Our Woman in Havana

by Vicki Huddleston

  Of the hundreds of briefings my staff and I gave during 2001, only one didn’t go well, and it was my fault. I hadn’t been warned that the Semester at Sea, with its hundreds of students, had been given a license to dock in Cuba. So I was dismayed when I saw a photograph in the Granma newspaper of American students hugging a grandfatherly Fidel Castro. The article said that he told them, “Your presence here helps because in your willingness to exchange opinions you learn a little more about Cuba and we learn a little about your country.” I agreed with the sentiment but thought that their visit with Castro was a mistake. This type of visit—cruise ship and kids—would be used by critics to try to convince Bush to terminate people-to-people travel.

  The best I could do was to ensure that the students heard our side of the story.

  Jeff DeLaurentis, the political officer, and Peter Corsell, my special assistant and a former intelligence officer, gave a spirited briefing, which according to my husband Bob the students enjoyed. But the following day Granma announced that I refused to serve the hot and tired students “ni una gota d’agua” (not a drop of water), even though the briefing had been held on the terrace with a hot sun overhead. I was embarrassed, I looked bad, and I was partially at fault. Annoyed about the visit, I had told Omar, who was in charge of the house, “I don’t care what you serve them, just no mojitos.” When the hot and restless students arrived, there was no food or drink. Fortunately Bob stepped in and the students were happy with the belated arrival of soft drinks and popcorn. Omar may have misunderstood me, or perhaps he intentionally misinterpreted my instructions in order to please Cuban security, to whom he regularly reported. It was a reminder to watch my temper, because the Cubans would exploit my slightest mistake for propaganda purposes.

  Castro wasn’t relying on the American visitors or the possibility of better relations to keep Cuba afloat, because he had found a new savior in Hugo Chávez, president of oil-rich Venezuela. The two leaders were quite similar: both were big men with larger-than-life personalities who had attempted and failed to seize power when they were young but some years later had succeeded—Castro through a popular revolt and Chávez through democratic elections. Together the duo expanded their influence throughout Latin America. Chávez established an oil facility that provided 50 percent financing for Caribbean and Central American countries, but for Cuba the terms were even more generous.

  With help from its new ally, Cuba had begun to emerge from the deprivations of the Special Period in Time of Peace, when the loss of Soviet subsidies and the tightening of the embargo imposed severe hardship on every Cuban except those at the very pinnacle of the government. The economy was slowly improving thanks to Chávez’s largess and the advent of some internal reforms that allowed Cuban farmers to sell a portion of their produce at open markets and families to run small restaurants and rent rooms in their homes to tourists. Infrastructure was still in bad shape, although several blocks along the Malecón had received a new coat of amazingly ugly, garish blue, pink, and orange paint—reputedly a gift from the Italian government. It covered the splintered wood and provided some protection against the damage done by the sea air and water. For other buildings, the paint was too late: they had tumbled down, shearing off from adjacent buildings. The Malecón seemed to be losing its struggle against time and neglect.

  Yet there was hope for beautiful Habana Vieja (Old Havana), which was undergoing a metamorphosis due to the vision and determination of Eusebio Leal Spangler, who was informally known as the Mayor of Old Havana. Leal, by his own admission, was a “madman.” When he was young he laid down in front of construction equipment that was about to pave over a historic wooden road. In time he was able to convince the government that Old Havana was worth saving. His first project was restoration of the Palacio de los Capitanes Generales in the Plaza de Armas, which he used as an office as he methodologically went about saving Habana Vieja block by block, including the Hotel Ambos Mundos (Two Worlds), where Ernest Hemingway lived for a time and where he wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls. Today much of the old city is beautifully preserved because, as Leal told me when I visited him, “I am in love with this city.” When the visit ended, he gave me a simple blue rosebud vase, which I treasure.

  Castro extended his charm to Europe with great success. The European Union accounted for half of all foreign investment and tourism. Castro was flattered when a left-leaning member of Norway’s parliament nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize. That same month he hosted American and former Russian officials at a three-day conference on the fortieth anniversary of the Bay of Pigs invasion This meeting was followed a year later by an even larger gathering dedicated to reviewing the events surrounding the October 1962 Missile Crisis. To everyone’s surprise, Castro announced at the conference that Cuba had tactical nuclear weapons in the country when President John F. Kennedy ordered a naval blockade to prevent the arrival of additional weaponry. Had Kennedy and his generals known that nuclear weapons were already in Cuba, Kennedy probably would have taken an even stronger stance, perhaps ordering air strikes. Castro, furious with having been left on the sidelines as Kennedy and Khrushchev resolved the crisis, advocated a nuclear missile strike on the United States; Khrushchev wisely ignored his erstwhile ally. The Cuban diaspora wasn’t happy either, when some years later they discovered that Kennedy had secretly agreed not to invade Cuba in exchange for the Soviets withdrawing the missiles.

