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Freedom of expression takes on personal meaning

Cuban artists' creativity has been profoundly influenced by Fidel Castro, whether stifled in their homeland or reflective of the hardships artists in exile endured because of the revolution. Here are a few of their stories.

By JOHN FLEMING
Published August 25, 2006

[Times photo: Lara Cerri]

Jorge Acosta and his family left Cuba in 1969 with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Today, at 48, he is artistic director of the Galaxy Center for the Arts in St. Petersburg.

Art Canvases reflect the pain of their past Demi, a Miami artist, left her real name behind when she left Cuba. Film Dissident filmmakers dare to explore Cuba's issues Fidel Castro understands the political influence of cinema, a lesson learned through the writings of his socialist role model, Vladimir Lenin. Music Dreams of becoming an architect redesigned If it weren't for Fidel Castro, Freddy Montes might be designing nightclubs instead of performing in them. Talk about your odd twists of fate.

TAMPA

He hasn't been in Cuba since he was a boy of 10, but Jorge Acosta says Fidel Castro has in many ways defined his career as an actor, singer, director and teacher of theater.

"The first thing is that I am a fierce fighter for freedom of expression," said Acosta, 48. "Any time that freedom of expression is stifled by anyone, as it is by Castro, I get very angry about that. As an artist, I would like to tell more stories that deal with issues of freedom, and especially freedom of expression for artists."

Acosta still gets to immerse himself in his native culture from time to time. He played a cigar manufacturer in Nilo Cruz's acclaimed play about Cubans in Ybor City, Anna in the Tropics.

Most every summer, Acosta and other musicians from Cuba now living in Tampa perform a popular concert of traditional songs like Guantanamera and Quizas, Quizas, Quizas.

Acosta and his family left Cuba some nine years into the revolution. Asked what he remembers from his childhood there, he told three stories, each reflecting the impact of Castro in one way or another.

One was about the day he and a ferry boat full of other children headed out into Havana Bay to sing patriotic songs and scatter flowers in celebration of the anniversary of the death of Camilo Cienfuego, one of the revolution's "holy trinity" along with Castro and Che Guevera.

"It was crazy. We almost tipped the boat over, but I remember it as tremendously exciting," Acosta said.

Another story Acosta told is about a favorite teacher, who, when he learned that the boy and his family were going to emigrate, hoisted him up in the air and said, "I didn't know you were a gusanito little worm."

Cubans committed to the revolution called those who wanted to leave gusanos, or worms.

"It was well known that we were leaving, and at school they offered me the opportunity to go and study in the Soviet Union," Acosta said. "They tried to convince me that my mother and father were gusanos and didn't deserve the glory of the revolution."

And then came Dec. 4, 1969, when Jorge, his younger sister, father and mother left Cuba on a flight to Miami. "They took everything we had. I had a gold chain that my grandmother had given me. A soldier grabbed the chain and ripped it off my neck. I had a collection of Superman comic books, in Spanish, and they took that from me. Literally we had the clothes on our back."

All these memories came back to Acosta when reports of Castro's illness and turning power over to his brother, Raul, galvanized the Cuban exile community in the United States.

Acosta had mixed feelings about the dancing in the streets that greeted the news in Miami's Little Havana. "There's a part of me that joins in that celebration, the emotional side of me, that perhaps this is the beginning of the end of something that is very evil. Unfortunately what happens at the end of the celebration is we have to come to grips with what will happen to Cuba next, and that is a very sobering set of ideas and thoughts."

Acosta acknowledges the paradoxes of Castro's Cuba, a society that has attained an impressive level of literacy but where freedom of expression is suppressed. As a gay man, the actor would have faced trouble in Cuba, yet he makes a point of praising a film made there in 1994 that was remarkably open on the subject.

"Did you ever see Strawberry and Chocolate?" he asked. "This film was clearly an indictment of the lack of freedom that artists experience in a closed society. It is the story of a gay artist who lives openly and falls in love with a Communist Party member who is straight and does not want a relationship with the artist but admires his intellectual freedom. This gay artist exposes this young Communist to all kinds of books he is not allowed to read. It is an amazing relationship - and an amazing film to be shot in Cuba."

A life of exile from his homeland is another powerful effect of Castro's rule on the actor.

"One of the things that the existence of Castro does for me is it makes me very aware of the value of my roots and my culture because I am not encouraged to go there and experience it," Acosta said. "A Puerto Rican can go to Puerto Rico any day of the week; a Dominican can go to the Dominican Republic. For me that is a much larger deal.

"I remember when we got on the airplane to leave Cuba, my mom was at the window, I was in the seat next to her, and my father and little sister were in the seats behind us, and my mom started to sob uncontrollably.

"I looked up at her and said, 'Mom, what's the matter? We waited five years for this date' - because it took that long for them to let us out - 'we waited five years. Aren't you happy?' And she, trying to be sensitive to me while having perhaps the most horrible moment of her life, said, 'I am happy, but there are other things that are part of this that you don't understand.' "

"So that's how it influenced me . . . the reality of going home, what home is and how I'm not encouraged to go there."

Acosta, who studied to be a Roman Catholic priest before going into show business, is artistic director of the Galaxy Center for the Arts in St. Petersburg. He has lived in Tampa since 1983. His mother died 11 years ago; his 89-year-old father lives with him. His sister lives in Riverview.

"One of the things I think Cubans in particular are very good at is that we really adapt to the environment where we are, but we also never forget where we came from," Acosta said. "I don't want to overromanticize it. I love America. I'm proud to call myself an American citizen. But there is a part of me that will never be American, but is always Cuban.

"Acting, singing, directing, teaching - maybe those things are outlets for that sort of little hole in your heart that's never filled again."

John Fleming can be reached at (727) 893-8716 or fleming@sptimes.com.

[Last modified August 24, 2006, 08:22:54]