TESTIMONY By Gerardo Martínez Former Political Prisoner 22 years in Castro' s dungeons On the day before Three Kings Day (January 5), 1968, when I and eight other political prisoners from a concentration camp in the Southern coast of the Province of Pinar del Rio, descended from the paddy wagon, I immediately recognized the building as the sinister Five-and-a-Half Prison. This prison is five and a half kilometers away from the city, on a small hill by the Luis Lazo road. A broad valley full of palm trees, trees, brooks and a thick emerald-green grass extends behind the modern steel and concrete structure. On the sides there are tobacco fields and some homes dispersed around the area. The building, seen from the highway, looks like a tourist hotel. However, this impression is disrupted by a triple barbed wire and the guard towers where you can see armed troops, that tells you exactly what it is. The guard ordered us to walk toward the entrance. Then a group of guards showed up intercepting and surrounding us immediately. When I saw the rifles with their bayonets I remembered Isle of Pines and the horrific "Camilo Cienfuegos forced-work plan" where thousands of political prisoners watered the citrus groves with their sweat and blood for two years and nine months. I felt my facial muscles and my nerves tense as if they were steel wires. When the guards pushed us to form a compact group I was pushed against one of my group and from the tenseness in his body I realized that he was not willing to allow the communists to batter him. Then, the tall and strong figure of mulatto Sanguili, Head of Internal Order, came out of the building bearing a paper in his hands. He stopped in front of us and started roll call in alphabetical order by our last name. Then he ordered us to stand in line by twos. Afterwards he went to the paddy wagon, talked to the guard and handed him some papers. Coming back, he went over the list again and counted us. "You may leave!", he told the guards. Right away another group of troops showed up, this time unarmed. Sanguilí signaled them to take us into a room to the left of the building entrance, and ordered them to frisk us there. The conscientious frisking lasted for two hours, and by then we were only left with the clothes we were wearing. Cups, spoons, towels and any personal toilet articles were in a pile in a corner of the room. Sanguili disappeared through a door and five minutes later he was back. A group of troops armed with rifles and bayonets came with him. He order the other troops to leave. Then he went to the door leading inside the prison, opened it and yelled... "Get in!". I felt being pushed with the tip of a bayonet. Inside we say the central hall of the prison. To my left was the staircase leading to a dungeon where the food is kept, the barbershop and Gallery Seven. We followed Sanguili, guarded by the armed troops. When crossing across from the hall of Section Two, also to my left, I saw several hands waving behind bars as if in greeting. To my right there was the first-aid room, a visitors room and the main entry to the prison. Sanguili had stopped in front of the gate that connected with the yard in Section One, a guard came with a bunch of keys in his hand. He went by us and stopped by Sanguili. He took one of the keys and opened the lock. Upon entering the yard I saw to my left the metal door leading to the women' s prison and next to eat the hallway to go into Section One, an extension of the jail for minors. They lined us against the wall and took off our clothing, socks and shoes. Although this was a cold winter day I did not feel cold. I was tense. Across from us was the prison' s mess. A little to the left the kitchen and next to it a gate covered with an iron plate. While they searched our clothing inch by inch, I noticed the windows with iron bars of Section One. I did not see a face nor heard a voice. After the search, they gave us our clothing back. When we started to get dressed the guards formed a line in front of us, uncovered their bayonets, and looked at us in a threatening way. I thought that the time had come to face the consequences of refusing to continue with the forced labor in the concentration camps. I felt that my stomach shrank. I clenched my jaws. I looked at my companions and saw the tension in their faces. Sanguili went near the metal-covered gate and called the man with the keys, signaling to the others. They put their bayonets away and left. I sighed with relief and furtively looked at my companions. A few minutes later Corporal Ferro shows up with a group of troops. "Corporal! take away these five..." said Sanguili pointing at the five, one at a time. When Ferro and the guards left with the five Cubans I looked up. Heavily armed soldiers were watching us from the upper floor. Sanguili opened the gate and then I understood the horrible history of the walled-in dungeons. There was a short hall in front of us, four cells with huge iron plates faced the hall and one lamp hung from the ceiling. Sanguili leaned against the door frame and ordered us to walk in. There were two cells to the right and two to the left of the hall. I went in first, followed by the others and the guard with the keys. We stopped in front of the last cell to the right. The hall was approximately 30 feet long