MANOLO - THE MAN DIES, "THE PARTY ONE" IS IMMORTAL

CUBA: THE MAN DIES, "THE PARTY ONE" IS IMMORTAL

CUBA: THE MAN DIES. "THE PARTY" IS IMMORTAL.


    This slogan repeated to the exhaustion by the Cuban radio stations demonstrates the detachment that the propaganda chief of the central committee of the Cuban Communist Party had of the popular masses.
   In popular slang - and this extended throughout the island - the word "Party" was given to homosexuals or queers who roamed the country with the homophobia that existed at that time.
  In my work center they said to a mannered fag:
   -Alfred. Are you from the Party?
   - No sir. I am the whole.
   -Then you are immortal.
   The slogan continued through the stations as if no member of the government knew that the people took everything at ease.
   Only when "one or one eats candle" approached - read a member of the PCC or the neighborhood committee - the jokes were silenced with that phrase.
   When the joke was about Fidel Castro, he was called "Manolo" so that no indiscreet listener could hear and denounce us. Groups of acquaintances were formed in the workplace to talk about the latest "Manolo" boo-boo
  The CCP, oblivious to this reality and knowing that it had already alienated Cuba's cubaneo or way of speaking between the scenes of terror, constant indoctrination and fear of a betrayal, did not admit any open dissent: jail and exile for them.
   Suddenly someone from the Central Committee of the PCC realized the double meaning of the slogan and it disappeared from all sides and they did not repeat it again. That for ignoring the popular wit and its slang that had no limits in mocking the government even with humor.

   Perhaps it helped them to be closer to the people and not in their empire of dominants and the great majority of dominated.
DR ORLANDO VICENTE ALVAREZ
CUBAN URUGUAYAN,GENIUS

SEALS OF FIDEL CASTRO

     When I was doing residency in my specialty in the first few months they declared Guantánamo as the venue for the celebration of the national act for one more anniversary of the assault on the Moncada or July 26th barracks. The head of my specialty department sent me to take care of a congregation of mature male militiamen as a doctor.
     It was a Basic Secondary of those that built the regime all over the island to separate the children from the parents and subtract them from the family education they received, even traditional type, and not the Marxist-Leninist with Russian language teaching and everything else
    I was assigned an ambulance with an old and friendly driver who told me that all the high schools in the camp were free of students to house all those communist militiamen brought from different cities of Cuba. Neither did the Commandant forget to offer the propaganda that all the people supported him.
   I arrived at school with good humor and a sense of glad. I was assigned to the enfermary that was bare-just cotton and a little gauze. After settling in, a group of young women dressed in civilian clothes came and told me that they were members of the Comandante support group. They brought me all the medical supplies that were needed: scissors, Kosher tweezers, suture thread, needles, alcohol. Etc. and several jars with lid where I had to collect samples of breakfast, lunch and dinner in case it declared a massive diarrhea or food poisoning, investigate in the corresponding jars that I should keep in a frizer.
    That night the officers who directed the contingent arrived, all mature. At the time of giving the Mexican fashion novel that had everyone stuck to their TVs for an hour, they first discussed with each other if I could go with them to an office with a color television or not. I had to watch the novel with the poor militiamen in black and white TV.
   The next day: Castro's speech and in the first row all the militiamen and women who were in all the high schools of the province. And how they applauded every blunt phrase of the Supreme Chief. And I looking through the black and white television.
   The Secretary of the PCC who had Guantanamo for centuries was eliminated by another, no more, without consulting the people or making elections-the truth was that the people were already rotten from the old and were the vox populi of their farm in the intricacies of a mount where a mansion with swimming pool and exotic animals and birds was built.
    When it was over, the crowd dispersed and the militiamen returned to the High School, hungry and thirsty. After being satisfied, a bus came and everyone left. We were the driver of the ambulance, a very young white recruit and me.
   The recruit entered the kitchen and called me:
   -Come to see this!
   What I saw filled me with amazement. Dozens of dead pigs, peeled, disembowelled and about to be cooked. Round cheeses, hams legs hanging with hooks from the ceiling. Things that I had not seen for years.
    - We're going to take one of each of these things for our families.
    "What about the ambulance driver?" I said.
    - Good. Agree.
    It seemed that everyone had dropped out of school. So we loaded two piglets for the ambulance, slices of cheese and a whole ham for each one. The driver happy with that wealth that fell from heaven and all with the support of the two of us.
    I left the recruit who was looking for a jeep apparently to carry everything that fit the provision that Castro had unwittingly put in our position.
     The ambulance driver took me to my house and we went through the garage so no one could snoop around our cargo. When the driver left and my wife saw everything that booty said:

    Fidel wanted to benefit his faithful applauding seals and does not know that he gave us a gift, although stolen, to some who did not agree with his chatter.