Cuba Sí

I feel like telling the story of my one and only foray into the world of protesting. I would have protested more, but I never had the opportunity. I think I was in my early twenties, just guessing here, when I heard that Cubans were protesting at the Cuban Mission to the UN. Even then, I felt the pull of my Cuban roots.

I dragged my mother, on the assumption that the more bodies the better, hopped on the Staten Island Ferry, and off we went. We never got near the UN. New York's Finest held us back blocks from the mission. So there we were, hundreds, maybe a thousand or two strong, corralled on a side street, hidden from view and away from the UN and its missions. I couldn't figure out how people got to demonstrate across the street from the UN. I mean, it seemed like there were always three Cambodians with placards in front of the place. I guess the powers that were didn't like us.

No matter, it was a boost anyway. We stood and chanted "Cuba Sí, Rusia No" over and over again, the catalyst for said demonstration having been something the Russians had done. Alpha 66 was there with a flatbed truck, which was a good thing, because they had a sound system. It was intoxicating. For the first time in my life, I was in an assemblage of people who shared my pain, people like me. I cannot tell you how empowering it was. Yes, they had tucked us away out of sight in that canyon, but we were together, and we were angry. For a fleeting moment we were telling the world we existed. In the end, we all went home, having accomplished nothing tangible. New York being the way it is, I don't even think we got press coverage.

Yet within me was a certain satisfaction, a taste of what it was to matter. I had no military skills, no money, no connections. If truth be told, I was not particularly brave unless angry- that might be a national trait. I wasn't going to go tumbar Fidel. The only thing I could do then is what I try to do now, bear witness to the truth. And maybe, just maybe, someday the truth will set us free.