by twelve wide. While the prison guard dealt with the lock I watched Sanguili who was still leaning against the entrance with his eyes set on the cells to the left. I noticed some distrust in his look. As there seemed to be no one inside the cells this seemed strange. The opening lock caught my attention. The guard was pulling the heavy bar. The faint light from the bulb shone on the cell. All of us trembled. Water and human waste were all over the floor, a two inch high concrete slab prevented the water from filtering into the hallway. We went in one by one, when the door locked behind us we were left in semi-darkness. Instant later a ray of light filtered through the loophole. For the reader to have an idea, here is a description of the cell: "The cell, made out of steel an concrete measured sixteen feet in length and ten in width, a whole in the floor was the latrine for our physical needs, a cement bed built into the far wall, the door was an iron gate on the inside with an iron plate outside, a loophole in the plate was the means of communication with the outside". And at the same time allowed the weak light from the hall to filter in. Through that loophole our food was passed in paper bags, without any utensils whatsoever, and we had to use our hands to eat. A short time after being locked, our eyes had adapted to the semi-darkness. One of us went to the latrine, put his hand into the opening and took out a rag full of crap, he went to the gate and threw the rag out through the loophole into the hallway, right away the water that reached our ankles began to disappear. A short time afterwards we heard the covered gate leading to the hall opened and the face of Sanguili looked in from the loophole "Why the hell did you throw the rag outside?... he yelled furious, "For you to eat!!! you pig!... we answered. He turned around and left cursing. We cleaned the cell with out shirts. The bed was on the far wall, behind which was the prison kitchen. I went to the bed and sat down, took off my shoes and socks and put them next to the wall. A strong vapor came from that wall, and I began to sweat copiously. I left the bed and sat down on the floor, close to the gate, leaning against the bars. The others also sat down in the small cell. Conversation began about how lucky we were to come out alive from the concentration camp. And then the question "Where did they take our friends?:. The communists prison guards had only made threats, which seemed strange to us, as usually they used blows instead of words. What is happening? This question was soon to be answered. One of us joked..."It seems incredible, it's like walking through fire and not being burnt. Soon someone began to hit the iron plates in the cells across from us, and we looked at each other. The echo of the blows resounded in our cell as if we were being bombarded. Two of our group lost their calm and began to hit with their fists in the cement but, the rapid intervention of another cell mate and mine prevented that they break their hands. I turned around and climbed one of the horizontal bars of the door, looking outside through the loophole. I looked to the cell across from us, trying to see, but I saw no one. However, from inside the cells someone continued to hit the iron plate. I Stretched a little bit higher and cried as loud as I could... "Who is there?" A few seconds went by and suddenly the noise stopped, I waited still looking at the cell. Soon after a freckled face looked out from the loophole, with protruding eyes, thick lips and shaved head. Another dark face showed up, with black eyes and curly hair. When I saw them I held tight to the bars and I cried "My God! What is this?" The guy with freckles asked yelling..."Political?" I shook my head in a yes. The dark skinned moved his lips but I could not make out what he said because of the infernal noise coming from the other cell. The freckled guy put his face close to the bars, and yelled "Moritoooo, hold it....!!" The blows stopped, and a voice was hear from deep into the dark cell, "What is it, Jabao?" and a face showed up, dark skin, black and shining eyes that looked at me, and by his side, another one, white, blond hair, blue eyes that looked intelligen and thin lips that seemed to smile. The first one repeated the question that Jabao had asked..."Political?" Yes, I answered. "Are you alone? " No, there are three more here! I said. I felt someone rough my legs, and I looked back. My cell mates were asking..."What is it? Do you know those people? Who are they, political or common prisoners?" They are children, I answered in a trembling voice. They scolded me, because they felt this was no time for jokes. When I realized that they did not believe me, I jumped down and pointing up at the bars I added..."Go ahead and look for yourselves? " When one by one they had verified my words, our cell resounded with bad words and cursing against the communists and against foreign policy. We branded the Church as a nest of hypocrites, the politicians of the Western world were all cowards... and democracy the shelter for communists. The children, whose ages fluctuated between seven and eleven years old, stopped our insults when they started the violent banging. For one whole hour I thought I was submerged in a deep see of darkness whose pressure threatened to make my eardrums explode. I watched my cell mates who had suffered the crisis before me and I realized from their faces that they were on the verge of another crisis. Suddenly, the children stopped the banging, the four of us exchanged looks... What could have happened? The question seemed to float from one to the other. