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Freedom Collection

Interviews with Manuel Vázquez Portal

Interviewed November 22, 2024

And in 1995 an old friend appeared. My old friend walked slow, swaggering a grand humanity with his huge belly. And of course his huge laughter, that of a bewitching poet. My friend’s name was Raúl Rivero[Castaneda]. And he came to convince me to join the Cuban Independent Press. [Raul Rivero Castaneda (1945 – ) is a Cuban writer and former political prisoner and dissident. He was a leading pro-communist figure known as the “Poet of the Revolution” before breaking with the Castro regime in 1989. He was among those imprisoned during the Black Spring crackdown in 2003.]

And so Raul and I and a group of former journalists from the official Cuban press founded the Cuba Press [an independent news agency founded by Raúl Rivero Castañeda]. From there we began the struggle; to do independent journalism. In [19]97, Raul and I parted ways, he continued at the forefront of the Cuba Press, and I founded the United Workers Group; this was also a journalistic group but with literary intentions as well to promote independent journalism and literature. And it was here, with the United Workers Group, where I was surprised by the Black Spring of 2003.

One afternoon a huge operation took place in my home, a cumbersome operation. Fourteen officers entered my house; they looked in the drawers; they overturned furniture. All they found in my home was some literature, ample poverty, and a desire to be happy with my son who was just nine years old at the time. At the end of the search, where like I told you they only found old poems, unfinished novels, badly written stories… well then they took me to the political police’s headquarters in Havana known as Villa Marista. There, they threw me into a filthy cell along with three common criminals who had been arrested by a [government] operation called the “Shield of the Village” which had the goal of eradicating drug trafficking.

And there I was with those three supposed criminals… it turned out that those three were actually some real Cubans struggling to survive as anyone would say. I don´t know if they were linked to drugs or not; of course in Villa Marista not only were there microphones in the walls, even the insects had microphones! And they were not going to tell me anything; I of course never knew whether they were actually drug traffickers or not. And I was there for about 30-something days from March 19 through April 23. Of course, on April 4 they had taken us to a sham trial, a sort of Tartuffe farce … very similar to Moliere…very theatrical… where we went without any procedural guarantees and were sentenced to between 13 and 28 years. [Tartuffe is the title of a theatrical comedy penned by French playwright and actor Jean-Baptiste Poquelin (1622 – 1673), who is better known as Moliere.]

I was condemned to 18 years; Raúl Rivero was condemned to 20; Normando Hernández was condemned to 25… and thus the number of years in prison grew to the trifling amount of 28…29 years. On the…22nd … 23rd of April we rode by in a “guagua” or a bus as it is called here [in Cuba], and they began to distribute us throughout all the prisons in Havana. While driving, we began to run out of island and I thought they were going to send me to Jamaica, and early in the morning we arrived in the town of Santiago de Cuba and we were assigned to Boniato prison.

One of the memories I have there is when Normando Hernández, who had hopped on the bus in the city of Camagüey, approached us and we were talking; they handcuffed us together because apparently there were too many prisoners. I had my hand in one of the cuffs and Normando’s hand was in the other and we thought that we’d share a cell, but the order of the upper political echelons were such that we were going to punishment cells for solitary confinement. [Normando Hernandez (1969 – ) is a Cuban independent journalist and human rights advocate. From 2003 to 2010, he was a prisoner of conscience after his arrest in the Black Spring crackdown. He has lived in the United States since 2011.]

Of course there was no light, no water. The cell was three steps wide and seven long; I remember. I measured them, and then I wrote a book called, Written Without Permission, which is a retrospective on this era of my life, the Black Spring, prison, etc…it begins by saying my cell is three steps wide; my cell is seven steps long. It was, it was narrower than arms outstretched for a hug. Actually, no one would enter that cell. They placed it on you like it was a shirt that was too small. And we began to see the reality of our situation. Of course the protests began; we had no access to the press, we had no access to television, the Internet…forget about it.