Our Woman in Havana

by Vicki Huddleston

  In late June, Cuba’s National Assembly of 559 members unanimously voted to sanctify its “irrevocable” constitution, adding, “Capitalism will never return again.” When challenged, Castro always has a handy scapegoat. In his speech to the gathered officials, Fidel once again tied the US Interests Section to the dissidents, complaining, “American diplomats go around the country as they like, organizing networks and conspiracies” and adding, “We are not willing to permit violations of our sovereignty, nor the humiliating disregard of norms ruling the conduct of diplomats.” Finally, he warned that further “violation of our sovereignty” would put the migration accords and the Interests Section at risk.

  CANF’s Executive Director, Joe Garcia, was delighted, exclaiming, “For the first time in his life Castro is on the defensive.” Castro was genuinely upset—Project Varela had disrupted Carter’s visit, and he feared the consequences of shutting down our outreach program. But I didn’t agree with Joe that Castro was “creating a bubble because he has nowhere else to go.” Castro was still very much in charge. I had no doubt that if he felt truly threatened, he would not hesitate to take whatever action was needed to preserve his rule, whether it was jailing the dissidents, aborting the migration accords, or closing the Interests Section.

  Only days after Carter’s departure I received a moving letter from Payá. He wrote that he wanted to express his appreciation for my public insistence that Cubans must determine Cuba’s future. He also made clear that he hoped that the United States would neither revert to a harsh policy nor seek to impose our will on Cuba. I certainly agreed with him. President Carter’s visit had given Payá hope that there might be a dialogue between our governments, and thus his letter also suggested that the dissidents participate in any discussions or negotiations we might undertake with the Cuban government. Unfortunately, that was a nonstarter—Castro would never permit the dissidents to be present. The question of the appropriate role and treatment of Cuba’s dissident community remains unanswered even today, continuing to obstruct relations between the United States and Cuba.

  CHAPTER 15

  MR. W. VERSUS MR. CASTRO

  THREE AND A HALF YEARS OF COOPERATIVE RELATIONS—TWO UNDER President Bill Clinton and eighteen months under President George W. Bush—had created the Cuban Spring of 2002, the most open period since the Cuban Revolution. Secretary of Housing and Urban Development Mel Martinez and Emilio Gonzalez, senior director for Western Hemisphere affairs at the National Security Council (NSC)—both of whom advised the president on Cuba—had expressed that they wished to continue Bush’s moderate approach to Cuba, which had resulted in benefits for both governments. Fidel Castro had cooperated in the incarceration of unlawful enemy combatants from the war in Afghanistan at Guantanamo Bay, American farmers were enjoying millions of dollars in sales of agricultural products, and civil society in Cuba had more freedom to flourish. In return, Castro expected the Bush administration to continue the liberal people-to-people travel policies and the nonthreatening posture initially adopted by the Clinton administration.

  President Bush was slated to give a speech in Miami on the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of Cuban independence, May 20, 2002. Initially I had been enthusiastic about attending. I had been invited because, as head of the US Interests Section in Havana, I had become well known among the Cuban diaspora, which applauded my championing of Cuba’s dissidents. Being popular with exiles in Miami had given me additional credibility within the Bush administration, but I was well aware that it might not last because I was in the midst of a struggle for control of Cuba policy. In my view, Secretary Martinez and the NSC’s Gonzalez represented those in the diaspora who recognized that cooperation, or at least engagement, between our two governments was beneficial to both countries. They were reluctant to revert to a hostile policy, which would snuff out greater tolerance for dissent, diminish agricultural sales, and reduce cooperation on antinarcotics initiatives and the environment. But that was exactly what the State Department’s assistant secretary for the Western Hemisphere, Otto Reich, wanted. He and Undersecretary John Bolton spoke for Cuban Americans who believed that US relations with the Cuban government lent legitimacy to the Castro regime. To them, and to many conservatives in the Cuban diaspora, engagement with Cuba—even if beneficial to both countries—was unacceptable. So far Martinez and Gonzalez had retained Bush’s confidence. Emilio had assured me that I wouldn’t be disappointed by the President’s speech. Nevertheless, I couldn’t ignore my misgivings because Reich and Bolton were gaining ground. And I knew that even if the speech didn’t reverse the moderate travel measures that were allowing Americans to visit Cuba, the rhetoric would be designed to appease the diaspora.

