3. Psalm 137
Constructing Cuban Identity while in Babylon
The U.S. occupation of Cuba after the island's 1898 war for independence brought in its wake economic domination by Euroamericans. The war created huge debt, providing cheap land and labor to U.S. capitalists, who were able to step in and replace the bankrupt Cuban ruling class. By paying back taxes, for example, they could easily acquire properties that had been foreclosed on. Through the Reciprocity Treaty signed in 1903, the now-defunct hegemonic Cuban ruling class was replaced by a Euroamerican elite. Overnight, the traditional oligarchies virtually disappeared (Donghi 1993, 202).
Between 1909 and 1929, U.S. capital investment in Cuba increased by 700 percent. Approximately 80 percent of Cuba's imports and 60 percent of her exports came from or went to the United States. During the 1920s, 95 percent of Cuba's main crop, sugar, was United States bound; 40 percent of all raw sugar production was owned by U.S. capitalists, twothirds of the entire output of sugar was processed in U.S.-owned mills (mostly in Baltimore and other U.S. cities), and the product left the island through the Havana Dock Company, also in U.S. hands. Additionally, 23 percent of the nonsugar industry, 50 percent of public service railways, and 90 percent of telephone and electric services were owned by U.S. firms. Investments in Cuba ranged from $700 million to $1 billion, controlling Cuba's most profitable sectors. Nickel deposits were mined and processed by Nicaro, a U.S.–built plant. During military occupation, Military Governor Wood granted 218 tax-exempt mining concessions, mostly to U.S. firms. Of the four oil refineries in Cuba, two were owned
The U.S. domination of the Cuban market bordered on the absurd. Cuba exported raw sugar to the States while importing candy. It exported tomatoes, and imported all its tomato paste. Cuba exported fresh fruit and imported canned fruit. It exported rawhide and imported shoes. It produced vast quantities of tobacco yet imported cigarettes (Benjamin et al. 1984, 13). How right was José Martí, who was fond of saying "The country that buys, controls; the country that sells, obeys" (OC VI, 160).
Without a doubt, territorial invasions and the exploitation of the island's natural resources by U.S. corporations led to conditions that fostered the Castro Revolution in 1959. Fervor for national independence fanned anti-imperialist fires and began to play a central role in Cuban politics. Disgust at the "emasculation" of Cuba meant that any revolution on the island would be anticapitalist and anti-United States. Hence Castro's Revolution was more a product of Third World nationalism than of Marxist ideology. In fact, the early reforms implemented by Castro were not all that radical. Initial agrarian reforms were based on moderate principles used in Bolivia and Mexico, and rent-control policies similar to those implemented by Castro were already in place in many Latin American countries (Donghi 1993, 290–91).
In essence, Cubans find themselves as refugees in the very country responsible for putting them there. They have lost the land of their birth and have had to accept that their bodies will be laid to rest in alien soil. In short, Exilic Cubans are a people without a land, marginally welcomed in this country but also disliked because of their refusal to assimilate. Like other Hispanic groups, they face hostile congressional laws and proposals; however, as discussed in earlier chapters, they have also learned to capitalize on the space they occupy in Miami.
Most liberationist theologians focus on the biblical book of Exodus as a source of hope for their existential situation. A God who hears the cries of an oppressed people and personally leads them toward liberation serves as a powerful motif. Exodus, however, is not the story that best describes the Exilic Cubans’ social location. Rather, it is the Babylonian captivity that best resonates with Exilic Cubans. Like the psalmist, Exilics sit by the rivers of their host country, singing about their inability to sing
By the rivers of Babylon, we sat and wept when we remembered Zion. On the midst of the willows we hung our lyres. There, our captors asked us for the words of a song, and our plunderers joyfully said, "Sing us a song of Zion." How shall we sing the song of Yahweh on foreign land? If I forget you Jerusalem, let me forget my right hand, let my tongue cleave to my palate if I do not remember you—if I do not bring up Jerusalem above the head of my joy. Remember Yahweh for the sons of Edom on the day of Jerusalem said, "Lay it bare, lay it bare, even to its foundation!" O daughter of Babylon, O destroyed one, blessed is the one who shall repay your reward with what you rewarded us. Blessed is the one who seizes and dashes your little ones against the stones.[1]
The Hebrew word galut is defined as exile, banishment, or the diaspora. As the physical condition of forced removal, it is more than just the result of international forces. To the one being cast into the diaspora, galut becomes a religious condition, a condition that forces the displaced person to ask the basic theodicy question: How can a loving and powerful God allow such unbearable pain to befall God's people? This deeply political psalm is also deeply religious. For the captive Jews in the foreign land of Babylon, their faith became a means of coping with their existential situation, giving meaning to the shame and humiliation of displacement and providing hope. In interpreting the sacred text as literature, narratives such as this one best explain the Exilic Cuban's social location because they depend less on the intention of the original narrator than they do on the imagination of those who reading the text.
The fervor of Exilic Cubans protesting the return of Elián to La Habana caused great division within the community and within individual families. Yet regardless of what individual Exilic Cubans advocated, all agreed that the overall geopolitical situation that gave rise to the Elián custody battle was caused by the shared pain of hanging their lyres in the willow trees, or better, of "leaving their conga drums by the palm trees." Hence to understand better the raw emotions expressed during the Elián confrontation, we must look at what it means to be an Exilic Cuban struggling for a sense of identity while residing in the "Babylon" of the United States.
Belonging neither to the United States nor to Cuba, Exilic Cubans turn inward in their struggle to define their identity (de los Angeles Torres 1995, 213). This struggle is in reality a (re)invention of a community's vision of itself that is both religious and future oriented. As the community
In trying to define the ethnicity of Exilic Cubans we come to a better understanding of the Exilic community's fervid ethical and religious response to Elián. How does the social location of Exilic Cubans contribute to their views about Elián, views that were grounded in religious convictions and that were expressed throughout the saga? I will explore this question by juxtaposing the biblical story of the Babylonian captivity articulated in Psalm 137 with the experience of Exilic Cubans. The task will be to conduct a social analysis, shedding light on the submerged convictions that led to a religious crusade, manifested in the multiple prayer vigils and parades held during the Elián saga. This chapter will accomplish this task by examining the Exilic Cuban ethnicity through a biblical-theological lens. First I will define the "we" sitting by the river weeping by exploring the similarities between the Jewish and Cuban exilic experiences. Second, I will attempt to spell out intra-Cuban power relations. If Exilic Cubans are reduced to a U.S.-subjugated Other, how can they begin to understand the relationship between a privileged segment of the Exilic Cuban community and a disenfranchised segment? Finally, I will explore the sociopolitical ramifications of a postexilic community in a post-Castro Cuba. If the goal of the Exilic Cuban community is eventual return to the land and therefore unification with the people they left behind, how can this reconciliation be harmonized with the biblical call to "dash [the enemies'] babies against rocks"? Should this be the official advocated view? Please note that it is not my intention in this chapter to provide a theological perspective or an ethical response; rather, it is to use biblical text (specifically Psalm 137) as well as the religious symbols used by Exilic Cubans to uncover the community's attempt to hide political power behind the religious facade of la lucha.
