Vol. 80/No. 7      February 22, 2016

 
(feature article)

Cuban 5: ‘We extended solidarity and received it’

Cuban revolutionaries, fellow workers in US prisons resist
‘justice’ system organized to break them

 
“It’s the Poor Who Face the Savagery of the US ‘Justice’ System”: The Cuban Five Talk About Their Lives Within the US Working Class is a new book from Pathfinder. It centers on a 2015 interview by Mary-Alice Waters and Róger Calero with the Cuban Five in Havana. Each was incarcerated in the U.S. from 14 to 16 years after the FBI framed them up for activity in defense of the Cuban Revolution. This excerpt, “We Extended Solidarity to Others in Prison and Received It Too,” includes Fernando González discussing his experiences in prison with Carlos Alberto Torres and Oscar López Rivera, Puerto Rican independence fighters framed up by the U.S. government and imprisoned for decades. Torres was freed in July 2010, while the fight to free López continues. Copyright © 2016 by Pathfinder Press. Reprinted by permission.

RENÉ GONZÁLEZ: Prison was a learning process for all of us. We set a goal to leave prison stronger than when we entered.

The jailers want to destroy you. They want to break your physical, moral, and mental integrity. You understand that immediately. You learn the first day that you have to resist this, and that the measure of your victory in doing so will be to leave prison a better person than when you walked in. Each of us, according to our own individual characteristics, adopted that as our strategy. …

For me, the hardest thing at first was making sure I didn’t react the way they wanted me to. It didn’t take long. The turning point came when my daughter turned fifteen. I’d saved up my weekly minutes to make sure I had enough to call her that day. We were in the hole, however, and they figured out a way to deny me the call.

That night I suffered, but when I woke up the next day I was a different person. I realized I couldn’t allow myself to suffer because of their actions. And when I finally was able to call, I told my wife that from then on, if I could communicate, that would be fine, but if I couldn’t, that would be fine, too.

I realized that if I thought that way, I’d be in control, not them. I’d remind myself that I had very strong moral values, and that they could never change that. Like Ramón, I also turned to physical exercise — I ran a lot — and to reading to load up my intellectual backpack. …

ANTONIO GUERRERO: From the moment we were convicted, people in Cuba began to hear about our case. The billboards began to go up. People learned about the seventeen months in the hole and the seven-month trial, which we faced with tranquility and dignity.

We began receiving hundreds of letters, not only from Cuba but from the US and around the world. There was news about us in various publications. All that started getting known in the prisons, too. And apart from that, other prisoners could see we were ordinary human beings, that we didn’t create problems for anybody. To the contrary, we were the easiest people in the world to get along with. We helped others. And, of course, we had our own opinions.

RENÉ GONZÁLEZ: Most important, I think, was our conduct. We earned the respect of others, even Cubans and prison officers, because we treated others with respect. If that’s how you act, and if you keep away from certain activities — like drinking, using drugs, gambling — people respond by showing respect in return. …

RAMÓN LABAÑINO: I’d like to add something on the question of solidarity. Actually it’s not exactly solidarity; it’s about the guards. Usually, when we’d get to a new prison — and I was in every type: maximum, medium, and minimum security — the guards would be afraid of us at first. They’d seen our files, which say we were convicted of “conspiracy to commit espionage.” You’d feel the tension. But as they got to know us, even the way the officers viewed us began to change.

A big part of that was the solidarity that started coming in from all over. We began to receive newspapers — like the Militant — with front-page articles about the Cuban Five and books with photos of us in them. You wouldn’t believe how much this helped. It was testimony to the solidarity with us around the world. …

MARY-ALICE WATERS: Fernando, you were in prison at different times with both Oscar López and Carlos Alberto Torres, the Puerto Rican independence fighters. That must have been quite an experience.

FERNANDO GONZÁLEZ: In the two prisons where I did most of my time, I was able to share that time with two individuals who were politically conscious revolutionaries sentenced to prison for political reasons. I consider myself privileged.

At the federal prison in Oxford, Wisconsin, for more than five years, I got to know Carlos Alberto Torres, and I spent nearly five years in the Terre Haute, Indiana, prison with Oscar López Rivera. My relationship with them was different from that with other prisoners. You establish good relations with many people, but Oscar and Carlos became my compañeros and brothers.

MARY-ALICE WATERS: Did you share a cell?

FERNANDO GONZÁLEZ: With Carlos Alberto, no. We were in the same unit but not the same cell. Oscar and I shared a cell for some time.

Most prisoners have a relatively low level of political consciousness and interest in political questions. But with these two compañeros I could have a different kind of discussion. They are well-informed compañeros, with solid political education. Our conversations covered many topics, including daily events.

When I got to prison, Oscar and Carlos Alberto each had already been there a long time, and I benefited from their experience. Their view of prison life was different, not the way other prisoners saw things.

That’s why I say I felt privileged. It’s not just having gotten to know them personally. It’s the kind of human beings they are. They are extremely humane and supportive of others. They know the history of Puerto Rico, the struggles of the Puerto Rican people. And both compañeros are also very well informed about Cuba.

Oscar is older. His experiences go back to the struggles of the 1960s and 1970s in the United States. Not only the Puerto Rican independence movement but also struggles by African Americans, Chicanos, Native Americans, and others that were part of the radical left.

RÓGER CALERO: Oscar says his political views were profoundly changed by his experience as a young man drafted into the US army to serve in Vietnam during Washington’s brutal war there.

FERNANDO GONZÁLEZ: When I met Oscar in prison, I went over and said hello. “Yes, I know who you are”—that’s the first thing he said to me. Remember, we had never met each other. But he knew about our case, the names of all five of us, the history of our fight, and a lot about Cuba, too.

Carlos Alberto and Oscar both understood what our case represented politically. And because of the political education I had received in Cuba about the history of Puerto Rico — which is so close to that of our own — I could understand perfectly the situation they were in. Within the possibilities at hand, I could contribute to the campaign for their release.

MARY-ALICE WATERS: The fight to win Oscar’s freedom is gaining momentum, especially with mounting anger among Puerto Ricans at the economic crisis hitting the island so hard due to its colonial status. There’s a notable increase in the breadth of forces demanding Oscar’s freedom. He was officially honored by organizers of the Puerto Rican Day parade in New York last year, and again this year there was a big contingent demanding his freedom.

FERNANDO GONZÁLEZ: If there’s anything I would call my best years in prison — if you can use such an expression, since I don’t wish prison on anyone — it would be those years with Oscar. It was an exceptional experience.
 
 
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