THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, October 12, 1994 TAG: 9410110318
SECTION: MILITARY NEWS PAGE: A10 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY LT. CHARLES A. KOLLAR, NAVY CHAPLAIN
LENGTH: Medium: 86 lines
Second of two parts
Jorge Luis Cisneros Perez and I are talking together on a very hot and humid September morning at Camp Alpha in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. In his hooch, we sit amid a group of Cuban families all wanting to take part in the conversation.
His hooch is cinder-block walls and a roof on a cement slab, filled with army cots. It is far better than the dwellings of many of the Cubans who came after him. They are in military general-purpose tents on dirt.
We are discussing difficulties the Cuban migrants have had finding relatives who may be in one of the other camps. There are 17 camps at this time, with more created as necessary.
Many migrants who left Cuba in a group were separated during their journey toward the United States. Others set out for freedom at different times. As a Navy chaplain, I often assist the Community Resource Services in relocating family members and placing them together in the same camp - no small task considering there are more than 33,000 Cuban migrants here already.
At 23, Jorge has his college degree in English and was working in Cuba as a teacher and translator at the Enrique Jose Varona Higher Pedagogical Institute in Havana City. He escaped Cuba along with his fiancee, Anait Ramon Raxach, who is Syrian. Anait was a nurse for newborn babies at the Enrique Cabrera National Hospital, also in Havana City.
I asked Jorge why he wanted to come to the United States. His answer was chilling and helped remind me why so many people around the world want to come to America. It's not only to start over, but to escape from a life of constant repression. It's difficult for most Americans to understand this nationally sponsored abuse of individual freedom.
``We do not feel safe in Cuba,'' Jorge said. ``We cannot say what we want or what we think. We can only work for the government, not for ourselves, nor can we leave the country.''
There is a fine of 5,000 pesos for for leaving the country illegally, about five months' pay for Jorge.
Cuba is a nation of more than 11 million, 2 million in Havana. I wondered why the people put up with the government if they are so dissatisfied with it.
``All guns and ammunition are carefully controlled,'' Jorge replied. ``It would be very difficult to mount an assault against Castro's government. Every bullet is accounted for. If it is lost, you can be punished. Cuba is perhaps 10 percent true supporters of Fidel, with 30 percent in the Communist Party, many of which are afraid to come out for fear of retaliation. Castro has many bodyguards who are well paid and given many freedoms.''
``So how did you leave Cuba?'' I asked.
``I left on my father's boat along with my grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, fiancee, sister, two of my mother's brothers, one brother's wife and their two sons. Also, my friend Nelson and his three young sons. His wife lives in Miami. Emmanuel here,'' he said, pointing to the 12-year-old boy sitting next to me, ``jumped in the water and swam to our boat while we were fighting to get away from the police on shore. We took him on board. Nelson says he has relatives in Miami.''
All told, 22 people floated for three days in the boat. They celebrated the 93rd birthday of Jorge's grandmother at sea. The Coast Guard picked them up and brought them to Guantanamo Bay.
I could not help but wonder what I would do if I were in Jorge's shoes. He is a brave and intelligent young man who has much to offer. He and his family are looking for an opportunity to start their lives over in freedom, without fear of the government.
``What do you think will happen to you if you go back to Castro's Cuba?'' I asked.
``I will have no job - perhaps jail,'' Jorge said. ``My house is already taken over. . . The police have sealed the door but it was ransacked anyway. Everything was stolen. Even the mattresses were ripped open looking for money. My neighbors left Cuba after me and are in the next camp. They told me what happened.
``I have no hope in Cuba.'' MEMO: Charles Kollar lives in Virginia Beach. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
Jorge Luis Cisneros Perez, kneeling second from right in front, left
Cuba with this group of friends and relatives. If he went back to
Cuba, ``I will have no job - perhaps (go to) jail.''
KEYWORDS: CUBA REFUGEES by CNB