A Cuban Reading of Psalm 137
Miguel
A. De La Torre
Growing up in a New York City barrio and Miami, Cuban-born Miguel De La Torre spent many of his formative years living on the margins of
society. But it was only after becoming a successful businessman turned
seminarian that he learned to read the Bible “from the margins.”
There are two Cubas. On the Island are revolutionaries crusading
to construct a Cuba that combats any attempt to subjugate her spirit to
the US hegemony. On the (main)land are the modernists who look toward
the United States as the guide and hope for revitalizing a Post-Castro
Cuba. Consequently, the Cuban community is divided into two antagonistic
camps: Resident Cubans living under Castro's Marxist regime, and Exilic
Cubans living under a global capitalist system. Due to these political
and economic differences, we Cubans are a people divided against
ourselves.
This division creates a unique space in how we read the Bible
differently than the rest of Latin America or other U.S. Hispanic
groups. Theologians operating from a liberationalist perspective focus
on Exodus as a source of hope for their existential situation. The story
of a God who hears the cries of the oppressed and personally leads them
toward liberation is a powerful motif. However, Exodus is not the rubric
from which we Exilic Cubans read the scriptures. It is the second
exodus, narrating the Babylonian Captivity, that resonates within our
very being. Like the Psalmist of 137 we sit by the streams of this
country, singing about our inability to sing God's songs.
• BESIDE THE MIAMI RIVER WE SAT AND WEPT AT THE MEMORY OF LA HABANA
LEAVING OUR CONGA DRUMS BY THE PALM TREES.
In la sagüesera (Southwest Miami), on Calle Ocho (Eighth Street), is a
restaurant called Versailles, dubbed El Palacio de los Espejos (The
mirrored palace). What makes this restaurant unique are the mirrored
walls. Sitting at the table in the crowded salon, I constantly see
myself reflected on one of many heavily-gilded mirrors. As we Exilic
Cubans look in the mirrors surrounding us, we are in fact searching for
our ontological origin. Not so much what we are, but what we see
ourselves as being.
Versailles serves as a vivid illustration to Lacan's theory of the
Mirror Stage. Lacan, the postmodern psychoanalyst, maintains that while
I look at myself in the mirror, I assume that what I see is a reflection
of a self ─ a secondary reflection faithful (more or less) to the
likeness of an existing original self. Lacan would propose the opposite,
that the image in the mirror is what constructs the self. My encounter
with the mirror literally reverses the direction, and serves the
function of forming my "I." Lacan's theory describes the fact that the
delusive reflection of the Cuban in the mirror constructs an Exilic
Cuban 'self' captivated by the belief in the projected 'imaginary',
where both future and past are grounded within an illusion. In short,
the ideal formed in the mirror situates the agency of the 'ego' in
fiction, while projecting the formation of the 'self' into history
(94-95).
My Cuban eyes see in the mirror the anticipated maturation of the power
I desire to possess and read into my history the illusion of a "golden
Exile." This is why it is so important to wear all the jewelry I
possess, not so much to be seen by others but so that I can see. Our
striving for power creates a history where we tell ourselves that before
we Cubans came to this place, "Miami era un campo con luces (Miami was a
village with fancy lights)." We, who possess the power to transform a
lazy vacation city into the center of U.S. trade with Latin America, see
within ourselves a superior quality when compared to other ethnic groups
who have not transcended the barrio or ghetto. But as Lacan would ask,
which is the illusion, the self or the reflection? To see myself as an
Exilic Cuban through the mirror's 'imaginary' imposes an oppressive gaze
upon other Cubans who do not look like me, such as those who came
through Mariel in 1980, or those who stayed on the Island. They become
my Other, categorized by their class and skin pigmentation.
How I see my Other defines my existential self. My subjective "I" exists
when I tell the "I" who I am not. The subject "I" is defined by
contrasting it with the objects "Marielito" or "Resident Cuban." In
socially constructing "I" out of the differences with the "them," there
exist established power relations which give meaning to those
differences. Specifically, when I look in the mirror, I do not see a "Marielito"
or "Resident Cuban," who are seen as black, criminal, homosexual and
scum. By projecting my "I" into Marielitos and Resident Cubans, I am
able to define myself as a white macho who is civilized and successful.