By the Miami River
By the Miami river, we sat and wept at the memory of La Habana, leaving our conga drums by the palm trees.
About his exile Reinaldo Arenas wrote:
I have realized that an exile has no place anywhere, because there is no place, because the place where we started to dream, where we discovered the natural world around us, read our first book, loved for the first time, is always the world of our dreams. In exile one is nothing but a ghost, the shadow of someone who never achieves full reality. I ceased to exist when I went into exile…. The exile is a person who, having lost one, keeps searching for the face he loves in every new face and, forever deceiving himself, thinks he has found it. (1993, 292)
Arenas makes powerfully clear why Exilic Cubans weep at the memory of the land that witnessed their birth. How do people create a new identity in a new place while not losing their connection to the old? From el exilio, Cubans are forced to reconstruct their identity in order to survive their new social location, which they do by gazing into the mirror that defines them.
In la sagüesera (southwest Miami), on Calle Ocho (Eighth Street), is a restaurant called Versailles, dubbed "el palacio de los espejos" (the mirrored palace). What makes this restaurant unique are the glistening chandeliers obtained from a Las Vegas casino and the mirrored walls. Sitting in the crowded salon, you constantly see yourself reflected. The restaurant, which recently celebrated its thirtieth anniversary, has served as a political space where politicians seeking the all-important Cuban vote stop to drink un cafecito (Cuban coffee) while glad-handing. Even thenpresident Bill Clinton made the necessary pilgrimage to the restaurant to thank the few Cubans who supported his last election. Supposedly Versailles is the place to be seen by those aspiring to higher community positions. But seen by whom? As Exilic Cubans look into the mirrors that surround them, they are in fact searching for their ontological origins—not so much what they are, but what they see themselves as.
When I was growing up in Miami, on Sunday nights my parents and I occasionally went to Versailles to enjoy a hot plate of Cuban food, even though we ate Cuban food at home throughout the week. We would put on our fine clothes and jewelry in preparation for dining on palomilla (steak) with arroz con frijoles negros (rice and black beans) and plátanos maduros (fried plantains), always gazing at ourselves in the mirrors that surrounded us. I often wondered if we dressed in our conspicuous attire so that we could be seen or so that we could see ourselves. As I looked in the mirror, I assumed that what I saw was a faithful (more or less) reflection of my existing self. Yet the opposite is true.
Instead of being a reflection of my self, the image in the mirror served the function of forming my self, my "I." To gaze into the social mirror of
Here I am deciphering my self-identity as an Exilic Cuban as a recollection of images and fantasies designed to fulfill my desires. Because my Cuban eyes see in the mirror the maturation of the political and social power that I desire to possess in exile, reading my history as an illusionary "golden exile" becomes of paramount importance. I go to the restaurant well dressed, wearing my jewelry, not so that others can see me but so that I can see myself as someone with power—or the potential to obtain it. By striving for power in Miami, Exilic Cubans create a history in which they tell themselves that before they got there, "Miami era un campo con luces" (Miami was just a village with fancy lights).
Those Exilic Cubans who possessed the power to transform a sleepy tourist town into the epicenter of U.S. trade with Latin America see themselves as superior to other ethnic groups that have not transcended the barrio, or ghetto. But which is the illusion, the self or the reflection? Seeing an Exilic Cuban from the mirror's "imaginary" perspective places the subject "I" in a privileged space of observation, while imposing an oppressive gaze on other Cubans, such as those who came through Mariel in 1980 or those who stayed in Cuba. These Cubans (along with other non-Cuban Latinas/os) become the Exilic Cuban's Other, categorized by their class and skin pigmentation.
How Cubans "see" their Other defines their existential self. The ability to "see" implies a position of authority, a privileged point of view, as illustrated by the panopticon model discussed in the previous chapter. "Seeing" is not merely a metaphysical phenomenon involving the transmittance of light waves. Rather, it encompasses a mode of thought that
Also important in the creation of this self-definition is the belief that the frustration, humiliation, and alienation caused by el exilio are by no means the fault of those forced into the diaspora. Foundational to the self-definition of the Exilic Cuban is the concept of betrayal—betrayal by Batista, who abandoned the island, betrayal by those Cubans who supported Castro, betrayal by Castro to the ideals of the revolution, and betrayal by the United States at the Bay of Pigs. Even though the Exilic community may now be surmounting local power structures, and in effect, may be responsible for oppressing others, it is inconceivable for Exilic Cubans to see themselves in the role of oppressor. In their minds, they are the perpetual victims. To complete the mirror image's hold on Exilic Cubans, a narrative with an absolute appeal to the "truth" of religion revelation is required. The importance of la lucha, as this religious expression, is that it provides the psychological reassurance of legitimacy. When Exilic Cubans compare their own position with that of the less economically privileged Resident Cubans, they fail to be content with their success; they feel they have earned the right to their happiness. No matter how mythical the "golden exile" may be, the "success story" is crucial in the construction of the Exilic Cuban ethnic identity. This story dictates that they have earned their wealth and privilege and that Resident Cubans have brought about their own misfortune by supporting Castro or by refusing to accept capitalist ideology. Their failure proves their illegitimacy as "true" Cubans, and therefore they must be envious of Exilic Cubans, who have proven their legitimacy.
For Exilic Cubans to see themselves as "true" Cubans in the social mirror of exile is to internalize, naturalize, and legitimize their reflection, allowing them to mask their power in reshaping Miami's political and economic structures according to the tenets of la lucha. They actively
La lucha, as holy war, is a product of mirror imagery, where religious fervor and political convictions become merged to create a self-imposed ethnic identity. Yet the self-deceptive gaze, influenced by the pain of living in el exilio, creates a history that supports and justifies the construction of the Exilic Cuban ethnic identity. This history includes three necessary beliefs: (1) that Exilic Cubans pulled themselves up by their own bootstraps; (2) that Exilic Cubans fled tyranny; and (3) that Exilic Cubans are not racists. Before continuing with our analysis, let us first turn to debunking these myths.
