El Memorial Cubano
(Updated with photos)
By Julio C. Zangroniz

An elderly couple I met at the Cuban Memorial site in the middle of this bright Friday morning worked assiduously to decorate one of the 11,000-plus crosses set atop the rough ground at Tamiami Park.

The dignified elder --70 years old, as I would learn later-- initially wanted to set the few strands of flowers on a piece of foam rubber against the base of the cross, but the small square wasn't heavy enough to support the stems and kept on toppling.

Finally, in desperation, the man simply pushed the flowers into the ground. "That will do," he declared. His female comapnion nodded in agreement as she held a small plastic bag and a walking cane.

I approached them and, after I apologized for interrupting their work, asked them if they would be willing to answer a few questions from a curious visiting journalist. Without any hesitation, they both agreed.

They are Roberto Garcia, originally from Isla de Pinos, Cuba, and his wife, Mitza, who was born in Havana but moved to the small island south of the mainland after the two married. They were here today, they explained, to honor the memory of their son Angel Garc'ia Le'on, who was shot to death by a firing squad at Havana's notorious La Caba~na fortress on May 1, 1959, as the label on the cross stated.

Why was your son sent to the pared'on? I asked. Their 18 year old son was in the military --a policeman at the Presidio Modelo at the Isle of Pines, the father said. Did he have a trial? Did he have a lawyer? I inquired. Yes, but all the lawyers were government lawyers, and it was nothing but a charade, Mitza noted. Fue una farsa, she declared.

The couple and two other children, managed to escape from the island in 1971, and now they come to the once-a-year Memorial Cubano at Tamiami Park to honor their son's memory. This will be the fourth time that the impressive display of over 11,000 white crosses, most of which bear the name, place of residence and year of death of someone who died at the hands of the fidel castro regime.

The elderly man, after receiving a helping hand to get up from his kneeling position by his son's cross, noted that he and his wife will not be back on Saturday, the day of the "official" opening of the memorial ceremony.

We are in poor health, he explains, noting that he has had at least two heart attacks recently, while his wife suffers from poor vision. "It was hard enough to locate the right cross today, without huge mobs of people here. That's enough for us," Roberto says, as his dark lenses eerily reflect the sea of white crosses.

In the middle of the display of crosses, a lone oversize cross, about 20 feet high by 10 feet wide, stands as a symbol of those men, women and children who have died at the hands of the castro regime, but whose cases are yet to be properly documented. A large floral display of the Cuban flag leans against the base of the large cross.

Nearby, Francisco Rodr'iguez Mart'inez consents to an interview, though he is evidently quite busy running around with a small crew taking care of a myriad last-minute chores. This event is not the product of any one organization, or one group, or any individual. We don't have any leaders. Anyone can participate. The only thing that we have to offer anyone is the opportunity to work, he says in rapid-fire delivery.

"The volunteers do what they do because they are Cubans... they do it for Cuba... because we feel for what we are doing," he notes.

How many people help this effort? I ask. His face turns somewhat somber and he declares: "I hate to admit it, but it's all done by a very small group. We have 11,200 crosses standing here, and for each one of them we should have at least one volunteer, but that's not the case. We have a group of about 13-15 people, who give their all so this project can be done." And in perfect Spanish, he adds: "Lo sembramos muy pocos, pero lo cosechamos muchos (a few sow the seeds, but many enjoy the harvest)."

Francisco admits that "we end up very tired, very sunburned... but we have the satisfaction of having done our duty. It's sad... and we feel tremendous emotions." The member of the group of volunteers reasons: "This sea of white crosses is but a small part of the tens of thousands of deaths caused by the castro regime. What other country can present such a sea of crosses like this one? Not one, unless they've suffered a war or something like that." But we are here to throw it on the (tyrant's) face, each and every year, "hasta que el manco eche deo," he states using an old Cubanism that means, roughly translated, until the one-armed man grows fingers on his stump.

Francisco concludes: "For me, this celebration is a blood transfusion, something that gives me the strength to make it through another year."

Aileen Goudie, another volunteer who helps visitors pinpoint the exact location of a specific cross, advises anyone in that predicament to visit one of the white tents near the podium on the northern side and ask anyone to look up the name of their relative or friend. They will find it in reference books and direct them to one of the 24 marked sections, each of which includes about 400 crosses.

The Memorial Cubano illustrates the nearly five decades of the castro tyranny, Aileen nearly whispers, from the very first person who died at the hands of a firing squad in 1959 to a six-year-old girl who drowned in the Florida Straits a few months ago, when her family attempted to flee Cuba.

As Aileen chats with this reporter, she is approached by Sonia Boissett, who proceeds to tell her personal tragedy. In 1970, her husband, Felix Angel Ba~nos, then 34 years old, was sent to do compulsory agricultural labor in a place called Vivero Bizarr`on, outside the town of Guines, in Havana Province, because he had requested permission to leave the island.

One day, as the man rested underneath a railroad car, reading the Bible, he was killed when another train was "accidentally" re-routed and crashed onto him. Sonia was pregnant with their first child at the time. The authorities granted her request to leave the island on the very day she was giving birth. They probably figured I wouldn't want to leave, she speculates.

But six days later, I left for Spain, still suffering a lot of pain from the stitches of my operation, carrying that little baby. "Eso nunca se olvida. Fue horrible," she adds (one can never forget something like that. It was horrible).

In Spain, Sonia recalls that "I even had to beg for alms at Madrid's Puerta de Alcala, so my son could have some milk to drink. I am very proud of that." Sonia promises Aileen Goudie to return Saturday with proof of her husband's death, as well as a photograph of him, so both can be affixed to one of the blank crosses waiting for their piece of history. As each case is verified and duly documented, the new names are added to Section 24, on the southernmost section of the park display.

Thus the Memorial Cubano grows, each and every year, each and every day.


* Ed: Julio is in town this week and took some great shots at the Memorial today. We'll have them up as soon as possible.



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