One less dictador

It appears that there will in fact be a recall election in Venezuela. The referendum passed and the people of Venezuela will now have a chance at a fair election and will decide the fate of Mini-Fidel Chavez.

To the people of Venezuela: remain steadfast, don't let one man take away your freedom.

Look for news on Cuba restricting anything using oil in the coming days.

Se te acabo la fiesta con el petroleo Fidelito.

Via Scott. Drop by Burton Terrace for all the links.

Why I am not a Democrat

Because my glass is half full.

Counter-Counterpunch

I just read this article in Counterpunch and right after I picked myself off the floor from laughing so damn hard at the stupidity of it, fired off an email to the "writer":

Mr. Morris,

I have just finished reading your "article" on Cuba and WMD's and can only come to the conclusion that, while you may be a doctoral student at a highly regarded university, you either have no idea what you are talking about or you have simply been duped by the Castro propaganda machinery.

Yes, it's true that Cuba has universal healthcare. Yes it is true that they have a slew of doctors and nurses per capita. But this "healthcare" you so adamantly laud is a farce, a ruse. Hospital wards close on a weekly basis in Cuba. Surgeries can't be performed because there's no rubber gloves. Medicines cannot be distributed among the people for they a stockpiled for the elite and the tourist class.

I ask you, do you know any Cubans? Do you know any Cubans living in the states? If you did, you might be aware of the fact that we are constantly being written and asked for simple medicines such as aspirin. Women in Cuba must get on a list and wait six months for sanitary napkins. And please, do not blame this lack of medicinal supplies on the embargo. The embargo allows for the export of medicine to the island. Always has. Dollar stores in Cuba have anything and everything available for purchase. Of course, it would be mighty difficult to buy a $2 bottle of Bayer if your monthly income is only $8.

You also laud the educational system which, while it may be true that said education is among the best, it is also true that this eductaion also serves the Castro regime. Children are indoctrinated in these schools. Forced to regurgitate the communist dogma that now strangles the island. A dogma that despite your personal affinity for, history has proven does not work. Beautiful maybe in it's ideal maybe, but completely unworkable in reality.

Did you know that every cuban student must spend time in "la agricultura", the fields, where they are forced to cut cane and reap tobacco for weeks at a time? All the while having to meet daily quotas? Bet you didnt find that anywhere in your I love Castro brochure.

You also boast of Cuba's infant mortality rate, but did you know that 6 out of ten prenancies are aborted in Cuba? Did you know the regime pays for young girls to abort their fetuses so that the embryos may be used for research and to remedy certain ailments for tourists?

How an educated person such as yourself can honestly laud and cheer the Castro government while at the same time that government has the most journalists encarcerated than any other country in the world is beyond understanding. This same article you have published at Counterpunch would have been edited, censored and perhaps even not published under Castro's system.

I ask you, what good is an education if you are not allowed to use it? What good is a literacy rate when the government controls what you can and cannot read? What good is learning if you cannot apply your intellect to what you believe in?

You condemn the US for being criticized by the UN and other nations, yet Cuba has a long history of human rights violations which you ignore.

You should definitely try to stop seeing the world through your rosy spectacles of student grants and dorms and theses. The real world isnt about hypotheticals, it's about realities, something you have lost your grip on but the Cuban people are more than familiar with.

Valentin J. Prieto
Cuban-American
www.babalublog.com

UPDATE: What is it about beards? Here's a picture of Mr. Morris at a protest back in 2003:


(Photo from The Digital Collegian)

Thanks to Oceanguy for the link.

Just don't get sick...or pregnant

More on Cuba's universal healthcare:

HAVAVA, June 2 (María López, Lux Info Press / www.cubanet.org) - Officials at the Eusebio Díaz maternity hospital in the Havana municipality of Marianao closed a ward for lack of nurses.

Recent nursing graduates can look forward to frequent shifts of 18- to 24-hour days, without the necessary facilities, for a salary of 148 pesos a month during the first two years, 171 for the next two, and a maximum salary of 190 pesos, or less than 8 dollars.

Nurse Ana Corea said: "In the Aballí pediatric hospital, there are several wards closed for lack of nurses. We leave because we have to do other things if we want to eat."

Why so concerned about eating? Every Cuban knows that if you want to eat well, you have to be a tourist.

ManCamp needs YOU!

OK, so you have all read about that little sweet spot I have out in the back yard called ManCamp. And you know that Steve and I have had quite a few BBQ's out there where we've cooked everything from chicken to ribs to steaks to porks shoulders. We have pretty much grilled, smoked and fried just about everything.

As I sat back at ManCamp yesterday afternoon, amid the plethora of available backyard cooking equipment, I asked myself what could we cook up next?

Fry a turkey? Done it. Grill fish? Been there. Smoke three whole beer butt chickens? Done that, got the tshirt. I've even roasted a 100 pig back there in the caja china.

