As we informed last week, Ariel Sigler Amaya arrives in Miami tomorrow (today) 28 July 2010.

A humanitarian fund account has been set-up for him at BB&T Bank of Miami to help with his healthcare costs.

Ariel Sigler -Humanitarian Fund
Acct # 0000148280827

Italian newspaper Il Giornale, informs [in Italian] that the popular radio show  Zapping [Mix It Up] conducted by veteran journalist Aldo Forbice for Radio RAI, has collected one hundred thousand signatures for their campaign Liberiamo i prigionieri politici a Cuba [Free the Cuban Political Prisoners].

Their campaign was announced 12 April 2010, and has just concluded. It coincided with ours and Guillermo Fariñas' 135-day long hunger strike. It has been recognized and "praised by Cuban opposition activists and leaders within and outside of Cuba like Carlos Carralero" and Andria Medina "of Unione per le libertà a Cuba [Union for the Freedom of Cuba], Armando Valladares, Vladimiro Roca", Laura Pollán, and others as a "contributing factor to the recently announced release of 52 political prisoners after the mediation of the Spanish government and the Catholic Church", according to the newspaper article.

Aside from radio, it was also widely y tirelessly promoted on blogs, and the social networks Facebook and Twitter.

The signatures will be delivered to the Cuban embassy in Rome, and sent to Jerzy Buzek, President of the European Parliament.

We extend our congratulations to the Liberiamo i prigionieri politici a Cuba Campaign, and our eternal gratitude for working so diligently for the freedom of all Cuban political prisoners.

RSF sat with Ricardo González Alfonso, at Motel Welcome in Madrid for an interview on 14 July.

Cafeteria of the Hotel Welcome, where the Spanish government is lodging the 11 Cubans who arrived in Spain on 14 July

Seven of them are journalists and one of the seven is Ricardo González Alfonso, who has been the Reporters Without Borders Cuba correspondent since 1998. He was arrested along with 74 other Cuban dissidents during the notorious “Black Spring” of March 2003 and was sentenced to 20 years in prison.

The Spanish section of Reporters Without Borders went to greet him on his arrival at Madrid’s Barajas airport and, because of the enormous international interest, organised a news conference for him and the other journalists on 17 July.

In the following interview, he talks about his impressions since his release and his plans for the future.

What were your initial feelings on leaving prison?

There have been various feelings. The first is one of being physically in Madrid and mentally still in Cuba. In conversations, I find myself saying ‘here’ and I am referring to Cuba. There was a more intimate and personal feeling, the one I had when I woke up next to my wife for the first time in seven years and four months. In prison, there were conjugal visits ever five months, then every three months and finally every two months, but they were three-hour visits. And you missed waking up beside your wife. But there is a detail that is worth recalling: when I was on the plane flying to Spain, I saw a knife for the first time in a long while. A metal knife. Something very simple but forbidden inside prison. It surprised me. It almost frightened me. Another detail: the emotion you feel facing you first plate of hot food in seven years. It is a jumble of little things that may give an idea of the confusion I feel at this moment, and the need to adapt psychologically to the new circumstances.

How did you experience your release, from the moment you received the news until you left Cuba?

Everything began with a rumour, which I heard in the national prison hospital, where I was being treated for a foot infection. A fellow inmate, a reliable person I trusted, told me that he had heard on the radio (in the Combinado del Este building where he was) that they were going to free 45 prisoners. That was the first news. A little later, in the same hospital, I met another colleague, Julio César Gálvez (another journalist, who was also released). He told me he had heard something similar but he still did not have any details. When I got back to my cell, I asked for the newspaper, Granma, and there I saw that the news was confirmed. It spoke of releases but did not give the names of the chosen detainees.