  Castro had less success with Vladimir Putin who, much to Fidel’s annoyance, shuttered the last vestiges of Russia’s presence in Cuba: the Lourdes Signals Intelligence facility, which intercepted satellite communications. If there was any lingering doubt, this final dissolution of the Havana-Moscow axis should have demonstrated that Cuba was no longer a threat to our country. The Russian ambassador, who was a good colleague, explained that dire economic conditions had forced Putin to concentrate solely on securing Russia’s borders. Military bases in Cuba had become a luxury his government could no longer afford.

  This was 2001, and the Cold War was long over; Russia was no longer interested in continuing its strategic alliance with Cuba. Castro had survived our embargo and was staying afloat with the aid of Venezuela’s Chávez. His charm offensive hadn’t succeeded with Putin, but it had done so with a number of European countries. And much to everyone’s surprise, US-Cuban relations were improving, which in turn resulted in somewhat more freedom for civil society and the dissidents. I believed that if this period of informal détente continued, it would benefit both countries, but many within the diaspora disagreed.

  CHAPTER 9

  FROM FIDEL WITH LOVE

  DURING MY THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR CAREER IN GOVERNMENT THE TWO most impressive figures I encountered were Colin Powell and Fidel Castro. Accustomed to wielding power, they both radiated charisma, yet their approaches to the use of power differed greatly: Powell built force through uniting his followers around a common goal, while Castro maintained power by tolerating nothing less than complete obedience. Of course, there can be no comparison between the moral character of Powell, a soldier and a man of principle, and Castro, a charismatic dictator. I would simply observe that both men carried themselves with an aura of greatness. If you met either one, you would never forget him.

  I met Castro in 1991 when the Soviet Union was ending its five billion dollars in annual subsidies to Cuba. The fact that Castro managed to remain in power and eventually pull Cuba out of its depression, despite the fact that the Cuban economy had shrunk by more than one-third, is a clear measure of his abilities. By 2001, George W. Bush had been elected president, and Venezuela’s Hugo Chávez had revived Cuba’s economy with low-priced oil. And due to the more permissive travel rules, Castro was entertaining scores of American VIPs, congressmen, senators, and movie stars, most of whom disliked the sanctions and thought that it was time for a change in US policy.

  Now, eighteen months into my three-year term as the head of the US Interests Section, I thought it was time for me to visit the new US secretary of
state, Colin Powell, and Otto Reich, who was awaiting a hearing on his nomination to be assistant secretary of state for the Western Hemisphere. I especially looked forward to meeting Powell, whom I had admired for many years. Since I had been appointed by the administration of President Bill Clinton, it was appropriate for the secretary to inform me of President Bush’s approach to Cuba. Moreover, I had my own agenda. I wanted to tell the secretary that I believed that engagement rather than isolation represented a much more effective way of bringing change to Cuba. I wanted to obtain his blessing for a new outreach program that I had initiated and was hoping to expand with funding from the State Department.

  Powell’s assistant welcomed me and led me through the secretary’s enormous public office, into a small private room that was Powell’s inner sanctum where he escaped from the pomp and elegance required in official meetings with the world’s leaders. As I entered he took my hand, and with his other hand he waved me toward a chair.

  “Vicki, I have something to show you,” he said as he sorted through a pile of papers on his desk. He then extracted a single sheet of paper, laid it on the copier, pushed a button, and handed me a copy of the document while smiling broadly. It was a letter from Fidel to Powell in praise of his book My American Journey:

  Dear Mr. Powell,

  You are no longer a candidate to the Presidency of the United States. Therefore I hope this note will not be of inconvenience to you. Your book was received with great interest by all of us. In record time—five days—we had it translated into Spanish by our interpreters. We have printed only a few copies for some of our top officials. We are not planning to have an edition printed. We will respect your copyright. We would suggest that you make a quick edition of the book in our language—something that usually takes a lot of time in the case of good books in English. If in any way this text is useful, it is at your disposal. We won’t charge you anything. Now that you are a free man, I hope nothing will hinder you from coming one day to Cuba to get acquainted with our country. We promise we will not put you aboard a helicopter. Please excuse the small stationery and the minute handwriting.

  Greetings.

  Fidel Castro—November 11th, 1995.

  The letter proved Arthur Miller’s point that Fidel craved human contact. General Powell, who had written his memoir after retiring as the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, didn’t accept Fidel’s offer of help with the Spanish translation, nor did he visit Cuba. Instead, six years later he became the American official responsible for US policies designed to defeat his erstwhile admirer. As I read the letter I realized that Castro’s admiration for Powell might lend itself to a process that would result in a normalization of relations. If President Bush were willing, Powell could craft an opening with Cuba that would be similar to Secretary of State Henry Kissinger’s restoration of relations with mainland China. In fact, Kissinger had envisioned that he would move on to repair relations with Cuba, but he was unable to do so when President Richard Nixon’s term was cut short by impeachment. When I walked into Powell’s office I had been worried that Bush might be contemplating a punitive policy toward Cuba, but with Powell’s revelation of Castro’s letter, I suddenly could imagine a different outcome.