The Exilic Cuban–constructed ethnicity stresses the fact that the refugees of the two waves of immigration before the Mariel boat lift were model citizens who always embraced the Euroamerican work ethic. During the early 1960s, the U.S. media broadcast numerous stories of penniless Cubans rising from adversity to success. These stories stereotyped the Exilic Cuban as being part of the "Cuban success story," obscuring the difficulties faced by the majority of el exilio. While the rags-to-riches mythology benefited both the United States and the elite of the Exilic Cuban community, the myth of the success story prevented Exilic Cubans from creating alliances with other disenfranchised minority groups. In fact, it pitted them against the Miami black community as they competed for jobs, governmental services, and other forms of public support, such as small business loans.
In a letter to then-president Lyndon Johnson, Donald Wheeler Jones, president of the Miami Beach branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, outlined the concerns of the Miami black community:
A cursory observation of the employment patterns of many Miami and Miami Beach hotels, restaurants, and other businesses will substantiate the fact that the Cuban has displaced the Negro and other personnel formerly employed there in many capacities such as waiters, bell-hops, doormen, elevator operators, and other similar occupations. There are many other categories of employment, almost too numerous to mention, that Negroes no longer enjoy as a direct result of the Cuban influx which apparently is about to be extended. In short, the Cuban influx of immigrants to this country have had their most severe effect upon that group of citizens least able to afford it, the uneducated, non-highly skilled, nonprofessional Negro, who prior to the Cuban influx could eke out a fairly decent standard of living through menial, service-type jobs that require a minimum of formal education or training. (Masud-Piloto 1988, 63)
The Cuban success story was created at the moment the civil rights movement was making its mark on Miami. Just as the city's black community began organizing to make demands for justice, Cubans began to arrive. Their arrival created a diversion, allowing the white establishment to ignore the issues raised by the black community. Racist employers preferred the lighter-skinned Cubans to the blacks who traditionally occupied these jobs. Praising the Cuban "work ethic" implied that other groups (read, Miami blacks) had not yet adapted to the "American" work ethic. Euroamericans holding positions of power in Miami were able to point to the Cubans and in effect say to the black community, "Stop whining, look at these amazing Cubans who came with only the clothes on their back, not speaking the language. They've pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. What's your excuse?"
As we've established, one's identity as an Exilic Cuban is a social construction created out of the pain of living in el exilio. And a foundational tenet of this construction claims that Exilic Cubans remember the homeland as a white nation, a construction that is detrimental both to biracial Cubans and to African Americans in Miami. In 1980, as more than one hundred thousand Mariel Cubans crossed the Florida Straits on their journey to Miami, Miami experienced its worst race riot. In March of that year a black insurance salesman named Arthur McDuffie was pulled over by several police officers who proceeded to crack open his skull with their flashlights because he had attempted to outrun them on his motorcycle, after allegedly making a vulgar gesture. Two months later an allwhite jury took three hours to find all the white officers involved not guilty. Within two hours of the verdict, rioting, killings, burning, and looting erupted throughout Liberty City, Miami's primary black neighborhood, lasting several days. The reaction of the Cuban community was to perceive the civil unrest as a North American phenomenon. After all,
African Americans found themselves in a city where the power structures were transforming as a lighter-skinned immigrant group pushed them aside, contributing to their invisibility. McDuffie was the spark igniting the rage caused by the double subordination of Miami's black community: subordination to Euroamericans and now subordination to the emerging Cuban community.
It was important to both Euroamericans and Exilic Cubans that this emerging community succeed. On a local level, its success served as a counterpoint to problems with the black community. On a national level, it served as a viable alternative to communism by perpetuating the myth that anybody can make it in the United States. The titles of several newspaper articles point to the Cuban success story: "Cuba's New Refugees Get Jobs Fast," "Those Amazing Cubans," and "Cuban Success Story in the United States."[3] The Exilic Cubans’ success helped them to replace the Miami Euroamerican establishment. Including the "rags-to-riches" myth in the formation of their identity served as a form of resistance to the Euroamerican dominant culture. Paradoxically, since they themselves were struggling as new immigrants, it was necessary for the elite within the Exilic Cuban community to master the structures of oppression not only to get the attention of the dominant culture but also to replace it.
The successful communication of power and authority, as with the success story, produces a self-fulfilling prophecy. While being socialized into an Exilic Cuban ethnicity, Exilics learn how to act with the authority and self-assurance that both results from and reinforces the success story. If others believe in their story, the impression will contribute to their emerging power (Scott 1990, 48–49). While the success story may veer from the reality of the 1970s, the construction of this story served the domestic and foreign interests of the United States, while transforming the Exilic Cubans from refugees into model immigrants, then into Miami's ruling elite whose political and economic power is felt in Washington, D.C., as well as around the world. This social and political construction of the Exilic Cuban success story created a public narrative that
Since Exilic Cubans weren't ostensibly searching for opportunities, the second foundational tenet of their ethnic construction claims that they are victims who "fled" tyranny. The image of Exilic Cubans constructing rickety rafts and braving shark-infested waters to escape communism for the land of freedom has become a key motif of the exilic story, defining both the determination and the machismo of the immigrants. The first two waves of refugees have claimed this model as the norm. Yet from 1960 to 1980, only sixteen thousand, or 2 percent, of all Exilic Cubans left Cuba on small boats or rafts (Allman 1987, 302). Most left by airplane. The heroic actions of the few who actually braved the treacherous Straits are minimized and adulterated when the raft experience becomes the normative experience for everyone. The reality notwithstanding, the dramatic tales of "fleeing communism" were necessary because of their advantages to the U.S. government. In the 1960s, the United States lost Cuba to the communists (assuming Cuba had belonged to the United States in the first place) and was defeated at Playa Girón, major setbacks in the ideological struggle against the Soviet Union. But the image of Cubans climbing off rafts and kissing U.S. soil provided powerful propaganda showing the superiority and desirability of capitalism over communism.
The Exilic Cuban pro-U.S. performance on the global stage of the Cold War afforded them benefits, specifically $2 billion in resettlement aid and immediate resident status, that simply did not exist for other immigrating groups. Additionally, these developments hid the fact that later refugees were not so much fleeing tyranny as they were seeking economic prosperity. They closely resembled "classical immigrants" who were "pulled" by the glittering allure of economic opportunities found in the United States, as opposed to being "pushed" by the Castro regime (Amaro and Portes 1972, 10–14). This economic pull to the United States complicates the reductionist argument that the sole motivation for Cuban immigration is political, a necessary belief in forging a privileged exilic identity. It ignores the natural flow of people from underdeveloped to developed countries, a trend that has existed in Cuba since Hernán Cortés left to seek riches of Mexico. While the basic motivation for an individual to leave any country may be dissatisfaction with the situation there, it is impossible to discern any clear dividing lines between political, economic, and psychological reasons.