  On the day before the speech I decided that I would rather stay in Havana. I called the director of the Cuba office at the State Department and asked to be excused from attending. I didn’t want to be present if Bush was going to announce a punitive policy. Nor did I want to return to Cuba draped in hostile rhetoric designed for the consumption of the Cuban diaspora. The response was immediate, Reich called me back and ordered me to attend. He said that the president was expecting me.

  On the morning of May 20, before he flew down to Florida for the speech, President Bush tried out his remarks on a friendly gathering at the White House. The New York Times reported that he denigrated Castro but also offered some carrots to encourage reforms in Cuba. Notably, Bush said, “Freedom sometimes grows step by step. We’ll encourage those steps.” I thought that was about as good as I could expect. Perhaps Cuba policy wasn’t about to be taken over by the hard-liners. It seemed Bush would continue the carrot-and-stick approach. Castro would get the carrot of American visitors, so long as he showed restraint toward the dissidents. When I arrived in Miami, my spirits were further buoyed by the taxi driver who drove me from the airport to the James L. Knight Center, a huge auditorium where the president was scheduled to speak. He said it was an “honor” to give me a ride, and even refused to accept payment for the fare.

  I arrived at the Knight Center early. I had left Havana that morning and come directly from the airport. People were just beginning to arrive. But those I recognized were opposed to links between the United States and Cuba. I took my chair in a section reserved for various notables and waited for the stadium to fill up. I recognized Marisleysis González, Elián’s cousin and ersatz Miami mother, who was an icon to the diaspora. Also present was Elsa Morejon, who had come from Havana to campaign for the release of her husband, the prominent dissident Oscar Elías Biscet, who had again been jailed for aggressively confronting the Cuban hierarchy. We three were among the momentary heroes of the unpredictable Cuban diaspora, and no fame would be more fleeting than my own. The fact that Marisleysis and I were both popular figures in Miami made me question my own actions. Privately, I had been disdainful—like many Americans—of the feverish antics of the González family, and especially Marisleysis, whom the media had transformed into an emotionally fragile heroine. I thought that my radio distribution program in Cuba was a far more useful activity than the failed and fraught battle with Castro over a child who by all rights belonged with his father. But the Cuban diaspora’s recognition wasn’t based on merit; what mattered to Cuban Americans was that we had all defied Fidel Castro.

  By the time the president arrived with his brother Jeb Bush, the governor of Florida, the overflow crowd was ready for a rousing speech in which President Bush denigrated Castro and promised to restore freedom to Cuba. Members of the far right Cuban Liberty Council, who were enthusiastic backers of Governor Bush’s campaign for a second term, were given the honor of being seated onstage. The president’s speech and a campaign event later that day were intended to provide Jeb Bush’s reelection campaign additional momentum and financing. I imagined that if the diaspora had listened to the president’s remarks at the White House earlier in the day, they hoped he would be more aggressive by the time he reached Miami. They knew that Bush, like his many predecessors, woul
dn’t invade Cuba, but he could punish Castro by tightening the embargo, eliminating travel by non-Cuban Americans, and downgrading diplomatic relations. This was not a happy crowd. They had not come to hear about the possibility of mending relations with Castro. They had lost their country, their homes, and—more recently—little Elián González. They didn’t want better relations with Cuba; they wanted the Castro brothers out of power.