As long as I continue to reconstruct myself in the mirror, any type of
reconciliation between the two Cubas is futile.
Looking in the mirror, I reread history as one who escaped the tyranny
of communism. Batista's departure from Cuba on New Year's Eve 1959
triggered panic as party goers rushed to their houses to collect their
sleeping children, moneys, and anything of value. Those who were able to
leave arrived in this country still in their tuxedos and dress uniforms,
their wives in formal gowns and high heels. These first refugees arrived
with "class" ─ not so much in the elegance of their attire, but in their
high economic social stratum. Unlike other contemporary examples of
refugees, both the Babylonian-bound Jews and the U.S.-bound Cubans
belonged to the privileged upper social class. These Exilic Cubans, like
their Jewish counterparts were not necessarily numerous. Yet, they
represented the top echelons of their country's governmental and
business community, facilitating our reestablishment in a foreign land.
The surreal scene at the Miami airport of well-dressed refugees was
caused by the same forces that brought about the Babylonian exile. In
both cases, the hegemonic northern power was responsible for the
circumstances that lead to refugee status. Both Cuba and Judea were
vassals of a more powerful Northern neighbor. Their strategic
importance, Judah as a buffer zone between the powers of the north and
south, and Cuba as a key to the entire hemisphere, made them desirable
prizes. While Judah's exile was triggered by the physical invasion of
Babylon, Cuba's revolution was a backlash to the U.S. hegemony. The
economic restructure of Cuba by the U.S. created presocialized refugees
along U.S. paradigms. An Anglicized elite that formed linkage with
upper-class groups in the U.S. and Latin America was created to protect
U.S. interests. Transition to Exilic existence was eased by the newly
created space this group occupied.
This first wave (1959-1962) brought 215,000 refugees to these shores.
Demographically, these new Cuban refugees were quite homogeneous. The
vast majority composed an elite of former notables who were mostly white
(94%), middle aged (about 34 years old), and educated (about 14 years of
schooling). Not wanting to minimize the trauma and hardship of being a
refugee, we who settled in Miami held an advantage denied other
immigrating groups by entering a social environment made familiar
through years of prior travel and business dealings. South Florida was
seen as a pleasant vacation hub from which to await Castro's immediate
downfall. The second wave (1962-1973) brought 414,000 refugees who were
predominately white, educated, middle class and willing to work below
minimum wages. Our hatred toward communism facilitated our usefulness as
a Cold War propaganda tool to the U.S. dominant culture. A "golden
exile" was constructed to contrast Castro's Cuba.
Pierre Bourdieu's concept of the habitus illuminates why Exilic Cubans
ascended the socio-economic institutions of Miami. Being born into a
position of privilege in Cuba, our socially constructed lifestyle
facilitated our rise to the echelons of Miami's power structures. We
merely had to assert what we were in order to become what we are--an
effort done with the unself-consciouness that marks our so-called
'nature'. But what happens when the refugees are not from former
positions of privilege? The third wave (Mariel Boat lift, 1980) brought
125,000 who, unlike the elite first wave, or the middle class second
wave, resembled the population's masses. Approximately 70% were single
males and 40% were black. Seen as scum, they become the scapegoat for
all that is bad with the Exilic Cuban character. Marielitos became our
Other.
• "SING," THEY SAID, "SOME MAMBO." HOW CAN WE SING OUR RUMBA IN A PAGAN
LAND. MI HABANA, IF I FORGET YOU MAY MY RIGHT HAND WITHER.
Every Exilic Cuban has heard Celia Cruz sing the popular tear-jerker "Cuando
salí de Cuba (When I left Cuba)." No other song best summarizes the pain
of our existential location. "Never can I die, my heart is not here.
Over there it is waiting for me, it is waiting for me to return there.
When I left Cuba, I left my life, I left my love. When I left Cuba, I
left my heart buried there." This popular Cuban ballad, written by a
Chilean, illustrates the denial of accepting the reality of being,
living, and most likely dying on foreign soil.
Lourdes Casal writes that "Exile is living where no house holds the
memories of our childhood" (qtd. by Rivera-Valdés 226). Both the Exilic
Jews and Cubans were forced to deal with this incompressible pain.