The 1971 Cuban airlift: A newly arrived Cuban lies on the ground and kisses U.S. soil. Courtesy of the Historical Museum of Southern Florida.
The 1980 Mariel exodus, comprising the third wave of refugees, best illustrates this point. As the end of the 1970s the Cuban economy experienced a sharp decline in commodity prices, rising interest rates, a rapid increase in costs of industrial goods, and a budget deficit that reached $785 million by 1982. The situation was exacerbated by natural disasters, crop diseases, and machinery breakdowns, reducing the industrial output. In 1979 these conditions contributed to a 25 percent loss of the sugar harvest, and the near-total loss of the tobacco and coffee crops due to "blue mold." Additionally, pork production was literally wiped out because of African swine fever, and fishing revenue decreased by 25 percent because of an oil tanker spill.[5] Further, 1979 witnessed more than one hundred and fifteen thousand Exilic Cubans returning to the island for visits, spending more than $100 million, flooding the island with durable goods, and demoralizing Resident Cubans, who marveled at the economic success of those living in el exilio (Hamm 1995, 45–49).
As Cuba's economic situation worsened, in the late 1970s the country curtailed spending in the social economy, eliminating previously subsidized services such as bus transportation, utilities, and infant day care (Knight 1990, 254). In spite of the vehement denunciations of the Castro
The third component of the construction of the Exilic Cuban identity is the myth of racial equality among Cubans, a theme that will be analyzed in greater detail in the next chapter. As mentioned above, most Exilic Cubans remember Cuba as a white nation, a construction that was challenged by the Mariel boat lift. Unlike the elite first wave of refugees, or the middle-class second wave, this wave of Cubans more closely resembled a cross-section of the population. Forty percent of these refugees were biracial, of mixed African and European lineage. The arrival of so many nonwhites transformed the Exilic community from 99 percent white before the Mariel boat lift to 80 percent white, 5 percent black, and 15 percent biracial after. Even with the arrival of many black and biracial Cubans, these groups remain the most underrepresented among the émigrés. The double difficulty of being black immigrants (discriminated against among Cubans for being black and among blacks for being Cuban) prevented them from belonging to the kind of community that has sheltered the rest of the Exilic community. Many of these nonwhite Cubans settled in the Northeast (specifically in New York City and Union City, New Jersey) to escape residues of the South's Jim Crow tensions. Yet even in those cities they experienced racism from both Euroamericans and white Cubans. For example, as late as 1990, the income of nonwhite Cubans in the United States lagged behind white Cubans by as much as 40 percent, clearly indicating the economic toll of racism.[7]
Because of both racism and classism, an immediate distancing between the established Exilic Cuban community and these new arrivals from Mariel occurred. They came to be known pejoratively as Marielitos; this label was given them in an effort to differentiate this group of refugees from all previous groups. Most Marielitos held few memories of a pre-Castro Cuba; most were children of the Revolution, coming of age in the late 1960s or early 1970s. Some Exilic Cubans refused to support or assist the Marielitos, who found themselves stereotyped by both Exilic and Resident Cubans as criminals, patients in mental institutions, mariposas (slang for homosexuals) and escoria (scum). During the Mariel boat lift, the press in both La Habana and Miami found agreement in vilifying Marielitos.
Additionally, a high proportion of Marielitos were black, and their darker skin left them open to scapegoating. They were seen by the established white Exilic community as a threat to their social construction of "model immigrants." According to a publication sponsored and funded by CANF, "Criminal activities became particularly significant after the 1980 Mariel exodus due to the actions of hardcore criminals that were forced to leave the country by Castro's government. Those criminal activities cast a dark shadow over this particular sector of Cuban immigration, but its effects subsided by the mid-1980's" (Jorge, Suchlicki, and de Varona 1991, 22, 56).
A 1982 poll of overall public attitudes toward U.S. ethnic groups, conducted two years after the Mariel boat lift by the Roper Organization, showed that only 9 percent felt Cubans have been good for the country, while 59 percent felt they had made the country worse. The remaining 32 percent had mixed feelings or no opinion. This transition from being considered "model citizens" during the first two waves of immigration to being the least favored ethnic group in the nation caused the established community to blame the new arrivals from Mariel (Portes and Stepick 1993, 30–33). Cubans seemed to have become the most stigmatized immigrant group in the history of the United States, as illustrated by the release of the movie Scarface, starring Al Pacino as a vicious Marielito drug lord.
Not surprisingly, three years after arriving, 26 percent of polled Mariel refugees believed they were discriminated against by Euroamericans, while 75 percent believed they were discriminated against by established Exilic Cubans (Portes and Clark 1987, 14–18). Marielitos quickly became the Exilic Cuban's Other, partially disparaged for not having left Cuba earlier. José M. Szapocznik, an Exilic Cuban psychologist, might best have unmasked some of the animosity many Exilic Cubans felt toward the Marielitos when he wrote, "Mariel Cubans carried the shame we all felt in having Castro outsmart us" (Levine and Moisés 2000, 52).
The fourth and latest wave of immigrating Cubans also needs to be considered. Since the Mariel boat lift, Cubans have continued to migrate to Miami. These Cubans, drawn to Miami as the Cuban economy crumbled as a result of the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Eastern European communist bloc, boarded various crafts to cross the Straits. These "boat people," known as balseros (rafters), began to arrive in the late 1980s, their numbers increasing as the Cuban economy spun out of control. The United States immigration policy for Cubans, unlike that for any other ethnic group ever to arrive on U.S. shores, facilitated speedy naturalization. Any Cuban who arrived in this country was labeled a political refugee and within two years obtained residential status. Yet interviews conducted with balseros revealed that their departure was motivated more by economic than by political concerns (Eckstein 1994, 121). With the end of the Cold War, however, Exilic Cubans lost their symbolic importance. Then–attorney general Janet Reno (a Miamian) declared in September 1994 that Cuban refugees were no longer welcome and would not be admitted into the United States. This declaration was in response to the latest wave of more then forty thousand balseros to this country. Tragically, many perished at sea.[9]
However they define their collective identity, it is certain that Exilic Cubans interpret this identity through a religious lens, through belief in a God who blesses them for having suffered so greatly because of the diabolical political ideology known as communism. Gracias a Dios y todos los santos (Thanks be to God and all the saints), reason most Exilic Cubans, they have been able to achieve economic and political success, in spite of the efforts of Satan's representative, Fidel Castro. This achieved success proves God's favor and serves as a testimony to the world that these exiles are not the gusanos Castro claims them to be but rather God's chosen people called to bear witness against the evils of communism in general and Castro in particular. This belief in a divine commission to crusade against God's enemies helps Exilic Cubans maintain the hope that, just as God returned the Jews of the biblical story to their homeland, so too will Exilic Cubans one day be returned home.
