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Still here, connected

 


Today I woke up and thought that I have not written in a long time and it is not for the lack of thoughts, memories, or incidents of our daily lives which define who we are.  What happens to all these memories, stories, and events after we do not exist anymore?  The answer to that question has hunted me since my sweet darling passed on. 

People, in general, are curious.  

Recently, while talking to coworkers, a new friend asked me about the origin of my accent.  "American?".  The first time I have been asked that!  Usually, I get other nationalities, influenced mainly by my phenotype assuming that it is South African, Dutch, German, or from Newfoundland, but once I say my name some say "Ah, yes, I can hear the Spanish accent!".  Of course, people from work know my name and know where I am from, but they are still curious.

Telling people how this accent was created takes me back, through memory lane.  Me in Cuba, coming to Canada, escaping to the USA, marrying Christina, our struggles of daily life to race our family, the terrific moments we lived together, the absolute and monumental battle to defeat her cancer.  Everything is connected.

Thinking about my accent, which began to take shape in the months before I left Cuba in 1991, reminded me of high-profile Cuban events and dark intrigues, originating in British Columbia at that time. Those events marked the first few months of my arrival in Canada.

No, I have not gone crazy. I don't think I have all the facts, not even close. Only a handful of people and entities could have information closer to the truth. For example, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS), the CIA, the Canadian-Cuban Friendship Association, and the Cuban secret service. These events had been reported in the Canadian press, therefore, last night I spent a few hours searching the Internet to find news of those days. Nothing, total blackout, and found nothing.

Cuba is a small island and it has so much hidden behind music and tobacco!  What happened in BC before my arrival was a Cuban conspiracy theory, and intrigue, based on rumors.  However, the fantastic story weaved through people hurt real lives.  The fact:  a Cuban doctor attending a postgraduate or some sort of training at UBC had commented to a colleague that a possible way to rid Cuba of Fidel Castro was to somehow inhibit his immune system and inject him regularly with cancer cells with the hope that cancerous tissue would develop and that way let "nature" take care of him.  Of course, the colleague, fearing that this was a loyalty test, warned the Cuban secret service and this doctor was arrested in Cuba and trialed for treason.  This doctor was not just anyone, I believe that he was part of the medical team overseeing Castro's health, hence you cannot really blame the Cubans, they had to act; the threat was real to them as fantastic as it sounded!

How does this story relate to me?  It gives you context.  This story was developing in the background when I was getting ready to travel to Canada and it had turned into a full-blown intrigue hurricane by the time I arrived.

The case of the Cuban doctor could not be hushed in Cuba because of the human factor.  The Canadian-Cuban Friendship Association had taken care of the doctor while he was residing in British Columbia and a natural friendship bond between people were created.  When they learned the news that the doctor had been arrested in Cuba they alerted the Canadian government of the time.  Members of the association traveled to Cuba to inquire about the doctor's welfare and what was happening.  I believe today that the fact that citizens of Canada and the Canadian government were inquiring about the Cuban doctor, in Cuba,  saved his life.  As the awareness in this case increased other people started to pay attention.

In Cuba, the rumor was that this Cuban doctor had been recruited in Canada by the CIA to kill Castro.  This did not come as a surprise to me because in Cuba when someone needs to be isolated or politically assassinated, the government let the rumor out that the person was an agent of the CIA and the person has no recourse of defense.  Heck, I was accused of the same.  They even told people in Cuba about my signing bonus!  The only reason I did not spend 20 years in a Cuban jail was that I escaped to the USA in 1993.

The Canadians had to do something to try to figure out what the hell was going on in their backyard.  At the CIA HQ directors were probably asking "Does anyone know what the fuck is going on?"  The Cubans did their part as well and the group of Cubans, which I was part of, arriving in British Columbia in September of 1991 had sets of eyes and ears reporting to Havana.

When I arrived in British Columbia I was asked by members of the Canadian Friendship Association, and by others, if I knew this doctor.  I hadn't the slightest idea of who he was.  I came to learn about this dark story after arriving in Canada.  I am not sure if the comments regarding the plot were made in Canada or in Cuba.  I asked, but never received a straight answer; everything was very confusing as these things usually are. 

Days before leaving Havana, members of the group, including me, had a meeting with the president of the University of Havana and someone from the Ministry of Higher Education. At that meeting we were warned about CIA agents working in Vancouver, so we had to be on the lookout. I think they wanted to scare us and made us assure them that we were going to take precautions against the enemy.  My impression was that they wanted us to stay isolated, in a bubble, which is easier to manipulate. Of course, nobody wanted to disturb anything, we all had our plane tickets in our pockets and we assured the officials that we were going to stay close and alert.

I do not know what became of the fate of this doctor but that innocent question about my accent reminded me of him because while I was learning English in earnest in Havana, all of this fantastic story was unraveling in Cuba and in British Columbia.  After these events flashed through my mind at lightning speed followed by an unsuccessful internet search I felt compelled to write this post.

The moral of this post is that our lives are worth recording.  Write yours.


Colophon

Sometimes I feel that I would like to write about those early days in Canada, but the experience was bitter and frightening.  What helped me keep my sanity was my friend, Christina, and my research work at SFU.  Without Christina's love and support, I do not know what I would have done. The entire experience changed me completely.  Now that she is not here I find her support in my own words. She did say to me "Write".  

Perhaps one day I will write about those early days. 

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