Max Lesnik and his group, Alianza Martiana, are reminders that not all Cuban exiles think alike
By Jacob Bernstein
On this Friday in late November, Max Lesnik arrives at his storefront
shortly before 8:00 p.m. From the outside the West Little Havana location
appears to be just a simple tienda peddling cheap knickknacks. But concealed
behind the façade is Lesnik's office and that of Replica, the general-interest
magazine he founded in 1968.
Tonight the space will undergo a further transformation, for the weekly
meeting of the Alianza Martiana will soon be under way. The 71-year-old
Lesnik is a rarity in Cuban Miami, where political conservatism, intransigence,
and conformity are the custom. Lesnik is an unabashed socialist and champion
of free speech who expresses his views despite the very real threat of
violence. During the Seventies and Eighties, Lesnik offers as proof, exile
extremists planted nine bombs at the former Replica office down the street,
of which seven exploded.
Not content with espousing his own principles, Lesnik has created a
place where others can gather to express ideas considered heretical by
Miami's Cuban-exile leadership. His Alianza has linked more than 100 people
who, broadly speaking, constitute el exilio's beleaguered opposition. They
are united by a belief that the Cuban embargo must end and the island should
draw closer to the United States government. They share another common
bond: disgust with Miami's pervasive political corruption.
Today, when even the most minor wavering of Fidel Castro's health provokes
speculation about a transition for the island nation, these Miami dissidents
are emerging from the shadows in order to be seen and heard and recruit
new members. Founded in January 2001, the Alianza Martiana is named after
Cuba's great patriot, poet, and journalist José Martí. But
despite being firmly grounded in Cuban affairs, Lesnik notes, the group
is not restricted to Cubans; a smattering of other nationalities (including
non-Hispanic Americans) can be counted among the members. "We picked Martí
because there are few figures who are as American and who can unite everyone
from Colombians to Puerto Ricans to Anglos," he explains. "And I am sure
that if Martí were alive, he wouldn't be in favor of the U.S. policy
toward Cuba either."
Milling about the office this night are 26 people, chatting and munching
on sausages and crackers. (The Alianza raises money for its activities
by selling posters of Martí, holding raffles, and charging a five-dollar
monthly membership fee.) The snacks are
a prelude to the evening's main event. Often the group meets to view
films from the island that members obtain from family and friends. In the
weeks to come, for example, they will watch a Cuban television report on
the aftermath of Hurricane Michelle.
But this Friday one of the Alianza members, Carlos Rivero, is scheduled
to deliver a lecture in which he will argue that the United States is the
worst terrorist nation in human history.
It's controversial stuff, especially in the aftermath of September
11, and while Lesnik may not agree with all of it, he revels in the fact
that such a discussion is taking place at all. "Nowhere else in Miami,"
he boasts with a smile, "could you find something like this."
As he escorts a visitor through the room before Rivero begins, Lesnik
describes the Alianza by detailing what it is not. "We are not ideological
or political," he explains. To buttress this he points out Yndamiro Restano,
a well-known independent journalist jailed by the Castro regime for five
years, and Juan Betancourt, a prominent Cuban human-rights activist also
forced into exile.
Restano agrees with the assessment. "It's a pluralist group," he says.
"There is a liberty of expression [in this room] that is very rare in Miami."
When he first arrived in South Florida in 1996, Restano, who for years
battled the Cuban government as a crusading reporter, thought he would
find more freedom. "I didn't realize the absolute control the right wing
has over the media here," he marvels.
"It's a discourse full of hate." On the other hand, Restano adds, the
Alianza stands apart from much of Cuban Miami in that no one is here for
money or political power. This is all about ideas and open debate.
The group settles down in rows of chairs with Rivero sitting in front.
He would seem to be an unlikely candidate for a vitriolic broadside against
the United States, yet for the next 45 minutes that's exactly what he delivers.
His father was a Batista-era candidate for president. Rivero himself fought
in the 2506 Brigade, the exile force that tried to retake Cuba at the Bay
of Pigs in 1961. Now he is a self-styled anti-imperialist.