Judaism was constructed in Babylon through the pain of questioning the
sovereignty of a God who would tear God's people from their homes and
plant them in a foreign land. Likewise, we Exilic Cubans subconsciously
reconstructed ourselves in Lacan's mirror. We internalize and naturalize
our image in Lacan's mirror so that we can begin to shape outside
structures, always masking our drive toward mastering them. This
reconstruction took the form of la Cuba de ayer. La Cuba de ayer on U.S.
soil created a Cuban territory with its distinct cultural milieu and
idiosyncrasies that served to protect us from the pain of initial
economic and psychological difficulties caused by our uprooting. Cuba
became more than just the old country, it was the mythological world of
our origins. An ethereal place where every conceivable item es mejor (is
better): from the food, to the skies, to pests. Everything aquí (here)
when contrasted with allá (there) is found lacking. Unlike the
predominate stereotypes of other immigrant groups who left painful
memories of the old country behind, joyfully anticipating what they
perceived was a new country where the streets were paved with gold, we
Cubans did not want to come to what we perceived to be an inferior
culture. Like the Babylon Jews, we rejoiced every time someone says "Let
us go to our house" (Psalm 122). Attempting to avoid our pain, we
construct a mythical Cuba where every guajiro/a (country bumpkin) had
class and wealth, where no racism existed, and where Eden was preserved
until the serpent (Fidel) beguiled Eve (the weakest elements of society:
blacks, poor, etc.) and brought an end to paradise.
Is it any wonder that when Exilic Cubans read Psalm 137 we are stirred
to the very being of our soul? We fully comprehend the tragic pain of
sitting by the rivers of an alien land unable to sing to a God the
Psalter secretly holds responsible. The hope of returning to one's land
becomes a foundational building block of being an Exilic Cuban, yet with
the passing of each year, the cemeteries of Miami increase with
headstones engraved with Cuban surnames. Rather then proclaiming, "next
year in Jerusalem" we tell each other, "this year Castro will fall," as
though this one person is the only thing that prevents us from "going
home." In reality, the hope of returning home has been replaced with a
private desire to adapt and capitalize on our presence in this country.
Jeremiah writes a letter to the Exilic Jews to forget about their hope
for a speedy return. He tells them "to build houses, settle down, plant
gardens and eat what they produce; . . . [they are to] work for the good
of the country to which exiled . . . praying on its behalf, since on its
welfare [they] depend" (29:5-9). Like the Exilic Jews, Cubans suffered
no unusual physical hardship; on the contrary, life in Exile opened up
opportunities that never existed in the homeland. Similarly, Cubans
entered trade and grew rich, with some, like Nehemiah, ascending the
political structures to hold a profound power over those who did not go
into Exile. The United States is where Exilic Cubans placed their hope.
Yet while Jerusalem was falling, Jeremiah bought a plot of land
(32:9-11). His message juxtaposes God's judgment with deliverance. The
true hope for Jerusalem did not lay in Babylon, rather, it was rooted in
the homeland. Yet while we are looking toward Cuba to define our present
reality in this country, we are also looking toward the U.S. to define
the future of Cuba.
For example, in 1973 Exilic Cubans attempted to rectify the separation
with the homeland by building a shrine on U.S. soil for La Virgen de
Caridad to serve as both a political and sacred space. This sacred
ground contains the image of a nation while living in a foreign land.
Standing in the shrine, one can simultaneously occupy space in both la
Cuba de ayer and the Miami of today. The presence of Cuba's patron in
Miami indicates that she too came from Cuba as an exile in the same way
that the Divine left the rightful habitation of the "defiled" Jerusalem
to reappear before the exiled Ezekiel.
The building of the shrine to our patron saint, along with the
construction of "little Havana" contributes to a self-deception that
avoids realization of our physical location and the 'uprooted ness'
transforming our individual reality. For this reason, the message of
Jeremiah is as relevant to us Exilic Cubans as it was to the Babylonian
Jews. His task, according to Walter Brueggemann, was to articulate God's
sovereignty as hope for those preferring the self-deception and denial
of losing one's land, way of life and known world (12, 18).
