by Jorge Reyes
Not long ago, I was talking to a friend of mine who made a startling revelation: she was a fan of boxing. Not only was I in shock and didn't believe her, though she was serious. And not only was she serious, but she seemed taken aback by my lack of respect.
Since my chauvinistic mind can't understand how a female can also be an avid lover of boxing, I had a hard time believing her until she started to talk to me, in great detail, about her hobby which includes hosting an active boxing web-site visited by thousands of people worldwide. She's into boxing, what can I say, and my admiration grew.
Curious, I had to find out more and I started to immediately reading up on boxing, or the "gentle sports" as it is ironically known.
BOXING: Brutality? or reflection of life?
The boxing ring displays an art form that is both brutal and real, yet ideal and delicate-- the perpetrator is as much in need of the victim (the loser) as much as the victim needs the perpetrator (the champion). The fighters exemplify the unleashing of energy at full display which, at the same time, shelters them from the act of law, mores or distributive justice. It makes the spectators, us, witness to an act normally too raw and visceral to accept within polite society. The fighter, though, stands and defends his title with the same act of transgression expected of the most sadistic murderer; even while he is both a potential victim or a potential winner, at least temporarily or until his youth and stamina can withstand the punishment-- both physical and mentally. It is his desire to crush the Other, own him until the end of the match and often beyond, and then somewhat dismiss him as a volitional individuals because the act of winning is also the act of ownership.
Boxing is similar to the predatory act of survival; transgressive, yes, which is justified as legitimate only within the perimeters of its designated art medium-- the boxing ring. Outside of it, it is nothing short of predatory violence. The boxing ring, then, becomes an inviolable self-enclosed world above and beyond anything or anyone. It doesn't answer to anyone but the act of boxing itself, and the two fighters. They, in turn, answer to no one except themselves. The spectators, us, in turn can only respond in a sort of voyeuristic act of expectation a ritual dance between two people who are locked in a duel to one goal-- total defeat or total championship.
Bragging Rights Corner
David Diaz vs. Manny Pacquiao
03 July, 2008
28 June, 2008
by Jorge Reyes
I have been thinking a lot lately about the U.S.-led Cuban embargo and its ability, real or perceived, ultimately to bring about a democratically elected government in Cuba. In my most recent book, a personal memoir that included a visit to Cuba, I hardly touched on the subject. At the time I was writing it I didn't think politics was as important as the personal drama I sought to analyze.
However, since then, many things have occurred that have brought the entire dialogue of Cuba to the forefront (yes, I'm thinking of the Elián soap opera), causing me to change my own personal opinions. Prior to that time, my thoughts were not unlike what the vast majority of Cubans in exile think: With an embargo, Fidel will be history.
I left Cuba when I was 8 years old. Up until my visit, I thought very little of my country. I was too taken by my new adopted nation -- by everything it gave me, by all the opportunities I had. Cuba, to my way of knowing, was a backward nation with a repressive form of government that stifled aspirations, hope and even happiness. The few times I thought about Cuba, I only thought about the bad things: having my hair forcefully trimmed at my elementary school; actos de repudios -- acts of repudiation; the hardships; the hunger.
Why, I thought to myself, would anyone want to go back and visit?
As I grew older, my ideas matured, and my memories became laced with childhood nostalgia. It was Ernest Hemingway who said that memory is hunger. I often heard about the old house in the town in Boniato near the city of Santiago de Cuba. I often heard about my grandmother, now old, with cottony white hair and a face full of wrinkles, who every afternoon sat in the corridor of the house dressed in white cotton petticoats she still made by hand. She often asked any visitors from Miami about me, about my mother, about her other family members whom she hadn't seen in more than 20, then 30 years.
These thoughts, plus the terminal illness that finally consumed my grandmother, prompted me finally to ask my mother and an aunt to go back. They -- especially my mother -- had trepidations about going to Cuba. What were they going to find? What were they expecting to find?
