BY EUNICE PONCE
A few blocks from where Elian Gonzalez lives, a former Cuban dissident
is in the 14th
day of a hunger strike that she vows won't end until her 9-year-old
daughter is allowed
to leave Cuba.
''It's either my daughter or death,'' said Milagros Cruz Cano,
32. ''If Castro, without
any moral right, can claim Elian Gonzalez, then I, with all the
rights of a mother, am
claiming my daughter.''
As a swarm of media gathers daily at the Gonzalez family home
in Little Havana,
hardly anyone has taken notice of Cruz, who whiles away the time
crafting a
pompom with a long piece of black yarn.
She doesn't look down as she threads her needle through the center,
but each
section of yarn is perfectly spaced. She doesn't look down as
she reaches for her
scissors. She doesn't need to -- she is blind, afflicted with
glaucoma when she
was 10.
Since March 21, Cruz has lived inside a tent propped in front
of the headquarters
of the militant anti-Castro group Alpha 66, at 1714 W. Flagler
St. Cruz, a member
of the group, has been surviving on water and Gatorade only to
draw attention to
her efforts to bring her 9-year-old daughter, Nohemi Herbello
Cruz, to Miami.
''If I draw international attention, they'll let her go,'' she
said. ''The government
always like to stay clean, that they're into families.''
But two weeks into her protest, Cruz is frustrated. ''My emotional
state is not so
good. It's hard when you see people being indifferent.''
Nancy Perez, 45, visited Sunday after hearing about her on Cuban
radio talk
shows. ''The people are thinking of her, but now everyone is
wrapped up in the
Elian case,'' she said.
Others had urged Cruz to pick another time for her strike. Then
there are some
who think the timing is perfect.
''Fidel Castro is alleging [Juan Miguel Gonzalez] has a paternal
right. Here, we're
alleging a maternal right, and she's not even well,'' said another
supporter, Maria
Rosa de Armas, who visited her Friday. ''Nevertheless, [Castro]
has no
compassion for her.''
The Cuban government apparently was more than happy to be rid of her.
Cruz has been speaking out against Castro on the streets of Havana
since 1992.
''I thought that if I spoke out, things would get better, but
they got worse -- much
worse.''
She complained about earning next to nothing in her state-provided
job -- making
paper cups at five Cuban pesos (about $5 at the official exchange
rate) for every
1,000 cups she finished a day. If she made more than 1,000, she
said those were
considered her ''donation'' to the government.
Cruz ended up playing her guitar in the streets, but was frequently
harassed by
state security agents.
''They took away my first guitar in front of the Cathedral of
Havana, then they
taunted me, saying, 'Guess which one of us took your guitar,'
or 'You can't turn us
in because you can't read our badge numbers.' ''
Other times, she said, the security agents would steal her guitar
money, then
march around jingling the change in their cupped hands.
For her run-ins with the state, she said state security agents
yanked her around
by the hair, beat her publicly, jailed her eight times and sent
her to psychiatric
hospitals twice.
The last time was in 1998, when she was thrown into the Mazorras
sanitarium
after yelling ''Abajo Fidel'' (''Down with Fidel'') in public.
Although she passed a
mental test, Cruz said the psychiatrists wouldn't release her.
So she began a
hunger strike and threatened to have her mother call Radio Marti.
''The Cuban government always wants to look innocent -- they don't
want to look
bad in the eyes of the world,'' she said.
The next day she was released.
Soon afterward, Cruz and her daughter were granted political asylum
by the U.S.
Interests Section in Havana. But her problems with the Cuban
government were
far from over.
When she went to Cuban immigration officials to apply for exit
visas and
passports, she was told it would be ''doubtful'' her ex-husband,
Alfredo Herbello
Linares, would sign for release of their daughter -- even though
he hasn't seen her
since the couple separated shortly after her birth.
The next day, Cruz said, Cuban officials told her Herbello wanted
$2,500 in
exchange for the signature.
''It's just another way that the Cuban government collects U.S.
dollars -- through
the sale of children,'' she said.
Cruz said government officials then told her, ''Don't think you
can take your
daughter with you.''
She decided she could do more to help Nohemi from Miami, so she
came here in
October 1999. Her daughter continues to live with Cruz's mother
in Alturas de San
Miguel Del Padron, a district in Havana.
Cruz said she thinks about her family a lot as she sits in the
tent outside Alpha
66 headquarters, where pictures of slain paramilitary fighters
line nearly every inch
of wall space.
She and the setting seem oddly suited for each other.
''I've always been a rebel. When I was little, they always told
me, 'You're a
disobedient girl,' '' she said. ''I only humble myself before
God, and even then, it's
hard to do.''
Copyright 2000 Miami Herald