How Can We Sing?
"Sing," they said, "some mambo." How can we sing our rumba in a pagan land? Mi Habana, if I forget you may my right hand wither.
Those who arrived in the United States from Cuba as infants or small children struggle with the realization that they do not belong to the
Cuban rafters: An official U.S. Coast Guard photograph of rafters crossing the Florida Straits in 1976. Courtesy of the Historical Museum of Southern Florida.
The pain that prevents me, and many Exilic Cubans like me, from "singing our rumba" in a foreign land is the knowledge that while my parents, my children, and I belong to the same biological family, we live in separate cultural families. My parents will die as brokenhearted Cubans
Exilic Cuban sociologist Rubén Rumbaut has labeled those in this in-between space the "one-and-a-half" generation. While the first generation, consisting of our parents from the "old" world, faced the task of acculturation, managing the transition from one sociocultural environment to another, the second generation, consisting of our children from the "new" world, face the task of managing the transition from childhood to adulthood. We who are caught in between these two spaces are forced to cope with both crisis-producing and identity-defining transitions (1991, 61).
Every Exilic Cuban has heard Celia Cruz sing the popular tear-jerker "Cuando salí de Cuba" (When I left Cuba). No other song better summarizes the pain of the Exilic Cuban's existential position. "Never can I die, my heart is not here. Over there it is waiting for me, it is waiting for me to return there. When I left Cuba, I left my life, I left my love. When I left Cuba, I left my heart buried [emphasis mine]." This popular Cuban ballad, written by an Argentine (Luis Aguile) and sung as a hymn of faith, illustrates a certain poignant denial of Exilic Cubans, who will certainly live, and most probably die, on foreign soil.
Both the exiled Hebrews of the Bible and the Cubans of today were forced to deal with the incomprehensible pain of exile. Judaism as a religious expression was constructed in Babylon out of the pain of questioning the sovereignty of a God who would tear the chosen people from their homes and plant them in an alien land. A major concern for those in exile was their status as deportees. Did removal from the "promised land," by which their identity as Hebrews was constructed, indicate a divine rejection, voiding any future participation in God's plan? The prophet Ezekiel (11:14–25) addressed the exiled Hebrews’ anxiety by attempting to construct a new covenant upon "a single heart" and "a new spirit." Moreover, with the fall of Jerusalem and the devastation of the Temple, which marked the end of the Jews’ political sovereignty and the beginning of the Babylonian exile, concerns were again raised about an everlasting rejection by God, or worse, the inability of God to prevent
La lucha serves a similar purpose in constructing identity. As we have seen, Exilic Cubans subconsciously reconstructed themselves according to the imagery of the mirror. They internalize and naturalize their mirror image so that they can shape outside structures, always masking their drive to master them. If we define power as repressive, then a purely juridical understanding of power can develop. Power, identified with law, says "no." Such a view of power is wholly negative and narrow. Power is not defined as a group of institutions or social mechanisms ensuring obedience from those who are disenfranchised. It is neither a mode of subjugation nor a form of domination exerted by one group over another (Foucault 1978, 92; 1984, 60–61). Instead, power creates: it creates the "truth" of ethnicity for the one gazing into the mirror. Looking in the mirror, Exilic Cubans reread their history as the story of a people who escaped. Unlike other examples of refugees, both the Babylonian-bound Hebrews and the United States–bound Cubans belonged to the privileged upper class.[11] The surreal scene at the Miami airport, as welldressed refugees disembarked, resulted from the same forces that brought about the Babylonian exile of the Bible. In both cases, the hegemony of the north (Babylon for the Jews and the United States for the Cubans) was responsible for the circumstances making flight necessary. Cuba's political system, since the formation of the Republic in 1902, was designed to protect the commercial interests and assets of the United States. Dictator Batista's utility to the United States was best expressed by William Wieland, Cuban desk officer at the U.S. State Department, who said, "I know Batista is considered by many as a son of a bitch…but American interests come first… at least he is our son of a bitch, he is not playing ball with the Communists" (Thomas 1971, 971). As vassals, both the Cuba of the first half of the twentieth century and Judah of the Bible were desirable prizes: Judah as a buffer zone between the north and south and Cuba as a key to the entire hemisphere. While Judah's exile was triggered by the physical invasion of Babylon, Cuba's Revolution was a backlash against the hegemony of the United States. The majority of the elite from both Cuba and Judah found themselves in el exilio, cut off from the land that defined who they were.
Is it any wonder that when Exilic Cubans read Psalm 137 they are stirred to the core of their beings? Exilic Cubans fully comprehend the tragic pain of sitting by the rivers of an alien land unable to sing to a God whom the psalmist secretly holds responsible. Landlessness, which comes with the ninety-mile crossing of the Florida Straits, radically disenfranchises them. The hope of returning to their land becomes fundamental to the construction of their Exilic Cuban ethnicity, yet each passing year, the cemeteries of Miami sprout more headstones bearing Cuban surnames.[12] Rather than proclaiming, "next year in Jerusalem," as do Jews at the conclusion of the Passover meal, Exilic Cubans tell each other, "this year Castro will fall," as if this one person were the only thing preventing them from "going home." In reality, the hope of returning home has been replaced by a private desire to adapt and capitalize on their presence in their new country.
The prophet Jeremiah wrote a letter to the exiled Jews telling them to stop hoping for a speedy return. He tells them "to build houses, live, plant gardens and eat their fruits;… [they are to] seek the peace of the city [to which they are exiled]… and pray to Yahweh for its peace, for in its peace there will be for you peace (29:5–9)." Like these exiled Jews, Exilic Cubans are forced to relinquish the old world and embrace the realities of the new space they occupy. Their adherence to Jeremiah's dictates was facilitated by their former contacts with elites in other Latin American countries; the possession of the necessary language skills and cultural links to deal with these contacts; their confidence in succeeding due to their habitus; and their connections with U.S. corporations, developed when they acted as their representatives in Cuba.