Later, at around 6 pm on the same day, 8 July, I got a call from Cardinal Jaime Ortega, the archbishop of Havana, telling me that my name was on the list of prisoners who were going to be released and flown to Spain, if I was willing. I said that going to Spain could be interesting. When I met my wife Alida, she was thinking of emigrating to the United States. But I was not contemplating emigrating. So we decided that we would separate when her exit permit arrived (which in Cuba is issued by the interior ministry). But, as the years went by, we became closer and more in love with each other, and Alida’s exit permit did not arrive. Finally, a few days after I was arrested, Alida’s one-way exit permit finally arrived, presumably to get her to abandon me. But she refused to abandon me. She rejected the permit and decided to stay here with me. It was obviously the kind of decision that creates a strong bond between two people, stronger than the initial commitment to each other.

When the releases first began, in the first half of 2005, we talked about it and I told her that, if they released me and then took a year to give me an exit permit, we would stay in Cuba. But if they gave us the exit permit before the year was up, we would leave. Years later, I am a granted a release together with an immediate exit permit. So, I kept the promise I had made to my wife, in response to her loyalty to me, and we decided to emigrate. The first phase was difficult for me, because my younger son from my first marriage did not want to leave his mother, and his mother did not want to emigrate. But her friends and I managed to persuade her. I was fortunate in finally being able to emigrate with the two children from my first marriage, with my wife, of course, and with my children’s mother. So I can say I am one of the few Cubans with all of his family united.

When you were told of your imminent release, did Cardinal Ortega tell you that you could choose between staying in Cuba or leaving?

No, it was very clear. What he told me was that those who left with me would be able to return without a permit. This is exceptional. Any Cuban who emigrates definitively has to apply for a re-entry permit in order to return. This of course violates article 3 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, but that is the situation in our country. The cardinal also told me that, for the first time in 50 years, the property I left behind, my home, would not be confiscated. Those were the details he gave me. But he told me I had to take an immediate decision.

In other words, you had to give him your reply in the course of the same phone call?

Yes, at once. The cardinal said that the processing was going to be very fast that not a minute could be lost. I had to give him my reply at once.

The conditions in which you were held for the past seven years, what were they like?

There were various stages. The investigative phase and the trial itself, a total of 36 days, were spent in Villa Marista, the State Security headquarters. The light was on all the time. I had to sleep next to the light in a windowless cell. The water for bathing and drinking was rationed. The interrogations were in the morning, the afternoon, the night and in the early hours. So you had only short spells for sleeping. This went on until the trial. After the trial, the same conditions continued but we were allowed out of our cells in the morning and afternoon and were able to converse, because there was no longer any point interrogating.

We were there until 24 April 2003, when we were sent to the top security prison, Kilo 8 in Camagüey, where the conditions were very harsh. I was in a cell in which, where the bed ends, the little bathroom begin. A cell so narrow that the water store is in this small toilet. There was no shower, just a water tube over the toilet, toilet in inverted commas, what we call a Turkish toilet. That is where you had your breakfast, lunch and dinner and where you received medical attention. From Monday to Friday, when it was not raining, we were allowed into a courtyard where, if I stretched my arms out, I could touch the walls on either side. It was like a cell, but instead of a roof it had bars. If it was noon, you had the sun overhead. At other times, there was glare from the sun. Then the situation changed. We spent three months without electricity. Then we were three months with the light on all the time.

This was all in Camagüey?

Yes, I am still referring to Camagüey’s Kilo 8 prison. It is 533 km from Havana, where my family lived. During the last month, we were able to turn the light off and on. That was a big advantage. While there, I wrote a book of poems called “Man without a face” that reflected all the abuses taking place there. Not just the abuses to which I was being subjected because of my ideals, for defending freedom of expression, but also what the ordinary offenders were undergoing. I was punished for writing the book. They sent me to a special wing holding Cuba’s most dangerous inmates, ones that no other prison accepted, to the point that there were no people in Camagüey province in the prison. They were all from other provinces.