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the noise of a lock being opened and the creaking of hinges. The covered gate in the hallway was being opened, and we heard steps coming closer. The steps stopped in front of our cell. When we heard the rattling of a key in our lock we went close to the door in a fighting attitude. The bars opened and a ray of light broke the darkness of our cell. My nerves relaxed and I noticed the same happened to all of us. A guard and a young black man dressed with the garb of common prisoners were in front of us. The prisoner put a 5-gallon pail half full of water on the floor, turned around and left. Some minutes later he returned with a metal tray with several paper bags with something inside, four empty fruit cans and the same number of pieces of bread. The children looked out from the loophole and greeted us. The guard looked at them in silence. When we got the paper bags, weighing some four ounces each, I looked inside and I felt nauseous. We looked at each other. Since we had not eaten anything since daybreak we accepted that grub without complaining; grits with maggots and bread. We had to drink water before eating because the prisoner told us that it was not allowed to leave any containers in the cell. The children looked anxiously to the paper bags left on the tray. When they locked the bars, I left the bag on the bed, I went back to the metal plate and put my ear close. From the other side I head the voice of the one called Jabao... "Camagüey, leave some food for us!!!" I climbed the bars to look out. Just as I looked out the prisoner was asking the guard... "Can I give some paper bags to the little ones?... The guard looked apprehensively toward the hall... "Don' t get me into trouble, Camagüey!"... Jabao said: "Come on, soldier, don't be so bad". The guard looked at Jabao, who smiled... "Only two..." Camagüey insisted. The guard turned around and began walking towards the exit, he stood by the door looking out, and without turning back he ordered, Finish serving the food, Camaguey!" Camaguey moved swiftly, he handed a bag to Jabao and another to Morito, the boy in the other cell. With a quick and precise movement, Camaguey turned to our cell, took out a pack of cigarettes and passed it to us through the loophole. He turned around and left quickly. When he passed by Morito' s cell, he threw him a box of matches and signaled to us. Morito smiled at me and signaled me to wait. At that same moment, the guard turned around, his face pale..."Not finished yet, Camaguey?".. "I' m finished, soldier"... I saw how the guard' s face changed color, when the figure of Sanguili appeared by the door. When Morito saw him he began insulting him... "Sanguili, son of a bitch, I shit on your mother!!? and he spit. Jabao, who had put his arm outside the bars, threw a showe at him and insulted him... :Sanguili, you fagot, I'm going to break your head." At the same time the other two children yelled insults capable of scandalizing the most cynical of men. Sanguili turned around and left in a hurry. I seemed to have a glimpse of a smile in the face of the guard, who turned to Camaguey and said... "Let' s go!".... "As you say, soldier!!" the prisoner answered happily and they left. When I was about to leave the loophole Jabao called me... "Political..." "Yes, boy"... "Do you have bread?"... "When do they bring your food?" "Later, political!"... "Wait a moment, little one!".... I left the door, my cell mates were joking about the children' s ruckus and even I had to laugh. We started thinking about how we could get the pieces of bread to them, but found none so I climbed on the bars again and I asked Jabao..."How could we send you some bread? " The boy, without answering me, disappeared from sight. I heard his voice "Wait, political!". After a few minutes he showed up again, he put his arm out through the bars and I saw a blue strap of cloth in his hand. He began swinging it from one side to the other and then finally he swung it high enough and I caught one end. My cell mates gave me the pieces of bread, which I tied to the blue strap, and then I started swinging it until Jabao caught it, he took two pieces and then did the same thing, moving the strap like a pendulum to try to reach Morito' s loophole. Morito put his arm out of the bars and he finally caught it. Morito took the rest of the bread, he tied the matchbox to the end of the strap and again he swung it toward Jabao, "Pass the matches to Political", he yelled, and smiled at me... "Thank you, political!" and went back to the darkness of his cell. Jabao swung the strap at me I grabbed the matchbox and he kept the strap. The boy smiled gratefully and went back into the darkness. When I came down I saw my companions eating with their hands and I though I was in the middle of the jungle surrounded by animals. I went toward the bed, grabbed my paper bag y sat with the others on the floor. I opened the paper bag, looked at the