• YAHWEH, REMEMBER WHAT THE COMMUNISTS DID . . . A BLESSING ON HIM WHO
TAKES AND DASHES THEIR BABIES AGAINST THE ROCK!
The psalmist prayed that the enemy's babies be dashed against the rocks.
The pain of Exile can lead to revenge toward those perceived to be
responsible for one's expatriation. Mimicking the psalmists, U.S.
Congressman Diaz-Balart, who is an Exilic Cuban, called for a
post-Castro Cuba with a "numerically larger army than it has today" to
launch a campaign of retribution against anyone who participated in
"collaborationism with tyranny." Ten years in prison will not be enough
for those who are guilty. The congressman called for the abduction of
foreign investors presently doing business with Cuba, having them
brought to the Island, and punished (Kiger 57).
Hatred is not limited to one side of the Florida Straits. While the
Resident community calls you a gusano (worm) for leaving the Island, the
Exilic community calls you a traitor for attempting to reconcile. Each
Cuba sees itself in the mirror as the true remnant. Resident Cubans see
themselves as the true Cubans just as King Zedekiah's nobles who
remained in Judah saw themselves as true Jews (Ez 11:14; 33:24).
Similarly Exilic Cubans see themselves in their mirror as God's "good
basket of figs" as opposed to the "bad basket of figs" which Jeremiah
(24) uses to represent King Zedekiah and all those who remain behind.
Resident Cubans are seen as pseudo-Cubans in need of being educated in
the ways of capitalism and democracy.
Before we attempt to paternally educate Resident Cubans, we of the exile
must first recover from our amnesia. Jeremiah strives to overcome the
Babylonian Jews' attempt to displace blame for their proscription. He
explains that their condemnation is due to "no one doing justice." Our
own sins, and the sins of those to whom we were vassals, are the cause
of our exile. Our reconstruction of the Cuba de ayer ignores the reality
that La Habana was in a U.S. constructed exotic space where the
repressed libidinous appetites of the Anglos could be fulfilled. The
commercialization of vice afforded North Americans the opportunity to
experience life outside of their accustomed moral space. La Habana of
1958 was a U.S. brothel with Mafia controlled casinos, holding the
infamous distinction of being the sex and abortion capital of the
Western Hemisphere. As a playground for North America, Cuba developed an
unequal distribution of wealth and violated basic human rights to
maintain the status quo. They built their house through the oppression
of people (Jer 22:13-17). No communal covenant based on justice and
compassion existed between the elite and the masses. By continuing to
scapegoat the communist, we deflect attention from our own
responsibility.
Maintaining la Cuba de ayer insures the death of our perceived enemies
today and creates the Cuba of tomorrow--a Post-Castro Cuba based on
horizontal oppression, Resident Cubans subjected to Exilic Cubans. The
continuous support of the embargo by Exilic Cubans denies Resident
Cubans basic medical supplies, and causes death among the sick, elderly,
and infants. In a sanitary way, we are dashing the 'enemies' babies
against rocks when we deny, for example, insulin to those babies born
diabetic. Ironically, the Exilic Cuban has no desire to physically
return to the Island, for any type of return would mean a tremendous
economic sacrifice. Like the Exilic Jews, we have become well-to-do, and
unmotivated toward any possible rush back to the homeland (Bright
362-363). The hardships required in nation building do not out-weigh the
luxuries of living in Miami.
While our two Cubas struggle with each other, the U.S. is positioning
itself to reimpose its hegemony. In the same way that the Persian court
created a postexilic community to secure its national interests, the
U.S. has promised to "rebuild" Cuba, ensuring that any post-Castro
government sacrifices its sovereignty. Such a future would create a
hierarchical community dominated by those dedicated to the economic
concerns of U.S. business people. To achieve their goals, the U.S.
created a government in exile known as the Cuban-American National
Foundation (CANF), recently headed by Jorge Mas Canosa, presidential
hopeful of a post-Castro government. CANF was started in 1981 when fifty
white Exilic-Cuban businessmen paid ten thousand dollars to purchase a
seat on the Board of Directors. Elgarresta, working for Richard Allen,
then national security adviser to President Ronald Reagan, created an
Exilic Cuban political action committee to funnel monies to U.S.
candidates in order to effect mainstream U.S. politics.
