'Hot Corner' tests free speech in Cuba
By WILL WEISSERT
Associated Press Writer
HAVANA --
Miguel is in mid-sentence when his face darkens and his eyes dart to the
ground. His mouth is still open, but no words come out.
He has been talking about what it must be like to live in a country
where the government doesn't control all radio and television. What he
says is hardly incendiary, but when a policeman saunters by, he freezes.
"That's Cuba," he says after the officer has moved away. "They are
always listening."
Saying the wrong thing too loudly in this country can cost you your job.
Insulting Fidel Castro or other leaders in public can mean jail.
Still, freedom of speech in Cuba is more nuanced than may appear. The
government tolerates criticism in a few accepted spaces, and many people
do express themselves in public, sometimes even loudly and bitterly -
and more so, some say, since Castro fell ill last year and his brother
Raul took over.
One such relatively free space is the enclave of benches and shade trees
of Havana's Central Park where Miguel was sounding off. It's called the
Esquina Caliente, or "Hot Corner," from baseball lingo for third base.
Here Cuban men both young and old, black and white, some with gold
chains and sneakers, others in threadbare tank tops and dusty sandals -
argue sports all day, every day.
But debate sometimes spills into other areas: women, ration cards,
clothes and cars. Illegal TV hookups, water shortages, booze and last
night's neighborhood Communist Party meeting.
Cuba has no free press, Internet access is restricted and phones are
assumed bugged. State security agents follow government critics and
foreigners, while nearly every block has its "Revolutionary Defense
Committee" keeping tabs on the neighbors.
So at the Hot Corner, those who deviate from sports tend to do so
quietly. Miguel asked that his last name not appear in print for fear of
government repercussions.
Dissident Miriam Leiva is well known enough not to mind her surname
being published. She says people are encouraged to blow off steam by
complaining at communist meetings - but then officials ignore what they say.
"For people to feel they are free to talk and complain, it relieves
stress and allows an outlet for people to relax a bit," said Leiva, an
independent journalist whose work is published on Web sites and in
magazines outside Cuba. "But they express themselves because they have
to, because they are suffering. Then nothing changes."
A more public forum for complaining is Juventud Rebelde, the Communist
Party youth newspaper.
Saily Cordero, a 23-year-old housewife, wrote saying she was being
denied her entitlement to free powdered milk as a woman five months
pregnant. Within hours, the neighborhood councilwoman and a host of top
communists appeared at her door.
"People I had never seen around here were everywhere," Cordero said.
They checked her story and determined she was not owed free milk until
her sixth month of pregnancy. But Cordero said the fast response left
her feeling empowered.
"I just want what's mine," she said. "If I don't get it, I will complain
and complain. Whoever gets in trouble, I don't care."
In 1961, Castro famously defined free speech for Cubans: "Within the
Revolution, everything; outside the Revolution, nothing."
"There was no other choice. It was, 'you're with us or you're against
us' and you can imagine what happens if you're against us," Leiva said.
"That's the way things are still."
Leiva's husband, Oscar Espinosa Chepe, is a state-trained economist who
became an anti-communist. He was one of 75 dissidents arrested in a
roundup of government critics in March 2003.
Though he was released for health reasons, Leiva and other women dress
in white and march silently down Havana's busy Fifth Avenue every Sunday
after Mass, wearing buttons with photos of relatives still in jail.
Their every move is watched by security officials and sometimes they are
openly harassed by government supporters, but the march by the "Women in
White" is largely tolerated.
"We are very peaceful, we are defenseless," Leiva said. "We are in their
hands. They can do to us anything they want."
Sometimes their ranks swell to dozens, but on a recent Sunday only Leiva
and four others marched, holding white umbrellas against the scorching
noonday sun.
Joggers padded past on the sidewalk. A few cars honked and flashed their
headlights in support.
At the end of the march, the women locked arms, prayed silently and
cried "Libertad!" - Freedom.
"We're not afraid," said Berta de Los Angeles Soler, 43, whose activist
husband, Angel Moya, is serving 20 years in prison. "How can we be
afraid they will put us in prison if our husbands and relatives are
already there?"
Soler added that "the people see us in the street and they accept us and
support us," but not all. As she spoke, a passer-by muttered obscenities
while avoiding eye contact.
"It's hard," Soler said. "But if you don't work and go get something,
you have nothing. Especially in Cuba."
Leiva said ordinary Cubans have been less afraid to speak openly in
public since 80-year-old Castro had emergency intestinal surgery and
ceded power last July 31. The "Maximum Leader" has not been seen in
public since, though he writes several essays a week that appear in
state media.
"I think most people are losing fear," Leiva said. "There has been a
change after Fidel Castro's illness. He's not there. He used to be
everywhere. It was like you breathed, and you were breathing him in,
almost."
Back at the Hot Corner, lots of Cubans complain - and some even admit to
breaking the law for small freedoms - even though the place is said to
be full of plainclothes government agents.
More obvious are the uniformed policemen. Once, while a reporter was
visiting, an officer listened to the conversation and checked the IDs of
all Cubans participating. Another time, a policeman with a German
shepherd watched in silence.
One Friday, a man named Lorenzo said he watches TV using a hidden
antenna that illegally captures signals from Florida. That started an
argument about how to best stash antennas during government raids.
The talk then went from what caused a power outage in Central Havana to
who would be the U.S. Democratic nominee for president.
Lorenzo, a Hot Corner regular in his 70s who is old enough to remember
Cuba and its heavy American presence before Castro's 1959 revolution,
said he is keeping up with the U.S. presidential race.
"I'm a Republican," he said. "But for me, Bill Clinton was the best
president in U.S. history. The economy was strong. They threw Monica
Lewinsky at him, and he just kept going. That will help his wife."
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