This is why I blog for Cuba:

This stunning post from Capital Hill Cubans serves as a reminder to those celebrating this weeks OAS decision on Cuba:

"Indifference is not a beginning, it is an end. And, therefore, indifference is always the friend of the enemy, for it benefits the aggressor -- never his victim, whose pain is magnified when he or she feels forgotten. The political prisoner in his cell, the hungry children, the homeless refugees -- not to respond to their plight, not to relieve their solitude by offering them a spark of hope is to exile them from human memory. And in denying their humanity we betray our own." --Elie Weisel, Holocaust survivor and Nobel Prize winner, April 12, 1999

This morning, U.S. President Barack Obama visited the former Nazi concentration camp of Buchenwald with Elie Weisel, where they dedicated a minute of silence to the 56,000 people that were executed at that site during the Holocaust.

Across the Atlantic, pursuant to the Organization of American States' decision to repeal the 1962 that suspended Cuba's dictatorship from its ranks, President Manuel Zelaya of Honduras -- who together with Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez and Nicaraguan president Daniel Ortega led the efforts to revoke the 1962 resolution -- gloated that with this gesture by the OAS, "Fidel Castro has been acquitted by history."

Despite the Western Hemisphere's condemnable indifference, the only thing history will record is that the Cuban people -- like all other victims of tyranny throughout modern history, whether Jewish, Armenian, Rwandan or Sudanese -- will never forget the countless victims of the brutal dictatorship they have been subjected to.

Below is a picture of Raul Castro personally overseeing the execution of a colleague in the rebel army, and of the Cuban National Memorial in South Florida, where tens of thousands of crosses each carry the name of a victim of Cuba's dictatorship. 

 

Read "The Perils of Indifference."

I spent both Saturday and Sunday at the Cuban Memorial helping Maria Werlau of the Cuba Archive. Together and along with a couple other volunteers including Jorge from The Real Cuba, we took testimonials from folks who had family or friends die as a result of the castro regime. It would be impossible to accurately describe the gamut of emotions I felt throughout the two days and there isnt enough bandwidth to write and carry all of the heartbreaking recollections I heard this weekend. There are a few moments, however, that touched me deeply, and which I will try to relate to you in the next few days. I can't help but start with the following:

There were almost ten thousand symbolic crosses placed on the Tamiami Park field this year. Each with a name of a victim, the date of his or her passing and the location. The way these symbolic tombstones are placed, and the way they appear before you remind you somewhat of Arlington National cemetery, except, of course, that the loved ones these crosses represent are not buried below the crosses that bear their names.

Still, though, people knelt in front of the crosses and talked. They prayed. They brought flowers and photographs. They placed cards and notes. They wept at the feet of these symbolic crosses just the same.

The first testimonial I took down was from an elderly man, possibly in his late sixties. We had forms that asked all the pertinent questions: Loved one's name, any nickname he or she may have had, place of birth, date of death, location of death and a couple other questions such as additional information or or pertinent information relative to the person's passing.

At the bottom of the form we'd fill out the information of the person giving the testimonial.

I filled out all the information about this man's loved one's death and then asked him his own name. Both he and the person he was giving testimonial for had the same last name.

"What is your relation to the deceased," I asked. "Brother, cousin...?"

The old man looked up at me, pursed his lips and swallowed hard. His index finger tapped nervously on the table and his eyes began to water:

"Era mi papa."