  President Bush began by thanking his staff and noting others like myself who were present. He said he appreciated my presence; I was glad I had come. His first words about Cuba did not disappoint: “One hundred years ago, Cuba declared her independence. And nearly 50 years ago, nearly a half century, Cuba’s independence and the hopes for democracy were hijacked by a brutal dictator who cares everything for his own power and nada [nothing] for the Cuban people.” Those onstage and in the audience stood and cheered. To my relief, he added, “This country has no designs on Cuba’s sovereignty. We have no designs on Cuba’s sovereignty. But we’ll continue to be a strong and consistent supporter of the Cuban people’s aspirations for freedom.” This sounded right to me, but it wasn’t what his audience wanted to hear. They would have liked the United States to destroy Castro and his revolution by any means possible.

  Bush praised Project Varela, telling the crowd that, “More than 11,000 brave citizens have petitioned their Government for a referendum on basic freedoms,” which he said could serve as “a prelude to real change in Cuba.” That was exactly what I had hoped to hear because it meant that the Bush administration accepted internal reform carried out by Cubans as a means of bringing about change. But those onstage with the president didn’t want to hear about an incremental process of reform—they wanted regime change. Rafael Díaz-Balart—the father of Congressman Lincoln Díaz-Balart and former father-in-law of Fidel Castro—scowled and remained seated. In his mind, this was still a family fight with Castro, the rebel upstart who had forced him and most of Cuba’s educated professionals out of power and out of Cuba. Project Varela was a socialist endeavor created by a Christian Democrat who would collaborate with the despised regime. The Díaz-Balarts and the Cuban Liberty Council didn’t like the idea of homegrown reforms. In their view, Cubans who remained in Cuba were collaborators.

  President Bush moved on to the heart of his speech by launching his Initiative for a New Cuba, which, in his words, “offers Cuba’s government a way forward toward democracy and hope, and better relations with the United States.” He said that if Cuba allowed free and fair elections to the National Assembly and released political prisoners, he would “explore ways with the United States Congress to ease sanctions,” including restrictions on assistance for humanitarian and entrepreneurial activities and by negotiating direct mail service. The audience members did not want better relations; they wanted to do away with Castro, and they began to chant, “¡Cuba si, Castro no!”

  Still, Bush continued to press his point: “The goal of United States policy toward Cuba is not a permanent embargo on the Cuban economy. The goal is freedom for the Cuban people.” Summing up, he added, “The initiative I’ve outlined today offers the Cuban Government a way forward, a way towards democracy, a way towards prosperity, a way towards respect. The choice now rests with Mr. Castro.” The audience wasn’t interested in giving Castro a choice, and it made its displeasure known with boos. This was astonishing; supposedly friendly supporters were jeering the president.

  Many Cuba scholars who focused principally on Bush’s fiery delivery and tone (he had called Castro a “brutal dictator”) considered the speech a return to an isolationist policy. But they were mistaken. Bush was not advocating isolating the regime or tightening the embargo; rather, he was proposing a carrot-and-stick policy. Harvard University professor and Cuba scholar Jorge Dominguez thought that the speech broke new ground. He concluded, “On May 20 President Bush delivered the most conciliatory pair of speeches of his presidency regarding Cuba.” In an essay, Debating U.S.-Cuban Relations: Shall we Play Ball?, Dominguez, a Cuban American, argued that for the first time a Republican president proposed changing the ground rules. Rather than forcing Castro from power, Bush had suggested that his administration was ready to deal with Cuba, and this in turn would confer a degree of legitimacy on Castro and his government.

  The Knight Center cleared out quickly. I was uneasy; there was no residue of excitement or enthusiasm. I had seen representatives of the Cuban Liberty Council in the auditorium, but Cuban American National Foundation (CANF) president Jorge Mas Santos and executive director Joe Garcia were nowhere to be found. CANF, not the Cuban Liberty Council, was more likely to champion Bush’s Cuba initiative. CANF tolerated contact with Cuba and seemed to recognize that reform in Cuba would have to come from the Cuban people rather than being imposed by the United States. This was not the case for the Cuban Liberty Council, which recently had broken away from CANF because the council was unwilling to settle for anything less than regime change.