One told me that three of them were there to harass me, to steal things from me and to be verbally abusive. Not physical mistreatment, but verbal aggression, insults and so on. One of them admitted that he had been sent by State Security, that he would be rewarded for the role he was playing. To end this punishment, I was forced to go on hunger strike. I told the authorities that I would call off my hunger strike if they recognised that they were punishing me for writing a book or if they gave me the same treatment as my colleagues, the treatment that I had been receiving before, which was bad but not as bad as this.

Later, when I already had gall-bladder and liver problems, I was sent to Agüica prison, in Matanzas province. I was in poor health all the time I was there. They took me to the national prison hospital several times and I was operated on three times there. From there, I was transferred to Havana’s Combinado del Este prison on 7 December 2004. At first, I was in Building No. 2. Then I was admitted to the hospital again. From there we were sent back to prison without a medical discharge because we had staged a protest. In the final stage, the last two or three years. I had a cell to myself, thanks to the protests and hunger strikes and the international campaign by my wife Alida.

As a result, I managed to obtain conditions that were better than those available to ordinary offenders – the possibility of having my cell door open from 6 am to 6 pm and of having a light that I could turn on and off. As for the rest, it was the prison discipline that everyone has to accept. Except that I refused to wear the ordinary offender’s prison uniform because I was not an ordinary offender. I wore regular clothes. This led to my sister being harassed when she came from New York to visit me. The Cuban political police pressured her at Havana’s José Martí airport to try to persuade me to wear prison uniform. She was 71 at the time and they put her under so much psychological stress that she fainted.

What can you tell us about the food and the hygiene in the prisons where you were held?

Here again there were phases. For example, when I was in the windowless cell in Camagüey and being punished for going on hunger strike, the floor had a carpet of rodents. It was part of the punishment. My bed was just two steps from my toilet. The ceilings of the cells were incredibly damp. I saw this in all the prisons where I have been, without exception. There was so much humidity that we used plastic bags to channel the water leaking from the pipes so that it did not drip on us while we were sleeping or eating. Using Cuban ingenuity, the inmates made channels for the water by tying plastic bags. The walls were permanently damp in my last two cells. Water dripped from the walls and the leaks.

And how did all this affect your health?

Well, I am allergic to humidity. I had to be treated with antihistamines all the time. I suffer from migraines. I was always on analgesics to control those. I was 53 when I entered prison and 60 when I left and, logically, all that humidity made my osteoarthritis worse.

Raw unedited footage. Jorge Salcedo, #OZT: I accuse the Cuban government Campaign coordinator talks to Carmen María Rodríguez [in Spanish] for Radio Martí

Our campaign will attempt to deliver our Declaration, and the accompanying more than 52,000 signatures supporting freedom for all Cuban political prisoners and respect for human rights in Cuba; at the Cuban mission to the UN in New York City, the Archdiocese of Miami and the Spanish consulate in that city, and the Cuban consulates in Barcelona and Montréal today.

Yesterday, we attempted delivery at the Cuban embassy in Madrid, and were denied access to it.

We will update regularly with reports, photos and video as they become available. You can follow the action in New York City live (in Spanish) on Actualidad 1020.

Agence France Press reports:

The last five of a group of recently freed Cuban dissidents left for Madrid on Thursday, the Spanish Embassy said.

Jorge Luis Gonzalez, 39, Blas Giraldo Reyes, 54, Jose Ubaldo Izquierdo, 44, Jesus Mustafa, 66, and 47-year-old Antonio Diaz boarded a commercial flight that will arrive in the Spanish capital on Friday, an embassy spokesman said.

Izquierdo, however, may take another flight out of Madrid for Chile, after Santiago on Monday said it would welcome him and his family.

The five dissidents completed the list of 20 who have accepted residency in Spain after Spain helped broker a deal reached on July 7 between the Cuban government and the Roman Catholic Church to gradually free 52 detainees.

The remaining prisoners will remain in Cuba or leave for the United States.