grits with maggots and I started to eat as if it were the most delicious food ever . Later we grabbed our shirts and put them on. The vapor was not coming through the walls and a terrible cold filtered through the loophole. The kitchen was closed. We opened the cigarette pack and we lit one for the four of us. When my turn came, I inhaled slowly, savoring it... "Well, I hope the pack will last for a while", I smiled and looked at the others. We went to sleep on the cement bed, and it was terribly cold. It was daytime again, and little by little the cell became warmer. They brought breakfast around nine a.m., water and some coffee grounds. After we drank this concoction Camaguey picked up the cans and left. Then we lit a cigarette. Then we heard the voice of Jabao calling..."Political!" I looked out the loophole and asked "What is it, Jabao? --"Do you have any bread?" The boys question shocked me... "No, not today, but don't worry at lunchtime we'll send you the four pieces of bread." And then I though of asking... "Listen, Jabao, how old are you? " "Nine, sir, he answered. "And your friend?" The other boy showed up, "I'm going to be eight!" Their answers made the blood curl in my veins. "What is your name?" "Tatica, Political" I asked now "Why are you in prison?" Tatica looked at Jabao and said, "You explain it".... Jabao's eyes shone and he smiled. Right away he started to tell me why they were there.: "A group of boys in the shelter where we lived started playing "militia men and rebels" at recess. Since Jabao y Tatica were pretending to be rebels they hid among some bushes to escape from the supposed militia men. Then they heard noise behind their backs and voices, they turned and they were shocked to see a man and a woman lying on the grass. They recognized the director of their shelter and their teacher and they were afraid to leave. After some time watching the man and the woman engaged in sex, Tatica wondered out loud, "The director surely likes ice cream!" Jabao tried to cover his mouth, but the director had seen them. The boys fled towards the shelter. In the evening three soldiers went to the barracks where the boy slept and in the presence of the other children, they took Jabao and Tatica out pushing and kicking them. They were taken to the director' s office where the man, after beating them repeatedly, yelled at them "You scum, you' ll see what we do to spies!" and he took them to jail personally. Morito who was listening added, "Sanguili, the son of a bitch, hit them both a lot. Jabao and Tatica had been locked up for fifteen days in the dark. When their relatives asked to see them, they were turned down. When I asked Morito why he was there, he answered, "I wanted to see my mother." His reply made my heart ache. How can there be so much cruelty? I asked him to tell me his story and this is what he told me: Morito was eleven years old, his father had died when he was eight, and he helped his mother support two younger brothers. He sold newspapers, shined shows and did odd jobs. One day his mother was arrested with some cans of condensed milk that she had bartered for rice and beans. She was sentenced to a year in jail and he and his siblings were taken to a concentration camp for minor. There they were forced to do work such as mowing the grass, picking up fruit and other tasks. The children who refused to work were brutally hit and their food was rationed... Today you can not have a full meal, was what the guards at the shelter said. One night Morito ran away to try to see his mother in prison. He had no money to bring her something, so he broke into a house through a window. The house seemed to be uninhabited. He found some coins and some pesos, and when he was about to leave he say a militia uniform on a chair and he heard noise. He jumped out the window and ran as fast as he could. He hid in the bushes and slept through the night. At daybreak he went on toward the prison where his mother was. He went by a store and bought some food and fruit for his mother. When he was about to leave the store he saw a patrol car and Morito, frightened started running with the food under his arm. The policeman ran after him and finally caught him. He was taken to the police station where he was hit, afterwards with a broken nose and mouth, and his eyes swollen he was taken to the Five and a Half prison." He was put in a walled in cell without any medical attention and he had been a month and a half there. I noticed the scars in his face and realized he was telling the truth. Hearing his story, I asked myself, "Is it possible that there are beasts posing as humans? I addressed Morito' s cell mate "And what is your name? ..."Guillermito", he answered.. "How old are you?" I asked. "I'm seven" , he answered. I looked at his childish face, his serene eyes and a certain imposing air in his expression. That boy had the eyes of a dreamer. "What is your case, little one?" His story was short but impressive, he had been caught stealing a soda bottle and a piece of bread at the shelter where he studied. He had been in that cell for 24 days unable to see his parents. I then heard cursing behind my back, I turned around and saw that my cell mates were all gathered against the iron plate and had heard the children' s stories. I was able to see tears in their