I just stumbled across the most incredible blog, a blog written by a young Cuban woman, from inside Cuba. She is defiant of the current “state of affairs” in the island, to the point of using her official government-issued ID as a banner, posting her likeness, her fingerprint, and even the names of her parents online…so that “they” know who she is should “they” ever decide to come get her.
The brave blogger’s name is Yoani Sanchez, and her blog is titled Generación Y, and here is why she posted her information online:
“In order to avoid the police fatiguing themselves by asking “identify yourself citizen”, I advance them all the data of my life.”
She is defying the dictatorship to come get her, and muses that her action could be contagious, and the “trolls”, who thrive in the refuge of anonymity and are intent on crushing her blog under the weight of their insults, could reveal their real identities just as she did.
This is a brave, and talented young woman…and her voice should be heard.
Here’s a small example of her work…her entry for 11/13/08
My mother was walking with the bundle of clothes toward the cement sink, where brush and soap would whiten the shirts and clean the pants. The alarm would wash over my sister and I, as we saw the ingenious ants that transited under the still closed tap. So began the race to save part of the impudent ant colony, still foreign to the extermination about to be provoked by Mom, with water and suds. Crazy girls, the neighbors probably said, as they watched us recover the miniscule insects that they couldn’t even see against the grey cement.
With time and thousands of ants that I couldn’t save from the debacle, I came to understand that the insignificant is always at risk of being swept away. Revolutions and wars sweep away the small, with all that which doesn’t show up in statistics, or in the great tomes of History. The diminutive things that lend body and life to a society die when the tap of violent change and military conflict is opened.
The taste of a fruit lost in memory, an afternoon on the neighborhood sidewalk talking without a mask, a calf trotting on a field without fear of being illegally sacrificed, a cold glass of lemonade that didn’t cost an hour’s time in standing in line, they all form part of the ant colony as well, in spite of those “laundry women” who wish to cleanse and shake the nation, and think them only the whims of minuscule bugs.
I am still that fearful girl who wants to change everything, suspicious of those who propone to take a scrub brush to traditional structures. I place more trust in the smallness of the ants, in their constant walk, and their measured possession of the spaces. They who are still today being swept away by the gushes of water, one day will on their own turn off the tap.