The US Interest Section in Havana on Tuesday offered refugee status to all freed dissidents and their families who wish to travel to the United States and began interviewing prospective immigrants.

The deal, the largest release of Cuban prisoners since 1998 when 300 dissidents were spared jail time following a visit by then pope John Paul II, came after dissident hunger striker Guillermo Farinas nearly starved to death.

Havana wants to avoid a repeat of the death in detention of political prisoner Orlando Zapata on February 23, as it seeks closer international ties to improve its slumping economy.

And Cuba's parliamentary chief Ricardo Alarcon has said the country was ready to release more detainees.

Elizardo Sanchez, the president of the Cuban Commission for Human Rights, a non-governmental organisation that is tolerated by the government, said a further 50 or 60 political prisoners could be freed.

Cuban dissidents said there were approximately 170 political prisoners in Cuban jails before the announced release.

Directly from Madrid via telephone to our campaign:

The platform Cuba Democracia Ya! attempted to deliver the more than 52,000 signatures in support of our Declaration at the Cuban embassy in Madrid, Spain. However, the representatives of the Stalinist regime, in front of a large group of Spanish and foreign media, have refused to open the doors and allow them access.

UPDATED: in the photo below (from left to right)Cuba Democracia Ya! activists Yuniel Jacomino and Rigoberto Carceller, Catalonian politician Albert Rivera, and Mijaíl and Belkys Bárzaga, Cuban ex-political prisoners exiled by the regime to Spain, in front of the shuttered Cuban embassy in Madrid.

As we announced a few days ago, our campaign has begun the delivery of the more than 52,000 signatures in support of our Declaration for the Freedom of All Cuban Political Prisoners, and the respect of human rights in the island.

As we post this update, a group of activists belonging to the Cuba Democracia Ya! Group in Madrid, Spain, is at the Cuban Embassy in Spain trying to deliver the documents to the regime's representatives.  Please follow up with us and our Spanish language blog for updates, including video. 

We are still accepting signatures since this is not the end of the campaign. This effort will not end until all Cuban political prisoners are unconditionally free.

Former Cuban political prisoner Ariel Sigler Amaya will fly to Miami on Wednesday, July 28, to receive needed medical care, according to Radio Martí, citing an AFP report.

Reports Juan O. Tamayo on the Lexington [Kentucky] Herald Leader:

By JUAN O. TAMAYO - McClatchy Newspapers


MIAMI -- Statements by two top Cuban and Spanish officials Wednesday that Havana will free all its political prisoners - not just the 52 already promised their freedom - have raised the question of just how many political prisoners the island has.

Spanish Foreign Minister Miguel Angel Moratinos told the lower chamber of the Spanish parliament that the Raul Castro government has taken "the decision to free all, all political prisoners.

The AFP news agency quoted the president of Cuba's National Assembly, Ricardo Alarcon, as saying in an interview that "the desire of the Cuban government is to free all ... who do not bear responsibility for the deaths of other persons."

The additional releases have not been confirmed by the Cuban Catholic Church, which announced July 7 that Havana had promised to free 52 prisoners as a result of talks with Castro and Moratinos. Orlando Marquez, spokesman for the Havana archbishop's office, could not immediately be reached for comment on the Moratinos and Alarcon statements.

Havana's leading human rights activist, Elizardo Sanchez, said the "stature of these two politicians is so high that one could believe that it's true."

But he cautioned: "This presumes that the Cuban government has a minimum of political will to do this."

Just as uncertain is how many prisoners would benefit from the broader release, because exactly who is a political prisoner in Cuba varies greatly depending on who's counting.

London-based Amnesty International, which has strict guidelines for designating "prisoners of conscience," reported earlier this year that Cuba held 53, accused of crimes such as "enemy propaganda" or collaborating with foreign governments and groups.

But Human Rights Watch, based in New York City, says many dissidents are jailed on charges that are not technically political. Dissident Darsi Ferrer, for example, was arrested last year for possession of two sacks of cement allegedly bought on the black market.