Success exists in exile. In the closing chapter of 2 Kings, the disgraced king of Judah, Jehoiachin, is allotted a seat at the Babylonian king's table "above those of the other kings (25:27–30)." From the former Judean elite arose leaders like Nehemiah, who occupied the post of "cupbearer" for the Persian king Artaxerxes.[13] While life in exile contained numerous hardships, the exiled Jews from the elite circles of Judah possessed the necessary habitus and resources to overcome their predicament. In Babylon, exiled Jews constructed a community whose legacy is felt to this day. This independent and powerful community participated in the life of postexilic Israel by providing financial support to the Palestinian community until the Roman destruction of the Second Temple. The importance of the Babylonian Jews in the construction of Judaism is evidenced by the monumental development of the Babylonian Talmud (which has taken precedence over the Jerusalem Talmud) in subsequent centuries.
Like the exiled Hebrews, Cubans suffered no unusual physical hardships. On the contrary, for some life in exile opened up opportunities that never existed in the homeland. Exilic Cuban sociologist Lisandro Pérez, who heads the Cuban Research Institute at Florida International University, states, "In Miami there is no pressure to be American. People can make a living perfectly well in an enclave that speaks Spanish" (Booth 1993, 84). As a unilingual Exilic woman told me, "Even though I hate Fidel, I thank him every day. In Cuba I had nothing, living in a dirt floor hut. But now, look at me. My two sons went to college and make a lot of money, and I own a house with Italian tiles." Like the Babylonian Jews, Cubans entered trades and grew rich, with some ascending the political structures to hold power over those who did not go into exile, just as Nehemiah did. In spite of the "rhetoric of return," the United States became the place where Exilic Cubans put their hope.
Even while Jerusalem was falling, Jeremiah bought a plot of land there (32:9–11). His message juxtaposes God's judgment—exile—with God's deliverance—repatriation. The true hope for Jerusalem did not lie in Babylon; rather, it was rooted in the homeland. Similarly, Exilic Cubans, especially YUCAs and Generation Ñ, see their exilic experience as positive because of their individual economic advancements.[14] While they look to the United States to define the future of Cuba, they also look to Cuba to define their present situation in the United States. The greatest danger of landlessness is the ending of a people's history. The historical activity of remembering la Cuba de ayer protects Exilic Cubans from this apocalyptic danger and creates the hope of one day returning to the "promised land" (De La Torre 2001, 192–93). During the 2002 centennial celebration of the establishment of Cuba as a republic, held in the heart of Miami, Rafael Peñalver, one of the celebration organizers, said, "We're in exile but can't forget that a dream for a free Cuba began more than a century ago. When Fidel Castro is just an asterisk in the story of Cuban history, there will always be a Cuban people."[15]
Remember What the Communists Did
Yahweh, remember what the communists did—a blessing on him who takes and dashes their babies against the stones.
The author of Psalm 137 prayed for the enemy's babies to be dashed against the stones. In his pain, the psalmist dreams of exacting revenge on those perceived to be responsible for expatriation. Revenge becomes part
Mimicking the psalmist, the Exilic Cuban United States congressman Lincoln Diaz-Balart (ironically a nephew of Castro) called for a post-Castro Cuba to launch a campaign of retribution against anyone who participated in "collaborationism with tyranny." Ten years in prison would not be adequate punishment for those who are guilty. The congressman even called for foreign investors presently doing business with Cuba to be abducted and brought back to Cuba to be punished (Kiger 1996, 57). Diaz-Balart assumes that the vision held by Exilic Cubans is also the hope of the majority of Resident Cubans.
Sociologist Egon F. Kunz's theory is that the "majority-identified refugees are firm in their conviction that their opposition to the events [in their homeland] is shared by the majority of their compatriots" (1981, 42). Every Cuban Exilic community, whether in New Orleans in the 1850s, Tampa in the 1890s, New York in the 1930s, Miami in the 1950s, or Miami in the present, has assumed that their view of Cuba has been shared by those remaining on the island. This assumption provided them with moral justification in their struggle to change the island's economic and political reality (Poyo 1975, 76–98). The assumption that Resident Cubans desire to be rescued by Exilic Cubans is rooted in José Martí's words and actions. Martí's plight as an Exilic was central to his construction of Cuba Libre (liberated Cuba). The concept of two Cubas—the real Cuba that is aquí (here) as opposed to the morally degraded Cuba allá (there) and the responsibility of Exilic Cubans to continue the holy war of la lucha to "save" la Cuba de allá—is illustrated in a speech he delivered in Tampa, Florida, on November 26, 1891:
You [Exilic Cubans] must create, allá where the corrupt proprietor rots whatever he looks upon, a new Cuban soul… Aquí where we keep watch for the absent
To the Exilic Cuban, Martí's words are as true today as they were more than a century ago.
When they look in the mirror, both Exilic and Resident Cubans see what they consider to be true Cubans. Patriots and traitors are presented in mirror-image reversal, depending on which side of the Florida Straits you look from. La lucha's maintenance of la Cuba de ayer ensures the condemnation of the perceived enemies of Exilic Cubans while mythically creating the Cuba of tomorrow, a post-Castro Cuba based on horizontal oppression, where Resident Cubans will be subjected to Exilic Cubans. The overwhelming support of the embargo by Exilic Cubans denies Resident Cubans basic medical supplies and causes death among the sick, the elderly, and infants. According to recent polls, even though 25 percent of Exilic Cubans feel that the embargo has not worked, 78 percent strongly support its continuation, and 70 percent advocate increasing international economic pressures against foreign corporations dealing with Cuba (Grenier and Gladwin 1997, 10, 12).[16] From a sanitizing distance, Exilic Cubans are dashing the "enemy's" babies against rocks when they deny insulin to those born diabetic. Viewing the embargo in light of the Elián story, some have raised questions concerning the Exilic Cubans’ desire for wishing one child a good life while denying it to countless others.
