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Carta de Cuba, la escritura de la libertad |
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FROM THE DAUGHTER OF AN AMERICAN WHO GAVE HIS LIFE FOR CUBA'S FREEDOM In the struggle for the freedom of Cuba, one of the most formidable objectives that must be accomplished is to reach those who are indifferent, uninterested and/or possessed of a misguided view of the Castro dictatorship concerning the plight of the Cuban people and their state of bondage. To reach this audience in America, a book should be written to Americans, but for Cubans. Americans are like women; they don't want to be told what to think by the use of forceful adjectives. They want a story about triumph over adversity. If it is an honorable patriotic story about their own, it awakens a pride that makes them strive to emulate their heroes. This is how we honor those who have gone before us and continue their struggle for Cuba's liberation. Cuba-Americans have told and will tell this story far more elegant that I will even be blessed to tell, but to reach middle America the story must come from an American with Cuba within her heart. Today is Easter, a day to commemorate Christ's resurrection, but for those of us that live the loss of Cuba's freedom yesterday, April 19th, dawned with a shadow especially due to the recent violation of human rights. During the predawn hours 42 years ago, Americans and Cubans joined as brothers as they climbed into B-26 cockpits on a mission in support of the Brigade 2506 ground forces, a mission to liberate Cuba. For four Americans it would be their last flight, the ultimate sacrifice. While they lived on in the hearts of those who knew of their valor, their fate disappeared off the radar screen; I know for I am the daughter of a man of honor. This day commemorates the day I embarked on an 18-year mission to learn the fate of my father, Thomas "Pete" Ray and the struggle for Cuba's freedom was resurrected in my heart. On the surface, an emotional story would be told of an American willing to give his life for love of freedom, the love between a father and daughter and the mission to learn his fate challenged by family and the governments of the United States and Cuba, but unfolding would be the history of Playa Girón, Cuba's continuing strife for liberation against the repressive dictatorship of Castro, and the bond that grew between an American daughter and the Cuban people. Americans grasp the meaning of the American flag covering the casket as Taps are sounded, and they will know why the U.S. Military honor guard next rested the Cuban flag on the coffin of an American. Pete Ray was a man who made decision of conscience and honor, loved God, county, family and freedom. As his coffin was slowly lowered in the ground, cradled in my arms was the Cuban flag. It was the flag that held my tears for a man who had taught me how horrendous was the lost freedom of Cuba. When Pete's Ray B-26 was downed, he was able to escape the aircraft and engage in an intense gun battle where he suffered multiple gunshot wounds that would not be considered fatal by themselves or in combination according the results of the 1979 autopsy report. Defenseless, his life was terminated by an execution-style gunshot wound to the head. This was only the beginning of the derogation that would be endured by the exhibition of his remains for propaganda and nefarious reasons. While Castro guarded his trophy, he must have relished in sadistical gratification as he read media accounts and ignored my pleas in the form of over two hundred letters and cables sent to him. Americans understand death in combat, but they do not understand the abhorrent act of torture inflicted on my family. Nor will they understand the death of those brigade members suffocated in a tractor-trailer truck. These acts can only be viewed as a crime against humanity. Our typical southern family descended into a surreal world. Legal drugs dulled the once vivacious mother I had known; she became a woman that only could tread water as the emotional demons ravaged her life. My father and grandfathers, the rocks of our family, had departed within a few years. My beloved dog, Chase who had attempted to lick the tears that flowed when mother broke the news about my father, was also gone. The media declared my father not as a man of honor, but as a mercenary who flew only for the money as the government cover story took hold. My family kept quiet never reaching out to learn the truth or to fight for Pete Ray, for they succumbed to pressure brought about from the government. It was a picture in Life Magazine of a man who stood so gallantly behind iron bars that beckoned me with his to reach inside my heart for the valor required to survive. Years later, this man who had saved my life came into my life, he was Pepe San Ramón, commander of Brigade 2506. He would be one of many Cubans, like those brave men who flew for the freedom of Cuban, who would take my hand as I walked through a storm, giving far more than I could give for an eternity for they endured with a far deeper wound. During the last 42 years, I have been honored to know those that bear the same scars from the loss of Cuba's freedom, Cubans and Americans. Many of them have shared with me a part of their life that would only be shared with those who had lived the betrayal. One was a pilot from U.S. Essex who had flown his A-4 jet over the beaches in an attempt to assist the evacuation of the Brigade. They would come out of hiding, but could not see the concentration of Castro's troops that awaited them. The Essex was radioed requesting permission to alert the Brigade by firing around the troops, but Black Walnut, the White House, denied the request. The pilot stated, "we became the Judases leading the Brigade to their dead." Their stories tell a compelling part of history that has never been told. Another was a widow of a Brigade member that I would place into her hands the last photograph of her husband, as he lay lifeless on the beaches of Girón. This young widow never remarried; she embraced her faith and found the inner strength to continue the struggle for Cuba's freedom along with her daughter. I had lived the devastating emotions flowing through her mind as she held the photograph. When I viewed the effects of the atrocious state my father had been kept, I knew for the first time he was dead. It will haunt me until the day I die. Many years later, I would join the families of two pilots, who flew along side my father in an attempt to liberate their country, in bringing their loved ones home from a B-26 crash in Nicaragua. This time it would be difference, for in 1998 the U.S. Government joined with us to bring them home with honor and dignity. From this experience, I made the decision to turn tragedy into a pathway of blessings by founding Wings of Valor. This is true monument to those who have gone before us, and the Cuban people who have given me the opportunity to share their lives and struggles. I want to share with you my final words written to my father and tucked into the military uniform he was buried in. "I want you to know that I will always need you. I want you to know that I will always love you. If you had to do it all over again, I would want you just to do it the way you did it." If you feel a book would contribute to the struggle of Cuba freedom, I am hopeful that you will offer your guidance and assistance. Sincerely, Janet Ray Weininger Miami, FL 33157 E-Mail: wingsvalor@aol.com www.wingsofvalor.org |