Sanchez's Cuban Human Rights and National Reconciliation Commission counted 167 political prisoners just days before the church announced the planned release of the 52 - the last still jailed among 75 dissidents rounded up in 2003 and sentenced to long prison terms.

Of those on Sanchez's list, 10 are free because of ill health, but he still counts them because they could be sent back to prison any time. Another four were released in recent weeks after completing their sentences, leaving a total of 101.

Ninety-nine of those were not accused of violent crimes, Sanchez said in a telephone interview from Havana, and therefore should be released under Alarcon's criterion.

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 Michael C. Moynihan

The sinister dictators of Cuba, Fidel and Raul Castro, are getting a fair amount of good press for releasing a handful of political prisoners that committed no crime. A few things to keep in mind, for those celebrating the great “humanitarian gesture”—the one designed to head off Western criticism following the death of hunger strikers. The prisoners, all jailed for "political offenses," were allowed to leave prison provided they left Cuba—the cause for which they have risked their lives—and relocated to Spain. 11 prisoners were released to Spanish authorities, though many others refused to surrender their citizenship in exchange for their freedom. At a press conference in Spain, a small group of recently arrived dissidents urged the European Union to keep pressure on Cuba, noting that “their release was not a gesture of good faith but ‘a desperate action’ by the Cuban government.”

So how were conditions in Cuban prisons? According to this [expletive] at Harvard Law School's Criminal Justice Institute, the Cuban prison system is "far more humane than Western propaganda would have the uninformed public believe," nor do those lucky enough to be incarcerated "have to pay for their education, medical, dental or hospital care, or any other activities they experience." Imagine not having to fork over your $18 monthly salary for "activities" like beatings and the bi-weekly rotten food buffet!

In an interview with Bloomberg, recently-released prisoner Normando Hernandez Gonzalez explained what was wrong with all of this "Western propaganda" about prison conditions:

“The first month I spent in jail, I only ate eight times because the food they gave us was subhuman and so rotten that if you offered it to a dog, he’d turn away. For refusing to wear prison overalls, I was sent to a dark cell for 101 days without seeing the light of day. There wasn’t a single inch of my skin that wasn’t covered in septic mosquito bites. I was forced to sleep on the concrete floor with rats and cockroaches crawling over me.”

Incidentally, Gonzalez was sentenced to 25 years in prison for his association with the Camagüey College of Independent Journalists.

Miami Herald columnist Andreas Oppenheimer pooh-poohs talk of a “new era” from Cubans held hostage by the Castro brothers:

…[M]ost important, the Cuban regime is not even talking about modifying articles 72 and 73 of its criminal code, an Orwellian legislation that allows it to put people behind bars before they committed a crime on the mere suspicion that they may commit one in the future.

Nor is the regime ready to consider changing its law 88, which allows it to imprison people for writing anything that can be interpreted as critical of the government, or its various laws banning freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, freedom to travel within the country or abroad, independent unions, and political parties.

When I asked José Miguel Vivanco, head of the Human Rights Watch advocacy group's Americas department, whether Cuba's latest announcement amounts to a "new phase" in Cuba, he said: "We are obviously very happy for the prisoners and their families, but I am not going to congratulate a government for imprisoning people that shouldn't have been imprisoned in the first place."

Radio Marti informs [in Spanish] that after yesterday's assault, and subsequent phone call from Cuban Cardinal and La Habana's Archbishop Jaime Ortega, the regime has finally given Ariel Sigler Amaya the Permit needed to leave Cuba for the US so that he can receive medical attention. Ariel's wife, Noelia, explained to Radio Martí that Ortega had called to tell her that he had personally interceded with the authorities for Ariel, and that they would be contacting her soon to confirm. They called her today. She stated that despite the outcome, she was not happy given "the high price that must be paid in Cuba to be able to leave the country."

More with audio [in Spanish] at the link.