According to a 1997 study conducted by the American Association for World Health titled Denial of Food and Medicine: The Impact of the United States Embargo on the Health and Nutrition in Cuba, the newest United States embargo restrictions have contributed to an increase in low-birthweight babies and nutritional deficits, such as neuropathy and anemia caused by vitamin deficiency. Further, a decrease in available medicines from 1,297 in 1996 to 889 in 1997 and a decline of water quality due to a lack of treatment chemicals and spare parts for the nation's water system have contributed to a deteriorating public-health infrastructure. The pope's call for the end of the embargo during his January 1998 visit to Cuba has spurred a heated debate in Washington. The staff of Senator Jesse Helms (R-N.C.) drafted a bill to modify the embargo to allow donations of federal food, medicine, and medical equipment. Both CANF and the Clinton administration expressed support for such a bill, yet Exilic Cubans like Congressman Diaz-Balart have continued their opposition,
In 1998 Cuba petitioned the U.N. World Food Program to alleviate widespread shortages produced by two years of El Niño–related drought (the worst in forty years). The $20.5 million (less than 10 percent of the estimated $267 million crop loss) requested for food aid would be targeted at six hundred thousand people in Cuba's eastern provinces, mainly children, pregnant and nursing women, the disabled, and the elderly. The U.S. State Department normally approves such requests, even when made by countries like North Korea, Ethiopia, and Sudan, countries without diplomatic relationships with the United States. Nonetheless, Exilic Cuban congressional representatives Lincoln Diaz-Balart and Ileana Ros-Lehtinen urged the State Department to reject the request.[18] In their minds, sending one aspirin to Cuba would enrich Castro and ensure his continued political survival. President George W. Bush, in a speech to two hundred Exilic Cubans attending a celebration of the ninety-ninth anniversary of Cuban independence held in the East Room of the White House, reiterated his firm stand on continuing the embargo as "a moral statement."[19] Yet Eloy Gutiérrez Menoyo, who took up arms against the Castro government, and for his actions spent twenty-two years in Castro's prisons, expressed the futility of "dashing the enemy's babies against the stones" when he stated, "How do you explain to a Cuban mother who cannot find medication for her child… that the purpose of the embargo is the democratization of Cuba?" (Baker 1999, 76)
The panopticon paradigm discussed in the previous chapter can be expanded to explain how Exilic Cubans morally justify exercising their power over the Resident Cuban community through the support of the U.S. embargo. As a morally correct action, it becomes a foundational tenet of la lucha. The embargo against Cuba, redrafted and maintained through the efforts of CANF, becomes an example of large-scale disciplinary structure. The embargois a controlled space that represents a standardized action persisting over a period of time. It normalizes the "new world order" by punishing those who refuse to obey. Initially, policy planners for the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations supported an embargo in the hopes that the hard ship caused would foment internal dissent, leading to the downfall of Castro. Ironically, the embargo strengthened Cuban nationalism as well as resentment of the United States, which has historically been seen as the aggressor. Additionally, Castro was provided with a scapegoat for the economic woes of his country.
The embargo presupposes the hierarchical authority to gaze, a gaze facilitated by the U.S., allowing Exilic Cubans to qualify, classify, and punish
Cuba's refusal to conform to the U.S. gaze translates as suffering for Resident Cubans. Yet the "babies dashed against the stones," the victims of this institutionalized violence, are blamed by the Exilic Cubans as the cause of the violence. A CANF publication concerning Resident Cuban suffering shifts the blame from the victimizer to the victims: "The argument that [the United States embargo is responsible for the deprivation and suffering of the Resident Cubans] confuses the cure with the curse. Castro's stubborn refusal to acknowledge the failure of his totalitarian regime and to relinquish his absolute control by allowing the introduction of basic political and economic freedoms remains the root cause of the Cuban people's suffering" (de Varona 1996, 11).
Meanwhile, the gaze creates on the island a "siege mentality," which serves to justify Resident Cuban acts of oppression. When asked about a lack of freedom and political repression in Cuba, the first deputy minister, Fernando Remirez de Estenoz, chief of the Cuban Interest Section in Washington, D.C., explained that the Revolution has little choice but to defend itself. When the most powerful nation in the world has consistently attempted to undermine Cuba's government, either openly on the world stage or covertly via the CIA, does the Revolution have any choice but to respond by restricting the threat of counterrevolutionary activities, which in turn curtail civil liberties?[21] Additionally, because el exilio, through la lucha, spends so much energy trying to eliminate Castro and bring the Revolution to an end, the Castro government sees it actions as a form of self-defense. A connection has been made between the bombs that exploded in La Habana, bringing death to tourists, and el exilio.
In 2000, then-chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee Jesse Helms and former vice presidential candidate Joseph Lieberman proposed $100,000 in aid over four years to Resident Cuban dissidents. Even though most nations consider it a crime for opposition groups within their borders to receive monies from foreign powers that would allow them to organize subversive activities, President George W. Bush has expressed his support for the bill, dubbed the Cuban Solidarity Act. It matters little that these monies may end up in the hands of the Castro government, or that the dissidents whom the monies are intended to help may become targeted by the government, or that some of the most prominent dissidents on the island are reluctant to accept the support, preferring a peaceful transition over against a U.S.-sponsored ouster of Castro.[22]
La lucha insists that the United States be placed in the role of observer so that it can punish Cuba for its moral violations. When U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft visited Miami in May 2001, CANF lobbied to have Fidel Castro indicted for the 1996 downing of four Brothers to the Rescue fliers by Cuban MiG fighters.[23] These forms of punishment, like the embargo, lead Exilic Cubans to horizontal oppression, to Cubans oppressing Cubans. Yet ironically, while la lucha relies on the "rhetoric of return" to justify its actions, most Exilic Cubans have no desire to move back to Cuba.
Returning would mean a tremendous economic sacrifice. Like the exiled Hebrews who lived in Babylon during their captivity, Exilic Cubans have become well-to-do, taking away motivation for rushing back to the homeland. The hardships required in nation-building do not outweigh the luxuries of living in Miami. While a willingness to support financially the rhetoric of return may exist, polls suggest that few are personally willing to participate. A 1997 poll revealed that 23 percent would be likely or somewhat likely to return to Cuba if the country's economy significantly improved, while 29 percent would be likely or somewhat likely to return if Cuba adopted a democratic form of government. However, 49 percent would be likely or somewhat likely to return if both the economy and government changed for the better. This poll showed later-wave émigrés as more likely to express a desire to return than those of the first two waves (Grenier and Gladwin 1997, 33–34a).
While Exilic and Resident Cubans struggle with each other, the United States is positioning itself eventually to reimpose its hegemony.
The parallels to modern Cuba are striking. In the same way that the Persian court created a postexilic community to secure its national interests, the United States has promised to "rebuild" Cuba, ensuring that any post-Castro government would sacrifice its sovereignty. A twenty-four page report titled Support for a Democratic Transition in Cuba, submitted to Congress on January 28, 1997, by then-president Clinton outlines the administration's intention of providing $4 to $8 billion to establish an approved governmental and political system. The conditions for replacing the ongoing thirty-five-plus-year trade embargo with this assistance package includes the departure of the Castro brothers ("horizontally or vertically," per Senator Helms), the release of all political prisoners, the dismantling of the interior ministry, and the holding of a United States–style public election. The report also calls for a possible renegotiation of the soon-to-be expired lease of Guantánamo Bay, where a U.S. military presence still exists. Such a future could create a hierarchical community dominated by those dedicated to the economic concerns of the U.S. business elite.
