From a Cuban Journal

The Cubans we didn’t ransom live in wretched circumstances. An eyewitness describes life in the hemisphere’s first Communist state

The shops along the streets are empty. Near my hotel, on the Calle San Rafael, a small crowd gathers in front of one window to behold: three radio sets, some electric goods, two vacuum cleaners. As I return home that night, the shop window is empty, the tempting objects removed, and only smudges on the pane indicate where children’s fingers have pressed in admiration of the marvelous goods. On the other side of the Parque Central, a shop displays the Three Magi, not, however, bringing frankincense and myrrh. Rather, as proper Marxist kings, guided by a red star on which Fidel Castro’s bearded profile is prominent, they carry the dove of a precarious peace, the hammer of forced labor, and the book of mass indoctrination.

JD

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Jean-Marc Dufour

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The Cubans we didn’t ransom live in wretched circumstances. An eyewitness describes life in the hemisphere’s first Communist state

The shops along the streets are empty. Near my hotel, on the Calle San Rafael, a small crowd gathers in front of one window to behold: three radio sets, some electric goods, two vacuum cleaners. As I return home that night, the shop window is empty, the tempting objects removed, and only smudges on the pane indicate where children’s fingers have pressed in admiration of the marvelous goods. On the other side of the Parque Central, a shop displays the Three Magi, not, however, bringing frankincense and myrrh. Rather, as proper Marxist kings, guided by a red star on which Fidel Castro’s bearded profile is prominent, they carry the dove of a precarious peace, the hammer of forced labor, and the book of mass indoctrination.