Cuban laws, so restrictive, so absurd, so cruel, can lead anyone to serve deprivation of liberty, having committed a minor crime, or for NOT having committed any crime.
I didn’t know Ariel the farmer. Ariel the grower of coffee, sugar cane and fruit trees. The Ariel who doesn’t frown for a single second when looking after the large variety of animals on his farm. I didn’t know the Ariel who lives up on the magical mountain.
But, I was recently able to accompany him…
Here’s my comments on the first edition of the Prestas Documentary Film Festival, which is much more than a documentary film festival. It’s the beginning of the blueprint of a feminist network and protection for the LGBTIQ community.
Some people would think that we should be used to it by now. How many times have you read on social media or digital magazines about the arrests of Luis Manuel, Amaury, Iris, Lia, Adonis, Soandry, Michel, Yasser, to name a few artists and producers, in less than two years?
In order to place this figure within Cuban reality, it’s worth saying that trolls on the island are just Ministry of Interior employees (because I don’t believe that anyone in their right mind would spend their time and money harassing others out of amusement when Internet is so expensive here in Cuba), and therefore their work takes on a completely political nature.
Aside from being a new project, writing up the “San Isidro Manifesto” against Law 349 has allowed us to see ourselves as a movement. It has given us a space to discuss our interests, and to establish a consensus about our aesthetic and political stance.
Several articles have been written about decree-law 349, both in favor and against. Today, I want to talk about an article which was written by Luis Dascal and published on the La Jiribilla website, which openly attacks the Cuban Artists’ Campaign against the law that takes effect in December.
I believe that the Cuban people’s uneasiness, disappointment and uncertainty, which you can pick up on in the street, is what contributed to a group of people (myself included) to stand up to one of these new regulations.
Amaury Pacheco’s youngest daughter (only 6 years old) asks me: what is prison like? and I try to explain using dimensions without going into a lot of detail, hoping she loses interest: “It’s a small space, like where we are now.” Then, she goes on…
The #00 Havana Biennial took place, and I can now finally say that out loud, without any hesitation or doubt. In spite of seizures, threats, suspicions, arbitrary arrests, we managed to put on the event we wanted to, or better yet, the event we needed. (8 photos)