Como vive una familia cubana en la Sierra Maestra: "Al sur...el mar"/ Documental de Ariagna Fajardo

Mira Documentales

A menos de un ano de escapar de Cuba los padres de "Pito" Abreu arriban a Miami

en menos de un ano luego de la fuga de la isla, los padres de jose dariel abreu viajan a estados unidos para vivir con el. lejos estan los tiempos en que los hijos perdian a sus padres sin que el regimen les permitiera visitarlos celia cruz entre los decenas de miles, y mas recientemente la madre de alan gross fallecio sin que este recibiera el permiso para visitar a la moribunda senora, algo que eeuu le concedio al espia rene gonzalez con el caso de su hermano. la nota de prensa no aclara la via por la cual el matrimonio pudo viajar a miami o habran viajado tranquilamente en un charter habana-miami autorizados por el regimen cubano.

leer en el diariolasamericas >>

Cuban Migrant Reunited With Miami-Dade Father After 35 Years

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Reportaje sobre el matrimonio en Cuba

PalenqueVision

La Mediación Familiar, una necesidad impostergable para la solución de los conflictos familiares en Cuba

Lisandra Suárez Fernández, Iris María Méndez Trujillo

Resumen

El presente estudio se centra en fundamentar la necesidad de incluir en el ordenamiento jurídico cubano una regulación sustantiva y procesal que permita emplear la mediación como vía alternativa de solución de los conflictos familiares. Bajo tal pretensión se impone en primer orden sistematizar presupuestos teóricos y conceptuales en relación con la mediación familiar. Tributando a la esencia de este estudio y dada la ausencia de una regulación en Cuba al respecto es ineludible examinar en igual medida el comportamiento y utilización de métodos alternativos de resolución de conflictos familiares en el ámbito internacional y analizar la problemática actual cubana desde una perspectiva práctica, que apunta hacia el reconocimiento legal de la mediación familiar como variante alternativa conflictos de familia desde las propuestas efectivas de otros ordenamientos jurídicos factibles a aplicar a nuestro sistema.

Leer en Revista Chilena de Derecho y Ciencia Politica >>

My Man in Havana

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Sephardic cemetery, Guanabacoa, Havana. (Linda J. Hirsch)

By Miriam B. Abrahams
My uncle died recently in Havana.
I knew a few things about him: He was an atheist, an idealist, clever, quiet and serious, tall and guapo. But the most important thing, in terms of our family history, is that he was known to us as “the communist.”
I didn’t really know him personally: The stranger holding me in faded black-and-white baby photos taken before my family left Cuba in 1962 was an enigma. My father rarely spoke of him, the brother who stayed behind after the communist revolution. On the few occasions when I met my uncle in person, he revealed little about himself—why he stayed, whether his politics had changed, or how he endured five decades under Castro’s regime, separated from his parents, his brother, his nieces.
I assumed that as a communist, he’d disavowed his Judaism, marrying two gentile women, and raising his children without religion. Yet he hadn’t left his identity behind completely. In his final days, suffering from terminal cancer, he asked to be buried in Havana’s Jewish cemetery.
Nobody in my family attended the funeral. It would have been impossible to get the necessary papers and visas approved immediately. But my dad wouldn’t have gone anyway; he has never returned to Cuba. My dad sat shiva privately, at home in Brooklyn. He didn’t want to rehash his past, or to talk about his brother. He chose silence.
My uncle had long done the same. Now, with his passing, any chance I had of learning more about his side of our family story has vanished forever.
***
I grew up absorbing my dad’s memories and strong anti-communist opinions about Cuba. My mom, who fled with him in 1962, confirmed facts and added her own conjectures. Our refugee relatives shared similar sentiments during family gatherings, bashing Castro’s regime and those who stayed behind—including their own relatives.
From my uncle, there was silence. He stayed in Cuba in 1962, when 90 percent of the Jewish community—once numbering 15,000—left after the revolution. My dad heard little from his brother for nearly four decades. I witnessed my parents’ attempts at contact: unanswered letters, dollars delivered via messengers, a rare crackling phone call. We don’t know what happened on the other end. I mostly forgot that I had an uncle in Cuba, along with his first wife, then his second wife, and his children—my three cousins.
Eventually, though, something shifted politically, and a slit of communication opened. My mother’s sister braved a legal visit to Cuba in 1997 and saw my uncle. One of my Cuban cousins procured access to limited email; I connected with him and we began stilted conversations. My familial curiosity was piqued and I craved more. I dared speak aloud about going there, but my father quelled that desire, reminding me of risks, dangers, fears.
I had met my uncle only three times after my exodus from Cuba as an infant. The first was here in 2001. Restrictions between the United States and Cuba eased slightly, and my father made what seemed miraculous to me happen: He brought his brother and sister-in-law for a two-month visit to Brooklyn by fully sponsoring them, including visas, travel expenses, and the long stay in their home. That’s the only way this visit could transpire, since they, like most Cubans, did not have the means for travel. The brothers had not seen each other since 1962.
At 40, I was eager to see him, embarrassed and awkward speaking Spanish with my uncle, knowing little about this stranger who looked exactly like my grandfather. We made light conversation, touching only on easy topics. The air was filled with tension on my parents’ porch in Brooklyn; the rift of 39 years of geographical and emotional distance was impossible to broach, let alone heal. I watched my parents host graciously on the surface even as they seethed within. Too many questions and assumptions went unasked or unanswered. Did he receive our letters? Was he unable to respond? Why didn’t he react to news of his parents’ deaths? Why didn’t he leave when we did? Did he stay because he believed in Fidel’s vision—and did he still believe in it? Did he hate Judaism, resent his parents, miss his brother? Did he regret his life decisions?
Arguments and resentments waiting to be ignited were kept unlit, except when my dad suddenly erupted once, unable to hold back his frustration at my uncle’s silence, at his lack of emotion or reaction about his parents’ passing or toward his Judaism. My dad wanted a discussion, but my uncle kept quiet. I felt caught between loyalty and respect for my parents’ feelings and intense curiosity about my uncle’s biography of the last four decades. I satisfied myself with small talk and affectionate smiles, resigned to this, more than I could have ever imagined sharing with him.
I met my uncle a second time in Havana in December 2008, on the eve of the 50th anniversary of the revolution. I had been campaigning for two years to get to my birthplace; I needed one or both of my parents to come and narrate their memories for me. My dad said my mom, my sister, and I could go. I signed us up on a week-long Jewish humanitarian mission to Cuba. We filled out and paid for countless American and Cuban applications and forms. My mother graciously financed my travel expenses. We collected basic goods sorely needed by the communities we’d visit, and for our family who lacked so much. My aunt and uncle in Havana were permitted to join us at some restaurants and visit our hotel room, a relatively new freedom for Cubans at that time. We left our group to spend two days of quality time with them, to be able to talk privately. My dad had repeatedly warned me against talking about anything within hearing distance of anyone. He cautioned us to distrust everyone and not to mention his name. His fear was very real and contagious. I fought it, displaying false bravado.
My uncle picked us up in his ancient car to drive us to nostalgic sites my mom wanted to see. He took us to ride la lancha, the ferry, to the now-dilapidated home where she grew up in Regla. He knocked on the door of the apartment she once shared with my dad and me in the formerly upscale Vedado neighborhood and asked its inhabitants to let us in. He took us to the venerable University of Havana, where my parents studied before its doors were closed by the revolution. We traversed broken cobblestone streets to get to my uncle’s house for a modest meal. We hired a driver for a day trip with my uncle and aunt to dip into the near mythical blue waters of Varadero beach.

