The Bridge

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Juan Abreu’s Emanaciones #875 — The Bridge (my translation):

The Bridge. Now the latest trend is the Bridge. A Bridge between Cuba and Miami. For reconciliation, for the necessary embrace. I ask myself: Another Bridge? There already exists a Bridge. It is made of the dollars that the exiled send to their family members and friends.

What other Bridge of harmony and reconciliation do we need other than that river of dollars sent lovingly while expecting nothing in return?

That Bridge has been in place for a long time, functioning at full capacity. From here to there, dollars — from there to here, defamatory campaigns, censorship, spies that infiltrate exiled humanitarian organizations and help shoot down airplanes, assassinating the innocent. From there to here, cultural thugs and leeches that come to see what they can scrounge off the exiles. From there to here, hate and prohibitions, humiliation and insults. And pimps and prostitution. And guitarists who have sold themselves, and illiterates who pass themselves off as philosophers. And mediocre writers who when they arrive in Miami, are curiously treated as experts.

That Bridge of exile dollars has given an awful lot. As soon as it was built, as soon as exile money began to flow, we were no longer worms, now we were brilliant butterflies. Then our parents and family members who would not speak to use because we were enemies of the beloved Fidel, sellouts to Imperialism, and traitors to the Revolution, all of the sudden, called us on the telephone to ask for underwear and deodorant. It was fantastic. That Bridge was a marvel.

The Bridge already exists. The exiles have built it. The exiles do not need need to build another Bridge. We already did it. A huge Bridge. One that can handle more than a billion dollars a year that Bridge. A Bridge of love and solidarity.

If another Bridge needs to be constructed, it has to be build by the submissive Cubans on the island. Those who have been willing to take it, who have collaborated in everything, those who beat up the Cubans who refuse to submit, those who snitch on their compatriots, those who torture, those who throw them to the sea, those that have spent the last fifty years filling Fidel’s Plaza, applauding him and sticking their noses up his ass. It is them.

The Bridge. I would like to see that Bridge that has to be built by the Cubans on the island. But I don’t see that Bridge anywhere.

2 thoughts on “The Bridge”

  1. My translation of a brief metaphorical dialogue written by Juan Abreu, apropos the Pablo Milanés concert in Miami, and the reactions of the “correct” forgive-and-forget crowd (the final question is also his):

    “Well, yes, he was a Nazi, but that’s over with; we have to reconcile and forget and receive this Nazi with a hug and a box of guava pastries here in our city of Jews.”

    “But he hasn’t even broken with that regime nor renounced his ideas, the same ideas that exclude freedom, the same ideas that forced us to flee and raise up this city of Jews in exile”

    “Yes, we all know that, but now the thing to do, Jews, is to embrace and, above all, forget.”

    Has any of you ever heard anyone say such things to the Jews?

    (Original Spanish version at http://www.emanaciones.com/876

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