Cuba: Perfect Opportunity for Change

Cuba: Perfect Opportunity for Change…

I was honored to serve in the US Coast Guard in the 70’s. Following ten weeks of boot camp I was assigned to the training center as a recruit instructor in the ceremonial section. At age 17 I was being treated with greater respect than a commissioned officer in the field. “Sir, yes sir. Sir, no sir.” Recruits would snap to attention and salute as if the President were passing. It was rewarding to help develop coast-guardsmenship of which I knew little about personally. For me it was beyond fun with a seriousness that was beyond my mental capacity at that tender age. I had ultimate authority over real men yet I was barely shaving fuzz off my upper lip. I can attest to the statement, ultimate power ultimately corrupts. I was a dictator and a few guardsmen made a point of telling me so upon graduation.

Here are a few of the atrocities I and others had bestowed on those fortunate enough to be chosen for the ceremonial section of CG Training Station Cape May, NJ. There were worst…

• Recruits with full seabag and rifle were marched into the Atlantic surf. A human chain was necessary to recover a few recruits.
• Obstacle course diving and sliding face first through mud puddles to be rewarded for coming up with a mouth full of mud.
• Cockroach raids at night in the head (bathroom). Recruits had to catch and present live roaches with each roach representing a cigarette break.
• Standing in the rain in a parking lot waiting for pizza delivery from the outside world. Worst yet eating that pizza in front of a room full of recruits, even throwing some away. That’s inhumane!
• Swimmers in training attempting to swim a channel during tidal surge.
• Destroying the entire company barracks because of a single incorrectly folded t-shirt, roll of socks, or for no good reason at all. Re-inspect in 30-minutes and repeat.

These are mind bending tactics, not just drop and give me 20 pushups, because for the recruit no mater how well they do - the same result. Perhaps this is why most coast-guardsmen are squared away, self reliant, confident, helpful, compassionate, and a long list of qualities that run deep throughout the smallest branch of military.

After two years of ‘permanent party’ as little hitler in Cape May I was assigned to Key West. Same number of letters, southern tip of a long east coast state. Sounded like fun. I was attached to the USCG Cutter Diligence, 210 feet of muscle on patrol off the southernmost point just 90 miles from Cuba. More than 120 miles from Miami.

When I reported to the Diligence there were guys on that cutter who remembered me from the training center. Was I going to have karma payback? Now I was the green ‘puke’ and they were the salty old sailors. The answer was quickly and resoundingly “no” and most understood better than I did how those lessons needed to be learned. How those experiences, albeit mean-spirited and narcissistic, pulled strangers together and broke down barriers to best accomplish a result. And so at age 19 I went from Prophet to one of the guys, reduced from big shot to boatswain. Chipping paint, tugging lines, standing watch as lookout and asleep at the helm of this beauty as we cut through the Caribbean on patrol as close as three miles from Cuba.

America was in the midst of the Cuban refugee crisis. At the time I didn’t understand the politics, but evidence of the desperation was piling up on the Coast Guard docks in Key West, Marathon, Islamorada, and Miami. Any tourist who boarded the Key West Conch Train back can attest to the crafts these people used in hopes of freedom. I thought Cubans were just nuts, risking their lives. Children and elderly sometimes wouldn’t make it. Sometimes no one was on board, just a flimsy raft adrift.

My first experience rescuing refugees was as the port side rescue swimmer. It was a paradigm shift in my thinking. Until then Cubans were foreigners taking over parts of US cities. They didn’t seem to fit in, and society was more critical and out spoken, look at how shamefully the military was being treated. Cubans didn’t have it that good. My view was the public opinion of the times. Darn those Cubans! and their dictatorship.

As the Diligence maneuvered to recover survivors I looked down upon those poor people thinking, “You dummies.” They were in terrible physical shape, three generations, barely clothed, their burnt bodies raw from exposure to the elements. They lacked the basic means to survive another night at sea.

I reached down to a middle aged man, perhaps my Father’s age. He was the strongest and perhaps the leader. I moved down a cargo net into position to stabilize the raft with him while the others were recovered; that’s when it happened.

With one hand firmly clinched to America I reached down and locked grips with this man of Cuba. Our eyes locked and he looked deep into my soul for help. With tears streaming and without a word spoken his family would survive the ordeal. It was the first time I had every touched a refugee and something had suddenly changed. I could not understand it or explain it at the time, but I was aware, confused, conflicted. Did I appreciate America more? After what I had seen that day, there had to be more reason to take such a risk. I mean it couldn’t be, “Cuba sucks, let’s go to America.” (Westside Story)

Now safely on board, the huddled refugees were badly shaken, scared but safe for the moment, but they were soon returned to Cuba to face who knows what punishment for their actions. I could tell from the man’s reaction to the bad news, they expect it would be severe.

The dry foot rule doesn’t apply to refugees found at sea. I often wonder if given the option if that man would have chosen to take the chance; dying at sea or making landfall. Remember: He didn’t have any concept of where he was or where he was headed. They were adrift.

That was the first but not the last encounter with Cuban nationals catching the gulf stream for America. Like a balloon riding the wind these desperate souls cast their fate knowing the odds are stacked against them, and yet they keep trying.

I have never told this story. It was part of life, part of the job on the Diligence. Landing and launching choppers on the high seas and busting drug smugglers were fun, but search and rescue is why the Coast Guard shines. I feel it is the crossover between humanitarian and warrior that makes the Coast Guard so very special making excellent citizens of the men and women who serve. Semper Peratus means Always Ready.

President Bush has made it clear. Cuba will not get a free pass not that Castor the Asstro (what we used to call him) is not in power. What if Rual Castro is like Chemical Ali was to Iraq? Nothing has changed fundamentally and until things change IN CUBA why would our relationship with Cuba change? This is the nation that rounded up the worst criminals and drop-shipped them to America. If we cave-in without demanding change we will witness the largest mass defection of Cubans in 50 years of rule. The Cuban people only want to be free on their beautiful island paradise 90 miles from Key West. From Key West USA you are only 90 miles from hell.

###

Tags: Press Releases, RANT