Continue reading: A visceral connection >>

Cuba won't allow refugee’s son to come to Canada

CBC.ca/

Yadier Perez Leon wants his son to join him in Canada.

While many Canadians' image of Cuba includes sandy beaches and tropical drinks, one St. John's resident paints a very different picture.

Yadier Perez Leon arrived two years ago after escaping his native Cuba by boat. It was a harrowing journey, during which the craft ran out of gas, leaving them stranded on an island for two weeks.

They eventually landed in Florida, after being discovered by the US Coast Guard. After months of bureaucratic processing, Canadian officials approved him as a refugee in February.

Now Leon wants his 5 year-old son to join him.

As a refugee, he has one year to bring relatives to Canada. But Cuban officials are making it tough. Despite repeated dealings with the consul in Montreal, the government there won't allow the boy to leave.

Leon says their resistance stems from a long-standing grudge.

During the communist revolution led by Fidel Castro in 1959, people had their property taken away. Leon's grandfather owned a large farm and a lot of livestock, all of which was seized. His family continued to express disagreement about this over the years.

According to Leon, the Cuban government can make life difficult for those who show dissent.

Several years ago, the island nation was struck by a hurricane. While other residents received government assistance to rebuild, his mother did not. Leon was incapacitated at the time, following a bad motorcycle accident, and was unable to help.

Discouraged and bedridden, it was then that he made the decision to leave.

"I say, 'Okay, Yadier, you need to get out (of) the bed, make yourself strong,'" said Leon, who is now learning to speak English in St. John's. "You need (to) go outside this country because you don't have too much time in the life. In this country, you don't have any opportunity."

Now Leon wants the same opportunity for his son.

"This boy, my little son need me, the only father he have," said Leon, whose wife died only two days after giving birth to their child. "And I need him."

He hopes getting the word out will help resolve the situation.

"Please, call everyone in the world, everyone in this country," said Leon. "Everyone hear this situation, help me for my son stay with me as soon as possible."

Cuban-American Veteran Back To Cuba After 50 Years

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¿Quien divide a la familia cubana? por un cubano en Canarias

Uploaded by eljoe80 on Jul 12, 2011

Refrescando memorias o conciencias faltas de limpieza.

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entre los que tienen "mala" memoria estan yoani [AQUI], hector palacios, espinosa chepe, pepe hernandez presidente de la fundacion nacional cubano americana, entre muchos otros. le pongo link a tu excelente historia.