We left Miami on a Friday afternoon and arrived in Boniato at the crack of dawn on Saturday. It took us almost 12 hours to arrive in a country that's only 45 minutes away. By the time we got to our hometown, the three of us were already tired, seeing our country as if in a dream. Cars, buses and horse-drawn carriages made up the traffic of Santiago at that hour.
The people seemed to live under circumstances that were, well, less than favorable. Homes had electricity, but blackouts underscored the strange realities of the peoples' existence. When there was light, it was so faint that everything took on a surreal pale glow that was nothing less than creepy.
Buses were filled to capacity, and the people on the buses usually hung from doors and windows, clinging desperately to each other by the hem of shirts or pants, whatever.
I devoted a very brief chapter to politics in my book. As I said, politics wasn't as important to me as the personal drama I sought to rediscover. And yet the tragedy of the Cuban people as a whole and Cuba's experiment in communism, or Fidelism, cannot be separated -- complex as it may be, sad as it is -- from political undertones.
It was then, on my trip to back, seeing this disaster all about me, that my ideas about Cuba began to change, and quick. The U.S. embargo hurts the people, not those in power. If the ultimate purpose of the embargo is to defeat Fidel by isolating him economically, socially and politically, it has failed in both rhetoric and in practice.
Fidel, 49 years after his revolution, is still there, old and on the brink of death, but he's still there nonetheless using the embargo for his own purposes!
This, to me, is reason enough to scrap this relic of the Cold War and come up with something better., And this should be done not because of Cuban politics but in spite of Fidelism and in spite, even, of the ire this view draws among many well-intentioned Cuban Americans in Miami. Further isolation makes no sense when the time is ripe to bombard Cuba with commerce, information and an influx of new ideas.
I often heard about my grandmother, now old, with cottony white hair and a face full of wrinkles.
All those who with Janus-like face only can look at an either-or situation miss the complexities of the Cuban nation and the countless, slow ways it will eventually turn into a pluralistic, multi-party political system.
I may be naive about my opinions. What I do know, though, is that there is a lot of work to be done in a post-Castro Cuba. The realities of that future demand new, fresh, imaginative ways to bring about a peaceful reconciliation among Cubans.
I don't have all the answers. What I do have is an open mind. Now is the time, more than ever, to breach this gap and cross that 90-mile stretch that to some of us is as wide as the universe. So I wrote in the book: "Go and visit an uncle. An aunt. A grandmother. Honor your past. Crack that barrier that exists. Rediscover yourself. The Cuba of tomorrow belongs to all of us.''
My parents lost Cuba once. Don't let it happen again with this generation.
19 June, 2008
by Jorge Reyes
There are things in life that never cease to amaze me. Recently I was approached by the editor of a newspaper to consider the possibilities of writing an article about Cuba's latest social and legal policy: the approval of giving transsexuals in Cuba free sex operations for anyone who qualified.
In a country that boasts of having free medical services, this shouldn't have been surprising except for the fact that the type of free medical services that will be provided is nothing less than a sex change surgery and the legal change of identity.
Wow. Is this all?
As of the writing of this, there are already:
28 qualifying diagnosed transsexuals;
19 of whom want to undergo surgery;
8 do not want to undergo surgery, but they want to change their legal identity;
13 have successfully been able to change their names and replace the photo on their identity cards;
7 are waiting approval by the Justice Ministry for their legal changes.
But this is the thing, it gets even stranger still.
The move to legalize such amazing social policy has been strongly supported by none other than Mariela Castro, president Raul Castro's own daughter. Mariela, a sexologist, heads the National Center for Sex Education (CENESEX), and she's not shy about the role she played in bringing about the successful implementation of Resolution 126, as it is known, which was signed into law on June 4 of this year.
As of late, she has openly and publicly criticized Cuba's homophobia and has even apologized for her own family's role in the forceful imprisonment of gays and lesbians in the past. In the 1960's, Cuba would simply incarcerate or send to labor camps anyone suspected of being weak or effeminate. Fast-forward to 2008, and what you will get is a gay and lesbian society that doesn't seem to mince words or live in a half-world of double-truths.
