The post is from another guest of mine, the writer Rafael Alcides, who does not have the time nor the technology for blogs but wants to publish his three questions.


By Rafael Alcides

I also ask myself why not let Juan Juan Almeida leave to seek relief, if not to heal himself, for the evil in his bones that he is going to die of, probably with a Nobel in Literature in his pocket but turned into a hook and screaming with pain as if it were ripping his skin.

This is already happening in part, even though he still doesn’t have the supposed Nobel that has helped him not shoot himself when the pain begins on the couch were he sleeps, while he feels his creaking bones and turns into a reinforced concrete structure.

I won’t discuss the government’s right to decide who leaves the country, when you leave and if you leave. No. After fifty years of this right enshrined by custom, that, as in the case of language ending up legalizing what before scholars consider nonsense, I will not forget these considerations. I speak now of a man who suffers.

I speak now of a man who for humanity’s sake has the right to receive medical assistance. The same right that today, thanks the the generosity of the Revolution, is enjoyed by the inhabitants of the Andes, the Amazon and Pakistan that half the planet of the poor who for years have been looking to arrive at your door, on foot, mounted on a llama, who knows if dropped from a cloud, the Cuban doctor, like in a dream, maybe the Holy Spirit in person, who, without interesting themselves in the political genealogy of the patient, de-wormed, or happily fixed their teeth, or restored their vision, or carried them on their shoulder to the nearest hospital of the Cuban medical mission, or here, to Havana, to return, reborn, to his little hut in the forest or his farm covered with snow flown by a Condor with powerful wings.

Like those distant patients, surprised to have seen the heralds of Cuban health and knowledge arrive, Juan Juan also is poor, with an economic advantage over those unlucky ones in that he knows how to read and write, so that this first step is paved, as well as the second, treated by the doctors who attended him for twenty-five years in Belgium not costing him even a cent for looking after him in his illness not possible to treat in Cuba according to the doctors the High Command just ordered to examine him again.

Why? Why then, not help J.J. grow old with his civilized pains?

This decision, in addition to being a humanitarian act, would help the country’s economy, because it would save the State keeping live watch over and imprisoning this rash being on his father’s side (and his mother’s, because she, too, was in the war) to keep him from escape where he might make a tempting appetizer for the sharks, but if it turned out well he could be made a hero of the sea filmed by Spielberg on his triumphal arrival in the United States.

Think of the bad image these escapes and imprisonments create for the government abroad, where some, forgetting that the sick of foreign countries make the Revolution, have even come to thing that tyranny reigns here. Because people are like that.

Do not blame them. It’s no secret that in this movie there is good and bad, the evil, the vulgar imperialists in Washington, who gave Juan Juan a visa and even political asylum if he wanted it six months ago, and then, how to explain the good, our pious rulers who suffer the pains of the poor of the Americas and world in general as if they were their own pains when tsunamis come, or earthquakes, but they don’t let one leave to relieve himself, at least relieve one who is also poor, as I already said, who suffers and lives in America. Why? Why? Why?


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