Lesnik introduces Rivero by noting the controversial nature of his
subject and underscoring that the speaker will not be attacking individuals.
Then he cedes the floor. Rivero, speaking in Spanish, begins by noting
the transgressions against Native Americans and blacks throughout U.S.
history. He contends the Civil War had nothing to do with black emancipation
and lambastes Abraham Lincoln. "The U.S. even killed Malcolm X," he charges.
Then he lashes out at the United States for bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki
during World War II, condemns U.S. involvement in Cuba and Chile, blames
this nation for everything bad Israel has ever done, and defends the Iraqi
invasion of Kuwait by declaring, "It belonged to them in the beginning."
"These are the people who accuse Cuba of being terrorist," he says angrily,
"but the [United States] is [supposedly] the saint of the world."
When he tries to pin the destruction of the U.S.S. Maine in Havana
harbor on U.S. forces, a heated discussion breaks out among audience members.
He finally loses the crowd when he suggests that the moon landing in 1969
was faked. At this point a few participants bolt for the door.
Rivero raises his voice in conclusion: "The imperial United States
is the greatest assassin of human history. It is the greatest criminal
delinquent of all humanity." The crowd applauds, some more boisterously
than others. Lesnik steps outside, where a small group is voicing its anger.
One member suggests it's a mistake for Lesnik to allow Rivero to talk.
He disagrees. "This is what I understand democracy and liberty to be,"
argues the long-time journalist. "I'm not saying that what he said was
true. His points are polemical and many don't agree, but he is a member
and if he asks to give a talk, we have to let him."
In an attempt to provide balance, Lesnik arranges for another Alianza
member to present a rebuttal the following week. It's the kind of give
and take he believes is not possible with exile hard-liners like Radio
Mambí (WAQI-AM 710) general manager Armando Perez-Roura. "We would
welcome them here to express themselves in our forum, although they won't
come," he shrugs. "We only ask that they allow us to express ourselves
in their forum."
The following week a table is adorned with a small American flag. In
another irony the man who has chosen to defend the United States lost a
brother fighting with Castro in the attack on the Moncada Barracks on July
26, 1953. Miguel Guitart also fought with Castro's forces to repel the
exile invaders at the Bay of Pigs.
He begins by introducing himself as one of the more humble members
of the group, the one who always goes out and fetches coffee. Guitart then
admits he did not come prepared like Rivero, but in the end the simplicity
of his presentation carries its own power.
He suffered exile twice, once under Batista and again under Castro.
"This country saved my life," he says with feeling. "When our family came
to the United States, it wasn't because we wanted to. It was exile or prison.
I went to the embassy and they said, “We'll give you a visa immediately.'
I would be an ingrate if I didn't appreciate this."
The point of Alianza Martiana, he asserts, is not to attack the United
States, especially at this time. "The Alianza should not convert itself
into an anti-American organization," he insists. "This country is at war,
and don't think we are not." While staring at Carlos Rivero, Guitart goes
on to recount the horrors of the Bay of Pigs. "[The Bay of Pigs] was driven
by imperialism, but today ... we have to express solidarity with the American
nation," he stresses.
As Rivero rises to defend the position he took a week earlier, several
in the audience groan. Lesnik steps in and tries to restore order. Later
he muses about these two former antagonists still bitter over 40-year-old
events. "The Bay of Pigs left a lot of open wounds," he notes. "Rivero
is speaking from a nationalist view. At the bottom of the debate, it's
irreconcilable."
Overall, though, Lesnik is pleased with the interchange. "Why is the
word dialogue a bad word in Miami?" he asks. "If we learned anything here,
it should have been about a spirit of tolerance."
Although he and the Alianza are doing their part to foster that spirit,
it's still something of a risky endeavor. At the end of the night, Lesnik
securely locks up the storefront, cloaking the space until a new round
of passionate debate and divergent views brings it to life again.