eyes. A sad Three Kings' Day for children who are victims of a society oppressed by a dehumanized system. Lunch was boiled macaroni and bread. We passed the bread to the children and the day went by with nothing else happening. The following morning Camaguey and the guard came with the same hot water with coffee grounds and, something special, a piece of bread for each of us. Camaguey, hiding it from the guard, gave me a piece of paper. Before they closed the door Jabao and Tatica look out their loophole, said hello and we offered them the bread, but they did not want them. I noticed a playful look in the eyes of Jabao. I looked toward the next cell and Morito winked at me and smiled. The guard was watching us in silence and after he closed the door and I hear him leave I unfolded the paper and read out loud: "We have visitation at noon. Good luck", signed by the political prisoners in Section Two... We unanimously said, "Well, that explains the bread for breakfast." At about nine a.m. we heard Morito' s voice yelling... "Clavillazoooo!"... we trained our ears and heard an answer "What. "The Americans violated the air space!", Morito answered... "That's good" answered a young voice. One hour later Tatica began yelling "Guard, guard, come , run, Jabao cut his veins!!!" I climbed on the bars just as the gate to the hallway opened and the guard came in, he opened the cell and took Jabao out. The child' s left arm was covered with blood..."What have you done, Jabao?", I asked, he winked and he walked behind the guard. When they left and the gate to the hallway was closed, Tatica told me: "No problem, Politico, the wound is superficial"... I breathed with relied. I came down from my post and explained to the others what Tatica had told me. We relaxed. About half an hour later we heard the hall gate open, I looked through the loophole and I saw Morito, looking out the bars with his arms hanging out, with a strange look of indifference. The guard crossed the door and went to Jabao's cell. Jabao, with his arm bandaged followed him. Suddenly, Morito extended an arm and Jabao, swiftly took a hammer and an enormous nail from his waist and gave them to Morito, who immediately left his position. Jabao looked at me and smiled. After noon, the children began singing at the top of their voices. My companions and I looked at each other surprised. ... "That' s strange"... we all said, but we just sat and waited. Around four in the afternoon one of us was narrating a movie, suddenly an infernal racket interrupted us. We thought that part of the hallway had tumbled down. Rapidly I climbed on the door and looked out. I blinked several times because I could not believe what I was seeing: Morito and blond Guillermito were strolling down the hall way with stones in their hands, and the door to their cell, with the metal piece soldered to the bars, was on the floor surrounded by debris. The two children went near Jabao and Tatica' s cell, they had their faces behind the bars of the loophole. Morito and the blond boy gave them the stones. "Watch out," Morito said, "I' m going to break the lock. "and he began banging on the lock with the hammer and the nail. Guillermito stood by him and Jabao and Tatica put their arms through the loophole holding the stones in their hands. Hardly two minutes had gone by when the hall gate opened, the children went on alert. A group of guards armed with sticks tried to get in, but they were received with stones and they went back. A new attempt by the guards was vigorously rejected by the children and the guards left and Morito went back to work. A few minutes later Corporal Ferro came to the door, Morito warned him, "Corporal, do not try to get in!"... From the door Ferro promised to get them out that very same afternoon. He then turned around and left. Morito kept on hitting on the lock. Fifteen minutes later the lock spring, the children gathered in front of our cell, the blond one looked at me... "What do you think of this, Politico?" and I answered, "Morito had a wonderful idea!". The child looked at me smiling "You think so?" and then joined the others. They talked to each other and afterwards Morito and Tatica began throwing stones against the metal door to the hall. Then the blond one went into the cell and Jabao went into the other cell. When they came out again, they passed on to us empty fruit cans and spoons. Morito and Tatica when they saw that they were giving us their utensils, stopped their attack against the door and both of them smiled at me. Corporal Ferro came back in about one hour and took the four children away. When they brought supper, Camaguey, when the guard was not looking, gave us a new piece of paper from our compatriots in Section Two, who had had visitors that afternoon. The guard closed the door again and left with Camaguey following close by. I gave the paper to one of my companions and he read the message: "This year Cuba wants to preside over the United Nations Human Rights Commiteee!!!!" The End "Children, innocence and future; to do them harm is a crime against mankind." "It is a myth to think that parents in Cuba have parental rights." Gerardo Martínez Former political prisoner, 22 years in Castro' s dungeons

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Created -- 8/20/2000
Revised -- 3/23/05