If la lucha can be understood as a religion, then CANF is its priesthood. CANF, operating as the ultraright government in exile, was established as an attempt to move away from the negative stereotype of Exilic Cubans as terrorists held by some Euroamericans. Miami police investigators believed that as many as fifty exile groups participated in activities that included bombings and assassinations. According to Mas Canosa, "Miami was under a lot of bombings, explosions, and people that were killed in the streets. We made an effort to show them that there were other civilized ways to struggle for the democraticization of Cuba." CANF was an attempt to create a mainstream political organization that would combat Castro, elect politicians sympathetic to la lucha, and dispel the negative image held by Euromericans of Exilic Cubans. Richard Allen, who was at that time national security adviser to President Ronald Reagan, helped create the Exilic Cuban political action committee to funnel
CANF has written a constitution for a post-Castro Cuba, complete with legal codes and a sector-by-sector economic analysis. In the early 1990s, CANF created the Blue Ribbon Commission for the Economic Reconstruction of Cuba. Members of the Blue Ribbon Commission include Republican presidential candidate Malcolm Forbes Jr., former United Nation's ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick, United States senators Bob Graham and Connie Mack, economist Arthur Laffer (whose "Laffer Curve" served as the foundation of Reaganomics), and Hyatt Hotels Corporation CEO Jay Pritzker. Ronald Reagan himself once made a special appearance (Kiger 1996, 31–32). The commission envisions a libertarian Cuba where all the nation's infrastructures would be run and operated by the private sector. Upon Castro's downfall, CANF plans to send to the island "a ship of hope," full of investors, stockbrokers, and bankers.[25] In the minds of the commission members, impoverished Resident Cubans lack the necessary capital to refurbish and run power plants, airports, railroads, or utility companies. The task of supplying this needed capital would fall to foreign corporations like Citibank, Burger King, General Cigar, Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines, and Bell South Corporation, all of which were asked to contribute $25,000 apiece to underwrite financially the work of the commission; however, it is unknown who eventually contributed, since CANF refuses to disclose the list (Kiger 1996, 32).
By August 1990, the University of Miami's Research Institute for Cuban Studies began to collect data to produce the Registry of Expropriated Properties in Cuba. The purpose of these land registers is to compensate previous Exilic owners for the loss of their property and assets.[26] Yet CANF prefers that commercial properties be auctioned off to the highest bidder rather than seeing them go to the pre-Castro owners, giving a clear advantage to those who can outbid the previous owners.[27] Even if Exilic Cubans were to take advantage of the Helms-Burton Act, allowing those who lost properties during the Castro regime to sue corporations presently benefiting from their use, they still must wait for two years after all U.S. corporate claims have been made.[28]
During the late 1980s and early 1990s, different types of businesses held seminars for Exilic Cubans on the economic projections of a post-Castro
eleven million consumers who for thirty years have had little in the way of new or modernized housing, appliances, consumer goods, or automobiles; [the island had] beautiful beaches and mountains, located close to the U.S.A.; the world's largest reserves of nickel and other minerals, with an estimated value of two hundred billion dollars; fertile topsoil and a favorable climate for coffee, citrus, and other agricultural products; [and] investors and workers with the means, talents, and desire to export or invest in Cuba; some on a large scale, some on a small scale… [So many of the Exilic Cubans as prospective investors] have the same cultural background, ethnicity, language, and history as those now living in Cuba. (Rieff 1987, 183–84)
Proposed horizontal oppression among Cubans is thus masked by discourse about national identity and by patriotism—patriotism at a profit. Yet few ask what will happen to those presently occupying these properties.
From the periphery of the Jewish exilic community's epicenter of power, a prophet arose who became a subversive yet redemptive voice. While we do not know his name, his writings are found in the later chapters of Isaiah. Appealing to the community's memories, he plots a new trajectory for discerning reality, a reality that conflicts with the selfdeception of the exiles. Second Isaiah's vision is inclusive (49:6; 56:1–8; 66:18–21), calling the exilic community to become "a light to the nations, that [God's] salvation [read, reconciliation] may reach to the end of the earth" (49:6). The focus is on a God who supports the afflicted. Such a God opposes the partisan politics rampant in the postexilic Jewish community.
Rejecting this kind of prophetic voice, Exilic Cubans are aggressively taking the opposite role, the same role taken by the Zadokite priestly party during the return of the Jews from Babylonian captivity. Just as CANF is supported by the U. S. government and has set out to create plans for the "restoration" of Cuba, the Zadokites were officially sponsored by the Persian court and given the task of restoring Judah as a vassal to Persia.
Ezra, with legal and financial support from Persia, was sent to create this buffer zone, where the inhabitants would strictly obey the "laws of your God and the law of the [Persian] king" (7:25–26; emphasis mine). Absent was any negotiation for land. Instead, land was to be controlled by the returning Jews. Like Ezra, Exilic Cubans are preparing to demand
Before the Revolution, Cuba placed among the top three Latin American countries in the delivery of social services. These social-service facilities, however, were concentrated in La Habana and other urban areas, while the rural areas lacked basic services. Rural peasants lived in thatched-roof shacks with no indoor utilities, no security of land ownership, no medical facilities, and no schools. The average peasant could expect to earn $91 a year, as opposed to the nationwide average of $374. Castro's reforms have diminished the income gap between the agricultural and urban sector. Even Castro's detractors admit that Cuba's socialservice accomplishments (many of which were corroborated by UN-ESCO), specifically free education and public-health systems, rank among the best in the Third World and are on par with those of many industrial nations (Barkin 1973, 191–96).
Any dream of a reconciled future will not be realized if the accomplishments of the Resident community are ignored, discredited, or dismantled. When those returning from exile prevented those who stayed behind from determining the country's future, new oppressive structures were created. This was the case when exilic Jews returned to the homeland from Babylon and ignored the prophetic egalitarian call found in Second Isaiah. Soon the postexilic community found itself weakened by internal economic abuses. Exilic Jews benefited from the economic misfortunes of the Resident Jews, while disguising their profiteering as religious piety (Isaiah 58: 1–12; 59: 1–8). The poor Residents found themselves enslaved as they lost their lands to the returning exiles (Neh. 5:1–5) and cheated of their wages by returning Jews who set up new businesses (Mal. 3:5).
The danger of merging religious fervor with political convictions is that the newly created religion can become repressive. The biblical paradigm of domination established by the returning Jews can repeat itself. The planned post-Castro community can lead to the subjugation of Resident Cubans by Exilic Cubans, who in turn will be subjected to U.S. hegemony. The danger is that Exilic Cubans, like their Babylonian exilic Jewish counterparts, will follow the example of Ezra, forcing Resident Cubans to "put away their foreign wives," establishing a vassal political system that would enrich the Exilic community elite to the detriment of the Resident community (De La Torre 2000, 275–78).