Veronica Vega’s diary

The photo is of a so-called “hot dog” label (a kind of sausage which is widely consumed in Cuba), sold in hard currency among other meat products. They are quite popular and are used to put together a quick meal and even the bread with “something” snack.

When I signed up to the initiative organized by CeDA (Cubans in Defense of Animals), to help out collecting signatures so that animal abuse becomes a crime, I was surprised by people’s promptness to jot down their personal details on paper, on the spot and without any doubts.

I try to write about the country I live in, rather than ordinary Cubans’ problems, the country which doesn’t appear in the media or on national TV.

In a country where government media describes a make believe reality or true only for the privileged elite, those of us who are independent journalists in Cuba usually only see what disappoints us. This makes us sarcastic, skeptical and unconquerable beings.

Thanks to a friend’s text message I was able to be present at the corner of Obispo y Mercaderes, Old Havana, where members of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals), the world’s largest organization for animal rights spoke on veganism.

There are words which can shake us up. I remember some of Mother Teresa’s words, about how she and her order accepted governments like sailors accept time. Depending on the conditions, they set sail, they sail, they wait, they face or avoid storms: but they never stop acting.

It’s understandable that tourists who visit us (if they don’t just want the postcard that Cuba sells them) want to meet some native Cubans, talk in a pleasant space and listen to opinions firsthand, as it’s impossible to get to know the country in just a few days.

I found out about them from a leaflet a HT colleague sent me and thanks to the adoption network they’ve created on the internet, I was able to put Pangur up for adoption, a pussycat I took off the street. Now, they are helping me to spread the image of a puppy my son and I saved after he was hit by a car.

The truth that Cubans don’t dare to publicly speak in their own country, has been continuously manifested in an exodus which has lasted just as long as the Cuban Revolution has.

Martin Guevara’s article “How it felt to be a child of worms” made me reflect on where and how the distorted feelings that make people believe they have the right to publicly humiliate others originated in Cuba.