Prison
visit with Cuban hero
Lompoc is long way from Havana
By Alicia Jrapko and Bill Hackwell
Lompoc, Calif. Like many
prisons in California, the Federal Penitentiary in
Lompoc is in an isolated area far from urban
centers. It sits on agricultural land where crops
and flowers once grew and cattle grazed. Fast-food
chains and hotels today distinguish the town of
Lompoc.
The area around
Lompoc is also known for Vandenburg Air Force Base.
It is a sprawling military site from which the
United States secretly launches intercontinental
ballistic missiles to practice shooting down targets
over the Pacific Ocean.
Most family
members visiting prisoners in Lompoc travel long
distances and stay here in the town. The great
majority happen to be poor. It is a sacrifice for
them to come.
Lompoc is not
just one prison, but a complex of federal detention
facilities that range from a minimal camp to a
maximum-security prison. Gerardo Hernandez is
imprisoned in the latter.
It is a
difficult place to find. It sits at the end of a
road that goes no further.
On our way to
the prison we asked ourselves how it could be
possible that five people who were fighting to
prevent terrorist attacks against their country of
Cuba were now languishing behind prison walls.
When we
approached the main gate a guard stopped us,
speaking to us anonymously through a microphone from
a tower. The guard asked us why we were there and
what was in our car. Big warning signs spelled out
all the things we could not bring onto the federal
property.
After we were
allowed to park, we went to a waiting room where the
authorities checked to make sure the background
check on us had been approved. After that, we were
required to complete individual forms and go through
a screening and security process that included being
stamped on the hand with invisible ink. Before we
could get in, we had to leave everything, including
paper and pens, in a locker. The only thing visitors
to Lompoc prisoners can bring in are rolls of coins
to be used to buy food from vending machines, and
the desire to see their loved ones.
As we waited in
small groups between metal gates surrounded by rows
of rolled razor wire, no one could forget where they
were. The sound of the sliding door slamming behind
us as we were allowed in made a hollow, definitive
sound.
We entered a
big room where small tables were lined up in rows
with family members on one side and prisoners on the
other. There was no mistaking who is who. All the
prisoners were in khaki uniforms.
The great
majority of people in that room were Black and
Latino.
Beneath each
table there is a panel that prevents any touching.
Personal contact is a gray zone at Lompoc,
prohibited by prison rules, dictated by the guards
in the room.
We were
assigned a table and waited for Gerardo to appear.
It was not too long before the door opened and
Gerardo almost bounced toward us.
Despite the
oppressive environment he welcomed us with an
embrace as if we were entering his home. It was at
that moment that we understood why he is considered
a hero of the Cuban people.
During the next
five hours of casual conversation with Gerardo, we
could not help but think that here was a son of the
Cuban revolution and a follower of the example of
Che Guevara. He remains a humble, sincere, generous
and dignified human being who believes that a safer,
better world is possible--even as he faces a double
life sentence plus 80 months.
The time flew
by. Our talk ranged from our childhoods and our
families, to current international politics and the
possibility of war, to discussion about the work of
the National Committee to Free the Five. Over and
over, Gerardo expressed his gratitude to all the
committees around the world that are helping in the
struggle to free the five prisoners, and also to the
people who send him and the others scores of letters
every day.
At 3 p.m. all
the visitors had to leave the room and the prisoners
were sent back to their cells. Loved ones embraced
as we all said our goodbyes. It seemed like time
stopped for a minute as everyone strained to
remember the details of what the other looked like
to store in memory until the next visit.
Gerardo has not
been afforded even this small moment of human
contact with his wife. After granting a visa to
Adriana to visit Gerardo in August the U.S.
government, in a cruel and sadistic maneuver
,stopped her in Houston, interrogated her for hours,
and then expelled her from the country.
As we left,
just before the door closed, Gerardo reminded us of
his strength and determination as he smiled to us
and clenched both fists. We left with the feeling
that Gerardo as well as René, Ramón, Fernando and
Antonio are political prisoners who do not belong
behind bars. It is more imperative than ever to
continue our work so that one day they can walk out
to return to their homeland.
Alicia
Jrapko and Bill Hackwell are members of the National
Committee to Free the Five in San Francisco.
Reprinted from the Nov. 21, 2002,
issue of Workers World newspaper
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