, Villa Marista, Quivicán, Guanajay, Taco Taco, Holguín Provincial Prison, Cuba Sí, Kilo 8, and Combinado del Este in Holguin.

In Holguin, he suffered his last beatings, which were intended to end his life, on August 29, September 24, and October 26, of 2009. To demand respect for his rights, he carried out a water-only protest fast in intervals for 18 months. He would be shaved and have his hair cut only by force. He never wore a common prisoner's uniform, the uniform of a convicted criminal. While he was in Holguin Provincial Prison, State Security video taped him often.

He was sent to Kilo 8, the maximum security prison in Camagüey, where they stole his food upon arrival in order to force him to eat the prison food. They also forced him to dress as a common prisoner, while he had previously worn white at every prison he had gone through.

Zapata began his final hunger strike in order to demand respect for his rights as a political prisoner. He spent one month and three days on the floor. He was denied water for 18 days in an attempt to break his defiance, which provoked two heart attacks while still being held at Kilo 8. Afterwards he was transferred to the Prisoners Ward at Amalia Simoni Hospital. This is when his family was able to see him briefly. They only allowed him one bottle of water, but not the one from which he wanted to drink.

He was transferred to a so-called "Intensive Care Unit" that was cobbled together on the spot exclusively for him, and where he was kept under guard by armed soldiers. This all created a delay that caused his health to worsen. He had to be transferred to the Prisoners' Hospital at Combinado del Este Prison, where his health worsened to a critical point. The authorities knew that the goal was to murder him, to eliminate him. He was then transferred to Hermanos Ameijeiras Hospital where he died on February 23, 2010 at approximately 3:30 p.m.

We, Zapata's family and friends, have suffered a great deal of repression since his death. My son died for the sake of his belief in freedom. We have been attacked by groups of people organized by State Security, who want to prevent us from marching to the cemetery after leaving Mass on Sundays. My son's tomb was desecrated by them, the police.

The Castro brothers try to intimidate us, but what they don't know is that this family has never been afraid. This family has never knelt to anyone. Now, with even greater courage, dignity, and principles, we will follow the ideas and words of Orlando Zapata Tamayo, who was murdered, who was tortured, and who was denied water for 18 days in order to do away with him. But nobody was ever able to subjugate my son. He never knelt before the dictatorship. He never gave in, and he preferred to die rather than to live on his knees.

This is why we say: Zapata Lives! We shout it in the streets. We shout it wherever we may be. Zapata lives on in our hearts. His example guides the Cuban people in their struggle for freedom.

Some 75 Cuban journalists, librarians, human rights activists and other dissidents were arrested and imprisoned during the "black spring," which started March 18, 2003.

Fifty-two of them remain in Raul Castro's gulag, as of June 24, 2010.

There are hundreds, if not thousands more political prisoners jailed in Cuba because of their opposition to tyranny and dedication to freedom. Their suffering is no less that that experienced by those arrested during the "black spring," and they are no less deserving of your prayers and solidarity. (You can read about many of them by clicking on the names on the right side of this page.)

But the Group of 75 — which now stands at 52, after a series of paroles for medical and other reasons, Reinaldo Labrada Peña completing his sentence and Orlando Zapata Tamayo dying as the result of a hunger strike — is deserving of special consideration because they were at the front lines of the struggle to bring real change to Cuba, to bring nothing less than real democracy, freedom and human rights, whether they were activists gathering signatures for the Varela Project or journalists telling the story of Cuba, the real Cuba, for the world to know.

The dictatorship could not stand it so, as the world focused on the imminent U.S. invasion of Iraq in the spring of 2003, Fidel Castro struck back, and struck back hard, arresting 75 dissidents and sentencing them to prison terms of up to 28 years for daring to oppose his dictatorship.

And the world barely raised a whisper of protest. The United Nations subsequently elected Cuba to its Human Rights Council and the European Union repealed diplomatic sanctions implemented in response to the crackdown, even though most of those arrested remained in jail.

But in the past four months, since Zapata's death, many who previously chose to ignore the Cuban human rights situation or worse, to appease the Castro dictatorship, have turned on Havana, demanding the release of the Group of 75 and other political prisoners. The Castros have been unmoved, but the pressure has been real.

As horrific as Zapata's suffering was — simply put, he was murdered by the regime — his death has not been in vain. More people now know about the reality of the Castro gulag, and more importantly are now speaking out against it.

We are that much closer to his fellow prisoners being free.

Fidel Castro's action in 2003 was not just an attack on Cuban liberty, it was an assault of freedom everywhere. As long as a single Cuban is jailed because of something he wrote or because he believed every Cuban should have a real vote, we are all less free.