So what culinary exploration shall be next over at ManCamp? What decadently rich and overwhelmingly delicious meal can we cook up next?

Then it struck me like a BAM from Emeril. Gumbo. Moreover, a huge vat of seafood gumbo. I'm smacking my lips already.

Problem is, I've never made Gumbo. And Steve says all he knows about Gumbo is that it has okra in it. So we are now doing some gumbo research to come up with the perfect ManCamp Gumbo recipe.

Anybody out there have any suggestions?

UPDATE: Or, should we just go for the full course heavy traditional Jambalaya?

Kerry on Bioterror

Democratic hopeful Kerry promises to "sharpen the focus on bioterrorism."

Except that someone already got to the bioterror issue back in 2003.

A plan was put together called the Project BioShield Act. It passed the senate last month by a vote of 99-1.

Guess who voted against it?

Hunger Strike

Próspero Gaínza, a member of Movimiento de Resistencia Cívica Pedro Luis Boitel (the Pedro Luis Boitel Civil Resistance Movement), political prisoner sentenced to 25 years in prison in April of 2003, stitched his mouth shut on May 27th a part of a hunger strike protesting for better food and medical treatment for political prisoners.

Via Cubanet (in Spanish)

US restrictions do what?

Let's say a pasta factory has 10 employees. They are able to produce, conservatively, 100 boxes of pasta a day. Each employee gets paid roughly $6 a month. A single box of pasta is sold for $2. Let's do the math:

10 employees at $6 each a month equals $60.

100 boxes of pasta at $2 each times 30 days equals $6000.

$6000 minus $60 equals $5400.

Now, let's put the overhead - ingredients, packaging, distribution, etc.. - at 50%.

$5400 times 50% equals $2700.

$2700 profit.

I know it's a pretty simplistic take on economics and that market values and all that arent fused into the equation. Humor me, there's a point.

This pasta factory is in Cuba, a socialist country. A country where free education and healthcare gushes from the earth like a geyser. A country that is supposed to provide all for it's people. So, then, if an average employed Cuban makes $6 a month, how can they be expected to purchase a $2 box of pasta? That's a third of their income for quite possibly two, maybe three meals.

Because not only does Fidel Castro make a bundle from his pasta factory, but he knows that the Cuban who buys his pasta is getting the money from the Cuban cousin abroad.

Pretty simple isnt it?

World War II Memorial, Part II

Bill has Part II of the World War II Memorial Ceremony up at In DC Journal. It is by far today's required reading. There are essays, interviews, tons of photographs and very touching words from American Heroes. Have some tissue handy.

Thank you, Bill, and your grandpa for his service and sacrifice on our behalf.

Part I can be found here.

Real Learning in Ohio

Way to go Washinton State Community College!!!!!

A class of Washington State Community College students learned firsthand Wednesday some of the limitations of life in a communist country and heard an account of conditions in a Cuban prison from a man recently released.

Thirteen members of Washington State professor Tanya Wilder's third-quarter Spanish I class became the first outside the international press corps to interview blind Cuban lawyer Juan Carlos Gonzalez Leiva, a human rights activist released from prison earlier this month.

The class had difficulty reaching Leiva for nearly an hour, as the call to Cuba was repeatedly blocked by the government. During the interview, beeps on the line as Leiva discussed prisoners and dissidence indicated the call was being recorded.

And kudos also to Tanya Wilder, for being a real teacher and showing her students the reality of the world instead of creating a bunch of tourists and OTS afflicted collegians.

Wilder said Leiva refuses to leave Cuba while his friends remain in prison.

"He's fearless," she said. "He is committed to seeing a democratic change on the island of Cuba."

Read the whole thing.

Grandma's Cubanisms

Mercedes, whom I posted about in the previous entry sent me another delightful email with some incredibly funny Cubanisms. So, in honor of her, the Cubanisms posts will now be called Grandma's Cubanisms (she signs her emails "grandma").

Grandma's Cubanism: Si se cae come yerba

Literal Translation : If he falls he eats grass.

Meaning: He's a dumb-bell.

Grandma's Cubanism: No arrugues que no hay quien planche.

Literal Translation: Don't wrinkle because there's no one who'll iron.

Meaning: Leave me alone, I'm in a bad mood.

Feel free to use these Cubanisms around the house and elsewhere. For example, if someone is talking about Ted Rall, you say "Ted Rall? If he falls he eats grass." Or, if there's a troll in your comments section that's pissing you off you say "Troll, please, don't wrinkle because there's no one who'll iron."

Signed...Grandma

A few months back I received a very kind email from a very nice lady named Mercedes from North Florida:

I was born in Cuba 57 years ago. My father was in the diplomatic service(Cuban Consul) until 1961. At which time he had to start life all over again. He worked for the Department of Education in Puerto Rico until 1967. I attended high school and college in Puerto Rico. My Dad is now, 90+ and in very poor health. He and my Mom live in South Florida. My husband and I live in North Florida.

