Family Weekly February 12, 1961
Hi
mi
Militant ever runs high in Cuba, and all signs point to its continuance.
At a recent rally, a crowd of girls, employed in the "people's stores"
of Havana, voice their support of slogan, "We Will Conquer. "Above, a
civilian force receives instruction in military tactics outside Havana.
comed us wholeheartedly but was now stirred
to fever pitch by a "Hate America" campaign.
Behind us was the house we'd worked so
hard to own and the future we'd spent 18
years building-. Behind us were a thousand
memories of an openhearted people sold ruth
lessly into the communist &mp, memories of
sunlit beaches and palms moving restless
fronds high over evergreen countrysides. Be
hind us, we left our hearts. '
It Became an Alien Land
The decision to leave wasn't easy. Havana
was one of the most gracious cities in the
world to live in. Cubans are a charming and
' hospitable people, life was relaxed and easy,
the climate and customs benign. Yet the Cuba -we
loved had been changed drastically in less
than two years of revolutionary rule.
" The change began slowly in the first few
months of 1959, but the handwriting was
there from the beginning.
Each morning after Castro's heralded vic
tory, I'd turn on the radio before driving the
children to school. Not that the imprisoned
press could report anything, but you learn to
read behind the news, to gather rumor as
future fact, to listen for signs that might
mark this new day as the beginning of some
thing dangerously different from yesterday.
"Keep your eyes peeled," I'd admonish the
children as we drove into the main avenue.
Ad, young as they are, they'd sit silently,
watching the passing cars, noting if there
was an extra guard set up at crossings, if
they were stopping vehicles for roadside
searches, if there were any new "Hate
America" signs plastered along buildings.
The children went to school, returned in
the afternoon, and then : remained close to
home unless accompanied by us. There were
no movies for them, no riding on public buses,
no shopping at the 10-cent store. And I indeli
bly imprinted on their young minds the phone
number of the American embassy in case
they were ever in trouble, or if their father or
I failed to return home. You never knew. ''-
Early in the spring of 1959, our phone was
tapped. It had been tapped before in General
Batista's time, off and on. But now it was an
everyday occurrence. My conversations were
limited to commenting on the weather, saying
nothing that might possibly be misconstrued.
As months wore on, we watched friends of
Cuban boy dons beard, symbol of the bcrbudos.
long standing depart penniless for happier
shores, leaving behind them a lifetime of
work. We hoped we would be different. "This
is our home, and we're going to stay here,"
my husband announced.
We tried. But our youngest would return
from her American school, spouting about the
marvels of the revolution, telling me that she
had to "have one peso to give for arms and
airplanes, Mommy, because the Americans
are going to attack us."
We Lived in Terror
For a year, we never expressed our opin
ions or feelings to other than the closest of
friends. Before entering a restaurant or club,
we'd drop all but the most innocuous of talk.
Long tablecloths can conceal microphones,
waiters are in an ideal position to eavesdrop,
the people at the next table might overhear.
In the department stores over each cash
register are red and black signs saying, "The
customer is always right except when he
speaks against the revolution. Be patriotic,
denounce him!" The salesgirls carry in their
receipt books, along with religious litho
graphs of Christ suffering on the Cross, pic
ture cards of the bearded Cuban heroes.
"We'll stick it out," my husband had said.
But the cost of living kept rising, rising, ris
ing. And so did the taxes. Half of 1 percent of
your income is deducted for maternity cov
erage (men and women alike), 5 percent for
retirement (compulsory), 5 percent for
unions (everything's unionized), 4 percent
for industrialization regardless of the size
of the income or the number of dependents.
"I won't pay it," I decided. "Not the indus-
(Continued)
Family Weekly. February 12, 1MI J