To appease the tyranny in Havana and expect a change in behavior by the dictatorship is as deplorable as the crimes committed by the Castros.

So that's why it is incumbent we all do something on behalf of the Group of 52.

Tell someone why the embargo should remain in place.

Tell someone that Raul Castro is no different than his big brother.

Tell someone Oscar Biscet's story.

Tell someone about Ariel Sigler Amaya, who has been left a shell of his former self after seven years in the gulag. He has been released from prison, and his spirit is strong, but his physical recovery has only begun.

Tell someone about Orlando Zapata Tamayo

If you are Catholic, tell your church leaders to work for the release of all Cuban political prisoners.

Say a prayer.

The following op-ed appeared yesterday 16 June 2010 on the Argentinian newspaper La Nación.  This is our translation:

Despite the hypocritical condescension of some, the truth is that the communist regime in Cuba is totalitarian, and has generated a social environment in which there is no respect whatsoever for human rights nor individual and political freedoms. The people of Cuba seem also condemned to live in misery, and in all sorts of privations.

Once in a while, a harsh reminder reveals to us the immense cruelty of the regime that has kept Cubans hostage, and transformed the island in a vast prison from which they can get out only if the government allows them; where, furthermore, one cannot think different without committing the crime of having an opinion, punished with prison in Cuban jails, possibly the most inhumane in the world.

This is the shocking message of the recent release of Ariel Sigler, one of the gravely ill Cuban political prisoners. He [is now a] paraplegic due to a neurological disease, wheel chair ridden, with serious problems with his stomach, esophagus and throat, and less than sixty percent of [how much he] weight[ed] when he was arrested.

The health of Ariel Sigler, or more accurately what is left of Ariel Sigler, seems [totally] destroyed. [At] Barely 47 years of age, the president of Movimiento Independiente Opción Alternativa [Alternative Option Independent Movement] looks like a decaying old man. This is how he returned to his family’s house after seven years of imprisonment for thinking differently [from the regime]. He was condemned to twenty years. Despite all that, when he arrived, he promised to continue fighting for freedom. His health may be defeated, but not his courage.

The inhumane treatment he received is in plain sight for all to see, even those who refuse to see. It is possible that the efforts of valiant Cuban Cardinal Jaime Ortega, who personally knows what imprisonment is, would have contributed to his [almost too late] release. Perhaps, it is possible that the transfer of other political prisoners with precarious health closer to their relatives will materialize soon.

Sigler, let us remember, belonged to the Group of 75, those imprisoned during Cuba’s Black Spring of 2003. He was kept in several prisons in [the Cuban provinces of] Ciego de Ávila, Villa Clara y Cienfuegos, all far from his place of residence in [the province of] Matanzas. This shows the cruelty of the regime with the dissidents.

In another corner of the island, in this case in a hospital 400 km from La Habana, another inmate, Guillermo Fariñas*, has been on hunger strike for four months. As it happened with courageous dissident Orlando Zapata, Fariñas may die as a result of his voluntary fast. The horror of what happens in Cuba is shocking, and because of that it cannot and should not be silenced.

Press release of the “#OZT: I Accuse the Cuban Government” campaign regarding the mediation of the Catholic Church in the release of Cuban political prisoners.

The mediation of the Church

The recent dialogue between the high hierarchy of the Catholic Church and the Cuban government regarding the release of the political prisoners is a promising event. We are in favor of negotiations to achieve this goal which is the fundamental reason of being of our campaign.

We also celebrate the strengthening of the mediating capacity of the Church, as long as it does not assume the role of the parties it intends to mediate for. The negotiation is not between the Church and the government, but between the government and the pro-democracy sector of the Cuban population, which has been systematically repressed by the regime.

The willingness of the government to dialogue with the Church comes out of a specific context, which is impossible to conceal. This dialogue has arrived after the supreme sacrifice of Orlando Zapata Tamayo, the hunger and thirst strike of Guillermo Fariñas, the marches of the Ladies in White and the Ladies in Support, the effective unity among the opposition, the exile, the Cuban civil society and the international community who joined for a fair demand the release of political prisoners and the respect of human rights in Cuba. Any release that presupposes the fracture of that unity on those factors goes against the interest of those who remain in prison.

Our commitment is with the 26 political prisoners for whom Guillermno Fariñas is carrying his hunger strike as well as with the victims of the Black Spring. But not only with them. Our goal is to not go back to the situation of Cuba in March 2003. The “#OZT: I Accuse the Cuban Government” campaign will last as long as there are political prisoners in Cuba and its citizens are denied the exercise of human rights.