I think maybe because of the fact that I'm getting older, I'm feeling more sentimental towards my homeland and want to hear and read more about anything related to Cuba.

I was happy by the fact that she even found my blog and read it, but she took the time to send me a kind few words and that is what it's really all about. Gracias Mercedes. It pleases me to no end that you come by Babalu for a little bit of Cuba. That's the reason Babalu blog was started in the first place.

World War II Memorial

I wanted to be in DC for the World War II Memorial Ceremony but could not make it. But, Bill of In DC Journal was there, and thats the next best thing. He has an excellent report up complete with commentary, interviews, research and photographs. It got me all choked up.

Thanks Bill.

The best part...

...about Mondays is that if Steve's been over for BBQ on the weekend, there's plenty of leftovers.

The man can cook folks. And I'm not talking little wimpy recipes, I'm talking about full-fledged, hearty food that you just can't stop eating. No matter how full you are, if there's anything left on the plate from your third helping, you will eat it, bulging eyes or not. Trust me.

If you still don't believe me, buy the book. It's now out and on sale.

The Long Weekend

I was planning on blogging about the true meaning of Memorial Day this weekend but fate had other plans for me the past three days. How does the saying go? The best laid plans of mice and men?.....

I left the office on Friday at about 2 p.m., anxious for the long weekend to start and ready to finish whatever things needed to be done around the house that day. There was a new washer and dryer to install and the pool pump had been making some weird shrieking noises since the night before. I wanted to connect the washer and dryer, fix the noise on the pump, mow the lawn and seal the driveway all before noon on Saturday. That way I could relax, slow down, enjoy the yard and pool and do a little bit of Memorial blogging. Obviously, I was in a hurry to get home.

I was trying to beat the early onslaught of traffic that occurs whenever a long weekend looms. Hauling ass trying to get home. As I approached the now infamous traffic light where I seem to only see morons with stupid bumper stickers it turned yellow. I punched it to make the light. As I started to cross the street I saw something - a vision, a gift, one of life's little gems like I call them - that will stay with me forever.

There on the corner, in the middle of the afternoon Miami sun and heat, on a bus bench sat a Marine. He was in his dress blues and white hat sitting there in the center of the bench. He sat straight up, chest out, stoic. A little camouflage bag sat next to him. The left side of his dress blue jacket was strewn with bars. Here was a majestic sight atop a bus bench advertising piano lessons.

The minute I crossed the street I realized there were much much more important things in life than connecting a washer and fixing a pool pump. Here was a Marine not much older than 24 or 25, a man of average build and height, with a chestful of decorations. He had probably just returned from the war, and was baking in the hot sun while waiting for a bus on the Friday before Memorial Day.

I was not about to let that man wait another second. This Marine was probably on his way home, perhaps on leave, for the first time in God knows how long and he was wasting precious time waiting for a bus. This Marine took point for me. A duty handed over by all those who came and died before him for the past 200 years. The very same men we were to honor on Memorial Day.

I pulled a screeching u-turn. I was going to pull up next to him and say "Marine, do you need a ride?" I was going to give a little back and I was a bit angry that this Marine should have to wait. That this Marine had not been offered a ride by the countless people that just drove by him. What the hell is that? How could anyone not offer this Marine a ride? A man who had probably risked his life for us, a man who had most assuredly seen his share of battles and friends die in the service of his country? It was unacceptable.

Regardless of any of my plans, I was going to take this Marine to his doorstep. I was going to thank him for his sacrifice and for his service. I was going to show him that he has the respect, admiration and support of the very same people he is willing to die for.

This time the traffic signal caught me going the opposite direction. Red light. I was in the number one pole position, at the very front. I sat there and stared at the Marine. He hadn't flinched. He hadn't moved and inch. He still sat there rigid and disciplined. My eyes teared up. What could possibly have been going through his mind as he sat there as all those people just kept driving by him? Couldn't they see that this Marine was on his way home? Couldn't they see that this Marine offered up the prime of his life for the service of his country?

As I sat at the light an old Bronco pulled up next to him. The Marine stood, walked over to the truck and spoke to the driver. Then he turned around, walked over to the bench, picked up his camo bag and made his way back to the Bronco. He got in, the light changed, and they drove past me.

I was a little disappointed that it wasnt me to ultimately give the Marine a ride, but I was glad to see that there are others who recognize the sacrifices of such men.

The rest of my weekend was spent working around the house. I managed to connect the washer and dryer. I managed to install a new pool pump and seal the driveway and mow the lawn and take care of a few other chores. I had Steve over for a BBQ on Sunday and we had a pretty good time and a great meal. But chances are I'll have trouble remembering all of these some day. Yet I will never forget that Marine. And I will always remember I never got to thank him.

John F. CHE-rry

Aaron nails it.