Risky Journalism: In Castro’s Cuba, Reporters Who Reject the Party Line Pay Dearly
They are a sullen bunch, smoking cigarette after cigarette as they wait their turn to use a single telephone in a small apartment.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings and talk stops. Estrella Garcia, the apartment owner, heads to the porch to toss a door key down to yet another journalist, who slowly trudges up the stairs.
As a self-described "member of the opposition" to the government of President Fidel Castro, Garcia has opened her home to journalists who work outside the state media. Three days a week, the reporters meet to discuss ideas and send uncensored articles by fax or telephone to editors of Spanish- language newspapers, radio and Internet news services in Europe and the United States with names such as CubaNet and Nueva Prensa (New Press).
Cuban Tania Quintero, 59, leans over her typewriter Sept.11, 2000 at her home in Havana, Cuba. Quintero, among the few independent journalist who received formal journalistic experience working for state-run media, says she wants to write about things average Cubans really care about: economic issues such as rising prices, the daily struggle by housewives to make ends meet. Photo: Cristobal Herrera
Garcia says the telephone company regularly cuts her service, and police keep a steady eye on the building. The journalists say that their relatives have lost jobs in the state-run economy, that members of the ubiquitous Committees for the Defense of the Revolution follow them and that police are likely to place them under house arrest when an opposition event occurs.
Most recently, they say, police have begun to drive them to other provinces, dropping them off far from home. Last year, 19 Cuban journalists chose exile, according to the French group Reporters Without Borders.
"It is low intensity warfare," said Sauro Gonzalez of the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) in New York.
Despite such harassment, the Castro government has failed to suppress the surge of risk-taking reporters throughout the island. There are now about 20 unofficial news agencies with more than 100 journalists. In contrast, Cuba had only five such agencies with about 20 reporters in 1995.
At the end of May, 40 journalists led by Raul Rivero, a former Moscow correspondent for Prensa Latina, Cuba's official news agency, announced the formation of the first independent association for journalists under the Castro government.
Cuban dissident journalist Raul Rivero, 50, works at home in the Vedado neighborhood of Havana, Cuba Friday Sept. 24, 1999. Cuban authorities have refused permission for him to travel to New York City's Columbia University to receive an award for his work. Photo: Jose Goitia
"It has become increasingly difficult for Castro to crack down," said CPJ's Gonzalez. "He knew that in the end, (Law 88) would be counterproductive because it raises the attention of the international community."
Gonzales is referring to a 1999 law passed ostensibly to punish those who aid the objectives of the Helms-Burton law, the 1996 U.S. legislation that establishes harsh penalties for foreign businesses that invest in Cuban properties claimed by American companies and exiles.
But Article 7 of Law 88 punishes anyone who "collaborates in any way with foreign radio or television stations, newspapers, magazines or other mass media with the purpose of . . . destabilizing the country and destroying the socialist state." While penalties range from two to five years in prison, the sentence increases to three to eight years if such collaboration "is carried out for profit."
The communist youth daily Juventud Rebelde typified the propaganda line accompanying the passage of Law 88 by the National Assembly, writing: "Independent journalists are mercenaries: The (U.S.) Empire pays, organizes, teaches, trains, arms and camouflages them and orders them to shoot at their own people.''
In public speeches, Castro refers to independent journalists as counterrevolutionaries and "those who would say otherwise." The government accuses them of receiving money from Castro's political enemies in the Cuban exile community in Miami. The journalists deny the charges.
Ricardo Gonzales, the president of the new independent journalist association, recently said the group would also not "accept money from any government, including the United States." He was referring to a proposed U.S. law that would provide $100 million in government aid over four years to help dissidents with cash, fax machines, telephones and other items.
The CPJ has included Castro on its annual "Ten Worst Enemies of the Press list" for seven years running -- along with other regulars such as Ayatollah Ali Khamenei of Iran, President Jiang Zemin of China and Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad of Malaysia.
Direct criticism of Castro's policies is a quick way to a prison cell, the journalists say. But the government has so far shown reluctance to use Law 88, preferring a policy of day-to-day harassment.
Currently, only Bernardo Arevalo, the head of the Linea Sur Press agency, is languishing in prison. He was sentenced to six years in 1997 for calling Castro a "liar" for not enacting promised democratic reforms. The CPJ says Arevalo also angered officials for writing about Communist Central Committee members who had appropriated cattle for their own use during a food shortage.
Reporters Without Borders has asked the government to free Arevalo, who has been eligible for parole since October. In February, journalist Manuel Antonio Gonzalez was released after spending 2 1/2 years in prison for insulting Castro.
Adolfo Fernandez, who says he has been arrested, interrogated and threatened on numerous occasions, publishes his own newsletter. Four times a year, he makes about 1,000 photocopies, passing them out for free to friends and acquaintances. He says he deliberately moderates the tone of each story.
"It is better to be a little careful and keep publishing," he said.
A former English translator for the government, Fernandez quit his job to become a reporter in 1994 after noticing discrepancies between the official Communist party line, news reports from abroad and the situation on the streets of Cuba.
While Fernandez has no access to government agencies, he says he finds information "by reading between the lines."
With a shortwave radio and an occasional outside publication, he has become a watchdog over the state's two major publications -- Granma and Juventud Rebelde. He also keeps track of Castro's promises and notes when they are not being kept.
"At least I can tell the people how they are being cheated," he said.
Lazaro Echemendia, a former doctor, focuses his reporting on the island's medical system. Three years ago, at age 27, he quit his practice.
"To be a doctor here is like being a slave," he said referring to long hours and a monthly salary of $25.
Not all independent journalists have had other careers. Many have simply left the government-run media, disgruntled with regurgitating the official line and the ability to write without censorship.
Tania Quintero, for example, worked for years for state-run media. In 1999, she joined the Cuba Press Agency so she could write about such economic issues as rising prices and the daily struggle by housewives to make ends meet.
Jorge Olivera, the director of Havana Press, was a television producer who tried to leave Cuba by raft in 1994. After he was caught in Cuban waters, he lost his job and joined the ranks of the independents. Olivera, who says he no longer wants to flee to Florida, has also been arrested numerous times but considers it part of the job.
"It is a sacrifice that we make," he said.
Richard Raeke reported from Cuba on a fellowship with the International Reporting Project (IRP).
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