Our Own Personal Cock Fights

Dariela Aquique

Early morning crowing.

Prior to the victory of the Revolution, cock fights were the favorite form of entertainment in rural areas as well as in many marginal urban neighborhoods across the country.

However, along with the abolition of prostitution, the prohibition of gambling and the “extermination of all so-called vices of capitalist society” (though today all of them exist in the socialist society), betting on these barnyard altercations had all but disappeared.

Nonetheless, a few years ago this pastime was again authorized in certain places in the countryside, though under certain stipulated rules.

Campesinos are registered in a sort of club, with each member possessing a membership card and obliged to pay dues.  The number of fights is set at a determined amount and in this way everything takes place under strict control without the otherwise likely arguments and cheating.

I live in a fairly large city, yet I’m constantly besieged by unwanted noises.  A group of neighborhood kids have started raising fighting roosters so they can take them to secret fights held in the city on weekends.

Gamblers and Cocks.

This type of recreation and means of making a few pesos by my neighbors disturbs my peace.  The morning crowing of their exalted pets, in addition to the boys’ discussions speculating about their upcoming bouts and the commotion that comes with their victories or defeats, bothers me during my hours of rest and when I’m working in front of my PC.  I should also point out that these youth are not occupied in any other type of work.

When I’ve lodged my complaints, I’ve gotten answers like: “You should move” or “You’re not the building’s owner!”  I’ve also appealed to the Residents Council and to the CDR block organization, but my appeals have been completely in vain.

I wonder if this can be considered disorderly behavior (so often commented about on TV so as to combat it), since it violates the norms of civil coexistence and tranquility.

A friend urged me to go to the sector chief (a police officer who’s responsible for preserving the public order within a defined area).  I went to his home but never saw him.  I left a note under his door with my address and asked him to contact me.

Three days have now gone by and this “comrade” never showed up.

The sad thing is that every day, before sunrise, the cock crows and wakes me up.  Right now I’m sitting in front of my monitor writing this commentary with headsets on to muffle the terrible sounds.

This society is scraping the bottom.  Now no one respects anyone and we coexist as if in our own personal cock fights.

Dariela Aquique

Dariela Aquique: I remember my years as a high school student, especially that teacher who would interrupt the reading of works and who with surprising histrionics spoke of the real possibilities of knowing more about the truth of a country through its writers than through historical chronicles. From there came my passion for writing and literature. I had excellent teachers (sure, those were not the days of the Fast-track Teachers) and extemporization and the non-mastery of subjects was not tolerated. With humble pretenses, I want to contribute to revealing the truth about my country, where reality always overcomes fiction, but where a novel style shrouds its existence.


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