A theme of The Death of the White Rose deals with the
inevitable failure of a revolution to maintain the loyalty of its supporters
when the change it promises does not materialize No matter how zealous the
advocate, when the promises of a revolution are not kept, disillusion sets in.
I was struck by the description of Yoani Sanchez, the
independent blogger, of the disillusion of her mother in 1989 when the most
highly decorated general of the Cuban Army, Arnaldo Ochoa, was convicted and
shot for drug trafficking. The general enjoyed widespread popularity and
because of that, threatened to eclipse Fidel. Other heroes of the revolution
had suffered a similar fate decades before—Frank País and Camillo Cienfuegos,
just to mention two. The trumped up charges against Ochoa, who was regarded as
the hero of the Cuban army’s campaign in Africa, strained the Castros’
credibility to the breaking point, and caused many ardent supporters to abandon
any hope that the promises of the revolution would ever be kept.
Here, taken from www.translatingcuba.com, is the story of
Yoani’s mother’s reaction to the execution of this popular figure:
THE DAY MY MOTHER LOST FAITH IN FIDEL AND THE REVOLUTION
by Yoani Sanchez
My mother, devoted to Fidel, sat in front of the
television. A few days later her two daughters understood that a transcendental
and irreversible change had come over that compulsive thirty-something. A
former militant in the Young Communist Union, she had suffered a degree of
ideological disillusionment in the late eighties, but the trial of General
Arnaldo Ochoa was too much for her revolutionary illusions.
I remember seeing her sitting in that easy chair in
front of the television thinking that her “Commander” was more than a father –
much more than the nation itself – and observing, from my naïve adolescent
perspective, her transformation. Her anger, her sadness, while the farce of the
judicial process continued. Later I heard from my school friends that a similar
metamorphoses occurred in many of their homes. “What have we come to,” seemed
to spread among a good part of Fidel’s faithful followers.
Why, 23 years after that “reality show” televised
throughout the country, is what is called “Case No. 1 of 1989” still considered
a point of rupture? How did this moment become one of the dates marking the
decline of the Cuban Revolution?
I do not think it was solely because of popular sympathy
for the haughty and handsome man who was in the dock. Nor for the false note of
the generals – chubby cheeked from the good life – blaming one of their
colleagues for enjoying a luxury here, an extravagance there. Nor can it be
said that it was just the evident contrast between the soldier who had led
battles in Africa, and the Commander in Chief who played at war from afar, from
the comfort of his office.
I think it all came together for many Cubans, in that
moment, that the train of the political process had gone off the rails. But
undoubtedly added to this was the desire to find a good excuse for a break, a
sufficiently strong pretext to show the door to an ideology that had defrauded
so many. We children saw this metamorphosis in our parents… there was no way we
could emerge unscathed in the presence of such a mutation.
For four weeks, the small screens in every Cuban
household were tuned to these courtroom images, where the great majority of
those present wore olive green uniforms. We heard the witnesses testify, the
accused shift from a tone of alarm to the stuttering of terror as many of them
declared that the highest levels of the Cuban government were not aware of the
drug trafficking.
Raúl Castro talked about how he had cried in front of
his bathroom mirror, thinking about Ochoa’s children, but he still approved his
execution, and that of three other defendants.
And all this happened before our eyes in the same year
in which the Berlin Wall would fall and many Eastern European regimes would
crumble like illusory castles in the sand. It wasn’t possible to separate what
was happening outside our borders from that Military Tribunal that indicted
Arnaldo Ochoa for “high treason against the country and the Revolution.”
Difficult to separate the crisis of faith that the Cuban process was passing
through at the moment of this public lesson broadcast to millions of TV
viewers.
The authorities – intending to teach us a lesson –
wanted to show that they were still capable of striking a blow against any
ideas of a tropical Perestroika that might be lurking on the island. A
self-inflicted wound in their own ranks was a very clear way of warning that
there would be no mercy for those who crossed a certain line. Parallel to the
official version of the trial ran a thousand and one popular rumors about the
most decorated General in Cuba overshadowing Fidel Castro.
Many analysts argued that what was a really playing out
was a rivalry for power. It was not surprising, therefore, that so much of the
evidence presented in the trial ultimately did not convince the audience.
“There’s something more going on here,” said the older people… “there’s
something fishy,” they repeated, with the wisdom of those who had seen many
others fall, be ousted.
At dawn on July 13, 1989 Arnaldo Ochoa, Antonio de la
Guardia, Amado Padrón and Jorge Martinez were shot. My mother had turned off
the television just as the sentence was announced. I never saw her look at the
screen with rapture again; nor meekly consent when the figure of Fidel Castro
appeared.
13 July 2012