Long, it seems, are the days when Cuban writers, intellectuals or others were simply socially ostracized, arrested or deported to other countries merely for suggesting anything that went against the heterosexual machismo mores of the times. All one has to do is read Reinaldo Arenas's memoirs, novels and short-stories. I won't go into any detail about these literary gems, suffice it to say that when he died of AIDS Mr. Arenas left behind a harrowing first-person narrative of what it was like growing up gay in Castro's Cuba during the 1960's and 1970's. And it wasn't pretty.
Even Fidel Castro gave an equally quoted interview in 1965 where he said "there are no homosexuals in the countryside." By 1992, Castro seems to have changed his mind.
But how did these changes occur without many people even discussing outside of Cuba remains a mystery. Why in Cuba, of all places, remains an even greater mystery.
What's perhaps odd, to me at least, is that before any substantial social policy takes place, a majority of the populace must have accepted such changes. In less than thirty years (and that's a brief time in a country totally micromanaged by the communist party), homosexuality went from being penalized to something that seems accepted, within limits.
I suppose that lots of credits must be given to Mariela Castro herself and the interest she's taken on behalf of a group of people largely misunderstood. She's said that for many years she tried to change her dad's own views on homosexuality and that he, far from encouraging at first, cautioned her later to be prudent and to continue with her activism.
It's difficult to predict how far these changes will go towards slowly moving away from a monolithic political system, and how much Raul Castro will tolerate. There could be a political backlash. As a friend of mine from London wrote me in a email, she hopes that these changes are not simply cosmetic in nature and used as a ruse to imprison gays and lesbians later on.
I don't think that's the case; first, the Cuban government, far from being a politically pluralistic society, didn't have to open up a space for Cuba's gay, lesbian, transsexual and trans-gendered community in order to retaliate against them later on. Yet it did and it's curious that while in the past it has lumped members of the GLBT community with political reactionaries, this time it hasn't and, in fact, separated them altogether as a potential political threat. Don't fool yourselves, it could happen even with Mariela's best intentions.
Cuba's ratification into law of Resolution 126 as well as the striving to fully integrate members of the gay, lesbian, trans-gendered and transsexual community to the forefront of public discourse and legal rights seem to be the most liberal and ambitious of its kind in the Western hemisphere, including its neighbor to the north the United States. (By the way, Mexico just this week seems to be on the forefront of progressives social policies as well legalizing gay marriages, another one of its kind simply because Mexican society is still dominated by the old prejudices and that equally hypocritical Machismo mentality.)
If Cuba's government continues on this road towards a semblance of pluralism, Raul Castro's Cuba may follow a path unlike any of us had ever expected. Others are very skeptical that this will translate into any form of political openness. They argue that this is just a little band-aid given to an oozing problem. It remains to be seen, though, if these changes however slow can also be irreversible.
Time will tell. One never knows what's going to happen in Cuba from one minute to the next.
22 May, 2008
by Jorge Reyes
As a writer, I have always tried to differentiate the private/personal from the public. Of course, how can one make such distinctions? I always thought that the personal stayed personal, while the public was always public.
These days, my ideas are not as clear-cut. What is private anymore when we have at our disposal the ability to hack into some of the most personal parts of a person's self? What is public when our discussions so often take on the hue of the personal histories. Even our candidates for public office all speak with the vanity of that landscape called the personal, which only serves to exclude all others landscapes.
As a writer, I also spend endless hours doing next to nothing; daydreaming mostly. I draw upon a rich, weird, and largely unchartered territory known as the human psyche. Characters, places, and people from the past all fight for dominion in this no man's land of memories. I extract and extrapolate from each (public/private; conscious/unconscious; real/imagined) a world and the results are unlike any I first set out to remember. Writing, like witchcraft, is a magic deception into a wonderland of dreams. But, oh, can those dreams be powerful, too!