  I suspected relations with Cuba had even caused a rift between the Bush brothers. Those in the audience who had booed the president’s Cuba initiative and chanted “Cuba si, Castro no!” had likely been primed to do so by the new Cuban Liberty Council. And it must have been Jeb Bush who had determined that the council, not the more moderate CANF, would be the guests of honor. CANF would have accepted the middle ground laid out by the president in the speech that Martinez and Gonzalez had crafted, but the Cuban Liberty Council would not, and Governor Bush was catering to them. When President Bush gave a similar speech earlier that day at the White House, Jeb Bush must have protested, and this in turn might have led to a discussion between the brothers. Perhaps that explained why the president had begun his speech by saying, “I love you, Jeb.”

  The speech, having been poorly received by some in the audience, would force the president to resolve the divisions among his advisers as well as between himself and his brother. He could continue the current policy advocated by Martinez and Gonzalez, and to a certain extent by CANF, or revert to an isolationist and punitive policy advocated by Governor Bush, Bolton, Reich, and the Cuban Liberty Council. I knew the decision would be made that day, because as I was walking back to my hotel from the Knight Center, I encountered Otto Reich rushing to an emergency meeting with the president and his Cuba advisers.

  The president decided to support a hardline approach. After May 20, there was an abrupt shift in US policy away from cooperating with Cuba. I heard no more about Bush’s New Initiative for Cuba, and the administration’s rhetoric became more strident. CANF, which for years had been the monolithic and unchallenged voice of Cuban Americans, lost much of its influence when the Bush administration elected to back the Cuban Liberty Council, which had cultivated a fortuitous alliance with Governor Jeb Bush. The result was that a small minority of conservative Cuban Americans captured Cuba policy and—for the remainder of the Bush administration—sought to oust the revolution by increasingly punitive measures.

  Within a month’s time Reich was pressing Bush to adopt a tactic best described as the Big Bang, centered on the idea that if too much air were put into a balloon it would burst loudly. The same would happen if the president increased economic and political pressure on Cuba. Desperate Cubans, no longer willing to endure poverty and lack of opportunity, would at some critical point rise up and topple the government—creating said Big Bang. Although successive American administrations had tried variations on this tactic and failed, its proponents rationalized its failure by claiming that no administration had squeezed Cuba to the bursting point. Now that Bush had sided with the hard-liners, they could once again attempt to ignite chaos in Cuba.

  The first causality of the policy change was respectful dialogue. In keeping with Reich’s desire to reduce relations to a minimum, I was informed that the semiannual migration talks scheduled for mid-June would be canceled. When I vehemently opposed this suggestion, Reich backed down, allowing the talks to go forward as planned. The talks were held in New York at the US Mi
ssion to the United Nations. Rafael Dausa, the director for North American affairs, led the Cuban delegation. Deputy Assistant Secretary for the Western Hemisphere Dan Fisk, who had previously worked at the Heritage Foundation and today is the chief operating officer of the International Republican Institute, was head of our delegation. In the past, these talks had been friendly and respectful; over informal lunches and dinners, we had accomplished as much as we did in the formal talks. This time the talks ended at noon. Nothing was accomplished other than sending a very clear message that the Bush administration was no longer interested in dialogue.

  The next punishment was to restrict the travel of Cuban diplomats, thereby preventing the gregarious chief of the Cuban Interests Section, Dagoberto Rodríguez, from speaking at forums and events around the United States. Again, I protested. If we restricted Cuban diplomats, the Cuban government would confine US diplomats to Havana, thereby preventing our team from doing its job. We would be unable to determine if migrants returned by the US Coast Guard were being abused or jailed, and our highly successful outreach program would be severely reduced, as we would be unable to distribute radios and books or visit with dissidents around the country. I explained that if we were confined to Havana, we would be prevented from gathering firsthand information about what was going on across the island.