CANF has written a constitution for a Post-Castro Cuba complete with
legal codes, and a sector-by-sector economic analysis. In the early
'90s, CANF created the Blue Ribbon Commission for the Economic
Reconstruction of Cuba. The commission envisions a libertarian Cuba
where all of the nation's infrastructures would be run and operated by
the private sectors. Upon Castro's downfall, Mas Canosa plans to send to
the Island "a ship of hope," full of investors, stockbrokers, and
bankers (Slevin A-10). Obviously, the impoverished Resident Cubans lack
the necessary capital to refurbish and head power plants, airports,
railroads, or utility companies. This task will fall into the hands of
foreign corporations. By August 1990, the University of Miami's Research
Institute for Cuban Studies began to collect data to produce a Registry
of Expropriated Properties in Cuba. The purpose of these land registers
is to compensate previous Exilic owners for the loss of their property
and assets. Yet what will happen to those presently occupying these
properties?
From within the Exilic Jewish community, a prophet arose who became a
subversive yet redemptive voice. While we do not know his name, his work
is found in the latter chapters of Isaiah. Appealing to the community's
old memories he plots a new trajectory to discern reality, a realty that
conflicts with the self deception of the exiles. Isaiah's vision is
inclusive (49:6; 56: 1-8; 66: 18-21), calling the Exilic community to
become "a light to the nations, that [God's] salvation may reach to the
end of the earth." The focus is on a God who acts on the side of those
who are oppressed and afflicted, as opposed to the partisan politics
rampant in the postexilic Jewish community. Rejecting this prophetic
voice, Exilic Cubans are aggressively taking the opposite role--that of
the Zadokite priestly party. The inclusiveness of Isaiah's community is
rife with accusations of being "communist dupes or agents" if one varies
from the rigid anti-Castro rhetoric advocated by CANF. Hanson points out
that the Zadokite 1) moved away from Isaiah's (60:21; 61:6) egalitarian
call for a nation of priests by firmly holding power in their own hand,
2) replaced Isaiah's (Is 56:3-7) mission to the nations with a pragmatic
parochial strategy of domestic consolidation, and 3) compromised the
sovereignty of God with that of the Persian emperor, even to the point
of proclaiming that God elected a pagan, Cyrus, to be His messiah, His
anointed (255). Thus the Zadokite hierarchy struggled over against those
who embraced the restoration of Isaiah's egalitarian visions. The
failure to create Isaiah's vision can be traced to the Persian Court's
self-serving support of the Zadokites. The construction of a postexilic
Judah was possible because it contributed to Persia's international goal
of creating a buffer between them and their enemies, the Egyptians. As
such, Judah's existence depended on Persia's good will (Ezra 7:11-18).
The nation was rebuilt at the price of being a vassal (583 to 332 B.C.E.)
to its more powerful northern neighbor.
Ezra (7:25-26), with legal and financial support by Persia, was sent to
create this buffer zone where the inhabitants strictly obeyed the "laws
of [their] God and the law of the [Persian] king." Like Ezra, a demand
is being made to Resident Cubans to "put away your foreign wives."
However, some of those 'wives' may be worth keeping (such as high
literacy rates, 100% social security system, high doctor per patient
ratio, low infant mortality, and long life expectancy). Ignoring
Isaiah's egalitarian call, the postexilic community soon found itself
weakened by economic abuses. Exilic Jews profited from the economic
misfortunes of the Resident Jews, while concealing their prowess in
piety (Isa 58: 1-12; 59: 1-8). The Resident poor found themselves
enslaved as they lost their lands to the returning Exile (Ne 5:1-5), and
were cheated from wages by those from the Exilic who set up new business
(Mal 3:5). This domination will repeat itself. The planned post-Castro
community will lead to the subjugation of Resident Cubans to Exilic
Cubans who in turn will be subjugated to the U.S. hegemony. The options
presently available to Exilic Cubans are similar to those faced by the
Babylonian Exilic Jews. We can follow the example of Ezra by forcing
Resident Cubans to "put away their foreign wives," and establishing a
vassal political system that enriches the Exilic community to the
determent of the Resident community. Or, we can follow Isaiah's
egalitarian vision which attempts to construct a reconciled just
community. This paper advocates the latter.
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