I don't know how the once well-divided worlds between the public/private crashed in upon itself. But reading a draft of old poems I wrote and which is intended for publication sometime in the future titled Day's Night, I began to wonder. The poems were all written in the summer and winter of 2003. The poems are thematically connected to love and the poems are based on what, at the time, I considered to be a really bad personal relationship. With the power of hindsight, I now know what it was not: a relationship; it was just an attempt, however futile, at believing in the transformative power of love, though in reality it was a forceful attempt on my part to believe it was about love. In fact, it wasn't much of a relationship either.
The poems are morbid, dark, dense. As I wrote in an introduction I had written at the time in 2003, the poems seemed to have been written by someone I didn't know who it was. It didn't seem to be. On the other hand, how I felt the dark, energetic prose that transmogrified into a faint recollection and which, now in 2008, is just as powerful. Perhaps the prose seems powerful to me because I wrote it. Perhaps the prose seemed powerful, irrespective of the fact that I had written it. I know this: reading the poems even at a cursory, safe distance is still disturbing and the poems crawl under my skin. I feel the pain because it was a visceral, primal pain; the type that can have long-lasting repercussions; the type we all recognize as transcending beyond the danger zone and into areas unknown to the human psyche.
Not to dwell in melodrama, but a part of me had died. I was turning into someone else.
Suddenly, I was aware that there are no fine answers that can divide the personal from the public. If I can still distill from the experiences of years past something that can still speak to me, or to someone else, then the poems are as much a part of my private self as it is of yours, and the fictive separation between you and I drop.
I know I wrote the poems, but they could have been written by anyone else and they still would have been as powerful. Is that why, I wonder, there are so many references to "the other" or to "the stranger" in the poems? Is that why I don't recognize the person who may have written them?
And yet, I wanted to leave something of lasting-effect that marked those days; something I could go back to despite the years; something that could describe in concrete terms the emotions I was feeling exactly as I was feeling them. Is that what I meant when I wrote the following?
"I’ve been asked to write whatever comes to mind, mainly
The memories I still hold from these last two years, from the morning I
Met you, sometime in August, until the night I left you, a few months
Apart, from the first few days when we were dating to the last
few days when with such detestation it ended,
before I forget, before I lose interest, before I stop to care
examining the slow, ambling steps I made to the secured
cushion of death’s inevitable addiction, and while I’m still drunk
with my past and while I still want to remember, I’ll do it!
I’ll tell you!
Before I forget. Of course.
I'll tell you how I felt."
I think that's what I attempted to do which is something many of us attempt to do as well. Remembrance of things past? to quote Proust?
Most of the lives we lead are very similar in substance and if not because of our personal histories, they probably would be lived in similar ways. We project upon an outer reality something which is not necessarily a strange response to an inner feeling. It is, I think, something very much a part of us; it is us because it is also within. The personal and the public becoming just syntax of the same principle.
Yet, those poems resurfaced and I felt as if I'd been hit on the face by something unexplainable. The past also became the present. It wasn't so much the particulars of the poems, but the force that emanated from them-- not necessarily a good force. I was confronted with a naked truth, a naked reality, and a reality principle that competed with other principles and all of them went off into different directions without a compass, without a guide, without anything, really. I was victim and perpetrator of a bad relationship, mostly self-made, as much as a love torn freak decrying being in the wrong place at the wrong time and meeting someone I ended up hating passionately. From there, the accidentals of time and place became part of my destiny. I created it as much as I shunned it. But I created it all, whether I want to admit to it or not, and today it is part of who I am, poems and all.
Most of what we consider accidentals turn out to be life-changing circumstances, to our dismay at times to our joy at other times. The private, as much as any belief system, is just the imagination seeking to find a venue of purpose within and without. The public then becomes a much more real place than I hitherto imagined. It is how we fit the pieces of the puzzle together that makes the particulars seem so unique and how the public, you and others, can begin to feel sympathy for others. It is this same dualism that has supported some of our most cherished beliefs.
Not coincidentally, I've postponed the publication of Day's Night for almost five years. Has this been an unconscious act of self-preservation? I often wonder about that one as well.
So, where is the private? It is out beyond, somewhere, out there. It doesn't begin at the point of a personal cognition, but at the point of recognizing that there is a world out there independent of us. The private has become public, though they remain as separate as ever.