  Powell wanted to know what I thought about US policy and where our relations might be headed. I told him that the best way to foster change in Cuba was though contact and communications, not hostility. Economic and even political conditions in Cuba were improving, and there was more to eat and somewhat more freedom for civil society, but the state’s control over every aspect of life remained pervasive. Venezuela’s largess had allowed Cuba to emerge from a decade-long depression. In addition, Castro had achieved a momentous victory in securing the return of little Elián González to his father in Cuba. Castro was enjoying a surge in American visitors that had begun with the Clinton administration’s liberalization of travel regulations, and I hoped it would continue under President Bush. These people-to-people visits for religious, cultural, and humanitarian purposes were forging bonds between American groups and their counterparts. American religious organizations were helping Cuban churches organize youth clubs, feed the elderly, and provide medicines for the sick. Humanitarian outreach gave Cuban surgeons a chance to learn the latest medical procedures by operating alongside their American counterparts. Cuban artists could now display their work in major American cities, and inevitably they returned to Cuba with fresh ideas and firsthand observations of our society and culture. I said that I believed that if these visits were allowed to continue, they would help build democracy at the grassroots level.

  I explained to Powell that my staff and I were also promoting change in Cuba. We had created an outreach program under which we were distributing books to private libraries around the country and encouraging independent journalists by bringing them together in our homes where they could exchange ideas and safely network. I said that I hoped that he might concur in its expansion because we could reach many more people if we had more resources. Powell asked if the Cuban government would interfere. I responded that Castro didn’t appreciate our—or anyone’s—support of the dissidents; Fidel didn’t like opposition in any form and he severely limited the flow of information to the Cuban people. In my view it was in our interests to dilute Castro’s monopoly on information and expand our support to dissidents. Addressing Powell’s query, I said that I didn’t think that Castro would stop our efforts because he was simultaneously engaged in a charm offensive; he and other top officials were attempting to convince American visitors to end or weaken the embargo. But if the Bush administration reverted to a hostile policy and ended the people-to-people visits, Castro would not hesitate to suppress dissent, impede cooperation between American and Cuban groups, and block our outreach program.

  The secretary responded, “I will help you around the flank.” I was delighted and hopeful, as it seemed to me he understood that a punitive policy would not bring about change. To me it was abundantly clear that our isolationist policy, now forty years old, had failed. The embargo only enhanced the dynamics that kept Cubans poor and impeded their access to news, information, and ideas that might lead them to press for change. With the meeting over, Powell and I took his private elevator down to the first-floor lobby, where he was meeting an important visitor. As we entered the bright, open, foyer, I admired the impressive display of flags from all the countries with which we have relations. There was no Cuban flag, even though my staff and I in Havana were American diplomats.

  The fiction that we had no relations with Cuba was so deep that it extended even to the State Department. Yet enormous amounts of time, money, and attention went into managing Cuban relations. The Cuba office was among the largest in the Bureau for Western Hemisphere Affairs, rivaling those of Brazil and Mexico. The US Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Assets Control had more personnel working on Cuba than on any other sanctioned country, and even USAID had a Cuba office. The 1996 Cuban Liberty and Democratic Solidarity Act, commonly called the Helms-Burton Act, had authorized assistance to individuals and groups living in Cuba.

  My next meeting was with Otto Reich, who had been provided an office at the State Department while he awaited a Senate hearing that he hoped would confirm him as the assistant secretary of state for the Western Hemisphere. Reich, a pleasant looking man with excellent manners (except when confronted with opinions favorable to the Cuban Revolution), asked whether I thought that Castro’s power might be weakening. I assured him that this was not the case. In my view, the Elián González debacle had allowed Castro to reinforce his power and control. Reich frowned, his visage growing red. I knew very well that conservative Cuban Americans always believed that Castro was about to fall, either from illness, loss of an ally, or an imagined uprising. But I was unwilling to perpetuate this fiction. Doing so led to demands that we tighten the embargo in order to provide the final push that would lead to the regime’s fall. I thought that if Reich were to lead our policy toward Cuba, he deserve
d the truth. He listened as I described the outreach program. He didn’t give me his opinion, possibly because he did not yet have an official position at the State Department, but he wasn’t opposed.

  The office that manages our Cuba policy was more problematic. I explained to the office director and his deputy that in order to expand the program, I would need additional resources and someone to manage the program. My choice was Peter Corsell, a brilliant young officer within the intelligence community whose agency had permitted him to spend several months working with me in Havana. The deputy who disapproved of the program told me that the intelligence agency that employed Corsell had rejected my proposal that he manage the outreach program. The agency, he claimed, believed that if one of their people were running outreach, Cuban security would conclude that it was a covert intelligence operation, not a State Department program. I argued unsuccessfully that Corsell effectively had been running the program for the past several months. We were at an impasse, but the director agreed he would send the proposal forward for a decision by the secretary if I could resolve the issue of who would manage the outreach program. When I returned to Havana and explained the impasse to Peter, he settled the issue by resigning his position at the intelligence agency.

  Peter was a rising star among young intelligence analysts, and Cuba was his passion. I first met him when he invited me to attend a closed-door conference he had organized for policy makers and intelligence officials about Cuba and Fidel Castro. Peter had managed to convince several prominent Cuba scholars and Castro biographers to present their views to relevant US government officials across various departments and agencies. It was an excellent conference and unusual in that it brought together so many talented minds from both government and academia.